Pulling her dressing gown tight across her shoulders, Hermione slowly and deliberately stirred her mug of hot chocolate as she looked out of the kitchen window. She watched as her father's battered old skiff bobbed up and down on the surface of the canal at the bottom of the back garden, tugging at its moorings and rolling on the disturbed water caused by a recently-passed long barge. When she'd been little, Hermione and her Dad had spent many a night planning to buy and paint a glorious narrowboat of their own, and then imagined sailing it all the way to London and on to the Fens of East Anglia beyond. It was how they would spend their weekends and holidays when Hermione was home from school.

But then a shocking letter in heavy parchment shattered all that.

Hermione had never really assessed the impact of that fateful summons, of all that it would change within her life. Mum and Dad weren't so keen on her going at first; the stigma of having a true witch in the family was a tough one to comprehend. But Hermione had made up her mind almost instantly ... and it was a mind that, once set on a course, was nigh on impossible to alter.

For her own part, Hermione didn't see the offer in quite the same way as her parents. It wasn't so much about learning to brew potions and cast spells, as opposed to studying mathematics and geography, that was so intoxicating and appealing ... it was something altogether more profound. She had always known that there was something different about her when compared to other children, and it wasn't just her extreme cleverness. Other kids were clever, too, but Hermione had always felt somehow unique amongst her peers, even if she never could quite put her finger on why.

So that letter from Minerva McGonagall, and the revelation that Hermione was, in fact, a real-life witch, pulled all the pieces together for her in a flash of emerald-green ink.

For Hermione had always known things, and could sense things, that her young fellows couldn't. She had an adept understanding for abstract concepts, and for the more mundane ones, too. It made her an instant high achiever in class but, when she tried to help other pupils, she came across as overbearing and an insufferable show-off. She just wasn't the best at expressing herself properly, and making friends wasn't a skill she could learn from a textbook. Bullying inevitably followed, but Hermione Granger had an answer for that, too.

Once, when a jealous rival in her class tore up a piece of Hermione's homework, she tried to force the ripped pieces back together before she got into trouble with her teacher. Amazingly, it worked ... and Hermione came top of the class that day. Hermione couldn't explain it; she simply assumed that her tears had somehow glued the tiny fragments back together just in time.

Another time, a different bully had cut chunks out of Hermione's thick hair before she could realise and stop it. Anxious about what she would say to her mother when she got home, Hermione fretted about it on the long walk back from school. But, somehow, the hair had grown back by the time Hermione got in, so she was spared confessing to her parents that she was suffering so much at the hands of her classmates. Again, she had no easy explanation, but simply accepted that she'd managed to make her hair grow faster because she had needed it to.

Which is why the offer from Hogwarts was such a fundamental relief for her. She wouldn't be going to the local comprehensive with her bullies – and their threats to flush her head down the toilet on the first day – or to go into private education, which might be so much worse, as some of the bullies thought that she was such a posh snob already and despised her for it. Expensive schooling wouldn't have helped her during isolated holidays and weekends off around Abingdon.

No, Hogwarts was the chance of a fresh start away from all that Hermione had endured. And, if she learnt a good spell or two, she could always turn her bullies into warty toads or something if they came after her. That thought cheered Hermione during her first train ride on the Hogwarts Express. She was so excited, so keen to make friends that, looking back, she probably tried too hard on her first day, and alienated anyone who came within three feet of her.

Not that it was completely her fault ... after all, sharing a compartment with a moody boy that didn't want to talk, who shouted at anyone who dared to say his name, wasn't the easiest place to start practicing her social skills.

"I don't want to talk, not to you or to anyone," the angry boy, who was about her age, had told her firmly, as the Express rumbled out of London. "You can talk if you want, but don't expect me to answer. And if you ask me about that, I'll kick you out and make you sit in the corridor for the rest of the trip, and laugh when the Lady with the Trolley runs you over and leaves you covered in Chocolate Frogs."

"Ask about what?" Hermione had asked, genuinely. "And are there really chocolate frogs?"

"Don't pretend you don't know!" the boy snapped back. "Everyone knows. But I'm warning you ... you ask, even one time, and you're out. I don't care if everywhere else is full or that no-one wants to share a compartment with you. You've been warned. I don't want to talk about it."

But now, some four-odd years later, the same acidic boy was buying her a Christmas gift more valuable than half of Abingdon.

Hermione marvelled at how so much had changed in that time, and at the value of the gift laid out just so on the kitchen table she was now sat at. For she had done her research and learned from Gringotts just how valuable alchemical Quicksilver truly was. It had taken her breath away, and still left her open-mouthed now as she studied her beautiful gift. She just wished she knew how she was supposed to accept it.

"It really is a stunning piece, but I think you are allowed to actually put it on, you know!"

"Mum! You scared me!" Hermione yelped, snapping her head towards the kitchen door. "What are you doing, lurking there like that?"

Hermione smiled inwardly at her own words. Harry had been right, way back on that night up on the Astronomy Tower ... she really had been lurking out of sight. Well, at least she knew now where she learned the art from.

"Just came to make a cuppa, as it looks like you aren't going to make me one," Catrin teased.

"You didn't ask," Hermione frowned.

"All that magic is robbing you of natural intuition," Catrin grinned. "And the way you are idolising that bracelet is further proof. Just put it on ... I bet it'll look gorgeous on you."

"That's the thing," Hermione muttered, anxiously. "I'm not sure I agree. I ... I don't know if I'm worthy of it."

Catrin made her tea and joined her daughter at the breakfast table, a look of concern on her face. "Now why would you think such a silly thing as that?"

Hermione bothered the edge of the velvet cloth with her fingers, careful not to move the delicate bracelet atop it. "I don't think it's silly. I barely knew Harry at the start of this year, and now he's given me something like this. It isn't really the cost of it – which is significant, let me tell you – but it's more the thought and effort that he's put in. My gift to him was token, but this ... it's on a whole other level."

"And you don't know what you've done to deserve it?" Catrin smiled, knowingly.

"Something like that," Hermione mumbled. "And I love this so much, Mum! It's gorgeous and thoughtful and it'll be amazingly useful for me. And I really want to put it on, to be worthy of it. But I don't know what I did for Harry to go to so much trouble for me, or what I have to do to keep deserving his thoughtfulness and his care. But I so want to, Mum! I don't mean to get more expensive gifts, I just mean to keep Harry's friendship. No-one outside of the family has ever made me feel that they actually like me before, you know? I was never really bothered much about that ... but now that I have it, I'm a little terrified that I'll do something to lose it."

Catrin's smile deepened. "I'm sure that wont happen. But, maybe, if I knew a little more about Harry, I'd be in a position to advise you better."

"I've told you about Harry," Hermione reminded her mother.

"Only briefly," Catrin argued. "I know there must be more detail. You've told me he has a story, but I'm more interested in the boy behind it, and how he has suddenly entrenched himself so deeply into your life."

"I've said all you need to know already," Hermione replied wearily. "Harry is just a friend from school, that's all."

"But you see, that's not all," Catrin pressed. "You are fifteen years old, sweetheart, and this is the first time in all those years that you've used that phrase. You've never mentioned any friends at Hogwarts before, you only talk about all the magic that you've been learning. And you never talked about friends in Primary School, either. I even distinctly remember having a conversation with the distraught mother of one of your nursery school classmates, who you upset by telling her that she was doing her finger painting all wrong."

"Well ... she was," Hermione huffed, folding her arms defensively across her chest. "It was all random and messy, no structure to it at all. Being five years old is no excuse for slovenliness."

"Be that as it may, my point is that you've never really had friends before. And as friends go, Harry Potter seems to come with a whole host of unusual elements. I'd just like to know more about him, that's all."

Hermione gave in with a heavy sigh. "Alright. Come with me."

So Hermione led her mother upstairs and back into her bedroom, where she shut the door behind them. Placing her rapidly cooling mug of hot chocolate on her bedside dresser, Hermione crossed to her large bookshelf in the corner of the room. She took down her well-thumbed copies of Modern Magical History and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, flipped to the passages on Harry and placed them in front of her mother.

"He really does have chapters about him in books, then," Catrin mused, somewhat astonished.

"And in many more besides those two," Hermione confirmed. "But you can read those and find out what the general public already knows about him."

So Catrin did, hungrily skim-reading the chapters and throwing out the occasional comment like, "There was a war between wizards? How extraordinary!"; "Ooh, so that's the Dark Lord you mentioned - sounds like something from 'Lord of the Rings'!"; and "Oh, his parents were murdered by this He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as they were trying to protect Harry ... poor thing! ... but he survived when they didn't! How?"

"That's not something that anyone knows," Hermione replied, sadly. "Or if they do, they are keeping quiet about it. That Dark Wizard, you see, resurrected an ancient spell called Avada Kedavra - the Killing Curse. You could kill with magic, but it wasn't widely known that there was a spell whose sole purpose was to remove life from a victim. As such, there was no counter-curse to defend against it. Until Harry, no-one had ever survived it. But somehow, even though he was just a toddler, he did."

"He must be a very powerful wizard just by instinct then?" Catrin mused.

Hermione smiled at that, warmed both by the memory of Harry's reason for agreeing to confide in her all those months ago and by the off-handed compliment paid to him by her mother. Hermione found it strange that she liked hearing Harry's talents being so vaunted in front of her. She'd have to think about why that was when she had some alone time later.

"Oh, yes, he's very powerful," Hermione confirmed. "He's very clever, too. He's actually above me in the year in some subjects. He's the one who beat me to Student of the Year last time."

Catrin quirked a grin at her daughter. "And you're friends with him despite that?"

Hermione smiled back at the light teasing. "Yes, I am. Though don't worry, I'll get my title back this year!

"This is getting more curious by the minute," Catrin quirked. "So, you aren't good at making friends, he isn't good at making friends, either, and you are academic rivals ... so how on Earth did you become friends with each other?"

"It all started with the inter-schools magical contest that Hogwarts is hosting this year," Hermione began. "The senior teachers were trying to promote Hogwarts House unity, along with greater international magical co-operation with the other schools. They wanted the whole school to get behind whoever was chosen as Hogwarts Champion.

"But I noticed that there was more rivalry than unity at Hogwarts. Students from some Houses said they'd refuse to support a Champion that wasn't one of their own. So I thought what was needed was more connection between the Houses, so I started a pen-pal club, because I realised how separate we all are."

"Ah, and Harry Potter became your pen-pal?" Catrin asked, shrewdly.

"Yes, but it was under wildly different circumstances than I'd expected," Hermione confirmed. "You see, I made the scheme anonymous, so that prejudice wouldn't be an issue for anyone who participated. I didn't want that to put people off. Then, one night, when I was going through my list of sign-ups and choosing who to pair together, Harry's name appeared at the bottom of my page.

"I just stared at it for the first few minutes, I was so startled to see it there. Of all the people who might have signed up, I never thought Harry would. He was always so quiet and reclusive that it made him something of an enigma around school. Despite his fame, he was known to shun attention, had a bad reputation that made people steer clear of him, was generally thought of as angry and moody and totally unapproachable.

"But here he was ... reaching out for companionship. I admit that piqued my interest right away. But who could I partner him up with? Who on my list would be sympathetic enough to listen to his thoughts, without constantly going back to his 'story'? Who would be level-headed enough to not blab about what Harry told them, when they eventually worked out who he was, for they were bound to, weren't they?

"Then it struck me ... I was! That perfect person was me!

"I never intended to have a pen-pal of my own, even though I started the scheme. I didn't like opening myself up any more than Harry did. I was always happier with books and my own company. And it was that which impacted me the most. I saw that I was like Harry in that way, so if he needed someone to tell his private thoughts to, maybe I did too. It was a frightening prospect, but I knew that if anyone would understand the value of being discreet, it was Harry."

"So you asked him to be your pen-pal?" Catrin deduced. "And he agreed?"

Hermione nodded with a smile tugging at her lips. "I totally expected him to tell me to sod off when I asked him, so I was more than a little bit stunned when he agreed to go along with my idea. And then I quickly learned that all the rumours about Harry were utter rubbish. He is nothing like anyone thinks. He is so much better and nicer and kinder than they would ever guess ... and I'm the only one who really knows that. And I sort of like it that way."

"I can tell," Catrin smiled. "And your Christmas present just reinforces Harry's true nature."

Hermione nodded again in agreement. "It does, but now I don't know what I'm supposed to do. My world was so ordered, Mum ... I liked it that way. I thought only about my classes, my homework, what I was going to learn next. These were all things I could control. Friendships and a social life didn't come into it. They were messy and complicated and distracting. I didn't want any of that. My life was stable, and I knew where I was."

"Until Harry Potter came along, shattered everything, and brought you to life into the bargain," Catrin completed for her, sagely

Hermione found that her mug had halted on the way to her mouth, which had locked open. The words from her mother ... they were a definition she had been searching for in herself for weeks. She hadn't quite found the right combination of words to accurately describe Harry's impact on her life just yet, but her insightful Mum had just done the job for her.

Harry made her feel alive ... and he'd done it by shattering her.

Not that she was going to admit that out loud so readily.

"What ... what do you mean by that?" Hermione fumbled in a tiny voice.

"Only that I've never seen this side of you before, one that shines with emotion," Catrin began. "Books and learning satisfy you and give you a sense of achievement ... but I've never seen them bring this glow to your eyes. I've never seen them make you passionate or exhilarated – or scared and anxious, as you say you are. But this is life, my love ... this is what it feels like. Making connections with people, forming friendships ... I think these things are equally as important as scoring well on your exams. I just worried that you might miss out on all that.

"So, if you want your old Mum's opinion, I think Harry Potter bringing this side of you to life is more valuable than any gifts he might be able to buy you, no matter how beautiful or expensive they may be."

Hermione blinked as she tried to process that. Then she frowned. "Have I really been that bad? That much of a nightmare?"

Catrin laughed heartily. "No, of course not," she began, supportively. "But I'm just really glad that someone has finally gotten to see the girl behind the books, that's all. It's a nice change to hear you talk about friends for once; all your magic is abstract and alien to me, but friendships are things I know a thing or two about. It's something we can connect on."

"Do you really think I've changed that much?" Hermione probed, sitting down on her bed.

Her mother nodded. "Yes. And I knew that it was Harry Potter, rather than the girls in your dorm at Hogwarts, that had wrought this change in you."

"How?"

"I knew it as soon as I heard you squeak, when Harry's Christmas card popped through the door on Christmas Eve," Catrin grinned. "Or maybe it was the fact that you didn't put it with the others on the mantelpiece for more than five minutes. If it doesn't have pride of place on your bedside table now, I'll eat my bobble hat."

Hermione gasped out loud. How did she know!? That was exactly where Harry's card was stood right now. She wondered if her Mum had latent Seer ability or something, as they both looked at the card and laughed.

"It's alright. Keeping things close by, given to you by a boy you fancy, is perfectly normal," Catrin fired off casually.

Hermione felt a tension rise in her throat. Rolling her eyes, she turned to her mother. "I do not fancy Harry. I don't know how many times I'm going to have to tell you that before you believe it. He's my best friend, yes, and he's a boy, and yes I like to keep his things close by. I find them comforting and validating of our friendship."

"And is that how he feels? That you are just friends?"

"Of course," Hermione returned, confidently. "I mean, I'm his only friend – he doesn't get on with people in his dorm like I do now – so maybe he packages all his emotions into one and gives it to me, so it seems like there's more to it. But there isn't, and we're both fine with that, as I told you that day when we were together on Diagon Alley."

"Ah yes, when all I saw was Harry's eyes glowing, cheeks shining, and his inability to sit still when talking about the girl who had caused all of the above," Catrin smiled back. "Then he sends you a Christmas card with kisses at the bottom and bought you a gorgeous bracelet that you haven't been able to take your eyes off, even if you are too scared to wear it. He even got a cute new collar for your cat! So, at the very least, he's very attentive to you."

Hermione felt the bedroom get seriously hot all of a sudden. She was just dying to open a window, despite the British Winter looming outside. "Like I said, I'm his only friend. I'm the sole focus of his affection, that's all it is."

"And very lucky you are for it," Catrin replied, warmly. Then she stood up to leave. "If I were you, I'd enjoy it. First loves are exciting, and I'm pretty sure you are his, even if you insist that you don't feel that way. Whatever the truth, I'm sure it will be a deep and fulfilling friendship for you both. So show Harry the respect he deserves ... try on his Christmas present, see how well it suits you, for I'm sure it will."

Then she left, leaving Hermione to shiver as she tried to digest all these new suggestions.

Later that evening, there was a tinny sound to be heard in the Granger living room, one Hermione ignored completely, as it could have nothing to do with her.

She was curled up in her favourite reclining chair at the back of the room. It was away from the glare of the television, facing the faux-log fire, which gave the room an air of comfort and cosiness even if the flames weren't real. Hermione was glad to have the house back to just her and her parents, as their final visitors had left an hour or so ago, and she was making use of the quiet to get her rampaging thoughts in order.

The living room was drowsy and still. The only lights came from the twinkles of the lamps on the tree and the flicker of the fake flames of the fire. Hermione's father was slumbering on the settee, his newspaper askew on his chest and fluttering gently whenever his sleepy out-breaths passed over it. Her mother was sat on the cushions of the half-hexagon bay window on the far side of the room, cradling a warm cup of tea and seemingly counting the snowflakes as they drifted merrily past the dark window.

Hermione, for her part, had her legs tucked under her and her knees pressed tight to her chest, to make a handy book rest. She had the condition of one recovering from a severe bout of flu, going though flashes of hot and cold and occasional bursts of weakness and fragility. When the worst of these hit, she'd tuck into herself every more tightly, and do her best to concentrate on the swimming words of New Theory of Numerology before her.

But even this fascinating new tome couldn't hold her attention just now. Hermione wasn't sick, unless her overly harassed brain counted as a sickness, but she was seriously disquieted just the same. Her conversation with her mother that afternoon had left an indelible mark on her. She could think of little else. She had analysed every word, every wild suggestion with the sort of vigour that she only usually reserved for Harry's letters.

Harry. The very thought of him caused Hermione's insides to see-saw now, the squirmy substance in her belly racing around feverishly with less control than the falling snow outside. Her eyes flicked involuntarily to Harry's Christmas Card, which Hermione had restored to the very centre of the shelf above the fire. It contained his wish for a Merry Christmas, his hopes that she'd have a great new year.

And, more importantly, it contained more kisses ... and his love.

This was something that Hermione had obsessed on since receiving the pretty card by Muggle Mail, for it was the first time that Harry had signed any correspondence between them with 'love from Harry'. Hermione suspected that it was merely in response to the fact that she'd written her own adieu in the same way on her card to him, but this was still the first time that Harry had used the word 'love' to describe his feelings for her. Hermione was sensible that this was simply the love of friends, but she was inordinately warmed by the notion that this may have been the first time that Harry had told anyone that he loved them, no matter what type of love it was.

Or, at least, this was how she had thought about it, until her mother had disturbed her ordered paradigm with her suggestions about what Harry might truly have meant.

And that idea thrilled Hermione as it sped through her body and mind. It left a tingle wherever it touched ... and it touched everywhere, inside and out. Harry loved her, as a friend ... she'd made that much of an impression on his caged life and in so short a time. It would have seemed absurd to Hermione, if she didn't immediately recognise that he'd done the exact same thing to her. Almost out of nowhere, Harry Potter had crept into her life and changed her world.

"Or shattered it," Hermione thought to herself with a warm smile. She was smiling because she never thought she'd be this happy to be broken, but she was in a million pieces, and it felt wonderful.

And then that tinny tinkle sounded in the living room again. For a moment, Hermione didn't recognise it. But as the tone droned on, she woke up and realised that the doorbell was ringing. Ignoring it, as it couldn't be anything to do with her, Hermione snuggled down and went back to her book, scratching Crookshanks under his new collar as he adjusted himself at her feet. Her mother got up and went to answer the door.

When she re-entered the living room from the hall, she wasn't alone.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Hermione gasped, sitting up and alert. "What are you doing here?"

"Hermione!" David Granger admonished as he stirred to cogency. "That is no way to welcome a guest."

But Dumbledore wore a benign smile as he rose a hand to silence any further protests. "Miss Granger is well within her rights to be surprised by my arrival, Mr Granger. Imagine what her response would have been had I Apparated into the room! There is no offence taken."

"Even so, manners are manners," David argued.

"The validity of the question is far more important," Dumbledore disagreed jovially. "What am I doing here? And at such a late hour, no less."

"And what's the reason, Headmaster?" Hermione asked, her voice far more timid than her earlier outburst. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine, fine, there is nothing dramatic, let me assure you," Dumbledore replied, shedding his cloak. "I would have made my visit earlier, but you have a very busy household."

"I have family up from Wales," Catrin explained. "My sisters like to breed. I lose count of my nieces and nephews from time to time."

Dumbledore chuckled at that. "I promise not to intrude for a moment longer than I need to, but my reason for visiting is something that I felt I needed to address in person rather than via a letter. It concerns you, Hermione and it is quite a delicate matter."

It was the first time that Hermione could ever remember Dumbledore using her first name. It was this, more than anything else, which suddenly put her on edge. She could only think of one topic that might be described in such a way, she just hoped she was wrong.

"What's this about, Mister Dumbledore?" David asked, concerned now at Dumbledore's grave turn of tone. "What's going on?"

"Perhaps we should discuss this in more pleasant surroundings," Dumbledore suggested, peering over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. "I understand, Mr Granger, that you have a fabulous model trainset in your attic, one that you have recently added a miniature version of the Hogwarts Express to. I feel that my life will not be complete until I have seen it, if you will indulge an old man's appetite for whimsy."

"Alright, but not until you give us a clue as to what this is about and how it involves our daughter," David insisted.

Dumbledore nodded. "That seems fair. I will explain in greater detail, but for now let me just say that it concerns the next challenge in a tournament that we are hosting at Hogwarts. The Champions competing have all had to undergo a magical examination, to reveal the aspect of their lives that it would cost them the most to lose. This aspect will then be put in jeopardy, should the Champion fail to recover it during the Task. We, the organisers, expected material things to be focus of this challenge, and took steps to ensure that other people wouldn't be put at risk at all.

"But one Champion has managed to nominate a person for this Task. To own the truth, they have nominated you, Miss Granger, and I am not sure what is Darker ... the magic needed to circumvent our constraints, or the intentions of the one who cast it. Either way, I am deeply troubled at this development, and determined that we must get to the bottom of it before you return to face this fate, Hermione."