Chapter 61: Love and Regret

Draco sat at his mother's bedside, his skin warmed by the healing magic surrounding her. She'd been bedridden for weeks now, her attacks so frequent she didn't have time to recover between them. The healer's magic wasn't doing much more than soothing her pain, while her mind continued to deteriorate.

He felt a dull twinge in the back of his neck, his leg thumping rapidly until he had to get up and pace. He needed the Philosopher's Stone to heal her, there was no other option. Every second they waited for it made him want to scream.

Draco and his army could launch an attack now, but a protracted siege against Hogwarts or the Ministry would cause many deaths on both sides. Even then, there was a good chance they'd never find the Stone.

Bellatrix agreed, and suggested a different plan. "The Ministry will never give us the Philosopher's Stone," she said. "So we must cut into their heart and take it."

Initially, Draco balked at her proposal, at the fundamental wrongness and cruelty of it. He also thought she was crazy and it would never work—except the prophecies made it clear this was their only choice.

Most prophecies were shadows and riddles, hard to decipher and often useless. However, Luna's prophecies were clear as day, so Draco knew exactly what would happen and when. Bellatrix's plan would bring about the final battle—which was where he'd get his chance to take the Stone.

Two shall fall, and one will rise

And take their place at time's side

It would happen soon, their final battle—the only one that really mattered—and Draco waited with impatience. His manor's halls weren't long enough for his frequent pacing. The stale air in his room felt like a suffocating blanket. He visited his mother often, but as she grew weaker he became more tense and agitated.

In the time he had left, Draco threw himself into preparation. He attempted to study the Priestess' secret lore, but most of the higher level magic was completely illegible. After searching a bit more, he found a ritual of binding in her spellbook, and he realized he would have to make an unbreakable vow to access the interdicted magic. As tempting as the offer was—what if there was a spell to save his mom?—Draco decided against it.

Nothing he did now would change the fact that this fight would happen, and there was a good chance he would die. Any vow would restrict his freedom, which he would need to win the fight to come. It was the only sure chance he had to save his mother.

He would also need something else: insurance that time would be on his side. So he quietly set things in motion and gathered his weapons. Knowing the prophecies was a great advantage, and he intended to make the utmost use of it. He would either be the one destined to save the world—or he'd make sure he was the one to destroy it.


With a sharp bang of door against metal, Madam Bones stormed into the Department of Mysteries. The room lit up at her entrance, torches flaring to life as she strode forwards. She stopped at the end of the antechamber, where she was supposed to wait for an audience, and banged on the door.

A white robed young man walked out to meet her, closing the door behind him. "Madam Director?"

"Remus Lupin. I want to see him, now."

"He is under isolation."

"I don't care. Your department wilfully defied my security measures by letting him into the Ministry. You did this without permission or consultation. It is my right to question him before granting entry, and I will have it."

The man inclined his head placatingly. She swore they all made that same gesture, like it was a part of their damn training.

"Madam Bones, we are aware you did not authorize it, but I assure you our security measures were most thorough. He was brought into the Ministry blind and deafened, without his wand and stripped of magical artefacts. His interaction is limited to people proficient in the highest levels of occlumency, and only for brief periods. The Unspeakables know better than anyone else how to handle dangerous information."

"Dangerous information?" Madam Bones wanted to strangle someone. "What is it? Tell me now!"

"Indeed, you will be told," said the Unspeakable. "Once he has been thoroughly examined for any dark magic, and we have verified the information to be true."

"I don't care if it's true," said Madam Bones. "If I'm to protect the Ministry, I must know everything!"

"But Madam Bones, we do not yet know anything, and taking him from isolation nowis to risk the unthinkable. At the end of his quarantine, we will know his secrets, and you may question him all you like. Is there anything else you need?"

Madam Bones could not get over the fact that this young man, barely more than a trainee, was speaking to her this way. If he had been one of her Aurors, she would have hexed him so thoroughly he would choose the Cruxiatus before disrespecting her again. She couldn't believe the audacity of the Head Unspeakable, sending a child out to deal with her.

Madam Bones stepped forward so quickly the Unspeakable fell back a step, flinching towards the closed door.

"Fine," she said, in a deadly whisper. "Go back and tell your director he has two weeks. And at the end of that, I will be speaking to him personally. Or I swear I will use all my political power to set up a 'date' between the hungry dementors of Azkaban and the entire 9th floor. And when I do, I will make sure you get the first kiss. Now. Shoo."

With a swift nod, he ducked back into the room and bolted the door.

She felt a petty sense of satisfaction. At least she still scared some people.


It was funny how life worked out, thought Harry as he walked towards the Herbology Arboritum. One minute, you were constructing a plan to prove your innocence of terrorism, and the next you were gardening with friendly Hufflepuffs.

It was so unusual that Harry paid special attention to his warding check before entering the greenhouse. Friend. Ally. Hogwarts confirmed that no traps were set, no Polyjuice or mind magic to worry about. Just plants, dirt and the standard growth charms.

He took a breath in and let it out, feeling tension relax in the back of his neck. It felt almost unreal, how normal this was. Like it belonged in another time. He felt almost weird allowing himself to relax, like his default state had been set to anxious. Harry stepped forward into the room, feeling the warm air waft over him as he scanned the room for Neville.

The Herbology greenhouse was bright, green and pleasantly chaotic. Neville tended a wriggling plant, his table an island of cleanliness in the surrounding mess.

"Over here," said Neville, waving him over. "I've got something to show you."

Harry approached, stepping over vines growing out of their flowerbeds, his boot narrowly sidestepping a carnivorous flower's jaws. Neville even didn't notice, too busy hovering over a potted plant. Using a cutting charm, he snipped a piece of a leaf and captured it under a microscope slide.

His heart pounding from the exertion of simply walking across the room, Harry leaned against the table and watched his friend's careful gardening for a moment. "Well Neville, this is a surprise. I never thought I'd see the day you would perform an experiment. On purpose, no less."

"Well, I spent long enough observing your experiments," his friend teased, labelling the slide and placing it in a small container. "I've either been inspired or I've gone crazy, hard to tell which."

Harry was about to respond when he noticed a strangely familiar bin of bottles—several half-empty or damaged by fire—resting under the worktable. "Neville…are those the potions from my closet?"

His friend tensed, but didn't look up. "Well, so here's what happened. After you said we were finished examining evidence, I was going to lock up, but I had a hunch, you see, so I umm…took some of your evidence and moved it here. I'm sorry. In any case, I was right, as you'll see in a minute, though not in the way that I expected."

Harry's mind reeled as he tried to think of a way to handle this situation. Ultimately, it was his fault for not taking enough precautions—for not anticipating that pureblood Neville wouldn't understand the danger of contaminating evidence, and for getting so tired and sloppy he neglected to do his own locking up. Even so, Harry wondered bitterly if the only way to be prepared was to go through life second guessing everyone, including his closest friends.

Still, in spite of his frustration and disappointment, he didn't feel mad at Neville. No matter how justified, Harry had no energy left for anger. Perhaps because he'd spent the better part of the last week so enraged he could barely eat or sleep, and it all turned out to be a giant misunderstanding. It had almost cost him his friendship with Remus, not to mention being a colossal waste of time.

Harry wasn't about to make that mistake again. Perhaps Neville had a logical reason, perhaps not. In any case, he decided he would listen to Neville's explanation before passing judgement. If it did not pass muster, then he would wage war against his house.

"Alright, Neville," said Harry. "Explain."

"So, umm…" His friend opened a plastic microscope slide box. "I originally intended to poke around your evidence, just to see if there was anything you missed. I found a few dried up leaves that I didn't recognize, which was weird, so I brought them back to the Herbology greenhouse. I was busy during the day and only just finished my analysis. The first two looked normal under the microscope, turns out they were nundu leaves. But the third, well…take a look and see."

Neville moved away from them microscope, motioned his friend over. Harry bent down, pressed his eyes to the eyepiece and adjusted his view.

"So…what am I supposed to be looking at?"

"Wait, you don't see it? That giant dark spot?"

"Nope. I see nothing but a standard, dried up plant cell."

Neville shoved Harry out of the way, pressed his face against the eyepiece. "I…must have put on the wrong slide. It's got to be in here somewhere."

He started rummaging through the slides, frantically scanning each one under the microscope. "No, these are all…but I don't understand."

Now Harry was angry. "Oh go ahead, take your time. I think there might be a few bottles you haven't manhandled yet. By the way, have you ever heard of the term 'miscarriage of justice'?"

"Harry, I swear, there was something there, not ten minutes ago!"

"A speck of dirt? A drop of blood? If you're telling me you lost DNA evidence, then I swear to you Neville, I'll—"

"The dark spot was an organelle! A magical organelle."

Harry froze. "What?"

Neville was breathing hard, hands splayed against the table. "I've spent years studying plant cuttings, both magical and non-magical, as a hobby. I know what a plant cell is supposed to look like, and those leaves were different. They had spots that were dark, oval shaped and I could swear I saw them shimmering."

Harry found it hard to speak for several seconds. If you'd asked Harry to guess what he thought Neville's surprise would be, blinking plant organelles would not have broken the top five hundred.

"How…big were these spots?" asked Harry. "Most organelles aren't visible under a light microscope, by the way. What you probably saw were cells undergoing mitosis, or bacterial contamination."

Neville shook his head. "I know what I saw, and it was magical. I didn't get time to do much testing, but if my hypothesis is correct, then I just found the magical powerhouse of the cell. Just think of what that would mean, Harry!"

"I dunno, I think you're making a lot of assumptions," said Harry, shaking his head. "Besides, magical organelles as a concept don't make any sense. If magic is controlled by our DNA, then why would we even need a second physical component? That's inefficient."

Neville looked perplexed. "Since when is nature efficient?"

Harry paused. "Point taken. But still, even if I wanted to believe you, you don't have much evidence to go on. Mathematically speaking, if you're seeing spots, then it's far more likely your retina is detaching."

"Well, that's…why I wanted to talk to you," said Neville. "I know it's a crazy idea, but you're the best at exploring the impossible. Professor Sprout would never believe me, and the other professors don't even know what an organelle is. I think I can make these dark spots visible again, I just need to find the right conditions to make it happen. Will you help me, Harry?"

"Neville I…" Harry sighed. "I know it's not fair, after all you've done for me, but I don't think I can. I'm assisting the Ministry with their research and planning the defence of Hogwarts. Besides, I suspect this will be an experiment that needs months of intensive effort, and I don't know…"

Harry trailed off. He couldn't say, "I don't know if Hogwarts will be standing in a month" but that was exactly what he feared. He had no evidence, outside his own nightmares and anxiety, but he constantly felt like he was running out of time.

"I just…don't think I can spare the time right now," finished Harry. "But you should know, under normal circumstances, I would be thrilled to be your research assistant."

"I understand," said Neville, crestfallen. "I guess I just…I thought…"

"Of course, it won't take me long to help you plan the experiments out, I can do that at least," said Harry in a rush. "Plus, there are several basic tests to rule a few things out, and that'll save you a few months. By the way, how long did the spots remain visible and what did they look like, aside from shimmering?"

"I…guess they were visible about thirty minutes? At least from when I noticed them. As for what they look like, I've already drawn a sketch, so you can see for yourself."

Neville passed a paper to Harry, who examined the full page drawing of several cells, all of which contained multiple dark specks that floated all throughout the cell.

Huh, said Ravenclaw. Those sure look like organelles. Are you sure we can't spare time to—

Hufflepuff screamed so loud that Ravenclaw winced. You know what, forget I asked.

Harry passed the paper back to Neville, who pocketed it and drew out a fresh parchment and quill from his bag.

"Okay, first things first," said Harry. "I assume you took my potions because you wanted to check if they caused a reaction in the plant cuttings, right? That's a solid theory, as we know the contents of my closet were exposed to their gases a few weeks ago. I see you already have my potions list, but I've also started a spreadsheet of the ones that interact with each other and their effects, you're welcome to work off it. But before you experiment with my highly toxic and flammable potions, you should check the microscope you used for any defects or magical influence, not to mention get a thorough medical exam to be sure your eyes and everything else is physically healthy." Harry watched Neville scribble his advice, feeling a strange sense of pride. "Right, then obviously the next step is…"


Michael Corner was exhausted.

He was part of the team to research the Magic Detector, as they were calling it. Michael was one of the original three, though a couple more had joined since then, Harry Potter among them. Their speed really picked up once he got involved, as he seemed to find answers they hadn't even thought to look for. But they still worked 18 hour days, using time turners to make sure they got enough sleep.

Michael threw himself into the task. This was it, their one chance at defeating the Factionists, and the fate of England rested on their success. Michael had never worked so hard in his life, and yet he never complained. How could he? There wasn't time to be selfish. His mother, his sister and all his friends, they were counting on him.

But that conviction only fuelled him during the day. Each night, as soon as his head hit the pillow, Michael would fall into a dreamless sleep. He'd always been a heavy sleeper, and one of his dorm mates would have to shake him awake every morning. Only once did Michael wake up in the middle of the night, and that was to the sound of someone screaming.

Michael bolted upright, and he saw Harry Potter thrashing around in his bedsheets. He watched as Harry jerked up with a cry and clutched at his chest, his terror finally waking him. A fluffy orange cat climbed from his perch on the window, leapt onto Harry's bed and rubbed its face against his arm. Harry did not respond for several moments, then gently patted the cat's head before pulling a paper from under his pillow with shaking hands. He read it, clutching it like a lifeline.

The next morning, Michael wanted to talk to Harry about it, but his fellow Ravenclaw seemed to actively avoid approaching humans. Even working in the same space all day, it would have been easier to chat up an icicle. The following night, Michael found the quieting charm on his bed and turned it on. There wasn't much he could do to help Harry, but at the very least he needed to be well rested, so he could do his job well.

Michael only hoped he never had to deal with nightmares. He wasn't strong enough for that.


Hermione's letter was late.

At first, Harry almost didn't notice. He was so busy he barely had a second to himself. But after three days had passed, and Harry still didn't have a letter, it became all he could think about.

His nightmares continued to keep him awake, and this left him in a perpetual state of agitation. The slightest thing could send him into a spiral of rage or anxiety. He didn't know if his fear was warranted or if he was just losing his mind.

The worst part was he still could remember nothing of his nightmares. He'd read this was common with night terrors, except normally patients didn't wake up during episodes. After further study, he found that the best treatment for night terrors was, of course, to not be stressed. Catch 22 situation there.

While nothing seemed to stop the night terrors, he found that reading Hermione's letters helped to calm him down. There was something soothing in her voice, no matter what she was writing, and staring at that fixed star of her words brought him back to himself. He didn't care if that was sappy, if it helped, he was doing it.

But now there were no more letters, and though his Patronus assured him she was well, his anxiety was ticking up. He was thankful he hadn't agreed to help Neville, as he was sure he would have been a terror to be around. The only way he kept the peace in his other duties was not to talk, but that rarely worked as he planned. Harry was sinking and he knew it, but there was nothing else he could do that he hadn't tried. He just needed to hold out a little bit longer…

He was making it, barely, and then one morning he woke up to a letter from Hermione. Ripping it open, he set his bed's quieting charm up to high and read the letter.

Dear Harry,

Hi, it's me again. I know this must sound repetitive at this point, but I miss you guys. It's harder than I thought being away from everyone. Cedric is really supportive, but he's struggling too. It's just the mood here is...kind of hard to explain.

So, nothing is happening. We're not fighting any battles, no one is storming the keep. That should be reassuring, but it's not. The Factionists just won a major battle where we took heavy losses, and the fact they aren't pressing their advantage makes me think they're planning something. It feels like there's this pressure building and when it finally explodes, it's going to be bad. Like really, really bad.

Everyone can sense it, I think. We're on edge and restless, but there's nowhere to expend our energy. So we try to pretend we're not as freaked out as we are. Telling jokes, laughing, chatting about inane things. What makes it worse is being trapped underground. It feels claustrophobic, like I'll never see the sun again.

Harry found himself nodding along. He understood completely, the crushing sense that everything was about to go wrong. It was a terrible feeling, but at least now he could help share that burden. He wished she'd told him weeks ago.

Harry, before I started writing you letters, I promised myself I would try to be positive. I wanted to make things better between us, not worse. Most of all, I didn't want you to worry about me, any more than I'm sure you are right now. Perhaps this isn't the time for jokes, but I always find it funny how deeply caring you are under all that feigned indifference.

But it's hard not to share with you how I really feel. I'm so terrified Harry and I…really wish you were with me. I wonder if that's selfish? To wish I could see you and…I don't know. I would give anything to hold you, I always feel safe in your arms. So I hope that when I see you, you don't mind if I give you the biggest hug and just keep you with me for awhile.

Harry felt a pang in his heart, as if it got splinched trying to Apparate. How often had he longed for the same thing! He read on eagerly, not sure what he was hoping to see.

I'm going to be completely honest with you now, because you asked. This...isn't easy.

The truth is that it's been hard for me to write these letters. Every day I struggle with my feelings for you, and I go through highs and lows. I read your letters, pouring over every line as my heart soars, thinking, "Yes, he loves me!" But later, my heart sinks as I realize I can't read you at all. I always misinterpret the depth of your affection, and I get hurt over and over again.

Harry stopped reading. He felt numb, except his entire body was on fire.

I know someday, if you decide you don't want me, I'll get over these feelings. We'll be the best of friends, as we always were. But for now, I am tortured. I don't want to burden you with this, or rush you into making a decision. So I joke and pretend my heart isn't hurting.

But now that you know the truth, what do I even expect you to say? I don't know. I'll probably regret writing this, but my brain is such a muddled mess I can't even think straight when it comes to you anymore. I just want to hold you until I can feel calm and steady again, but I don't know if that will ever happen.

It's okay if you take your time responding. Think of some nice way to let me down, if you want, or just ignore everything I said. But please write back. I don't even know what else to say, except…I love you, Harry, and I miss you so much.

Hermione


Harry's father was concerned.

Mr. Verres and his wife had been at Hogwarts for three weeks, and had spent most of that time apart from their son. Harry had visited them a total of three times, and it had only been for brief check ins. "How is the food? Are your rooms clean and comfortable?" Those were the kind of questions a bellhop would ask, not his own child.

Granted, Harry had never been an outwardly affectionate son. He was more concerned with protecting his family than giving them hugs. Mr. Verres could relate to that, not to mention he was sure the…tension between him and his wife wasn't helping, to say the least. But they were putting that aside for now, to be there for Harry. Yet he was nowhere to be seen.

Mr. Verres heard rumours, though, from the other parents. As the Boy-Who-Lived, he was a frequent topic of conversation with the wizarding families. They noticed things, like how Harry was frequently absent from the dining hall and his classes, and that he looked worn out and anxious. Mr. Verres sought out Neville—the only person his son kept in contact with—and even he hadn't heard from Harry.

The castle was big and confusing, with pathways leading to nowhere, but Mr. Verres made it his mission to find his son. After much trouble, he finally found Harry's lab, but it was locked and no one answered his knock. On his way to the Ravenclaw common room, he got lost several times before finding himself standing on a frigid balcony, the evening sun dipping below the horizon.

"Dad? What are you doing here?"

Turning around, Michael Verres saw his son with his wand out, scanning the balcony as he talked.

"McGonagall sent me a message," said Harry. "She…saw you wandering aimlessly around the castle. Are you well?"

He felt he should be asking his son that question. Harry was pale as a ghost, thinner than usual with a hollow look to his eyes. He felt like a terrible father for not doing this sooner.

"I was looking for you," said Mr. Verres gently. "Do you have a moment?"

"Not really," said Harry.

"Please, it's important," he said. "I won't keep you long."

After a few moments of hesitation, Harry walked out to the balcony. "I suppose It's been a few weeks since my last familial conversation, so I can spare five minutes. How is…how's mom?"

"She is doing well, but she's worried about you, we both are. We know you're almost grown up and can handle your own problems, but we also don't think this war is a burden anyone can handle alone. So I hope you know you can come to us with anything, even if we won't understand. It would help us if you could tell us even a little of what you're going through."

Harry sighed. "Dad, I know you're trying to help, but really it's fine. Unless you've got a cure for night terrors, in that case I'm all ears."

"Afraid I'm fresh out," said his dad, growing more concerned by the second. "But I think one of the ladies your mother stays with is a magical healer, so perhaps-"

"Tried it, didn't help," Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Look, I've got a lot on my plate, but I'll be okay once it's all over. For now I'm making sure I get at least two meals and 4 hours of sleep every day. You can tell that to Mom so she'll feel better…if you guys are still talking."

Michael Verres gazed at his son steadily. "You know, it's strange how much you remind me of myself. When I was young, I never asked for help either. I didn't want anyone to see me break a sweat. Besides, people generally were incompetent, and even the ones who weren't, I didn't want to become a burden to them.

"But as I got older, I learned the opposite is true. It is a sign of maturity to rely on others, to let them help you and advise you. Sometimes just having a sounding board can clear up confusion and provide a fresh perspective, which was something I desperately needed at times. I expect you do too."

Harry was silent for a long time.

"Maybe you're right Dad, but…I wouldn't even know where to start. I'm not good at this kind of thing."

"Neither am I," said Mr. Verres. "But I think I might be uniquely qualified to understand, even if you explain it poorly." As the silence stretched, his father took a stab in the dark. "Are you worried about Hermione?"

Harry flinched, and his dad knew he was on the right track. "I know it must be hard to be apart from her. She's a special girl. Are you still writing letters?"

"We have been writing, but I don't know…how to respond to the last one."

"Why? What did she say…ahh. Let me guess, there's an unrequited affection?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Not exactly. We both care for each other it's just…complicated. Anyway, I don't want to talk about it. We'll be out on this balcony for hours. Besides, I don't know if you're exactly qualified to be handing out love advice."

"Ouch," said his dad. "Well, I disagree. I think I'm uniquely qualified to give you life advice. You can learn from my mistakes."

Harry didn't respond for a moment, staring at the setting sun. He seemed to wrestle with his feelings before sighing heavily. "I suppose…I've tried everything else."

Harry looked so exhausted and small, and for a moment Mr. Verres saw his four year old son, crying over a scraped knee and running to his parents for band-aids and kisses. His mother, usually.

"Thank you, Harry. I know we're both novices at this, but I'll do my best. Also…I suppose I should get this out of the way. If you have any questions about what happened between your mother and I…"

"No, I figured that out already. You're both nothing alike—different goals, interests, everything. You fight all the time. I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner."

"Well, that's part of it, but not the whole story. I'd have to say when it's all said and done, it's mostly my fault. We were happy once, and I ruined it. I think explaining why might help you, or at least give you another perspective."

Harry didn't look convinced, but didn't interrupt. His father went on. "I met your mother in college. She was funny, sweet, and very beautiful. In high school, I'd never had much attention from girls, had few friends, and generally had low confidence. It was a whirlwind romance, and in one year we were married. We were both young and in love, but I realize now that I made that decision in part because I was lonely."

"The first few years were wonderful, but that all changed once I got into a very competitive PhD program. Your mother wanted a child, but as an adjunct professor taking classes, I wasn't ready. So I asked her to wait. I spent a lot of time away from home, and I kept telling myself that would change once my career took off.

"I was working under a well-regarded biochemist who was planning a research trip abroad, and he was picking assistants to go with him. I really wanted to be chosen, so I applied and picked up all of the extra work that I could. He initially said he wanted me to come, but then eventually chose someone else. When I asked him why, he said it was because the trip would last an entire year. He didn't want me to be apart from my wife for that long.

"He thought he was doing me a favour, but I was furious. I barely spoke to your mother for a month. Our anniversary came and went, and I didn't even celebrate it. When she got upset, as she rightly should, I yelled and…said some things I regret."

His father rubbed a hand through his hair. "Then, a few days later, we heard that Mr. and Mrs. Potter had died, orphaning their newborn son. Petunia was the only living relative, so we took you in. I remember that day we bought you home, and how lovingly Petunia looked as she placed you inside your crib. We talked about you all night—where you'd go to school, what kinds of books you ought to read, how we would give you the best that life could offer, things we'd never had." Mr. Verres smiled fondly. "From that day on, you were our world. Being your parents was what kept us together, but you were also our greatest joy.

"I started spending more time at work because I thought that's what I needed to do to fulfil those dreams. Your mother, though, understood better than I did how to provide for a family. She poured her heart and soul into raising you, and made our house into a home. Even when I worked late, she always had a warm supper ready for me, and she never missed a single one of your science competitions.

"Once I'd made tenure, we decided to have more children. But we never were able to conceive, and it broke your mother's heart. Mine too, because I could not give her what she wanted. I didn't know what to do, so I buried myself in work. And your mother threw herself into being the best wife and mother she could be. I think that was when we really started to drift apart, and well…I think you know the rest."

After a few moments of silence, Harry asked carefully. "If you could go back and do it all again, marry mum, raise me…would you? Or do you think you would have been happier living a different life?"

His father contemplated his answer.

"There's no doubt I would have had to compromise less, but happier?" He shook his head. "All the time I spent at work, every accomplishment I made there, feels less important than it used to. There was always a new paper to write, a new topic to research, and when I look back, I see that decades have gone by and I never achieved what I longed for. And along the way, I lost sight of the things that mattered most."

Mr. Verres took a moment to calm the tears that threatened to come. He cleared his throat. The silence stretched on.

"So…you never think about how you could have become more?" asked Harry. "A world-renowned scientist who did ground-breaking research that brought enlightenment to humanity? An astronaut paving the way to a new home on Mars?"

His father quirked an eyebrow. "You think that I thwarted a grand destiny by choosing to marry a pretty girl I met in college? Darn, I guess I should have chosen the ugly one."

Harry looked flustered. "Well, not exactly, just…it's weird not to wonder. I mean, I wasn't even your biological son, but your whole life changed because of me and mum. You're smart enough you could have worked for NASA, you could have achieved anything."

His father smiled. "I remember you told me once that the greatest scientists were weirdos who let nothing distract them, especially girls. You've always been ambitious, and if it truly makes you happy, then you should devote yourself to your career ambitions. But don't let those ambitions trap you. Lofty plans are great, but sometimes our hearts know our path before our minds do, just like mine did on the day I met you.

"As for Hermione, she's not just some pretty girl. She's someone special. Your feelings for her aren't an obstacle to your success, in fact they will probably only help. So I hope you don't take too long realizing how much you care."

Harry swallowed. "Dad. It's not just that. Maybe it was once, but now…I'm terrified."

"Of what?"

"I…honestly don't know anymore. But it feels like it's more than just a fear of getting hurt, or not achieving my ambitions."

His dad waited a few moments for Harry to find the words.

"I feel like I'm not enough. What if I hurt her, dad?" He swallowed again. "I've already done it before. How do I know I won't be the worst thing that ever happened to her? I've been having so many nightmares. I couldn't live with myself, if…if…"

The look of terror that crossed his face then—like he was adrift at sea and couldn't tread water—gave Mr. Verres pause. His son had never been afraid of normal things, like spiders or small spaces. He'd criticize nightmares for their inaccuracies before letting them scare him. So whatever these dreams were, they must be on another level to shake him so badly.

But even so, he wouldn't let them drown his son. If he had to, he would break down the dream for him.

Mr. Verres's hand touched his son's shoulder.

"Harry, the future is not set in stone. Whatever your dreams and fears may say, you are not destined to hurt her, anymore than she is destined to be hurt. I can tell that you and Hermione seem to be a good match. She loves you in spite of your flaws, now you have to decide if you want to love her. This is a choice, not a feeling. Yes, there will be sacrifices, and some days you will bring out the worst in each other. So you need to make the decision now, and you need to make that choice every day. That for as long as you're together, you'll treat her the way she deserves, and love her with all your heart. If you can do that, Harry, then you can be enough for her."

The cloud over Harry's face lifted, and Mr. Verres hoped he might have gotten through to his son. Crushed the nightmares for good.

"But wait, Dad, you said my heart should guide me. If my feelings are telling me that I should stay away from her, do you think that's a sign? I feel like any choice I make I will regret, so if I really love her, I should make the choice that will hurt her the least. Right?"

Mr. Verres sighed. "Harry, you're a smart boy, but you do miss the point sometimes. Take your mother and I, for instance. Were we a perfect match? No, of course not. But the time I spent with her was some of the happiest in my life. Loving her is not something I will ever regret. And if I'm honest…I still do love her. I haven't given up hope." He rubbed his hands. "Anyway, your girl has gone off to war. Did you send her a care package yet?"


May 14th, 1996

It was dinnertime, but Harry skipped it, choosing instead to go to his room and pull out his stationary.

With quill and ink, he scribbled his 3rd attempt at a letter.

Dear Hermione,

I hope you are doing well. I've missed you—

Harry almost scratched through the line, then stopped himself. At this rate, he'd run out of stationary before he got past the third sentence. No, it was time to commit.

I hope you are doing well. I've missed you more than I can say. I don't know how to start this letter, so I hope you don't mind if I speak from the heart. I'll do my best not to ramble.

Life has been extremely busy for me. Many fears and concerns preoccupy my thoughts, to the point I have trouble sleeping. I can't tell you everything I'm doing, just as I'm sure you can't share all your secrets with me. I wish I could, though. The Hermione voice in my head, lovely as it sounds, just doesn't compare with the real version. Besides, I feel like if you were here, it would be so much easier to handle what's happening right now.

In the midst of all my work, my thoughts are filled with you constantly. I have so many questions. How are you? Are you getting enough sleep? Are you feeling sad? Are they feeding you real food, or is it that tragic baked fish again? I read your letters eagerly, hungry for any information about you. They're the bright spot of my day, reminding me that my closest companion is still at my side, my angel of the battlefield. When I have trouble sleeping, I re-read your letters, and they help me more than you know.

(Speaking of food, I baked you some cookies. It took me three attempts to bake them—the house elves got annoyed and I think they did some magic on the oven for the last batch. Anyway, I hope they taste good.)

You mentioned in your last letter that you were worried about me feeling burdened. Hermione, if only you knew how happy I am to be bothered by you. You could never be a burden to me, not in 1000 years. If my guardian angel needs me, then I will always be there.

I've already told you some of my problems, and you've given me excellent advice. Others I have kept to myself, because like you, I don't wish to be a burden. Yet I value your advice, and someone wise told me that love is a choice you make. After I tell you everything, I'd like to know your decision. I think I've finally made mine.

He paused, his quill tapping at the next line.

First off, I am an idiot, Hermione. You offered me your heart, and I rejected you, stating that my work was more important than you. I have thought long and hard about what you mean to me, and I realize my concept of reality missed the most vital detail. My mission might be to save the world, or it might not be, but—I simply cannot do it without you. You're the most important component, the only indispensable piece in the entire system, and without you the entire thing ceases to function—

Uggh, he sounded he considered her a part of computer, how romantic was that? Maybe he'd delete that in rewrites.

Well, that was rambling, but if you'll indulge your nerdy scientist, I hope you'll see my point. The truth is, I need you. I'd rather lose my right arm than go through life without you. You know my plan is to be a scientist, to use the power of magic to discover immortality and save the world. Will you do this with me? Can you be my partner, and will you let me be yours? More importantly, can you forgive me for being an idiot, and will you give me a chance to prove how much I love you?

It won't always be easy, and part of that will be my fault. A scientists' work is gruelling, research into immortality doubly so. I don't know what kind of future you'll have with me, but it won't be anything normal. Also, in case you haven't noticed, I'm rather insufferable. The fact that you still like me, after everything I've put you through, continues to baffle me.

But I promise, if you're with me, I will devote myself to becoming the man you deserve. Someone who challenges you to be your best, while cheering you on as you soar. Someone who understands you, yet treasures you for the mystery you are. And someday, I'll be the man who loves you enough to remake the world for you, so that eternity will be ours to explore together.

This was...incredibly bold, he realized, and yet all true. He left it in, and thought hard about what to say next.

But in the meantime...please be careful out there, Hermione. I hate to say it, but I don't think your fears are unfounded, and I worry for you constantly. I know you can take care of yourself, and you probably think I'm paranoid sending my Patronus to you every night, but it's literally the only way I can sleep. Please, for my sake, wear your protection charms and stay vigilant—or as Moody would say 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE!'

I keep having nightmares about you…

He erased the last line. It was too much to talk about those nightmares; in fact, it was almost enough to make him lose his nerve. He stopped, took a few deep breaths, then continued.

Billions of years from now, our sun will explode and cease to give light, and in trillions of years our universe will collapse in on itself. And even then, Hermione, I will love you, and I will be by your side. We'll live forever in a new universe, under the expanse of a new set of stars we'll call home. Please come back to me. I can't wait to see you again and tell you all these things in person.

All my love,

Harry

He gave the letter a kiss, then folded it, placing it in a box with the cookies. Charming the box so that only Hermione could open it, he called for the fastest owl and sent it off.

Watching it depart south, he checked his watch. It was 5:26 pm. He estimated that—based on the distance between Hogwarts and the Ministry, combined with the average speed of an enchanted owl, that she'd receive the package anywhere between 7:37 to 8:05 pm. The owl should fly back a bit quicker with no burden, so he'd receive confirmation of delivery no later than 9:30 pm, give or take a few minutes.

Harry went down to dinner, forced himself to eat a few things before the last of the food vanished. He went to his DA meeting, and he trained with his classmates until 9:00 pm.

He got ready for bed, every so often checking for his owl. When 9:30 passed, Harry grew nervous. He was sure it was paranoia, she was probably just busy. This wasn't the sort of letter you scribbled a reply to, after all. Still, Harry couldn't shake the feeling something was wrong, and he found himself descending to the owlery in his pyjamas around 10:15.

His battered white owl found him two minutes later, the undelivered package around his neck. The fringes of the owl's feathers were blackened with soot. It cooed sadly at him.

No.

Harry drew his wand.

I refuse to accept it.

He cried out, "Expecto Patronum!"

His Patronus appeared, blazing hot as a sun.

"Find Hermione! Protect her with your life!"

The Patronus vanished.