Harry Potter belongs to JKR

Beta by FedererEx

Chapter 22

Hermione charged up the steps after the masked Death Eater. Internally, she screamed at her legs to go the opposite direction, to run to Harry and the bar, but her limbs ignored her and moved of their own accord. The turntable flew through the air towards her and she ducked underneath it. Even though she knew what was coming, the pain of her shattered shoulder nearly made her swoon. She heard her wand clatter away, heard the killing words, saw the green flash leap from the tip of her enemy's wand. Julia would banish the turntable and block it, she knew…. But nothing happened. Time slowed down as emerald death filled her vision; there was no way to dodge, no way to block, this was the end.

With a sharp inhale, Hermione sat up in her bunk, heart racing and hands shaking. She took a few unsteady breaths to try and calm herself down in the darkened tent. On the other side, Julia breathed deep and slow; she hadn't woken her.

"There's no way I'm getting back to sleep," Hermione thought as her heart continued to pump frantically. She quietly slipped away from her flannel sheets and turned to let her feet slide into the slippers at the side of her bunk. She ducked out of the tent and into the lab and walked to the door to retrieve Ron's blazer to ward off the chill of the dungeon. For a moment she considered roaming the halls, but she didn't fancy a run-in with Filch or Peeves, or any of the ghosts. That left her inside the old potions lab where their equipment lay, neatly packed, awaiting their return to work the following day. Hermione sat down at one of the tables and stared off into the dim of the lab, only a small, pale magical glow from the centre of the ceiling staving off complete darkness.

"There's something wrong with my mind," she thought, "Winthrop suggested that seeing a therapist- no, mind healer, would help, but what if it doesn't?"

"I almost died because of this stupid problem," she thought, thumping the side of her fist against her forehead and holding it there, "and it doesn't seem to be getting better, in fact it's getting worse."

The thought of how Harry and Ron would react crashed into her, and tears traced her cheeks and dropped from her chin onto the table. She wiped them away angrily from both the surface and her cheeks.

"Crying, again?" she thought, "why am I even crying? Stress? One would think I'd be used to near-death experiences by now."

The tears continued unabated and her inability to stop, coupled with the constant need to erase all evidence of her weakness, almost sent her over the edge.

"Come on Hermione, get a hold of yourself," she thought, "you're alive, you've got to finish the project and bring mum and dad back, which means you need to calm yourself down and get back to sleep so you can function tomorrow."

Her brain refused to quiet though; her thoughts only whirled faster, mostly dominated by the vision of a Killing Curse aimed squarely at her. She sniffled, thought about finding a tissue, then growled at herself.

"This is not productive; you need to sleep!" she thought.

Of course, mentally berating yourself for not sleeping is not a recipe for slumber. Close to an hour passed and Hermione's heart continued to race. Adrenaline made her limbs tremble and forced her into pacing to bleed off the excess energy.

"Okay, you have a problem, lots of people who have been through a traumatic experience have problems," she thought as she gestured to herself, "it's not going to be fixed overnight, but the first step is to admit there's a problem right? So, that's progress."

She heard rustling from behind her and turn to see Julia stifling a yawn as she exited the tent.

"It's nearly breakfast, have you been up all night?" Julia asked.

"No, only a little while," Hermione replied as she twisted the end of Ron's blazer.

"Are you alright?" Julia asked as she ran a hand through her hair.

"I'm fine," Hermione replied, then her stomach growled, "hungry though, let's eat."

A large brown owl dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet in front of Hermione and she allowed the bird to pluck a strip of bacon from her fingers as a tip.

She glanced at the front page as it flew off with its prize.

"Abel Winthrop Proposes Dramatic Expansion of Werewolf Rights – story on page 15"

She quickly flipped to the article in question. The picture of an older wizard, light shining off his pate and gesturing at a podium with camera flashes all around, played on a loop beneath the title.

Abel Winthrop, long term member of the Wizengamot, made a splash during the December meeting by proposing a dramatic expansion of rights for Beings, as well as werewolves.

"For one night out of the month, werewolves are bloodthirsty beasts. That's less than two percent of the year. What we would gain from including them in society and allowing them to work would more than offset the cost of providing Wolfsbane potion free of charge and a safe place for them to transform. It would drastically lower the threat of attacks, and it would remove the risk of werewolves siding with any other Dark Lord in the future. With Remus Lupin having been posthumously awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class for his courage and effort in helping fight against the forces of Lord Voldemort, the time for action is now. We need more werewolves like Remus, and less like Greyback. To do that, we must do right by him. The best way to honour his sacrifice is to pass this legislation, which should have become law as soon as the Wolfsbane potion was found to be effective."

Winthrop has also proposed expansion of rights to Beings, suggesting they should be allowed seats at the Wizengamot. While he asserted the bill will pass when it is finally put to a vote, not all of the reception was warm. When asked about rumoured death threats in the wake of the proposition, Winthrop had this to say:

"Yes, I have received death threats, let them come. No amount of cowardly warnings flung from the shadows by adherents to a failed ideology will stop me, will stop us. It's time for us as a society to do the right thing and take care of allof our citizens, not just a privileged few."

After decades of near silence at the Wizengamot, it appears Abel Winthrop has awoken in the twilight of his life to attempt to make a difference. What do you think about the proposed legislation, should Werewolves be reclassified from Dark creatures to Beings? Should Wolfsbane potion be provided to them and funded by Ministry galleons? Write to the Daily Prophet and tell us your thoughts!

Hermione set the paper down and looked to the head table to lock gazes with Professor Winthrop, who stared at her intently over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses. He smiled at her and nodded.

"Merlin, I've put his father in danger," Hermione thought, "what if something happens to him? I was the one who suggested it in the first place!"

Immediately she chastised herself.

"Of course we need to change the laws, and quickly. Every month that goes by without the potion is another month when they're a danger to themselves and everyone around them," her thoughts thundering through her mind like a locomotive, "Winthrop's father is right, we can't let threats derail helping werewolves."

Aside from the monthly changes and the ability to inflict scars with their claws and teeth, werewolves were otherwise ordinary wizards and witches. She recalled Remus' shabby appearance; he had never really been able to hold down steady employment due to his condition, but she'd never met a more forgiving and kind-natured individual. The fact he retained these traits despite the life-long discrimination he'd faced made them all the more striking.

"Hopefully the Ministry will be able to provide Professor Winthrop's father with extra protection," she thought.

Hermione entered through the portrait of the fat lady and glanced around the mostly deserted common room. She spotted Michael Karume, the stocky Gryffindor prefect, waving towards her from a table on the far side. Eric Wildy, Hunter Marcos, and Thomas Stevens, the slim brown-haired third member of their little group, all twisted around to wave to her as she made her way to the table.

"So, 'Three Musketeers Escort Service'?" she asked as she sat.

"That's right, thanks for meeting us, by the way Granger," Wildy said, "err, Hermione. Can I call you Hermione?"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but before she could get a word out, Wildy had already ploughed on.

"It was really your idea in the first place, or you gave me the idea rather, after the fight at the Grand Staircase," he said, "I thought about it a while and figured, what if there was a service to escort people who thought there would be trouble from one class to the next? So we did it. Anyone can ask, and we'll help, even the Snakes."

He grinned at her.

"Wildy, maybe let her get a word in," Karume said with a chuckle.

"Thanks Michael," Hermione said, "I can tell you're really excited about this. I did have one question: how do we know it's not going to result in a larger fight; what if another house forms an escort service too?"

"Oh, we've got that covered," Wildy said, "it's not a Gryffindor-only service, it's open to anyone to volunteer, as long as you come for the training. We already have enough volunteers from each house, and have at least two houses or a prefect on each escort. We try to make them as even as possible but it depends on who's available. There's a whole schedule of where people need to be and when, and where they need to go to fit it in the time between classes. Believe me, it was a major pain to put that together."

"Major pain is an understatement," Stevens said, "it took all of us working on it the whole week to get it right. Even now it's most of our weekend to get it updated and out on time, but it's worth it."

Wildy took a breath and looked ready to keep going but glanced at Karume instead.

"It has merit," the prefect said, "the Professors can't be everywhere and honestly anything that reduces fighting in the halls is a good idea. Most people aren't going to form up to strike at a large group, so I think this should help. Professor Winthrop apparently agrees; he signed off as the club sponsor."

"Sounds like you have everything you need. What did you want from me then?" Hermione asked.

Wildy shifted slightly in his seat.

"Well, I was wondering if, erm, if you'd like to join?" he asked.

Hermione only considered for a second, then remembered her condition. Putting herself in the middle of skirmishes between students in the halls was a recipe for disaster. She shook her head.

"I've too many obligations as it is," she said, "I really do wish you the best of luck though."

"Oh," Wildy replied, his expression dropping, "of course you're busy. But umm, what if you could maybe put in a good word with some of the other 8th years who were in the Resistance? We could really use the volunteers."

"Sure, I could do that," Hermione said, "did you have anyone in mind?"

"Maybe Michael Corner or Anthony Goldstein?" Stevens asked.

It made sense. The three would already know most of the Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs were usually fairly outgoing, but Michael and Anthony were both Ravenclaws, and tended to keep to themselves. Hermione knew them both through the DA.

"I'll let them know next time I see them," Hermione replied.

Wildy smiled and Karume stood up.

"Brilliant," the prefect said, "I'd stay and chat longer, but I've got rounds. Best of luck Wildy."

"Yeah, and uhh, we've got a potions essay to write," Hunter said.

"We do?" Stevens asked.

"Yes, we do, I'll tell you all about it upstairs," Hunter said.

The prefect spared them a backwards glance as he exited through the hole leaving the common room, and Hunter all but dragged Stevens up to the dormitories.

"So…" Wildy said once the others had exited.

"So," Hermione repeated.

"Bugger," she thought, "I've completely forgotten to buy him a Christmas gift."

"I really enjoyed the Jamaican coffee," she said, "I heard it's rare."

This was, of course, a complete fabrication; she hadn't yet made a single drop of coffee with the beans he'd gifted to her.

"Uhm, it was nothing," Wildy replied, his cheeks colouring furiously, "we were there on holiday and I happened to bring some back and… Did you really like it?"

"Of course," Hermione replied easily, "I'm sorry I haven't given you anything yet, it's been a bit insane lately, what with everything going on."

"Oh, I know, I read about the attack in the papers," Wildy said as his expression grew serious, "Terrible. I'm glad you're alright."

"Yes well," Hermione said as her thoughts turned to the dead and injured muggles and how her mental condition nearly got her killed, "Hmm."

The fight started playing through her mind again, the Killing Curse, the fiendfyre, the smell of burning wood and plastic and wires...

"Hermione?" Wildy asked.

"Yes?" she said, bringing her attention back to the conversation.

"Nothing. You just sort of… looked off into space for a moment," he said.

"Sorry, I was… thinking about something," she said. She rubbed an imaginary speck of dirt off her finger.

"Right well… I was saying, you don't need to buy a gift for me," he said.

Hermione sat up straighter at that and put her hands in her lap.

"Please, I insist," Hermione said.

"Really it's alright. But… if you wanted to do something, if it's okay that is, perhaps we could go to Hogsmeade together," Wildy said, followed by a cough and clearing his throat, "On the next trip. Whenever that is."

"What?" Hermione thought.

"Strictly as friends of course," he added, "I know you're with Ron Weasley. Plus, then you wouldn't have to waste time shopping for a gift, busy as you are..."

"Hogsmeade, what would…" she said, then her brain clicked.

"He has a crush on you," Hermione thought.

"That's preposterous, how could he possibly have a crush on you?" she immediately replied to herself, "besides, he said just as friends."

She mentally ticked off a half-dozen things she didn't like about herself while simultaneously resisting the urge to rub her arm through her sleeve.

"Does it count as cheating if you go to Hogsmeade with someone who has a crush on you, even if you don't fancy them?" she thought.

"Maybe, maybe not, but people would talk," she thought back to herself, "and Merlin forbid Skeeter is there snapping photos of us."

She realized Eric was still waiting for a response.

"I… I'll have to think about it," she found herself saying.

"Oh. Sure, absolutely," he said, "whenever, you know. It's alright."

"Good, then," Hermione said, "I'll see you later, best of luck with the escort service, though you might think about changing the name."

"Why?" Wildy asked, confused.

The alternate definition for an escort club was on the tip of her tongue, then for a reason she couldn't really define, she decided everyone would be better off if it stayed as-is.

"Never mind," Hermione said instead, and smiled.

He returned with a grin of his own as she stood up, and he followed suit. She swore she physically felt Wildy's eyes burning into her back as she departed the common room, but she didn't dare turn around to look.

Hermione hunched over the bound parchment and studied Julia's sharp, crisp script. The door of the unused classroom was magically sealed with several locking charms. Normally, she would have gone to the already warded lab to practise, but she didn't want anyone, not even Julia, to see. Her second choice, the Room of Requirement, did not allow her entry; the doorway refused to appear no matter how many times she paced back and forth. The figures blurred in front of her mind's eye as she wondered who could have been inside, what they could have been doing, but she caught it before it became a full-blown distraction and re-focused on the parchment in front of her.

She'd read through the spell at least six times already and filled twelve separate sheets of parchment with her own notes and derivations. The transfiguration was of a different style than what she'd learned in McGonagall's classes. Some of the language used was odd as well, but beyond that, the spell was deliberately left incomplete. More significantly, it was a partially unbound transfiguration.

"Which makes sense, it's the only way it could have been done," she thought.

Most transfigurations are taught as bound transfigurations: a very exacting wand motion and incantation to produce a very specific and hopefully predictable transformation. When the spells are not cast perfectly, they are called unbound, and usually these result in an incomplete spell; hundreds of examples of partially transfigured desks and tea cups and snails and other small creatures over the years attested to this. Most casters tried to avoid unbound transfigurations, but they could also be performed on purpose. When casting an unbound transfiguration, the caster intentionally uses subtle differences in the movements of the wand and the timing or pronunciation of the incantation to produce different results. With enough experience, a wizard could use Transfiguration to transform nearly anything into anything else, for a time. True masters of Transfiguration, like Professor Dumbledore or to a lesser extent Professor McGonagall, could even manage predictable wordless unbound transfigurations in battle, which made them all the more formidable; every single nearby object became a potential shield, distraction, or deadly weapon.

"This is designed as a partially unbound transfiguration," Hermione thought, "the larger the change, the more difficult it would be to derive and execute, exponentially so."

Even in individuals of the same ethnicity and gender, a near infinite combination of appearances were possible, and the spell provided a series of Arithmantic equations to derive the correct wand movements and incantation to theoretically transform anyone into anyone else.

"Luckily it's only my arm, not even my wrist or hand," she thought as she looked down at the ugly scars and flexed her fingers, watching the tiny movements beneath her skin as her ligaments tightened and muscles shifted.

Hermione felt she was fairly skilled for her age, but she could study this one spell exclusively for a year and still not be able to come up with the correct wand movements on her own. The precise combination needed to be worked out by hand and practised to be sure of success Each of the derivation equations affected at least one of the others, often more than one.

"As dad would say, it grew arms and legs," she thought.

Luckily, she'd recently acquired some experience in advanced Arithmancy due to her project, and working them out satisfactorily only took hours instead of the days it would have otherwise.

As she looked over the spell, a part of her mind wandered about for a way to repay Julia for her gift.

"She's a traditional Pureblood, and she gave me a spell, magic," she thought, "it's power. It's the most important thing in the world to them. But I don't have a centuries old spell lying around I can gift to her. Wait! Julia can't cast a patronus! I can help teach her. I'm sure I can do it; it'll be just like the DA!"

She wondered what form Julia's patronus might take.

"But would she be willing?" Hermione thought, "I have to at least make the offer."

She glanced down at her notes again. The Arithmancy was correct; she'd been through it twice already after the initial calculations. She adjusted her grip on her wand slightly and went through the complicated patterns in the air a few times until she could perform them confidently. A small doubt crept into her mind about the spell itself.

"Casting an unknown self-transfiguration on my own is reckless," she thought, "I should bring it to Professor McGonagall first."

Protocol and pragmatism warred with desire. Julia had entrusted this very personal piece of history to her and her alone. Would showing it to the Headmistress be a betrayal of that trust, both in the sense of keeping the secret, and by her actions showing she didn't trust Julia's intentions or competence?

She looked down at her arm again, at the filthy word carved into her flesh, mocking her even now. If McGonagall reviewed her work, she'd know exactly what Hermione was trying to do. She'd probably demand to see her arm first. Hermione's gut squirmed at the thought and she swallowed.

"What if she forbids me from casting it?" she thought.

That did it. Hermione stood up, spread her feet shoulder width apart, and took a deep breath.

"Pellis Obtulit," she intoned as she twisted and waved her wand over her opposite forearm. Skin smoothed and mended before her eyes, cream coloured and unblemished, matching perfectly with the skin around it.

She held the spell there for a couple seconds.

"Torquent," she said with a small flick of the tip of her wand, tying it off.

"Perfect," she thought.

She stowed her wand and held up her now unscarred arm, staring at it with her mouth slightly agape. She ran her fingers down her forearm, feeling for the scars she knew were still there; the transfiguration hadn't healed her. Since she knew what to look for, they were still present, but far less pronounced. Her vision blurred with tears and she stubbornly wiped them away. True, her magic would be ever so slightly weaker so long as she maintained the spell, but for all intents and purposes, the desecration of her body was cured.

"What a gift!" she thought as she sputtered and giggled.

Hermione carefully bound up her notes of complex transfiguration formulae and placed them in her beaded bag along with the master copy Julia had provided her. She then rolled her sleeve down to cover her scars again. She had several months of cold weather to see if it really would last forever and it would probably be days or weeks before she trusted it enough to go sleeveless. Still, she could barely contain her giddiness as she undid the wards on the door and fought to keep the smile from her face as she walked the steps down to the lab.

"Julia?" she called when she entered, but there was no response.

"Nearly curfew, she'll have to be here soon," Hermione thought.

Sure enough, her auburn-haired partner entered a few minutes later, humming an unfamiliar tune to herself.

"Hi," Julia said when she spotted Hermione, then she turned to hang her outer robes on a hook by the door.

Hermione crossed the distance to her and practically ambushed her as soon as the door closed, throwing her arms about her to crush her in a tight hug. "Thank you," Hermione said, "thank you, thank you, thank you."

She felt Julia stiffen in her arms, then pat her lightly on the back.

"I thought we've been through this," Julia said as she pulled back.

"No," Hermione said, grinning through tears again, "look."

She pulled up her sleeve, revealing the cream coloured and scar free arm beneath.

"You tried the spell, that's fantastic," Julia said, returning her grin.

She ran a finger over Hermione's forearm and Hermione forced herself not to flinch away.

"Brilliant," Julia said, admiring Hermione's spellwork.

"Yes, and I know what I'm going to give you for Christmas. Your real Christmas gift I mean," Hermione said, "I'm going to teach you the patronus charm."

The smile dropped from Julia's face.

"I don't think…" she said.

"We formed a club in fifth year to learn DADA on our own. Everyone was able to cast a corporeal patronus by the end of the year," Hermione said, "you at least have to give it a go."

Hermione brimmed with confidence from her recent success. She KNEW she could teach Julia the patronus charm and she tried to push that confidence outwards, to convince Julia with pure certainty of conviction. Julia must have felt it too, despite her obvious previous failures and current apprehension.

"Alright," she relented, "but don't expect much of anything."

"Come on, where's your sense of adventure," Hermione said as Julia smirked and rolled her eyes, "so where were you just now?"

"Duelling practice," Julia replied.

"Michaels? How is he?" Hermione asked.

"Hopeless," Julia replied as she sat at one of the tables, "though, it seems there's a lot of interest in the tournament, so maybe he'll be less hopeless than some of them."

Hermione sat across from her.

"Well, I'm sure with you as a tutor, he'll do a lot better than he would otherwise," she said, "are you going to enter? You'd probably have a good chance of winning."

Julia snorted.

"No," she replied, then continued when she saw Hermione's questioning expression, "there are rules to a formal duel; it's not a real contest. Plus, half of doing well at combat fighting is being unpredictable. What if someone watches how I duel here and then uses that against me later, when it counts?"

"Duelling in public is stupid," Julia added.

Hermione could respect that. The lights dimmed three times.

"I'm going to turn in," she said, "let's start on the patronus tomorrow, after the lab?"

Julia rolled her eyes, then shot Hermione a smirk all the same.

"Sure, why not," she replied.

Hermione's smile faded as she re-read the letter. By the time she finished her second read through, a full-on frown turned the corner of her lips down. She folded the letter and dropped it into her bag.

"I know that look," Ginny said from across the table, "what did he do now?"

Hermione glanced up at the younger Weasley. For a moment she debated sharing her thoughts, but the details of her relationship with Ron weren't for Ginny's ears.

"Nothing," she replied, "just the usual."

Ginny quirked a corner of her lips in a puzzled expression but didn't say anything.

"I've got to go," Hermione said, leaving the remainder of her dinner, "I'll catch up with you later."

Hermione made for the lab; she might not be able to talk to Ginny, but Julia would almost certainly have some insight, and would be able to offer a perspective unbiased by familial relations. She found the Pureblood noting down results after another brew.

"Good news," she said without looking up, "this one makes four brews that are likely to work. Do you think that's enough? Should we start testing charms?"

"We should finish them all," Hermione replied, "what if there's a cheaper or more effective potion and we don't test for it? We have the time now, let's be completely thorough."

She set her bag down on the table and watched as Julia noted down the results of the latest potion and placed a star at the top right corner of the page with a flourish.

"That's done," Julia said. She closed the log book and set it aside while she started cleaning up the potions equipment. Hermione moved around the table to help.

"So, I was hoping you could give me an unbiased perspective," Hermione said.

"Hmm, on what?" Julia asked as she vanished the remains of the potion from the cauldron.

Hermione produced a few letters from her bag, flipped through them and selected the most innocuous one and set it next to the latest one on the table.

"Take a look at these, tell me what you think," Hermione said.

Julia glanced down at the name at the bottom, then up to Hermione with an expression of disbelief, before she leant on the table again to start reading in earnest.

"There's not much detail here, is he always this disorganised? Wait, don't answer that," Julia said as she finished the first letter, but she paused as she moved on to the second.

Her eyebrows came together in confusion.

"If it wasn't for the handwriting, I'd say this was written by someone else," she said.

"Is it that obvious?" Hermione asked.

Julia nodded.

"It's almost formulaic, not meandering like the last one," she said, "I…. wait a minute."

She narrowed her eyes and reread a few lines.

"I've read something like this before… in a book," she said.

"A book? He plagiarized a letter to me?" Hermione said, incredulous. She only realised after the fact how much her voice had risen and swallowed her angry words.

"Not entirely, I don't think," Julia replied as she continued to read, "but the basic format and some of the bits in here are from some dating book, oh, what was it called…."

She drummed her fingers on the table and pursed her lips as she stared absently at the opposite wall while Hermione wondered just what exactly was going on.

"Twelve ways to woo your witch or something," Julia said, "no, Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. They had a few sample love letters in there, I'm almost certain this bit about embers igniting is in there."

"Why would Ron be reading a book on how to woo witches?" Hermione thought.

"Well, obviously because he's trying to woo you," she replied to herself.

"Odd, still, maybe he's just trying to be romantic," Hermione said, then she glanced at Julia quizzically.

"Wait, why did you read that book?" Hermione asked.

Julia paused for a split-second.

"So I can hex anyone's balls off if they try any of these tricks on me, of course," she replied with a bit more bravado than usual, but Hermione caught just a hint of red colouring her cheeks.

"And aren't you glad I did?" Julia added.

"Yes. Maybe. I don't know," Hermione replied as she gathered up the letters. She'd reserve judgement until she'd found a copy of the book and read through it herself.

"Hogwarts wouldn't have one," she thought, then muttered a tempus charm.

"If I leave now, I can make it before closing, just," she thought, then stood up.

"Wait, where are you going?" Julia asked.

"Flourish and Blotts," Hermione replied as she reached the door of the lab.

She exited the castle through the main doors and made for the edge of the wards. Once clear, she turned and apparated to Diagon, appearing just outside the bookstore. The familiar bell tinkled as Hermione entered the deserted shop with its massive shelves and walls of floor-to-ceiling books of all shapes and sizes. She quickly turned to the relationships help section, an area of the shop she'd never actually perused. Quickly scanning the alphabetized titles, she registered only a few… England's Top 100 Most Eligible Wizards, The Lover's Stash: A Guide for Romance Potions and Natural Aphrodisiacs, Rosebud: Revealed! Secret Techniques to Make her Flower Bloom.

"Twelve…, twelve…" she thought as she found the T's, "hmm, it's not here."

She frowned, then glanced up to the top left of the shelf, and there it was.

"12 ways, of course," she thought as she stepped up a small ladder to pull the red-covered book. She read through the foreword as she turned through the aisles on her way to the front of the shop.

"Three galleons five sickles," the shop assistant said as Hermione placed the book on the counter.

Hermione looked up at the young woman with dark, sleep-deprivation circles under her eyes.

"That's an outrageous price for something that's not even guaranteed to work," Hermione thought.

"Three galleons five?" Hermione repeated to the dark blonde young lady, "any chance you could let it go for two-five? It's just for a bit of research."

The young assistant stared back at her.

"We don't haggle, Ms. Granger," she replied, casually dropping her name, but then the shop keep's eyes lit up slightly, "but if you wanted, I could offer you a discount in exchange for your autograph on a copy of the Rise and Fall of You-Know-Who. Say, fifty percent?"

After a moment's hesitation, Hermione agreed, though she felt a bit dirty as she signed her name on the blank page at the front of the historical volume, almost as if she'd prostituted herself somehow.

"It's just a bit of ink, who cares," she thought.

Research material firmly in hand, she exited the shop and apparated back to Hogwarts to make it back to the lab before curfew. Julia was nowhere to be found, so Hermione entered the tent, sat at the wooden table and cracked the book open to the table of contents. An entire chapter was devoted to love letters, and she turned straight to it. She couldn't resist rolling her eyes as she scanned through, and then she came to the sample letters, including the one Ron had drawn from. It wasn't a direct copy, but he'd definitely referenced it heavily when he'd written his most recent letter to her.

A sinking feeling fluttered through her chest and she swallowed, though that did no good. Almost afraid of what she would find, she flipped to Chapter 1 and started reading.

Some time later, Julia opened the flap of the tent and Hermione looked up at her, then rolled her neck to ease the familiar stiffness there.

"You found it?" Julia asked.

Hermione held up the copy of the book in response, then set it back down on the table.

"And?" Julia asked.

"And he's definitely using this book," Hermione replied, "honestly I don't know what to think. He's changed and grown a lot when it comes to, well, being more socially mature. But now I'm questioning how much of it is genuine and how much of it is him following this advice and trying to 'charm' me."

She frowned and chewed on her lower lip as she started to go over the changes in Ron's behaviour that weren't related to their life-or-death scrapes, and managed to recall startlingly few instances she could call upon. Julia opened her mouth to speak, closed it, then apparently decided to take the plunge.

"What exactly do you see in Weasley anyway?" she asked.

Hermione started to retort, but then remembered Julia had lived in France at the time and wasn't familiar with many of the details of their adventures at Hogwarts, and didn't know Ron well at all.

"Well he's… incredibly loyal, and brave. He'd run into danger to protect us, any of his friends or family. He has, in fact; we've saved each other's lives multiple times," Hermione said.

Julia rolled her eyes and fastened the tent flap.

"Well that's peachy, but what are you going to do when life settles down and you have to actually talk to each other every day?" Julia asked, "don't get me wrong, being brave and loyal isn't a bad starting point, but I hope you don't intend to be running and fighting for the rest of your life."

Hermione rested her elbow on the table and dropped her chin into her hand.

"Of course not, but everything we've been through, it's proven time and again how much we mean to one another," she said.

Julia crossed the few steps to the table and sat down across from Hermione.

"Look, I've only met Weasley a few times, but I already know he can't engage someone like you at any kind of intellectual level," she said.

Hermione instinctively felt the urge to defend Ron.

"He's not that bad, brilliant in his own way," Hermione replied.

The Pureblood raised an eyebrow at her.

"Do you remember the Three Broomsticks?" Julia asked, "your explanation of the project was simple enough a fourth year could understand it, and yet he couldn't or wouldn't comprehend the basics. You didn't notice but he was obviously bored to tears. He knows how important it is to you and doesn't even make the effort to be interested; he can't even be bothered to pretend to be interested. I didn't want to say anything because it wasn't any of my business but…"

She trailed off.

"Yes well," Hermione said, then her gaze dropped to the book. 'Show interest in her Interests' was one of the guidelines. She thought back to their first kiss, drenched in water deep beneath the castle in the Chamber of Secrets after destroying the cup horcrux with a basilisk fang. Ron had suggested getting the house elves out of the castle so none of them would be hurt.

"He once said something very protective of house elves, which… I mean in that moment I absolutely adored him. And now I'm wondering… he didn't say anything about them in front of Gringotts last week, so does he really care about them? Or was he following 'advice'?" Hermione said.

She frowned and turned the book over in her hands a few times.

"What happened, is it just coincidence? Or was Ron following the book just until we started dating?" Hermione thought.

"I always wondered about that. The house elves, I mean," Julia said, "They're perfectly happy working for free, so why try to change what isn't broken?"

Hermione grit her teeth, closed her eyes, and took a deep, steadying breath.

"I'm not having this conversation with you right now," she said.

"I know, I'm only taking the piss," Julia replied with a smirk.

"Augh!" Hermione said, then crumpled up a piece of parchment and threw it half-heartedly at Julia, who leaned to the side just enough to let it sail past her ear.

"I'm trying to have a serious discussion here," Hermione said.

"Ha. Okay okay, strictly serious from here on, promise," Julia said. She put her elbows on the table and made a bridge with her hands, and rested her chin on it.

Hermione took a deep breath and did her best to tease out her conflicting emotions.

"It's not like there's a lot of options," she said, "we've both been through so much with the fight against Voldemort. I don't think anyone else could truly understand either of us."

"Potter's dating Ginny," Julia said.

"That's different," Hermione said as she recalled Ginny mentioning both she and Harry sensing echoes of Voldemort's thoughts, "they're different."

"Well, if you'd like some unsolicited advice," Julia said.

"Consider it solicited," Hermione said as she made a little helpless motion with her hands.

"Killing..You-Know-Who, it's something you did, it's not who you are," Julia said.

She paused to collect her thoughts.

"Or are you really going to pre-emptively discard the entirety of the Wizarding World just because they're not also part of the Golden Trio?" she asked.

"But I don't know any of them nearly as well as I know Ron," Hermione thought as anxiety tightened her chest.

"You need to do two things," Julia continued, "first, figure out how much of his recent 'acceptable' behaviour comes from this book. Second, and more importantly, try to have an intellectual conversation. Pick any important topic, see if he has anything useful to say, or if he even wants to talk about it at all. Then think about dealing with that for the next eighty or ninety years."

Hermione's gaze dropped as she thought about that almost unfathomable stretch of time.

"That is what we're supposed to be doing, isn't it, figuring out whether we can spend the rest of our lives with one another," she thought.

"Marriage is quite a commitment," Hermione said quietly.

"It is," Julia said, "we Purebloods can be quite pragmatic about it, you know."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I'm not trying to… improve the standing of my family, or anything, I just want to be happy," Hermione said, "and I want to make someone else happy."

She paused, surprised at how she'd said 'someone else', not Ron.

"Just a mental slip," she thought, "we're still together."

Julia placed a warm hand atop hers and Hermione wasn't sure how to respond, so she just sat there with a troubled expression on her face until Julia withdrew it a few seconds later.

"Who knew, Hermione Granger, hopeless romantic," Julia said.

Anyone else who heard her might have assumed she was making fun, but Hermione now knew Julia well enough to know the words weren't an insult.

"All I'm saying is you should think about where you're going together, not where you've been," Julia added.

"I need to think," Hermione said, "and I need to finish this and see what other 'advice' is inside."

She dropped her hand on the relationships book with a loud thump.

"Thank you, for listening," Hermione said.

"Of course," Julia replied, "my price is you have to tell me all the dirty details after you speak with him."

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes.

"That depends. And that reminds me," she said.

Hermione scribbled out a short note accepting Ron's invitation, letting him know she was very much looking forward to meeting him on Valentine's Day.

"Well, it promises to be an interesting conversation, one way or the other," Hermione said as she said as she folded the note.

"Come in," a woman's voice said.

Hermione pushed through the door and into the normally unused office to find a crackling fire in the hearth and two large, overstuffed leather chairs facing one other. A small wooden table sat between them, and a diminutive, elderly woman with her once-blonde hair pulled back in a bun finished pouring tea from a white china set into two small cups. She set the teapot down with a clink and stood up. Slightly hunched at barely five feet, her posture spoke of confidence and control. Rather than normal witch's robes, she wore a conservative dark blue, high-necked dress that covered her arms down to the wrists and only left the tips of her black shoes peeking out.

"Ah, Miss Granger, punctual," she said in a noticeable German accent, "my name is Madam Schultz. I am a master mind healer, velcome."

The small lady held out her hand as Hermione approached, and she nearly lost herself in the piercing gaze of the elderly woman's bright blue eyes.

"No age-related loss of mental faculties there," Hermione thought, "which makes sense, I suppose."

"Please, sit," Schultz said, gesturing to one of the chairs.

Hermione crossed to one of the seats and sank into the leather covered cushion across from the healer, and took her cue from the older lady as she picked up her tea and took a tentative sip. The cup felt warm to the touch and the tea steamed slightly. Madam Schultz withdrew a thin, pale wand and aimed it at the door, muttering a few incantations Hermione couldn't quite make out, and it locked itself.

"Vee vill not be interrupted, and no-one may listen in on our conversations. Everything vee discuss vill be held in the strictest of confidence; it is one of the oaths vee take," Schultz said, placing her wand on her lap.

"I understand. Thank you for seeing me," Hermione said.

"It is good you have come," Schultz said, "your professor mentioned you have had difficulties. From vat he has told me, I may be able assist, but I vould hear your symptoms from you directly."

"May be able to assist?" Hermione thought as a surge of panic went through her. On the outside, she remained calm and merely sighed.

"Well, it started on the train platform before the beginning of the school year…" she said.

Hermione laid out her troubles concisely, how she seemed to fall into herself and lose track of conversations while replaying incidents from the war in her mind, how photographers' flashes gave her anxiety attacks, how she'd completely blacked out during duels.

"Hmm, what you describe is not common, but not unheard of either," the mind healer said once Hermione finished her explanation.

The healer withdrew a small glass jar from the pocket of her dress and placed it on the table.

"I vould now like to view the trauma you have gone through, to better and more quickly understand vat has happened and how to help you recover, but it involves legilimency," she said, "I understand from the Headmistress there are secrets in your mind that should not be shared. You may place these sensitive memories here if you vish, so they cannot accidentally leak through."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but the healer cut her off.

"I am here to help you, Miss Granger," Schultz said kindly to her, "vee are safe in this castle, in this room. I vill not pry, and anything vee discuss will be kept in the strictest of confidence, but as they say, it is better safe than sorry. Do leave the traumatic events in as much as possible though, those are vat I must see."

Hermione drew her wand. It took a few tries, but eventually the tip of Hermione's wand came away with a gossamer thread curling slightly about the end. This was the memory of when Harry told them about horcruxes for the first time, after he retrieved the memory from Slughorn. She found she could still recall the memory, but it was fuzzier and the details slipped away like a repelling magnet if she didn't focus tightly on them. She stared at the thread for a few seconds, then tapped her wand on the side of the jar, dropping it in. She brought her wand to her temple again and pulled out another memory, this time of when Ron theorized that Harry's invisibility cloak might be a Deathly Hallow, and dropped that one in. And then did so again, and again, and again. Dozens of memories came out, anything to do with discussions of horcruxes, the discovery that Harry was a horcrux, anything that had the possibility of a conversation about the Deathly Hallows. Was she being overly paranoid? Perhaps. Then again, she was about to open her mind to a stranger. It wasn't paranoia.

Finally, the jar nearly overflowed with fog-like memories swirling around the glass container. Hermione spared one more glance at them and the danger the memories represented.

"It's safe; the door is locked, and I'm going to be right next to them," she thought.

"Very good," Schultz said, "now, you may recall some difficult memories. I will try not to push hard, but it will be easier if you relax."

The old lady pointed her thin wand at Hermione.

"Legilimens," she said softly.

Then Hermione's mind flipped through memories of its own accord, like a rolodex of photos. She fought the urge to try and expel the foreign presence inside her, tried to open her memories so she might be diagnosed quicker and recover faster. The cold and clinical sliver of Schultz's mind penetrated deep into her own.

"She's probably done this hundreds of times," Hermione thought.

Hermione found not all of the memories examined closely were of her adventures. They spent some time on the torture session with Lestrange, as she'd expected, and they also examined the fight at the Department of Mysteries in fifth year, but also the stress she'd put herself under when she took more than her fair share of classes, the terror she'd felt riding Buckbeak when she and Harry had saved Sirius Black in third year, then all the way back to first year when the mountain troll entered the girl's lavatory. They lingered uncomfortably long on a memory of Ron and Lavender Brown openly snogging in the common room, but Hermione only felt a small tendril of the anger and frustration that had roiled her insides at the time, the hot emotions replaced almost entirely by sadness and loss at Lavender's passing.

Then they sped forward to the current year, the pressure she'd put on herself to complete the project, the despair she felt when her lab and work had been destroyed, and the most recent ambush in the muggle nightclub.

She gasped as she fell back in her chair, the spell completed. It felt like hours had passed. She glanced at the jar of memories again as the fog within swirled slightly with the force of her exhale… was it still in exactly the same position?

"You're being paranoid, Hermione," she thought, then glanced up at the mind healer, who wore a concerned frown. Hermione's throat felt dry and she tried to swallow.

"How long was that?" she asked as she took a sip of tea.

"Only a minute or two," Schultz replied, "the mind can verk incredibly quickly."

Hermione nodded.

"So… how am I?" she asked.

"You are suffering effects from prolonged extreme mental stress," Schultz replied, "the damage is cumulative, and it is rare to see it in one so young. Thankfully, it does not appear the effects are permanent, not yet."

"But they could become permanent?" Hermione asked.

Schultz nodded.

"If continued, stress and life-or-death situations, the symptoms could vorsen significantly," Schultz said, "I recommend treatment, and Occlumency training, and avoiding stressful situations for the foreseeable future."

Hermione grimaced.

"What kind of treatment, how long will it take?" she asked.

"The treatment is partly meditation, feeling in control of vat you can control, and letting go of the rest, and partly mind magic on my part to help your psyche heal more quickly," Schultz replied, "and it vill take as long as it takes."

"And if I delay?" Hermione asked.

"Perhaps you vill recover on your own, perhaps the condition will worsen, perhaps irrevocably," Schultz said as she put her wand away and fixed Hermione with her piercing gaze, "the mind is not a thing to trifle vis, not unless you enjoy the possibility of becoming a permanent resident of St. Mungo's before you turn forty."

Hermione only considered her options for a second. What good would it do if she brought her parents back at the cost of her sanity?

"When do we start?" she asked.

"Today, now," Schultz replied, standing up and opening a small satchel to withdraw what looked like wind chimes. She drew her wand again and floated them up to the ceiling where they attached themselves to an invisible hook. The chimes tinkled and swayed soothingly in a non-existent breeze.

"Sit comfortably and close your eyes," the old woman said, leading by example as she sat in her own chair again, "the first thing vee control is our own breathing…."

Hermione kicked off her shoes and folded her legs beneath her on the soft chair to into a lotus pose, and attempted to allow Madam Schultz's voice to lead her in the first steps of meditation. She cracked an eye open to glance at the jar of swirling memories on the table.

"Never mind Hermione, you have to do this," she thought, "they're right next to you, and you can replace them after each session when you're done."

She forced her concern for the memories along with everything else out of her mind, and focused purely on breathing as Madam Schultz began her treatment.