Authors Note: I'm staggered at how many reviews this story has so far received, I just hope this chapter comes up to expectation. Have a wonderful Christmas everyone!

Chapter Two

"Right then, I think that's everything. Megan, please ensure that you get this year's A-Level Geography syllabus to me ASAP. The rest of you, please amend your Year 11 lesson plans to take into account the latest changes to the National Curriculum. Why those idiots at Whitehall had to go and change them again, is beyond me."

Humphrey Maxfield-Smithe, the portly head teacher of Mayfield School sat back and looked around the table at his staff. Most, like him, wore disgruntled looks, not relishing the thought of hastily reshuffling lesson plans, thanks to the latest changes to the National Curriculum introduced by the government the week before.

"Does anyone have any questions?" Humphrey continued. When no one responded, he shrugged and heaved his large bulk to his feet. "Right then, thanks for attending. You know where I am if you have any queries. I'd better dash, or I'll be late for the meeting with the school governors." He lumbered out of the room, the jacket of his suit swinging behind him.

"As if we haven't got enough to do," Max Branvil, a stocky brown haired man in his fifties and the head of the history department, scowled at his fellow teachers. "It's only two weeks into the term, and I already feel as though I need a holiday - now this!"

"Cheer up," Megan Lynton, a striking blonde, pulled her gaze from the window and turned to him. "Be grateful you're not in old Humpy's bad books. He spends most of his time shooting me dirty looks and clicking his tongue disapprovingly."

"Well, if you had submitted your lesson plan on time like the rest of us, he'd have no reason to grumble at you," Hermione Granger commented as she focused her attention on the people around her with an effort, getting to her feet and gathering her papers with hands that were not quite steady.

"Hermione, the man's got it in for me," Megan responded dully as she too got up. "He always finds something to grumble about."

Teachers began exiting the room in twos and threes, most wearing looks of irritation at the thought of having to rearrange their lesson plans with so little notice.

Hermione glanced at Megan, distracted from her own problems as she studied her friend. It was unlike Megan to sound so fed up; she was normally the sol of optimism, but today she seemed glum and worried. "Coming?"

"I suppose." The other woman sighed as they left the room together. "Are you free this afternoon?"

"Yes, but I've got an old friend coming round this evening."

"Oh, come on, let's go back to my place. There's something I want to discuss with you. You'll be home in plenty of time to greet your friend." Megan had lowered her voice and glanced around her as they walked.

Hermione nodded; her friend definitely seemed deeply troubled. "Wait while I collect my things. I'll see you in ten minutes by the front doors."

Megan nodded and walked away leaving her alone in the long corridor. Stifling a yawn, Hermione made her way to her office and deposited her papers on the neatly ordered desk. The hastily arranged staff meeting hadn't been as arduous as usual, and for once, had finished within half an hour, which must have been a record.

She sat down in the swivel chair in front of her computer and stretched. She was weary and wanted nothing more than put her head down on her desk and sleep, but she couldn't. Shutting down the quietly humming system, she glanced automatically round the tidy office and sat back. Megan had been very preoccupied during the meeting and Hermione doubted it had anything to do with her unfinished lesson plans, for which she had been soundly berated by the impatient head teacher. She felt a dart of concern go through her, and hoped that all was well with her now closest friend.

She had first met the older woman soon after she had moved into her grandmother's cottage, situated not a five minutes walk from Mayfield. Megan had taken pity on the lonely and heartsick girl Hermione had been at the time, and had struck up conversations with her whenever they met in the small Somerset village in which they lived. Slowly, the two had built up a friendship as solid as any, and Megan had been instrumental in helping Hermione put her past behind her and build up her self-confidence. She and her husband Angus had named Hermione godmother to their two children, Brian now aged five, and Sophie who was three.

It was rare that Hermione saw Megan upset by anything; even old Humpy's scoldings and mutterings about her inadequacies as a teacher did not faze her. She simply shrugged them off. "Oh he won't fire me," she had laughed. "The man knows I'm the best geography teacher from here to London," a fact that was confirmed by the excellent GCSE and A-Level results her students achieved each year.

Hermione hoped that there was nothing wrong with one of the children, and swiftly gathered her things together. Locking the door to her office, she made her hurried way through the school. Students dressed in blazers and ties waved to her as she passed and she waved listlessly back. Soon she had reached the mahogany front doors and drew to a hold. Megan was waiting for her, her eyes unfocused as she stared at nothing in particular.

"Meg?" Hermione put a tentative hand on the other woman's arm to get her attention.

"Oh, Hermione, there you are. Shall we go?"

"Is everything ok? You looked as though the world was resting on your shoulders."

"Oh yes, fine. Come on, I'm starving," came the brittle response.

Hermione decided not to press the point until they were alone, and so nodded before pushing open one of the heavy front doors.

The two women stepped out on to the curving gravel drive that fronted the school and turned towards the small side gate which was rarely used. White clouds scudded across the pale blue sky, propelled by a brisk autumn breeze. Around them, the leaves were falling from the trees, bordering the path on which they walked in showers of reds and burnished oranges. Soon they had left the path behind, and were going through the small gate which lead into the quiet side road Megan's semi-detached house was situated on.

"That's the nice thing about a school like Mayfield," Megan commented as they went up her front path. "They don't care when you arrive or leave as long as you teach what you're suppose to and keep up to date with your paperwork." She grimaced. "God, I hate paperwork; I'm no good at it."

"Oh, honestly Meg, you make it sound like a chore. It's not difficult especially as we've got computers to do most of it for us," Hermione answered with a grin, as Megan went through open the front door and they stepped in to the cluttered hall.

"But you still have to tell the computer what to do, and that's what I find so mind boggling." The two women took off their outer clothes before going into the kitchen. "What would you like to eat? We did a big Tesco shop last night."

"Oh, as long as it's filling and tastes good, I don't mind," Hermione replied disinterestedly. Her normally healthy appetite had deserted her a while back, and food was simply something that had to be eaten to provide the body with energy, as she no-longer derived any enjoyment from it.

Megan had soon warmed up one of her vegetable casseroles, and the two was seated either side of the kitchen table, plates of food before them.

Hermione took a few bites, then pushed the food round her plate, her stomach starting to protest. Across the table, Megan wasn't eating either, but staring down into her plate, a faraway expression on her face. She got up and began to make tea. "There's something I want your opinion on actually," she started, while pouring tea for them both.

"Oh?" Hermione spooned sugar into her tea and looked curiously at Megan. Maybe now she would find out the reason for her friend's preoccupation.

"Well, it's a bit awkward, and I'm not sure you'll believe me but-"

"Try me," Hermione encouraged as she took a sip of the strong sweet tea.

Megan stirred her own tea absently. "You see, it happened so quickly, part of me thinks I imagined it."

"Imagined what?" Hermione leaned forward with interest, not sure what to expect.

Megan hesitated for a moment longer and then launched into her story. "Well, last night, Sophie and Brian were watching television and arguing about what they were going to watch; he wanted to watch the Power Rangers, while she wanted to see Postman Pat. I was weeding the rose bed and the living room window was open, so I could hear every word and by peering up, see what they were doing. Anyway, the argument got out of hand and Brian tried to snatch the remote control from Sophie." She stopped and mopped her brow.

"Then what?" Hermione asked through dry lips, hands clasped tightly round her mug of tea.

"I'm not sure to be honest. One moment Brian had launched himself at Sophie, and the next, the antique vase Mum gave Angus and I as a wedding present, flew down from the top of the bookcase and hit him over the head and smashed. He fell backwards and lay still. I got up, but the bloody hose pipe tripped me up and so I fell sprawling into the weeds, but I could still see the window clearly. Next moment, there was a crack like a gunshot and a man, dressed in the weirdest clothes I've ever seen, just appeared. He pulled Brian out from under the wreckage of the vase and then waved this stick thing over the broken pieces of porcelain. Hermione, they just flew back together, just like that, and there it was, exactly as it had been before. The vase flew back to the top of the bookcase, and the man turned to Brian. He muttered something and prodded him with that stick, and turning to Sophie, he did the same. Then with another crack, he was gone. The whole thing couldn't have lasted for more than thirty seconds or so, but when I finally managed to untangle myself from the hose pipe and had run back to the house, there they both were, watching telly as though nothing had happened."

She stopped talking and took a large gulp of tea, her hand not quite steady on her mug.

Hermione sat staring at her, her mind numb. It couldn't be, but what other explanation was there? Sophie must have accidentally performed wandless magic.

"Don't look at me as though I'm mad." Megan's voice pulled Hermione from her thoughts and she blinked. "Look, I know it sounds preposterous, but I tell you, I saw it all."

"The children, were they all right?" Hermione asked faintly.

"Fine, not a mark on either of them, and the vase was okay as well. Actually, it's the vase that convinced me I wasn't dreaming."

"How?" Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer, but leaned forward anyway.

"Well, before last night, there was a crack running down one side from where Angus had dropped it a year or so back while cleaning it. Now there's nothing on it, not a scratch."

There was a silence as both women stared down at the table top, each immersed in doubts.

"I don't know what to say," Hermione finally said in a faltering voice, while butterflies began to churn in her stomach.

"Join the club," came the grim response. "If only I'd got to them earlier, then I may have caught that bloke and demanded some answers.

Before she could stop herself, Hermione let out a mirthless laugh, causing the blonde's eyebrows to shoot up.

"What? Do you think I imagined it?" Megan asked scowling. "Hermione, you know me, I'm the most unimaginative person there is. I tell you, I saw it."

"What did Angus think when you told him?" Hermione asked to give herself time to think.

Megan made a derisive sound in her throat. "He suggested I go and see the doctor, and soon."

Hermione's mind was whirling. Her friend looked more distressed than she had ever seen her, but how could she even begin to explain what had happened last night? At the same time, Megan had been her main source of support over the past six years, always there when she had needed her, asking no questions, simply offering her a shoulder to cry on when she had needed it. Hermione had lost count of the nights she had slept in the spare bedroom of this house. Megan and Angus had never once demurred when she had asked to stay the night as she couldn't stand to be alone in her own cottage. Now surely the least she could do was reassure her friend who, until now, had never asked anything of her?

Making up her mind, she smiled. "The thing is Meg, I think I know what happened but it's awkward and I'm not sure you'll believe me."

Megan dropped the spoon with which she had been fiddling, and stared across at her.

"Right now, I'm ready to believe anything, other than I'm going mad."

"Oh no, you're not going mad, it's just that what I'm about to tell you is so fantastic, you'll laugh."

She smiled inwardly, if anyone was going mad, it was her!

"Try me," Megan said in her turn, sitting back and watching Hermione closely.

Hermione took a deep breath,. What she said now might jeopardise her whole friendship with the other woman, but on the other hand, it might give her the peace of mind and reassurance she so desperately craved.

"Promise me that you won't tell a soul what I'm about to tell you," she started, staring hard at her friend.

"Of course not, you should know me better than that."

"I just had to make sure; if it ever got out you knew, there would be hell to pay." She grimaced, thinking of the statute of secrecy by which the world she had left six years ago was so rigorously governed.

"Well, I can assure you that it won't get out, so don't worry."

Hermione hesitated, picking her words with care. "Well, you know Barry Langford's boy? The one who is at boarding school, I can't remember his name."

"Who, Chris? Yes, of course, they live two doors down from us."

"Do you know anything about his school?"

"Not much, whenever I tried to ask him about in the holidays, he just clammed up. Barry says it's a school for gifted children, but whenever I ask him what subjects they study, he becomes evasive, I've not received a straight answer to this day and this is Chris's second year there." Megan frowned. "It's odd though, ah well, it's their business."

"I thought as much." Hermione smiled to herself; her suspicions were right. She was prepared to bet that the boy attended Hogwarts. Now all she had to do was convince Megan.

"Will you be shocked if I told you that I'm ninety-nine percent sure the boy attends a school for magic? "

Megan was silent for a moment, then said, "It depends, I suppose."

Beating back her own surprise at the other woman's response, she plunged in. "The thing is Meg, there are some individuals in the world who can do magic. I know it sounds crazy and farfetched, but there it is. They're born with the ability ,and naturally, such individuals tend to stick together, and over the ages, have built up a community of magical people. With me so far?" Megan nodded, eyes wide.

"Well, like all communities, they have a school, and all children who are born with magic are invited to study at this school when they reach the age of eleven. It's a very close-knit community, and one thing they're particular about, is keeping secret the fact they can use magic, from non-magical folk."

She stopped and looked at her friend who was now staring at the scrubbed table,not quite seeing it.

"Bloody hell…blimey," she muttered. "No way, it's madness. Magic? Who ever heard of such a thing?"

"Meg, that's what I'm telling you. You've seen it, you saw it last night when Sophie retaliated against Brian," Hermione said patiently.

"You mean Sophie did magic? My little tomboy do magic? But that's…" she trailed off, shaking her head.

"That's what?" Hermione asked, intrigued.

"Oh, Hermione, I don't know." A slightly desperate note had entered the blonde's voice. "Well, since Sophie was very little, things, you know, odd things have happened. Nothing on the scale of last night, but one time, the rattle she was playing with fell out of her cot. I was in the next room and distinctly heard it hit the floor. When I went in, it was in the cot as before. Another time, she tore the leg of her favourite jeans at playgroup. She was crying, so I said I'd mend it for her, but didn't get round to it. The next day, the jeans were as good as new. I thought that at the time I must have imagined it but after what I saw last night, I seriously started to doubt my own sanity."

"Oh, Meg, your sanity is intact. What you've witnessed is magic, untamed but most definitely magic! Sophie did accidental magic; she had no control over it. What's more, the person you saw come into the room was a wizard, who was sent there to make both Sophie and Brian forget what had just happened and to remove all traces of the accident. If he'd seen you, he would have altered your memory as well so you would have no recollection of what had happened."

"It's too fantastic, like something out of a child's story book," Megan shook her head again.

"I know, but believe me, it's true."

"Okay, let's say for a moment that this is all true, what will it mean for Sophie? How will it affect her?" Megan was trying to bring the conversation back onto territory she understood.

"It means that what you witnessed did actually happen. When Sophie reaches the age of eleven, she'll get a letter inviting her to go to Hogwarts, which is the UK's school for magic."

Megan leaned back in her chair and eyed Hermione thoughtfully. "I see. Would I be right in assuming that the friends who betrayed you are wizards?"

Hermione hesitated, and then nodded. If Megan was going to believe her, she had to be honest with her. She had told Megan an edited version of her life soon after they had first met, and now the other woman was trying hard to make some sense of things.

"And the man, the one who you were tricked into marrying?"

"Him as well." Hermione fixed her gaze on the microwave as unpleasant memories surfaced.

"Hermione, this is all a lot to take in. Could you show me…well, maybe…could you do some of this magic?" Megan asked tentatively.

"I haven't touched a wand in six years, and anyways, it' will be traced back here." She wished she could do something to prove her words, but knew that even attempting it would be worse than foolhardy.

"I tell you what, I may have some books in which the pictures move. I'll look for them when I get home."

"If you could, that would be brilliant. I just need some concrete proof to show that I'm not imagining it." Then, as quick as lightening, she changed the subject. "How about you Hermione? Why won't you tell me what's bothering you? Maybe I can help in some way, by listening if nothing else. They say a trouble shared is a trouble halved."

Hermione gave a high and brittle laugh. "Oh Meg, there's nothing wrong, I'm just a bit overworked at the moment. A bit of rest at the weekend will soon put me right again."

"Okay, okay I won't pry. God only knows I've asked you enough times over the last few weeks to tell me what's wrong. Just promise me that if I can do anything to help, you won't hesitate to ask?"

"Definitely. Now, getting back to the subject at hand, I'll look for those books and we'll take it from there, okay?" Hermione was keen to keep Megan talking about her own problems. If she knew what was worrying Hermione, she would think she was going mad.

"Look, in principle, I can accept what you've told me as it all makes sense, but in practical terms, it's just too much to take in. A whole community living alongside us whose existence I've never even heard of! You've put my mind at rest regarding my own sanity, but right now, I don't know what to believe about this magic thing." Megan's attention had been successfully diverted.

"That's more than understandable. It's been a shock to you. If I can dig out some proof, it may help."

Megan brightened, "Tell me, how are things going with Ben?" She had evidently decided to change the subject and would no doubt mull over Hermione's revelation in her own time.

Hermione smiled. "Oh, okay I suppose."

"Only okay? Hermione, the man's besotted with you. Surely you've kissed?" Megan had gotten up and was stacking the dirty crockery and cutlery into the dish washer. "If I wasn't happily married, I would certainly be drooling over him."

"Megan, a woman has a right to her privacy."

"Not when she's talking to her friend she doesn't. So out with it, have you kissed?"

"Three times, and before you ask, it was very nice."

Hermione glanced at her watch and sighed. "I'd better go; I've got a friend coming round this evening."

"I wouldn't dream of keeping you," a grinning Megan turned to her. Then sobering, she said, "Seriously though, I'm glad you told me about the magical world. It'll take a bit of time for the revelation to sink in, but I should get used to it in the end. Maybe then we can discuss it all a bit more. Take care of yourself, and try and get that rest you talked about; you need it!"

Hugging her friend, Hermione departed and was soon walking down the road towards her own home. She felt glad that she had told Megan of the wizarding world; the other woman had been stunned but had not rejected her claims. Given time, Hermione was prepared to bet that she would accept it and want to know more about it as much to appease her own curiosity as for Sophie's sake,.

She gasped, as a now familiar wave of longing for the wizarding world and all in it hit her, bringing her to a stop. A deep voice was calling her name, and she screwed her face up in an effort to block it out. She doubled over with the force of it, causing an old man walking his dog to shoot her an odd look. Images of Diagon Alley and Hogwarts were racing through her mind like photos on a projector, and it was with willpower she didn't know she possess, that she focused once more on the rode before her and forced the unwanted pictures and voice from her thoughts. Straightening, she smiled at him and he passed on.

The feeling of homesickness was slowly receding, allowing her to think clearly again. Taking deep breaths, she willed her heart rate to go back to normal and took stock of herself. She quickened her pace, and soon her cottage came into sight. With a feeling of relief, she unlocked the front door and pushed it open, slamming it shut behind her.

Collapsing on the sofa in her immaculate sitting room, she started to tremble in reaction. This wave of longing for the world she had left six years ago was not the first that had hit her; lately such things seemed to be happening with alarming regularity. She admitted to herself that it was becoming more difficult to push away these images, feelings, and that voice, as though her resistance was slowly, but surely being broken down.

She hoped that she wasn't going mad, but knew that she needed help, and quickly. Something was terribly wrong with her; she was hearing voices and seeing things for Merlin's sake! She wished that she could attribute this to something like schizophrenia but knew instinctively that it was more complex than that, and that whatever it was, it stemmed from the wizarding rather than the muggle world. So far, no one else knew of her problems, but at this rate, it wouldn't be long until they put two and two together. Other staff members were already casting her worried glances and most had asked if there was something wrong.

She shivered; she would be glad when Quentin, her only link to that world, would arrive. Then maybe he could tell her what was going on. She glanced at the clock; he should arrive soon.

Ten minutes later, the doorbell pealed through the house, and getting up on still slightly shaky legs, she put her eye to the small and unobtrusive peephole set to one side of the wooden door. Quentin stood outside, looking impatient.

Pulling open the door, she smiled in welcome. "Quentin, come in, it's been ages since we last met."

Shutting the door behind him, he pulled her into a tight hug before holding her away from him. "Hermione, it's good to see you, even if I did have to travel halfway round the world to get here. I can't believe it's been eighteen months since we last met. Where has the time gone?" His eyes travelled over her, but he made no comment about the bags under her eyes, or the slight twitching in her left eyelid.

Soon they were settled in the sitting room, a tea tray bearing homemade scones and cake between them.

"Quite the homemaker aren't you?" Quentin said, biting appreciatively into a scone.

"Well, I find baking therapeutic. Anyway, the stuff you buy from the shops has so much junk added to it to make it last longer, it's hardly edible." She didn't add that baking helped her cope, as it was a mindless task that used up all her nervous energy.

There was a pause as Quentin ate his way through the food before him. Finally, he put down his cup and looked across to where Hermione sat, crumbling a scone between agitated fingers.

"Very nice," he commented, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "However, I doubt you asked me to make the journey from New Zealand just to sample your cakes." He leaned back in his chair, eyes travelling lazily round the cosy sitting room.

"Well, no." Hermione paused, not sure how to broach her problem. She had planned this discussion in her mind for the last two weeks, but now it came to it, she wasn't sure what to say. "I think I'm going mad, Quentin," she eventually burst out, giving up all pretence of calmness.

He eyed her thoughtfully. "Hmm, you certainly don't appear to be losing any screws, so what's made you come to this conclusion?"

Jumping up, she crossed to the large window looking out onto her small but neatly kept back garden. "I don't know, but…well, it's complicated, and I don't know what to do about it."

"Hermione, calm down. Start from the beginning and work your way forwards. Whatever this is, it's got you in a real state." Quentin was starting to look concerned as he watched the normally calm young woman pace the room.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Well, it all started two weeks or so ago. The first time, it wasn't much, just a feeling of longing." She shivered at the memory of the feeling of homesickness that had engulfed her that first night as she lay in bed, immersed in a book. "Well, I just put it down to loneliness and ignored it. The next day, while I was teaching, it came again. If possible, it was more intense. Again I pushed it away thinking it was me. The images started coming a few days later, the first one was of Diagon Alley. I remember it well, I was in the middle of doing my shopping, I nearly screamed out loud, right in the middle of Tescos. Anyway, I pushed it away again, but later on that say day, the voice started, and it was then wen I really thought I had become mentally ill. After that, the feelings, voice and images just grew in intensity until now, it's all I can do not to start pulling my own hair out, bang my head against a wall, or have a panic attack. It's the images of places like Diagon Alley, or Hogwarts, places with which I was so familiar, makes it even harder to shake the feelings off. The voice is frightening; imagine hearing something that no one else can hear. For a while I thought I was developing schizophrenia."

Quentin shook his head emphatically. "No, I don't think so. Your personality is far too stable for that. But this feeling? What kind of feeling?"

"I don't know, it's hard to describe. It's as though my mind's been swamped with feelings that aren't mine if you know what I mean." She hoped that she was making some sense, for she was finding it difficult to put the experiences into words.

"If it wasn't for the voice, I would have said you were most likely homesick for the wizarding world," Quentin smiled. "That's perfectly understandable - loneliness is a powerful emotion after all. Maybe it's time to consider-"

Hermione cut across him, knowing what he was about to suggest. "No, Quentin, that's the point, there seems to be no pattern to these things. At first I thought it was me, but the voice and feelings, and later, images, attack me at random, which makes me think…" She trailed off, not wanting to put her fears into words.

"That someone else is responsible?" Quentin suggested gravely, and she nodded. "I see. This does put a different spin on things."

"I don't know what to do, and thought that maybe you could suggest something."

"Tell me, these images and feelings, have they ever been of a threatening nature?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. "No, not threatening to my person, just my peace of mind." She grimaced, remembering the memories the images had brought forth, memories that she had thought were long buried.

"What do you mean?" Quentin's eyes narrowed in concentration.

"Well, they've always concerned the wizarding world, and the things I used to like. Last night for example, I saw an image of the Hogwarts library; they seem to have enlarged their restricted section." She hoped the wistfulness didn't show in her voice.

Quentin let out a loud laugh. "Someone's determined to get you back, and obviously knows that books are the key to your heart."

Hermione returned his smile. "It's not funny, downright unnerving, if you ask me. It shows how well this person knows me." Unable to resist, she added, "But Quentin, from what I saw, it had been extended quite a bit."

"Yes it has, they've recently acquired a lot of rare volumes from Greece, Egypt and Mexico. How about the voice, did you recognise it? What did it say?"

"No, I don't think I know it. Again, it doesn't say anything nasty, just calls my name, and sometimes when I see images of places, asks whether I remember them. I haven't ever answered, at least not yet, although I fear it won't be long before I do so, just to shut it up."

"Blimey, it must take some willpower to resist it. No wonder you look so unwell. Hmm, interesting, showing you Hogwarts library of all places."

Forcing herself not to think of the place that had provided her with most of her knowledge of the wizarding world, as well as hours of pleasurable reading, she focused instead on the problem at hand. "But who's doing it? That's what I can't understand."

Quentin sobered at once, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "Well, let's look at this logically. We both know of a long list of people who want you back in the wizarding world, the question is which one of them is responsible for this err, break in, but more importantly how."

She sighed. "That's what I've been trying to work out, but haven't come up with a plausible answer. I mean, to do Occulumency you have to have eye contact, so that's out of the question. The only person who could manage it without was Harry, but he was linked to Voldemort by that curse which was the link between them."

"Yes, with Occlumency you need to have eye contact. No, I don't think it's that." Quentin's voice was thoughtful and he wore a faraway look.

"What is it? You've got an idea haven't you?" Hermione asked, watching him intently.

"I have, but unfortunately I don't know enough about the subject to form any concrete conclusions."

"Well, maybe I can help in some way." She could feel the excitement building up within her.

"It's only a vague idea and I'm not sure-"

"What is it? It'll be better than nothing." She turned to him, eyes glowing. Maybe now she would get to the bottom of this mystery which had haunted her for the last two weeks.

"It's only a theory, and I'm not sure how it would work in practice, but you remember that I once told you that a link was forged between you and the Malfoy heir as a result of the marriage ceremony?"

"Yes, what about it?" In truth, Hermione remembered Quentin's warnings only too well, particularly when she was in Ben's arms, but Quentin didn't need to know that. Adopting a casual air, she continued, "Some link through which we know if the other is being unfaithful or something."

He shot her a shrewd look that she didn't meet and nodded. "Precisely. Let's say for a moment that this link could be utilised to act as a connection between you and him in some way, allowing him to convey feelings and images through it."

She pondered this idea as she drew the curtains over the windows, and switched on the lamps, bathing the room in a soft glow. "Hmm, I suppose so. Do you think it could allow him to see what I'm thinking?" She had finally put her worst fear into words and waited with bated breath.

"That I don't know. Maybe in circumstances where it was necessary, but that borders on manmade magic, and I don't think the link is quite that complex."

"He'd be more likely to use the library as a means of luring me back than Harry or Ron. I can see how it's possible in theory, but how could you do that in practice?"

"That's what I don't know," he sighed. "Not very much is known about this connection between people, which doesn't help you at all."

"Is there any way of getting more information about it?"

"I'd have to do some research to see what I can find out."

"Oh." She knew she sounded disappointed, but couldn't help it. She had hoped he would at least have some idea of what was going on, but by the sounds of it, he was as mystified as her. "How long do you think it'll take to find something out about it?"

"I honestly don't know. We're dealing with the unknown here and I'm as much in the dark as you are."

"If it doesn't stop, and soon, I'll go mad. I've already lost my appetite and I can't sleep, worrying about and waiting for the next one."

"Hermione, I'm sorry I can't help any more. Maybe you should try meditation as a form of relaxation. I can certainly get hold of some dreamless sleep potion, if that will help. I will do my best to find out all I can about it though, please be assured of that. Saying that, one day, you will have to return to the wizarding world. Don't forget this is only a temporary solution."

"I suppose so. It's just that I don't want to go back there - it brings back so many bad memories. Yes, I know I've got to face it one day, but not yet." She shuddered.

Quentin sighed but didn't respond. Clearly, he didn't want to get into their familiar argument about her return to the wizarding world, which was the way their conversations normally ended up.

Then, changing the subject, he said, "By the way, are you aware that there are two other magical people living in this area? One is in his second year at Hogwarts, and the other is a child, around three I think."

Hermione's mind flashed back to that afternoon, and she smiled. "Yes, the child is the daughter of one of my friends, and I know the boy by sight."

"Is there nothing about this place you don't know?"

She grinned. "Well, it's a small village which thrives on gossip. Everyone knows that Chris Langford goes to boarding school but not where, or what he does there. I put two and two together and worked it out. As for Sophie, I've suspected she's magical for some time now." This wasn't true, but he didn't need to know that.

Quentin grinned. "I'm glad to know that you haven't lost any of your old sharpness. Anyway, I'd better go Hermione; by the looks of it, I've a lot of research to do."

She sighed and nodded. "Yes, thanks for coming round, I really appreciated it."

"Try not to let this get to you. As you say, it isn't of a threatening nature, so ignore it and maybe he'll give up."

Hermione smiled grimly. Quentin didn't quite understand how it felt, how could he? She doubted that anyone, other than those who suffered from schizophrenia understood what it was like. "Yeah right, the day that Malfoy gives up on something because he isn't getting results, will be the day that I become best friends with his father. Quentin, it's not fair, six years of peace, and now this!"

"You know as well as I do that things move on. He wants you back, and to that end, has looked for ways and means of finding out where you are. He's obviously found a method of communicating with you, and will utilise that until he either gets what he wants, or we work out how to stop it."

XoXoXoXo

East Enders was drawing to a close, and Hermione stretched out on the sofa. She sighed as she reached for the remote control to switch channels. Sometimes she wondered why she watched the programme; it was depressing to say the least, but there was something addictive about it. Finding a documentary on terminal illnesses, she sat back, her interest caught.

The voice was quiet at first, and she didn't hear it, all her attention focused on the television screen before her.

"Hermione? Hermione!"

She jumped and cried out, dropping the remote control while staring wildly round the room.

It was him again! She felt the panic start to well up within her; her breath was coming in shallow gasps and her heart rate had accelerated to triple its normal rate. Her vision was becoming fuzzy as her brain fought to deal with the overload of oxygen. With an effort, she slowed her breathing, clamping her hand over her mouth. Slowly the room came into focus as she forced the panic back. This could not go on; she had to do something about it, and now. If she didn't, she would start to tear apart at the seams.

She glanced down at herself and winced. Over the last two weeks, she had lost quite a bit of weight and was starting to look gaunt. Her neighbours were starting to worry about her, and even the head teacher of Mayfield had noticed her pallor and commented on it.

As had been the case this last week, she wondered what would happen if she gave in and responded to that awful voice. She knew it would be a ridiculous risk to take, but the alternatives were, either getting blind drunk on a nightly basis to shut it out, or ending her days in the psychiatric ward of the local hospital. Neither alternative was very palatable.

"Hermione, I know you're there, speak to me, come on!"

She clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her scream of frustration mingled with desperation; she couldn't carry on like this! The consequences of her actions went right out of her head as she took a deep breath, and for the first time, concentrated on the voice in her head. All she knew was that she had to stop that voice, and if it meant telling it to go to hell, then so be it.

"Hermione, this is getting beyond a joke, for Merlin's sake answer me?" The voice she guessed to be Draco Malfoy's persisted and she clenched her fists.

"What do you want?" She wondered if he could hear the question which she had screamed inside her own head, although no sound had come out of her mouth. She sat tense and expectant, waiting for some response – she didn't have to wait long.

"So you've finally responded! That does make a change!"

Only one person she knew could sound so sarcastic and relieved at the same time. "Malfoy?" she questioned tentatively, eyes wide.

"Yes, Hermione, it is I, your husband. Although I do wish you'd drop the formality." She felt her heart sink, she should have guessed.

"As I said before, what do you want?" She sat back on the sofa, and slowly reasoning reasserted itself in her mind. She was protected by the Fidelius charm, and he couldn't see her, but she bit her lip. She shouldn't have given in like that, she should have known better. Then the memory of he earlier panic attack resurfaced, and uncertainty engulfed her once more.

"Hmm, well, where to start? First and foremost, I'd like to know where my 'wife' is at this precise moment in time." He drawled.

"That's none of your business," she snapped back.

"Now, now, that isn't nice. No Malfoy wife talks like that; it's unbecoming," he chided in a smug voice which made her grind her teeth.

She scowled and in a determinedly calm voice said, "Malfoy, please do me a favour and get out of my mind!"

"Why should I? Six years of silence Hermione, and now you want me to leave you be, I think not!" His voice wasn't quite as calm as she had first supposed, and she wondered fleetingly how he was feeling.

Part of her was seriously regretting that she had spoken to him, but the other more rational part, was glad that she had, despite the risk. Now at least she knew that she wasn't going mad, and maybe she could get him to leave her alone.

"Please Malfoy, all I ask is that you leave me alone. How would you feel if an anonymous voice in your head started talking to you and you didn't know how to shut it up?" she said, hoping he couldn't hear the nervousness in her own voice.

"I would at least have the sense to respond to it and not ignore it for two weeks, while wondering if I was going mad," he answered in a more gentle voice. "Look, Hermione, I'm not here to argue with you, I just want to talk. What's so wrong with that?"

She let out a high, slightly hysterical laugh. "Talk? Malfoy, you've been calling me at any time of the day, bombarding me with images I'd rather not see again, with any thought as to how I may be feeling, and all you want to do is talk?"

"Surprisingly, yes. I'm sorry if I frightened you – that wasn't my intention. However, it was the only way of ensuring that you would answer me. Look, I won't speak to you again during the day, okay?" His voice had taken on a placating tone.

"In return for what? You never did something for nothing, and I doubt the last few years have changed that."

Ignoring her jibe he replied, "That we talk, at least once every day. Now that's not asking much."

"What I'd like to know, is how you managed to achieve this connection," she responded to give herself time to consider his words.

"Ah, now that would be telling. But as you've asked so nicely, I'll tell you. The connection was forged during our marriage ceremony, I was just not aware of this fact until a few weeks ago."

So Quentin had been right in his theory, Hermione sighed.

"I see. How did you find out about it?" she asked, curious in spite of herself.

"That is a story for another day. Now have we come to an agreement? I won't disturb you during the day, and you and I will talk each evening," he persisted.

She glowered round the empty room. What choice had she but to agree to his preposterous bargain, for now anyway. The alternative was even more unpalatable after two weeks of his voice, and any image or feeling he cared to convey at whatever time of day. It was more than enough to last her a lifetime.

"Fine, but I warn you, one word from you before eleven in the evening and I'll ignore you for the rest of my life, even if I do end up in a psychiatric hospital as a result."

"Well, if there's a need to talk to you, then I'll have to do so," he drawled. "For example, you don't expect me to stand by and remain silent while you snog that boyfriend of yours, now do you?"

His voice was very silky, and Hermione let out a gasp. She knew that she had been taking a risk in allowing Ben to get close to her, but her loneliness, plus Ben's undeniable charm, had won out although she had been very careful – obviously not careful enough.

"Good night, Malfoy," she threw back, and the sound of his laughter was the last thing she heard before he broke the connection, leaving her alone with her confused thoughts.