A/N: Warning — some light fluff ahead lol. But plot, too.

Coming Up…

Having his arm around her should've sent chills down her spine…. But there would likely be terrible consequences for her — one thing Harry couldn't protect her from was the Weasley women.

Pearl Eye

Chapter 8

Forgotten Object

"Weave left! Weave right! Come on, Hermione! You've got to pick up the pace!"

Hermione could hardly breathe — she wasn't the exercising type. And Harry was unrelenting today.

For two months, Hermione had been training with Harry. After the initial shock of learning she was the last Aylary, and that she was the "real" Chosen One, a blind ambition took hold. She vowed to take down the villainous fiend, one who, through three wars, had massacred thousands of wizards and Muggles alike in the name of blood supremacy. He'd take no more lives, including hers. Though she was new to this world, determination fueled her, and she vehemently prepared for whatever lay ahead. Because she still had no idea how the road ahead would look.

It'd be an understatement to say that having Harry Potter as a teacher helped. While Hermione studied as many Defense Against the Dark Arts books as she could — access to Harry's extensive library didn't hurt — theory was very different from practice. Sure, Hermione tended to be good at both, but when it came to Defense Against the Dark Arts? Applying theory to practice felt damn near impossible.

"OUCH!" A shock hit her shin as she tried to bob left.

Harry stopped his attack against her. The two battled in the expansive snow-covered front lawn on the Potter property, having their usual DADA practice. But calling it battling was a bit of a stretch. As an amateur, Harry was going easy on her. But, still, Hermione was struggling to keep up.

Hermione leaned down, hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath and soothe her racing heart. Instead of shooting deadly hexes at her, he was shooting harmless shocks that only frazzled Hermione for a moment. But the moment was lasting longer than she liked.

Moving forward with a lazy grin, Harry asked, "You alright?"

She didn't move from her position, just lifted her head to glare at the boy. While Hermione was dripping with sweat despite the winter air, Harry looked like he'd merely taken a stroll, not a drop of sweat in sight. Which didn't surprise Hermione. He was Head Auror, after all. The simple exercise she was doing was a stroll in the park to him.

"Do I… look… alright?" Her words came between each shallow breath.

"Hold your hands over your head," he instructed.

If possible, Hermione's eyes narrowed even more. "What, is this another exercise?"

He laughed. "No, it makes it easier to breathe."

She inhaled deeply, then did as told. After a couple of seconds, her breath began to calm, her heart quitting its race.

The boy across from her crossed his arms over his chest, and Hermione couldn't help but appreciate his lean physique. Even though it was winter, Harry only wore sweatpants and a sporty long-sleeved shirt. Simple, yes, but with his arms crossed that way, his arms bulging? She almost salivated at the sight.

"Hermione, have you ever exercised in your life?' He smirked as he continued, "Or walked?"

That snapped her back to reality, his attractiveness diminishing instantly. Feigning to kick him, she grumbled, "Ha-ha. Very funny. I blame the snow. It's harder to run in it when you're not an athletic superstar."

He was back in coach-mode. "Listen, you've got to get in shape to avoid these hexes. It's not just about knowing the spell, which you're very good at performing! It's about avoiding the spells from others — they may be just as good as you are at casting, right?"

Hermione finally let her hands fall from their resting position atop her head. "I know, you're right. DADA is just something I'm not good at!" She wanted to say, "And I'm good at everything," but chose humility instead. She was frustrated with herself. Why was DADA so difficult for her to grasp? She picked up everything so quickly.

But this? It was hard — and so much was on the line.

Her frustration began to turn into tears, but she forced them back, curling her fingers into fists to regain her composure.

"I'll get it. I'll practice three times a day to make sure I get it."

Harry dropped his arms to the side and stepped closer to her. "Hey, don't beat yourself up. You're doing a great job! For a first-year student, this exceeds expectations. I know I'm always saying it, but you're performing at a 5th-year level."

"I am, huh?" She couldn't completely control her cockiness.

"You are," he smirked, then patted her shoulder. It reminded her of that first time he touched her in the kitchen, a friendly pat that left her feeling like a bro.

She ignored the drop in her stomach and turned to look at the manor. In the window's frame stood Ginny and Mrs. Weasley like bitter poltergeists staring at a world they could no longer occupy. Had they actually been ghosts, Hermione knew they'd undoubtedly haunt and torment her forever. Well, they've got the tormenting down to a science, she thought.

"They're staring again," she mumbled to Harry.

He shrugged. "Let them. I told Ginny I'm helping you with your DADA homework. They have nothing to be suspicious about."

Hermione bit her lip. Since they'd begun training, the budding feelings they felt had all but disappeared, at least for Harry. Hyper-focused on training Hermione, her theory that he'd only gotten close to do his job strengthened. Maybe her feelings were unrequited. Maybe the moments between them had only been in her imagination. Or maybe he did only see her as a bro.

She watched as Harry ran back to his position. Her coach yelled with a clap, "Alright, one more time. Come at me and dodge my hexes again. Ready? Let's go!"

Hermione sucked in a deep breath, centering her attention again on why she was doing this. Her life and the lives of so many others were at risk. Because people out there, in this world she'd only inhabited for six months, wanted her dead. And she needed to know how to defend herself in case Harry couldn't.

She narrowed her focus on the task at hand and went to work.

He threw hex after hex at her, but she dodged each of them. As she neared Harry, Hermione pulled her wand from her arm's holster, and as a hex came straight for her chest, she put up a shield, bursting through it to tackle Harry to the ground, falling with him.

Hermione gave a yell of victory as she rolled onto her back, breathless. "I… did it!" She breathed between each word, arms weakly pumping into the air, triumphant. "I… got… you!"

Harry lay on his back beside her. He laughed with a wide grin, casting a warming charm over both of them. Then he turned his head to witness her exhausted celebration. "Yes, you vanquished me. Nice shield, by the way."

"Right?!" she exclaimed, turning her head to face him too. "I finally did it. And you didn't see it coming." She continued her victory by making a snow angel.

Harry watched, gently smiling at her, "Sure didn't."

Hermione laughed and looked again at the sky. "Liar. You're a freaking Auror. You could've stopped me the moment I took a step."

He laughed again — it had become her favorite sound. "Hey," he said. "It doesn't take away from how good that shield was. You raised it at the perfect time."

"I should've twisted my wrist just a bit more to the right and—"

"Don't start. Defense Against the Dark Arts is more about intuition than perfection. There's no time for perfection on the battlefield."

Hermione's smile disappeared. She turned her head to look into his eyes. "Is that what it was like for you? When you… when you fought Voldemort? Instincts above all else?"

Harry's eyes strayed to the clouds — his smile had disappeared too. "Not just Voldemort. Everybody."

She nodded. In their two months together, she'd learned to read when he was struggling to express his feelings. In those times, she patiently waited — it was important to give him a moment to gather his thoughts with no pressure. So she lay on her back again and waited calmly.

Then he said quietly, "I had to learn to trust my instincts in my first year at Hogwarts. It was a never-ending succession of fighting for my life. Even after Voldemort, the fighting didn't stop. I signed up for life as an Auror, so it never stops."

"And now you're fighting for me," she whispered. She hated to drag Harry into another cycle of fighting for his life.

He saw her wheels turning and sat up, resting his arms on his knees to stare down at her. "Hey, don't go there. None of this is your fault. Just as much as being The Chosen One wasn't mine."

Hermione followed suit and sat up, too, her legs stretched out before her. Twirling her wand between her fingers, she said, "Logically, I understand. But you've been through so much. I hate that—"

"That's why I'm the perfect person to help you through this! Now, get up!" He stretched his hand out. Hermione took it and let Harry do the work of lifting her. "We have one more training to do."

She suppressed her groan. If it'd keep her safe to accomplish her larger mission, she'd do anything.

"Same drill?" She asked.

"No," Harry said. "We're going to do something a bit differently."

She waited as Harry turned his back to her and lowered himself to the ground. Ignoring the burning in her arms and legs, she stretched, leaning down to touch her toes. When she was up, Harry was staring at her with a devious look.

"Ready to dodge some more throws?"

Hermione crouched, wand in hand. "Give me your best shot."

And as soon as the words left her mouth, a snowball hit her smack dab in the face.

She let out a gasp and yelled with a laugh, "Harry!"

"Hey, this is all a part of your training!" He yelled back. And so the snowball fight commenced. Hermione shot snowball after snowball and, for a second, she felt like they were two kids on a playground instead of the two people obliged to save the world.

At that moment, though, they were regular humans having a good time. Two magical folk laughing without a care in the world.

"Uncle, uncle!" Harry screamed with his hands up, just as Hermione launched a final snowball, hitting him square in the face.

She laughed, watching Harry brush the flakes away, revealing a smile.

"Okay, truce?" she called out to him.

"Truce!"

The two met in the middle, still giggling. "Is that what you call training?"

"Yeah, because that's how you remember it's not all bad."

At his words, Hermione smiled more. This was the perfect way to ease the stress she felt. He knew exactly what to do at the mere sight of her impending distress. It made her feel warm inside.

Then Harry threw his arm around her shoulder, guiding her back to the house. "Remember, you're not alone in this. Okay?"

Having his arm around her should've sent shivers down her spine that had no connection to the falling snow. But there would likely be terrible consequences for her — one thing Harry couldn't protect her from was the Weasley women. But the two women shouldn't be worried. The way he flung his arm around her was nothing short of chummy. She was a total bro. And while she hated to say it, his arm circled her like she was a kid sister.

The thought made her cringe — his arm suddenly felt like a gross tentacle trapping her.

Using the Weasley women's vengeful stares as an excuse, she slipped from beneath his arm, waving him ahead despite his protests and pretending to tie her shoe. His gait slowed, but Hermione moved just as slowly until he finally entered the house.

She let out a sigh of relief. While it was only an excuse, the women would make Hermione pay for having fun with Harry. Hopefully, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley saw her shake off Harry and see it as a sign of cooperation. See that she wasn't a threat, which Hermione now believed to be true. After all, Harry's arm told her everything she needed to know — he saw her as a sister.

Cringe back in place, Hermione entered the house and headed to her room. She desperately needed a shower, and she had to serve dinner in two hours.

On her way, Ginny came behind her with an obnoxious, "Ahem."

Hermione stopped in her tracks, rolling her eyes before she had to face the Mistress of the house. When Hermione turned, she plastered on her smile — the one meant for the Weasleys. "Oh, hi Mrs. Potter. May I do something for you?"

The redheaded woman looked her up and down, then took a step closer to her. A smile came to her face as she said, "You know what? Call me Ginny."

Hermione tried her best to hide her shock and horror. What was going on here? Why was Ginny being polite with a terrifying smile stretching her cheeks? The terror only increased as she remembered the conversation she overhead months before. The Weasley women had nefarious plans, and Hermione was apparently in the middle.

"Don't you understand?" Mrs. Weasley had asked her daughter over what they thought was a sleeping Hermione. "The dark and the light are vying for this girl because she's the key to something. And if we don't find out soon, our family will face repercussions."

A wave of fear coursed through her body at the memory. She understood many players wanted Hermione dead, but to think an enemy so easily slipped into her room? Hermione was terrified. When she had told Harry, anger flashed across his face.

"I promise, that will never happen again."

The next night, Hermione watched Harry cast several Protective Charms around her door, warding off anyone but Hermione and those she allowed into her space. Like a vampire, the only way someone could enter was if Hermione invited them in. And no circumstance would convince Hermione to let any Weasley into her room. Of course, Harry also taught her a few uncomplicated charms that she could use whenever she felt unsafe.

She looked at the woman in front of her — she wanted nothing more than to escape to her warded room. But she had to first get through this.

In response to using her first name, Hermione said, "O-okay. Ginny, what can I do for you?"

"I saw you practicing with Harry today." She looped her arm through Hermione's and walked towards the maid's bedroom. Dumbfounded, Hermione fell into a reluctant step. "Looked kind of like training to me. You're doing some advanced wand work out there!"

The affable tone didn't fool Hermione. "Yeah. Well, I'm a bookworm. Since I'm doing so well in DADA at school, he's teaching me more advanced work. It's great."

Ginny stopped walking and spun around to stand in front of Hermione. To the younger girl's disbelief, Ginny clasped Hermione's hand between hers. "Hermione, I feel so guilty for how I've been treating you. As you…" she cleared her throat, "as you heard, Harry and I are having marital problems, and I've been taking my insecurities out on you. I hope you can forgive me for my awful behavior."

What the fuck is going on?! Hermione was at a loss for words because she clearly had ulterior motives. "Uh, Ginny, it's okay. I understand."

She let out a relieved so and commenced their walk. "Good, good. You know, I've been thinking. Since I'm around more than Harry, I'd be happy to teach you some more defensive moves. I'm not just a housewife. In school, I was one of the best in my class — quite the opponent in a duel." Ginny turned a gleeful face to Hermione. "After holiday, I'll have much more free time. I can teach you then!"

While she was suspicious, Hermione raised her brows at the word holiday. Months before, she decided she'd be going home, but with so much training and reading, she forgot all about asking her employers for time off. "Oh, speaking of the holidays! I'd like to go home and spend Christmas with my family."

Genuine joy spread across Ginny's face. "W-well, of course! When do you want to go?!"

Hermione almost laughed — so this was how to make Ginny smile? By leaving.

"My last class before winter break ends in a few days. I can leave the morning of Christmas Eve if that's alright."

Ginny grinned until it slightly faded. "I suppose my husband already gave you permission, yes?"

"No, you're the first person I've mentioned this to."

That made Ginny smile again. "Oh. Well, I say yes and will tell him we won't be needing your services for our annual holiday party."

Hermione could only imagine a decadent and pretentious affair where the wealthiest wizards and witches gathered to discuss politics and power in drunken debauchery. She was grateful to miss such an event.

"Thank you," Hermione simply said. "Well, I better get these clothes off. I'm pretty sweaty."

Ginny released Hermione's arm and took a step back. "Yes, well... good talk. I'll see you at dinner. And thank you for all the hard work you're doing. It hasn't gone unnoticed."

And with a tight-lipped smile, she left Hermione in a state of disturbed confusion.

"It doesn't surprise me. I imagine she attempted to enter your room again and recognized the protective wards."

Hermione nodded her agreement as she continued flipping through the book in front of her. It was midnight, and she and Harry sat in his library. While Hermione studied DADA theory and strategy at his desk, she imagined Harry was searching for any mention of the Aylary family and the pearl.

"Maybe someone missed something," he would say over and over again to himself every time he closed a book empty-handed. At first, the Order spent years scouring history books, then moved onto any book they could grab, hoping any information about the pearl would surface. And while Harry was on what seemed to be a fool's errand, he was nonetheless determined to find anything. Perhaps a single word would lead him closer to the Aylary pearl.

"Have you all considered that the pearl isn't physical but a metaphor?" Hermione asked as she pulled out a fresh piece of parchment.

"Yeah. Shacklebolt and Lupin are best at riddles and metaphors, so they've been dedicated to cracking that code if it exists. I've been on the hunt for a physical pearl."

"Hmm…" Something was clicking in Hermione's head, but she couldn't put her fingers on it exactly. There was a piece missing in their efforts — it was just out of sight in her mind's periphery. But she recognized she wouldn't crack the code at the moment and focused her attention on the task at hand. She'd written scroll after scroll of spells, hexes, and strategies. For Hermione, instinct didn't come easily in the field. She needed to understand the various parts that made the spell work, then practice and practice until it became natural. Harry didn't realize, she concluded, that he truly had a gift — most weren't innately good at DADA.

Hermione dipped her quill into the ink until she saw there was none left. "Harry, I'm out of ink. Do you have any?"

He pointed to the desk before laying onto his back again. "Should be in one of those drawers. Not sure if they're dried up, though. Haven't used this library in so long."

She smiled softly, watching him lay on the floor to stretch his arms into the air, hovering the book above his face to read it that way. She'd loved the time they spent together. No one would think it, but Harry had a great sense of humor — dare she say, he could be outright goofy at times. While they often had deep conversations, exploring their fears, hopes, and the daunting task they shared, they also had many laughs. Laughing eased the imminent pressure on their shoulders.

With a content sigh, she opened each drawer but stopped when she came across a thick book. Her curiosity piqued, she pulled it out and, with great effort, dropped the heavy book on the desk. The noise caught Harry's attention.

"Harry, what's this?"

The book was a deep burgundy with a lock on it. It must've been ages old.

"Ah, that's my family's grimoire. Been passed down for centuries."

Hermione's eyes widened as she snapped them to meet Harry's.

The grimoire. Hermione's mother gave her the family grimoire.

Concerned, Harry stood, instinctively putting his hand on his wand. "What? What's wrong, Hermione?"

"I have one. My mum gave it to me before I came here. I have it!"

Harry's mouth dropped. "Do you mean… you have the Aylary grimoire?"

"I-I can't believe I forgot about it. It felt more like an antique than something of substance. Like a teapot passed down generations that you display in a China cabinet. But maybe..."

There was nothing more to say. The two hurriedly crept out of the library into Hermione's room and straight to her closet, where she put her trunk. Instead of holding clothes, at least 50 books lay inside the chest. Seeing them made Harry scoff a laugh. "Really, Hermione?"

"What did you expect? I couldn't leave them all at home. Now get down here and help me!"

She and Harry removed all the books from the trunk until only the grimoire remained — the book that may have contained all the answers they sought, perhaps even the key to defeating Voldemort once and for all.

Shooting a nervous glance at Harry, she asked, "Ready?"

He only nodded, eyes glued to the grimoire.

Hermione pulled it out and started to open it until…

"Fuck, of course, it's locked!"

"Don't you have a key?"

"No… Can't I just use magic?" She pulled out her wand and began to say Alohomora, until Harry interrupted.

"Only a key can open a grimoire — and only a descendant can do it."

Her shoulders slumped. "Damn it. This is why I thought it was more for decoration. I don't have a key." Then, she remembered that Christmas was around the corner. "Maybe my mum does! I'm going home for holiday! She was so protective of the book. She must have the key."

Harry's face dropped. "You're going home?"

Hermione smirked and patted his shoulder. "Look, I know you're going to miss me, but I haven't seen them since August. I need to go home."

But Harry wasn't smiling. The look on his face resembled the one he wore when he told her about the second prophecy.

As it always did, Hermione's heart began racing. "What? What, Harry?"

"I was hoping I'd have more time. That it wouldn't come to this… but The Order is adamant that it happen soon."

She was becoming impatient. Sharply, she asked, "Adamant about what, Harry? What is it?"

He looked up. "Now that you're back, now that you're suspected to be the prophesied heir by those who know of the Aylary line… we're afraid your mum and dad might be in danger."

If it could, Hermione's heart would've burst open. "What do you mean? They have nothing to do with this!"

"Slytherin desperately wanted to exterminate the Aylary line. And Voldemort, being Slytherin's heir, is dedicated to fulfilling what he started. And Voldemort's followers will do anything for their Lord."

"And my mom's an Aylary." She gulped. "C-can't you send an Order member to protect them? Cast wards? Like how you're protecting me?"

"We need all hands on deck, here. But… The Order has a solution. I've been fighting them on it for months, trying to find any other way to protect your family, but. I've found nothing. It's what I've really been researching in those books. A way to protect your family without having to…"

Tears were coming to her eyes. Voice strained, "Without having to do what?"

He took her hand then looked directly at her. "Without having to obliviate them."

"No," she whispered. Hermione had learned plenty about obliviation at school. To obliviate someone robbed them of selected memories, memories that could be replaced on ones of the Obliviator's creation. "I can't do that."

"If your family no longer has ties to you, and they live in a secret location, they'll be protected from any harm. When The Order could, they've guarded your family home. But we can only do so much. The only way we can guarantee their safety is if they're far away… with no memory of you."

Hermione hung her head low. She didn't know she'd lose so much by having this responsibility. If she selfishly didn't obliviate her parents and ran away with them, she'd be putting the world at risk. And when it came down to it, the lives of millions were more important than her relationship with her parents.

The thought hurt her more than anything.

"Okay," she whispered.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I wish it didn't have to come to this."

"So when I go home, I'll get the key from my mum and then… obliviate her."

"And when we destroy the pearl, we'll be able to reverse it! It's not forever."

She looked at him and nodded, her determination coming back in place. "Right. Once we get that pearl, everyone will be okay."

Harry pulled her into a hug. Burying her head into his chest, she forced herself not to lose control. Now wasn't the time to fall apart. She could do that after they found the pearl.

No wonder Harry wore such a perfect veneer. If he didn't, he'd descend into darkness, just like he said.

She pulled away and rubbed her hands down her face. "Okay. I'll study how to do it a-and obliviate them when I go home."

"No, you won't, Hermione. I'll do it for you."

Hermione snapped her head up. "You're coming with me?"

He smiled. "Of course I am. I'd never leave you alone to do something so… so heavy. I won't make you carry it alone."

She let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding and buried her head into his chest again. "Thank you, Harry… Thank you."

With slow circles, he soothingly rubbed her back. "You're not alone, Hermione. You'll never be alone."

Up Next…

Hellos and Goodbyes