Full Circle

Chapter Nine

I have been given one moment from heaven
As I am walking surrounded by night
Stars high above me, make a wish under moonlight

On my way home
I remember only good days
I'm on my way home
I can remember every new day

I move in silence with each step taken
Snow falling 'round me like angels in flight
Far in the distance is my wish under moonlight

On my way home
I remember only good days
On my way home
I remember all the best days
I'm on my way home
I can remember every new day

-- Enya, "On My Way Home"

"Missing?" Harry shook his head, as if he didn't quite understand what Arthur had just said.

"Maybe it would be better if I just came over," said Arthur, and his head disappeared from the flames. A moment later he slid neatly out of the fireplace into the sitting room.

Ron frowned. "What's going on, Dad?"

Arthur brushed some of the soot out of his hair and said, "Hermione asked the Order to keep an eye on her parents while she was gone. She wasn't particularly worried, exactly, but she thought she'd feel better if she knew someone was checking on them every now and then. So your mother and I have been stopping by once in a while to make sure everything is fine, and well - " he sneezed, a small cloud of soot puffing up around him. "They weren't there yesterday. And they aren't there today, and when we went by their office, their cereptionist -"

"Receptionist," Harry said.

"Right, receptionist. Anyway, she had no idea where they were, as they hadn't gone on holiday and were supposed to see patients yesterday and today. Their car is in the driveway, and there's post in the box still. The house seemed fine, except for that cat of Hermione's, who yowled and yowled at us like he hadn't eaten in days. So possibly they've been gone since the weekend and no one realised it till now."

"Gone?" said Harry. "Muggles don't just disappear!"

"Well, they have, Harry," said Arthur. "The Muggle pleacemen are there now, looking, but so far they've not found anything from what we can tell, so we don't think it's to do with Muggles. We found some traces of magic that were too recent to be Hermione's - Apparition, Stunning Spells - so we have to assume that wizards are involved somehow."

"But what would wizards want with Hermione's parents?" said Ron. "They're Muggles, and I mean, they know about the wizarding world but they don't have anything to do with it."

"It might not be the Grangers they really want," said Arthur. "How many people do you think know that Hermione is a White Lady?"

Harry thought quickly. To his knowledge, the only time Hermione had publicly used her abilities was the Quidditch match when Ron had his accident. "It could be anyone," he admitted, looking at Ron. "Ron's accident - it all happened so fast, so I don't know who was around besides the Gryffindor team, the Slytherin team, anyone who'd run down to the stands..."

"There hasn't been a true White Lady in Britain for a hundred and fifty years," said Arthur. "Not one that actually realised her powers and put them to use, at any rate. That's why Hermione had to go where she went, because there's no one else to study with besides this Raymond fellow. So if word got out that she is one..."

"Then someone might try to use her for ... something," said Ron grimly.

Harry swore under his breath. "I don't think anyone outside the Order knows where she's gone," he said. "Hermione's parents don't even know. She told them she was going to France to take a class at Beauxbatons, and didn't say when she'd be back. She didn't think they'd understand."

Arthur looked pessimistic. "We'll do what we can to trace the spells, but I doubt we'll be able to find anything. I imagine they're either trying to hold the Grangers hostage, hoping that Hermione will show up looking for them, or else they can torture the information out of the Grangers and hope to find her that way."

It didn't seem possible to go so quickly from the gleeful euphoria of watching Ron up and flying again to the sick, stomach-twisting dread of knowing that someone else was in trouble. Two someones that couldn't defend themselves at all against magic. It made Harry angry.

And then something clicked in his head.

Voldemort was not up to his full power. And Draco Malfoy had a plan to offer him.

"It's Voldemort," said Harry, ignoring Ron and Arthur's flinch at the name. "He's the one that's after Hermione. Remember the day she was supposed to come back? When I fell asleep in the snow and had that vision? Voldemort isn't himself. He's like, a ghost of himself, and he needs someone to help get him back to his full form. Malfoy - Draco Malfoy, I mean, not his dad - was there, and he said he had a plan."

"And Malfoy would have been right there, at the game," said Ron bitterly.

"Well, I don't think he was right there where we were, being so busy gloating over the Snitch and the Cup," said Harry, "but yeah. I bet he knows. And I bet he wants to try to use Hermione to bring Voldemort back to power." He looked at Ron. "But Hermione wouldn't do that, no matter what happened. Malfoy's wasting his time."

"She might not do it willingly," said Ron. "But if she had to save her parents..."

Harry was suddenly filled with a surge of determination. "I want to talk to Snape," he told Arthur. "I'm tired of sitting around and waiting."

*****

Snape did not seem impressed by Harry's newfound determination. Then again, Snape had never seemed impressed by anything Harry did anyway, so perhaps it was Snape being his normal self.

"We have tried almost everything, Potter, to no avail," he said to them the next evening. "The hypnosis, the Occlumency, the potions I have prepared. You have seen the results."

"Almost everything?" said Harry, picking up on the qualifier immediately. "Almost isn't absolutely. Is there something left you haven't told me?" He was pacing, and he could feel Snape watching him, scrutinising, sizing him up. Maybe it would be better to show less agitation, more determination... Harry stopped pacing, crossing his arms over his chest, looking Snape directly in the eye.

Snape did not look away. He held Harry's gaze, and for a moment Harry forgot that Ron and Remus and Arthur were in the room as well. For that moment there was just Snape, staring at him from behind his curtain of greasy black hair with an unreadable expression. "I told you that there is no known way to separate your consciousness from the Dark Lord's," said Snape.

"I don't believe you," said Harry. He was tired of being bullied by Snape, having to do what Snape said. He was tired of doing what anyone said - of waiting for little scraps of information that he knew weren't even true, to be treated like a child. And the only way to escape it was to deal with it as soon as possible by whatever means necessary, or it would never end.

"It is irrelevant whether you believe me or not," said Snape smoothly. "That is the way it is."

"Then if there is no known way, we have to make a way."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Make a way?"

Harry took a deep breath and tried to summon up the most convincing and determined tone of voice he could muster. "I want you to go in there again and get rid of it. Or show me how. I want Ron to put me under again just like we did before, and I want you to go in there and do whatever you have to do to get Voldemort out."

"No," said Ron through gritted teeth. "I'm not going to do it."

Harry ignored him, focusing on Snape. If he could convince Snape, he would find a way to convince Ron. "I want to help. I want to do something, but I can't unless he's out of my mind. Or at least blocked off enough where he can't spy on me all the time. And if he can't spy on me," Harry added, "he can't spy on you. Don't you think it's dangerous for me to know about your double-agent role if Voldemort can just peek right in and see it all?"

Snape's expression did not change, other than the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth that betrayed the fact that he was considering it. Anyone else would have missed it, but Harry had spent far too many Occlumency lessons staring at the man up close not to notice it.

Ron made a frustrated noise. "I said no, Harry! I won't do it. I told you last time, I wasn't doing it again. You almost didn't wake up then. You're too suggestible, you go too far under, and if I do it again I might not be able to bring you back!"

It was so hard to ignore Ron, but Harry fought hard to keep his focus on Snape for the moment. If he could get Snape to agree...

"There would be considerable risk of brain damage," Snape said at last. "More likely than not, you could lose whatever memories or abilities that are stored in the part of your brain where his imprint is located. Ocular or olfactory control, short or long term memory, magical abilities are the most likely; but if this fragment of consciousness resides in a more basic part of the brain it could impair your ability to breathe or control other basic bodily functions. In short, Potter, it would have a very good chance of turning you into a vegetable." Snape looked more than pleased at this prospect.

"Fine. Let's do it." Harry spoke without hesitation.

"Harry, are you not fucking LISTENING to me?" Ron roared, his voice full of barely contained fury. "I told you, I'm NOT doing it!"

"Ron - "

"You think you can ignore me and not listen to me and get me to go along with whatever you've cooked up without even listening to what I've got to say about it?" Ron shouted. His face was nearly purple with rage. "If you think I'm going to sit here and agree to something that might fuck you up for life then you've got another thing coming!"

"I'm already fucked up for life with this stupid scar!" Harry yelled back. He couldn't believe Ron was refusing to even consider the idea, and if Ron wouldn't help him, it wouldn't matter that Snape agreed - they had to have Ron's help with the hypnosis for Snape to be able to get deep enough in his mind to do any good. He could feel his scar beginning to throb to the ragged beat of his pulse, and he tried to force himself back into some semblance of calm, but it wasn't working. "I have to do something so I can get this over with! I can't live like this forever!"

A hand closed around Harry's upper arm, gently but very firmly. "Harry, I'd like to speak to you a moment, please," said Remus.

"Fine," said Harry, glaring at Ron, who glared right back.

"In private," said Remus. He steered Harry into the nearest room with a door, which happened to be the bathroom. Remus closed the toilet lid, pushed Harry down to sit on it, and locked the door, casting an Imperturbable Charm on it. He leaned against the door with his arms crossed across his chest and let out a deep sigh.

Harry rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor. The bottled up rage and frustration had vanished, leaving him feeling oddly deflated.

"Yelling at people isn't exactly the way to get what you want from them, Harry," said Remus. "I don't suppose you'd like to tell me why you're ignoring Ron's opinion on this? After all, if he does it and it doesn't go well, he'll blame himself. And Severus, of course," he added, as an afterthought.

"He doesn't understand," said Harry. He was well aware he sounded like a snot-nosed, bratty kid, but he couldn't think of a better reason. "I have to do this."

"I'm sure you think you do. But this is dangerous. Far more dangerous than anything you've ever done, and Harry - I know you don't like hearing this, but it's something you've got to consider. I wish it wasn't so. But the fact is..." Remus hesitated, then pushed off the door, coming to sit in front of Harry on the floor, so that Harry couldn't avoid looking at him. "The fact is that every single thing you do affects more than you, for the time being. It affects everyone, because of the prophecy. If you make this choice, and it goes badly - then that's it. Voldemort wins."

"You only care about whether or not I can beat him," said Harry shakily. "You don't care about me."

Remus flinched; Harry could see it without looking directly at him. "Don't say that, Harry. I've always cared about you, even when you were just a wrinkly little thing in nappies that screamed more than slept and drove your parents mad." There was a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth, but it was a sad one. "Life hasn't always been fair to you, but you've got to stop taking it out on everyone else. And please keep in mind that it is possible to care about you and the future of our world at the same time. We care about you first for who you are - Harry - and that includes caring about what you have to do."

There was a long pause in which the only sound was the occasional drip from the tap that had been dripping since two days after Harry moved in and had always been too lazy to fix. Harry wondered if Ron was still raging out there with his dad and Snape, but he couldn't hear a thing because of the Imperturbable Charm.

"I don't want anyone else to die," Harry said finally.

"I wasn't under the impression you ever wanted anyone to die, besides Voldemort," said Remus. "Which makes you a better person than I."

Harry thought about that for a moment. "I... I wanted Sirius to die, once," he said quietly. "When I didn't know - when I thought he was the one who sold my parents out - I wanted to kill him. I wanted to, there in the Shack, until I knew. I wish I had never wished it."

"Wishing doesn't make it happen, Harry," Remus said.

"I know," said Harry. "I can wish none of this had ever happened all I want to, but it doesn't change things. I can wish Sirius was alive, I can wish Hermione was back... I could wish for lots of things. But they aren't going to happen. This is something I can do something about besides wish. I have to try."

"Then you're going to have to find a way to convince Ron, other than yelling at him," said Remus. "Because I can tell you right now, yelling at Ron will be about as useful as yelling at Sirius ever was."

"Yeah," said Harry. "I see that." He shook his head. "Did you ever... um... try to get Sirius to do something because you were good friends? I mean, did you kind of reckon that because you were friends he'd do what you wanted him to do even if he didn't really want to do it."

Remus laughed. It sounded incredibly loud in the small room. "All the time, unfortunately. And I never learned that even though we were a little more than friends, it still didn't obligate Sirius to do every single thing I asked of him. Sirius never did what he was supposed to do. He did what he wanted to do. As does Ron, I suspect. If he does something for you, he does it because he wants to, not because he should."

"Er... okay," said Harry, slightly confused.

"What that means is, if you want him to do something, you can't make him. But you can try to help him understand how important it is to you, and perhaps he will decide he wants to help you. And yelling at him and ignoring his opinion isn't going to help at all."

"Okay."

Remus put a hand on Harry's knee, squeezing gently. "But if he doesn't change his mind, you'll have to come up with something else. No one likes decisions being made for them any more than you do. You can't decide that Ron has to do something that he may not be able to live with, just because you don't see any other alternative."

Remus got up and left, but Harry didn't follow him immediately. Despite what Remus had said, he still didn't understand why Ron stubbornly refused to do this for him when he'd done so many other things in the last seven and a half years they'd known each other. Ron had always followed Harry into whatever danger had come their way; he'd sacrificed himself on the chessboard, he'd stood on his broken leg between him and Sirius when they thought he was a killer, and he'd followed Harry to the Department of Mysteries without question. And that wasn't even taking into account the personal sacrifices he'd made more recently. Why then, could he not do something so important, something that might help him get on with things once and for all?

Because you aren't asking him to sacrifice himself here, said a small voice in his head. It sounded suspiciously like Hermione. You're asking him to sacrifice you.

It took a few minutes for that to sink in.

When it did, he realised that what had happened between him and Ron the last couple of months was far more serious than he had realised. And he was going to have to sort out a lot of things in a very short space of time.

What was it, exactly, that he wanted from Ron? Was he using Ron as a substitute for Hermione, trying to recreate with Ron what he had with her? Or was this an inevitable part of a friendship as close as theirs? He remembered Seamus and Dean going through a sort of experimental phase during their Hogwarts days; more than once he'd seen one climbing out of the other's bed in the early morning hours before most sane people were even awake, and closed curtains only muffled so much sound. But an experiment was all it had seemed, as Seamus and Lavender had become an item in their sixth year, as had Dean and Ginny. That didn't seem to explain their situation though - Harry didn't think an experiment would make him feel the way he did.

The problem was figuring out just why the way he felt for Ron was dangerously close to the way he felt about Hermione - and why the memory of Hermione sitting on the edge of Ron's bed, kissing him with his fingers tangled in her hair, wasn't making him as angry and jealous as he thought perhaps it should. Ron and Hermione's break-up over a year ago had been abrupt and ugly. Was it possible that there were unresolved feelings there?

If so, maybe he owed it to the both of them to let them find out.

Having come to a decision, Harry stood up, took a deep breath, and reached for the door handle. Before he could touch it, however, there was a soft knock from the other side.

"Harry?" It was Ron.

Harry let his hand rest palm-flat against the door, leaning against it. "Yeah?"

"Er... Dad and Snape and Remus are gone. And I thought that um, I'd see if you were, you know, still alive and all."

"Yeah."

"And I wanted to say I'm sorry that I can't help you. Not with this. Anything else you want, Harry, I swear, I'll do it. Whatever it is."

"Ron..."

"No, mate, I gotta say this. Anything else you want, I'll do it. I'd walk right up to You-Know- " Ron paused, and Harry heard the catch of his ragged breathing on the other side of the door. "Voldemort, if you asked me. I'd follow you no matter where you wanted to go, I'd do anything, I just can't do this. I reckon maybe I shouldn't have been in Gryffindor, cause I'm not brave enough to put you under enough again for Snape to go in there and fuck with your mind. Don't ask me - I can't. I'm sorry."

Harry slid his hand down to the doorknob, curling his fingers around it. "I wouldn't ask you if I thought there was some other way."

"I know."

"And I know you hate Snape - hell, I hate him most of the time too - but when has he ever messed up a potion? Or let a spell go bad? Can you honestly think of a time that's happened?"

"No."

"I have to get him out of my head. I have to. If I don't, I can't do this."

There was a long silence before Ron said, "Then you're going to have to find another way. Because I can't."

*****

Hermione looked forward to her sessions with Raymond. She met him three times a week, usually on days that Claire and Mother Hildegarde were otherwise occupied. She had the feeling that the less anyone knew about her training with Raymond, the better - especially Mother Hildegarde. As wonderful as she had been to Hermione, Hermione felt that she wouldn't be pleased to know that she had been harbouring a witch under her roof for the last several months. So Hermione divided her time between the hospital and Raymond's workshop, absorbing every bit of knowledge she possibly could and counting off the days till she could go back.

The first night after she'd regained her memories, she'd locked herself in her room at the abbey and gone through the small box of her belongings that she'd kept hidden under her bed. Now that she knew where she belonged and what these things were it was hard to look at them without a lump forming in her throat. The tiny words around the second dial of her watch now had meaning for her, as well as the three sets of initials: HP. RW. HG. Hermione kept the watch tucked down in the bodice of her dress now, along with her wand, as a reminder of why she was here and what she was trying to do.

And as a reminder of what she had already done.

She couldn't allow herself to dwell too much on what couldn't be fixed. Raymond's training was rigorous, and between that and her work at the hospital she didn't have much time to reflect on her actions. It would all work out in the end, she told herself, as long as she could master this and get back to her own time.

Mastering Raymond's training wasn't going to be as easy as she had hoped. While he had unlocked her basic ability that day last year when he'd come to Hogwarts, when Voldemort's influence in Harry's mind had driven him into a coma, developing that ability into a serious skill was demanding work. The second time she'd visited him, he had shown her a secret room behind his workroom, accessible only through a small opening in the side of the hearth, that reminded her eerily of Snape's storerooms. There were more shelves here, but these weren't lined with jars of herbs and poisons; these contained skulls. There were tiny skulls of mice and rats and one that looked like a ferret; the long canine skulls of dogs and wolves; and the thick, powerful bones of horses - and one that even looked like a thestral skull. Hermione didn't think it was possible for thestrals to die, but it must have been, because the skull before her looked very much like the living thing. The lack of black, leathery skin made little difference in appearance.

"Why do you have these?" Hermione asked curiously, staring at the skulls.

"They keep me company," said Raymond.

"Well, that's just sick," she blurted, without thinking. When she realised what she'd said, she looked at Raymond, expecting him to be offended, but he only laughed.

"You are very forceful with your opinions," he said, taking down one of the larger wolf skulls. "As a White Lady should be."

He handed her the skull. Hermione expected to be cold and rock-like, but it wasn't. It wasn't warm, exactly, but it felt as though a tiny bit of the life that it had sheltered was still present in the bone.

"This is a werewolf skull, isn't it?"

Raymond nodded. "How did you know?"

Hermione started to say that she knew because Snape's lecture in third year had been incredibly detailed, with charts and diagrams clearly delineating the difference between a common wolf and a werewolf - not to mention she'd nearly been eaten by one - but she realised that wasn't how she knew it at all.

"This might sound silly," she said, running her fingertips over the smooth curve of the occipital bone, "but I heard it, and I knew."

"That is not silly." Raymond took the skull from her and replaced it on the shelf. "Every living thing has a truth about it, a fundamental centre that cannot be changed with glamours, potions, or charms. Or even with death. And you will be able to discover that truth. Some are more easily found than others, but they are always there if you know where to look. It is this truth that allows you to do what you can." He ran his hand down the shelf, picking up a large, feline skull. "A nundu."

Hermione touched the nundu skull tentatively, almost as if the skull still had some trace of the venomous, pestilent breath that could kill a whole village within minutes. "How on earth did you get one of these?" she asked.

"Travel, hard work, and a significant dose of luck," Raymond answered. Giving her the skull, he produced another, very similar, and held it out to her as well. "Listen to them, their differences. Hear their truths."

Grasping the nundu skull firmly in one hand, she took the other skull in her other hand and looked at them both. They were alike enough that they could have been from different sizes of the same animal. They were the same general shape; flatter than she thought a cat would be, with enormous eye sockets, a large, almost heart shaped nasal cavity, and vicious looking teeth, the canines nearly as long as her fingers. They each had a wild feel to them; Hermione felt an enormous sense of speed and agility almost resonating within the bones, but in the nundu's skull, there was also a smothering sense of death and destruction that was lacking from the other, along with the tiniest tingle of residual magic.

She handed back the nundu skull, wiping her hand on her skirt reflexively. The skulls were perfectly clean, but that one made her feel filthy. "This one's a leopard," she said, holding it up.

"Very good," said Raymond. He replaced the skulls on the shelf and turned back to her. "The skill of a White Lady is often seen as healing, but that is not technically so. A White Lady is one that can see deeply into the heart of a living thing and pull out the truth, the essence of it, as you have done just now. And by doing so, she can often restore a truth that has been damaged or obscured."

"Will I be able to heal Ron?" she asked, too tired to skirt around it.

"You will be able to help him heal," said Raymond. "There is a difference. It may not seem like much of a difference, especially when dealing with minor injuries, but a difference it is. And this is no minor injury you speak of. Remember when you revived your friend Harry? He was in a ... coma, I suppose is the best word for it. You did not bring him out of the coma; you made it possible for him to come out on his own."

This was the way most of their lessons went. Raymond would talk at length about something that seemed to have absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with her training, and then somehow he would manage to bring it back and tie it all in. She had come here with the intent of learning to heal, but she was going to leave with more knowledge than she had ever imagined.

She kept herself so busy between Raymond, the hospital, and occasional outings with Claire, that she was too busy to stop and think much about how much she missed Harry and Ron. It was impossible to try to think about that and concentrate on all the things she was learning at the same time.

But at night, in her small room in a far wing of the convent, when it was dark and quiet and the cold crept in off the stone walls even through the thick layers of blankets on the bed, there was nothing to distract her mind from the sharp reality of missing them.

This was the longest time she'd ever been away from the two of them since they became friends in first year. For the past seven years, the longest she'd been away from them had been the eight week summer holiday, and often that was shortened for various reasons. And now that there was no contact with them at all, not even owl post or telephone, she realised just how much she was used to them being around.

There had been a time when she thought that they just wanted to be her friends so they could copy her homework. Perhaps at one point, maybe they did. It wasn't as though any of them had been stellar examples of mature humanity at eleven or twelve, and if they had used her to get answers for their homework, she had used them as well. She'd liked the feeling of being 'included' by them, because it was something very new to her. Hermione wasn't used to having people who wanted to eat lunch with her, who wanted to study with her, who wanted to tell her secrets and include her in adventures. She hadn't had that in her Muggle primary school. While she hadn't exactly been an outcast, and wasn't picked on or bullied, she had simply spent all her free time with her nose in a book and hadn't thought to pay any attention to the people around her. No one had attempted to pull her from her books, either, perhaps sensing that she was just a little 'different' than they were.

Harry and Ron had included her. Unwillingly at first, but after the Troll Incident (it was capitalised just like that in her mind), she wasn't tagging along with them anymore. They began to include her in whatever they did. It felt funny to her at first to have someone say "Hermione, d'you want to go down to dinner with us?" or "We'll meet you in the library, Hermione," but later it came to be as natural to her as breathing. The next year, when Ginny came to Hogwarts, she included Hermione also. They got along well, but Ginny had her own circle of friends in her year and Hermione still gravitated toward Harry and Ron. It was simply The Way It Was.

It wasn't as though either of them were without faults, Hermione thought one night, turning over on her stomach and putting her pillow over her head to try to drown out the sounds of the street outside, noisy even at night. Harry was sulky, petulant, and held a grudge far too long. He also had the annoying and sometimes fatal habit of not telling anyone what was bothering him, bottling it all up and attempting to deal with it with the air of a martyr. Ron was loud, brash, and quite often tactless. He had a lazy streak and a stubborn streak and when the two combined, it was useless to get him to do anything. But in spite of those faults, they were good people. They were both brave and loyal, and while they didn't get the highest marks of their year, they certainly weren't stupid. They had taught her that not everything could be learned from books, and that sometimes the bravest thing is to let go of what you learned in a book and trust what you know to be true.

And she missed them both very much.

Being away from them, and having so much quiet time to herself at night, had given Hermione the opportunity to think about a lot of things that she hadn't had time to consider in the whirlwind of the last several months before she left. It especially gave her time to think about what happened the night before she left. She hadn't planned on having sex with Harry that night. Not that she regretted it at all - it wasn't as though she hadn't ever thought about it, especially after it was clear how they felt about each other. It had been as good as a first time could be. She'd seen a tender, vulnerable side of Harry that she wasn't sure really existed. But there was a small, nagging feeling in the back of her mind that perhaps it wasn't quite right.

She didn't know why she'd kissed Ron that very same night. It hadn't been a conscious decision on her part; it had been more of an impulse, something that had felt right and natural and yet so wrong. Was it just the fact that they had never really resolved things between the two of them before she and Harry had grown closer? Or was it just a matter of knowing she would be gone for a very long time and would miss him as much as she missed Harry?

When she returned, she would have to find out.

She'd assumed that 'when she returned' would be May, at the very least; because of her memory loss, she'd already missed the February travel window she'd originally hoped for. May first was the next safe time to attempt travel, but she wasn't sure if she'd be ready to leave by then. Raymond never indicated whether she was making good progress or not. It was something that drove her crazy. Other than Snape, most teachers had given her a good sense of how she performed in her classes, but Raymond was never clear on whether she was accomplishing anything. So it was an enormous surprise when she ventured into the secret workroom behind the fireplace one afternoon to find him fiddling with a small, painted wooden cabinet on the wall, pressing a series of hidden catches to reveal another compartment behind it, pulling out a lumpy fabric bag and handing it to her.

The bag was heavier than she expected and she nearly dropped it. "What's this?" she asked, opening it and peering inside. When she saw what was inside, she did drop it out of shock, and only Raymond's quick reflexes kept it from spilling out onto the floor.

"Your ticket back, Madonna," he said, handing it back to her.

"My ticket back?" she repeated, not understanding. She reached into the bag and pulled out an enormous sapphire, almost as big as her palm and such a deep midnight blue it was nearly black. There was also a flawless ruby the size of a chicken's egg, the deep red of a fresh picked cherry, and largest of all - a glimmering emerald that was exactly the same brilliant green shade as Slytherin Quidditch robes. They were so large it made her nervous just to hold them, and instead of being cool, as she expected them to be, they were slightly warm and almost resonant. She quickly laid them on the table beside her in a neat line and looked up at Raymond. "Where did you get these?"

"Here and there," he said with a small smile, folding his hands into the sleeves of his scruffy velvet robe. "You have learned everything I have to teach you, and it is time for you to go back to your own life. It is not necessary for you to remain here until May."

Hermione's heart did a flip and lodged somewhere in the middle of her throat. "It isn't? But everything I read, all the information I found said that it isn't possible to travel between dates; there are hundreds of documented cases of death and injury when people have attempted to travel otherwise!"

Raymond chuckled. "My dear girl, there are more wonders in this world than can be described in your books. If you have learned nothing else during your time here, I should hope you would have learned that. The things I have taught you here cannot be found in any book, nor should they be." He reached for the emerald, cupping it protectively in his palm. "These stones are your ticket back. Only the largest, flawless stones will work for this sort of travel. Using them, you can manipulate the power of the circle and travel at any time you wish."

"Really? You mean... I'm finished? I can go?"

"Yes," said Raymond, smiling his toothless smile. He scooped the gemstones carefully into his hands and slid them back into the bag, then pressed it into Hermione's hands. "It is time for you to go home."

*****

The hard thing about disagreeing with a friend, Ron decided, was not the actual disagreeing and saying no. It was the bits that came afterward that were the worst part.

Never had it been more clear that the bits after a disagreement were the worst part than a few nights later when Harry slid into his bed sometime in the middle of the night, curling up beside him as if he didn't really want to but couldn't really help it.

"You could have come in here first thing, you know," said Ron, prodding Harry gently in the arm and shifting slightly to get more comfortable. "I mean, if you wanted to."

"Didn't want to assume," Harry mumbled sleepily.

"Assume all you want. I don't mind."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

There was a long stretch of quiet, and Ron figured Harry had fallen asleep. Ron closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but having Harry so close was distracting, moreso than usual. He tried to ignore the arm Harry had thrown across his stomach and the slow, regular breathing that tickled his neck, and had almost succeeded in drifting back off to sleep when Harry spoke up again, so softly that Ron almost missed it.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?" Ron answered immediately.

"Are you sure you don't mind?"

"I'd tell you if I did," said Ron, opening his eyes and staring at the faint outlines of shadows on the ceiling. "Go to sleep."

Harry shifted against him as if he were trying to get more comfortable, and his fingers slid back and forth along the inside of Ron's arm. Not in an enticing sort of way, but in a nervous, fidgety sort of way. "I just keep wondering, you know - thinking. About my idea. I think it'd work, I really do."

"Harry - " Ron began, but Harry cut him off.

"No, listen," he said calmly, and it was obvious that Harry was making an effort not to get agitated or angry. "I don't think I explained it that well before. What if Snape is able to get that piece of Voldemort out of my head - those thoughts or memories or whatever - maybe we could analyse them somehow. I don't know, put them in a Pensieve or something. It might give us a better idea how he thinks and how he plans things, you know?"

"Maybe."

"And see, with it still up here like it is, I'm dangerous. I mean, I could have killed Kingsley, I could have killed you..."

Ron shivered, remembering how it felt to have that burst of green light come hurtling toward him, how time seemed to just stop in its tracks before he ducked and felt the bitter greenness of the spell sail over his head and smash into the plate glass window behind him.

"... I can't control that kind of stuff. But that's what's making me do it. There isn't another way to stop it, really." Harry untangled himself from Ron and rolled over onto his back. "You don't remember this, because you'd been wrestling that brain, but... when that fight was over, at the Department of Mysteries, Dumbledore sent me back to school before everyone else. He showed up a little later and we talked about what happened. Well... he talked... I mostly yelled at him and threw stuff. That's when he told me about the prophecy, but he also told me about that door we couldn't get into. You know which door, right?"

"Yeah, I know," said Ron. "I work there, remember?"

"Then you know what's in that door, don't you?"

"Yeah," said Ron carefully. He wasn't entirely sure where Harry was going with this. He had a pretty good idea of what was in that room; his first day on the job in the Department of Mysteries, one of his Muggleborn co-workers had taken him on what the co-worker had jokingly referred to as the 'Magical Mystery Tour'. And on that tour, that locked room had been treated with a sort of reverence not accorded to any of the others, and it was the only room that he hadn't had a chance to see.

Harry needed to make a greater effort to keep his voice steady now, and Ron didn't move or make another sound, not wanting to interrupt him. "Dumbledore said there was a power in that room that 'Voldemort knows not'. Voldemort tried to possess me that night. And he did, for a minute. But I had some of what is in that room in me, because I was thinking about Sirius, and it was enough to make him go. I had a lot of that in me then, but I don't think I really knew it. But now... I have more. More of a different kind."

"Yeah?" Ron croaked.

"Yeah."

Ron had no idea what to say to that. There were a lot of different kinds of that particular emotion kept in that room, and he wasn't sure exactly what Harry was referring to, though he was aware of several possibilities. It wasn't as though he was going to ask, either. He wasn't sure how he wanted Harry to answer, even if he did manage to ask.

"I think it's enough to make this work," Harry said quickly, rolling over and propping himself up on his elbows, looking at Ron. "It's enough to make this work, because it has to be. I know you don't want to go along with it, Ron. I wouldn't ask you if there wasn't any other way. There just isn't. I - " His voice cracked. "I need your help. Maybe more than I ever have."

Ron felt pinned down by the steadiness of Harry's gaze, and for a moment he forgot that he was supposed to be breathing. He wanted to say something, anything that would make Harry understand his reasoning - how hard it had been to bring him out of the hypnotic trance last time, the sheer panic he'd had to fight down when Harry didn't wake, and the momentary look of fear that had flashed across Snape's face when he'd seen whatever he'd seen in Harry's mind. But somehow it just wouldn't come out.

"Please," said Harry softly.

How could he say no to Harry? He never had been able to, really.

"All right," Ron replied, hoping he was making the right decision.

*****

Lying in bed and looking up at Snape staring down at you as though the prospect of your becoming a vegetable is the most brilliant thing ever really wasn't Harry's idea of a good time. He scowled down at Harry as if Harry were some sort of uncooperative laboratory animal who Snape was gleefully looking forward to disposing of. It didn't really help that Ron was sitting beside Snape, scowling and tapping his fingers nervously against the hilt of his wand.

"This is your last chance to back out, Potter, if you have any intention of doing so," said Snape.

"Forget it," Harry replied. "Let's do it already."

"Are you sure, Harry?" said Ron.

Harry clenched his teeth. "Yes, I'm sure. You've asked me that five times already. I'm positive."

Ron sighed, rubbing his temples. "All right then," he said. "You need to find a focus point. You remember how?"

"Yeah," said Harry. His mouth suddenly felt very dry.

He rolled over on his side and looked at the bedside table, where a battered copy of Quidditch Through the Ages lay. There was a sticker on the front, half torn off, that had once read Property of the Hogwarts Library but had worn down so much that it now said Property of the Hog. He'd checked it out back in first year and never returned it - it was a wonder Madam Pince hadn't demanded it back before he left school.

"Okay." Ron cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his voice was slightly deeper, its rhythm slower than normal. "Focus on what you see. Look at how it's shaped, the colour and texture of it, think about it would feel if you touched it. Keep looking at it, and while you look just listen to my voice."

Harry's eyes lingered on the worn edge of the sticker as Ron continued talking. The way the sticker had torn, there were little jagged bits around the edges, the white parchment of the sticker standing out vividly against the green cover of the book. He'd never realised just how green Quidditch Through the Ages was, he thought randomly. It was almost the green of Slytherin Quidditch robes. But he wasn't supposed to be thinking about anything, he was supposed to be clearing his mind. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as Ron instructed, and his eyelids felt heavy. Tiredness crept into his body like smoke rising from a fire - he let his eyes fall shut and his whole body relax.

Ron's voice sounded as if it was very far away, but it was still low and calm and somehow very relaxing. "Don't think about anything but your breathing, in and out, very slowly. Concentrate on the sound of my voice, tune out everything else, just breathe. In... out... and with every breath relax just a little more. Let your neck relax... your shoulders drop into the mattress... your arms and fingers..."

It was like being made of nothing but warm, mushy treacle. Harry felt as if he had no bones at all, only a soft, languid mass inside his skin. He felt soft and malleable and utterly unresisting. He was vaguely aware that Ron was still talking, but he understood none of it. He could only make out the low, soothing tone of Ron's voice, the vowels slipping through his consciousness like the way Hermione's hair would slip over her shoulder when she would lean down to kiss him.

Then there was a blissful silence, broken by a single word: Legilimens.

A bright stab of pain burst in the centre of his head, from what felt like deep inside his brain, and his instinct was to close his mind, seal it off from Snape's probing. Harry's Occlumency reflexes urged him to dump his thoughts, blank his brain and wipe it clean to repel the invasion, but his mind was frozen. His skull felt pulled open from the inside, laid bare and exposed to daylight, and he wanted to pull back from it and retreat into himself.

He couldn't do anything - he was physically and mentally frozen, unable to move or speak or make a sound.

Just outside the edge of his consciousness he was aware of the steady whisper of Latin from Snape's incantation, and even farther away he heard the soft, soothing sound of Ron's voice, urging him to be patient, not to fight it. A steady trickle of bitter cold thoughts flooded his mind, and though he couldn't make them out he could feel their chill and knew they didn't belong to him. The rest of him felt like he'd fallen into a boiling cauldron. Every inch of his skin sung with blistering heat that radiated from the searing agony in the centre of his mind. And when he thought he couldn't take another minute of it, a huge flash of red exploded behind his eyelids, scattering shimmering red feathers across his mind's eye, like the burning of a phoenix. He wanted to scream from the force of it, but he couldn't open his mouth and he couldn't force any breath through his throat to make a sound. Scarlet flames licked at his mind, their sharp tongues threatening to simmer his memories and scald his thoughts, and all he could do was watch as they rose higher and higher before slowly subsiding and fading into glowing coals and then soft grey piles of ash.

A soft breeze whispered through and swept the ashes away, leaving only blackness behind.

*****

Surely he was dead. There was no way that his mind could have burned up from the inside out and still left him alive. He couldn't hear anything. The blistering heat and freezing thoughts were gone, leaving him feeling...

Nothing.

Then faintly, so softly that he almost missed it, he heard Ron's voice. "Harry, it's all over now. It's time to wake up. I'm going to count to three, and when I get to three you'll be able to wake up and open your eyes. It'll be just like you've had a long night's sleep and it's morning, all right?"

Harry clung to the words, turning them over in his mind. He would wake up, just like Ron said.

"One..."

He felt as if he'd been removed from his body and was now settling back into it; he was dimly aware of feeling something. He wasn't sure what, but it wasn't nothing anymore.

"Two... remember, you're going to wake up on the next number, you'll be able to open your eyes and you'll be fully awake..."

He was swimming up, up, up through thick greenish water, up towards the sun he could see through the water's surface, toward the warm, watery light that meant living and breathing and being.

"... three."

His breath hitched in his lungs as if it had somehow been forced back into him, and it took him a moment to realise that his eyes were open and that he was awake.

"What.... what happened?" he rasped, and his throat and lungs burned. It felt like he'd been screaming for a long time, or breathed a large quantity of scorching hot air, or both.

"Oh, God," breathed Ron, putting his face in his hands and letting out a long breath that shook with relief.

Harry looked up at Snape and struggled to sit up. "Did it work?"

"Based on my initial assessment, I would be inclined to say yes," Snape said smoothly, although the face behind the words was pale and strained and glistened with sweat. "However, until you are up and about, it is inconclusive to say for certain one way or the other."

It took Harry a moment to process this, and by the time he did Snape was pressing a small bottle to his lips. "Drink this and sleep, Potter," he said irritably. "Your feeble mind needs ample time to recover from the procedure, if it can, and as you rarely do as you are instructed, I shall assure your compliance in this manner."

Harry wanted to make some kind of angry retort at the insult, but his eyes were already closing again, and he slumped back onto the pillow. He heard Snape give Ron some terse directions but he couldn't make them out. Just before sleep closed over him, he felt a large, warm hand take his, and he clung to it.

"Don't go," he mumbled, but if Ron answered, he missed it, because he had already fallen asleep.

*****

Harry had been asleep for most of the day, and Ron had actually dozed off a little himself. He hadn't slept well since he agreed to help Harry, and now that it was over and appeared to have gone well, his exhaustion was catching up with him, even through his immense relief. But when he heard Harry stirring, he jerked awake immediately.

"Hey, mate," said Ron, moving closer to the bed. "All right?"

Harry blinked groggily. "Yeah. I think. Feels like a hangover, a bit," he said with a tired smile.

"I reckon so, since Snape was digging around in your head for a good two hours, at least."

"Doesn't hurt though. Feels kind of numb and foggy, like I'm not really awake." Harry tried half heartedly to sit up, but halfway up he scrunched up his face - with what looked more like annoyance than pain - and lay back down again.

"Do you want anything? Maybe you should just go back to sleep for a while. Snape says you're going to have to rest a lot - he didn't actually think you'd be awake this soon. He said in the morning, at the earliest. Said there were some pathways or something in your brain that were going to have to get used to that spot where V- Voldemort's memory consciousness whatsit was." At least that's what Ron thought Snape said. Snape was fond of using these big six-Galleon words that no one else understood. Ron had a suspicion he just used them to hide the fact that half of what he said was bullshit.

Harry shook his head slowly, as if it weighed a lot more than he was used to and he was trying to adjust. "No more sleeping. I'm tired but not sleepy. A bit hungry though."

"Mum said when you woke up, if you were hungry, she'd make you something." He didn't really want to leave Harry by himself, but he was a horrible cook and it wasn't like Harry was up to messing around in the kitchen. "D'you want me to ask her?"

"That'd be brilliant," said Harry. "And if she's got any treacle tart..."

Ron grabbed his cloak and Apparated to the Burrow. "Mum?" he called, as he went into the kitchen.

There was no answer, and he started to call for her again when he saw the note on the table, just beside a large loaf of homemade bread and a covered dish (still warm) that looked like a very large treacle tart.

Ron,

If you happen to come by while I'm gone, I had to go over the hill to the Lovegoods'. Lionel Lovegood has Nargles in his pantry and can't get them out, and he's asked me to give him a hand. He's not doing well these days, the poor man. At any rate, if Harry's awake and you two are looking for a bit of nosh, there's a cauldron of stew in the icebox. Go ahead and take it all and don't worry about leaving any for your father and me - I can whip up some more in a jiffy and Harry needs a few good meals right now (and don't say otherwise, as I've seen the insides of your icebox!). If you want more, you've only to ask.

Love,

Mum

Ron put the note back on the table, scribbling Thanks for the food, love, Ron at the bottom of it with the quill she'd left there as an unsubtle hint that a reply was requested, and headed for the icebox. A large cooking cauldron of stew sat on one of the higher shelves of the icebox, and Ron scowled in annoyance for a moment before pulling out his wand. It wasn't as though he couldn't get it, but it wasn't as simple as 'Accio stew!' unless he wanted a lapful of food, as his Summoning Charms had always been sloppy and were best for non-spillable items. He was just about to levitate the cauldron out of the icebox when he heard the kitchen door open.

"Found your note, Mum," he called over his shoulder. "Was just about to get this and head back, thanks."

"It's not your mum, Ron," said a voice.

Ron forgot all about the cauldron, letting the icebox door slam shut, and then a moment later a pair of arms had locked themselves around his neck and he had a mouthful of bushy brown hair. "Hermione?" he croaked, thinking for a minute he had to still be dozing off and dreaming.

Hermione climbed into his lap and clung to him, her whole body shaking. "I made it back," she babbled, and Ron could feel the shoulder of his jumper growing wet with her tears. "Oh my God, I'm back. I didn't think I'd ever get back here." And then Ron couldn't make out the rest of what she said because she was crying too hard, and he didn't really care either because she was back. He pulled her closer, making shushing noises and patting her hair while she sobbed against his shoulder like a baby and he fought back the hard lump that was lodged in his throat. Hermione's clothes were dusty, with rips here and there, and her face was smudged and grimy, and Ron didn't want to think about how she got that way.

He'd imagined all sorts of scenarios of what would happen when Hermione got back, but never in any of them had he imagined just how good it would feel to hear her voice again. But seeing her alive and in one piece - something they'd been afraid might not ever happen when she didn't return on time - filled him with such an incredible sense of relief that he thought his chest might burst.

After a bit she calmed down enough that the sobs tapered off into intermittent hiccups and sniffles. "Where's Harry?" she said, sitting up and wiping her eyes with the hem of her sleeve. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot and her nose was running from crying, so Ron backed his chair up enough to swipe a napkin from the holder on the table.

"He's er... at his house," Ron answered, handing her the napkin. "I was just getting something Mum had made and going back."

Hermione blew her nose loudly and wiped her eyes again. "His house?" she asked. "I suppose I've missed quite a lot..." She climbed off his lap and reached for another napkin, blowing her nose again and sniffling.

Ron thought that was the understatement of his lifetime, but this wasn't the time or place to get into any of it. "Yeah, you could say that." Then he grinned, adding, "Harry's going to be so glad to see you, Hermione."

*****

The house was quiet when Ron and Hermione Apparated back. They put the food they'd brought with them on the kitchen table, but before heading down the hall to Harry's room, Ron put a finger to his lips and whispered, "Harry's a little under the weather, so don't be shocked or anything. He's okay, don't worry, no matter how he looks. Okay?"

Hermione nodded and followed Ron down the hall, walking softly so her footsteps wouldn't be heard.

"Ron, that you?" called Harry. "What did you do, cook dinner yourself and burn down the Burrow?"

"Er, no!" called Ron. "Just er... found a little surprise, thought you might like it!" There was a mischievous note in his voice that he couldn't hide, and Hermione had to bite her lip to stifle a giggle - both out of amusement and the nervous excitement of seeing Harry again.

"I hope you found food, cause I'm starving," Harry said.

Ron pointed to the door and mouthed, You go first.

Hermione took a deep breath and peeked around the door frame. Harry was reaching toward the night table for his glasses, his back slightly to the door.

"Hi," she said.

Harry yelped and overbalanced, falling out of the bed with a thud, and Hermione shrieked and ran to him, dropping to her knees. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!" she said, wringing her hands. "I just wanted to surprise you!"

Harry's hands scrabbled across the rug for his glasses, then crammed them crookedly on his face and blinked. "Hermione?"

"Hello," she said.

Harry froze for a moment, then hugged her, his arms squeezing her so tightly she could barely breathe. "Oh, my God," he whispered, letting go of her just enough to touch her all over - her shoulders, her face, her hair - as if trying to assure himself that she was real and not just a hallucination. His hands shook slightly even when they stopped to cup her cheeks. Hermione brought her hands up to cover his, squeezing tightly. She didn't want to let go of him, even for a second.

"I'm so glad to see you, Harry," she said, and she could feel tears welling up in her eyes again, just as they'd done when she'd walked in on Ron at the Burrow. It was so wonderful to be home that the relief was nearly overpowering, and it was a good thing she was sitting on the floor because her legs would have been far too wobbly to hold her up.

Harry slipped his fingers from her grip and pulled her close to him again, his hands and face buried in her hair. "We didn't know if you'd ever come back," he whispered. His breath was warm against her skin and she melted against him, clutching his t-shirt in her fingers. "We saw your hand on the watch on Mortal Peril and then Hospital and we didn't know what happened and there wasn't any way to find out and you're... " He didn't say anything else then, but held her tightly, taking the kind of deep, steadying breaths that Hermione knew meant he felt like crying but wasn't about to.

"I'm okay, I promise," she said, when he finally let her go. "But you don't look so well... are you ill? Has your scar been hurting? Is something wrong? Do you need anything? What's happened?"

He reached up to brush a few wayward strands of hair out of her face, tucking them behind her ear. Beneath the relief and happiness splashed across his face was an almost regretful look, and it worried Hermione. "There's so much to tell you," he said quietly. "I don't even know where to start." He looked up, over her shoulder in the direction of the doorway, and Hermione followed his gaze to see Ron hovering just inside the door, looking anxious.

"Er... I'll just go and ... er... check on the food Mum sent," Ron said, flushing red and ducking back out the door.

Hermione turned back to Harry. "I suppose a lot has happened while I was gone, hasn't it?"

"There has," he said. "And it'll take a bit to explain it all. Maybe you should go and er... take a bath or something? Not that you, you know, er, stink, or anything, it's just that you er... you've been away from plumbing and stuff and er... "

"I do stink," Hermione laughed, brushing at the skirt of her dress, which she'd been wearing ever since she left the abbey and was much worse for wear. "I want a bath and some proper clothes and there's Mrs Weasley's cooking in the kitchen and then I want to tell you all about what happened - Harry, I learned so much and I met so many fascinating people, you wouldn't believe it - and I need to owl my parents and Ginny and I want to know everything that's been going on here, and I can't wait to tell Ron about what I've learned, I know I'll be able to do this, I can't wait - I don't know what to do first - "

She didn't get a chance to finish that sentence, because the soft, insistent pressure of Harry's lips against hers stole the words from her mouth and replaced them with his warmth. The feel of his kiss was so familiar, it was almost like coming home all over again and yet - it wasn't quite the same Harry-kiss that she was used to. Incredibly familiar and comforting, and yet not quite the same. Perhaps it was an effect of their time apart, she thought, deepening the kiss, getting acquainted all over again with the taste of him and the feel of his breath on her cheek and the soft sound that came from the slide of their mouths together.

When he finally pulled away, Harry brushed his nose against hers and said, "Go take a bath. Then food, and then we can talk."