Intersections

Chapter 6: Yes and No

Harry raced excitedly down the stairs at the rapping on the front door. Opening it, he saw a tall old man with a very long, very white beard wearing an oddly cut plum velvet suit standing on the steps, beaming at Harry through the half-moon spectacles resting on his crooked nose. "Harry Potter, I presume?"

"Yes, sir, that's me," said Harry, moving back and allowing entrance into the house, suppressing a chuckle at the man's flamboyant suit. "Are you Headmaster Dumbledore?"

"I am," the old man nodded with a twinkle in his eye. "If you would be so kind as to fetch your aunt, dear boy, and bring her to the living room, we have many things to discuss."

Harry waffled a moment between getting Aunt Petunia from upstairs and showing Dumbledore to the living room, but Dumbledore was already making his way through the kitchen. Running upstairs, Harry knocked on his aunt's bedroom door. "Aunt Petunia?"

Aunt Petunia opened the door slowly, looking very pale and tense. "He's here, then?"

Harry nodded. "He's in the living room."

Aunt Petunia muttered something sounding like, "On my own head be it," and followed down the stairs apprehensively. Dumbledore was sitting in armchair by the fireplace, looking around the room with interest. His eyes stopped on the mantelpiece, upon which lay several framed pictures of Dudley at various ages, but none of Harry.

"Ah, Petunia," he said, in a slightly cold voice. "It has been a long time since we've corresponded."

Aunt Petunia pursed her lips and settled herself down shakily on the sofa. Harry did the same, subtly scooting as far away from her as possible. Physical contact with his relatives always made him uncomfortable. When he was younger, close physical contact meant being grabbed by the hair or ear, or in Dudley's case, being pushed. When he became older, physical contact just became odd.

Dumbledore leaned forward. "I'm sure you have lots of questions for me, Harry," he said, in a gentle but firm voice.

"Er - yes," Harry said, not sure where to begin. "Firstly - I - so I'm a - a wizard?" he asked disbelievingly. The word "wizard" felt strange on his tongue, as if he had never said it in his life.

"That you are, Harry," said Dumbledore seriously. "I must admit that I was - surprised to see you reject an education at Hogwarts when you were eleven. I thought that you would want to learn about your abilities as much as possible."

"But sir," Harry protested, "I didn't even know about Hogwarts until two weeks ago. Aunt Petunia" -his aunt hissed "Boy!" venomously--"didn't show me the acceptance letters until then."

"Ah, I see," Dumbledore said, staring very hard at Aunt Petunia as she shrank under his gaze. "I do apologize. It appears we had a miscommunication."

Harry glanced at his aunt suspiciously. She averted her eyes and began looking very intently at the opposite corner of the sofa, twisting her hands in her lap.

"Your aunt wrote back to me saying that you had shown no signs of magic, and that attending Hogwarts would be - how was it phrased? - 'disappointing and useless'," Dumbledore explained, still staring at Aunt Petunia. "I must confess that I believed her until very recently, when traces of magical activity were detected in the area surrounding your secondary school." He turned to look at Harry with piercing blue eyes. Harry rapidly debated whether or not to tell the wizard about the shields against the rain and Polkiss, then decided to do so, describing each incident in detail and flushing a little when he described the fight with Polkiss. Dumbledore listened intently, his eyes betraying no signs of surprise.

"I've also had these visions," Harry added. "I feel and see flashes of things." He described the glimpses he'd been having of the magical world. "Most of them are really frightening," he admitted. "The first time - I thought my head was going to split open along my scar, and I felt this awful pure hatred run through me. I'd never felt that before."

"How long ago did this happen?" Dumbledore asked. "Your first vision?"

Harry thought quickly. "About a week ago, sir."

Dumbledore nodded, frowning and considering something for a moment. "I see."

"Sir -" Harry began uncertainly. Dumbledore smiled at him. "I heard Aunt Petunia say that I was a sort of, er, savior to the magical world, and that my mother might have been a witch. Do you think you could tell me --?" He glanced again at Aunt Petunia, who was clenching her fists very tightly.

Dumbledore's smile disappeared instantly, and he turned his piercing gaze back onto Harry's aunt. "Petunia," he said frostily.

Aunt Petunia exploded. "Yes - all right - yes! You are a w-wiz - how could you not be, with my freaky sister and her freaky husband and that freaky world of theirs! I just wanted a nice, normal life with a nice, normal husband and nice, normal son! But then you landed on my doorstep after your parents got herself blown up trying to protect you!"

Harry felt as if all of the breath had been taken out of him. He stared at her, completely floored, his face white and his eyes wide in shock. He'd suspected earlier that Aunt Petunia lied to him about his parents' deaths, but he'd never realized that they'd given up their lives for his.

Clenching her skirt, Aunt Petunia spat, "I was so afraid that you were going to become just like her - my perfect, darling, magical little sister, that you were going to contaminate my house with your freakiness! You had all of the same signs - all of those freaky incidents in primary school, Dudders' birthday at the zoo - imagine my relief when all of it stopped once you entered secondary school! I was so happy, I thought Vernon and I had managed to rid you of it with all of our chores and our punishments, I thought I would finally be able to live a normal life!" Her voice rose hysterically. "Then I saw those awful freaky marks on the news, and I knew that there was no escape! The only way I could ever live the life I wanted was to send you back so you could kill the - the freak who tried to kill you!"

"What?" Harry gasped, trying to make sense of what his aunt had just screamed. "Kill who?"

Aunt Petunia said nothing. She stood up, pale and trembling, and pointed an accusing finger at Dumbledore. "Ask him," she snapped, and she stalked out of the living room, slamming the door shut behind her.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, feeling dizzy as he tried to work out his thoughts. A headache was forming near his temples.

"Perhaps we should have begun our conversation another way," said Dumbledore quietly. "Harry, please look at me." Harry raised his head, and Dumbledore began to explain that Voldemort had tried to kill Harry because a prophecy had suggested that Harry was a threat to him; Harry's mother had begged Voldemort to spare her child's life for hers, invoking an ancient magic that protected Harry from being murdered and caused Voldemort to kill himself instead and give Harry his scar; Harry was famous among wizards for defeating Voldemort as well as surviving the Killing Curse, both of which were still considered impossible.

"But I just got lucky," Harry protested, his mind still racing to process this new information about his life. "I mean - I was lucky enough to have a good mum who knew how to protect me using this - this ancient magic." Pride swelled within him as he said those words. He'd never once been able to say or hear a good thing about his parents.

"I am glad you think so," Dumbledore said gently, "but it was certainly not just luck working that night. Your mother chose to defend you until the very end, although Voldemort gave her a chance to step aside and live. She did not know the effects of her sacrifice - she did not call upon the ancient magic intentionally - but it was her love for you that invoked it, her love for you that ultimately protected you from the curse."

"Her love for me..." Harry repeated, his throat tightening. A wave of guilt washed over him as he realized suddenly that he didn't even know his mother's name or what she looked like. That someone would sacrifice her life for him was amazing to Harry, even if that someone was his own mother. Until recently, he had always thought that he would go through life alone, quietly minding his own business without friends or family who cared. Meeting Hermione had changed that mindset slightly, but knowing that his mother had loved him so much to die for him...the thought filled Harry with a deep, unfamiliar, and painful longing.

"Harry," Dumbledore said. His voice was still gentle, but his expression was grim, making Harry snap to full attention. "You mentioned earlier that you saw an image in your dreams - that of a skull with a snake as its tongue."

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir, the same ones as in London."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "The image of the skull and snake is known as the Dark Mark. Voldemort and his followers, the Death Eaters, cast the Dark Mark into the sky after committing murder."

"Murder?" Harry echoed, his face pale.

"Yes, though there have been no bodies found after the attacks in London. If Voldemort is building up an army of Inferi..." Dumbledore frowned, lost in thought.

"Inferi, sir?" Harry asked, pronouncing the term carefully. "And I thought that Voldemort was - dead, sir."

Dumbledore turned to Harry, his face suddenly full of sorrow. "Oh, my dear boy," he murmured, "if I could have avoided this...if I could have investigated more..."

"Sir?" Harry said tentatively, shifting uncomfortably.

Dumbledore's face turned grim again. "You did not kill Voldemort so much as you defeated him," he replied. "When the Killing Curse hit your forehead and rebounded onto him, his body was destroyed, but his soul managed to survive, though by what means I'm not quite sure. He existed for many years in spirit form - indeed, he possessed one of my professors four years ago - and managed to regain part of his physical body. He is now seeking to complete his body with the help of the Death Eaters, who have also been wreaking havoc in London with his approval."

"What do you mean - part of his body, sir?" Harry asked, puzzled. "Does he only have a torso, or half a face?"

"I believe that he currently looks something like a baby, though he can still speak and use his wand. You know about wands, I hope?"

Harry thought of Ralph and Cho at the party, and he couldn't help but grin a little. "Yes."

"Good." Harry quickly sobered at Dumbledore's somber tone. "Harry, I wish I did not have to tell you this now. I cannot understate how deeply I regret not investigating your Hogwarts admission sooner, as this would have been much easier."

"What would, sir?" Harry asked, confused.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Now that Voldemort has come back, he is after you once more. If you come with me, my colleagues and I will be able to train you in magic should you ever need to defend yourself against him or his followers."

"Come with you?" Harry's brow creased. "To Hogwarts?" Several things flashed through his mind: his GCSEs in June, his newly made friends at Stonewall, his grudgingly respectful relationship with his aunt and uncle, the familiarity of Privet Drive and the area around it, Hermione -

"Not to Hogwarts, no," Dumbledore answered. "Your appearance there would be quite a disturbance, I'm afraid. We would train you in a different location - in the home of the Weasley family. Mrs. Weasley is an excellent cook, and her son Ronald is around the same age as you are. He attends Hogwarts right now."

Harry frowned, his hands twisting in his lap. The thought of a new life was exciting, especially a life with magic, but he wasn't sure he was ready to give up his life here. He'd just made new friends, his aunt and uncle were finally starting to respect him, and he was well on his way to finishing his GCSEs and going along with his life plans. On the other hand, if this Voldemort character succeeded in killing him, all of that would be gone in an instant, especially if he didn't know how to fight back. "Sir," said Harry slowly, his mind wavering between "go" and "stay," "Can I have some time to - think about all of this?"

"Of course," Dumbledore replied kindly. "Although I have no wish to rush you, I would advise you to make your decision quickly. Danger lurks ever nearer, and usually in places where we don't expect to find it."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, alarmed. "Am I in danger here?"

"Here, no," Dumbledore answered, "but I do not know about elsewhere. Ah, well then, Harry," he said, standing up and pulling something out of his pocket, "do not hesitate to contact me." He handed Harry a small, square mirror, and Harry took it uncertainly. "Just say my name - Albus Dumbledore - into it, as well as the phrase 'lemon drop,' and I will appear on the other side," Dumbledore said, the twinkle returning to his eye. "It's much like those delightful machines you have, those - telephones, I believe they're called. Happy Christmas, Harry."

Harry turned the mirror over in his hands, examining it carefully. There was nothing on the back, just a smooth gray slate. When he looked up, Dumbledore was gone.

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Lying on his bed, Harry frowned and rubbed his eyes, setting the wrinkled Hogwarts letter down next to him as he tried to gather his thoughts. The more he thought about magic, the more torn he was between staying at Privet Drive and Stonewall and leaving for Hogwarts and wizarding training. He hadn't exactly had a good life in Surrey, but it was familiar - he'd spent his whole life here, after all - and the thought of going home every day to his room was oddly comforting, especially since his aunt and uncle had stopped giving him so many chores and were now feeding him more. However, magic was a part of him that he wanted - needed - to learn how to use, and sometimes he felt giddy just thinking of how much he could do with it. Spells and broomsticks and cauldrons! Curses and hexes against bullies like Polkiss and Dudley, wonderful creations for his friends like Hermione! Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair unconsciously as someone banged on the door loudly. "Who is it?" he asked, even though he already knew.

Dudley wrenched the door open, sneering smugly down at Harry. Harry sat up, annoyed. "What do you want, Dudders?"

"I saw Piers Polkiss at the shop today," said Dudley, his squinty blue eyes narrowing and practically disappearing into his face.

"So?" Harry asked, startled. "I thought you two didn't talk anymore."

"He said you were a freak," Dudley sneered.

"You and Polkiss have been calling me that since I was six," Harry said in a bored tone, though his heart was suddenly pounding furiously. He definitely didn't want Dudley to know about magic - Aunt Petunia would throw a fit or worse.

"He said you did something to him," Dudley said, screwing up his face as if he had difficulty continuing. "You and your girlfriend."

"I - don't have a girlfriend," Harry replied, "and I didn't do anything to him. Now sod off." He crossed the room and made to close the door, but Dudley grabbed his arm. "Christ, Dudley," Harry snapped, jerking out of Dudley's grip, "what do you want? Leave me alone!"

Dudley grinned nastily and said his favorite word. "No."

"Come on," Harry wheedled. "Wouldn't you rather blow up aliens on your computer or something?"

"No."

Harry rolled his eyes. "What about the telly?"

Dudley scowled. "Daddy's watching the news."

"Er...how about stealing some sweets from the pantry?"

"No." Dudley crossed his arms in front of his chest and stood in the doorway, trying to look menacing but failing horribly. Harry used to be scared of his cousin, but he'd realized today that he was actually taller than Dudley, who over the term had grown horizontally to the size of a humpback whale. Stifling a snicker, Harry pulled on his coat and scarf and pushed past his cousin. Dudley stared at him dumbly. "Where are you going?"

"If you're not leaving, than I am," Harry answered, adding, "I'll be back for dinner."

A chilly wind bit Harry's face as he stepped outside and walked in the direction of the play park, still contemplating whether or not to leave his life behind and start a new one in the magical world. Magic was his birthright; it was a part of himself that he could never get rid of, as Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had proved - not that he would want to anyway. Then again, his life in Surrey so far was one he had created for himself - something he knew he could control, something that was his, and something, when he thought about it carefully, of which he was rather proud. He had endured years of childhood torments here, got good marks and set goals for himself despite his endless chores, gone through nearly fourteen years of school with no friends, managed to grow taller even without much food (until now) - yes, he was proud that he had survived this life, and he wanted to have his exam scores and his friendships to show for it. On the other hand, if he chose to accept Dumbledore's offer of magical training, he would be thrust into a completely unfamiliar setting, where he didn't know left from right, right from wrong, who to trust and who to stay away from....

With a sigh, Harry sat down on one of the swings, ice cracking ominously as he did so. He rubbed his hands together, shivering, wishing he had remembered to put on gloves, and stared into the quiet dark surrounding him. The faint glow of streetlamps cast dim shadows against the pavement, and he wondered, not for the first time, whether there was a device that could capture the light into itself with a simple click. It was a crazy idea, but he was sure he had dreamed about something like that as a child.

Harry whipped around at the sudden rustling behind him. He squinted, looking into the bushes behind the swing set. "Hello?" he called tentatively, taking a step forward. "Is anybody there?"

Silence answered him. Frowning in puzzlement, Harry stared for a few more seconds and then turned around, quickly walking back to his house, his breath creating little white puffs in the hair. He was halfway there when he heard a strange, rhythmic pattering behind him. Harry stopped suddenly, his stomach full of dread, and turned around slowly. "Hello?" he called again, to the empty stretch of street. He squinted, and for a second, he thought he saw a shimmering outline of a tall man near one of the lampposts. Harry blinked and looked again. There was no one there. Remembering how Dumbledore had disappeared from the living room without a sound, Harry wondered whether a wizard was following him as Dumbledore's words echoed in his mind: "Danger lurks ever nearer..."

His breath catching, Harry quickened his pace and nearly ran back to Number 4, the icy wind cutting his lungs as he gasped. He slammed the door shut behind him as soon as he was inside, hanging up his coat with shaking hands. Uncle Vernon came into the hallway, scowling. "What are you doing making so much noise, boy?" he barked. "Do you think we appreciate your ruckus?"

"Sorry, Uncle Vernon," Harry said, panting.

Uncle Vernon glared. "Petunia just finished making dinner," he said gruffly, "and it's a good thing you came back in time, boy, because she wasn't even going to feed you. Well, hurry up!" He turned, muttering under his breath about damn ungrateful teenagers. Harry followed, his stomach growling loudly as he cast one last worried glance at the front door.

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Hermione listened to Harry's story with a mixture of amazement and frustration as she sat in the café, sipping her tea. She was rather angry that Harry hadn't asked her to come to his house so that she could also meet Dumbledore, especially since she had wasted the whole day yesterday looking for information in the library, and she was also suspicious of Dumbledore's motives. The story about Voldemort and Harry's need for magical training seemed a little too convenient. She told Harry so, adding, "It's the perfect excuse to take you away, isn't it? Telling you that you're in danger and that you need to go somewhere else to be safe?"

Harry's eyes flashed. "Are you saying he lied about my parents' deaths?"

"No," said Hermione, frowning into her teacup. "I think Dumbledore's telling the truth about your parents - your aunt's story also confirmed it. I just think that there's something fishy about his offer. Why can't he train you in your own house? Why do you have to give up everything here? I'm sure he could find a way to let you continue going to school and learn about magic on the side - on the weekends, perhaps."

Harry considered this for a moment. "Well, Hogwarts is a school, right? So I expect four years' worth of training can't just be learned on the weekends. Plus, my aunt hates magic. She definitely wouldn't allow it."

"That's another thing," said Hermione. "Why did he only contact you now? If he really wanted you to learn how to defend yourself, he should've made you learn magic before the threat of Voldemort appeared, not afterward."

Harry looked at her mulishly, lowering his voice as he looked around the café in which they'd met. "He didn't think I was wizard until now, so I don't think I could've gone done that anyway."

"Didn't Cho say that if we received letters, then we were definitely...magical? We both could've gone to Hogwarts if we'd written a response before our parents did. I mean - not your parents - your aunt," she said apologetically, catching Harry's expression. "Harry, I think the whole thing sounds a little suspicious. How do you know he's actually going to train you? What if he takes you away and does something - something awful?"

"It's a chance I have to take," Harry said with an edge to his voice. "I'm certain that someone - a wizard - followed me home yesterday from the play park. What if he decides to do it again and casts a curse or something? I won't be able to defend myself because I decided not to get trained."

"But what if it's Dumbledore who casts a curse on you after he takes you away?" Hermione countered. "Then, you won't even be on the street where there are other people around. You'll be in some stranger's house where you don't even know how to get help."

"Look - Hermione," Harry said, annoyed, "I don't have any other choice! Dumbledore's the only one who can teach me magic - you said yourself that you couldn't find any information in the library, and I'm definitely not going to be able to get any from my aunt."

"You're going with him then?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice even as her cheeks flushed with anger and hurt. She couldn't believe Harry was abandoning her after she'd spent so much effort trying to befriend him; she recalled Daniel and Richard's cold, repulsed behavior toward her and felt stung.

Harry nodded distractedly, looking out the window. "I wasn't going to," he said, turning back to her, his green eyes pleading, "but - I need to. It's the only way."

"But -" Hermione sighed and stopped at the determined look on Harry's face. "Fine. But I'm going with you."

"What?" Harry's eyes widened comically.

"That's right," she said firmly, sounding more confident than she felt. "I'm going with you. Do you think I would just let you go alone with some strange old man to a strange place? What kind of friend would I be if I let you do that?"

"But - you have friends here - your parents -" Harry spluttered.

"I know," said Hermione quietly, "but Harry, I'm not going to give up a chance to learn about magic. It's a part of myself that I've never had the chance to understand. Don't think for one moment that I'm going to let you go off and receive training while I stay here and pretend that I know nothing. I couldn't bear it."

Harry was looking at her with an unreadable expression. Slowly, he reached across the table and grasped her hand, squeezing it for the slightest of moments before retracting it quickly, his cheeks flushing a deep red. "I suppose I wouldn't mind if you came with me," he said slowly. "I'll just have to tell Dumbledore about it, that's all."

"We'll tell Dumbledore about it," Hermione corrected. "We're doing this together, remember? Besides, I have a few questions for the man, headmaster or not. How are you going to contact him?"

"He gave me this mirror," Harry said, pulling a square gray mirror out of his pocket. "Said it works like a telephone if I say his name and passphrase." He held it in front of his face, about to speak, but Hermione grabbed his wrist.

"Let's go to my house," she said, standing up briskly and leading Harry to the door. "I think it's best if we do this in private." Her glance swept across the café. She had the feeling that someone was staring at them from the corner, but when she turned to look, she saw nothing. Shivering suddenly, she remembered Harry's stalker from the previous night and abruptly exited the café, Harry quickly catching up to her panicked stride.

"What's wrong?"

"I thought I saw...nothing," said Hermione, turning the corner as she walked toward her house. The wind bit her nose and cheeks, and she wrapped her scarf around more tightly. "The - the person who followed you last night, could you see him? Or her?"

"Not exactly," said Harry. "I never really saw him - I just heard him. Was there somebody in the café?"

"No - no - I'm sure it was nothing," Hermione replied. "I thought I felt someone watching us..." Color rose in her cheeks, and she fumbled with the keys in her hand. "Anyway, come in. My parents won't be home for another hour." She led Harry to the living room, her gaze trailing on the empty bookshelves and still undecorated walls. Three big, unpacked boxes sat in the corner between the fire place and the television. Harry perched on the edge of the couch, taking out the mirror and turning it over and over in his hands.

"Well?" said Hermione, sitting down next to him and looking at the mirror curiously. There was nothing unusual about it; it could have been found in any girl's bag for makeup.

Harry cleared his throat and held the mirror at arm's length in front of his face. "Albus Dumbledore," he stated, and then, "lemon drop."

Swirling smoke drifted across the surface of the mirror, and a moment later, an old, wrinkled face with long white hair and blue eyes stared back at them. "Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said with a smile, "I was wondering when you'd be contacting me."

"Sir," Harry said with a nod, relaxing his arm and bringing the mirror closer to his face. He turned the mirror so that Dumbledore could see Hermione. "This is my friend, Hermione Granger."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Hermione said, feeling a bit foolish.

Dumbledore's brow knitted, and he looked at her with an assessing gaze. "How do you do, Miss Granger?" he asked.

"I'm well, sir," Hermione said politely, taking a deep breath and ready to launch into a stream of questions.

Dumbledore cut her off. "Miss Granger, if I may ask, how do you know Harry?"

"I met him at Stonewall, sir - our secondary school," she replied. "He was the first friend I made after I moved here from London."

"London?" Dumbledore's face enlarged as he leaned in to look at her more closely, his piercing blue eyes boring into her. "How long ago did you leave London?"

"About three weeks ago, sir," Hermione answered nervously, wondering why she was being interrogated.

"And do humor me for a moment - what secondary school did you attend in London?"

"The Witsford School."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, frowning, and then he smiled politely. "I believe I interrupted you earlier. Please continue."

"Well -" Hermione froze, thinking of how to begin.

"She's like me, sir," Harry said next to her, quietly, as he tilted the mirror towards him. "She just found out about Hogwarts when she was unpacking her things from London. The traces of magic you found at Stonewall...it wasn't just my magic, sir, it was also hers. She also created a white shield, though hers was instantaneous unlike mine - I think..." He turned to Hermione quizzically, and she nodded. Harry took a deep breath, looking as if he were steeling his resolve. "Sir, I've - decided to accept your offer. I'll go with you to learn about magic - but only if Hermione can go too."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, looking impressed. "I have no problem with Miss Granger coming along," he said, "but I suspect other people will." Hermione bristled. "Coming along" indeed - as if she didn't deserve to receive training as much as Harry did! She then realized, with a sinking feeling in her stomach, that she had yet to tell her parents and other friends about her plan to leave. But wait! Hadn't she said something to Harry in the café about - maybe -

"Headmaster Dumbledore, sir," Hermione said, tilting the mirror toward her forcefully. "Why can't you and your colleagues teach us magic here? In our own homes?"

"I'm afraid that is not possible, Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied, looking amused. ""Magical education causes too much of a disturbance for it to be safely and quietly done in an environment like yours. There is a Statute of Secrecy on the wizarding world, which is why we can only choose certain places to teach magic, such as Hogwarts or, in Harry's and your case, the Weasleys' home."

Hermione bit her lip, her hope of balancing magical education and her secondary school lessons extinguished. If she did go with Harry, she would be giving up her carefully planned life, her fourteen years of well-funded education, her dreams of going to Oxbridge, her long-standing friendships, and - her stomach clenched - her parents. But if she didn't go, she'd never be able to forgive herself for not taking the chance to learn - especially if she happened to need magic to defend herself like at Stonewall. No matter what she chose, she would spend the rest of her life thinking, "What if?"

"If that is all, Harry, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, cutting into her thoughts. Harry gently tilted the mirror so that both of them could see. "I will be on my way. I will send someone to pick you up on Boxing Day at three o'clock in the afternoon, in front of Harry's aunt's house. Don't forget to pack your belongings - clothing should be fine, as well as any personal effects that you consider valuable. Happy Christmas to you both." With a wink, he left the frame. Smoke swirled for a moment before the mirror surface reflected half of Hermione's anxious face and Harry's concerned one.

"Are you all right?" asked Harry, tucking the mirror back into his pocket.

Hermione nodded distractedly. "I need time alone to think about this." She jumped up and began pacing back and forth across the room, debating the merits of leaving everything behind or never taking the risk of starting somewhere new.

Harry stood up slowly, looking at her as if she were a dangerous animal. "I'll just be off then," he said softly, heading towards the door. Hermione stopped pacing, coming to her senses and showing him out.

"I'll ring you when I've decided," she told him, and she watched his figure retreat into the growing darkness before shutting the door and sliding down against it.

Dinner tonight was going to be very unpleasant.

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"Absolutely not."

Hermione felt her resolve diminishing as her parents consistently denied her request to join Harry in learning about magic. "But Dad -"

"Your father said no, Hermione," Hermione's mother said tightly, and her expression softened at the look of hurt that flashed across her daughter's face. "You don't really - believe in all of that hogwash, do you?"

"I do believe in it, Mum," said Hermione, irritated, pushing food around on her plate. "I know it's real. It protected me and Harry that night you picked us up from Stonewall. And - and I've been experimenting with it here. Look!" Hermione shut her eyes tightly, concentrating on the feeling of honey pouring from her heart into her fingers. When she looked at her parents, her index finger was pulsing with a soft, glowing light.

"That's just a trick of the light," her mother said, her voice shaking. She looked to her husband for reassurance, who was staring at the light with slack jaw.

"It's not a trick," Hermione argued, her voice strained as she tried to keep the light glowing. "It's real. Magic is real." She dropped her finger, letting out a sigh of relief as her body relaxed. "The letter from Hogwarts proves it. Every magical child receives a letter when they turn eleven, so they can attend Hogwarts instead of regular secondary school. Cho - a girl at Sara's party - told me so. She's a Hogwarts student right now."

"Well - even if that's the case," her mother said, "don't you think it'd be better to wait until your GCSEs are over before you - you go off to this training? That way, if this turns out badly, you'll still be able to come here and complete your A-levels, even if they are a year late."

Hermione bit her lip. She knew her parents were just trying to ensure a secure future for her, a good future where she took GCSEs and A-levels and went to university, ultimately getting a good, high-paying, permanent job that eventually led to a house and a family and a life of stability. That had been her life plan all along - until she found out about magic, found out that it was an irrefutable part of her, a part that she didn't really understand and needed to understand before she could ever truly feel complete.

Her parents exchanged a glance. "What do you say, Hermione?" her father asked. "Wait until your exams are over in June, and we'll see what you want to do afterward?"

They did have a point. It would be better to get her marks first, and it wasn't like she needed to learn about magic immediately...but then Harry wouldn't want to go because she wasn't going, and he'd be so disappointed. He'd seemed like he wanted to leave immediately, but maybe he'd also want to take GCSEs first... "I suppose I could ask Harry to talk to Dumbledore and, er, postpone our leaving," she told her parents thoughtfully, though something about the words didn't sit quite right on her tongue.

Her father smiled. "You've always taken your education seriously, Hermione, and we're very proud of you for that."

But what about my magical education? she thought briefly, before giving her father a strained smile. "I'll be upstairs," she said, quickly washing her dishes, and she ran to her room, sitting down on her bed and looked around at her newly unpacked room. There on her pillow was the stuffed otter her parents had given her for her seventh birthday; there on her dresser was a framed photograph of her with her friends from London, Cecilia, Matthew, Richard, Daniel; there on the floor lay a neatly stacked pile of textbooks and papers from both Witsford and Stonewall; and there, sitting innocuously at the corner of the desk, lay the folded Hogwarts letter lying on top of its envelope. Sighing, Hermione picked it up, looking over the list of questionable supplies and the many titles under Albus Dumbledore's name, and she wondered for a moment whether she should even consider leaving her life behind for some - pipe dream that she didn't quite trust. But no - Hermione shook her head. Magic was real, she was sure of it. She just didn't have to learn about it right away. It was always safe to have a back-up plan involving exam scores and official documents.

She went to the living room and picked up the telephone to ring Harry, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that something was terribly wrong.

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