The Life Bond by Lissy_A

Rating: PG13
Genres: Drama, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 22/02/2012
Last Updated: 11/07/2012
Status: In Progress

Harry saved Hermione from the troll, but wound up in a coma. Hermione wished she could help her
savior wake up. Who knew an innocent kiss would have such magical ramifications? Future
Harmony.




1. Chapter 1 – Hero
-------------------



Chapter 1 - Hero

*“A hero is no braver* *than an ordinary man, but he is braver five minutes
longer.”*

Quirrell smirked maliciously as he led the mountain troll into the castle. It had been
ridiculously easy to lure the dumb creature to the empty dungeons of Hogwarts. Absentmindedly, he
wondered if Dumbledore truly deserved his magnificent reputation. The Headmaster was oblivious to
Quirrell's intentions regarding the coveted Philosopher's stone, but Quirrell wasn't
about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Quirrell vaguely remembered a time where he taught that filthy subject, Muggle Studies. He
honestly had no idea what he was thinking. He was a Pureblood, and he should've acted
accordingly. Muggles were scum, plain and simple. Dumbledore, Muggle-loving fool he was, had
managed to convince him that Muggles were harmless and deserved to know about magic. Thankfully,
his master showed him the error of his ways.

Quirrell was happy to serve the Dark Lord. When he first encountered the wraith in the forests
of Albania, he had been scared witless. But the Dark Lord was unlike what Dumbledore had described.
His master wasn't cruel or vicious like he was portrayed. No, his master had a tongue of honey,
wit, and superior knowledge. He explained his side to Quirrell, and Quirrell found it made sense.
Why should the worlds mix and bring about the next Salem Witch Trials? No, total separation was a
must.

Still, they were outnumbered. Annihilating the threat truly seemed the only way to make sure the
world became a safer place for Purebloods. The filth needed to stay out, and Quirrell agreed
whole-heartedly. He was tired of teaching mudbloods. They were unworthy to learn magic, unworthy to
learn about a world that they did not belong in.

It was then and there, in that forest in Albania, that Quirrell decided he would willingly serve
his Lord in an attempt to see that vision come true; a world ruled by the best, the Purebloods, and
filth completely eradicated. He closed his eyes temporarily, a cruel smirk on his lips as he
imagined what such a world would like.

The troll let out a growl, the sound deep and guttural. Quirrell immediately snapped his eyes
towards the creature. It looked at him stupidly and Quirrell sneered. Just a few more feet and then
he could leave to try going down that trap door. He wasn't sure exactly how competent the other
traps were, but knew his would be the easiest. Really, it was quite lucky that he had such a knack
for handling trolls.

Determination seared through his veins. He had failed his Lord once, in Gringotts, and he
won't do it again. He would get the Philosopher's stone and bring his Lord back to power,
and be rewarded greatly.

“*Make haste*,” came a raspy whisper from underneath his turban.

“Yes, my Lord,” Quirrell immediately replied, his tone one of respect. He carefully set the
troll free and hurried to leave before the troll spotted him and decided to make things difficult.
In his haste, Quirrell underestimated the aggression the troll had. Just as he was almost at the
other end of the hallway, the troll let out a horrifying roar. Quirrell spun around, wand in hand,
and gasped as the troll ran at him with surprising speed.

That moment of hesitation allowed the troll to swing its club, hitting Quirrell's skull with
a sickening crack. Quirrell slammed into the wall before sliding down, a dazed expression on his
face. The troll regarded him for a long time, trying to determine if Quirrell was still an enemy
without frying its tiny brain. It seemed to go on forever, and Quirrell felt his strength draining
away. The troll finally left him, wandering down the hall and disappearing around a corner.

Quirrell couldn't move. He lay still in a pool of his blood, that horrified and dazed
expression glued on his face. He couldn't think. All he could do was feel his blood dribbling
out of the wound on his head with a frightening speed. He tried to move something and whimpered as
his arm protested viciously. It broke when he slammed into the wall. Everything was starting to get
fuzzy.

“*Fool*,” the Dark Lord rasped.

“Master?” Quirrell whimpered.

“*You've proven yourself useless, Quirrell*,” the Dark Lord said silkily.

Quirrell's blood ran cold. It began to dawn on him just what his Lord had implied. “M-My
Lord, p-p-please,” he begged, his words starting to slur as his world began to blacken.

His Lord laughed, a cruel and vicious sound that Quirrell couldn't quite remember hearing,
before his nerve endings erupted. He screamed as his Lord separated from the back of his
head—painfully.

Just as his world darkened completely, Quirrell wondered if he'd made the right choice to
follow the bodiless Dark Lord.

Meanwhile, in the Great Hall, the Hallowe'en feast was a success. Laughter and talking was
abuzz and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Everyone except a small black-haired boy with
startlingly green eyes.

Harry glanced up and down the Gryffindor table, trying to find the bushy haired witch Ron had
upset earlier. Ever since he had seen her run off crying, his stomach continuously twisted rather
unpleasantly. While he hadn't been the one to hurt her feelings, he also hadn't said
anything in her defense, and that was almost just as bad.

It reminded him of his time at Privet Drive when he didn't have any friends. Dudley would
always say something cruel and vicious, and though not everybody made fun of him, the people that
were quiet hurt him perhaps moreso. He had looked at them hopefully, begging with his eyes for just
a little kindness. In the end, they ignored him and turned the other cheek to his suffering.

Harry hadn't realized he became one of those people until he saw Hermione Granger crying and
running off alone while he just stood there like an idiot.

His stomach churned unpleasantly. He'd been so happy to be whisked away from his dull and
unwanted existence at the Dursleys that he'd begun to lose himself. And while having everybody
know his name and want to be his friend was more than a little disconcerting, it was also vastly
different and somewhat heart-warming. He'd gone from being an orphaned freak who lived in a
cupboard to a big-time celebrity that everybody (well, *almost* everybody) wanted to know.
Sure, he didn't want the fame and was uncomfortable with it, but having people actually
interested in wanting to be his friend made him happy. Harry hadn't realized he was acting
differently, and felt deeply ashamed.

“Um, Neville? Have you seen Hermione?”

Neville paused to swallow his food. “Nobody's seen her since after Charms. Parvati Patil
said she's been crying in the girl's lavatory all afternoon.”

His gut lurched again.

Ron looked somewhat awkward. “Well, serves her right,” he grumbled petulantly.

Harry scowled. “It's partly your fault she's in there, so you have no right to say
anything!”

Ron's jaw dropped. “But she's a nightmare!” he exclaimed in an attempt to defend
himself.

“She was trying to help! Yeah, she went about it the wrong way, but that didn't mean you had
to be such a rude prat.” Harry stood before Ron had the chance to reply. “I have to go.”

Harry was all too aware of the eyes that followed him as he left. He hadn't meant to snap at
Ron. The redhead certainly lacked tact, but he was also Harry's first friend. He'd made
Harry feel like a normal boy on the train as they talked about what to expect at Hogwarts and how
nervous they were about the sorting. What Ron had said about Hermione was wrong, though, and now
Hermione was in a lavatory somewhere crying because of his harsh words and everybody else's
silence.

Harry knew how hard it was to fit in. Dudley had made sure that Harry felt like an outsider, and
that everybody would avoid him if they knew what was good for them. Many nights after he'd
cried himself to sleep in his cupboard, Harry swore that he would try to make friends with the
loners. He didn't want anybody else to feel the intense loneliness he suffered. Nearly three
months into term and he already broke his vow.

Harry shook those thoughts from his head and sighed as he finally reached the lavatory by the
Charms room. He hesitated briefly before knocking on the door. Nobody answered, and Harry gulped
somewhat nervously. Screwing his eyes shut and putting a hand over them (just in case), Harry
opened the door and walked into the girl's lavatory. He could hear someone sniffling.

“Hermione?” he asked cautiously.

There was a pause before the sniffling continued. “What do you want?”

Harry felt a little relieved that he hadn't walked in on a different girl. “A-Are you okay?
Parvati said you'd been here all afternoon.”

Another sniffle. “What does it matter? I thought I was a nightmare.”

Harry winced. “Ron can be a bit…dense. He was a bit embarrassed and acted like a prat.”

Hermione snorted. “I was only trying to help,” she said, feeling a tad defensive. “He didn't
have to be so abrasive in saying he didn't need it!”

“I know that. Ron knows that, too. He's a good friend when you get to know him, but he's
a bit insensitive. He really didn't mean to hurt your feelings.”

Hermione finally came out of the stall. Her bushy hair was all over the place, not unlike
Harry's own nest of hair, and her eyes were red and puffy. She regarded him with hesitation.
“You shouldn't apologize for other people,” she said softly. “You didn't do anything.”

Harry winced. “In a way, doing nothing is worse,” he replied. “I used to be bullied at my old
school. I know what it feels like.”

Hermione looked skeptical. “*You* were bullied?”

“I grew up with Muggles, remember?” Harry grimaced. “It's hard to go to a Muggle school and
have all these weird things happen that you can't possibly hope to explain. I was the weird kid
that nobody wanted to be around, and was bullied for it. But one thing I noticed was that while not
everybody picked on me, I always hoped that the ones who noticed what was going on would maybe stop
the bullies. And it always hurt just as much when all they did was look away.”

Hermione remained silent for a while, but her eyes were misty with both tears and bad memories.
“It *is* hard,” she whispered, sniffling, “and I don't know how to fit in here any better
than in the Muggle world.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “Ron helped me do that, and I'm sure he won't mind helping
you. After he's apologized for being such a prat and all.”

Hermione let out a watery giggle. “How are you so sure he will?”

“Because,” Harry said, “when I left to find you, he already looked pretty guilty. He'll
apologize, definitely.”

Hermione gave him a shy smile. “Thank you for finding me, Harry. You didn't have to.”

“Yes, I did,” Harry said, his voice surprisingly firm. He took in a deep breath before sticking
out his hand. “Friends?”

Hermione looked surprised before she beamed. Harry flushed. She had a really pretty smile, even
if her eyes were still puffy and her face was all blotchy. She took his hand and shook it.
“Friends,” she concluded.

Harry smiled shyly and opened his mouth to speak when a repulsive odor hit his nostrils. It
smelt like old socks and the bathroom at the Dursleys after Dudley and Uncle Vernon both finished
digesting curry. He turned towards Hermione and saw her eyes wide with fear. Turning his head in
the direction she was looking at, Harry froze.

In the doorway was an extremely ugly *thing*. It had to be at the very least ten feet tall
with grey skin. Its body was somewhat lumpy, and its feet looked like every podiatrist's
nightmare. It stared at them with great confusion, and it seemed like time itself stopped. The
thing was clearly assessing them, a process that looked painful (kind of like when Dudley tried to
demonstrate anything similar to a mathematical skill).

Before he could think of a way to leave the lavatory, which would've been hard with the
thing covering the entrance, the thing roared viciously and charged at them. With an amazing amount
of skill that Harry didn't know he had, he managed to push Hermione out of harm's way and
narrowly evaded the club the thing had swung. The club crashed into the stalls, thoroughly
demolishing them. The thing confusedly looked at the damage for a few moments.

Harry took that chance to grab Hermione and dash towards the entrance. They quickly locked the
door, panting heavily.

“What was that?” Harry gasped.

“A troll,” Hermione whispered fearfully. “They're incredibly stupid, but they're also
really powerful. Come on; we should tell the Headmaster.”

Nodding in agreement, Harry ran alongside Hermione. It was barely a moment later when they heard
a large *bang* as the troll broke through the lavatory doors. Hermione whimpered in fear,
running just a bit faster. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry's heart skipped a beat. The troll
had spotted them. By the looks of it, the troll ran a great deal faster and would catch up in no
time.

His heart was pounding in his ears. Harry had never felt so afraid in all of his life. Not even
when Uncle Vernon's face turned purple after the Headmistress of his old school said he
appeared on the roof of the school kitchens, or when Ripper chased him up that tree, or when Dudley
tripped him into the street and he was nearly hit by a car. He could hear Hermione sobbing next to
him, no doubt just as afraid if not moreso. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping them running, but
Hermione was beginning to sort of slow down. It occurred to Harry that she might have never had to
run so fast or for so long before.

He glanced around his shoulder again. The toll was closer, snarling as lumpy grey blobs of snot
dangled out of its nose. And then, when he thought it couldn't get any worse, Hermione tripped.
She crashed onto the floor, hard, and seemed a bit disoriented. She turned over when she heard the
troll roar again, this time more fiercely, and she trembled as her face drained of all remaining
color.

Harry didn't even need to think about it. He turned around, his wand out and pointed it at
the troll, wishing with all of his might that he could protect his new friend. A misty shield came
out of his wand's tip. The troll glanced at it and, growing angrier, swung its heavy club at
it. The shield instantly fell, but not before the club sort of backfired. As soon as it had hit the
shield, it seemed to change its course and planted itself in the troll's gut.

The troll screamed its pain and fury, stumbling backwards as the club dropped to the ground with
a loud *thud*.

Harry quickly turned to the still trembling Hermione. “Go,” he said as he picked her up, his
wand still out and trained on the troll. “Get help; hurry!”

Hermione looked at him with surprise and fear. “B-But, you—”

“I can obviously distract it better than you. Please, Hermione, get Professor Dumbledore!” Harry
cried.

Hermione nodded her head and took off, still somewhat slow but with renewed determination. The
troll finally seemed to collect itself and it snarled furiously at Harry. Harry felt his inside
tremble and was surprised he hadn't wet himself yet. Gulping, he swung his wand again, wishing
for that shield to pop up again.

It didn't.

Despair and fear took over. Harry glanced at his wand in horror, and the troll grabbed him and
picked him up. Its grip was strong, and Harry felt his breathing constrict. He screamed as
something in his body popped and pain exploded all over his abdomen. His lung seemed to be filling
with liquid. He coughed and tasted something metallic. He didn't need to look at it to know
what it was.

Blood.

He was going to die.

Harry Potter, from unwanted freak to boy celebrity, was going to die. He hadn't even made it
half-way through term. He wouldn't get to play at his first Quidditch match. He wouldn't
get to do a lot of things, now.

Something bubbled inside of Harry. He didn't know exactly what it was, but he desperately
tried to bring forth that sensation. He wished with all of his might, prayed silently, hoped that
beyond anything, he would not die by the troll's hand. Hallowe'en really was a cursed
night.

It hit him in that moment that he would die the same night as his parents—just ten years
later.

The sensation inside of him grew as the troll brought him closer, probably to eat him or
something, and it exploded before the troll could take a chomp out of him. The troll screeched as
painful looking boils erupted onto his face and hands. It threw Harry, who hit his head on the wall
quite hard.

Harry watched, dazed and confused, as the troll brought its hands to its face and seemed to
*wipe off its skin*. He shook with pain and terror as he coughed again, more blood dribbling
out of his mouth. The troll looked at him again and directed its pain and anger at the bleeding
boy. It brought up its fists, and Harry instinctively threw his arms up in an effort to protect
himself.

The additional pain never came. Harry chanced a look and gasped. Another shield was conjured,
this one stronger than the last. The troll's fists banged against it uselessly, and only seemed
to make it angrier. Harry felt himself draining. Sweat developed on his brow and he panted with the
exertion. He was growing weaker—he could feel it.

*Just a little longer*, he thought even as his vision blurred. Hermione would be there soon
with the Headmaster and would save him; he knew she would. *Just a bit longer*.

While Harry was fighting for his life, Hermione was running as fast as she could to the Great
Hall. She cursed herself viciously for being so weak, for having fallen and making Harry stay
behind. She sobbed, remembering the bone-deep terror that the troll had almost gotten her. It would
have killed her if Harry hadn't stepped in. She couldn't let him down. She *had* to
get help; she owed him her life.

The doors to the Great Hall had never looked so welcoming before, not even when she walked
through them the first time. Without another thought, she slammed the doors open, gaining the
attention of every single person in the Hall. They stared at her silently as she gasped and tried
to catch her breath.

She continued to run towards the Head Table where many professors, Dumbledore included, stood up
in worry.

“Professor,” she gasped, panting heavily. “Troll! Bathroom - Harry - kill him - help!”

Professor Dumbledore seemed appropriately alarmed. “What did you say Miss Granger?”

Hermione wailed like a wounded cat. “I was in… lavatory and Harry came… but there was a troll…
almost killed us, but Harry… and we got away, but it… escaped lavatory and then… almost hit me
with… club, but Harry jumped in front… and this shield thing came from his wand… and he told me to
come get help! Please, sir! He could be… dead right now and… oh, it's all my fault!”

Professor Dumbledore looked grim as he quickly sprung around the table. Professors McGonagall
and Snape followed. Noise erupted in the Hall, as well as a good deal of screaming. “SILENCE!” All
noise stopped, except for Hermione's sobs. Dumbledore began delegating orders. “Pomona, make
sure nobody leaves the Hall. Poppy, Filius, come with me. Severus, go to the Hospital Wing and get
the potions ready. Miss Granger, where did you leave Harry?”

Hermione grabbed his hand and tried to drag him out of the Hall, but Professor McGonagall
stopped her. “Miss Granger, we cannot allow you to endanger yourself. Please, where did you leave
Mister Potter? Speak quickly.”

“The Charms hallway,” Hermione sobbed.

“Thank you,” Professor Dumbledore said grimly. “Stay here. Pomona, would you…?”

Professor Sprout nodded and led Hermione into a chair, waving her wand at the distraught girl.
Hermione's eyes drooped and before she knew it, she was asleep.

Dumbledore led the others to the Charms hallway, moving surprisingly quick for an elderly man.
They could hear the troll snarling, and ran even faster. When they got there, McGonagall gasped in
alarm.

Harry's shield was still holding, but he looked a frightful sight. He was sweating heavily,
his arms shaking badly. Blood splattered on the front of his shirt and down his chin. His eyes were
drooping, but he kept muttering something under his breath.

The troll didn't look so good either. It had severe damage to its face and hands.
McGonagall's hand went to her mouth as the stench of boiled troll flesh hit her superior
smell.

Flitwick and Dumbledore wasted no time in blasting the troll away from the injured boy. Their
dual attack captured the troll's attention and before it could even think to defend itself, it
was incapacitated—permanently.

Madame Pomfrey was already at Harry's side with McGonagall. She was waving her wand over the
trembling boy frantically, muttering spells in an attempt to reverse as much damage as she could so
they could safely bring Harry to the Hospital Wing.

“How bad is it, Poppy?” Dumbledore asked, his eyes transfixed on the blood Harry was covered
in.

Madame Pomfrey continued with her wandwork. It wasn't until a few moments later that she
cast spells to aid in moving Harry. “*Stupefy*. *Mobilicorpus*.” She spoke as she walked
briskly towards the Hospital Wing. McGonagall and Dumbledore followed her as Flitwick stood behind
to dispose of the troll's corpse. “It's not good, Albus. He has three broken ribs, two of
which pierced his lung, and a nasty concussion. That's not what I'm really worried about,
though.”

Icy dread washed over the elderly man. “What is it?” Dumbledore asked in a near whisper.

Madame Pomfrey looked at him solemnly. “He has the worst case of magical exhaustion I've
ever seen. At his age, Albus, I… Albus, I'm not sure if I can repair the damage done to his
core. He might have lost his ability to perform magic.”

“No,” McGonagall whispered in horror. “Oh, no, not Lily and James' boy!”

Dumbledore said nothing as he stared at the small boy with great regret in his eyes. The brisk
trip to the Hospital Wing was silent as he began to contemplate all that had happened. Dumbledore
swallowed thickly before saying quietly, “Minerva, go back to the Great Hall. All students are to
be taken to their dormitories at once except for Miss Granger; she is to be brought here so she can
be properly treated.”

McGonagall nodded sharply before leaving. Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey reached the Hospital
Wing shortly after, the latter barking out potions for Snape to deliver. The greasy haired
professor paled ever-so-slightly at the blood, but quickly and efficiently began passing the
medi-witch the proper potions.

Madame Pomfrey worked hard and diligently on Harry, fixing his broken ribs and repairing the
damage done to his lung. In the time it took to repair everything, it was well into the evening and
Hermione had been brought into the Hospital Wing. The young witch was given a Calming Draught and
remained sleeping.

The next day, Hermione woke up slowly and completely unaware of her surroundings. She was
confused for a few moments before yesterday night's events hit her and she let out a whimper.
She trembled slightly and looked around, half-expecting a snarling troll to come after her.
Instead, she noticed she was in what looked like a medical area. There were other beds, each
looking crisp and undisturbed. The portraits were awake and talking amongst themselves.

“Awake already, young lady?”

Hermione squeaked and turned towards a stern looking matron, clearly frightened. The woman had
grey hair pulled away from her face in a bun. Her warm brown eyes crinkled welcomingly, though her
lips were pulled in a tight, worried line.

“Where am I?” Hermione asked quietly.

Madame Pomfrey gave her a small smile. “The Hospital Wing, dear. How are you feeling?”

“I…” Hermione bit her lip to try to stop her eyes from tearing. “I don't…”

Madame Pomfrey watched her before nodding in understanding and walking to a potions cabinet. She
handed Hermione a small bottle. “It's a Calming Draught, Miss Granger. After the events of last
night, it does not surprise me in the least that you're traumatized.”

Hermione shakily held the draught up to her lips. It took her a few tries to successfully drink
the potion. She immediately felt calmer, like the tight knot inside of her was finally gone, though
the tears still trickled out of her eyes.

“I was going to die,” she whispered, her eyes wide as she stared at the wall. “If Harry
hadn't been… I would've died…”

Madame Pomfrey nodded her head sadly. “I'm terribly sorry this happened to you, Miss
Granger. These kinds of occurrences don't frequently happen and the Headmaster is looking into
it. Why, the last time we had any kind of security issue was about fifty years ago.”

Hermione wiped her tears away. “Where's Harry? He's not… Is he okay?”

Madame Pomfrey's eyes dimmed. “While the physical damage done to him has been healed, the
magical damage was…extensive. I'm sorry to tell you this, but Mister Potter is in a coma.”

Hermione froze and stared at Madame Pomfrey in disbelief. “A coma? But… I mean, how could he be…
why?”

Madame Pomfrey sighed and sat next to Hermione. “Mister Potter used a lot of magic protecting
himself last night, Miss Granger. In short, his magical core, which is still developing, could not
take the strain. His body is in a coma until his magic can repair itself to a level where he can
function with something as simple as everyday tasks.”

The words echoed in her head. Hermione's heart was heavy, and her bottom lip quivered.
“C-Can I see him? Please?”

The matron paused thoughtfully before she nodded her head. “It must be brief, Miss Granger. He
needs peace and quiet to heal, and you yourself have been through a terrible ordeal. I'd like
for you to remain in the infirmary for just a bit longer to be sure that you won't have another
panic attack.”

Hermione nodded her head absentmindedly, still somewhat shocked at what Madame Pomfrey had said.
Harry was in a coma? She barely stopped the strangled sound that wanted to escape at the news. Oh,
this was all her fault. Maybe if she'd ran faster, or hadn't been in that lavatory at all,
then maybe Harry would be perfectly fine right now.

She followed the matron stiffly, her hands clenched tightly. Harry was in a private section of
the Hospital Wing. He looked somewhat peaceful, lying in the bed that seemed to swallow him.
Hermione never noticed how thin he was. She swallowed thickly; even with his slightly smaller
build, he was able to protect her from death.

Hermione walked forward and clasped his hand in hers like it were a lifeline. She tried hard to
keep her tears at bay; it didn't do any good crying. Her tears would not awaken Harry from a
coma. She waited until Madame Pomfrey left before she began to speak.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, bowing her head. “I'm so sorry, Harry. If I hadn't been
there, none of this would have happened.”

Harry's hand was a little warm in hers. A little calloused and almost delicate-looking, but
Hermione remembered the power he'd wielded last night. He had effortlessly summoned a shield
and saved her life. Granted, it didn't last, but the fact that he summoned one at all was
astonishingly.

No, Harry Potter was not delicate. He was resilient, and brave, and younger than her. He had
persevered where she faltered. He was stronger than her, and yet here he was, in a coma because of
overusing his magic.

*Probably on that shield*, Hermione thought. She looked at him sadly, wanting more than
anything for him to wake up. So she could thank him, apologize for endangering his life,
anything.

She'd give anything for him to wake up.

Her gut twisted into knots, producing a tingly sensation that traveled throughout her body.
Hermione felt sick to her stomach. The tingly sensation spread to her head, and Hermione
sighed.

“I'm sorry,” she repeated sadly. “I owe you my life, Harry, and I'd do anything for you
to wake up right now.”

She bent down to brush her lips against Harry's hand.

Madame Pomfrey, who walked in as Hermione was saying her goodbyes, gasped and cried, “Miss
Granger, don't!”

It was too late. Hermione's lips connected with the smooth skin of Harry's hand, and the
tingly sensation began to travel out of her. Her eyes widened and she tried to pull away, but she
couldn't. She was getting tired, feeling weaker. Time flew slowly as the sensation buzzed
quicker and quicker and her eyes grew heavier and heavier.

It was finally done. Hermione gasped loudly as she collapsed on the ground, thoroughly drained
and exhausted. The last thing she remembered was Madame Pomfrey yelling for someone named Tippy to
get the Headmaster.

Then her world went dark.
 Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7
-->



2. Chapter 2 – Explanations
---------------------------



Chapter 2 - Explanations

*“An explanation of cause is not a justification by reason.”*

*He's just like Lily*, Snape thought as he sipped his fire whiskey and stared into the
unlit fireplace of his quarters. *Just like Potter, too*.

Severus Snape wasn't an idiot. He knew as soon as he'd let slip that disgusting word
that day that she would walk into Potter's arms. He knew they would get married. He knew that
Lily would bear the children of his most hated enemy. His chest twisted viciously at the reminder
that he'd pushed away the only woman worth loving.

Snape finished the shot of fire whiskey, grimacing bitterly and pouring more. It ached—sweet
Merlin, did it ache. Watching as little Harry Potter nervously placed the Sorting Hat upon his
head, Snape knew teaching the boy would be his most difficult task to date. It would be harder than
spying for Dumbledore, harder than enduring the brutal punishments his ex-Master had been
oh-so-willing to dish out, harder than anything.

To most, Harry Potter was a beacon of hope. He was a sign of better tomorrows where good would
finally triumph over evil; the Wizarding world's very own Savior and Golden Boy. To Snape, he
was a reminder of everything he should have had and everything he had lost.

Lily Evans—sweet, beautiful Lily—had been his best friend. She'd been his own beacon of
hope, and helped curb the loneliness of his childhood. They had done everything together, and
he'd ruined everything.

The fire whiskey burned as it went down.

Staring at Harry Potter, the almost carbon copy of his archenemy with his unrequited love's
eyes, hurt. Her death had been hard enough to accept; teaching her son who should have died that
fateful night almost hurt more. He was a lot like her, he realized. He hadn't wanted to see
those differences; wished to pretend that the boy miraculously spawned only from James Potter. It
made it so much easier to hate him.

The events that occurred over the past two days changed his mind—forever. Hearing Miss
Granger's garbled message and actually seeing the damage Potter had suffered at the hands of
the troll had shocked him. Just thinking about all that blood made him feel queasy. It wasn't
the blood he had a problem with; rather, it was seeing Lily's son lose so much of the precious
liquid that truly shook him to the core.

Because Harry Potter wasn't Potter's spawn to him anymore. He was Lily's son,
too.

Snape's black eyes glittered with agony. The boy had looked so much like his mother had that
Hallowe'en night ten years ago. He had almost flinched and backed away, but remembered at the
last minute that Lily had been buried long ago. After Poppy finished healing the boy, Snape had
taken a moment to look at Lily's son—*really* look at him for the first time since Harry
Potter stepped foot inside the Great Hall. The boy, passed out, didn't look much like his
bitter childhood rival.

The room spun as Snape decided to forgo the glass and drank straight from the bottle. *Merlin
help me*, he thought miserably. His magic hummed furiously under his skin. The life debt he owed
James Potter had never been paid in full, especially since his actions had basically sentenced the
pitiful excuse of a man to his death. It instead transferred over to his son. Snape knew fulfilling
the debt wouldn't be easy; nearly two months into term and already
Potter's—*Lily's*—son nearly got himself killed.

Anger began to consume him. Lily had given her life to protect her son, and he honored that
sacrifice by confronting a troll by himself? Subconsciously he knew that it was poor luck that led
to Potter's confrontation, but rational thought wasn't exactly his forte at the moment.
Instead, he allowed the anger to fester into cold fury. He had a feeling the stupid boy would get
in more trouble before the year was up; his father, after all, had had a penchant for attracting
all sorts of trouble.

His cold fury soon turned to sheer, unadulterated hatred. It was easy enough to accomplish, the
twisting emotions having been festering since Lily ran into Potter's arms. He'd make that
arrogant boy pay for besmirching the sacrifice of the woman he loved more than life itself.

Oh, he'd make him regret surviving that night.

While Snape continued to drink himself into oblivion, Albus Dumbledore spent most of his time
pacing anxiously in the Hospital Wing. He had been hopeful that perhaps a miracle had occurred and
the damage done to Mister Potter's core was irreversible; that he wouldn't become like his
sweet little sister Ariana.

Though Mister Potter had been fighting for his life whereas Ariana suffered a tragic encounter
with those Muggles, the end result would have been the same. According to Madam Pomfrey, the damage
done to Mister Potter's magical core would have left him permanently stunted. He would be
unable to perform even the simplest spells, and his magic would eventually turn on him. It would
drive him mad, and not even the amazing medical advances in the Wizarding world since the time his
sister had been broken in such a brutal manner would prevent his magic from eventually killing
him.

Hearing that, for the first time in many years, Albus Dumbledore had collapsed onto the chair in
the Hospital Wing next to Mister Potter's bed, put his face in his hands, and wept. Another
child was entrusted to him, and like before he failed in his duty. After his sister, he swore to
never again neglect his responsibilities, and while Mister Potter was in his school, he was very
much a responsibility of his. It didn't matter if the troll managing to get through the wards
wasn't a fault of his own; he was the Headmaster. He needed to make the school a safe place for
all of his students, his precious charges.

But he'd failed. He allowed a dangerous artifact—a *coveted*, dangerous artifact—to be
safely hidden away at the school. Hogwarts was the next safest place for the Philosopher's
Stone to be kept. Gringotts, though perhaps even more of a fortress and safe than Hogwarts, had
only proven that Voldemort was slippery enough to do the unthinkable and slip in and out of the
goblin-run bank undetected. The Stone needed to be protected. If it fell into Voldemort's
hands, the war would pick up and rage even fiercer than before. There would only be death,
destruction, and chaos.

But was it worth it? In order to save countless others, sometimes sacrifices had to be made. Was
keeping the Stone in Hogwarts truly the right course of action? Having it under his careful watch
ensured he could protect it, but the cost almost seemed too high. It was a difficult decision to
make. To keep the world safe, the Stone needed to be safe.

Keeping the Stone safe however proved a challenge. Albus admitted to himself that perhaps he
underestimated Voldemort slightly. Despite the former Dark Lord's form being that of a wraith,
he was obviously capable of getting past the protections Albus had set up. He should have listened
to Severus when the dour Potions Master scathingly stated that three first year dunderheads could
get past the rudimentary and mediocre protections.

Wiping his face, Albus came to a decision. The Stone needed to be moved—*secretly*.
Voldemort already knew the Stone was at Hogwarts; the wards surrounding the school immediately
notified him when the vile wraith had passed through them. However, Voldemort had been smart.
Though Albus knew Voldemort was inside the castle, the wards had been manipulated in such a way
that he had no idea *where* Voldemort was.

Voldemort was bound to try to retrieve it again. Moving the Stone would be the best chance of
protecting it.

When he had finally managed to pull himself together, he had patted Mister Potter's hand
sadly and retreated into his office. He wrote two letters; one to be sent to parents explaining the
troll incident and the new wards he hoped the Ministry would approve of adding (a slightly
underhanded, but extremely effective technique he learned quickly while dealing with the
government), and the second to be sent to the Ministry itself.

Not even five minutes later, Tippy appeared next to Fawkes' perch, squabbling about Madam
Pomfrey urgently needing him. The house elf barely finished speaking before Albus found himself
grabbing Floo powder and easily making his way to the Hospital Wing.

“I tried to stop her, Headmaster,” Madam Pomfrey immediately said as he rushed to her side. She
cast scan after scan over Miss Granger and Mister Potter's still forms. The two children were
on an enlarged bed, their hands grasped in each other's.

“What happened?” Albus demanded. His tone easily reminded the kind matron that he wasn't
just an eccentric old man with a sock fetish, but rather the powerful wizard who had defeated
Grindelwald.

“Miss Granger had awoken and asked to see Mister Potter. I didn't see any harm in it, so I
let her. I was only gone for a few minutes,” the elder woman explained. “When I came back, I heard
her tell Mister Potter that she'd do anything for him to wake up. Combine that with the life
debt she owes…”

Albus paled at the implications; such words were not to be used lightly in the Wizarding world.
“And then?” he whispered.

Madam Pomfrey looked at him, anxiety written all over her face. “I could feel the magic in the
air,” she said softly, her eyes shifting back towards her young patients. “I tried to stop her,”
she repeated.

“She touched him.” It wasn't a question.

“She kissed his hand,” Madam Pomfrey confirmed.

Albus closed his eyes. Magic was simultaneously such a wonderful, glorious blessing, and yet
such a dangerous, nasty curse. It was one of the reasons why the Wizarding world was still so
archaic; magic did not see reason or circumstances or took into consideration any other factors. It
enabled mere words to turn into powerful weapons capable of complete and utter
destruction—literally as well as figuratively.

“Are they…?”

“Miss Granger's magic helped heal Mister Potter's core,” Madam Pomfrey said. Her lips
pressed into a thin line. “It canceled out the life debt she owed him, but it bound their magic
and, consequently, their lives together. To what extent, I won't know until they wake up.”

The air rushed out of Albus' lungs and he sat numbly in the chair by the bed. It was quiet
for a few moments before Albus spoke up. “I knew Mister Potter attending Hogwarts would be a
challenge, him being who he is and all, but I must admit I did not see this coming.”

Madam Pomfrey conjured a chair and sat beside him. She sighed. “I don't believe anyone could
have seen or have been prepared for such an event. Why, there hasn't been a bonded pair since
the 1800s.”

“With good reason,” Albus murmured quietly. He sat quietly for a few more moments before
straightening. He pulled his wand out and firmly stated, “I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian
Dumbledore, do hereby swear a Wizard's Oath to withhold the knowledge of Harry Potter and
Hermione Granger's bond from everyone except their parents, guardians, and a select few of the
staff unless given consent to do so otherwise by the aforementioned pair. So mote it be.”

Madam Pomfrey's eyes widened. “Headmaster…?”

Albus stared at her with grim determination. “I will not require you to swear a Wizard's
Oath as your own vows as a Healer prevent you from disclosing any information, Poppy. However, let
it be known that with the exception of us, there will be *very* few people who will know of
the bond.”

Madam Pomfrey could only nod her head, somewhat stunned at the turn of events and yet not really
so surprised. “Of course, Headmaster.”

Albus stood. “I have a few Floo calls to make, as I'm more than sure the Minister will have
a few choice words to say about my letter. You'll inform me when they awaken, yes?”

He didn't really wait for a reply, but he didn't really need to.

The next day, Harry awoke with a groan. His head was aching fiercely, and he looked at his
surroundings in confusion. What happened? Where was he? Harry tried to sit up, but his body groaned
in protest. His hand—why couldn't he move his hand? Gazing at the trapped appendage, he noted
with surprise that it was wrapped in something white—gauze, if he had to guess. Using his other
hand, Harry groped for his glasses on the bedside table.

He was laying in a room full of beds. Harry noted with surprise that Hermione was laying right
next to him, her foot touching his. How did…?

He stiffened as memories of (when was it?) Hallowe'en flooded his mind. His breathing picked
up as he remembered the pain and terror the troll had caused him. The too sterile room started to
spin and small, strangled noises disturbed the quiet. So caught up in his mind, Harry didn't
realize he had begun to whimper. His eyes teared up and he began to struggle to get out of bed. His
foot dislodged from next to Hermione's and his stomach began cramping something fierce. His
body tangled in the sheets, and suddenly he wasn't in the sterile room anymore. The troll was
at his feet, snarling viciously and snapping its teeth at him. He screamed and tried to get away,
but something had his feet trapped. Had the troll got to him?

He screamed and screamed and screamed. Warmth gathered around his pelvis and crept down to the
tops of his thighs. Harry was vaguely aware that he had wet himself and cried out for someone,
anyone, to save him.

He quivered with terror, sobbing bitterly as the pain in his stomach reached its peak. Next to
him, Hermione had also began to writhe in pain on the bed, her face scrunching in terror though she
was still unconscious. Suddenly, there were hands on him. He fought against them with all of his
might, but it was useless. He was no match for…four hands?

“Mister Potter!”

Trolls could speak? Hermione had said they were stupid, so he didn't think they could sound
so normal…or feminine.

Harry hiccupped as the worried face of an elder woman came into view. She wore her graying hair
in place with a small nurse's cap on the top of her head. He glanced around and noticed that
the troll was gone. Professor Snape was there as well, glancing down at him with the most peculiar
expression on his face as he helped the woman hold Harry down. When Professor Snape caught Harry
staring at him with wonder and confusion, he sneered viciously and the familiar hatred and rage
entered his eyes again.

Harry absent-mindedly wondered if he'd imagined that alien expression on his sour Potions
Professor.

The Potions Master let go and reached onto the bedside table where a few potions sat. He handed
one to Harry.

“Drink, Mister Potter,” he commanded silkily. “It's a Calming Draught,” he added when Harry
stared at the potion with open suspicion.

Harry managed to drink it despite his shaking and felt his insides begin to relax. His muscles
sagged in relief, and Harry hadn't even noticed he'd been so tense. The pain he felt
earlier vanished as if it never occurred, and he noticed his foot was once again touching
Hermione's. Licking his lips, he slowly found his voice. “W-Where am I?” he whispered, looking
around.

“You're in the Hospital Wing, dear,” the elder woman said soothingly. “I'm Madam
Pomfrey. How are you feeling?”

“Odd,” Harry mumbled. “Kind of cold.”

Madam Pomfrey smiled. “That would be because of the Calming Draught. I meant are you
experiencing any pain right now? Any soreness or stiffness?”

“My head really hurts, and my arm aches,” Harry confessed.

Madam Pomfrey nodded her head understandingly. “Does anything else hurt?” she asked cautiously.
“Anything at all?”

Harry regarded her curiously. “Just that,” he said guardedly, staring at her carefully.

The matron smiled softly at him. “Good. That's good,” she murmured. She began to run scan
after scan, a quill recording notes on a piece of parchment by itself just to her right. Madam
Pomfrey `hmmm'ed and `ahhhh'ed as her eyes took in the results. She turned to Professor
Snape, whispered something in his ear, and shooed him out of the Hospital Wing. The dour man did so
with a sneer on his face, muttering something about house elf-like treatment.

When the door closed behind him, Madam Pomfrey's smile dimmed ever-so-slightly. “Mister
Potter, when the Headmaster returns, there are some things we need to speak of.”

Harry blinked. “Like what?” he asked. “Am I in trouble? For the,” he swallowed thickly, “the
t-troll?”

Madam Pomfrey jerked back slightly in shock. “Of course not, Mister Potter!” she exclaimed.
“That would be absolutely absurd. No, the Headmaster will be coming here for a number of reasons.
One, a troll somehow managed to get passed Hogwarts' wards and you were gravely injured in the
crossfire. That is not something to take lightly. You will need to receive counseling, and the
Headmaster will be speaking with you and your guardians about your safety at Hogwarts.”

Harry paled a bit. “The Dursleys? Does he need to? They're, uh, not very happy with magic.
Muggles and all.”

The matron's eyebrow arched on its own accord. “Mister Potter, Muggles or not, your
guardians need to made aware of the situation.”

Harry nodded his head sadly and tried to hide his disappointment. Knowing the Dursleys, after
finding out what happened, they would either be furious that he hadn't actually managed to die
or they would pull him from Hogwarts, knowing how much he wanted to be here. “I understand,” he
whispered.

Madam Pomfrey eyed him suspiciously for a moment before her face eased into a soft smile.
“I'll have you know that was a brave thing you did. Recklessly stupid and utterly Gryffindor,
but brave none-the-less.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, flushing slightly. “It was too fast,” he said, his eyes becoming
somewhat glazed as he remembered that night. “It would have caught both of us, and Hermione was too
scared. I-I couldn't let her face that t-troll.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded her head in understanding. “Trolls aren't normally so vicious,” she
murmured. “They're big and have enormous strength, but they don't have the necessary brain
power or emotional capacity to go on such a vicious rage like the one that was incapacitated two
days ago.”

Harry shivered, remembering the snarling face. “I've n-never been so scared before,” he
admitted, bowing his head. “But my magic—it did something. The troll was going to hit me and I
thought I was going to die, but this shield thingy came up and saved me.” He looked at Madam
Pomfrey curiously. “I thought you had to say a spell to do magic.”

“That is normally the case,” Madam Pomfrey said, “but young children perform magic without a
wand, right? Your magic reacted to your very strong, very real fear of danger. Accidental magic
occurs quite often until around the age of twelve to thirteen when children have a firmer grasp of
magic and become more proficient in channeling it into a wand.”

Harry thought that over. “Why does it stop, though?”

Madam Pomfrey smiled at the inquisitive wizard. “Wands help you focus your magic. While
accidental magic can sometimes be good at helping you out in a situation, it is out of control.
Once magic leaves your body, there is very little you can do with it. It is essentially wild magic,
and is very difficult to use.”

Harry opened his mouth to ask more questions, but was interrupted by Hermione starting to stir
awake. She let out a groggy moan before sitting up and rubbing her aching head. She was confused
before a few moments before she noticed Harry and Madam Pomfrey.

Her eyes widened before she let out a choked sound and rushed to hug Harry with the force of
three trolls, babbling apologies and repeating how happy she was that he was awake. Harry was
surprised he understood what she said, given how fast she was talking.

“Miss Granger, please control yourself. Mister Potter has just been healed, and his body is
still somewhat tender,” Madam Pomfrey chided sternly.

Hermione blushed at the reprimand. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I'm just so happy you're
alright, Harry. You *saved* my life.”

Harry shifted somewhat uncomfortably. “It's alright,” he said quickly. “Don't worry
about it.”

Madam Pomfrey grimaced slightly. “Mister Potter, I'm afraid it *is* something to worry
about,” she said quietly. “Magic has a mind of its own sometimes, and the consequences of such
actions can be a lot.”

Hermione frowned at her somewhat cryptic words. “Is something wrong?” she asked somewhat
hesitantly, feeling a little upset that Harry saving her life was worrisome.

The Headmaster chose that exact moment to walk into the Hospital Wing. His blue eyes lit up when
he saw Harry and Hermione awake. “I must say, it is my pleasure to see you both bright-eyed and
bushy-tailed after the terrible ordeal you suffered,” he said kindly, smiling at the first
years.

Hermione seemed to be dazed that the Headmaster, a man of supposedly great power and authority,
was talking to them before she shook her head. “Thank you,” she said humbly. “Um, what exactly
happened? How did a troll get in?”

The twinkle in Professor Dumbledore's eyes dimmed slightly. “Alas, that is a good question,”
he said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “I have a few theories, none of which can be proven. It
is my belief, however, that there was a hole in the protective wards that surround the school to
keep such creatures away from children. The troll was first discovered by Professor Quirrell.
I'm afraid to say that he did not walk away from such an encounter.”

Harry and Hermione's eyes widened. “You mean…?” Harry asked, horrified.

“He's…dead?” Hermione whispered. They weren't exactly fond of Professor Quirrell's
classes, but that certainly didn't mean they had wanted to see him dead.

Professor Dumbledore nodded his head slowly. There was a moment of silence before the wizened
man spoke up. “As Headmaster of Hogwarts, I deeply apologize for your safety having been
compromised,” he said softly.

“It wasn't your fault, sir,” Hermione said, blushing furiously.

“Miss Granger, I am responsible for every single student in this castle for about three-fourths
of the year,” Professor Dumbledore said seriously. “Regardless of who's fault it was, the blame
must fall with me as I'm in charge of making sure the school is the safest environment
possible.”

Hermione pressed her lips together and nodded her head, feeling very small.

Harry bit his lip. “What's going to happen now, sir?” he asked quietly.

Professor Dumbledore smiled kindly. “There will be a meeting held with your parents and
guardians to inform them of the situation. With such a serious breach of security, actions have
been taken to ensure that the problems are thoroughly investigated and appropriately corrected.
Aside from that, there are some…” Professor Dumbledore faltered slightly before continuing, “…some
unexpected and unorthodox consequences to come to light.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks. “What?” they asked in unison.

Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat softly, smiling when she captured their attention. “Mister
Potter, when your magic acted up and performed that shield, it significantly drained your magical
core,” she began to explain. “Because you're so young, your magical coils have not yet fully
developed. Your shield burned such a large amount of magic that your body shut down to repair the
damage. This condition is called Extreme Magical Exhaustion, or EME. To use as much as you did to
the point of EME, it can seriously damage your magical coils and permanently cripple, or handicap
you.”

Harry paled. “I-I'm crippled?” he cried, his eyes widening. He began to pat down his body.
“I feel perfectly fine!”

Professor Dumbledore blinked before he began to chuckle. “My boy,” he said warmly, “you are not
crippled.”

Harry blushed. “But…”

“You *could have* been crippled,” Madam Pomfrey stressed. “Mister Potter, magic can at
times be very unpredictable. When you saved Miss Granger's life at the near cost of your own,
she owed you a life debt.”

“Life debt?” Hermione murmured, her brows furrowed in concentration. She was hanging onto every
word, trying to absorb everything that was being said.

“When a wizard saves another wizard's life, it creates a connection between them,” Madam
Pomfrey explained. “It is old magic at its deepest, and cannot be reversed. To acknowledge such a
debt is to swear on your magic that the debtor repays the wizard they owe with something equally or
more valuable than their own life.”

Hermione paled significantly, her brain having instantly connected the dots. “What happens if
you don't pay it back?” she cried.

Madam Pomfrey looked uncomfortable for a brief moment. “There are many consequences,” she said
softly, “none of which are pretty. You needn't worry about that, Miss Granger. You repaid
Mister Potter's debt in full.”

Hermione sucked in a deep breath. “But I haven't…how have I…?” she stammered.

“The only reason Mister Potter is awake and not crippled is because of you,” Professor
Dumbledore said. “To my understanding, you deeply wished for Mister Potter to be well, yes?”

“Of course I did,” Hermione said strongly. “He saved my life!”

“Magic is deeply connected with our emotions, Miss Granger. When you kissed his hand,” Professor
Dumbledore continued, ignoring both Harry and Hermione's now flaming red faces, “your magic
reacted strongly to your desire for him to be well again. When that combined with the life debt,
magic deemed it a suitable payment and used your magic to help rejuvenate Mister Potter's
core.”

“That's a good thing, right?” Harry interjected, looking wildly between the two adults. He
was very confused, feeling a ton of emotions all at once. It was enough to make him dizzy.

“It's a good thing you're both alive and well,” Professor Dumbledore assured.
“Unfortunately, magic didn't stop at merely helping Mister Potter recover. It went beyond that,
and entwined your magic together.”

Harry frowned slightly as Hermione sucked in air. “What does that mean?” he asked.

“It means we're bonded,” Hermione said quietly. “Doesn't it, Professor?”

“Indeed,” Professor Dumbledore confirmed. “You are now the youngest bonded pair in history.”

From the grim looks on everyone's faces, Harry didn't really feel like that was a good
thing.
 Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7
-->



3. Chapter 3 – The Grangers
---------------------------



Chapter 3 - The Grangers

*“The love of a family is life'**s greate**st blessing.”*

Jane Granger glanced nervously at the clock in her office. She'd had a very unsettling
feeling in the pit of her stomach ever since Hallowe'en. Her husband, Alexander, insisted it
was because it was the first holiday they hadn't shared with Hermione. It was possible, she
admitted, but Hallowe'en wasn't really a major holiday for them since Hermione wasn't
allowed to have any sweets and didn't care much for horror movies. Still, her precious daughter
was in school in another country, and she could admit that that left her feeling unsettled.

Hermione's acceptance into the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on her eleventh
birthday came as a huge shock. They discovered that magic was, in fact, real, and their own
daughter was a witch. It took some adjusting, but once she saw how excited and hopeful her little
girl had been, there was no doubt that Hermione was going to travel to Hogwarts to become part of a
society that held no place for her parents.

Still, Hermione was ecstatic and longed for knowledge of the new world she was going to join.
She was greatly disappointed when Professor McGonagall, the strict-looking witch that had
personally delivered the letter and turned their coffee table into a rabbit, informed her that due
to her late birthday she wouldn't be able to join the first years until the following
September. Jane had been very happy, however. It gave her time to be with her daughter for a while
longer before allowing her to be so far away for the first time ever.

That, of course, didn't stop Hermione from learning all she could about the Wizarding world
before she began her first year at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall looked very amused as Hermione
promptly opened up a copy of the Hogwarts Muggleborn introductory packet as if it were made of the
jewels from the Queen's very own crown. Hermione had wanted to buy as many books as possible,
but Jane had put her foot down. They'd only have a year together, after all, and Hermione had a
tendency to become manic when devouring new material. While a year didn't seem like a little,
it was much less time with her daughter than what Jane was used to. Then again, in Jane's eyes,
she was supposed to have at least ten years before Hermione went off on her own.

Alex took it a bit better than she did. Like Hermione, he was fascinated by the idea of a hidden
world full of magic and achievements that they couldn't dream of. Not that Jane wasn't, of
course, because magic was truly marvelous, but he was a little more laid back about Hermione going
off to school for the better part of a year. “Dear, our Hermione is brilliant enough to accept any
school she desires. We've already talked about her studying abroad,” he would say. “I worry as
well, but she has a good head on her shoulders. If this is what she wants to pursue, then we need
to let her.”

Despite the very rational argument, Jane still didn't feel quite right allowing Hermione to
go off to Hogwarts so very far away from her grasp. Perhaps it was because of Hermione's
problems with being bullied because of her high intelligence that made Jane want to keep her
daughter so close to her. However, despite her initial misgivings, Jane was convinced of the safety
and quality education Hermione would receive at Hogwarts, and after long talks and pondering, she
finally gave her blessing.

Hermione was ecstatic, of course, and spent much of her time at home talking all about her hopes
and dreams of the Wizarding world. Professor McGonagall had been very serious when speaking of the
Statute of Secrecy, and of the consequences the Ministry of Magic would take should they let slip
about Hermione's special abilities. If it was meant to scare them away, they were not
deterred.

After all, despite Hermione being only eleven, she was a part of the family, and Alex and Jane
were adamant that they allow Hermione to give her input in such big decisions, especially
considering her level of maturity and rationality.

The past two months without Hermione at home was…different. In a way, it was nearly unnatural to
her as a mother to come home and not here her darling little bookworm prattle on about the latest
discovery she'd made at the library. She was slowly beginning to get used to it, and dreading
the next six years when she'd only have holidays and breaks to spend with her daughter.

As time went on and Hermione kept up on her promise to write as often as she could, Jane felt a
little more at peace. Hermione seemed to truly love the Wizarding world more than she loved the
Muggle one, and she would go on for pages about how fascinating her classes were. There were no
talks of friends quite yet, but Hermione had a few acquaintances from other houses that shared a
table with her at the library. For someone who never really had a friend before, Jane considered it
quite an improvement.

And even though Jane felt more comforted by her daughter's letters, more assured that she
and Alex had made the right decision, she found herself unable to sleep Hallowe'en night or
last night. She felt sick to her stomach, and yet she didn't have a cold or any sort of
ailment. Instead, it felt like her gut was telling her that something was just wrong. Not only
that, but Hermione hadn't mailed a letter in five days. She could have simply forgotten or was
too busy studying, but Hermione was rather obsessive about her maintaining a schedule to the point
of it developing into a complex that that was rather unlikely. Hermione had also promised to mail
another letter the day after Hallowe'en detailing how the Wizarding version differed from the
Muggle one.

It didn't take long for her to start assuming the worst and pacing a hole in the floor. Alex
tried to assure her that everything was fine, but Jane knew her daughter. Something had happened,
something that kept her from sleeping and twisted her stomach into knots. She had no evidence, but
sometimes a mother just knows.

A knock on the door broke Jane out of her musings. She almost knocked down her water bottle
before she cleared her throat and said, “Come in.”

It was Alex. “Darling, are you ready to go?”

Jane smiled at him. Oh, how she loved her husband. He was a tall man with chestnut brown hair
and breathtaking warm chocolate eyes. Alex always knew how to make her smile, either quoting a
seemingly obscure passage from a Shakespearean play (which she had to guess) or acting like an
exuberant child when he told her about a new fascinating piece of literature he found in the
library.

She could see a lot of him in Hermione.

“Just about. My last appointment rescheduled for tomorrow morning, so I'll need to be a
little early,” she replied, standing up and stretching.

Alex grinned. “Excellent. Would the lady care to join me at the cinema tonight?”

Jane laughed. “Let's eat dinner first, shall we?”

The walk home was a pleasant one. The autumn air was beginning to chill, but Alex held her hand
the entire way and offered her his warmth. He even wore the awful scarf she'd tried to make him
years ago. It was absolutely hideous, and the green yarn was too old and starting to come undone.
Fortunately, Hermione did not inherit her bad skill in the area.

Their plans for the evening were foiled, however, when they spotted an elderly man in alarming
purple suit gazing at their house and frowning. They shared a look and Alex took a cautious step
forward.

“Excuse me, but may I help you?” he asked.

The elderly man turned towards them, and his blue eyes lit up and twinkled. “Yes, I'm
looking for Mister and Missus Granger?”

Jane stepped next to her husband. “What can we do for you?”

The elderly man smiled politely. “Forgive me, I've yet to introduce myself. I'm
Professor Albus Dumbledore. I'm the Headmaster at Miss Granger's school.”

Jane's stomach dropped. “Has something happened?” she asked frantically, fear gripping her
heart. “Is something wrong? How is Hermione?”

Albus's smile dimmed considerably. “Miss Granger is well now. May we take this conversation
inside?”

Jane and Alex, both pale with worry and confusion, led him into their modest abode. He was
further led into their sitting room where he sat in a very comfy chair, flicked his wand to provide
tea, and pondered on how best to start.

Alex, however, could not take the silence. “What's happened to my little girl?” he demanded
quietly, all traces of his normally jovial character gone.

Albus sighed softly. “On Hallowe'en, there was a breach in the protective wards surrounding
Hogwarts. A mountain troll somehow managed to get in, destroy a bathroom, and seriously injure a
student.”

Jane gasped, and Alex's face became pinched. “Was it Hermione?” she whispered, horrified.
Her eyes filled with tears as fear for her only child grew. “Was Hermione hurt?”

“No,” Albus said, “she wasn't.”

Alex nearly sagged in relief. “But…if Hermione wasn't injured, why are you here?” he asked
curiously. “Surely as the Headmaster you have more important things to do than personally deliver
the news to every family that has a child in your institution; like, say, find out how something
that can destroy a bathroom managed to get into your school.”

Albus gave a small smile. “Normally a letter is mailed to all the parents detailing what
happened, but though Miss Granger wasn't injured, that does not mean she wasn't involved,
hence my coming here personally.” Upon seeing their faces, he continued, “You see, Miss Granger was
in that bathroom when the troll attacked. It turns out that a classmate said some rather cruel
words and she hid in there the entire afternoon.”

Jane's hand flew to her mouth. “Hermione was there when that thing destroyed it?” she
shrieked, her eyes wide.

Albus nodded solemnly. “According to Miss Granger, a fellow classmate, Mister Potter, had
followed her into the bathroom—”

“He what?” Alex's face nearly purpled with rage at the thought of a boy stalking his baby
girl.

Albus gave him a stern look for interrupting, the same one he used on unruly students, and said,
“He followed her into the bathroom to apologize.” The old man paused and, after he was sure he
wouldn't be interrupted again, carried on. “He wasn't the one that put her in there, but
still felt that he should apologize because he had remained silent when the other boy spoke ill of
her thoughtlessly. It was at that point that the troll walked in and began to destroy the
bathroom.”

“So a troll just…just waltzed into the school and destroyed the bathroom?” Jane had a hard time
processing everything. “Why didn't anyone see it?”

“This occurred during the Hallowe'en feast,” Albus explained. “Everyone, or so we thought,
was dining in the Great Hall.”

It was silent for a moment before Alex murmured, “You said a student was seriously injured…”

Albus nodded. “They tried to outrun the troll, but outrunning a creature ten feet tall is no
easy feat.”

Alex and Jane paled even more, and Jane's breath began to come in short pants. Albus looked
at her, alarmed, and gave her the teacup. She shook her head, but he insisted, and after the first
sip she felt warmth travelling throughout her body, and it became easier to breathe. “You drugged
me?” she asked incredulously.

“I'm sorry, madam,” Albus apologized, “but I thought telling you the news without the use of
a calming draught would have been unwise.”

Alex wrapped his arms around his wife and glared at the old man. “You can't just drug
people! Even if it was the calming thing, the least you could have done was tell us
beforehand.”

Albus had the sense to look abashed. “I'm sorry,” he apologized again. When Alex's glare
softened only marginally, he spoke again. “They could not have outrun the troll. It's legs were
bigger and more powerful. So…” He stopped and took a sip of tea, his eyes dimming even further. “So
Mister Potter urged her to get help, and stayed behind to distract the troll.”

Jane's teacup slipped from her numb hands onto the carpeted floor. “He…?”

“He was able to perform extremely advanced magic, and developed a severe case of Extreme Magical
Exhaustion. Such an ailment in an eleven year old child still developing his magic is extremely
dangerous, and is known to normally end fatally after a few months,” Albus informed them grimly.
“Because his magical coils are still developing, to use to much magic would cripple him. He would
be unable to use magic until, one day, his magic would burst free and most likely kill him in the
process.”

Alex's eyes widened and he inaudibly gasped. He felt sorry for the boy, no doubt, but he
couldn't help but picture his little girl suffering. His heart ached terribly.

“Is he…will he be…?” Jane stammered.

“He was in a coma for two days.” Albus paused and took another sip of tea. “He also gave Miss
Granger enough time to inform me and the staff of the troll. We were able to save Mister Potter
from immediate death, though he obviously suffered a great deal. Professor Flitwick, who was a
master duelist quite a number of years ago, as well as myself were able to eliminate the
troll.”

That was a polite way of putting it, and Jane couldn't help but feel such an immense amount
of relief. “So…so Hermione's okay… My baby girl is alright.” She almost sobbed tears of
joy.

Alex, however, tensed again. “Well, given light of recent matters, I believe it's safe to
say that Hermione will not be continuing her education at Hogwarts.”

Albus nearly grimaced. “I'm afraid that's where things get sticky,” he said slowly.

Alex would have none of it. He stood up, enraged. “We were promised that our daughter would be
safe,” he spat angrily. “Instead , she could have been killed by a—a—a troll! No, she won't be
continuing at your *fine* institution anymore. I want Hermione home—tonight!”

Albus slowly stood up, allowing some of his magic to radiate off his body. “Mister Granger,” he
said softly, “I am not yet finished informing you of what happened, and this very much concerns
your daughter. Please, sit and listen.”

Alex froze. “Nothing you say,” he said as he sat down, “will change my mind.”

Albus also sat. “In the Wizarding world,” he continued as if Alex had never spoken, “when you
save someone's life at the near cost of your own, that person then owes you a life debt. This
is old magic at its deepest, and very unbreakable. To acknowledge such a debt is to swear on your
magic that the debtor repays the wizard they owe with something equally or more valuable than their
own life.” He took another sip of tea. “Miss Granger, unknowingly, acknowledged the debt she owes
Mister Potter.”

Jane closed her eyes and took in a deep, shuddering breath. The calming draught was wearing off,
and Albus conjured another cup of tea for her. She eyed it wearily, but sensing her anxiety
building convinced her to take a sip. “Something equally…or more valuable than her life,” she
murmured. She looked up into the old man's eyes, tears still trailing down her face despite
feeling completely calm. “My baby is only twelve. She's my everything. What can possibly be
more valuable than her own life?”

Albus regarded her with sad eyes. “When she acknowledged her debt, she leaned down to kiss his
hand,” he explained softly. “That would normally be of no consequence, but when you combine that
with an acknowledged debt, a promise to aid in whatever manner she can, and skin contact, that
develops a bond.”

“A bond?” Alex asked incredulously, feeling very confused and angry and wondering if allowing
Hermione to pursue her magical talents wasn't such a good idea.

“The bond she accidentally invoked allowed her own magic to heal Mister Potter's, saving him
from his eventual fate. Her and Mister Potter are now connected, in the deepest of ways in the
Wizarding world.” Albus sighed and suddenly appeared to be so very old. “For the time being, they
cannot be separated without causing them both pain. They are currently in the Hospital Wing being
looked after by Madam Pomfrey, a very capable Healer. We still do not know how deeply this bond
will affect them.”

“How do you not know?” Jane questioned, sipping her tea with slightly shaky hands.

“The last bonded pair was in the 1800s,” Albus said. “And every bonded pair was different.
Besides, it is unheard of for eleven-year-olds to be bonded—until now, that is. And that is
primarily the reason why Miss Granger must stay enrolled in Hogwarts.”

Alex shook his head. “She's not staying there another night,” he grit out. “As her father, I
am well within my rights to pull her from your school.”

“Be that as it may,” Albus conceded, “the fact remains that she is now magically connected to
another student. If you pull her from Hogwarts, her magic will be heavily suppressed and all of
your memories of the magical world will be erased as is customary for Muggleborns that decline a
magical education.”

“Maybe,” Jane spoke up, licking her lips, “that'll be best. You have to understand, Mister
Dumbledore, that as a parent it is my job to do what's best for my daughter. I thought your
school would be best, but she was nearly killed. I trusted you with her safety, and you failed. You
won't get the chance to make that mistake again.”

“If her magic, the only reason why Mister Potter is not in a coma and crippled, is suppressed,
how do you suppose her debt would be fulfilled?” Albus asked.

“You said it yourself!” Alex exclaimed. “He's not in a coma anymore, and healed. I'm
sorry he got hurt and bloody thankful that he saved my daughter, but I won't allow her safety
to be further jeopardized!”

“You misunderstand what I'm trying to tell you,” Albus murmured, sighing heavily. “Miss
Granger's magical coils are also not that developed. The moment she acknowledged the debt and
furthermore sealed it when her lips touched his hand, their bond became unbreakable. It
*relies* on their magic. You have that suppressed, and you kill not only your daughter, but an
innocent boy who nearly lost his life trying to save hers!”

Alex and Jane recoiled sharply, momentarily speechless.

“So…” Jane swallowed thickly and said, “So we don't even get the choice?” She shook with
suppressed fury and practically spat in rage. “We have no choice but to let our daughter continue
her education at your obviously unsafe school?”

Albus pursed his lips. “We are going to have Aurors, our equivalent of Muggle policeman,
investigate how a troll could have managed to breach our protective wards. During the Christmas
holidays, all children will be sent home so the wards can be updated and brought to a higher
standard to further protect the school and its occupants.” He took a deep breath to calm his
nerves. “Now, you have every right to be upset at the turn of events. I take full responsibility
for your daughter's traumatic experience, and will be providing counseling for her. I
apologize, deeply and profusely, for what has happened, but I cannot allow you to pull Miss Granger
out of Hogwarts.”

Jane scoffed. “Given that her options are at your institution or death, it's not like we
have a choice,” she said bitterly.

Alex shook his head. “I don't like this,” he said angrily. “We should have never let her
go.”

Albus sighed, understanding their feelings. “Furthermore, I understand how you would find it
impossible to trust me or the staff ever again with your daughter's safety.” He ignored their
glares and rummaged for something in his pocket. “Therefore, I will be giving you two devices that
will allow you to monitor your daughter's safety yourself.”

Alex and Jane exchanged a look. “How can we do that?” Jane asked curiously, her tone still
carrying a note of anger.

Albus licked his lips. “I trust I don't need to remind you of the consequences should this
fall into the hands of a Muggle that does not know of magic,” he said seriously. He, of course,
charmed the devices to only be found and viewed by the Grangers, but they didn't need to know
that and become careless with them. He doubted that would happen, but one could never be too
careful. “The Statute of Secrecy leaves little room for mistakes to be made in regards to magical
items being found in the wrong hands.”

“Save your threats, Mister Dumbledore,” Alex said crisply.

Albus smiled genially at him. “This first device,” he said, showing them a simple wristwatch,
“will monitor your daughter's whereabouts.” At their dubious looks, he opened the watch. “These
spoons will show whether she is safe, hurt, or lost. It will not, however, react to every injury
she receives.”

“Why not?” Alex asked, begrudgingly impressed by the device.

Albus raised an eyebrow. “Well, while a paper cut can hurt, I seriously doubt it's serious
enough to cause you to panic,” he explained. “Therefore, it'll only move from safe to hurt if
Miss Granger needs to spend more than a day in the Hospital Wing.”

Jane accepted the watch and cradled it, staring at the spoon that rested on safe. “Thank you,”
she whispered. She was, of course, still upset with the old man and even more at the helplessness
she was experiencing, but the watch would certainly help her not develop grey hairs earlier than
she should.

“The other device,” he said as he pulled it out from his obviously enlarged pocket, “is this
enchanted mirror.”

It was a beautiful silver mirror, with gold floral engravings going up the handle. Jane briefly
wondered how it fit into his pocket, but seemed to think that the fact that he was a wizard should
be the only explanation she would really need. Still, she had to comment on it. “It looks lovely,”
she said softly. “What does it do?”

Albus smiled and, instead of responding, stared at the mirror and said, “Hermione Granger.”

The mirror glowed a soft, pale blue before Jane heard her daughter's voice. “Hi, Professor
Dumbledore!”

Albus smiled. “Miss Granger, I'm going to give this to your parents now.” He stared at the
shocked parents and carefully handed them the mirror.

Jane grabbed it with shaky hands and stared into it. Her daughter was smiling at her, her brown
eyes sparkling and looking so very happy. “Hi, mum! Isn't this mirror cool? It has all sorts of
enchantments on it, and it kind of works like a cross between a mobile and a video camera. I've
actually heard that the University of Cambridge is working on something called a webcam, and
it's all really fascinating.”

Jane swallowed thickly and smiled. “Yes, it is,” she said softly. “How are you feeling?
Professor Dumbledore told us what happened. Are you alright?”

Hermione smiled a little weakly. “Yes, everything's fine, mum. Harry saved my life. Would
you like to see him?” Without waiting for an answer, she pointed the mirror at a boy she was
obviously sitting next to. He was adorable, Jane thought, with his wild raven hair and
breath-taking emerald eyes. He blushed furiously as soon as the mirror was pointed at him, but
offered a weak wave and then looked away pointedly.

Albus coughed, gathering their attention. “Unfortunately, the call has to be cut short. Miss
Granger and Mister Potter need their rest. You can continue at a later date.”

Jane was very reluctant to end the call, but Alex swiftly took the mirror from her, spoke with
Hermione for a few moments, and then said his goodbyes, promising to continue the call later. Jane
also said her goodbyes, and then Hermione's face disappeared from the mirror. “What's
this?” Jane asked as Albus handed her a paper.

“Miss Granger's schedule,” Albus said. “So you'll know when she's in class, and when
she'll have free periods to talk.”

“Thank you,” Alex said quietly.

Albus waved off their thanks. “It really is the least I could do,” he said. He pulled out a
watch and glanced at the time. “I'm going to have to cut this a little shorter than I'd
like. I still have to visit Mister Potter's family and explain what happened.” He stood up and
turned to leave, but paused. “We don't normally do this, but given that these are extenuating
circumstances and I'm sure you'd love nothing more than to check for yourself, Professor
McGonagall will deliver Miss Granger here tomorrow. What time will be best?”

“The morning,” Jane said immediately. “I'll cancel my appointments.”

Albus nodded. “You understand, of course, that due to the instability of the bond, Mister Potter
and Miss Granger require constant contact. He will also need to be here.”

“He saved Hermione's life,” Alex said quietly. “I think we can host him for a few
hours.”

Albus smiled. “Thank you.” He turned to leave but, yet again, paused. “I must also inform you
that due to the rareness of the bond, I have elected to keep it very hush-hush and under wraps.
Only the staff will know since Miss Granger and Mister Potter will now need to be paired together
until the bond settles. They have all agreed to take a Wizard's Oath and keep their silence. A
Wizard's Oath is different than a normal oath in the Muggle world, the difference being that
should the witch or wizard break this oath, their magic will be forfeit. And, believe me, there are
many that find that fate a lot worse than death.”

Alex and Jane nodded their heads in understanding. They were not completely convinced that
Hermione would be safe at Hogwarts, but given that they didn't really have a choice, they at
least had the tools to make sure she was safe. “Have a good evening, Mister Dumbledore,” Jane said
as she and Alex walked him to the door.

“You both as well. I wish we met under different circumstances,” Albus replied solemnly. He
reached into his pocket and handed Jane a book. “I recommend you read that before tomorrow morning.
You will find it most enlightening.” With a last nod, he exited the house and walked away. Jane
closed the door and not five minutes later, there was the sound of a car backfiring.

“What's that?” Alex asked after a few minutes of silence.

Jane glanced at the book. “*The Rise and Fall of the Dark Lords*,” she read. She opened the
book and noticed an underlined chapter under the table of contents. “*Harry Potter: The Boy Who
Lived.*”

“Boy who lived?” Alex eyed it skeptically.

Jane shrugged her shoulders and made her way back into the sitting room. She put the book down
on the coffee table and stared it for a moment. Unbidden, her eyes filled with tears again and
before she knew it, her husband was pulling her into his arms and rocking her gently.

“We almost lost her, Alex,” she sobbed. “She…she must have been so scared, and…oh, I don't
want her back at that school!”

“I don't like it any more than you do,” he murmured into her hair, “but she's safe now.
We have this mirror and we can contact her any time we want.”

Jane nodded her head and wiped away her tears. “I don't like it,” she whispered. “But
it's better than the alternative.”

Alex smiled gently and placed a loving kiss on her lips. “Come on,” he whispered back.
“Let's get started on that book. I'll make us a nice pot of undrugged tea, and then we can
get to bed. Hermione's coming tomorrow morning. That's something to be happy about,
right?”

Jane let out a watery giggle. “You're right. Let's get this over with.”
 Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7
-->



4. Chapter 4 – The Dursleys
---------------------------



Chapter 4 - The Dursleys

*“Loneliness and the feel**ing* *of being unwanted is the most terrible
poverty.”*

Petunia Dursley loved the life she had; she loved the home she lived in, she loved the social
standing she had in the community amongst the housewives, and she loved her family. Her lovely
husband, Vernon, provided quite nicely and their son was an absolute angel. He was already
attending Smeltings, and Petunia had a feeling he'd grow up to be just as successful as his
father. Just as she put the finishing touches on the pudding, the door opened and closed. Petunia
smiled widely and rushed to the door.

“Vernon, darling, you're home!” she cried, placing a kiss on his lips. She helped him out of
his business jacket and grabbed his briefcase.

There were many words that described Vernon Dursley, and handsome wasn't one of them. He was
a big and beefy man with a moustache and beady eyes. His personality left more to be desired than
his appearances, being a very greedy and selfish man. Petunia, of course, saw none of that. Vernon
would always be the polite, misunderstood man that only she had the privilege to see.

Ever since they first started dating, Vernon had been the perfect gentleman. He held open the
door for her, complimented her, and asked her how her day went. Even after marriage, he was
everything she'd imagined in a husband; an excellent provider, wonderful father, and overall
hard-working individual.

She regretted her parents dying before they could meet him.

“How was your day, Pet?” he questioned, smiling at his doting wife. “My, something smells
divine.”

“Vernon, we have new neighbors!” Petunia squealed excitedly, walking into the kitchen with
Vernon following her. “I've made a pudding to welcome them to the neighborhood.”

“Excellent idea, Pet.”

“They sound positively delightful,” Petunia continued, smiling as she decorated the pudding with
sugared violets. “Their surname is Bennet, and from what I've heard, the wife, Angela I believe
her name is, writes books. Robert, the husband, is a lawyer. They look middle-aged, but they
don't have any children yet!”

“Really?” Vernon murmured as he stroked his moustache.

Petunia gossiped, “And, from what Mrs. Kirtland told me, they're both rather attractive.
I'm going to invite them over for dinner and see what they're all about.” Petunia paused,
frowning slightly. “Mrs. Arkwright in Number Seven spoke with her already. The Bennets, apparently,
can't have any children.”

“What a shame.” Vernon didn't sound sympathetic in the least.

“Finished,” Petunia said proudly, admiring her work.

“Looks delicious, dear,” Vernon said, licking his lips greedily. “Perhaps I should taste it to
see…”

“Vernon!” Petunia laughed a little, smacking his arm gently. “I wouldn't want you to spoil
your appetite, darling. The roast potatoes are already in the oven, and I've made your favorite
lamb roast earlier.”

“You always look after me, Pet,” he whispered in her ear, delighting in her shiver. “I don't
know what I'd do without you.” He wrapped his thick arms around her and Petunia sighed
contentedly, leaning into his embrace. She closed her eyes and Vernon used that opportunity to dig
his finger into the bottom corner. He hurriedly stuffed the bit of pudding into his mouth and
sighed in bliss. His wife was a true whiz in the kitchen, if he did say so himself.

A knock on their door interrupted their moment. Petunia frowned and glanced at the time. “Were
you expecting anyone, darling?”

Vernon scowled. “No,” he said thoughtfully, an obviously seldom used expression on his face.

He straightened his tie and smoothed any wrinkles from his shirt before opening the door, just
in case it turned out to be a prominent businessman. Instead, he came face to face with an elderly
man in a revolting purple suit. Despite the color, however, the suit was obviously made of fine
material, and the twinkle in the man's blue eyes reminded Vernon of the difficult Japanese
businessman he'd encountered earlier that day—calculating, and slightly wicked. Vernon got the
impression that the man before him was one of power, and while not boastful about it, definitely
not afraid to use it.

It was a look he'd seen in many a confident potential business client and Vernon had plenty
of practice when it came to manipulating things to go his way.

“Mister Dursley, I presume?” the man asked after a few moments of a somewhat awkward
silence.

Vernon realized he'd been sizing the man up for an entire minute, and promptly stuck out his
hand to cover up the awkward moment. “How do you do?” he asked greasily. “Yes, I'm Vernon
Dursley. May I ask who you are?”

“Oh, how rude of me,” the old man said lightly. “I am Professor Albus Dumbledore. I'm the
Headmaster at Mister Potter's school.”

Immediately, all evidence of his kind disposition vanished. Vernon adopted a half-panicked,
half-disgusted expression. “We don't know about any Potter!” he barked. “Don't com e here
ever again!”

He made to slam the door, but Albus was stronger than he let on. Vernon barely suppressed a
shiver as the blue eyes, twinkling jovially only moments, frosted over and glared at him. “Mister
Dursley,” Albus said calmly, “I have come here to discuss something of great importance with you
and your wife regarding Mister Potter. Let me in—*now*.”

Grimacing slightly as some of their neighbors nosily stared at them, Vernon allowed Dumbledore
to step inside. “Don't let the neighbors see you,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Who was it Vernon?” Petunia asked. She gasped as she saw Albus. “You!”

While she'd never seen Albus Dumbledore in the flesh before, she remembered Lily bringing
home photos of her freak school. Among them had been the Headmaster, and Petunia was slightly
surprised the elderly man hadn't retired or croaked yet. Her face twisted into a sneer at the
thought of the freak school, or the freak boy that had finally left her lovely abode.

Petunia long accepted that her nephew, loathed she was to admit the relation, would never be
normal. She'd hoped that she and Vernon's strict rules would curb the freakishness he'd
been born with, but to no avail. He was just like her sister, making things happen unnaturally. She
loathed it.

Albus smiled thinly at her. “Good evening, Missus Dursley. I'm—”

“I know who you are,” Petunia interrupted harshly. “You're the-the Headmaster of that freak
school! If the boy's done anything, he's your problem now!”

Albus was silent for a few moments, shocked and appalled. Freak school? Reigning in his anger,
he looked at her shrewdly over his half-moon glasses and said, “Because you are his legal guardian,
I am obligated to discuss matters of great importance with you.”

Vernon found his courage once more and sneered. “We don't care what happens to the little
freak! Good riddance, I say. We never wanted him and—” He fell silent at Albus's furious
glare.

“Freak?” Albus narrowed his eyes at the now quivering mass. “Mister Potter is your nephew, and
you dare utter such an appalling word? I daresay Mister Potter is one of our most promising wizards
and I'll not have you besmirch him in such a manner!”

Petunia flinched at the furious tone. “Why are you here?” she asked, glancing desperately at the
clock. “I have a previous engagement that really can't be rescheduled and—”

“And is that engagement,” Albus interrupted, “more important than your nephew's life?”

Petunia shrunk back and kept quiet. Vernon moved in front of her in an obvious attempt to
protect her from the enraged wizard's eerie stare. “So what happened with the fr—boy?”

Greatly disturbed at the word, Albus chose to ignore it for the time being. His stomach twisted
uncomfortably, and not for the first time in many years did he wonder if leaving Harry here was a
mistake. He chose to deliver the news of Harry's bond bluntly, using little words and
enunciating at points as he was sure Mister Dursley would have a bit of a tough time understanding
him. If Vernon's rapidly purpling face was any indication, Albus felt he maybe should have used
even smaller words.

“And as a result, Mister Potter and Miss Granger must remain in contact physically until the
bond stabilizes. However, this type of bond is so rare, we don't know how long it would take
for that to occur,” Albus finished. “I'll be dropping Mister Potter and Miss Granger here
tomorrow so you may speak with him if you wish.”

“Hold on!” Vernon snapped. “Having one fre—*the boy*—here is bad enough. We will not put up
with another one of your kind!”

Albus's nostrils flared, and he felt his wand warm up in retaliation. He'd had enough of
the Dursleys' snide remarks and general unpleasantness. “Never in my life,” he whispered
dangerously, “have I ever had the displeasure of meeting anyone so unpleasant.”

Vernon bristled and was in Albus's face before he had time to process what exactly he was
doing. His fat, sausage-like finger poked Albus in the chest many times as he spat out, “Now see
here, Mister Dumbdor, the only one unpleasant is your kind! You leave a child on our doorstep with
only a note, and don't bother to see if we even want the little bastard! Then we get stuck with
him for ten years and have to spend on him what we'd rather use to take our own son out on
trips that he deserves. Don't you dare come to my house and condescend to me and my wife when
we *should* have dumped him in an orphanage!

“Instead,” Vernon continued to rage, “we took him in out of the goodness of our hearts, put
clothes on his back, food in his mouth, and did our best to-to-to *stamp* the freak out of
him! And what did we get for our efforts? Our house was bombarded with your blasted letters, we
received no compensation for caring for him, and our son was c-c-cursed with a pig's tail! Oh,
no! Enough is enough! The little freak has been more trouble than he's worth! We'll not
have him here anymore! *Get out*!”

Albus stood slowly, magic rolling off him in waves as his anger grew. He stared Vernon in the
eyes, slightly amused when Vernon paled and recoiled. Oh, it was much too late for that. A bit of
wandless Legilimency revealed how the Dursleys felt about Harry, and never before had Albus felt
more sickened. This was the house he left Harry at. This was the last family of Harry's.
This…this was a travesty. Petunia and Vernon Dursley weren't fit to raise a potato, let alone
children.

What was he thinking? He should have checked. He should have listened to Minerva. Albus wanted
to curse the pitiful Muggles in front of him, treat them how they treated the brave little boy that
risked his life to save his friend from a troll. It was that thought that brought him back to
reality, and Albus suddenly had a better understanding of why his father had been so willing to go
to Azkaban after what he did to those Muggle boys.

And though he tried his hardest to forget his previous mindset about Muggles, the Dursleys were
the type of people that would make him remember.

Albus stared at the cowering adults, and briefly contemplated his choices. The moment they
accepted Harry into the house, it had sealed the blood wards surrounding the property. The
environment wasn't what he wished, and was in fact much worse than even Arabella had suspected.
What had he condemned little Harry to?

A peek into Vernon and Petunia's minds gave him his answer, and he wanted to throw up.
Harry, young and unsure of what he could have possibly done wrong, was treated little better than a
house elf. He was fed the bare minimum, clothed the bare minimum, and treated the bare minimum. It
was a pathetic excuse of a life, and Albus was the cause of it all.

Paying attention to the Dursleys once more, he cleared his throat and ignored the way Vernon
flinched. “You are very lucky I don't consider your finger upon my person much of a threat,” he
said nonchalantly. He turned to Petunia. “If the situation was reversed, Lily would have never
treated your son like this. He would have been part of the family, and he would have known how much
you loved him.”

Petunia looked like she was slapped, and for a brief moment Albus saw a hint of remorse in her
eyes. “You never asked us,” she said shakily. “I had a falling out with my sister long before her
son was born, and had you asked, we would have told you to place him elsewhere. We received no
monies to help take care of him, and—”

She was only repeating what her husband said, and it drove Albus over the edge momentarily. “You
dare ask for money to take care of him,” he raged, “when you starved him, gave him clothes five
times his size, and locked him in a cupboard under the stairs?”

Vernon spoke up, defending his wife and his honor. “If we had money to take care of him—” He
never got to finish his statement.

Albus momentarily lost his composure. “THIS HOUSE BELONGS TO HIM!” He stood up and glared
furiously at Lily's sister.

Petunia looked shocked. “No, this house…this house belonged to my parents!”

“Lily's husband James purchased this house in her name,” Albus spat, “and if you read her
letter, you would know that! You dare complain about what a hardship it has cost you to take care
of your nephew, your own blood, when your compensation was this house! The amount of money it would
have cost you to pay monthly rent for this house was enough to take care of Lily's son until
after his years at Hogwarts, and then come to a decision with your nephew regarding the
ownership.

“But it wouldn't have mattered to you whether or not you received money for him,” he
continued to rage. “I have no doubt any money received for his care would have gone to spoiling
your own son. I confess, I find myself having a hard time believing you are related to Lily!”

Petunia seemed stunned for a moment before she swelled with anger. “Lily always was the perfect
one,” she spat bitterly. “Always so kind, so beautiful, so amazing; it was sickening! Everyone
seemed to gravitate towards her, and most didn't know she was a fr-freak! What she did, what
your kind does, it's unnatural! And do you know what it cost her? Her life! If she had just
listened to me and rejected her freakishness, she'd be alive now with a normal husband and a
normal son! She could've done anything, and you tarnished her.”

Albus stared at the woman dispassionately as a few tears escaped her eyes. “I fail to see how
that's your nephew's fault,” he said almost coldly, an image of Petunia roughly grabbing
Harry and chucking him into the cupboard under the stairs very fresh in his mind.

Petunia glared at him. “You put in your letter that she died for him. She *died* for that
little freak and you expect me and my husband to take care of him? If he hadn't been born, Lily
would still be alive. If *you* hadn't sent your blasted letter, she could have been
*normal* and *happy*!”

Albus stared at her for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. “Mister Potter is your
nephew,” he said, staring into her eyes. “A nephew whom you neglected and mistreated. You abused
your late sister's only son—told him his parents were drunks, he was a freak, and did
everything possible to stunt his growth. From what I've seen, I'm amazed at his good
character. One would never guess he had misfit guardians.” He paused for a moment. “I guess he
inherited more from his mother than just her eyes.”

Petunia flinched almost violently at that, remembering those beautiful emerald eyes that Lily
had. Staring into her son and seeing her eyes had been a major blow that November morning when
Vernon brought the child inside. She stared into those eyes, and she knew deep inside her that her
sister was gone. It hurt Petunia more than she'd ever cared to admit, because though she was
estranged from her sister, she had still loved her.

“He didn't just lose his mother that night,” Petunia said quietly, almost choking as tears
came to her eyes. “I lost a sister.”

Albus cocked an eyebrow. “What an interesting way to show it,” he said softly. “Tell me,
Petunia, if Lily were here right now and saw how awfully you treated her son, what would she do?
What would she say?”

Petunia glared at him and shook her head. “It's not fair of you to ask me that!” she hissed.
“You left him on my doorstep in the middle of the night and never asked if I wanted to look after
him. How could you expect me to just take him in, raise him as my family, when he's so
abnormal? How could you expect me to look at him every day and not feel sickened that he lived
while she died? You have no right to ask me any of that!”

Albus stood and brushed his suit. “Perhaps not,” he admitted. “After all, I am merely the
Headmaster of her old school where her son happens to attend right now. However, I will tell you
this.” His eyes hardened into deadly crystals. “You have mistreated a little boy now in my care for
the next three-quarters of the year. You never made any effort to include him in your family, and
that little boy grew up alone and unloved. That is simply unforgivable. I'd start counting down
the days, if I were you. Because, and trust me when I tell you this, everything he's suffered
in this house will be brought into the light, and he *will* have justice.”

Vernon and Petunia paled considerably. “B-But,” Petunia stuttered, wiping away her tears.

“This conversation is over,” Albus interrupted swiftly. “I've done my duty and informed you
what exactly occurred with your nephew; there is nothing else to speak of.” He turned to leave but
paused for a moment. Brandishing his wand, and ignoring the startled and frightened shrieks that
erupted from the Dursleys' mouths, he muttered a quick summoning charm. An envelope came flying
from somewhere upstairs, and Dumbledore led it to the coffee table with a flick of his wrist. “You
might want to read that,” he added as he finally made his way out the house.

A few minutes later, the sound of a car backfiring made the Dursleys jump. Petunia shakily
reached out for the envelope and stared at the delicate, feminine scrawl on the front.
*Petunia*, it read. She had found it all those years ago, tucked safely inside the blanket
that had been wrapped around her nephew. It was Lily's penmanship, another perfect thing that
Petunia had scorned, and obviously intended for her. Something stopped her from reading it. With
shaky hands, Petunia had hid the envelope in her bedside drawer and left it untouched for ten
years. It was now yellow with age, and slightly dusty.

Her throat tightened and her hands shook. She was terrified for some reason of what was in the
envelope, but she knew—somehow—that it was time to read it. Taking in a deep, shaky breath, Petunia
opened it and pulled out the letter. She squeezed her eyes shut, not realizing that she had
whimpered until her husband sat beside her and rubbed her back soothingly.

Some of her courage regained, Petunia opened the letter and began to read.

*Dear Petunia,*

*I know I have no right to ask you of this, since I know how you feel about magic, but I fear
you* *are my only hope. The war in my world is only worsening by the day. People are
disappearing and dying, and there may come a time where my husband and I will be targeted.
We're in hiding, currently, with only my close friends knowing my location. Still, not every
security plan is foolproof.*

*Firstly, I want to apologize. I should never have read Professor Dumbledore's reply to
your letter. I should have tried harder to keep in touch with you. I should have done a lot of
things in regards to our relationship. I'm so sorry things have deteriorated to the point where
you can't stand to be in the same room as me.*

*Despite it all, however, you are my sister, and I love you dearly. I know you felt like
I'd chosen a new world and Snape over you, and I guess in a way I did, but please try to
understand that I never would have belonged in the Muggle world anymore. I was born with magic, and
I'm so very happy that I was accepted into Hogwarts. I hope you can find it in your heart to
forgive my selfish decision.*

*And secondly, I need you to know why my son is being delivered to you. As I said earlier, I
tried very hard to respect your wishes in regards to my gift. However, in my will, if the people
James and I chose are unable to take care of my son, I would like for him to be placed with
you.*

*Given our past issues, I know it's a lot to ask. You hate magic, and you probably want
nothing to do with it. But please, I beg you, take care of my son. He means the world to me, and
I'm so sorry he was born into such hard times. He deserves to grow up with me and James,
learning magic and playing pranks. But given James' family's affiliations as well as my
Muggleborn status, such an occurrence most likely won't come true.*

*And even if he can't grow up with his father and myself, I had hoped at the very least
that his godfather Sirius Black would be able to look after him. He's a lot like James, though
that's not always a good thing. It's partly why we switched from him to Peter in regards to
our Secret Keeper (head of security person). Sirius can be a major prankster, but with Harry, he
knows when to behave like a man and do what's best for my little boy.*

*But I digress. If you have custody of Harry now, that means he, and the list of people, were
unable to care for him. You are my only hope of my son growing up happily, knowing his heritage and
understanding that his parents died trying to make the world a better place for him.*

*Please, Petunia, look after Harry. He's a little boy, innocent of the sins of his
parents—of his mother.*

*You can live in the house rent-free as long as my baby is taken care of. You can keep it, if
you want. Just take care of him, Petunia. Please.*

*Forever your sister,*

*Lily*

Petunia squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw tightly. Tears sprung to her eyes, but she
pushed them back with a vengeance. Her heart ached terribly as her sister's last attempt at
reconciliation hit her full force. Her beautiful, strong, *proud* sister begged her for
forgiveness and to take care of her only son. At that moment, despite her misgivings about magic,
Petunia felt so terribly ashamed.

“V-Vernon…” Petunia choked out.

Vernon, who had been reading over Petunia's shoulder, hushed her and held her in his arms.
“Don't worry, Pet. I'll make everything better.”

“She asked me to… But I didn't read the letter…” Petunia took in a shuddering gasp.

Vernon gently grabbed her chin and made her look at him. “Pet, just because a normal person
develops abilities does not mean they should practice that abnormality,” he said gently. “The
sister you knew and loved was gone the moment she decided to accept her freakishness.”

Petunia sniffed and nodded her head. “She could've done anything,” Petunia repeated. “We… we
were going to open our own law office together. We were going… to do so many things together… but
she left me! She abandoned me for that creepy S-Snape boy. And now she's dead!”

Vernon rubbed her back. “That freak world has caused us much hardship,” he murmured. “We had
best stay away from the boy and all of this abnormality. As long as he is in that freak world, the
boy is not welcome here!”

Petunia nodded and shakily dried her tears. “We should have never taken him in,” she said
miserably. “Lily should've listened to me and rejected her abnormality. Now she's dead and
we're stuck with that awful boy. No more.” She shook her head furiously. “He's no family of
mine, and this is no longer his home.”

Vernon smiled. “That's my girl,” he whispered. “And, Petunia, about the house, as long as we
have the deed and title, that old freak can't do anything to us.”

Petunia sniffed and smiled. “Thank you, Vernon. You're so good to me,” she said, sighing as
she leant into his embrace.

Vernon kissed her on the forehead. “Now, let's get cleaned up, and go give that pudding to
the new neighbors.”

Petunia immediately perked up and began to prattle on about the Bennets. Vernon smiled and
nodded in agreement to some of the things she said. As she left to wash her face, he grabbed
Lily's letter, ripped it into little pieces, and tossed it into the trash. Unbeknownst to them,
their house glowed a light, faint red as the blood wards dissolved into nothingness.
 Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7
-->



