Chapter 6

Their Heart's Desire

Several days prior, after reading their daughter's letter, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Hermione's parents, had sent the snowy owl back to Hogwarts with a birthday card and a package much larger and heavier than ought to be possible for an owl to carry. The owl, however, was not a normal owl; she was a magical owl, and—according to the letter—her name was Hedwig, the pet of the boy they had met at King's Cross on the day they had seen Hermione off to Hogwarts.

Then Jean Granger had boiled a kettle, poured two cups of tea (with no sugar cubes, as they were both dentists), added a splash of milk to hers, and sat down at the spotless kitchen table with her husband, Richard, to read Hermione's letter again.

"Well, that made things much easier," said Jean, taking a sip from her steaming teacup, scrutinising her husband warily as his eyes scanned the piece of parchment in his hand for what appeared to be the third time.

"I would have felt a bit funny sending that parcel through the post," she added, carrying on as if she hadn't noticed anything odd about his behaviour, "I know that Hermione said that wizards monitor the postal service for mail to Hogwarts, but still…"

She trailed off and took another sip of tea, staring at her husband, who seemed to not be taking in a single word she was saying.

"She seems rather smitten with the boy, wouldn't you say?" said Richard after a moment passed, his voice suspiciously nonchalant to his wife's ears, raising his eyebrows as he skimmed through the letter for the fourth time.

Jean took in an audible, sharp breath, raised her own eyebrows, and gave her husband a Look, It was a Look instantly recognisable to husbands and children the world over—a Look of warning that they were treading on thin ice.

"Harry!" she said, "'The boy's' name is Harry! And yes, if I had to bet, I would wager that Hermione has a bit of a crush on him."

"Hmm…" said Richard, still resolutely peering at the letter, a thoughtful frown crossing his features. "She's a bit young for a crush on a boy, isn't she?"

Her irritation already fading, Jean rolled her eyes, shook her head, and let out a little laugh.

"Don't be silly, Richard. Hermione's almost twelve—she's practically a teenager—and in any case, there is no age too young for a crush. I must have been about seven or eight when I had my first crush."

"I see—should I be jealous?"

"Oh, be quiet, you—" Jean let out another little laugh, and her husband grinned.

Then Richard's grin was replaced with another pensive expression.

"It's just—I'm concerned about the b—Harry's past—"

"Liar!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me," said Jean, smiling knowingly at her husband. "You're just afraid that Hermione's growing up—and she is, of course—but you saw Harry for yourself—he's a very sweet boy. Hermione is lucky to have met him—he seems good for her. Now that she has found someone she can relax around, she's finally loosening up enough to make a few more proper friends at Hogwarts. … It's not just Harry—she seems to be making friends with those two girls, Lavender and Parvati, as well."

"That's true," Richard admitted. "Still, all this stuff about some sort of terrorist trying to take over the wizard world and targeting Harry is a bit concerning—"

"He's dead—"

"Yes—according to Hermione—" Richard held up his hand when his wife looked like she was about to interrupt. "—and of course I trust her to tell the truth. But terrorist leaders generally have terrorist followers, and terrorist organisations don't just vanish when their leaders are killed or imprisoned—that's concerning in and of itself, and the likelihood that Harry could still be a target is not insignificant."

"And…?" said Jean, growing frustrated. "Look, Richard, we don't have all of the facts, and even if we did, the world is what it is—there is no point worrying about a hypothetical situation, especially one which we aren't certain is even a real issue. Life is risky no matter who your friends are—there could be an IRA bombing in London next week, right next to our offices, for all we know—"

Richard, who was animatedly trying to get a word in edgewise (a sometimes difficult task with his wife and daughter when they had built up a head of steam) managed to blurt out, "It's not the same—" when Jean finally took a breath.

"Obviously!" Jean barreled over her husband without missing the beat at the end of her breath, "But the point is that you can't expect the wizard world to be any different than the non-magical world. … There are always awful people doing awful things—anything horrible could happen to anyone at any given time. No matter where Hermione is—the magical or non-magical world—regardless of whether Harry might ostensibly still be a target of a hypothetical terrorist group after ten years of apparent peace—there is always the risk that something dreadful could happen."

Richard looked he was about to argue some more, then he deflated like a punctured balloon.

"Fair point!" he conceded, sighing. "And you're right—Harry Potter did seem like a pretty good kid when we met him—a bit scruffy perhaps, but well-mannered—looked reasonably intelligent—and if Hermione thinks he is too… well, I guess that's good enough to convince me that he is."

Jean smiled at her husband again, but this time her smile bore a hint of sadness.

"What I find most concerning is Harry's home life with his relatives. Hermione's language is a bit vague in some parts. but it definitely sounds like they could be abusing him."

"Yes—it does." Richard took a sip of tea, and then continued his thought. "If it's not an exaggeration, the business about Harry's aunt and uncle not allowing him to have any friends is a whopping red flag."

"If only there were some way to find out a bit more about Harry's situation," said Jean, "There must be something we can do for him."

"I'm not sure that there is," Richard sighed. "Especially not while Harry is at boarding school. Unless there is some direct evidence that his aunt and uncle are harming him in some fashion, and without Harry being available for the authorities to interview, there is nothing for the police or Child Services to investigate."

Jean scowled. She knew with absolute certainty that her husband was correct. At the earliest, they wouldn't be able to meaningfully investigate for themselves and alert the authorities until next summer—presuming that Harry would likely choose to stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas and Easter holidays.

And that thought led straight to her next thought with the logic of a mathematical equation...

"That's true," she said, "But there is something we could do to make his life a bit more pleasant in the meantime. Why don't we have him here at Christmas? … It would thrill Hermione, and he wouldn't have to be with potentially awful relatives, or by himself, all alone—"

"Yes," Richard interjected, nodding in agreement. "Yes, that's a splendid idea, Jean!"

"I thought so too." Jean smiled wryly. "And if we can make him feel comfortable enough, Harry might even open up a bit and give us a better sense of how he is treated at home."

~o0o~

Harry stepped in front of the tall mirror with the ornate gold frame for a better look, and almost jumped out of his skin at what he saw. He spun around, his heart thrashing inside his chest, his breath quickening, but all he could see was Hermione standing next to him.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Harry didn't answer right away. He had another good look in the mirror, then turned his head again, and still only saw Hermione.

"The people…" he said, a chill coming over him which had nothing to do with the temperature. "There are a whole load of people in the mirror. Don't you see them?"

Hermione stepped closer to Harry and peered into the mirror; her eyebrows shot up and her breath caught, her cheeks turning pink. She glanced at Harry's clammy face worriedly.

"Are… are you sure, Harry?"

"Yeah! Of course I'm sure," he said, frustrated, and more than a bit alarmed. "You really can't see them, then?"

"Er… No—I… I only see you and me," she said, sounding uncertain.

Harry frowned, and wondered if she wasn't telling him something.

"Then why can only I see them?" he muttered, wondering if he was going crazy. They couldn't be ghosts—they looked too solid.

He peered into the mirror more intently; the more he looked, the more familiar the people seemed. A tall man with untidy black hair and glasses, and a woman with dark red hair and bright green eyes which looked exactly like Harry's own appeared to be standing behind him and Hermione. And behind the man and woman were a number of people with similar features.

They were all smiling and waving at Harry, and it suddenly hit him. He knew who they were.

The knot of longing in Harry's stomach was almost painful; he reached his hand out and touched the smooth glass surface of the mirror.

"Mum?" he murmured, as the Hermione in the mirror drew closer to his mirror-self. "Dad? Is it really you?"

His vision slightly blurred by watery eyes, Harry barely registered the flustered expression on Hermione's face—the face of the Hermione beside him, that is. The one in the mirror was smiling sadly at him.

That's when Harry noticed something odd about their own reflections. They were both older—perhaps in their late teens, and Hermione's reflection had her arms around his waist and her bushy head on his shoulder.

As she wasn't touching Harry at that particular moment, he suddenly realised that the mirror wasn't just showing him his long-dead family, lost in the past, it was also apparently showing him something from the future. But what did it mean? Torn between a bittersweet yearning for a family he could never have, and confusion, he stared at the mirror, trying to make sense of things.

Then Harry lifted his hand away from the glass and touched his cheek, surprised, and his face grew hot with embarrassment at what he saw. The Hermione in the mirror was giving him a lingering kiss on the cheek as his mother and father beamed at them both.

He turned and peered at the Hermione beside him, who looked positively mortified; her cheeks were almost scarlet.

"Are—are you seeing your parents?" she asked quickly, as if hoping to divert his attention away from herself.

Harry nodded.

"Yeah! And I suppose my other relatives as well. What do you see?" he asked her again, hoping for more from her this time.

"N-nothing!" Hermione averted her eyes, looking more discomposed than ever. "Well, it's not exactly nothing—just you and me—together, like I told you—but we're both a bit older, maybe 16 or 17..." she trailed off.

"Huh!" Harry frowned pensively, sensing that Hermione was still holding something back. "What does it mean? Why are we seeing different things?"

Hermione still wouldn't look him in the eye, but seemed relieved that he wasn't pressing her for more information about what she had seen in the mirror. She turned her attention instead to the tall, elaborately carved golden frame. He followed her gaze and at the top of the mirror was an inscription: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

He stared at the inscription, trying to make heads or tails of it.

"D'you know what language that is, Hermione?" he asked after a moment had passed.

"I—I'm not sure. It doesn't look like any I've seen, but there's something familiar about it..."

A pensive crinkle formed between her brows; she bit her lip and he could almost see the gears whirring inside her head. Another minute passed in silence and he began to grow impatient.

"Well?"

"Just a minute, Harry," she said a bit sharply. "I'm thinking!"

Harry shuffled his feet and fidgeted, feeling completely useless as he stared at the inscription again. He wanted to contribute, but he had no idea where to even start. Then he felt her hand wrapping around his and giving it a comforting squeeze. He looked at her and saw her apologetic expression.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Just give me a bit longer. I've just had a thought, but I still have to work it out."

"Okay." Harry nodded, feeling a bit better.

Patiently, he watched Hermione's lips move, only hearing little hisses of breath as she muttered to herself. Then a light seemed to switch on in her eyes.

"That's it!" she said excitedly. "Harry, I've done it. I know what it says."

"You do?"

"Yes! It's not a different language at all. It's just backwards, like it would be in a mirror—except for the letters themselves—and the spaces between the words have been slightly jumbled to make things a bit more difficult."

"Of course!" said Harry, looking back up at the top of the mirror; he tried to read it backwards—or rather, the right way round. "That makes perfect sense. Why didn't I think of that?"

"I'm sure you would have eventually," she said earnestly. "Anyway, it says, 'I show not your face but your heart's desire'."

"Not my face—my heart's desire. Hmm…" Harry pondered the meaning of the sentence aloud, "So… it's actually showing us what we really want, then—what we really wish we had most of all."

"Yes!" said Hermione sympathetically, giving his hand another squeeze. "That's why you saw your parents and—"

"And you were there too..." Harry touched his cheek again, remembering what Hermione had said she had seen, "...but older—we both were..."

Hermione gulped, and her face reddened again.

"We should probably go back to Gryffindor," she urged him, changing the subject. "Filch must be gone by now."

"Yeah, okay!" Harry was bursting with curiosity to know more about what Hermione had seen, but he decided it was better to leave her alone.

~o0o~

They made it back to the Gryffindor common room with no further misadventures—Filch was no doubt scouring the upper-floors of the castle for traces of night-time prowlers. Hermione wanted to talk to Harry about the gigantic three-headed dog, but it was late, and besides, she still felt too embarrassed to look directly at him. She gave Harry a quick hug and a little smile, and scurried up the stairs to her dormitory.

Cautiously opening the door, she let out a nearly inaudible sigh of relief to see that everyone was still asleep. She crept past Lavender's and Parvati's beds and quietly crawled into her own, drawing her curtains and pulling up her covers. She lay in the darkness, contemplating what she had seen in the mirror.

It had been a bit surprising at first to see Parvati and Lavender in the mirror, because she still thought they were a bit giggly and fashion-obsessed for her taste, but after working out the inscription, Hermione decided that it only made sense. She had always wanted proper friends, and there was no question that Lavender and Parvati were nice. … If anything, even though they were all gradually warming up to each other, Hermione was still far more surprised that they seemed to like her.

It had been a lot less surprising to see Harry in the mirror, but she still had a burning ball of guilt in her stomach for not telling him everything she had seen in the mirror; she had been thoroughly unnerved by the whole experience, and she still felt embarrassed and confused about seeing herself kissing him on the cheek. She liked Harry very much, and she had certainly thought about giving him a kiss on the cheek, but had been a bit too scared to do so yet.

It was just… the kiss on the cheek in the mirror had not been a quick peck, like the ones Mum and Dad gave her; her lips had been lingering against Harry's cheek much longer than they ought to have.

Despite not being entirely certain what it all meant, Hermione gradually drifted off to sleep.

~o0o~

"It was a Cerberus."

"A what?"

"A Cerberus," Hermione primly repeated, plucking a second book from the library bookshelf.

Harry followed her back to the table as she continued to explain.

"Well, that's probably not what the species name is. In Greek mythology, Cerberus was the name of a three-headed dog which belonged to Hades," she said in her school-teacher tone of voice, placing the second book next to the first on the table.

"Hades—that's the Underworld, isn't it?"

Hermione was suitably impressed, and her prim features gave way to a little smile.

"Technically, Hades is the Greek god who ruled the Underworld, but yes, the mythical Greek Underworld is also often referred to as Hades. Cerberus guarded the entrance of the Underworld, mostly to keep the dead from escaping."

"So, all that Greek myth stuff is real, then?" asked Harry. "I've been wondering about that sort of thing since I found out that I'm a wizard."

"Not exactly," said Hermione. "Before I discovered I was a witch, I thought it was all just a lot of made up stories too. And for the most part, they are—gods don't exist, though some of them might be based on ancient wizards and witches I suppose. But apparently, some of the mythical creatures are real—so I thought we'd have a look in some books to find out more about the three-headed dog."

"That might be a bit hard if we don't know what the actual name of the creature is, then." Harry frowned thoughtfully, picking up the first book that Hermione had set on the table, a very slender book called Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander.

"Well, I'm a speed-reader, so I think I'll be all right," said Hermione, "but I expect the books will have pictures in them to show readers what the creatures look like."

She opened the much fatter and heavier tome, Curious Creatures of Egypt, the Eastern Mediterranean, the British Isles, and Continental Europe from the Coast to the Caucasus by John Dolittle, and was pleased to see that it was indeed illustrated. Twenty minutes and 700 pages later, she was already at Zmeu (a Romanian creature which was a very odd sort of a cross between a Giant and a Dragon) when she heard Harry's annoyed voice.

"Well, that's rubbish," he grumbled, closing his book. "There's nothing about three-headed dogs in Fantastic Beasts."

"There isn't anything about them in this book either," huffed Hermione, a tight band of aggravation constricting her chest. "Let me have a quick look at yours, and you can have a look at mine—I'm almost finished with it anyway."

She set her book down on the table and picked up Fantastic Beasts. She flicked through all 128 pages in two minutes flat and scowled.

"This doesn't seem very thorough," she said, perturbed. "It doesn't cover very many magical creatures—there are hundreds more, maybe thousands—and there isn't much information about the creatures which are in this book—only a paragraph or two on each."

Harry looked up from the book that Hermione had been reading—he was only on the second page—and frowned.

"Yeah! There's a lot more information in this one—at least a couple of pages on each creature, and loads of notes. It's weird that it doesn't have three-headed dogs either."

"There has to be something about them in a book," snapped Hermione, now thoroughly exasperated. "But the only other books I can see on the shelves are about magical creatures in other parts of the world. I suppose we'll just have to go through all of them—maybe three-headed dogs aren't originally from Greece or Egypt."

"I know you're a speed-reader, but that's still going to take too long," said Harry, and Hermione couldn't honestly say that she disagreed. "I was just thinking," he continued, "That maybe we could just—er… you know—sort of just ask Hagrid if he knows about three-headed dogs without telling him we know about the one in the castle."

Hermione gave Harry what she knew must be a skeptical look—one eyebrow raised, chewing her lower-lip—but found her shrug turning into a nod of agreement.

"I suppose it can't hurt to try," she sighed.