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Chapter Text

Not for the first time, a playful row had broken out between Harry and Hermione. As usual it was about money or, more specifically, whose turn it was to pay. For Harry - who was far wealthier than Hermione - this idea of turns was nonsense, bordering on the insulting. It wasn't right, in his mind, that she should have to fork out for anything.

But Hermione was as implacable as a stubborn Hippogriff and insisted on paying her way.

"It is my turn," Hermione insisted, as they weaved through the crowds on Westminster Bridge. "You paid last time."

"Ah, yes, but I had a free pass, so I only had to pay for one entry ticket," Harry reminded her.

Hermione frowned bitterly. "You only had a free pass because you're Harry Potter. And I'm sure the girl on the booth made that up anyway because she hopes to get into your good books. She's a Hogwarts Sixth Year, you know. I bet she's after something."

Harry laughed deeply. "I cant imagine what! I don't think you're right about that. In any case, I didn't hear you complaining last week. You enjoyed the Magical Antiquities Museum as much as I did."

"Well, yes, I did," Hermione replied in a haughty voice. "It was fascinating. But that still doesn't make it your turn to pay again."

"Okay, let's ask our regular arbitrator," Harry quirked. "He never forgets. Pan?"

Harry called up to the coal-black owl soaring just above their heads. It had become a common, if still bizarre, sight for the population of London to see the bespectacled, black-haired boy, his curly-haired companion, and the two animals that seemed to haunt them like demons. Luckily, London was full of such quirks and curiosities, and the attention of locals and tourists alike was guaranteed to be soon taken by some new distraction or other, assuming they'd detached from their own busy lives enough to notice in the first place.

Which was something Harry had come to love about the hustle and bustle of Muggle London, on these bi-weekly visits that Hermione made to him. People were pretty much so absorbed in their own days that they didn't notice a young witch and wizard wandering around among them.

Not even when Pantalaimon swooped down to land on Harry's outstretched wand - for touching Lyra's dæmon was strictly forbidden and out of the question, a respectful situation that Harry was painfully keen to observe. He may not have realised the taboo when he first met Hermione's dæmon, but almost from their first meeting Harry was pointedly careful to keep his distance from Lyra's. As if by some sort of innate sense, Harry knew not to touch - almost as though it were akin to sticking his fingers right into the rawest, sorest parts of a gaping flesh wound.

It was the closest analogy Harry had yet been able to come up with.

But talking to Pan was perfectly fine and comfortable. And the wily old owl was always a good source of wisdom - and he generally tended to take Harry's side in these little squabbles. Harry was glad of the flapping wings of the large bird, as his face was hot and dry in the afternoon sun. The blast of air was preferable to Harry's overriding instinct, which was to pitch himself over the bridge into the cool waters racing below.

"Pan, whose turn is it to pay?"

The dæmon turned his great amber eyes solemnly on Harry. "It isn't a case of whose turn it is to pay, but who is able."

Harry looked quizzically at Pan, who returned his stare simply and plainly. Then Harry turned to Hermione, who was blushing with a sort of rueful shame, which made him shiver with the coldness of what he suddenly understood.

"Hermione?" Harry asked gently. "Are you ... having problems with money?"

It only occurred to Harry then, he didn't know if either Lyra or Mal actually worked. He had never heard Hermione say that they did. He felt terrible, then, for making such an issue about paying for things.

"I have money," Hermione offered, her voice half-sorrowful and half weak-cheeriness. It was as if she hoped Harry wasn't going to press the matter and would just let it go.

But as Hermione look out her little purple purse and dropped the half-a-dozen or so coins inside into Harry's hand, two things became very clear. The first was that he most definitely would not be dropping the matter ... and the second was that Hermione could point blank forget about paying for anything, probably for the next couple of years.

"Is this all you have?" Harry squawked desperately, his spirit crumbling inside him.

"It was all Lyra could spare," Hermione mumbled, fidgeting in her leather flats. "We have our school things to think of next week, don't forget. They don't come cheap, but with a bit of luck we'll be able to pick up some things second-hand."

"And how were you intending to pay for new things?" Harry demanded firmly. "You'll need new robes at the very least. How did you get them last year?"

"Something called the Hogwarts Hardship Fund," Hermione confessed still using that tiny, pitiful voice, that Harry was starting to hate for the way it made his heart bleed. "It paid for the majority of my supplies and fees. I was very lucky that people here are so generous."

And Harry's heart stopped a second, as he remembered dropping coins into the collecting tin in Flourish and Blotts what seemed like a lifetime ago. Some of that money might have even helped Hermione attend school. It gave Harry a sparkling idea.

"Well, you aren't going to rely on that this year," he announced decisively. "When we get back to my parents, we'll talk about maybe sponsoring you or something. I'm not having you struggling for money, not when we have so much. And the brightest witch at Hogwarts using second-hand gear? Not if I have anything to do with it, Miss Granger."

"Please don't," Hermione begged apprehensively. "I don't want to seem like a charity case. Also, Lyra would be mortified if she knew I'd told you. You may not know it, but she's very proud. It would really hurt her feelings if she thought I'd asked you for a hand out."

Harry simply scoffed. "But you haven't. If you're so worried, I'll tell her myself, tell her I offered to sponsor you. I'll tell her that there is no shame in asking for help when you need it. We'll look at it as an investment. I need you, if we're to fulfil this destiny that your Dust has laid out for us. Who else should pay for you to be around me in that case ... if not me? Besides, if you are a charity, I can think of no worthier one I'd rather be a patron of!"

Hermione blushed shyly. "You're not going to take no for an answer on this, are you?"

"Well ... no."

Hermione bit her lip for a moment. Then she nodded almost imperceptibly. "Thank you, Harry. I don't know what else to say, but it hardly seems enough."

"I'm sure you'll make up for it ... with your homework nagging!" Harry grinned. "Oh, I'm sorry ... encouragement. I forgot that's what we were calling it now!"

"How about I give you a month of being nagged-free when we are back at Hogwarts?" Hermione grinned. "Sound fair?"

"More than fair," Harry agreed with a chuckle. "But I'm still paying for us to get up there."

Harry inclined his head towards the uppermost pod of the London Eye, which they were now standing beneath.

Hermione swallowed hard. "Oh my. Now we are under it, I see it's a lot higher than I thought. Is it really worth going all the way to the top?"

"It has a great view of London," Harry persuaded. "And don't worry, I'll be there to make sure you don't fall!"

"Promise?" Hermione asked shyly.

"Always," Harry replied, grinning a little gormlessly. That reply was a shade risky, but Hermione's cutesy little smile told Harry he'd gotten away with it.

The queue to ride the Eye was long and snaking. Harry bought their tickets and they joined the back of the line. Hermione grew more and more nervous the closer it came to being their turn, so Harry distracted her by asking how she was getting on with their homework assignments. Pretty well, she had done half of them already. And did she need any more spray for her face and scalp? Maybe a little, as it was very sunny today.

Eventually, Harry had to leave her be and allow her to prepare in whatever way was best for her. Soon enough, they were at the head of the queue and waiting for their pod to arrive.

"Now, don't forget, the pods don't stop," Harry reminded her. "So best take it at a bit of a run if you're nervous."

"You know I'm nervous!" Hermione squeaked. "Can you ... grab my hand, when we jump on? Just in case?"

Harry gulped. His palms rebelled instantly, clamming up at the prospect. Which annoyed him, as there was something oddly pleasant about the idea of holding Hermione's hand. He remembered how cool her skin was, on the one time he'd taken her hand previously, just before he went for a cosy little chat with a wild dragon.

It was an odd sort of life, when you were Harry Potter.

The one thing it did mean was being brave. So Harry swallowed a hundred nervous butterflies and turned to Hermione.

"Yeah, alright. Scaredy cat!"

That worked. Hermione grinned semi-crossly at him, and Harry covered his silly nervousness by being, well, silly.

Then their pod came. It slowed to a crawl, moving no quicker than the average escalator. Even so, Hermione gripped firmly onto Harry's hand and they shuttled forwards, before leaping onto the car and making for a prime spot at the back of the viewing area.

"See, that wasn't so bad," Harry told her. Then he looked down. "You can, er, let go of my hand now. I-if you want."

Why had he stuttered? Harry didn't have an answer for that, nor why he'd laced the last few words with undisguised hope ... that Hermione didn't want. But he was left disappointed when she slowly (Harry didn't want to think reluctantly) disentangled her digits from his. But his mood lightened a moment later when Hermione curled a fist into the material of his long-sleeved top.

"I'm still holding on," she told him unabashedly, when he looked questioningly down at her hand. "You did promise."

"I did," Harry confirmed. "But look - you're missing all the sights."

Then he spent the rest of the ride pointing out all the landmarks of London, from St. Paul's to the Monument, to the Tower of London a little way in the distance. Hermione took it all in with her receptive curiosity, letting Harry talk as he explained that the height of the Monument was the exact distance to Pudding Lane, and the baker's shop where the Great Fire was started in 1666. Harry liked telling Hermione things just as much as she liked hearing them, and it was all too rare that this dynamic happened this way around, so Harry enjoyed it while it lasted.

Then they were hopping off the ride and back into the sweltering heat of the mid-July sun. Harry wildly wondered just how hot it would have to get to start a second Great Fire, and if all the water of the Thames would be enough to put it out. He and Hermione discussed this as they made their way back over Westminster Bridge towards the Houses of Parliament. From there it was a short walk West along the river to Brompton Road tube station.

Disused now on the Muggle Underground, the station was the access route to the Merlin Line, the special Magical-only line on the Tube network. Harry liked the gold livery of the trains, and the new seat moquette, which depicted a wand and a cauldron. Hermione thought the cauldron looked more like a pumpkin, and they argued this all the way to Immore Alley station, at the Northern end of magical central London.

A quick orbit around (for Harry was barred from entering Immore Alley until he was at least seventeen) and they found themselves in the familiar setting of Diagon Alley. There was a substantial crowd gathered around Flourish and Blotts and, like moths to a flame, Harry and Hermione were drawn close to see what all the fuss was about.

And Harry's mood took a quick nosedive south.

"A Special 'Magical Me' Event," Harry read from a loud poster in the window. "Get your copy of the international bestseller signed by the international best wizard himself - Gilderoy Lockhart! Get down early! Crowds guaranteed! Gah! I'd rather eat my own toilet waste. It has the same validity as Lockhart's books! Oh no, it's on Tuesday ... the same day we're coming for our school things!"

Hermione giggled next to him. "Harry, that's not very kind. Why are you so convinced Lockhart is such a fraud?"

"Just look at him!" Harry sniped bitterly, pointing at the moving image of a simpering Lockhart on the poster. "Look at that face! If he'd Travelled With Trolls and all that other stuff like that would his hair be that pristine, his smile that immaculate? His teeth look more like piano keys, for Morganna's Sake! No, he's full of himself ... and a lot of other stuff besides!"

Hermione giggled again and clung to Harry's arm in her mirth. That improved Harry's mood without even trying. But it swung away again a second later, as a familiar drawl spoke from next to them.

"Ooh, looking forward to meeting your hero, eh Scarhead? Perhaps looking for some tips on how to milk your fame? Or the best way to sign autographs, maybe?"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Hermione snapped angrily. "You leave him alone. Harry never asked for his fame, and he's certainly never milked it!"

Malfoy sneered back. "How does it feel, Potter, to have a girl stand up for you all the time? I'd be ashamed, if it were me."

"I don't mind it, but if we're talking about emasculation, at least my father doesn't have girlier hair than my mother," Harry returned silkily. "That's something I'd be embarrassed about, if it were me."

"Don't you talk about my parents like that!" Malfoy scowled angrily, rounding on Harry, who immediately reached for his wand.

But then, a squeaky little voice stopped them at a stroke.

"No! Master Draco must not be fighting. Must stop!"

Harry looked around, confused, for the source of the voice. His eyes moved down ... and fell onto a bizarre little creature hiding behind Malfoy's legs. A creature with a bulbous head, floppy ears and a filthy rag which it wore like a toga.

"Hello," Harry said in his confusion. "What are you?"

He hadn't meant to ask what, but his curiosity had taken over his tongue. The little creature didn't seemed to mind, however. He gave out a little mewl of surprise and looked up with globe-shaped eyes.

"Mister Harry Potter asked Dobby a question!"

"You know who I am?" Harry asked, surprised. The creature nodded so vigorously his ears slapped against his head like leathery flaps. "Dobby? Is that your name? What sort of creature are you?"

"This is my elf, obviously," Malfoy drawled. "And you aren't to speak to it."

"It?" Hermione spat in disgust.

"Yes, it, Granger," Malfoy scorned back. "House-elves are only one rung below Mudbloods on the social scale. Thank yourself lucky that Hogwarts took you in as a student ... and not as a slave. It must have been a close-run thing."

"Mudblood?" Harry asked, angrily guessing in his mind. "What's that?"

He rather thought he knew, but he was seething too much by the insinuation to keep his temper in check.

"Ask your mother," Malfoy sniped. "After all, she's one, too."

Harry reached for his wand, but Dobby snapped his fingers and Harry went stock-still, as if hit with Petrificus Totalus.

"Dobby is sorry, Mister Harry Potter," the elf squawked quickly. "But Dobby cannot allow Master Draco to be hurt, and Harry Potter is a very great wizard."

"Let him go, Dobby, I can take him!" Malfoy cried, wrenching clear of his elf.

"But can you take us both?"

Malfoy faltered as he looked up to see Hermione, her eyes flashing furiously, with both her wands pointed right at his face. He took a step back in the face of her ire.

"I was only playing," Malfoy backtracked, eyeing the wands fearfully. "I wouldn't want to embarrass the boy wonder in front of his girlfriend anyway. Not when there's no money in it."

Malfoy took several more steps back until he was clear of Hermione's wand-tips.

"I suppose you'll both be back here for the book signing. Maybe I'll come along to see Potter hog the limelight again. He's always good for a laugh. What is it the Muggles say? See you next Tuesday."

And with that Dobby snapped his fingers again, and whisked Malfoy away in a swirl of light and colour.

Harry frowned as he was released from his body-bind. "What was that? A house-elf, did Malfoy say? I've never heard of them. You don't really think they have slaves at Hogwarts, do you?"

"I don't think I believe anything Malfoy has to say," Hermione replied, but she lacked her usual self-assuredness as she avoided Harry's eye.

Her evasive response wasn't lost on Harry, who scowled as he processed it.

"Right, let's go and see my parents," Harry huffed. "They can tell us if Malfoy was spouting rubbish or not. And they can explain what this Mudblood nonsense is all about while they're at it!"

But as soon as they entered the east door of The Leaky Cauldron, any ideas of grilling James and Lily was quickly forgotten, dispelled by the grave look on Lyra's face.

"What? What is it?" Hermione asked quickly. "What's wrong?"

"We were supposed to have a surprise for you," James confessed. "Sirius and Malcolm were due to return from the North today. They were going to meet us here."

Harry's stomach coiled and knotted at the dark look in his father's eyes.

"But?" he pushed cautiously.

"But, there's been a problem," Lily took over. "There was an incident in the Arctic, we are still only getting details of what happened. But what we do know is that Sirius and Malcolm somehow got separated."

"And?" Hermione demanded in a business-like tone. "I get the impression there's an 'and' here."

"And," Lyra cut in grimly. "Sirius was left behind ... on the other side of the portal. It closed when Mal and Serafina came back through. We don't know how, or why, but Sirius is trapped ... marooned back in our world ... and we have no idea how we're supposed to get him back."

Chapter Text

Harry - aimless, restless - mewled out nervous yelps.

"What do you mean 'you can't get him back'?" he demanded desperately. "Sirius cant be stuck there forever?"

Lily moved to comfort her son. "We don't know enough yet to assume anything. This is a developing situation, and we've not long found out ourselves."

Harry groaned again. That wasn't the answer he wanted.

"Mrs Potter?" Hermione asked politely, stepping forward. "But how do you know about this? Are you sure, absolutely sure, that it's true?"

"We're sure," Lily replied. "The message came straight from the source."

Lily nodded to a room just at the back of the pub. Harry and Hermione followed her line of sight - and both blinked at what they saw. For a rather large snow goose was padding about the room, looking for all the world as though it were the most natural thing for him to be there. Harry looked at Hermione in confusion, but then he saw both Pantalaimon and Papageno touch touches politely with the snow goose, and he thought he understood.

"Is that a dæmon?" he asked lowly.

Hermione nodded. "That's Kaisa. He is the dæmon of Serafina Pekkala."

Harry turned to her in deep surprise. "The witch who made you Separate from Papageno?"

"Well, she didn't make us," Hermione replied, colouring softly. "We chose to do that. But she helped us, showed us how to do it. And she was the one who helped us recover afterwards."

Harry felt a pang in his chest. He didn't like the idea of Hermione needing to recover, as that would mean she was hurt in the first place. And the concept of Hermione in pain was simply abhorrent in Harry's mind. He had no place for it.

He turned to his mother again. "And he was the one who brought news about Sirius?"

It was Lyra who answered this time. "Yes. Serafina helped Mal and Sirius to cross back into my world. The Witches of Serafina's clan guard the portal on this side, so that normal explorers don't accidentally stumble through it. Serafina's witch nature acts like a conduit between this world and that. She has to be in physical contact with anyone passing through - to make sure they reach the world they intended."

"Then ... there are others?" Harry shuddered. "Other worlds, I mean?"

"Millions," Lyra confirmed. "More than could ever be counted."

"So, could Sirius be lost in one of those other worlds?" Harry yelped again. "We might never even find him again if he is!"

"No, that hasn't happened," Lyra reassured him. "Kaisa told me that Serafina crossed fine with Mal, and then it happened. There was a flash of light - a surge of magical power that she could feel - then the portal was blocked off."

"Blocked?" Hermione queried. "You make it sound like you think this was done deliberately."

Lily addressed Hermione now. "I don't claim to know as much about these portals as Lyra, but we did study the one we had at the Ministry of Magic for a very long time. Our plan - once Voldemort was pushed through it - was to close it up if we could."

"But we never found a way," James cut in. "Now both Lily and I - as well as Sirius and Albus Dumbledore - are all pretty powerful magically. But nothing we did seemed to have any effect. In truth, we didn't make a dent."

"Meaning what?" asked Harry.

"Meaning," James replied. "That whatever, or whoever, closed that portal must have a level of magical skill that is likely greater than our own."

"Or perhaps is of a different sort, one possibly a little more in tune with the natural forces of the world," Lily added as an afterthought.

It was Hermione's turn to shiver now. "What sort of person or entity would have the power to close a barrier between worlds? It is astonishing to even consider it."

"I think the bigger question is why," Harry butted in. "If this was done on purpose we need to find out not only who did it, but why they did it. If they targeted Sirius we need to know everything about it."

"And we will be working very hard to find all that out," Lily assured her son and his best friend.

"In the meantime, Mal is going to stay in the North, see if he can help Serafina and her witches to reopen the gateway from this side," James told them. "Malcolm helped build the portal, so if anyone can re-open it he's got as good a chance as any."

"And Sirius?" Harry demanded. "What about him?"

"I'm sending Pan back with Kaisa," Lyra replied gently. "Dæmons have a way of crossing worlds that we humans cant fathom. It takes a bit of time, but they will probably reach Sirius before we do."

"That's not good enough!" Harry yelled, stamping his foot. Heavy silence fell between them all. Frustrated tears boiled behind Harry's eyes and he felt ashamed of his outburst. "Sorry, Miss Lyra. Thank you for sending Pan to do this. It sounds dangerous. But there must be something else we can do? Some other way to contact him? We can do magic for crying out loud!"

"But, Harry," Hermione whispered softly, stepping into his circle of pulsing emotion when no-one else dared. "That wasn't enough for me, remember? Sirius had to go all the way to my parents to give them the two-way mirror. If there was an easier way to reach them, we'd have done that, wouldn't we?"

Harry felt his anger recede at Hermione's satin-soft voice. She had a funny way of being able to calm him like that. It didn't help the situation, but Harry certainly felt better when his mind wasn't racing a mile-a-minute.

"So, we can't contact him," Harry huffed, taking a deep breath. "But can we at least find out if he's still alive? Dad? What about all those rituals you can do? Is there anything like that which could help?"

James looked at Lily with an impressed grin. "Possibly. I'd have to hit the books ... divining the truth is never straight forward. But we might be able to come up with something."

Then Hermione gasped, before gripping Harry's arm excitedly.

"What? What is it?" Harry winced, for the pressure on his forearm was slightly painful.

"Harry - what your Dad just said - it gave me an idea!" Hermione chirruped. "He said about using books to see the truth and I remembered ... we have got a way to find out about Sirius!"

"We do?" Harry asked in cautious hope. "What is it?"

Hermione turned her eyes to her Mistress. "The alethiometer. That can tell us how Sirius is, cant it Miss Lyra?"

"Of course it can!" Lyra cried, leaping up animatedly. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"It's because she's in love with Sirius and cant think straight with him being in danger!" Harry whispered to Hermione, causing her to giggle violently next to him.

"Shush you two!" Lyra scowled through her uncharacteristic blush - as she'd clearly heard them - before turning to Lily. "Can I use that room back there? Can you make it silent for me? I need quiet for this to work."

"Lead on," Lily smiled, drawing her wand. "It's been a while since I've cast a Privacy Charm, but I'm sure I can manage one!"

Then the two ladies sauntered off to the back room. The dæmons amassed there stepped aside dolefully, while Lyra carefully placed the alethiometer in front of her and began turning the dials on the sides. Harry angled his head to try and get a look, as he was deeply keen to see the truth-reader, curious to watch it at work. But he was too far away and had to simply content himself with waiting until Lyra was done.

It didn't take more than a few minutes.

"Well? What did it say?" Hermione asked briskly, as Lily and Lyra returned to them

"He is with the bears," Lyra announced with a huge grin. "That's exactly what it said!"

Harry relaxed at Lyra's relieved tone. "The bears? And that's ... good?"

"These aren't regular bears, Harry," Hermione explained. "They are the panserbjorne - armoured bears. They are fierce warriors, but the most of honourable of beings, too. If Sirius is with them, then he's safe. He'll be okay if he's with Iorek."

"Iorek?"

"Iorek Byrnison, he's the King."

"The bears have a King? Wow. You'll have to tell me all about that!"

"I think it's a story we would all like to hear!" James chuckled. "How about Lyra and Hermione tell us more over dinner and drinks. I waited all day for Paddy to show up ... now I'm starving."

Lily looked at him in disgust. "Your best friend is missing! And you only think about your stomach!"

"First order of business, survival," James replied, unabashed. "Paddy would tell you the same."

"Why do you call him Paddy, Mr Potter?" Hermione asked with a crinkle to her brow, as Lily ushered them into a booth and called a waitress over.

"It's from his Animagus name," James explained. "In his dog form we called him Padfoot. Hence, Paddy."

"Padfoot?" Lyra swooned lowly. "The name of his dæmon was Padfiette, when we finally met her. She was a fierce old bloodhound, that one."

"Then if Paddy is with her and these bears of yours, he'll be alright," James chuckled confidently. "He's a survivor, is Sirius. He'd be having a right old laugh if he thought we were sat here fretting about him, while he's probably having the time of his life. So, let's stop worrying and listen to Hermione, who was about to tell us about these magnificent Knights of the North ..."

***

It was a good thing Harry had such a busy week, as it kept his mind from Sirius and his predicament. He had to keep active, as without Hermione to keep him sane and grounded Harry was liable to race around the flat in a state of perpetual, fretful motion. He couldn't settle to anything, starting task after task but never finishing a single one.

In the end, it threatened to drive his mother round the twist.

"James! Do something with this little stressball, will you?" Lily begged on Saturday morning. "I need to get this paperwork done before Monday ... and I cant do it with Dick Van Dyke flitting around me like this!"

"Dick Van Dyke?" James quirked, then he looked over at Harry and chuckled. For his son was dressed in a dirty set of old clothes, had a broom in his hand and one foot in the fireplace.

"What?" Harry frowned as his father continued to laugh at him. "The chimney needs sweeping!"

"Come on, son," James laughed. "Let's go and burn off some of that energy on a different type of broom."

Hooch and Hardbroom's was packed that morning, as was typical on a Saturday. Harry entered with his father standing boldly at his side. It occurred to Harry that James Potter might well be the worst Unspeakable in the history of the profession, for almost everyone recognised him and gave him cheery waves as they passed. James insisted it was genius, that he was simply hiding in plain sight. Harry wanted to point out that if people could see you then you weren't actually hiding.

But Harry was about to go flying with his father for the first time in his life, and he was so excited about this that he was even willing to forget that James Potter was probably a complete idiot, if only for one afternoon.

"How can I help you today?" the elderly witch on the reception booth asked pleasantly, as Harry and James approached her.

"A flying rink for two, with a full Quidditch set, please," James beamed.

"Very good, Sir. And will you be requiring brooms?"

"No, we have our own," James grinned, brandishing a little box no bigger than a cigar case. Inside, two magically shrunken brooms were held fast by little silver clasps.

"A Nimbus and the 2001 model!" the reception witch gleamed. "You'll be the envy of the arena."

"We'll try and keep the Wronski Feints to a minimum!" James chuckled. He paid five Silver sickles each for himself and Harry and they trotted off to Flying Rink number Seven, which was down at the far end.

"Dad?" Harry asked with a little frown. "What's a Wronski Feint?"

"Ooh, has Sirius never shown you the most dangerous move in flying?" James crowed gleefully. "I cant say I'm shocked. He never was much of a broomsman ... this manoeuvre was always beyond him. Now your old Dad on the other hand ..."

And with that James resized Harry's old Nimbus and kicked off hard from the ground, grabbing a Bludger as he shot upwards like an arrow. The Bludger followed and James avoided it skilfully. He wasn't lying, he really did fly well. Harry watched in awe and appreciation as his father practically funned with the hapless Bludger, taunted it even.

"Ready for this, son?" James called down with a grin, as he gunned low past Harry, who nodded eagerly.

Then he rocketed upwards, the Bludger went hurtling behind, then James curled round into a steep vertical dive. Harry watched in wide-eyed astonishment, wondering - as James streaked towards the ground - just why his father had chosen today to commit suicide. The ground came quickly ... the impact was moments away ... Harry was already sketching his father's eulogy in his mind ... and then ...

Thump!

At the last minute, James pulled the broom from the dive and hurtled back towards the roof of the aerodrome in an exaggerated twirling motion. The Bludger had nothing like that dexterity. It smashed into the ground so hard that it disappeared under the mound of earth it threw up on the impact.

Harry clapped vigorously - as did the large crowd that had gathered outside their rink net to watch.

James landed deftly at Harry's feet. "Now that, son, was a Wronski Feint!" he beamed widely. "Only the Bludger is usually the opposition Seeker. Just keep that move in mind if you come up against a Seeker you don't particularly like!"

"Wow, Dad!" Harry gawped. "That was amazing!"

"It wasn't my first time," James replied smugly. "But, seriously, don't you go trying that back at Hogwarts. If Minerva tells me you have been, I'll take that expensive broom right off you, leave you with a Cleansweep Five or some other piece of tat."

"I wont, Dad," Harry promised faithfully. "Even though I'm dying to now you've shown me."

"Speaking of showing me, I hear you fly pretty well," James quirked with a grin. "It's about time I saw for myself."

Harry's face cracked into a wide smile as his father resized his shiny new broom and Harry kicked off from the ground. He felt that wonderful blast of air to his face, that rush of tingles as he became airborne. He really did love to fly. He zoomed around the rink, spinning upside down and doing a few loop-the-loops, drawing excited cheers from a gaggle of girls that was watching him from down below.

Harry didn't have time to feel flustered by that, as soon his father was flying right alongside him.

"What say we do a couple of circuits together?" James quirked, hovering just to Harry's right. "Then how about a game of Quaffle Catch?"

That sounded just about the best thing Harry could imagine.

An hour later, which was probably the quickest hour Harry had ever lived, and it was with a sort of cosy exhilaration that he followed his father from the flying rink. The little cluster of girls shuffled over excitedly, each one egging the other on for some cause Harry couldn't fathom, but felt irrationally wary of.

"Go on, you ask him."

"No, you do it!"

"No, you ... you're the one that fancies him!"

Harry coloured deeply as James grinned down at him. To their immediate left, the swarm of girls were getting ever closer. They all looked around Harry's age, with some maybe a little younger. Harry was not amused to see a shock of ginger hair among the number, but - thankfully - the head of Ginevra Weasley was not near to the front of this Murder of Maidens.

"Dad! Hurry up! Walk faster."

"Why?" James teased. "Are we in a rush?"

"No, but if you don't want to make the front page of the Daily Prophet - for hexing a bunch of schoolgirls to death to protect your son - I suggest you get a move on!"

James laughed heartily. "Oh, dear, son. You're going to need to develop a better defence mechanism than that! You're a good-looking boy - you get that from me! - and you'll break a lot of hearts before your star begins to wane. Better get used to it."

"I don't want to break any hearts," Harry complained. "I don't anyone giving me their heart to break in the first place!"

"Now that isn't strictly true, is it?" James quipped wryly.

Harry's felt something stick in his throat at the hugely loaded look his father was throwing at him. He shivered under the flash of understanding that passed between them. Oddly, he was glad when the expected interruption finally came, because who knows where that conversation might have gone.

"Excuse me?" said a sweet little voice as Harry and James came to a sudden stop. "You're Harry Potter, aren't you?"

Harry turned away shyly. But James was perfectly amiable to make up for his son's aloofness.

"Yes he is," James replied brightly. "And I'm his father. What can we do for you, young lady?"

Harry looked through the gap in his father's arm. A girl with dark French plaits and almond-shaped eyes was looking earnestly back at him.

"Could we please have your autograph?" the girl asked. "Our friends will never believe we saw you in real life when we tell them. Please?"

"Of course you can!" James chimed. He took a copy of Witch Weekly from the girl. There was a picture of Harry on the cover - of course there was - and a match-by-match account of his first Quidditch season at Hogwarts. "Who are we making this out to?"

"Can you please sign To Demelza, love Harry?" the girl asked, hopefully.

Harry growled slightly as he snatched the magazine and quill - which James had conjured from somewhere - from his father. "I'll sign the cover ... but I wont lie."

He scribbled To Demelza, from Harry Potter, signing his name so messily it was practically illegible. But the girl, Demelza, was delighted nonetheless. She squeaked a 'thank you' and ran back to her little coven, who all began to swoon over the signature.

"Seriously, it's just ink," Harry grumbled.

"Yes, but it's ink from you!" James tittered. "Come on, son. This isn't going to go away ... so I think we need to have a long discussion about managing your public persona."

***

When Harry told Hermione about his being accosted at the aerodrome, when they met up the following Tuesday, her response took Harry by surprise. He expected her to offer some sage advice, or to suggest some spells to keep the girls away, perhaps to even begin to draft a lawsuit against the magical media at large for violation of his privacy.

What he hadn't expected was for her to be so utterly livid.

"They did what!" she thundered, at a rather unreasonably high volume - Harry thought - considering they were in a bookshop. "Those animals! Those heathens! Who do they think they are, interrupting your private time with your Dad like that? And Ginny Weasley was there, you say? One day, you know, that girl and I are going to have a serious falling out!"

Surprised as he was, Harry couldn't help but grin warmly at Hermione assuming the role of his champion like this. She was, for whatever reason, angry enough for the both of them. He didn't think Hermione had ever fallen in with Ginny Weasley, now she was planning an explosive falling out? That cheered Harry no end, and made the whole thing seem not quite so annoying after all.

But speaking of annoying ...

"Welcome! Welcome!" Fabian Flourish announced with a, well, flourish. "The time you have all been waiting for is finally here! The reason you have all come today has now arrived! It is my proud honour to introduce the one, the only, Gilderoy Lockhart!"

Harry groaned. He had hoped to avoid this moment, but he was out of luck it would seem. However, the rest of the crowd - the mostly female crowd - began to clap wildly. Even Hermione put her hands together with more zeal than Harry thought was necessary. But then again, he was of the firm opinion that one clap was probably one too many for this court jester.

So Harry glowered at Hermione. "Why are you clapping?"

"I'm just being polite," Hermione murmured, turning a curious shade of scarlet and steely avoiding Harry's gaze.

Harry continued to look at her queerly, steadfastly refusing to join in this raucous applause, that the wizard at the front of the shop was now basking in. There was a collective swoon from the ladies of the crowd. Even from the young lady closest to Harry.

"Do you need some fresh air?" Harry asked in concern.

"No, why do you ask?"

"That breathy sigh you just made," Harry clarified, his lips curling into a slight frown. "I thought you might be having trouble breathing or something. It is quite stuffy in here."

"I'm quite alright, thank you," Hermione replied brightly. She still wasn't looking at him. She kept patting her hair in a very peculiar way and Harry was about to question her about this bizarre new affliction she was suffering under.

But then Lockhart began speaking.

"Hello, everyone!" he announced theatrically, flashing his brilliantly white teeth at them all. "Welcome, welcome! Form an orderly queue ... fear not, for the Banshees didn't break me, I survived a Year with the Yeti, and my days Wandering with Werewolves are now past ... and there's plenty of me to go around!"

Harry felt the desire to vomit all over the obscenely enormous pile of Lockhart's books nearby. But he had to pick up a copy of each first, as they were on the required reading list for the next Hogwarts year. He and Hermione collected a set each, added them to the books they already had for their other classes and made their way towards the till to pay. Harry was keen to get out of the shop as quickly as possible.

Oddly, Hermione had chosen to stand on Harry's left, rather than what had become her usual position on his right. Shuffling along in this configuration would allow her to pass close to Lockhart's book signing table, and Harry wasn't sure if he was happy about this or not. On the one hand, it meant he was shielded from the wavy-haired bimbo and his peacock's feather quill - which annoyed Harry even more as he clocked eyes on it. But then he was confused by Hermione's abrupt change of what had become their habit, and this concerned Harry even more deeply than the possibility of being spotted by Gilderoy the Gormless.

"All these together please," Harry told the cashier, and he dumped all their books on the counter, as Hermione turned her eyes down bashfully next to him. She had gracefully accepted the offer that Harry's parents had - happily - made to sponsor her tuition at Hogwarts, but she was still shy when it came to seeing it in action.

"I assume you're for Hogwarts," the cashier said as he began totalling up the cost. Harry nodded the affirmative. "Well, in that case, you'd better pop to Mr Lockhart's table before you pay. There's a special extra book you'll need for next year."

"From him?" Harry scoffed. "Why?"

"Don't be flippant, Harry!" Hermione squeaked. "We need another book! Come on."

And with that she grabbed his arm and dragged him bodily to Lockhart's table at the side of the till. There was a low-level outcry at them jumping the queue, but Hermione was bobbing on the balls of her heels and didn't notice the grumbles at all. Harry had the strongest urge to shake this silliness out of his best friend.

What on earth had come over her?

"Excuse me, Mr Lockhart," Hermione twittered excitedly. "We were told we have to pick up books for Hogwarts, we were told. We go to Hogwarts. So we need books. That's what we were told. Can we get them then, please? If you have any spare time, please?"

Gilderoy Lockhart put down his quill and flashed a winning smile at Hermione. For a wild moment, Harry swore that Hermione shrank an inch or two, as though her knees had given way beneath her. But then, Lockhart's gaze left Hermione and fell on him. Lockhart glanced away ... then snapped his eyes back a second later.

"Can it be!" he hushed. "Yes! It is ... Harry Potter!"

Little whispers broke out within the amassed crowd and Harry felt himself pushed forward into Lockhart's strong grip. Then there was a big camera in his face.

"Nice, big smile, Harry, that's the way," Lockhart simpered as the camera flashed away. "Get the girl in, too. Gilderoy Lockhart meets Harry Potter and his little girlfriend. Imagine the angle! That's got to be worth the front page!"

The next thing Harry knew was that Hermione was shunted next to him. Someone had draped her arm around his neck, thread his around her waist and then posed them so that she was practically hanging off him. Harry was too surprised by the whirlwind of motion to even think to protest. He tried not to imagine the headlines in the morning papers.

"What a fabulous moment this is!" Lockhart announced in that dramatic tone he loved so much. "When young Harry here, and his lucky little lady, entered Flourish and Blotts today to purchase my autobiography - Magical Me - he was only hoping to help keep it at the Number One Spot in the Bestseller Chart for a record twenty-seventh week!"

Lockhart paused to milk the eruption of applause that he knew would follow his announcement. Once he'd smiled enough, or his jaw was tired from it, he addressed the crowd again.

"Twenty- seven! Where do the weeks go? But I get distracted! Yes, when Harry came to buy my book today, he had no idea that he would not only be sharing in my life's reflections and memoires, but would soon also be sharing in my dreams, too. In fact, we will be sharing in dreams together.

"For I will soon be fulfilling a dream, ladies and gentlemen, one I have held dear for the longest time. A dream more challenging and more rewarding than all my life's adventures combined - for details see my published works! And for that Harry will need this, a Dream Diary - which I will now present him free of charge!"

There was another round of applause and Harry looked at Hermione, hoping she might clear up his confusion. But Hermione was not looking at him, she was transfixed by Lockhart. Her eyes were sparkling, as though she'd been dazzled by his piano-key teeth and the jaunty angle of his pointed hat.

"Why do I need a dream diary?" Harry asked crossly.

"For, my dear boy, you will soon be receiving the greatest education in fighting the Dark Arts ... from the greatest foe of the Dark Arts in the history of magic - me!"

Harry groaned as he realised what that might mean. Lockhart confirmed it a moment later.

"Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to announce that your children will soon be being taught the strongest Defence Against the Dark Arts by yours truly, the Champion of the Light! And the Darkest Art is being unable to dream. But I don't want to give too much away, to make my future students too excited! Term doesn't start for a whole month yet!"

The burst of excitement Lockhart's pronouncement caused allowed Harry to disentangle himself from those silk, forget-me-not blue robes of his and make a dash for the exit, just as soon as he'd paid for his books. He was almost free and into the air when another unwanted irritant suddenly blocked his path.

"What did I tell you? Hogging the limelight as always. Even in a bookshop famous Scarhead cant help but make a scene for himself!"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry growled. "Out of my way."

"Make me," Malfoy volleyed back.

He was being unusually bold, and then Harry saw why. For there, on his shoulder, was the powerful figure of his father, hovering like a menacing bodyguard.

"Now, now, Draco, play nice," Lucius sneered, raising his ornate cane as a sort of barrier between his son and Harry. "Or, perhaps, don't play at all. I wouldn't want you to get dirty ... cavorting with all this muddy blood."

Harry noticed then that Hermione had arrived just behind him. She stared furiously at the Malfoys. Away from Lockhart, it seemed, she was back to her old self. He wondered if she'd been under some sort of spell the whole time.

"If it's bad blood you want," Hermione sniped through gritted teeth. "We're more than up for that. Aren't we, Harry?"

"Too bloody right we are!" Harry confirmed stoutly. "That's just my game."

"Making enemies with the rich and famous?" Lucius simpered loftily, picking up Hermione's new dream diary from on top of her pile of books. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Then I suggest you get out of my face!" Harry growled. "Or that's exactly what you will be doing."

"Forgive our intrusion," Lucius smirked falsely. "We were just trying to be friendly. Come along, Draco, before we sink any lower."

"See you at school," Draco sneered lowly, as his father slid the dream diary back onto Hermione's stack of purchases.

"Let's go, Harry," Hermione urged. "You remember what your Dad told you about not courting negative attention."

Hermione scowled one more time at the Malfoys, then steered Harry into the fresh air of Diagon Alley. She led him down into a little alcove and allowed his anger to erupt. Harry had a hot temper, and Hermione was prepared to be the only one who need absorb it. Once he'd spent himself, Hermione pressed a hand to his chest to still him, which happened far quicker than she'd expected.

"You shouldn't let him get to you, Harry," Hermione hushed. "It's Malfoy. He's not worth letting under your skin."

"He's just making my blood boil lately," Harry seethed. "And if he makes one more comment about your blood ..."

Then something happened that Hermione had never seen before. As Harry's emotion surged, the air around his body began to crackle and sparkle. It burst out in colours, greens and reds for the most part, with a tint of gold here and there. It was like looking at the Northern Lights ... only this was around Harry.

"What is that?" Hermione murmured. She reached out her hand and tried to touch the flashes of colour swimming around Harry's chest.

"Oh!" Harry gasped, as Hermione's fingers brushed over the floaty little waves.

"Did that ... hurt?"

"Sort of," Harry confirmed uncertainly. "But it kind of ... tickled, too."

Hermione snatched her hand back quickly, as though she'd been chided by Harry. But he was more concerned about the continuing little rainbow engulfing him.

"What is this, Hermione?" Harry asked in a tiny voice. "It isn't going away. C-can you make it stop?"

Harry's voice was so small and fragile that Hermione felt her heart cry out at the sound.

"I don't know how."

"What do you think it is?" Harry asked quietly, as though desperate for Hermione to have the answers.

"At a guess? You're having a bout of accidental magic," she offered. "I've read about them. At times when you're particularly emotional, your magic can sort of spill out of you."

"That's happened before!" Harry cried in a gasp. "When I was younger. But ... how can I bring it back under control?"

"Breathe, calm yourself," Hermione suggested. "Find a way to let go of your anger and relax."

"I don't know if I can. I'm just so cross at Malfoy and his Dad, for what they said about you."

"I'm a big girl, Harry, it's just sticks and stones," Hermione dismissed off-handedly. "I have no respect for Malfoy, so his insults are equally worthless. Let it go ... and if you do, there's a reward in it for you."

"That sounds like bribery," Harry grinned, and immediately his flaring aura began to recede.

"If it works, it works," Hermione snickered. "Release it, Harry. I'm allowing you to. I don't want you to be angry for me. It doesn't suit you. Let it go."

And just like that, he did. He took a huge breath and the last of his magic flowed back under his skin with the exhale.

"Well, that was weird."

"I'd call it fascinating. We should look into it a lot more."

Harry huffed. "We aren't even back at school yet and you're setting us extra homework already! So ... what was this reward you mentioned?"

Harry gulped, and felt a bizarre urge to moisten his lips. So he did. Hermione noticed that and flushed madly. For a moment she was tempted to change the reward, to take the most courageous step she could imagine. But she was far too terrified of slipping and falling, so she stuck to the original plan.

"It's this," Hermione replied breathily. "It's your birthday present a little bit early. Happy Birthday, Harry."

Harry opened his eyes wide as Hermione reached into her little bag and handed over a brightly coloured envelope. It was covered in sparkly glitter and the card inside depicted a red-robed Quidditch player reaching for a Golden Snitch. It looked as if Hermione had made the card herself, and Harry felt instantly covetous of it.

"I hope you haven't spent a lot of money," Harry warned as he opened the card.

"Only a little," Hermione confessed. "Now that we haven't got to worry about school supplies, Lyra has a lot more disposable income. Mal brought a lot of money back from Lyra's account in our world, too. So I wanted to treat you. Open it."

Harry was sure he was going to frown at whatever was waiting inside, but he couldn't bring himself to when he saw it. The card had two other slips of card attached to one side, and Hermione's hand written message shone in silver ink opposite them.

Happy birthday, Harry!

I want you to have a great day, so I've bought you two tickets for the Weird Sisters concert. They are playing in London on July 31 st ! What are the chances! The only condition is that you take me along with you using the other ticket, as I'm dying to see them play, too! The ticket includes a VIP Meet and Greet after the show, too, but if you want to take someone else, I'll understand and I hope you have a good time.

Happy birthday,

Love from Hermione.

Harry stared at the card a moment, his heart beating faster under his ribs. Then he just launched himself at Hermione.

"Harry!" Hermione squeaked in pleasant surprise as Harry hugged her tight. "I take it you like it?"

"Like it? I love it!" Harry crowed gleefully, pulling away and reading the tickets again. "And of course I'll take you! Who else could I possibly want to go with? Ooh, we could go in costumes, or get matching moon goddess pendants - that's their symbol, you know - or at the very least I could lend you one of the t-shirts I have of theirs. It's going to be great!"

"Cool. It's a date, then."

Harry looked up in bewilderment. "Of course it's a date ... it's July the Thirty-First."

Hermione smiled in a sort of exasperated disappointment and shook her head. Harry really could be hopeless sometimes. But Hermione didn't think she'd want it any other way.

Chapter Text

Sirius blinked himself awake and drew his travelling cloak tight around his shoulders, to keep out the rattling breeze from the Arctic Sea. Icy spray splashed in through the bars on the window, before freezing on Sirius' stubble. It was getting long now, and he would have to shave it soon.

It was the first thing on his agenda ... just as soon as he got out of this prison.

"Well, old girl, this is some predicament we've gotten ourselves into."

Sirius's voice hung in the bracing air a moment, and it wasn't immediately clear to whom he was speaking. But just then, an enormous shaggy-haired bloodhound stepped from inside his chest and stretched her limbs, as if waking from the longest slumber.

Sirius grinned at the huge dog. "Looks like you needed that."

"Well, it has been several years since you last took me for a walk!"

"I suppose that's why you haven't given me a kiss yet, then!"

And with that, the bloodhound bounded over to Sirius and began licking his face furiously. It helped to clear the ice build up on his eyebrows, but soon Sirius was swatting the dog away.

"Alright, alright, Padfiette! That's quite enough of that!" Sirius admonished with a chuckle, scratching his once-again exposed dæmon behind her ears. "It's good to see you again, old girl."

"I never went away," Padfiette replied loftily, sitting back on her haunches. "I was always there, just out of sight. And less of the old, if you please."

Sirius chortled lowly again. "Well, I'm glad our little power still works. I need a friend right about now."

"How did this happen? I think I was sleeping when you were attacked."

"The portal back to our world closed when we were on the run back through," Sirius explained. "There was an elf involved, I saw the little blighter. That's what made me hesitate. He was hiding, in the doorway between worlds. I don't think Malcolm or Serafina saw him, or maybe he slipped in when they went through. Either way, Dust illuminated him. But before I could react, he clicked his bony fingers and closed the portal."

"And we were trapped here," Padfiette completed solemnly. "Then the bears came."

"Dakur Ragnasson," Sirius confirmed. "Of all the bears to be picked up by, we had to run into that crazy pup."

"I would hardly call him a pup," Padfiette considered sternly. "He could crush your skull to splinters with a single blow."

"True, but I wonder if he still wants to overthrow Iorek Brynison," Sirius mused. "That might give us an angle."

"Assuming we can live long enough. We don't even know why they've imprisoned us. Why not just kill us?"

"Tom Riddle, at a guess," Sirius replied with a growl. "He has the whole of the North under his boot at this point. The bears are the only thing he doesn't control. I'd bet my fortune that his mind is bent on changing that. Merlin help us if Iorek cant hold his territory against this usurper. We'd all be in jeopardy if Riddle got control of the panserbjorne."

"We have to think of a plan," Padfiette insisted, pacing around the ice prison. "Where are we?"

"Kvitoya, that was Dakur's ancestral Holdfast," Sirius replied.

"So not only do we have to find a way to escape, we also need a way off this frozen island," Padfiette summarised. "It wont be easy. Where's your wand?"

"They took it," Sirius revealed. "Which is why I'm sure Riddle is behind this. They knew to look for my wand. How else would they have been so well informed, without a wizard to advise them?"

"Then we can assume Tom Riddle is coming for you, too," Padfiette returned. "And coming quickly. Our situation doesn't seem to be getting any better."

"Nonsense, we still have the advantage for the moment," Sirius replied brightly. "We have a secret weapon ... you."

"Ah, my special nature."

"Precisely!" Sirius crowed. "You are a dæmon like no other. You have no scent, the dæmon-less creatures cant even see you if you stand still. You are invisible to them."

"So the plan is for me to slip by the guards, fetch your wand like a good little doggy, then we fight our way free?"

"Simple, but effective."

"It's like Azkaban all over again," Padfiette growled. "And those silly Dementors were no match for us, either. The bears have made a mistake this time."

"Yes, and we've been here far too long already. I'm getting bored," Sirius announced wryly, standing up and pulling his sleeves straight. "You know something? I'm almost annoyed by this! Almost."

"Before we do this, do we have a plan of escape once we're away from the bears?" asked Padfiette. "Or will we wing it as usual?"

"No, we have a plan this time," Sirius disclosed. "And we have friends here, too. All we have to do is get to my wand, then we can Apparate out of here."

"To where?"

"Frank and Alice Longbottom," Sirius replied. "If we have any chance of getting home, they are it. And they wont stand around and let us rot here. They'll be on their way. They can help us reopen the portal."

"But how? I hope you aren't suggesting a sacrifice to blast it open?"

"No, we aren't separating anyone... but fusion might work just as well," Sirius grinned.

Padfiette looked at Sirius with her big, round eyes. "You're going to give them our secret?"

Sirius nodded. "If we can permanently fuse Frank and Alice's dæmons back to their bodies, the energy release might just be enough to crack open a route home. And I'm pretty sure they'd be motivated. After all, they have a son they've not seen in over ten years. That must be worth risking anything for."

***

While Sirius was busy in another world, plotting his daring escape from one bind, Harry was happily being bound up in his. Or, more precisely, tucked in. It had been a long time since Lily had been able to fold the covers in around her sleepy son, but as he was now mere minutes away from turning twelve years old, they both knew the days in which it was appropriate to do so were rushing away fast.

It wasn't a situation either of them was at all happy with.

"So, excited for tomorrow?" Lily cooed, smoothing the quilt down over Harry's shoulders.

"Yes, very," Harry grinned. "It's not every day you turn twelve, is it? And in the night ... well, I cant wait for that!"

"I bet," Lily smiled softly. "Your Dad and I are so jealous, just so you know. We'd have gotten tickets ourselves but, well, we didn't want to cramp your style."

"Cramp my style?" Harry quirked with a furrowed expression. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, we didn't want to get in the way while you and Hermione were having a good time," Lily hushed. "We thought you might want some space ... just in case."

"In case what?" Harry frowned.

"Oh, you know, in case there was a goodbye kiss in the offing, or something. We wouldn't want to spoil that for you. For either of you."

Harry felt his entire body blush hotly under his quilt. "No, Mum. It isn't like that."

"It never is," Lily replied wryly.

"We're just going to see the band, that's all."

"It's alright, Harry," Lily crooned. "We really like Hermione. She's a lovely girl. We approve, you know."

"Approve? Of what?"

Lily cocked a curious eyebrow at him. "Are you really this dense, or just pretending? For I feel it would be harder to pretend, than to come across as dopey as you are!"

"I am not dopey!" Harry protested. "Well, maybe just a little bit. How could I not be, with a father like mine? But what is it you approve of?"

"If you really don't know, then it doesn't matter just yet," Lily smiled softly. "Right, you'd better get some sleep. You have a big day tomorrow."

Lily leaned over and kissed Harry on the head as he snuggled down into his covers. Lily stopped at the door and turned back to her son.

"Light on?"

"No, you can turn it off," Harry replied brightly. "I'm not really afraid of the dark anymore. Hermione showed me how not to be scared of it."

"I bet she did," Lily grinned. "Even more reason to approve. Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Mum," Harry returned with a yawn. A minute later and he was snoring away.

Lily watched through a crack in the door until she could mark the passage of the seconds by the rise and fall of Harry's slumbering shoulders. Then she ambled across the living area and slid onto the sofa. She turned to James, who was over by the kitchen.

"Harry's asleep," she swooned softly. This seemed to be an important detail that she'd been waiting to share with him.

James grinned back. "Red or white this evening?"

"Red. But just a small one."

"We have an '85 Cabernet Sauvingon," James told her, holding the bottle aloft.

Lily nodded her approval as James poured two glasses, before joining her on the sofa and passing her the smaller of the two. She immediately kicked her feet into his lap and he began rubbing her toes.

"This is nice," Lily purred.

James quirked an eyebrow at her. "The wine or the footrub?"

"Both," Lily grinned back. "So, what are we toasting this evening?"

"Well, as our son turns twelve years old in the morning, that seems to be the most appropriate thing!" James quipped with his trademark cheeky grin.

"To Harry then!" Lily toasted, clinking her glass against James'. "Twelve years. We're so lucky, James, to have had this time with him. For the longest time, I never thought we would."

James sighed, mirroring the chill of sadness flowing from his wife. "Neither did I. What with Voldemort and that damned prophecy, then the Muggle scientists from Annwn, then all those surges of accidental magic ... they should have killed him, Lil ... I honestly didn't think he'd survive this long."

"But he has," Lily smiled warmly. "And look how strong he's become! Our son, James! He's healthy and happy and everything we could have hoped."

"More even than that," James smirked.

"What do you mean?" Lily quirked back. "What have you been keeping from me?"

"I had a Floo from Minerva earlier," James revealed. "First year exam results have been finalised ... and our little boy was top of the year!"

"He was!" Lily beamed brilliantly. "That's wonderful! So, so wonderful!"

"You might revise that opinion once Harry knows. He has my ever-inflatable ego, don't forget!"

"Top of the year!" Lily parroted with a little tear in her eye. "Can I go and hug him for it? I'm so proud."

"Leave the boy sleep," James cajoled. "This is me and you time. It's not all good news anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't think Harry will be completely pleased," James informed her. "Not when he realises that to come top he had to beat Hermione to the position!"

"Ooh, I didn't think of that!" Lily grimaced bracingly. "That's going to be quite a dilemma for him. To be happy - at the cost of Hermione being happy. What a conundrum!"

"I wouldn't worry about it," James replied. "It'll be good for him, keep him humble. At least until he sees Hermione, in any case."

"Why will that make a difference?"

"Because she'll be so delighted that Harry did so well, that his ego will float him to the moon!" James chuckled. "She'll give him permission to bask in it and he'll be doubly smug, for having impressed her."

"He's so smitten with the girl, isn't he?" Lily commented fondly. "Though I genuinely don't think he even knows it yet. I wish he'd stay my little boy a tiny bit longer, though. I feel like I'm losing him already."

"Hey, don't fret," James soothed, patting his wife's feet to distract her from her bout of distress. "A boy will always have need of his mother, no matter how many other girls come into his life. Besides, Harry has plenty of love to go round for all of us."

"That's true," Lily smiled. "We did a good job with him, I think."

"Well, we've gotten him to the edge of being a teenager, without turning him into a stroppy monster!" James agreed. "That's something. Lessons learned for the next one, eh?"

He leaned over and placed a soft hand to Lily's belly, rubbing it lovingly. Then they locked eyes.

"When are we going to tell him?"

"Not tomorrow, it's his day," Lily replied, her eyes shining as she slid her hand gently over her husband's. "And I don't think we should distract him before he returns to school, either. He needs to focus on that."

"But when he comes home at Christmas, it'll be obvious," James grinned at Lily. "Even Harry isn't that unobservant."

"Then maybe we should let him find out like that," Lily pondered. "I prefer him to work things out on his own. He wont learn if he just gets told things all the time."

"This isn't one of his Hogwarts tests!" James quipped. "This is about us having another baby!"

"I know, but the surprise will be fun," Lily insisted. "No, we wont tell him yet. Let him enjoy his little date tomorrow, then he can go back to school. Then at Christmas we can have a little bet, you and I, to see how long it takes for him to work it out!"

James chuckled. "Okay. I like that. So ... do you think he'll prefer a baby brother or sister?"

"I'd have to think he'd prefer a sister, something to look after and protect, you know?" Lily pondered. "I hope it's a sister ... because that's what I'm having."

"You don't know for sure."

"I do."

"How?"

"I'm a Mummy. We know these things!"

James laughed again. "You don't half talk nonsense when you're pregnant. It's the funniest thing to see you so illogical."

"Harry has all that to come then," Lily considered lightly. "When his logical girl gets in this way!"

James raised his eyebrows at his wife. "You've certainly changed your tune about that. Making jokes about it now, eh? That's progress."

"What can I say, Hermione has grown on me," Lily returned unabashed. "I think it's her hair, you know. It's so lustrous. I'm very jealous. But I'm just dying to have her let me braid it. Maybe I'll bully her into it when she comes over tomorrow ... say I wont let her see Harry again if she refuses!"

"That's just cruel," James admonished falsely. "But I always did like your dark side. Turns me right on. I know we're already having a baby, but any chance we could practice the making one part again later, for the next time maybe? I need to keep my skills up!"

"You're such a goon," Lily laughed. "Why did I ever marry you?"

"Because I'm the love of your life and it just makes sense!"

"I hate when you're right, but when you are, you are!"

"So ... later?"

Lily smiled vampishly, and sipped her wine in just the right way to make James' head spin. "Just keep rubbing my feet ... and I'll have a think about it!"

"Tease!" James quirked.

"You love it."

James huffed but couldn't argue. For he really did.

***

When Harry emerged from his bedroom the next evening, he was almost overcome with excitement. The concert was less than an hour away and he literally couldn't wait. He wondered if there was any sort of device in magic that could speed up time, because he wanted the next sixty minutes to go by as quickly as humanly possible.

But when he went into the living room of the flat, he was met with a very unusual sight, and a very unexpected reaction.

For Hermione and Lyra had arrived and were waiting for him. Harry had taken longer than he'd intended, having been dissatisfied with the white face dusting and dark eye make-up he'd spent hours painstakingly applying. He wanted it to be just right. Then he had to choose between his moon goddess and pentacle pendants, and make a final decision on the logo emblazoned t-shirt he was going to wear under his full-length black trenchcoat.

When he was finally finished, Harry thought he looked the part. He was beyond thrilled at the prospect of meeting Miss Weird herself, the devastatingly alluring Maria Edge, and he was reasonably sure this look would impress her.

But he wasn't the only one who'd changed their look for the night.

For Harry saw immediately that Hermione had done something different with her hair tonight. It was as fluffy as ever, but there was a definite sense of control to the chaos now. Her hair fell in neat waves, rather than the random wildness that Harry was used to. Hermione had also dusted her curls with sparkles and glitter, and woven ribbons of scarlet and purple ringlets into her dark tresses, with one of each colour falling from either temple, framing the porcelain skin of her soft face and matching the light shading she'd applied to her eyes.

Harry swallowed very hard at this shiny, frilled vision of his best friend. It was his heart that responded hardest, thrumming pleasantly as Harry stared from the safety of his bedroom door. There was no other word for it ... Hermione looked really pretty, blinding almost ... a bit like the sun coming out after the rain, Harry thought.

But it wasn't just the glitter and ringlet ribbons that caused Harry's breathing to hitch. For the most curious sight - which may also have been the loveliest - was the one of his mother sitting behind Hermione, twisting some of her hair into an elaborate Celtic Braid. Between each knot, Lily had curled in a pretty white flower - to make a vertical line of them down the centre of the braid - which she'd stuck in place using a spell of some sort. Papageno was sat next to her, overseeing the operation. He nodded in approval as Lily fixed the bottom of the braid with a silver hair-tie.

Hermione's look was complete, and Harry felt he needed an entirely new vocabulary with which to describe it ... or to describe how he felt about it. He wondered how long such a language would take to learn.

"There he is!" James exclaimed as his eyes fell on Harry. "We were about to send Hedwig to deliver a message, to tell you that you were going to be late!"

"Very funny," Harry retorted, moving across the room.

Hermione looked up at him and smiled sweetly. "Hi. I like your outfit."

"Hello," Harry replied, conscious that he was still staring at her, and that she might not like that. "You look ... nice."

Hermione beamed, knowing that was pretty much the best Harry was capable of just now. Her sparkling eyes added to her other sparkly additions, making her too bright to even look at for a moment. But Lyra was having none of it.

"Nice?" she scoffed, playfully shaking her head at Harry. "She looks more than nice ... she looks beautiful."

Harry didn't disagree, not in the slightest. But oddly enough, he couldn't work out how he was supposed to say that out loud. It was as if he'd forgotten all the words that would express it. So he just nodded instead.

"There, I think we're done!" Lily announced happily. "I'm really quite pleased with that."

"It is very pretty," Papageno complimented. "You cant see it, Hermione, but trust me that it is."

"Thank you," Lily grinned, quirking a wry look at Papageno. Harry knew that look, knew how odd it was to talk to a dæmon instead of their human. He was used to it now, and barely noticed that Pap was a cat instead of a person anymore, but Lily was still only just starting out on her relationship with Hermione's soul-familiar. It was curious to watch how both of them responded to the other.

"Right, we'd better get a move on," James announced jovially. "Don't want the birthday boy missing out on his favourite present, do we?"

Hermione shot Harry a questioning look, but he just turned his eyes away shyly. He was pretty sure that she already knew that her gift was by far the best one he'd received that day, but he didn't want to be disrespectful by admitting that in front of his Mum and Dad. Not that it would have mattered, for he knew that they knew the truth of the situation, anyway, even if they were too good to say so.

James delivered Harry and Hermione to the Diagon Palladium in good time. Before he left them at the door, he hit them both with a tracking spell, just for Lily's peace of mind, he insisted. Then James waved them goodbye with encouragement to have a good time.

Which they promptly did. The concert was amazing, and Harry had the best time, singing and shouting along with the loud music. He and Hermione even had a sort of dance, which was mostly jumping up and down and making a lot of noise, but Harry was keen not to damage her cute hair arrangement so kept a respectful distance, no matter how close Hermione bounced to him.

Then came the Meet and Greet, which Harry was inordinately excited about. What he hadn't counted on was for it to change his life forever.

But that's just what happened.

Now, Harry had seen Maria Edge in lots of pictures, had about a dozen posters of her around his bedrooms both at home and school. But nothing, nothing, could have prepared him for meeting her in real life. He didn't expect that he was about to be fundamentally changed, as he waited patiently in line for his turn. But then it came ... and ten minutes later Harry was a changed man.

For up close and personal, Harry lost his mind - and his heart - to Maria Edge.

Was she a goddess? Harry would have challenged anyone who disagreed with him just then. She was pretty, but in a different sort of way to how Hermione was pretty. This was a smoky, fiery sort of pretty. The sort to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. And Harry was powerless against it. He let the exotic scent of her fill his nostrils, allowed that devastating smile to scorch his eyes.

And then it got worse ... because she recognised him!

"Harry Potter!" she swooned sultrily, her voice a husky sort of lyrical. "We have a superstar fan! Come here, Harry! This will make the cover of Esoter-Rock! for sure!"

Then she dragged in him close for a one-armed hug, as a photographer began snapping away. Harry lost what was left of his mind, as he was pressed tight into the solid mass of Maria's body, lost in that cloud of her gorgeous perfume, that wafted down as she shook out her golden hair. But when the side of his head came to rest against the soft bounciness of her ample, supple breast, Harry dearly hoped he would die on the spot.

For there was no more perfect time for it in his opinion.

And then it was over and it time to go home. But it was a different Harry Potter that his father came to collect, than the one he'd deposited less than three hours previously.

For Harry Potter was now in love. It had only taken half a hug, and a stunning smile, but Harry's heart had been stolen away in a single beat, one that surely marked the end of his childhood.

And he spent the entire journey home telling his father all about it. All Harry's sentences began with one word ... Maria. It was Maria sang this, and Maria wore that. And when it came to the actual meeting with her, Harry's words tumbled out so fast that it was a miracle his father picked up any of them. It was only when he ran out of breath, which was just about as they were stepping through the door to the flat, that James reminded his son that he hadn't attended the concert alone.

"And did Hermione have a good time?" James asked him. "I hope you said thank you for giving you such a great gift."

"I did, didn't I?" Harry checked, turning to Hermione. "And you had a good time too, didn't you?"

It was only then that Harry noticed something off. The light had dimmed in Hermione's eyes. He wasn't perfect at reading her emotions, but there was no confusion about what he was seeing there now.

She looked sort of ... sad. But Harry had no idea why.

Though she wasn't about to give that away. "Yes," Hermione replied in a slightly elevated pitch. "It was a really good night."

"See!" Harry grinned brightly, oblivious as always.

Then he was off again, recounting the entire Maria Edge-shaped story to his mother. Lyra listened too, but she kept flicking glances at Hermione, who had sat quietly nearby with slumped shoulders and a pained expression. Harry hadn't noticed, but Hermione had starting sadly unwinding the ribbons from her hair already. Pap trotted over to investigate his human, and she scooped him up and held him tight her aching chest.

Harry may not have noticed what was going on, but Lyra was eagle eyed and wily. She knew on instinct that every word of Harry's story was cutting to Hermione's heart like a hot knife. It had the first time, and this second retelling was even worse. She keep quiet to not let it show, kept her hands busy so they wouldn't wring together as a sign of her hurting.

But in the end, Lyra had to come to her rescue, to take her away from this unseen torment.

When Harry drew breath again, Lyra seized her moment. "Well it sounds like a very full evening. And I think at least one half of this pair is wiped out by it. I think it's time to take my girl back home."

"Nonsense, why don't you stay?" Lily suggested. "We have plenty of room, especially with Sirius not here."

Lyra looked at Hermione, who returned her gaze with pleading eyes.

"No, I think we should return home. But thanks for the offer," Lyra replied. Then she crossed to Hermione and offered her hand to help her up. "Come on, young lady. Shall we head off?"

"Yes please, Mum," Hermione replied without thinking, sinking into Lyra's embrace as she stood. It was an embrace that tightened protectively, as Hermione's slip passed like music into Lyra's ear.

"Well, if you're sure," Lily double-checked.

"Quite sure," Lyra smiled. "I don't think sleeping in Sirius' bed without his permission would be quite right! No, I've got Mal's car, I'll get this sleepy little one home in no time."

Then Lyra guided Hermione to the door of the flat, her arm comfortingly around her shoulders. Harry and his parents went too, to wish them goodnight, but Hermione mumbled hers so faintly that Harry barely caught it. As soon as Lyra and Hermione vanished out of sight into the lift, the others returned to the living area, and Harry turned immediately to his parents with a confused look on his face.

"Have I done something wrong?" he asked uncertainly. "Why do I get the feeling that I've done something wrong?"

Lily looked at him with sad pity. "If you don't know, then I'm afraid you're not ready to be told. In truth, you don't deserve it."

Harry frowned at his mother. "What does that mean? Dad?"

"Just what your Mum said, son," James replied cryptically.

Harry couldn't shake the feeling that his father was disappointed in him. What exactly had he done? He hadn't the faintest idea what it might be.

"I'm completely lost," Harry confessed.

"Now that we can all agree on!" James quirked. "I just hope the situation isn't terminal."

Harry had a good grasp of the English language, could converse with snakes and understand dragons ... but speaking in tongues was not his thing. Confused and slightly hurt, Harry made his way to bed. It wasn't the way he'd wanted to end his birthday. After the night he'd had, he'd expected to be exhilarated when he pulled on his pyjamas, with sleep a ridiculous notion. But as he slid under his covers, he was feeling something very different ... like he'd broken something he didn't even know was there.

Harry couldn't figure out what he'd done so badly ... he just hoped there'd be a way to fix it when he did.

Chapter Text

Hermione took a deep lungful of sea air, letting that ozone fill her senses, and relaxed deeply into the sun lounger. She needed this, a change of scene, something to cheer her up. Maybe get her blues tanned, as Lyra had put it. It was nice, to sit in the sun and think of nothing - which wasn't something the cerebral Hermione Granger often did - but she could certainly appreciate its merits now.

Lyra was coming back over from the little beach bar. She'd been dying to test out her French as soon as they'd stepped off the aeroplane - or as they were used to calling it, Frankish. Lyra was delighted that the language from their world was the same as the one here, despite the different name. Her zeal made it hard for Hermione to be too worried about the cost of this impromptu, last minute holiday, which had been something of a bone of conjecture for her.

"It isn't that expensive," Lyra had reassured her when Hermione learned of the surprise, which was sprung on her as they arrived at the airport. "I got it from something called Teletext. We booked it, packed it, and took off! I don't see the problem."

"I just feel awkward," Hermione confessed, wringing her hands. "Harry's parents have been so generous in paying for my Hogwarts tuition. I just cant bear to imagine what they'd think of me for being so frivolous now. Concerts and holidays ... it makes me look like such an ungrateful spendthrift!"

"Nonsense," Lyra laughed. "They'd want you to have a good time. It makes their son happy to see you happy, and they'd have him to answer to if they were cross with you."

Hermione would have believed that until a week ago, until that rather miscalculated birthday gift! Talk about a backfire! It was all going so well, until the VIP meeting with that vacuous, blonde floozy. If only Hermione had stuck to just the concert tickets and forgot the rest ... everything else might have gone to plan.

She thought she'd looked rather pretty that night; Harry certainly seemed to think she looked pretty, if the way he kept sneaking glances at her - when he thought she wouldn't see - were any indicator. Each one had thrilled Hermione to catch, so she pretended not to pay him attention on purpose, just so he could carry on snatching secret looks at her. Then she was going to tell him he could look if he wanted to ... so long as he let her give him a kiss on his birthday. A proper kiss, like the grown-ups did.

That was the plan ... but then some big-boobied megastar had given him a hug ... and Harry had fallen under her spell, probably like a thousand other boys before him.

Hermione huffed as she remembered it, trying to not let it spoil her mood. She couldn't compete with boobs, as her own had only just started growing and it was unreasonable for her to expect Harry to notice them yet. Even Papageno had trouble remembering they were there, as evidenced by how carelessly he dug his claws into Hermione's chest when settling down for their pre-sleep cuddle every night.

So this was one thing Hermione couldn't hold against Harry.

Not that she enjoyed trying to find things that she could. It was an alien sensation. She was just cross and hurt, she knew that, but this was a whole new kind of both feelings. She was struggling to get used to them, or how they made her ache in ways she didn't know she could ache before. She'd made such an effort, but it didn't seem to work. And it created all sorts of new anxieties that Hermione hadn't experienced before.

Because she was beginning to see now that there was pretty and pretty. The sun was pretty, the flowers and trees and the rippling sea were pretty. But then there was the Maria Edge type of pretty, which was so different it might have been a whole other thing. Lyra had that sort of pretty, and as Hermione watched her coming back over with drinks, she tried to analyse it, deconstruct its parts so that she might rebuild it within herself.

Maybe then Harry would notice her again.

So she watched her Mistress as she approached. Lyra had a more contoured frame, more slender and wiry compared to the curvy Miss Weird. Lyra was taller, with longer legs. These were firm and toned, and they gave a swell to her hips, though how that might aid the subtle, elegant way they swayed Hermione couldn't fathom. She tried moving her own hips in that way as she lounged, but she looked more like she had sat on a pinecone and was trying to stop it from poking her. That wasn't anyone's idea of graceful and elegant!

Unfortunately, Lyra wasn't a much better example of attractiveness than Maria, Hermione decided. She had an effortless sort of beauty, she knew it, and she didn't care if anyone noticed or not. The famous singer, on the other hand, had cultivated her look, made use of her physical assets as part of her persona. Lyra just was ... and if you didn't notice her that was just your own fault.

But Hermione didn't feel like either of those women. She lacked the confidence of either, but she reasoned that this was normal for a girl her age. She'd just grow into herself as she got older. The problem was, she wasn't normal, and she wasn't destined for a normal boy or a normal relationship. They were special, her and Harry, and it was this whisper from her wounded heart that kept her from being truly mad with him.

The problem was, how was she supposed to be attractive for Harry, if all the normal rules were out the window?

"Penny for your thoughts," Lyra quirked as she finally arrived back at their sunbathing spot. "You look a million miles away."

"Sorry, I was just daydreaming."

"Double or quits that I can guess what about," Lyra smirked. "Or who."

"Am I really so transparent?" Hermione moaned.

"No, but you've got the look of a girl crossed in love for the first time," Lyra smiled kindly. "We've all worn that look once, if it makes you feel any better."

Hermione huffed. "It doesn't."

"No, I didn't think it would!" Lyra laughed. "But here, maybe this will have more success."

Lyra proffered a glass with a sort of dark pinkish liquid inside. Ice cubes clinked together as Hermione accepted it.

"What is it?" she asked cautiously.

"Just a mix of orange juice and cranberry juice," Lyra replied, curling her see-through sarong around her legs as she slid down onto her own sun lounger and adjusted her sunglasses. "I've got the same ... only I have vodka and peach schnapps in mine, too."

Hermione sniffed warily at the glass, just as Pap leapt up and dipped his nose in it. Then Hermione took a sip ... and was pleasantly surprised.

"Mmmm, this is nice," she hummed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Lyra beamed. "Now, let's see what else I can do for you. Let's have some girl time, just me and you."

Hermione gulped hard. She as much did and didn't want to discuss this with Lyra, but she knew it was unavoidable. She'd accidentally called her Mum, and Lyra was acting more and more like that role every day. And it was with a confused heart that Hermione noticed that she liked it more and more, too.

So she turned to her Mistress. "What did it feel like ... when you found out what Sirius had been doing with all those other girlfriends?"

Lyra smiled at Hermione's forwardness. She hoped it was a trait she'd never lose.

"Well to start with I was angry and upset, just like you are with Harry," Lyra began, enjoying the cosiness that rose in her at the sight of Hermione's cute blush. "Not that I had any right to be angry with Sirius, really."

"No right?" Hermione scoffed. "But what he was doing -"

"Was just what Sirius does," Lyra cut in breezily. "He's a lover. He was my lover, and though he was loving other women too, I was no angel myself. Sirius and I were never a boyfriend/girlfriend type thing ... we were never that serious."

"But did you want to be?" Hermione asked girlishly, hitching her knees up for the story.

"I think we both wanted to be, looking back," Lyra considered. "But it wasn't something either of us had honestly come across before. Plus I didn't want to force Sirius to change, to settle down. There was something in his wild, vagabond nature that attracted me in the first place. I didn't want him to lose that, to be the reason he lost it. But, if I had to do it over, I'd probably be more assertive, make him see that changing might be worth it."

"So why didn't you do that?"

"Truthfully, I don't think it was Sirius I was afraid of changing ... but me," Lyra confessed. "I'm a bit wild, a bit savage, a touch untamed. I like those things about myself. But if I demanded that Sirius had to settle down to be with me, then I'd have to do that, too. A bit like being a dæmon, I suppose. And I was frightened of it. Of settling."

"But it still hurt when you found out what he'd been doing?" Hermione pressed.

"Of course, it was a blow to my pride," Lyra replied. "I started questioning if I wasn't enough for him. But I hadn't given him a reason not to do what he did. And, as I said, I was less than faithful myself. But I think we both did it to almost avoid the truth ... that we'd have happily stopped roaming if one or the other asked us to.

"But do you want to know what really hurt? Finding out that Will had married twice in his life. That really scythed to me."

A sad shadow crossed Lyra's eyes as she thought about this. Hermione was hit by the strange urge to get up and hug Lyra, and that was totally new for her.

"Will got married?" Hermione hushed. "And that hurt more than Sirius?"

Lyra nodded. "I think it's because I always held this childish view of Will, fixed from that moment we parted for good. It's silly, I know, but that's just what I did. We were your age, but totally in love. We both knew it, and no-one will ever tell me otherwise, tell me that we were too young or any of that nonsense. It was our first love, stupidly powerful as a result, but love nonetheless. I've never felt a love like it since, not even with Sirius - though he is the closest I've come.

"And I think that part of me has always kept me from properly loving anyone else. Will told me it was the same for him, that I've ruined him as a result, but he still got married twice. Which is worse in some ways, because he lied to those women he married. That isn't the Will I knew and loved. He was all sorts of good and kind and wonderful. Not the kind to deceive people, especially ones that genuinely loved him.

"So when he told me that I think I finally let him go, after all these years. Maybe - when we both return to Dust - all will be forgiven and we'll be together again. But for this life, Will Parry is dead to me. He is a figment of a past life, nothing more."

"And Sirius is your future?" Hermione asked shyly.

"Maybe," Lyra grinned back. "Depends if he still wants me."

"Oh, he does," Hermione returned confidently. "Harry told me."

Lyra flushed slightly. "Did he now? Maybe I'll need to have a chat to your Harry about that, perhaps teach him some date etiquette while I'm at it!"

"No, please don't!" Hermione begged. "He'll never forgive me!"

"Forgive you?" Lyra quipped wryly. "I thought you were the one mad at him?"

"Oh, I am," Hermione confirmed blandly. "But I'll get over that ... just as soon as I work out how to."

Lyra chuckled at that. "I wouldn't be too hard on Harry. He's a very sweet boy, and I don't think he has any idea how hurtful his words were to you. If he did, he'd probably crawl all the way out here to France, if he thought that's what it would take to make it up to you. He's very taken with you, in case you hadn't noticed."

That warmed Hermione up immensely. "Do you really think so?"

"It's the most obvious thing!" Lyra cried. "You'd have to be delusional not to see it!"

"Then why did he say all those things about that woman, and nothing about me!?" Hermione spat bitterly. "Wasn't I pretty enough for him?"

"Oh of course you were, sweetheart!" Lyra consoled. "Didn't you see how Harry looked at you when he saw you in the flat? Because that isn't how mere friends look at each other, believe me. And he knew it, too, because he was trying not to let you see that he was staring at you!"

"I know!" Hermione giggled, leaning in conspiratorially. "He kept doing it all night at the concert, too. It was really quite sweet ... until the disaster that happened later."

"And you missed out on your first kiss?"

Hermione blushed crimson. "Something like that."

"And you still want that ... with Harry?"

Hermione was sure she couldn't blush any more than she was right now, but silence was not an option. She wanted very badly to confess this to Lyra, and as she thought that, she very nearly replaced Lyra with the word Mum again, only this time it was in her mind. This was becoming a dangerous trend.

"Is ... is it weird that I want it more than before?" Hermione asked in an unsure voice. "It sounds silly, but now that he's talked about another girl, I know he's probably thought about what it would be like to kiss her. And I don't want him to think that, I want him to think about kissing me. Or, actually, wanting to kiss me more than any other girl. Is there something wrong with me for thinking that?"

Lyra laughed softly. "Nothing at all, honey. You really like Harry and you want him all to yourself. The problem is you're a bit more developed than he is, and he needs to catch up. What you're feeling is perfectly natural, just like this little crush of his."

"It is?"

"Of course, it's all part of growing up," Lyra replied. "You'll have crushes yourself, I'm sure. And just like yours will pass, his will too. Just try not to torture him too much when this situation happens the other way around. Bitterness and vengeance aren't the staples of a healthy relationship!"

Hermione giggled. "But I can tease him with it?"

"I'd expect you too! It's the duty of lovers to playfully tease each other every now and then. Keeps them reminded of what they have if they ever lose sight of it."

"Then what should I do, do you think?" Hermione asked. "Harry has sent me three owls since his birthday and I haven't replied to a single one of them. I've just been too cross with him."

"Three owls!" Lyra exclaimed humorously. "The poor boy must be worried out of his mind! I can only imagine what you're putting him through, Hermione!"

"Oh dear, have I been really bad?" Hermione yelped anxiously.

"No more than he was to you," Lyra replied. "Besides, it doesn't hurt to be made to dangle a bit in cases like these. He'll be fine."

"Okay," said Hermione, uncertainly. "So, what would you do, if you were me?"

"I'd assume your role in his life ... as his guide," Lyra told her simply. "Harry needs to see what he's done, understand why it was bad and be given chance to make amends. But this is a lesson you have to deliver in subtle ways. Give him a taste of how you feel, but don't push it too far. He's gotten used to your attention, but maybe you need to make him earn it all over again."

"How?"

"By not being prissy about his crush, for a start," Lyra advised. "It's just a crush, nothing more. That singer is a grown woman, she's just a fantasy right now, Harry's first one. Let him have it ... but find one of your own. If I'm right about Harry, he will hate to see his behaviour reflected in you. And he's a smart and cognizant sort of boy ... he'll see what he's been doing and drop his crush in a heartbeat, if he thinks he risks losing you over it."

"Do you really think so?" Hermione flushed, hopefully.

"I really do, just don't target a real potential rival," Lyra warned. "Don't start making moves on, say, the Weasley boy you mentioned."

"Eww, Lyra!" Hermione shrieked in disgust. "That's a horrible thought! Urgh! Id never do that! It wouldn't just be cruel to Harry, but a violation against myself and all things girl! Kissing Ron Weasley ... it's enough to make me vomit at the mere thought!"

Lyra laughed deeply. "We'll keep that punishment for when Harry really upsets you then!"

"No, we really wont," Hermione disagreed. "I'd rather kill Harry than do that to him ... or me!"

"Okay then. So ... anyone else that fits the bill? Who would really get under Harry's skin for you to crush on? Any teachers at school, maybe?"

Hermione's face lit up as the perfect idea came to her. She beamed at Lyra.

"Oh, yes, I think I have just the man!" she sang happily. "Ooh, Pap! Go and grab me some paper and a pen! I've got that stupid dream diary in my bag, that will do. Lyra, tell me some of the things I need to do. Harry really wont like me doing this, but it's for his own good, isn't it?"

"For the good of you both," Lyra laughed. "Right, we need a name for this caper. Any suggestions?"

Hermione scrunched her eyebrows as she thought. "How about the 'Campaign for the Listing and Implementation of Teasing Objectives and the Resulting Intimacy with my Soulmate'?"

"It's catchy, but I'm not sure I like the acronym for that," Lyra quirked dryly.

"Wah ... oh," Hermione giggled as she worked it out. "Perhaps not then. Ah! I've got it!"

"Hit me."

"Project Lock (Harry's) Heart," Hermione beamed. "That sounds better. Yes, that's what we'll go for. I just hope Harry sees the funny side ... once his lesson is over!"

***

September the First rolled around after a very long month for Harry. The deeply concerning silent treatment he seemed to be getting from Hermione left him listless and lonely. He spent much of August moping around the flat, refusing the numerous entreaties from James and Lily to enjoy the Summer sunshine while he still had chance. Instead, he kept to his room with Hedwig for company, listening to music and trying to cheer himself by looking at the picture he'd had taken with Maria Edge, which had indeed made the cover of Esoter-Rock! Magazine.

But even this wasn't anything like as soothing as Harry needed it to be. He loved The Weird Sisters, could drown in their music. But it was so much better when he had Hermione there to drown alongside him. Without her, it had lost some it's spirit.

He just couldn't work out what he'd done to upset her so much.

For he knew that's what it must be. Hermione was nothing if not polite ... she wouldn't simply ignore his letters without good reason. After the first one earned no response, Harry became fitfully concerned. It just wasn't like Hermione to not reply the same day. Poor Hedwig could testify to that.

So Harry reasoned that there were two possibilities - Hermione was unable to respond, or she was unwilling to respond. He was able to dispel the first possibility right away, when Minerva McGonagall came by one evening and said she'd just been to deliver Hermione's exam results to her personally. They'd been of such a high standard that Minerva thought they deserved a home visit, along with a little trophy as a reward.

Harry beamed with pride when Minerva told him about that ... then was stunned into silence when she informed Harry that he had done better than his best friend.

That was impossible, he argued. Hermione was the best in the year by a country mile. But the results didn't lie. Harry had outscored Hermione enough in some of their classes to have beaten her by three clear marks in total. It took a whole day to get his head around that, and Harry immediately sent Hermione another letter once he had, to tell her that he was going to demand a recount of the marks, as there most certainly had been a mistake.

But when that letter didn't yield a reply, Harry knew he was facing Option Number Two ... Hermione was unwilling to write back to him. In many ways, Harry thought, this was worse than Option Number One.

Was she mad at him for coming top of the year, at her expense, Harry wondered. That was his first thought, but he dismissed it at once. Hermione was not any sort of petty. If anything, she was his own personal cheering section, and he'd have thought she'd be happy that he'd run her so close, for he was still convinced that he couldn't possibly have beaten her academically.

So if not that, then what?

His mother and father seemed to know, but steadfastly refused to tell him, which led to Harry dishing out his own version of the silent treatment for a few days. It took Hedwig refusing to sit with him in his funk for Harry to realise he was being so childish, so he went crawling back to his mother with eyes full of apologies, until she made them both big mugs of hot chocolate and told Harry stories about her and James from their time at Hogwarts.

That made him feel better. But in terms of getting Hermione to speak to him, Harry realised, he would have to work that one out on his own.

And his first resolution was to get the bottom of whatever he'd done as soon as possible. He gave up on letters after the third one came back empty. His best hope now was to wait until the return to Hogwarts, where he might be able to tackle Hermione in person. He was determined to talk to her, tie her down if necessary, until she was his friend again.

On September the First Harry was up and ready early, and chomping at the bit to get to Kings Cross. As such, they were there over an hour before the train was due. This had a knock on effect that Harry could have done without. The Weasleys arrived early too, and Molly noticed that Sirius wasn't with the Potters and so made a beeline for them in search of an explanation. Harry, who couldn't stand the Weasley parents, made his excuses, kissed his parents goodbye and headed onto the platform with Hedwig on his arm, just to get away from them.

So Harry sat there, solitary and morose and with his eyes fixed on the barrier, waiting for that shock of bushy hair to come bounding through. Families came and moved on, the train arrived in a billow of smoke and very soon the entire platform was a cacophony of bustling students, squawking and meowing animals, and floating stories about how the Summer holidays had been for everyone.

And that was how Hermione found Harry, sat all alone with Hedwig on his slumped shoulders, looking very sorry for himself.

The first sight of Harry thawed the ice on Hermione's bruised heart and she gave in to a big smile. Lyra looked down at her with a grin that said, quite plainly, 'go on'. So she did, creeping up behind Harry until she was close enough to cover his eyes with her hands.

Then she struck.

"Boo!" she breathed into his ear, giggling as Harry jumped in fright.

"Hermione!" Harry yelped, spinning around whilst trying to ignore the tingly feeling that Hermione's hot breath had sent racing down his spine. "You scared me"

"That was sort of the point!" Hermione grinned, turning her trunk onto its side and sliding it next to Harry's, before sitting down by him.

"Why haven't you answered my letters?" Harry blurted out at once, obliterating any ideas of caution he might have been entertaining. "Have I done something to upset you? I really hope I haven't."

"Upset me? Oh no, Harry, I'm fine," Hermione assured him with a little white lie.

"Then why have you been ignoring me?"

"I haven't been," she replied brightly. "I've just been having some problems ... you know ... big girl problems."

Harry frowned a while, then his eyes went wide and round as comprehension dawned. "Oh ... is that what this is?"

Hermione couldn't help but beam. She'd missed Harry's cute naivety. How was she ever supposed to stay mad at him when he could melt her so easily?

But she had to at least try. "Yes, Harry, that's what this is. I've just needed some girl time with Lyra. She took us away to the South of France to celebrate."

"Girls celebrate that kind of thing?" Harry asked in wonder. "Wow."

"Well it's the time you stop being a girl and start becoming a young woman," Hermione remarked airily. "That's worth marking, don't you think?"

"I suppose," Harry agreed, shifting awkwardly on his trunk. He was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to pursue this line of conversation with a girl, though, so he changed it. "Was France nice?"

"Yes, it was great. The resort was pretty, the weather was nice and sunny, and we went swimming in the sea, and rambling to some local magical sites, and all sorts. I re-wrote half of my History of Magic homework just to include some of the local legends I found out about. It was funny taking a quill and parchment to the beach, you know, but nicer than working in our stuffy apartment in Oxford. I had a really good time, actually."

"That's good. I'm glad. And it was just you and Lyra?"

"Yes."

"For three whole weeks?"

"Yes."

"With a whole bunch of French people?"

"Well, of course, as it was France."

"And did you make any friends out there? Meet anyone our age?"

Hermione grinned shrewdly to herself, finally guessing where Harry was going with this. Was it too early to start teasing him? She decided it was.

"No. Lyra and I kept to ourselves."

"Good," Harry breathed in a relief so pointed it surprised them both. "So ... are we sharing a compartment today?"

"I would hope so," Hermione replied. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"I don't know," Harry returned, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I wasn't sure if you were talking to me ... so ..."

Harry's voice tailed off. He turned his head and looked away guiltily.

"You really have been worrying about this, haven't you?" Hermione asked lightly anxious, leaning forward and curling her head around to look in Harry's eyes. She wasn't as comfortable as Lyra when it came to playing these little games. Harry looked like he was really quite hurt by her radio silence. "Hey ... hey, it's alright. I just needed some head space, that's all. I'm sorry if you think I've been ignoring you, but I really haven't. I promise."

"Really?" Harry asked, hopefully.

"Really," Hermione smiled. It was as much an inward smile - thrilled that Harry had obviously been missing her - as it was an outward one. It shattered her resolve for the plan for the day. She'd have to rebuild it tomorrow. "Come on, the train is boarding. Don't want it to leave without us!"

Harry really didn't want that. Imagine the shame! So he quickly helped Hermione with their luggage, they found a free carriage towards the end of the train and settled down in an empty compartment to natter incessantly about anything they could think of. After a month apart, they had a lot of lost talking to make up for.

Now Harry and Hermione may not have missed the train back to school ... but someone else had.

It was about lunchtime that this incredible feat of stupidity became the talk of the Express. Harry and Hermione knew that something was coming, as door after door of the adjoining compartments slammed shut in sequence. As the slamming drew closer, this din was joined by animated voices. Something was going on, and it was only a matter of time before Harry and Hermione found out what it was.

Then their compartment door was abruptly wrenched open and a blonde haired girl stuck her head through the gap.

"Is my brother in this compartment?" the girl demanded.

"I'm sorry?" Harry retorted. "Who?"

"My brother!" the girl snapped angrily. Then she squeaked as she recognised Harry and asked, far more quietly, "Is my brother in here?"

"It might help if we knew who your brother was," Hermione replied coolly, scowling at the swooning sweetness the girl's voice had taken on.

"Oh, don't be stupid, you know my brother!" the girl shrieked. "Ron ... Ron Weasley."

Harry did a double-take. If she hadn't told them who she was, Harry would never have recognised Ginny Weasley ... a blonde-headed Ginny Weasley. Now what was that all about?

"No, Ron isn't in here. We haven't seen him," Hermione told Ginny. "Is he not on the train?"

"I don't know," she said tearfully. "I don't think he can be. I've searched everywhere. My other brothers think it's really hilarious, but I don't. Not at all."

"I'm sure he'll turn up," Harry offered consolingly.

"If you do see him, will you tell him I'm looking for him?" Ginny asked pitifully.

"Of course."

"Thanks. See you, Harry."

And then she went away. Hermione turned to Harry with an ugly scowl.

"She fancies you. Did you know?"

Harry blushed a red as deep as the setting sun. "I - I don't think so. Why do you think so?"

"Why?" Hermione replied simply. "Well, you're a hero - which only got worse after last year - and you're a bit dramatic because of your background. Oh, and you're cute, too. That doesn't hurt. All in all, you're pretty fanciable."

"I - I am?" Harry stuttered. This train compartment was way too stuffy. He needed to open a window or something.

Hermione held back a grin. She was finding it deliciously easy to make Harry squirm. And it was a fun game, too. "I'd say so. Ginny Weasley certainly thinks you are. Why else would she try and look like a reject from The Weird Sisters if she didn't? She obviously thinks you prefer blondes."

"I don't prefer anything!" Harry protested. He wasn't even sure what the difference was, but there was obviously something Hermione knew about this that he didn't.

"Don't worry, Harry, I'll protect you," Hermione assured him stoutly.

"You will? How?"

"I could wee on you? Mark you with my scent! That might put other girls off!"

"Eww! No thanks!" Harry replied, turning a bit green as Hermione burst out laughing. "Haven't you got any other ideas? Something a bit more hygienic ... or sane?"

"I'll think of something!" Hermione laughed, wiping her eyes. Then she blinked in shock at something outside the window.

"What? What is it?" Harry asked, sitting up as Hermione continued to stare in wide-eyed disbelief through the glass.

"Oh, nothing, it's just that ... I've found Ron Weasley. He's out there ... in a flying car!"

Chapter Text

"What do you mean Ron's in a flying car?"

Hermione scoffed at Harry. "Do you really need me to explain that sentence? Which bit is confusing you!"

"All of it!" Harry exclaimed.

He was about to take a look at this impossibility for himself, when the compartment door opened again and Neville Longbottom burst in dramatically.

"Have you seen? Have you seen?!" he panted. "Ron Weasley is flying a car to school!"

Neville dived to the window, pointing animatedly through the glass. Harry curled his head over Neville's wildly gesticulating arm and peered out.

"What. An. Idiot!" Harry shook his head. "What the hell is he playing at?"

"He must have missed the train," Neville suggested. "I saw him talking to his Mum on the platform. She was trying to wipe dirt from his nose - really, I don't know how he manages to get so grubby all the time - but she was eating a pie and smeared gravy all over his face. It must have taken so long to clean up that the train left without him."

"But where in the hell would he get a flying car from?" Harry wondered.

"Must be from his Dad," Neville surmised. "He heads the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office at the Ministry. My Gran told me."

"So, what? ... he's misusing Muggle artefacts now?" Hermione exclaimed.

"Must be ... there's the proof!" said Neville, beckoning her to look again at the battered Ford Anglia that was shadowing the Hogwarts Express from just below the cloud deck.

By now, most of the train seemed to be watching. Smatterings of applause and whooping could be heard along the carriages as people started to notice. Even Harry found himself transfixed by the sight. It was like watching a car crash in motion ... Harry just hoped that wouldn't be how this came to an end ...

"I wonder how Ron even knew how to fly the thing," Neville mused after an hour or two. He had decided to stay in their compartment, to help Harry and Hermione eat their way through the obscene mountain of sweets that Harry had bought for them from the trolley.

"I can only assume it's simple to do ... if Ron managed it," Harry quipped back. "Probably just press a button and off you go."

"Well he's going to be in terrible trouble when we arrive at Hogwarts," Hermione warned. "Apart from the theft, and the enchantment of the object to start with, Ron's an idiot - he's bound to have been seen by Muggles on the ground. That violates the International Statute of Secrecy in a dozen ways at least. I cant imagine what his punishment will be."

"He'll probably get off on grounds of mercy," Harry guffawed. "He's not guilty of any of those things ... he's only guilty of being Ronald Bilius Weasley. That is his true crime ... it is also his punishment!"

Neville burst out laughing. "Harry, you're too wicked! Your humour is sharper than the Sword of Gryffindor!"

"Thanks," Harry grinned. "So, how was your Summer?"

Then Neville was off, launching into a retelling of his last two months. When he touched on seeing Harry in various cover stories - including screaming blue jealousy that he'd been embraced by Maria Edge - Hermione huffed and took out a book from her bag.

"Voyages with Vampires?" Harry scoffed, reading the cover. "I wouldn't waste your time on that tat."

"Tat?" Neville cried, scandalised. "You realise that's a Lockhart book? He's only the greatest adventurer of our age!"

"Not to mention our amazing new Defence Professor," Hermione added. Harry could see a smirk in her eyes where she glanced up over the rim of her book. "Our entire Defence reading list consists of Lockhart's books, remember. You should read them ... he's quite an extraordinary wizard. I'm so excited to see what he can teach us this year."

"You two should start a fan club," Harry derided. "The Gilderbugs, or something."

Hermione put down her book carefully. "You know, Neville, that's not a bad idea, is it?"

"No, I actually like it!" Neville hooted. "Let's do it, shall we?"

"Yes, let's," Hermione agreed, narrowing her eyes teasingly at Harry. "The initiation will be eating some Foam Fangs - in honour of Gilderoy's time with the vampires. You take one and I'll take one, Nev. Harry - are you sure you wont join us? Last chance!"

"I'd rather be bitten by a real vampire," Harry sniped. "No thank you!"

"Suit yourself," Hermione replied. She tapped her Foam Fangs against Neville's. "To Gilderoy!"

"To Gilderoy!" Neville echoed. Then they ate the sweets in unison. "I cant understand your problem with him, Harry. He's a hero, a legend!"

"He's a slick, pompous, smarmy cretin," Harry corrected acidly. "And I don't trust anyone who has more teeth than the entire Osmond Family!"

"Who are the Osmond Family?"

"Nevermind."

The clouds had come in by the time the Hogwarts Expressed came to halt at Hogsmeade train station. The blue skies of Middle England had given way to the granite grey of the Scottish Highlands. The Cairngorm mountains loomed in the near distance, and somewhere amidst its crags and crevices was where Hogwarts castle was hidden.

As Harry stood and shivered with Neville and Hermione on the station platform, his mind was already yearning for the roaring fires and delicious feast that was awaiting them up at the ancient school. He watched as Hagrid corralled all the new first-years towards the boats that would take them across the lake, remembering his own trip a year ago. The time felt like it had flown by.

Then they were moving in small groups of five and six from the station. Harry shuffled along behind Neville and Hermione - who were still nattering about all things Lockhart - when he felt someone come up close on his elbow.

"Hi, Harry. Do you have space in your carriage for two more?"

Harry looked to his right to see Sally-Anne Perks and Hannah Abbott loitering hopefully nearby. Hannah was carrying her black cat and Sally was holding her broomstick in her spare hand. The other hand had curled around Harry's forearm.

"Yeah, we have room," Harry returned brightly. "Hop in."

Hermione turned her head as the conversation reached her ears. She glanced down at Sally-Anne, who was still clinging to Harry as she thanked him for allowing them to share carriages and began asking if he'd had a fun Summer off. Hermione fumed so viciously at the sight that steam might have risen from her ears.

"Ooh, these steps are high, aren't they?" Sally-Anne commented as she tried to get into the carriage. "Can you help me, Harry?"

"Of course," Harry replied. He took the broomstick in one hand and offered his other to help Sally-Anne jump up into the cart. Then he helped Hannah and Hermione up in the same fashion. Neville had no such luck.

"Chivalry doesn't extend to me, then?" Neville quirked, as Harry withdrew his hand.

"Not with this gentleman," Harry grinned back. Then he jumped up into the cart himself.

Hermione had kept Harry a seat next to her, while Neville sat on her other side, so Sally-Anne sat directly opposite Harry, with Hannah and her cat sat in the middle. Harry handed Sally back her broom as the cars began to move.

"A Nimbus? Nice," Harry complimented. "Good brooms, aren't they?"

"The best," Sally nodded enthusiastically. "I saw you flying the 2001 model at Hooch and Hardbroom's over the Summer. I'm so jealous."

"Were you there? I didn't see you," Harry replied. "You should have come over and said hello. We could have had a race."

"Oh no, I didn't want to intrude," Sally told him piously. "I saw you there with your Dad. I didn't want to be rude and interrupt."

"That wouldn't have mattered," Harry replied off-handedly. "It would have been nice to have a bit of competition, actually. My Dad had to make do with a Comet or a Cleansweep. I might as well have been racing Ron Weasley's flying car for all the chance I had of losing!"

"Ooh, did you see that!" Hannah piped up excitedly. "That's going to be legendary, that is! Arriving by flying car ... they'll be talking about that for years."

"Only if Ron gets expelled, which he probably will," Hermione cut in sternly. "I don't think breaking fifty laws is something to be celebrated. Do you, Harry?"

"What? Oh, no, of course not," Harry climbed down, after seeing Hermione's spiky look. "But Ron would. He seems the sort who'd enjoy a bit of fame."

Well, if it was fame Ron wanted ...

CRASH!!!

There was a huge crunch of twisting metal that echoed through the night. All five of them jumped as they heard it, then Neville stuck his head out of the side of the carriage.

"Oh, sweet Merlin!" he cried. "Ron crashed the car! Right into that really old tree on the grounds. You know the one ... it's the one that hits you if you get too close."

"The Whomping Willow?" asked Sally, standing to look out of her window. "Oh, I do hope Ron's okay. Woah!"

She cried out as the carriage suddenly skidded to an abrupt halt ... and Sally fell backwards and found herself in Harry's lap.

"Oh! Sorry, Harry!" she giggled. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine. You?"

"Fine. You make a comfy crash mat, you know."

"Right, out we get!" Hermione called out briskly. "Chop chop. Up you get, Sally-Anne."

Hermione actually pushed Sally from Harry's lap and back to her seat. Then she urged Harry out of the carriage by perpetually poking him until he moved.

"Help me down, Harry?" Hermione asked sweetly, holding out her hand. Harry took it and helped her exit the carriage, but when they were safely back on Terra Firma Hermione didn't let go. "This way, Harry."

"Shouldn't we wait for the others?" Harry asked, looking back as Hermione hurried him across the courtyard towards the lights of the castle.

"Neville can manage that," Hermione replied brightly. "Looking forward to dinner? I am. I'm starving. Ooh, and we get to watch our first Sorting, too! This ought to be such a fun night!"

Harry noticed Hermione had put on a very bizarre tone. It was positively sing-songy. How strange. Nice, but still very odd behaviour for his best friend.

They were still holding hands when they reached the Entrance Hall. Harry didn't see any need to let go, and as Hermione seemed happy to keep their fingers interlocked too he assumed it was okay. They were getting some funny looks, though, but Hermione didn't seem too bothered about that, either. She just beamed widely at anyone who came by.

Neville and the others finally caught up with them as they reached the Great Hall. Harry noticed that both Sally and Hannah glanced down at Harry and Hermione's linked hands, and Hermione spotted it too and clutched on a little tighter, which had the effect of making Harry stagger a bit closer to her. But Hermione didn't mind that at all, and simply held on firmer still to keep him in place.

"Well, enjoy the Feast, girls," Neville quipped in a jovial tone.

"Thanks," Hannah smiled back. "We will."

"Yeah, thanks. And Harry," Sally added, flicking her eyes down again. "If you fancy a Nimbus race sometime next week let me know. I bet I could give you a run for your money."

There was no doubt about it, Hermione definitely grabbed hold tighter... and on purpose this time. She practically pulled Harry behind her, positioning herself as a kind of shield in front of him.

"Harry's busy next week," Hermione replied in a low, stern tone.

"Doing what?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Sally-Anne. "I'll think of something."

"The week after then?"

"Busy," Hermione snapped. "And the week after that, too. In fact, Harry wont have much time for anything for at least a month. If he gets a spare day, we'll let you know."

Then Hermione guided Harry away to the Gryffindor table and safety.

"I'm busy?" Harry queried in confusion as they sat down, finally letting go of each other. "What am I doing?"

"I don't know, but it wont be anything with her," Hermione scythed darkly.

Harry went to ask more questions, but then the Sorting began. Half way through, a very triumphant looking Severus Snape marched Ron Weasley into the Hall and plonked him down next to his own chair at the staff table to eat. The entire Hall watched in a sort of mesmerised trance at the display, observing the sort of breathless quiet usually reserved for when the end of term exams were conducted in here. Ron was flushing as red as his hair and the whole room held their breath, as though waiting for Snape or Dumbledore to turn into a real-life Howler or something.

But all that happened was that Dumbledore took Ron off to a room at the back of the Hall once he'd given out his Start of Term announcements, much to the furious chagrin of Snape and most of the Slytherin table.

"I sort of feel sorry for Ron," Hermione said as they climbed the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower after the Feast. "Imagine being expelled. It must be awful."

"You make it sound like a fate worse than death!" Harry smirked.

"Well ... isn't it?" she replied shrilly

Neville guffawed behind them. "You really need to sort out your priorities, Hermione!"

Then they all tumbled through into the Common Room, joining the surge as the two hundred or so Gryffindors headed for their dorms. All except for Harry, who had veered off towards the middle of the room.

"Goodnight, then," Hermione chirped, before noticing Harry moving in the wrong direction. "Er ... Harry? Your room is this way."

Hermione pointed towards the flow of boys making their way up to the male dormitories to illustrate her point.

"Do you want to hold his hand all the way up there, too?" Lavender Brown grinned as she passed. "It's a long walk to the top of the tower!"

"Maybe you can have a little goodbye smooch on the stairs?" Fay Dunbar added with a cheeky wink.

"Yeah, because you're going to be apart for a whole eight hours till breakfast," Parvati teased

"Hush you lot!" Hermione replied blushing crazily. "Just go to bed, will you!"

"We will. Just remember, Hermione," Fay warned in mock seriousness. "Our dorm is this way! This one!"

She pointed theatrically towards the girl's staircase until Hermione hissed at her under her breath and pushed her off with a little giggle. Then she turned back to Harry.

"Seriously though, Harry, what are you doing?"

For Harry had now sat on his knees in the middle of the floor and taken out a little black pouch from inside a pocket in his robes. Hermione watched curiously until she recognised the pouch and its contents.

"Is that the set of Runestones I bought you for Christmas?" she asked, sitting on the sofa to see what Harry was up to.

"Yeah," he replied idly, choosing stones with deliberate purpose and placing them just so around him. "I'm just making a basic ritual circle with them."

"What for?"

"As an aid to sleep, that's all," Harry explained. "It will help me clear my head. It will be too chaotic upstairs tonight, so I'll do it down here instead."

"Why do you need help sleeping?" Hermione asked in concern, slipping off the sofa to sit next to Harry on the floor.

Harry looked up at her and blinked solemnly. "I was stressed, when I thought I'd done something to upset you. I could barely sleep with it. So my Mum and Dad taught me some meditation exercises, ways to siphon off my negative energy and channel it into the Runes, which turns it into a force of charge. If you like, I can show you how to do it."

"I don't have any problems sleeping, Harry," Hermione replied sternly. She was cross with Harry for not telling her about this, and a bit cross with herself for causing it.

"It's still useful, though," Harry argued. "And the Runes don't work properly if they aren't charged with energy, so it's a handy way of doing that, too."

"But why tonight?" Hermione pressed, sliding an inch closer. "I've already said I wasn't ignoring you. You don't have to be stressed about that anymore."

Harry swallowed and coloured a little. "I know, but ... it isn't just that."

"What then?"

"It's ... being back here," Harry mumbled. "It's the first time since ... well, you know. Since Quirrell, and all that."

Hermione felt her heart spill into her chest cavity. She hadn't really thought about that, about that night. She knew that Harry had complained of a few nightmares after it, but she hadn't suffered anything similar.

But, then again, Lord Voldemort hadn't put his hands on her.

Hermione hadn't considered how badly this might have affected Harry, that it might have carried some sort of lingering effect. But now it was clear that it had ... and Harry had kept it from her.

"I didn't want you to know," Harry muttered in response to her soft yet demanding look. "I didn't want to bother you with it. It's silly, I know ..."

"It isn't silly," Hermione sighed in sympathy. She reached out to pat Harry's thigh consolingly, but the Rune circle repelled her. "Harry ... what is this?"

"Oh, sorry, I have to let you in to the circle," Harry explained. "It's protective magic, see."

"Then let me in."

"Oh, right."

So Hermione tried again. She reached over and took Harry's hand this time, his resistance broken.

"I want you to promise me something," Hermione hushed gently.

"If I can keep it, then I'll promise," Harry vowed faithfully.

"You'll promise to talk to me about this if it continues," Hermione went on. "I don't like the idea of you suffering in silence. I'm your best friend, I'm here for just that sort of thing, you know!"

"Okay," Harry grinned. "I can do that. Thank you, Hermione. And I am sorry. I know you said I didn't upset you over the Summer, but I know I did. You're just too good to be honest about it. But I will find out what it was, and make it up to you ten-fold."

Now it was Hermione's turn to blush shyly. "There is something you can do for me, if you like."

"Name it."

"Stay away from Sally-Anne Perks!" Hermione laughed heartily. "I don't like her."

"Okay, but why?"

"Her nose is too cute," Hermione explained thoughtfully. "I wont ask you to break it for me, like in some freak Quidditch accident or something, just steer clear of it, please."

"Alright. That's weird, but alright," Harry smirked back. "Now. I have to meditate."

"Can I watch?"

"If you want, but it isn't very exciting," Harry told her.

"Not exciting?" Hermione scoffed. "You're Harry Potter! 'Exciting' is your middle name!"

"I'll have to have a word with my parents about that," Harry chuckled. "What were they thinking? Now, I need quiet. Can you do that?"

"I can do that," Hermione parroted.

"You, er, need to take your hand away for this bit, though."

"Oh ... right. Of course."

Hermione withdrew her hand slowly and watched Harry work. His circle was reformed and a sweep of magic sealed it shut. Hermione felt the spell current flutter through her hair as it passed her. That was new. Harry fell into a deep trance, breathing low and steady. Hermione could see little strands of energy, in many different colours, leave Harry's heaving body and flow into the Runestones around him. He seemed in such utter control of whatever it was he was doing, that Hermione couldn't help but be in a bit of awe at the display. She felt a shy sort of pride that Harry was so powerful, and that he was letting her see that side of him.

And she was also deeply covetous of something else ... that Harry had showed her his vulnerable side. That was new for him, too. He put on such a brave face to the outside world, but he was comfortable enough to share his worries and stresses with her alone. She stole them from him and stored them in her own heart, owning them as if they belonged to her.

She smiled at that as she watched Harry meditate, wondering just how long it would be before all of him belonged to her.

***

There were two surprising things at breakfast the next morning.

The first was that there was a clutch of people at the Gryffindor table surrounding Ron Weasley, who hadn't been expelled. So maybe that was three surprising things, Harry considered. This crowd wanted to know all about his exploits in the flying car and Ron was animatedly regaling them with the tale. And he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the attention.

That cheered Harry, who was able to stroll along with Hermione and Neville for company without all eyes turning his way for once. They ate in a pleasant mood, Neville nattering excitedly about their first class of the day - Herbology - while Hermione had her head planted inside the pages of another of Gilderoy Lockhart's 'The Incredible Adventures of My Amazing Life' book series again, with Gadding with Ghouls being her breakfast tome of choice. Harry just shook his head in exasperation as he watched Hermione's eyes speeding across the pages, oblivious to the happenings of the world around her.

But then Harry's mood took a nosedive. For as soon as they left for their first class, Harry was aware that he was being closely watched. He wasn't sure from where, but he was sure all the same.

Then there was a bright flash from around a dim corner of one of the spiral staircases.

Harry snapped his head towards it. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Hermione asked, following his line of sight.

"That flash of light," Harry replied.

"What flash of light? I didn't see one."

"You didn't? Huh," Harry shrugged. Maybe it was a trick of the eye, sunlight glinting off one of the suits of armour or something. Yes, that would be it. Harry put it from his mind and fixed his thoughts back on Herbology.

Which was useful, as it was a tricky lesson to start the year. Re-potting baby mandrakes ... hardly anyone's idea of a gentle re-introduction to school life.

"Now, can anyone tell me some of the key uses of the mandrake?" asked Professor Spout.

Hermione's hand shot into the air first, which surprised no-one. Expect for Harry, who was standing so close to her that he had to body swerve to avoid Hermione's hand taking his eye out. He glowered at her crossly as she mouthed a giggly little 'sorry.'

"Miss Granger," Professor Sprout encouraged.

"The mandrake is useful in making powerful restoratives," Hermione recited from A Thousand and One Magical Herbs and Fungi. "And they can also be used in, er, fertility potions and treatments."

She blushed furiously as she said this last part, just as Lavender and Parvati whistled pointedly at her and Harry. Harry looked at Neville, who just shrugged back, equally as befuddled.

"Excellent, Miss Granger," Professor Sprout beamed. "Take ten points for your correct answer."

"But, Professor," Harry pointed out fairly. "That was two answers."

"Then you may also take ten points, Mr Potter, for swift mathematics on behalf of Miss Granger," Professor Sprout replied. Hermione just swooned to herself, as Fay nudged her with her shoulder. "Right, earmuffs on. These babies are loud!"

And she wasn't lying. The mandrakes screeched and screamed as they were un-potted. The Gryffindors were taking this class with the Slytherins, and it was unclear which set of students was more unhappy about this. Millicent Bulstrode was so disgusted at having to share a pot with Dean Thomas that she forgot to put on her earmuffs ... and promptly collapsed when the mandrake shrieked in her face and ruptured an eardrum. Daphne Greengrass had to float her all the way up to the Hospital Wing with her wand.

Harry and Hermione were - obviously - re-potting together. Across from them, on the other row of trestle tables, Draco Malfoy looked over as Hermione pulled her ugly little mandrake from it's pot.

"Oh, look everyone," Malfoy drawled. "Ever wondered what Potter and Granger's baby would look like? Well, there it is! You know, I do think he has your eyes, Granger!"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry sniped, as Sophie Roper - the Slytherin sharing with Draco - giggled next to him.

"Just ignore him, Harry," Hermione cajoled, drawing his attention back to herself by patting his wrist. "No more magic flares, okay?"

"Alright," Harry agreed, stilling instantly at Hermione's brief contact with his skin.

"Ow! Gerroff me!"

All eyes were drawn to the end of the row. Ron and Parvati were struggling with their mandrake, which was having a bit of a temper tantrum. It must have been teething, for it had bitten Ron on the finger and wouldn't let go.

So Ron punched it in the face!

"Twenty points from Gryffindor!" Professor Sprout called down angrily. "For assaulting an infant!"

"That's not fair!" Ron moaned. "The little beggar bit me!"

"And I can only hope you wouldn't respond to a human baby in same way," Professor Sprout admonished. "Miss Granger? Will you go and help Mr Weasley, please."

"Yes, Miss."

Hermione scurried away, and Ron glowered furiously at her as she fixed his problem. Harry sighed. Clearly, the brush with fame hadn't taught Ron any sense of manners or appreciation yet.

"Good job," Harry complimented as Hermione returned to him.

"You could have done that just as easily," Hermione smiled back.

"Maybe. But Sprout didn't ask me," Harry grinned. He leaned in close, like he was going to tell her a secret. "She knew how to play to the class' strengths."

"Hush you," Hermione replied, blushing furiously.

After Herbology came Transfiguration. McGonagall's class was no less tricky than Sprout's, but Harry and Hermione were soon having their own little competition to see who could produce the prettiest buttons from the beetles they were turning them into.

"I can do little toggles, too. Look!" Hermione announced proudly, showing one she'd made to Harry.

"I have a cloak they would go very nicely with," Harry nodded, impressed. He pulled up his sleeve and drew his wand. "But can you put little threads through the button holes, like this? The legs change quite easily into them I reckon. And the shell makes for some shiny refinements around the edges."

"Show-off," Hermione teased with a little grin, as Harry created a very handsome button and gave it to her.

"You can keep that," Harry laughed.

"I'll treasure it always!" Hermione swooned dramatically, hugging the button to her face and swaying on the spot until they both fell about giggling.

"Excellent work," Professor McGonagall beamed as she passed their table. "Take ten points each."

"Cant you make it fifteen, Auntie Min?" Harry quipped. "You're bound to deduct marks when you get around to Ron and Neville."

"Yes, I agree," Hermione added in a sniffy voice. "I've been watching them, but I don't think they are having much luck. Neville is doing okay ... but I think all Ron is doing is giving his beetles some exercise. He's spent more time chasing them along the worktop with his wand than actual spell-casting."

Harry stifled a laugh behind his hand. "Auntie Min ... what's that shiny stuff around Ron's wand?"

"Looks like Spellotape!" Professor McGonagall frowned. "Weasley! Bring your wand to me this instant. Chop chop!"

Ron shuffled sheepishly across the room to them and handed his wand over. McGonagall examined it closely.

"This wand is a disgrace!" she reproached. "How on earth did it get into this state?"

"It's not my fault ... well, not totally," Ron protested weakly. "It was my brother Charlie's old wand. Dragon fire burnt the end off it, so the Unicorn hair pokes out a bit."

"And this break down the middle?" McGonagall demanded.

"The, um, tree did that," Ron flushed. "You know ... The Whomping Willow."

Professor McGonagall thrust his wand back at him in disgust. "Then you have no-one to blame but yourself. I was expecting very little from you this year Weasley, but I was prepared to hope that you might improve a bit. You had plenty of scope for it, as you know. You were almost refused entry into the second year on account of your hopeless exam results last year, remember. We almost made you repeat the first year they were so poor. And I cant remember the last time that happened."

Harry and Hermione raised wide-eyed brows at each other and looked away, pretending not to have heard as they went back to work.

"I know, Miss," Ron muttered, scuffing his shoe against the desk. "My Mum was not happy with me."

"No. I can't imagine that she would be," McGonagall replied.

"But I am going to try, Professor," Ron vowed, before adding grimly, "Like you said ... I cant get much worse, can I?"

"I would have thought not, but after seeing your wand ..." McGonagall frowned. "That thing is a liability, Mr Weasley. You need to get it replaced before you hurt someone ... or hurt yourself."

"Yes, Miss. But wands they ... they don't come cheap."

"I shall have a word with the Headmaster," Professor McGonagall told him stoutly. Then she flicked a look and a tiny smile at Harry and Hermione. "We have a fair bit of excess in the Hogwarts Hardship Fund this year. I'm sure it can stretch to a new wand for you."

Hermione grinned up at Harry in a 'This is your generosity knowing no bounds' sort of way. But without being able to say so, she just slid a little closer so that their shoulders were touching. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat, where his rapidly beating heart had collided with it.

"Thank you, Miss," Ron mumbled, flushing deeply again.

"It is not charity, but an investment in you and your future," McGonagall replied kindly. "I expect your results to improve. If not for yourself and your family - though that ought to be incentive enough - then for the glory of Gryffindor. You need to take ownership of something in your life, Mr Weasley."

"Yes, Miss."

"Very well. Carry on. And if you have any trouble, just ask Mr Potter or Miss Granger for help. I'm sure they wouldn't mind. Just look how perfect their buttons are!"

Harry wished she hadn't said that. Ron scowled a little at the suggestion, then idled back to his desk mutinously.

"So much for my chances at a thank you," Harry muttered to Hermione, as soon as Ron was out of earshot.

"Well, I appreciate you," Hermione beamed, which was worth more to Harry than all thank yous Ron could have given him in three lifetimes.

***

After lunch they were due to have their first Defence lesson with Lockhart. Harry wasn't looking forward to it. He was distracted all afternoon, as he'd seen two more of those strange flashes of light, and was on the verge of going to Madame Pomfrey to see if he was having a stroke or something, when the cause suddenly revealed itself.

And when it did, Harry rather thought he'd have preferred the stroke.

"Hey Harry, can I have a picture, please?"

A little mousy-haired boy had accosted Harry as they queued up outside Lockhart's classroom. He introduced himself as Colin Creevey, a Muggle with an obsession for photographing as much of the magical world as he could. And now, he had been sequestered by two other first years - Demelza Robins and Ginny Weasley - to take pictures of Harry ... as many as he possibly could.

"Why do you want a picture of me?" Harry asked with an awkward flush.

"For the wall of the Fan Club," Colin told him brightly. "A Harry Potter Fan Club!"

"Is it just for first-years, or can anyone be a member of this fan club?" Hermione tittered, her eyes laughing before her mouth could join in.

"Don't encourage them!" Harry moaned angrily.

"Fan Club? Who has a Fan Club now?"

Harry groaned. For Lockhart had picked that moment to step out of his classroom.

"Harry does, Sir," Demelza squeaked. "Ginny and I started it. And Colin, here, is our Chief Photographer. Ooh ... can we have one of the both of you? The two most handsome boys at Hogwarts together?"

Hermione was trying to suppress silent giggles next to Harry at his bashfulness. Harry scowled at her.

But Lockhart was in his element now. "Of course you can! Another big smile, Harry. You remember the way!"

Snap. Snap, snap. Colin's camera clicked away as Lockhart held Harry in a sort of headlock and grinned like a chimp on laughing gas. Thankfully, it was over in less than a minute.

"Thanks!" Demelza sang. "See you, Harry. Stop by the Fan Club any time. Third Floor Corridor, the room by that funny trapdoor. See ya! Mwwwwaaaah!"

Then she blew him a kiss and skipped away with Ginny, laughing crazily. Harry blushed furiously and turned to Hermione, who was red in the face and seemed to be eating her knuckles to keep the giggles at bay.

"Dont even say anything," Harry warned crossly, before stomping into Lockhart's classroom.

The lesson itself turned into a bit of joke. It was worse, in many ways, than Quirrell's version of the subject a year previously. Harry quickly decided to rename the class Defence Against Boredom. For the entire first lesson consisted of nothing more than Lockhart reading aloud the first chapter of his autobiography, Magical Me, along with some of his favourite excerpts from later on in the waste of good wood pulp. Then he gave a ridiculous quiz about what he'd just read them all.

The only answer Harry got right was Who Wrote Magical Me? And even that was debatable, as Harry wouldn't have been surprised if Lockhart was actually illiterate.

What made him truly sick, though, was that Hermione answered every single one of the ludicrous trivia questions correctly, causing Harry to lose a touch of respect for her. In his mind, she was better than that. Much better. She didn't seem to hear when he told her that though, as her head was balanced on her hands, her eyes glassy and distant, and she kept sighing like she had back on that day at Flourish and Blotts.

Harry didn't switch his attention back on until the bell went, when Lockhart gave them their 'homework' ... which Harry thought was a task just as pointless as their first lesson.

"Homework, tonight, is to record your dreams in the diaries you all purchased for the class," Lockhart called out happily as the class packed away. "Next lesson we will take a look at them, and analyse any darkness that we find and defeat it! I will have you dreaming freely in no time!"

"What kind of homework was that?" Harry riled as they headed back towards Gryffindor Tower. "Record our dreams? What a load of rubbish."

"Seems fair to me," Neville argued. "The Dark Arts can be internal as well as external, you know."

"Indeed they can," Hermione agreed.

"Don't tell me you're defending that fraud?" Harry cried. "Come on! The guy's a joke!"

"Just look at what he's done in his books, Harry," Hermione suggested. "We have to trust that he knows what he's talking about."

"They're rubbish, too," Harry scoffed. He couldn't believe his friends were so blind to this, but he knew that Hermione's faith in books was unshatterable, even if they were works of complete fiction. "The truth will out, you'll see. Then you'll be sorry. But I'll accept both your apologies when that day comes."

"So, are you just not going to do the homework?" Hermione asked incredulously as they reached the Portrait Hole. "Discord."

"Is that the password!" Harry snapped. "Makes sense, really. And yes, I will do the homework. I'll say I'm dreaming of Voldemort coming back and killing us all. See how old Lockie deals with that darkness!"

"Harry!" Hermione told him off. "You cant say that!"

"I don't know why not," Harry rebuffed.

"Well it's a lie, for a start!"

"So? Seems fair to me. After all, one bit of fake writing deserves another as far as I'm concerned. I'll show that fraud that he isn't the only one who can write utter crap and pass it off as the truth!"

***

All in all, it wasn't a great end to the day. Hermione considered all that had happened as she brushed her teeth, slipped on her nightie and curled up on top of her quilt to try and pull the knots out of her hair. It was a war Hermione couldn't hope to win. Fay and Lavender watched the struggle with profound sympathy and pity.

"You have such lovely thick hair, Hermione," Lavender commented. "But it looks a nightmare to manage."

"You don't know the half of it," Hermione replied, wincing as the brush got stuck and pulled painfully on her roots.

"Has it always been that dense?" asked Fay, twirling her shorter black bangs around her wand as they dried.

"Always," Hermione confirmed. "I've tried different shampoos, conditioners, everything. But it takes so much to make any sort of difference that I'd need a full-time job to cover the cost!"

Lavender giggled at that, then pierced Hermione with a shrewd stare. "Okay then. Time for a bit of Gryffindor truth from you, Miss Granger."

"About what?"

"About you and Harry Potter," Lavender squeaked. "Come on. Spill it."

"There's nothing to spill," Hermione replied, her cheeks flaring hotly.

"Oh, rubbish!" Parvati Patil called from the en-suite shower.

"Yeah, don't give us that," Fay chipped in. "You can tell us. It's just us girls here."

"What makes you so sure there's anything to tell?" Hermione asked evasively.

"Where to start?" Lavender cut in exuberantly. "There was the hand-holding when you arrived for the Sorting, then the cutesy little way you were acting together in Herbology and Transfig this afternoon."

"Not to mention the rumours that you visited him every day over the Summer," Parvati added as she joined them.

"Oh, yeah! I forgot about that!" Lavender laughed. "Did you really?"

Hermione blushed madly. "Well, it wasn't every day."

"But you did go and see him?" Fay pushed.

"Sometimes," Hermione confessed as her blush deepened. "Then some days he came to Oxford to see me. Sometimes we'd do Muggle things, other times magical things."

"I bet you did some magical things!" Lavender squealed, laughing as Parvati flopped down on the bed to giggle with her. "Did you kiss him? What was it like?"

"Yes, Hermione, do tell!" Parvati urged, propping her head onto her elbows in anticipation.

"It wasn't like that," Hermione tried fruitlessly, adding with unmasked disappointment. "We didn't kiss or anything."

"Well, it must have been like something," Fay argued sagely. "Why else would Harry follow you round all day like a little puppy begging for a petting?"

"He doesn't do that ... does he?" Hermione asked, giggling coyly herself.

"Oh, you know he does!" Parvati dismissed lightly. "And you love it!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Hermione grinned.

"Yeah you do. You love him. Hermione loves Harry!"

"Ssh, everyone will hear you!" Hermione shrieked, as the other girls joined in on the song.

"So?" Lavender giggled. "Everyone knows already. Especially Sally-Anne Perks."

Hermione's giggle turned to a cross little frown. "What about her? Has she said something?"

"Oh, nothing much," Lavender teased. "Only that she fancies Harry something chronic and she's plotting to boot you out the way so he'll go out with her."

"Yeah, we thought you should know," Parvati added. "Us Gryffindor girls have to stick together. What are friends for, eh?"

"Just give us a shout when you need help burying her body!" Fay chuckled. "I know some good secret passageways out of the castle, you know."

The rest of the night was spent devising creatively devilish ways in which to dispose of the corpse of a hopeless love rival, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn't work. When the time finally came for sleep, Hermione decided to get her dream diary out in readiness for the morning. She didn't want to miss even a single detail.

In any case, the itinerary for The Plan was written on the first page, and it wouldn't hurt to refresh her memory. In truth, Harry was so irritated by Lockhart already that Hermione thought all she'd have to do would be to circle all his lessons in little hearts on her class timetable, and Harry would start a blood feud against the famous adventurer just for the sake of it.

But when Hermione opened the cover of her diary, she was hit was with a shuddering shock ... and immediately started to panic that her secret would leak out.

For the page containing The Plan was gone ... somebody had stolen it!

Chapter Text

Or had they?

The 'thief' had certainly done a very good job. As Hermione studied the book frantically she noticed that there was no tear, no rip, not even the tiniest fragment of paper left in the join. Whoever took the page - or the words on them - must have removed it by magic, Hermione reasoned, which left a very focused shortlist for her search.

Suspicion fell immediately on her dorm-mates. Did that explain the sudden surge of interest in finding out all the intimate details of her relationship with Harry? She tentatively ruled that out. The girls had been ribbing her last night, too, as they all went to bed, and she hadn't even unpacked by that point. They'd all been at the Sorting Feast so there would have been no opportunity to steal her diary in the day, and they'd already started their playful teasing by then.

So if not them, then who?

Hermione had to think it was someone trying to use her to get information on Harry. It made the most sense. It was was more important and interesting. But even these suspects had perfect alibis. The girls from the Harry Potter Fan Club had no more opportunity for theft than the girls of Dorm Seven - less even, as the dorms were spelled to refuse access to those who weren't occupants, sort of like how vampires were kept at bay.

Hermione wanted to blame cute-nosed Sally-Anne, but she'd ridden with her from the Hogwarts Express and Hermione had spent the entire trip glaring at her. She had been watching where those hands were roaming, and they didn't go anywhere near her bags.

The list of potential culprits was growing thin.

Hermione debated with asking the other girls in her dorm if they had stolen the missing page, but she checked herself. If she came across as frantic about something missing from her diary they might think that she had something to hide, and the curiosity of teenage girls for a bit of gossip was an insatiable beast. She could kiss goodbye to privacy if she revealed that she was keeping juicy secrets from them.

So, no. She'd have to get to the bottom of this on her own. In any case, this problem wouldn't prevent her doing her homework. The bigger problem was if she would be able to sleep at all. With a panicked mind and frantically beating heart, she doubted rest would come easy.

Serves you right, a stern part of her brain told her, for pursuing this petty punishment of Harry.

Hermione huffed at that. An hour ago she was telling Harry that she didn't have sleep problems, while at the same time still holding his own careless transgressions against him that has caused his. Talk about karma! It wasn't his fault he was as blissfully ignorant as all other boys from time to time. He couldn't be too perfect, it'd be unnatural. He'd apologised without Hermione being specific with him about what his crime was.

That wasn't like her, or them. They'd been honest and transparent since almost the beginning, but Hermione now saw that it was she that was playing games, whereas Harry was just trying to make amends. Lyra had advised her to do what she would have done, the way she'd always toyed with the affections of the men in her life.

But that wasn't Hermione's way, and it wasn't how she wanted to be with Harry. So she fluffed her pillow briskly, and made a decision as she settled down to sleep. Tomorrow, first thing, she would find him, tell him why she'd been upset and clear the air completely. Yes, that was better. It was their way. And she'd have a whole month of Harry making it up to her in the most adorable of ways to enjoy in the aftermath.

Hermione smiled into her pillow. That was something to give her the most pleasant of dreams. Unfortunately for Hermione, the dreams she did have were far from pleasant. The Diary Page Thief would make sure of that.

* * *

The Thief also made sure that Hermione's clear-the-air meeting with Harry never happened.

Though in truth, Harry had a hand in this, too. For he spent much of the next week speeding between his classes, dodging out of sight whenever he saw any members of his fan club coming near. He learned that there were over a hundred students signed up, making it the most popular social club at the school. This didn't sit at all well with Harry, and simply fuelled the paranoia that he was being watched everywhere he went.

Even worse than his fans was the exuberant attentions Harry had attracted from Gilderoy Lockhart. The hapless Defence Professor had a habit of swooping up on Harry at the most random of times, as if drawn to him like a magnet, offering advice on how best to manage his fame and minor celebrity status. He would swing by at meal and break times, escort Harry between lessons if he happened to come across him in the corridors, and even sit with him during other classes. Or, at least, until the Professors teaching those lessons lost their patience and asked Lockhart to leave, with the minimum amount of civility their frayed nerves could spare.

Then there was Quidditch, which Harry was disappointed to find very rarely contained his personal cheerleader these days. Hermione would normally have been found in the stands, watching Harry while he was training or playing. She claimed that doing her homework in the fresh air was good for her, but Harry liked to think that she was simply there to be on hand if he had an accident or something.

Which was just what happened during the second Saturday training session of the new year. Hermione hadn't come along to watch again - not that Harry was too surprised, considering that Oliver Wood had been dragging the team out of bed at 7am for these gruelling workouts - and Harry trudged out into the pouring rain in quite the despondent mood. There was a damp chill over the grounds that morning, the rain was falling incessantly like little bullets, and they were all soaked through in a matter of minutes.

They were so damp, in fact, that at one point Harry lost his grip on his broom and crashed right into one of the scoring hoops.

"It's fine, just a bruise," Harry told Wood as they landed to investigate his injury. "I'll be alright."

"Okay, well, if you're sure," Wood replied bracingly, wiping rain from his fringe. "Get back up there."

"No you wont!" Alicia Spinnet told him crossly, as she landed by Harry and cradled his wrist. "That's more than just a bruise. The only place you're getting up to is the Hospital Wing. Don't argue, Oliver! Look at the swelling! We can carry on training without Harry. One more injury, though, and we're all calling it a day."

So Harry did as he was told. Madame Pomfrey gave him something for the pain and an ice strapping for his wrist, which he was still wearing by the time he entered the Great Hall for breakfast.

"What happened to your arm?" Neville asked as he joined Harry at the Gryffindor table.

"A incident involving me, a crazy Quidditch Captain and a twenty-mile-an-hour collision with a fifty-foot metal hoop!" Harry grimaced. "It looks worse than it is, though."

"I was going to say it looks like you are being a bit of a fart!" Neville teased. "Milking flesh wounds! What a pansy!"

"Shut up, Neville," Harry chuckled. "Have you seen Hermione? It's late for her."

"She's probably listening to Lockart's breakfast show on the Wizarding Wireless Network," Neville told him lightly. "He likes to have a live audience, so he does broadcasts from down in the school kitchens now. She might be there, actually. You know, Lockhart might have actually made that toast and jam you are eating."

Harry pushed his plate away in disgust. He'd lost his appetite ... and if Lockhart was cooking his meals now, Harry rather thought he'd never get it back again.

"I don't know what she sees in him," Harry moaned bitterly, stabbing his sausage slice with his fork. "I mean, she's always going to see him doing different things, and all she ever says is 'Gilderoy said this' or 'Gilderoy was wearing that'. I caught her rewriting her entire Charms essay the other day because Lockhart had been 'advising' her on structure. It was a good job I looked over it for her, because it was rubbish. I had to re-write tons of it when she went out for a walk with Lavender and Fay."

Neville quirked an eyebrow. "You re-wrote Hermione's essay?"

"I had to," Harry confessed. "I even had to learn a spell to make my handwriting look like hers. It was a good thing, too. I took it to McGonagall to have a look at, and she said it would have barely scraped an Acceptable."

"Wow, that isn't like Hermione, is it?" Neville frowned, looking concerned for the first time. "Did you tell her?"

"I've hardly seen her to," Harry replied. "But she'd have been devastated to get such a poor mark. There's something wrong with her, Nev. Ever since Lockhart arrived, she hasn't been the same. I wonder if he's got her under a spell or something. You must have noticed."

"Noticed what?"

Harry snapped his head up to see Hermione arriving at their table. Harry's heart sank, for Hermione was keeping up with her recent trend of sitting on the other side of the table to him, rather than what had been her regular spot by his side. Harry felt colder for not having her tucked close to his right arm. He sighed sadly and let his face sag with his shoulders.

"What must you have noticed?" Hermione repeated breezily, leaning over and stealing the sausage from Harry's plate.

"There's a whole platter of fresh Cumberlands just over there," Harry grumbled, nodding to the sausages nearby.

"Yes, but I wanted yours," Hermione grinned cheekily. "So, are you going to answer my question, or do I have to ask for the third time?"

Harry looked firmly at Neville and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"I was just saying how stupid Lockhart's homework is," Harry lied to her. "I haven't bothered doing it this week. He never asks anyway. He only seems to want to know what the girls are dreaming about. I reckon it's just because he loves it when you all say you're dreaming about him."

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy there, Harry?" Hermione teased.

"No!" Harry scoffed brusquely. "Absolutely not! You can all dream about what you like."

"What's in your diary today then, Hermione?" Neville asked playfully. "I'll show you mine ... if you show me yours!"

Neville winked at Harry, who was looking daggers at him.

"I cant show you that!" Hermione squealed.

"Of course you can," Neville replied. "You'll only tell us during class, anyway."

"That's just because I have it memorised," Hermione sniffed loftily. "I mean, I literally cant show you, can I? Seeing as how the words fade into the page as soon as you write them, of course. It's a bit odd that they don't always come back in the same order, but maybe mine is just a bit defective. I'll have to ask Professor Gilderoy about that later."

Harry looked over at Neville in alarmed confusion. Quite clearly, his dream diary didn't behave in this way either, just as Harry's didn't. Harry was about to point this out to Hermione when she suddenly leapt up in animation.

"Come on, boys, we don't want to be late for History of Magic," she chimed brightly. "I want to pop to the loo on the way. I've been having the best wees lately, ever since I started using that disused toilet on the second floor. It's so much easier to go when there aren't other girls around to hear, I find. Well, apart from Moaning Myrtle, obviously. But she's just a ghost, so she doesn't really count."

Then she danced off, swinging her school satchel behind her. She hadn't noticed Harry's bandaged wrist at all.

"Okay, Harry, I'm onside," Neville muttered lowly as they left the Hall. "Something definitely isn't right with her."

Harry gave a weak smile. "Thanks. Glad it's not just me."

"We'll keep a closer eye on her from now on," Neville promised. "Though perhaps we should wait till she's off the toilet before we start! Unless, of course, you'd like to catch her with her knickers down!"

"Dont be disgusting!" Harry chuckled, then pushed Neville along the corridor to their classroom.

* * *

Harry and Neville were good to their word, and kept a far closer watch on Hermione after that. But, aside from a slightly more chipper attitude, they didn't notice much of a difference. It was true that she tended to spend more time polishing her nails than doing her homework these days, but she was a growing girl and they shrugged and accepted that this was just the 'new normal' for her.

After all, she was spending more and more time with the girls from her dorm than she was with Harry and Neville. Harry stopped hoping that she would turn up to watch him at Quidditch, got used to doing his homework by himself - while Hermione gossiped happily with Lavender and Parvati - and he could more often than not be found reading alone in the library, or taking long walks around the grounds with Hedwig rather than his best friend for company.

Neville tried with all his might, but he simply wasn't an adequate replacement for Hermione in Harry's world. There was much less laughter when Neville was your best friend, and more time spent pruning plants than Harry could tolerate. So he soon found himself swapping Neville for Hedwig, taking his faithful owl to quiet spots near the Great Lake or in the shadow of the Forbidden Forest, where they would while away the hours in companiable, if lonely, silence.

On September the Nineteenth, however, things came to a head.

Harry had prepared a nice surprise for Hermione for her birthday. Well, he thought it was nice anyway. Hagrid had told him that the school's flock of unicorns were in birthing season, and that a number of foals had been born just a few days ago. Aside from being extremely cute, these baby unicorns secreted a pheromone that had special healing properties for girls. And, as Hermione had been complaining of cramps all week, Harry thought this might help ease her discomfort, if only for her birthday.

At nine o'clock Harry was to be found waiting in the Entrance Hall as they'd agreed. There was no-one else about. Harry adjusted the clasp on his Farringdon Fliers cloak as he ambled around. He'd attached the fancy toggle that Hermione had produced in Transfiguration and he was trying to make it prominent on his chest, hoping she'd notice it. He was looking forward to seeing the foals, as Hagrid said this was a once-in-a-year opportunity. After tonight they'd retreat back into their habitats deeper in the Forest. Harry didn't want to miss this.

The minutes passed. Harry glanced up at the huge clock above him as the hands marked the arrival of quarter-past, then half-past. Harry started to get anxious. Had something happened to Hermione to make her so late? He couldn't imagine that it had. After all, he'd seen her less than two hours ago when they ate dinner.

Soon it was ten o'clock. Harry was now sat slumped on the Grand Staircase feeling thoroughly miserable. There was no sign of Hermione. He'd give it another ten minutes ... then he added another five, just in case. By the time half-past Ten came along he decided to give up and call it a night. Sighing heavily, he tucked his robe tight against the blistering cold of the draughty castle and started making his way along the glum corridors.

That was when he heard the voice.

Come to me ... let me rip you ... I smell flesh ... hungry, so hungry ...

It was a voice of chilled venom. Harry snapped his head around, this way and that, but all he could hear was the echo of that icy tone in his mind. And as the seconds sped past, he started to wonder if that was where he'd heard it ... in his mind. It was late, and he was tired. There were no more words, only the chilly tingle it had left on Harry's skin.

In his depressed state Harry hadn't really paid much mind to the direction he'd been taking. The icy voice had sent his senses onto high alert now, though, and he looked around in the gloom. Where was he?

He wished he hadn't asked.

A door opened just up ahead, and the simpering voice of Lockhart floated along the corridor. Harry was about to turn and dive into an empty classroom to hide when a second voice reached him from inside Lockhart's office.

"Well, thank you for helping me answer my fan mail," Lockhart was saying smoothly. "It's been a fun night, hasn't it? We'll have to do it again sometime."

"Oh yes! The absolute best. I can think of no better way to spend my birthday!"

Harry's heart fell. For it was Hermione who was speaking.

Harry sighed and felt angry tears rise behind his eyes. Or were they sad ones? He wasn't sure about that, but the pinch of disappointment around his heart was almost unbearable. That was in no doubt. Harry listened to Hermione saying goodnight to Lockhart, waited until her footsteps echoed nearby, then he stepped out.

"So this is where you've been?"

Hermione jumped in her fright and fell back against the opposite wall, clutching at her heart.

"Harry!" she yelped angrily. "What in the hell are you playing at? Why are you hiding in an empty classroom?"

"I was just wondering where you might be," Harry replied quietly. He wasn't going to apologise for scaring her. "You were supposed to meet me, remember?"

"I was? Why?" Hermione asked, confused.

"I was going to show you a surprise, I told you," Harry reminded her.

"Was that tonight?" Hermione squeaked. "I'm sorry, Harry. I completely forgot."

"Completely forgot?" Harry scythed, taking a step nearer to her in the dark. "Forgot that we were going to spend some time together on your birthday?"

"I'm sorry," she repeated, but she didn't sound like she meant it. "What was the surprise?"

"I was going to show you some newborn unicorns," Harry grumbled. "But it's too late now."

"Ooh, that sounds lovely!" Hermione beamed. "We can go now. Come on!"

She reached out for him, but Harry tugged his arm away. "Didn't you hear me? It's too late. They're gone."

"Then we can catch them. It's only the Forbidden Forest."

"Stop being stupid," Harry snapped furiously. "It doesn't suit you. You're spending too much time with that bimbo back there. It's making you dumb."

"Harry ..."

"Dont 'Harry' me! I don't know what's gotten into you, but I don't like it. I don't like who you're becoming, what you're turning into."

"What does that mean?" Hermione demanded.

"It means that ..." Harry took a gulping breath. This was going to hurt him badly. "I ... I don't want to be friends anymore."

"What? Harry, come on. Don't say that."

Hermione reached over and took a handful of his cloak in her hands.

"Let go of me!" Harry yelled. He yanked himself away... hard. The handsome toggle came away in Hermione's hand. She looked at it in a stream of moonlight from a high window. When she looked up again her eyes were moist with tears ... and something had broken within her.

"Harry ... please!"

"I don't think we should be friends anymore," Harry insisted firmly. "You can have old Lockhart and spend your time with him. I'm done."

Then he started walking off.

"Harry ... wait ... please!" Hermione begged, hurrying after him. "I'm sorry ... I'm ..."

But whatever else she was got lost within a whoosh of runic magic, as Harry cast his wand over his retreating shoulder and blocked the corridor off with a powerful barrier. He didn't look back. Hermione fell to her knees behind it, weeping profusely as Harry stormed off into the night.

"Harry! I'm sorry! It's not me. It's these dreams I've been having ... and that diary. I'm sorry, Harry."

"He can't hear you. He's long gone."

"Pap! There you are! Where have you been?" Hermione shrieked. She reached out for her dæmon ... but he backed away from her, too. Hermione's heart went cold. "Pap ... come to me."

"No," Papageno replied firmly. "Not unless you get rid of that diary. Tonight."

"But I don't know if I can," Hermione moaned. "It knows me so well. I need it. I cant get Gilderoy to love me without it."

Even as she said the words, Hermione realised how laughably ludicrous they were.

"Did I actually just say that?"

"You did," Papageno confirmed. "And it's the sort of rubbish you've been spouting for weeks. That diary is putting ideas into your head. Get rid of it."

"I cant."

"Then I'll give you a simple choice," Papageno replied flatly. "The diary and this fallacy of Lockhart ... or nobody."

"Nobody?"

"Well, you've already lost Harry," Papageno reminded her, the words cutting to Hermione's heart like a hot knife. "And if you don't get rid of the diary you'll lose me, too. I'll go away and not come back."

"No, Pap! You can't!"

"I can ... and I will. So choose."

Hermione wailed in the corridor. This was so hard, how could she be expected to make such a decision! And had she really lost Harry? What a stupid thing to say! But she had. And she knew it more certainly than anything ... and the pain of the understanding caused her own magic to flare from her like Harry's could do.

And whatever enchantment had been holding her was snapped away like a scab being ripped from a wound.

Hermione had her first clear thought in what felt like weeks. It was like a headache she didn't know she had was suddenly lifted from her skull. What was she doing here, crying on the floor outside Lockhart's classroom? Had she really been helping him reply to fan mail? Had she really missed out on seeing baby unicorns? She would scorn herself for that in the days to come.

But, most importantly, had she hurt Harry beyond repair? She didn't know what to do.

So her dæmon told her for her.

"Go to your room. Now," Papageno advised sternly. "Get the diary. Take it to Harry. Tonight. Crawl on your hands and knees if you have to, if that's what it takes to get him to talk to you. Tell him everything. Then get rid of the cursed thing."

"Yes, yes I will," Hermione announced, standing up and drying her eyes. "Do you really think he meant that? That he doesn't want to be friends anymore?"

"Maybe, but not in the way you're on about," Pap quirked lightly, which sparked a fire of hope in Hermione's heart. "But you realise that that is a long way off now, don't you? It's going to take a long time to earn his trust again, let alone his affections. You'll have to start right from the beginning because of all the hurt you've caused him."

"If that's what it takes," Hermione replied determinedly. "Now, how do I get through this shield?"

"Harry has no defence against the real you," Papageno told her. "He couldn't keep that Hermione Granger away."

"Let's see if you're right," Hermione grinned fiercely.

Then she stepped right through Harry's barrier as though it were nothing more than a ray of light, and began the long run all the way to Gryffindor Tower.