Dream Chasing

Dream Chasing

Chapter 13. Reaching Out ...

"Any sausages in this place?"

The question, so totally incongruous and bizarre, had the effect of breaking up the highly-charged, tear-stained group hug of the Potter family. They stepped apart from each other, Harry and Hermione surreptitiously wiping their cheeks and eyes - Lily gaping at James, who was looking back at them with an innocent look on his own tear-stained face.

"Well?" he asked his son, who was looking back at him as if he'd gone mad. "Are there?"

"Sausages?"

Impatiently, James replied: "Yes, Harry ... sausages, the spicier the better?"

"James?" He glanced at Lily's puzzled face and gave a theatrical sigh, shaking his head in mock-frustration at the clueless look on their faces. "You know why, Lily ... after all that crying and carrying on, Harry and I have to eat spicy sausages, drink lots of ale and do quite a bit of belching so that we can reassert ourselves as men!"

They gawked at him and then Hermione giggled ... Lily snickered ... and finally, the one he'd been waiting for - a smile from Harry.

"That's better," he told them. "Things were getting a bit too ... tense around here."

He ducked as Lily aimed a light slap at him, and grinned back at the now-smiling faces of Harry and Hermione. "Join me, Lily?" he asked, the slightly manic, always irreverent grin firmly in place as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "There's a nice counter in the kitchen ..."

"JAMES POTTER!" Lily's shocked voice was met by a burst of laughter from Harry and Hermione, and she glanced at them with a smile before reaching out to grab her husband by the collar and drag him to the kitchen - seeing, but not commenting, as she saw him give the children a wink out of the corner of her eye.

They smiled back at her and turned away; with a quiet sigh, Harry collapsed into one of the chairs they'd brought out earlier - sat there with elbows on knees, head on his hands, staring down at his feet while Hermione stood there, watching him.

Unconsciously, Hermione began a mental countdown. 'Ten ... nine ... eight ...' She'd known her friend for too long ... had watched him both openly and surreptitiously ever since their first day at Hogwarts ... had fretted, worried, fussed over him both in school and out ... 'Seven ... six ... five ...'

"Why me, Hermione?"

She stopped herself from a snicker or a sigh and knelt in front of him, waiting quietly until he'd lifted his face from his hands, and his tortured eyes met her compassionate browns. For a long moment, they merely stared at each other in that silent communication that seemed to have always been there but became more pronounced in their third year at Hogwarts.

How much pain can a person hold, she wondered? His life had been nothing but a surfeit of misery ... ten years with the Dursleys and the only good memory of those years wiped away so that he would continue to endure the deprivation of that sterile household ... the years at Hogwarts where every sliver of fun and entertainment had to have its moments of terror and fear: Sirius' offer to take him away from the Dursleys snatched away by Wormtail's escape ... the exhilaration of winning the Triwizard Tournament turned into the twin horror of watching Cedric killed and of Voldemort's resurrection ...this idyllic vacation spoiled by the revelations of Sarah and Dumbledore ...

Dumbledore.

The prophecy.

Voldemort's incomplete information on what Sybil Trelawney said ... which led to the deaths of Harry's parents.

Meeting Harry in that park in summer England - and the reasons why Dumbledore Memory-Charmed them ...

Why did it all have to happen to Harry?

From deep within her mind, body and soul came the answer: "Because you can, Harry."

Their eyes locked for a long, silent moment before he mumbled, "That's not an answer, Hermione."

"It's the only answer I can give you."

She blinked in surprise as she realized that she had been leaning forward - and that Harry's eyes were only inches from her as he leaned forward ...

"I didn't know you believed in destiny, Hermione."

"I don't," she whispered, as she locked her eyes with him. "I believe in you."

For a long moment, there was nothing in the world but their eyes ... the soft sense of their breathing intermingling ... with a soft sigh, he murmured a quiet "Thank you, Hermione," as he planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

She gave him a small, tremulous smile and stood up, startling him and making him lean back in the chair - and she sat on his lap and placed her arms around his neck, placing her head on his shoulder as his arms automatically went around her waist to steady her. He felt her smiling from beneath the mass of brown hair on his chest as she murmured a soft, "You're welcome, Harry."

He planted another soft kiss on her hair and held her, closing his eyes to the world around him, his fears and uncertainties washing away for the moment in the warmth and comfort of her embrace ... neither one noticing that James Potter had been watching from behind a curtained window - and had let loose a sigh of utter frustration at what had just transpired.

"I knew it! I should give Harry some tips on snog -- Ow!" He turned around to see an angry Lily Potter glowering at him with her hands on her hips - and he cringed in fear at the spectacle of a red-haired, green-eyed goddess with a glare piercing enough to turn him into burnt toast.

He opened his mouth to say something - but could only manage a quiet "Meep!" as he stared, goggle-eyed at his angry wife.

"Is snogging the only thing you can think about, you irrepressible teenager?" He felt himself quivering like a bowl of jelly at the icy tones of his wife, feeling that old familiar sensation of shifting from one foot to the other in front of McGonagall's desk, trying to come up with an excuse for another Marauder misdeed as Lily continued, "Have you absolutely no shame? Sneaking and peeking at what your son is doing while I slave away at the kitchen looking for your bloody sausages while I'm waiting for you to-"

There was only one sure way to shut that mouth, he thought - and grabbed her around the waist and covered her mouth with his own - muffling her sudden shriek of surprise, and smiling to himself as he felt her arms snaking around his neck, thinking, in that single brief moment before his senses were overwhelmed, that he needed to schedule some alone time with his son to discuss the birds and the bees ...

***

In a large townhouse outside of London, a middle-aged man went through the routine of closing down the house for the night, moving from room to room, checking windows and doors and shutting off the lights ... pausing for a moment in the living room to look at a picture of his small family before turning away with a sigh.

He slowly climbed the stairs to the room he shared with his wife and paused in the hallway, realizing that a light was on in his daughter's bedroom and knowing, without thinking, that he would find his wife of two decades there ... with a wan smile, he walked to the room and looked in, and saw his wife sitting on his daughter's bed, a photo album open on her lap as she stared at a picture on the bedside table.

Quietly, he sat down beside her; silently, she laid her head on his shoulder and gave a soft sigh - their hands instinctively finding each other and entwining on the album.

"No owls today, I take it?" he said in a soft voice. He sighed as he felt his wife shake her head and placed an arm around her, his eyes roaming around the room full of books and toys - and the Star Wars action figures and other mementoes that he and his wife had collected in their younger years and bequeathed to their only child.

He heard his wife sniffling beside him, and forced his mind back to the woman in his arms as she murmured in a low, worried voice, "She's never missed out on sending us an owl before, David."

He opened his mouth to protest but quickly shut it; he knew, as well as she did, that Hermione had missed out on sending them her weekly letters back in second year when she had been Petrified by a basilisk. They hadn't made much of a fuss then but only because Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore visited them soon after the attack; the elder witch and wizard assuring them that Hermione was safe - albeit unable to move - and that steps were already in place to cure her of her unfortunate condition as well as to keep her - and the other students -- safe.

Their trust in the Headmaster and his Deputy was fully repaid when Hermione was finally able to write them - and they had been able to hug her and hold her when they met up at Kings' Cross station at the end of that school year. They had gone on a vacation to France that year, he remembered ... and smiled as he recalled Hermione so deftly guiding them around the magical places of France in her search for what she called 'the perfect gift' for her friend, the one who'd killed the monster that had Petrified her ... the person she'd chattered on and on about to her mother and himself ... the person who'd been a prominent feature in her letters before they were cut off ... the boy for whom she'd spent an inordinate amount of money on (but then, they couldn't begrudge her the cost - the boy had, after all, nearly lost his life during the battle with the basilisk and she only wanted to show her appreciation for the deed!)

He could remember the chagrin on Hermione's face when he'd asked in all seriousness how she was going to get the Broomstick Servicing Kit back to England without Customs asking about the magical package - and his utter surprise to be awakened the next morning by Hermione's glee as she shouted, "Mum! Dad! Hedwig's here! She can take the package to Harry in time for his birthday!"

He'd blinked his eyes open and sat up to stare into the inscrutable eyes of a haughty-looking snowy owl perched on their bed, and he'd been so surprised that he'd mumbled "Good morning" to it before realizing that he'd spoken as if it could understand - and he'd fallen back on the bed, shaking his head, when the owl hooted softly back at him, for all the world as if responding to his greeting.

He realized that he'd been rubbing his wife's back as he sought to comfort her, and tried to imbue his voice with amusement and confidence, "Oh really now, Abby ... I'm sure if something has happened to Hermione, we'd have gotten word."

"I know, David ... still, one can't help worrying. I hope nothing bad has happened to them."

'Them?' he thought. He was about to ask her to elaborate when his eyes fell on the picture on Hermione's bedside table, and the words died in his throat as he stared at the picture that he'd looked at for years ... and wondered why he had never seen it before.

It was a photograph held between the action figures of Princess Leia and Luke Skywalker, and he felt himself smile as he remembered a young girl with bushy brown hair declaring in a loud and bossy voice that her parents' favorite movie of all time was a monumental cop-out - she had then stomped to her room and placed the action figures of Leia and Luke together, hands close to each other as if touching - with Han Solo some distance away, the sardonic look on the space smuggler's face seemingly amazed at the temerity of the young girl who was defying the storyline that had been in place even before she was born ...

He felt his smile stiffen as he stared at the picture held between Leia and Luke - a picture that he'd looked at so many times in the past four years ... and now, he wondered how he'd never really seen it before.

It was a wizarding photograph, taken when Hermione was in first year ... and he could remember his sigh of relief and contentment on seeing that she had found the friendship that had been denied her when her intelligence and personality (to say nothing of the magic she had but didn't know about) had thrown other children her age (and older) askance. He'd been bothered for a moment when he realized that her best friends were boys, but then again they were all of eleven years old! He was simply overjoyed that she was so happy ... standing in a line with Harry between her and Ron, all three smiling at the camera. Ron was constantly nudging Harry, who was showing a lop-sided grin every now and then. The Hermione in the picture was touching Harry's arm and glancing at him every so often when Harry turned and beamed back at her.

David Granger blinked and found himself wondering if there was something he'd missed when he saw it the first time - or if wizarding photographs changed as the people in it grew older, matured ... changed.

Because there was something different ...

There were still the three beaming, contented faces, but two had eyes alight only for each other, while the third looked on in amazement at the love that was radiating outward, eclipsing everything around them ....

He tightened his embrace around his wife, and squeezed her hand tightly for a second as the fugitive fear in his gut coalesced and spread into his chest.

He could remember their trip to Diagon Alley the summer of Hermione's second year, smiling as his once isolated daughter greeted various young witches and wizards, but he couldn't help but wonder why she seemed preoccupied and constantly searching the crowds for something ... or some one.

They were standing at the top step of Gringotts when he heard the answer - "Harry! Harry! Over here!" He'd exchanged a glance with his wife, realizing that they both had an eyebrow arching up as they watched their daughter running down the white marble steps of the wizarding bank and heard her saying to the boy with broken glasses clad in sooty, too-large clothes accompanied by a huge, bearded man, "What happened to your glasses? Hello, Hagrid - Oh, it's wonderful to see you two again - Are you coming into Gringotts, Harry?"

Four sentences - and only one of them directed at Hagrid - and he caught his wife's eyes in a silent question, and they both shrugged. Without a word, they entered the bank to change their money, knowing that Hermione would be with them in due time. He'd wanted to take a closer look at the boy, perhaps get a chance to talk with him a bit, but all that was dashed when Hermione came in with a horde of redheads and he found himself talking to Arthur Weasley ...

Looking at the picture now, he wondered ... did he see Hermione holding hands with Harry when they walked into the bank?

He shook his head of the memory, but it was quickly replaced by another recollection from the summer just past when they had met Hermione on Platform 9 and ¾ at the end of the school year. They'd been caught in traffic on the way to King's Cross and were, therefore, a bit late in getting there - but not too late to see Hermione giving Harry a kiss on the cheek before he turned away, and they found themselves enfolding their daughter in a warm embrace.

And while she had hugged them back with the same warmth, there was a certain reserve in that embrace ... and David Granger could feel her looking over his shoulder and he knew that she kept glancing at the young man who was walking away from her, back straight and face set, towards an angry-looking couple that he knew would be theDursleys ... Harry's uncle and aunt.

"What will come will come, and we'll meet it when it does."

"What was that, princess?" He wasn't sure if it was Hermione who'd said those words, and he'd pulled away from her embrace to hold her at arm's length ... studying the face of the baby he'd once held in his arms and realizing, with a pang in his heart, that the little girl he'd loved was now a young woman with her own hopes and dreams.

Their trip home that day was somber, as Hermione told them of the death of a student during the Tri-Wizard tournament ... and they had stared at her in horror as she told them that Harry had been there, and witnessed not only the murder of Cedric Diggory but also the resurrection of an evil wizard known only as "You-Know-Who."

He shook himself as he felt his wife take a deep breath and closed the album on her lap - but stopped her, a picture in the album having caught his eye. He frowned, wracking his brains as to where, and when, and how this particular photograph came to be ...

It was a picture of a tiny Hermione, asleep in a cradle that he could not remember ever having owned, beside another baby who looked a few months older than her ... the other baby in the picture seemed to have a possessive arm around Hermione's tiny stomach, while Hermione had her miniature hand over the other's heart.

He looked at Abigail with a frown; after looking at the picture, she smiled at him. "That was in 1980 - you remember? Dad wanted to buy Hermione a present ... you were with them looking for toys while I took Hermione to the toddler section."

She smiled down at the photograph as fond memories coursed through her. "Some lady bumped her cart into mine and then we fell to talking ... next thing we knew, her husband had come up to us, asking if my daughter was the one snuggling up to their son!"

David frowned; he couldn't remember that incident - and Abigail laughed at him. "You weren't there, David ... by the time you'd caught up with us, they'd already left. Some store clerk was showing off his Polaroid camera and he snapped the picture and gave it to me ..."

"Oh," he replied as he looked at the picture of his sleeping child, snuggled close to some strange boy who had his tiny arm around her. "Do you remember their names?"

Abigail frowned and shook her head. "No ... no, I don't. All I could remember now was that the mother had the most wonderful red hair ...."

"It wouldn't happen to be the Weasleys, would it?"

His wife shook her head ruefully, "I don't think so, David. I would have recognized Molly or Arthur when we met them ... besides, their children all have red hair too, don't they? Her husband had messy black hair, I remember, and glasses--"

Abigail Granger stopped, eyes glazing and David stared at her in surprise. After a moment's silence, he poked her gently and she blinked before shaking her head at the question in his eyes. "Nothing, hun ... I just thought her husband looked familiar, but I must be mistaken..."

She firmly closed the album shut and stood up to walk towards the door, the rather thick folio under her arm. He frowned for a moment and stood up to follow her. They paused at the door of Hermione's bedroom and looked at the neat room, momentarily feeling a sense of loss, knowing that their daughter no longer truly occupied this room in their house - and hadn't done so in some time.

Quietly, they closed the door and walked hand-in-hand to their own bedroom, setting their minds firmly on going to bed and sleeping, mentally preparing themselves for the day ahead.

Soon enough, the Grangers were in bed and sinking into the welcoming arms of Morpheus ... neither aware that small worry lines had sprung out on their foreheads - wondering again at the letter from Hermione that they both missed and wishing that there was a way to find out if their daughter was safe and all right.

Just before they could surrender to complete sleep, an errant thought intruded into their minds: Abigail again trying to remember the name of the red-headed lady with the startling green eyes that she'd met over fourteen years ago; David worrying once again at the absence of the weekly owl from Hermione - and if there was something that she wasn't telling them ...

***

They sat together in silence: Hermione on Harry's lap, arms around each other, her head on his shoulder, his head on her hair, both of them listening to the other's quiet breathing and the steady beat of their hearts ... a comfortable moment, they both thought - something that they had come to cherish in the course of their stay on this magical island of their dreams.

It was something they'd seldom had in their waking hours, they both knew ... they'd never had any real 'alone' time in Hogwarts - unless one counted the months when Ron had taken himself out of their orbit, in the time after the Goblet of Fire announced Harry as a champion until their reconciliation after the First Task. And even then they hadn't had much time to themselves, with the whole school's eyes constantly on them because of Skeeter's article ...

But then again, did they really need "alone" time with each other?

They weren't a couple or anything like that ... and while they often seemed to have different priorities in school - Hermione totally focused on school work, Harry on avoiding as much of it as he could - they always seemed to find each other: to talk, to have meals together, to study or simply to have a walk. But their time on this island had broken an unspoken barrier - and they'd finally admitted to that which they had been hiding from each other for so long.

So engrossed was he in his thoughts that he hadn't realized that Hermione was humming something softly -

When you go through a day

And the things that people say

They make you feel so small

They make you feel that

Your heart will just never stop aching

And when you just can't accept the abuse you are taking

Darlin' reach out for me

Don't you worry,

I'll see you through

You just have to

Reach out for me

I'll be there and I'll comfort you

Oh yes I will

Comfort you and love you

How I'm gonna love you

The words "comfort you and love you" swam around his mind ... and he felt himself cringing as the memories of the past ran through him. It had always been one way, he reflected - Hermione had, too often, been the one who'd comforted and - yes, loved him without question. She had always been looking out for him and, while there may have been times that he had done the same for her, it always seemed to have been from her to him -

"Why me, Hermione?"

He heard her sigh and he tightened his embrace, stopping her from reacting to the question that he knew she'd misinterpreted, and he ran gentle fingers through her hair, carefully untangling any knots in that bushy head as he continued in a soft, contemplative voice: "You've been through so much with me, Hermione ... You've been with me almost from the beginning ... the Potions challenge in first year ... the basilisk in second ... you almost got kissed by a Dementor in third, almost drowned in the lake. And don't tell me it is because I saved you from the troll ... you saved me from being jinxed in first year, so whatever debt you owed me has been repaid -"

Hermione closed her eyes in frustration as she listened to him; in the back of her mind, she started cursing the Dursleys for the umpteenth time for the emotional wreck that they had made of her friend ... making him feel so unloved and unworthy that he hadn't known what to do with his fame when he rejoined the wizarding world -- and she froze as a thought blasted through her mind:

Would he be the Harry Potter she knew now, if things had been different?

As Harry's voice rambled on, she found herself considering that thought - if James and Lily had lived, or if Dumbledore had taken Harry to live with a wizarding family ... if he had grown up in an atmosphere surrounded by love and affection rather than the sterile, barren, desolate environment of the Dursleys-

She would have been flattened flatter than a pancake by now ... probably keeping Moaning Myrtle company as they commiserated about their miserable lives ... she'd probably be haunting the girl's toilet or conspiring with Peeves ... watching and waiting for an opportunity to haunt Ronald Weasley, whose tactless remark back in their First Year Charms class drove her, crying, to that toilet ... where the troll would have found her ... bashed her to the ground ...

Hermione shivered at the awful thought - and felt Harry's warm and caring arms tighten around her, and she looked up to see those green eyes that she knew better than she knew her own, looking down at her in concern ... and she smiled back, reassuringly.

And thought ... maybe not.

If there was one thing that she could be sure of ... if there was one thing that she could be sure of - Harry would still be the Harry she knew: brave and compassionate, caring and reckless, daring and loving. He would have charged into that bathroom without thinking if it were Susan Bones or Millicent Bulstrode who were there, gone down into the Chamber of Secrets alone if he had to if it were Hannah Abbot or Lisa Turpin instead of Ginny - and he would still have stopped Sirius and Remus from killing Wormtail, no matter how he despised that worthless rat!

She heard her name being called from a distance, and realized that Harry was shaking her slightly - and without a thought, without a pause for rational thinking, she straddled his legs, planted her elbows on his chest as she ran her fingers through his messy, ebony hair, her eyes locking on his, as she tried to convey everything she felt about him into words: "Because you're worth it, Harry. Don't ever let anyone - not the Dursleys, not the Slytherins, not Lord Bloody Voldemort - ever make you think otherwise, do you hear me?"

But she broke her gaze even as she spoke with every iota of conviction in her being, a small niggling insecurity rising from deep within her:

If things had been different ... would Harry be like his father now: irrepressible, irreverent, happy-go-lucky ... and would he even have cared for her? Although Lily hadn't talked that much about her husband, there had been enough hints for Hermione to realize that Harry may well have thought of her in the same way that James once did about the Muggle-born Lily Evans: a bossy, interfering know-it-all who wouldn't know what to do with a joke if it bit her on her behind, and she heard herself mumbling, "I can only hope that I am worth it ..."

She felt his hands on her face, gently forcing her to look at him ... and her eyes met eyes burning with an intensity that she had never seen before, and she could feel her breath stopping in her throat, shivered as she remembered Sybil Trelawney's hoarse voice intoning the Prophecy: "... he will have a power the Dark Lord knows not ..."

"You're worth it, Hermione," he whispered, fiercely. "I need you ..."

For a long moment, their eyes were locked once again as a thousand memories flashed through their minds ... at times, it seemed as if one memory seen in the other's eyes triggered off another memory in the other ... and they felt their lips brushing each other, felt fingers tightening around each other's hair or neck or head, heard each other's hearts beating through the roaring in their ears ...

Felt their souls merging and entwining as tongue touched tongue and mouths fused ... felt the world growing darker as lungs suddenly sent a clamor for air to their brains - but the desperate message was ignored as their separate brains became drunk on their sensations -

"Hello!" A warmly cheerful voice broke into their consciousness -"Anybody home?"

She broke away, vaguely wondering if she'd heard a 'Pop!' as their lips separated and she tried to scramble to her flustered feet - not realizing that Harry had also tried to leap up to face whatever or whoever it was who'd interrupted them ... but they'd been so entwined in that moment of silent understanding and hormonal need that they'd tried to stand up without realizing their entangled feet - and they fell to the tiled floor, arms and legs in each other -

Harry was able to sit up first, an arm around Hermione in a protective gesture - and looked up into the shocked face of David Granger - and understood what it meant to be looking into the barrel of a shotgun. For a brief moment, he wondered whether he would see his life flashing before his eyes, even as he felt Hermione scrambling to her feet, trying to block his body from her father's shocked eyes ...

How he was able to do it, David could never explain.

Somehow, he had known that this would happen ... he'd steeled his mind to an acceptance of the possibility of what he'd find as Abigail and himself walked up to the single bungalow on this deserted beach - but the sight of his prim and proper Hermione entangled on the chair with Harry had, for the moment, been too much of a surprise to his expectant brain.

Still, he was able to force his lower jaw to close, felt his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed and drew in a breath ... and stopped himself from charging a stunned Harry Potter who was looking at him as if he - David Granger -- were the Grim Reaper himself come to a party on this lovely beach ...

It was Abigail's hand on his arm that held him back as she stepped forward, her shocked voice exclaiming, "HERMIONE JANE--"

"HARRY JAMES--"

His head snapped around at the sound of the other woman's voice and he blinked as he saw a spitting image of Harry (down to the round glasses and messy black hair) standing in the doorway of the bungalow, a woman with flaming red hair and startling green eyes beside him ...

He winced as he realized that his arm was being squeezed in the tightening vise of Abigail's hand, and he opened his mouth to protest, to ask - but was cut off by his wife's shocked whisper, as she stared at the red-haired lady in front of them: "Lily?"

***

It was only the death-grip she had on her husband's arm that stopped her from fainting - even then, she could feel her knees buckling at the sight of the red-headed, green-eyed Lily Potter, looking almost exactly as she did so many years before: the young woman who'd bumped into her cart that December evening, waking up her sleeping daughter ... and the little baby with the unusual green eyes that she had gushed over and jokingly said would be a trouble-maker before long ...

How was she to know that within a few minutes of their first meeting, Harry would be snuggling in a crib with Hermione, all warm and fuzzy even asleep - and she suddenly remembered James' laughing comment then: "It seems like Harry doesn't miss a beat, does he? Looks like he has himself a new girlfriend."

The memory made her glance at her daughter, and she fought down a near-hysterical giggle that threatened to erupt from her throat, even as she felt a fugitive wave of regret course through her when she realized that Hermione had not approached her, but was standing protectively beside a frightened Harry Potter - and why not, she thought?

Prim and proper Hermione Granger - dancing classes and library books, table manners and straight-As. There were times when she worried, visualizing her daughter as a spinsterish librarian in glasses and hair in a bun, with no friends but her books and a cat; like her husband, she'd been so happy to learn that Hermione had found friends at Hogwarts.

Even if her closest friends were boys.

And one of them was Harry Potter.

She knew about Harry, of course - Hermione's first letter from Hogwarts contained several paragraphs about meeting the boy who was already a legend in the wizarding world - and about how ordinary and totally clueless he was in spite of his fame. Subsequent letters always contained something about Harry ... his selection as Seeker (though she could never make out what the fuss was all about), defeating a basilisk in second year, disappointment that he was not allowed to visit Hogsmeade, becoming the youngest Tri-Wizard Champion in a century ...

Interspersed with the newsy items were Hermione's constant stream of worry and concern for her friend ... on how their Potions professor kept picking on him, Harry's seeming happy-go-lucky attitude when it came to studying and tests, that he was not preparing himself for the Second Task of the tournament (rather surprising, since the letters before these were all about Hermione helping him prepare for the First Task, whatever it was) ...

And now, something more.

Intellectually, she expected something like what they had stumbled on ... she had also been a teenager once and seeing Hermione in a bikini doing an apparent lap dance on Harry was not so much different from the fun she'd had with David when they were still in the courtship stage of their relationship ... and with everything that had happened to Harry and Hermione over the years, it was something that was bound to happen.

She felt a smile begin to break out on her face as she regarded Harry - and felt the smile freeze as something else intruded into her mind; something that made her resume her death-grip on poor David's arm ...

Harry was an orphan.

Which meant that James and Lily were dead ...

And for them to be here with the Potters meant that ...

This time, her knees did buckle and she felt David's arms around her as he held her up, heard Hermione's scream of "Mum!" as she finally rushed towards her, watched Harry as he rushed over to help ... saw Hermione giving Harry a glance, and Harry nodding back before leaving them ... only to reappear quickly with a glass of water which he handed to her daughter, who was now rubbing her hand as she tried to work her voice past her constricted throat -

"Are we dead? Is that why we're here? What happened? Are you dead, too? Is that why Lily is here ..."

"Hem, hem!" The authoritative voice cut off her questions as well as Hermione's shocked, "Mum!" - and she turned to see a tall man with curly white hair in an all-white summer outfit approaching them, and she blurted out the first thing that came to her mind: "You're Ricardo Montalban!"

She heard her daughter giggle and she gave Hermione a puzzled look, noticing the man's pained expression out of the corner of her eye - noting at the same time that David's mouth had dropped open as he also recognized the actor approaching them. The man's words, however, made her drop her jaws in utter surprise.

"My apologies for not having met you when you arrived but it seems that some ones" - and he cocked an eyebrow at a suddenly flustered pair of teens - "are disturbing the orderly running of this place."

Before either she or David could make a comment, he continued in his suave, urbane voice, "In any case, welcome! I am your host, Mr. Roarke - and welcome to Fantasy Island!"

"You're joking, aren't you?"

Mr. Roarke cocked an eyebrow at David Granger and smiled at the puzzled, and somewhat frightened, expression on their faces. "As I told your daughter when she and Harry first arrived here ... I can give you both a long lecture on the universal unconsciousness, dream theory and whatnot, but I'd rather not." He gave them a dazzling smile as he continued, "It is rather boring."

"But what are we doing here? And why are Harry and Hermione -?"

"Hermione?" Mr. Roarke said, and Abigail and David Granger turned to their daughter who gave them a condensed version of what had happened to them: the Quidditch match, Harry trying to rescue her from the Bludger but slamming into her instead and both of them knocked out and unconscious in the real world ...

"I see," David Granger said as Hermione's explanation ended. "So, this is more of a dream world, then" - Mr. Roarke smiled approvingly at his comment - "and it may well be that our worries about Hermione not writing us over the weekend could have pulled us here so that we can see that she is, indeed, all right?"

"Quite accurate, Mr. Granger," their host replied. "Although I must admit that the way people have been popping in is really rather surprising ... I could only assume that the magical abilities of your daughter and Harry are such that they may be affecting this place."

"I see," David Granger repeated, as he cast a somewhat puzzled look at his daughter and Harry, and gave James and Lily, who had been sitting quietly near them, a surreptitious glance. "But ..."

Mr. Roarke frowned as he saw the puzzled glance that David Granger gave the Potters. "Excuse me, but I was under the impression that you'd already met ..."

"Uhm - no, not really, I think."

"David," Abigail Granger spoke up. "They're Harry's parents ... James and Lily. We've met before ... a long time ago."

Before David could voice a question, he heard a raspy voice from below his waist saying, "Perhaps this will help" - and turned to see Mr. Roarke's diminutive assistant beside him, holding out the photograph that he'd seen for the first time only minutes - hours? - earlier: of his baby daughter snuggling close to a strange baby - and it finally struck him.

His shocked eyes met those of his wife, who nodded without speaking ... and he turned to see the pained, haunted eyes of Lily Potter as he felt Hermione taking the photograph from his slack hand ... saw Harry looking over her shoulder and watched identical expressions of shock pass their faces ... and heard them whisper at the same moment, "Mum?"

***

Shock was an understatement - to say that she had been shocked when she stepped out of the house with James was like comparing a poke to a tsunami. That she'd found Harry and Hermione apparently wrestling on the floor was something that she expected ... that they'd be doing it in front of a live audience was something she was totally unprepared for.

But what took the cake was the shocked exclamation of the lady who'd stepped on the veranda - a shout of recognition that told her who the audience was ... and she was immediately in maternal mode, trying to figure out how to defuse the situation before Hermione's father took it into mind to blow Harry away for being in a compromising situation with his daughter ...

And then she saw who it was who'd spoken -

Everything that had happened since they'd popped into this dream world came crashing into Lily's mind: Hermione's stories of Harry's adventures and her role in almost all of them ... of Dumbledore's revelation of Harry and Hermione's first real meeting at the age of nine at a park in summer England - and his decision to Obliviate Harry's memory of the first person who'd shown him unrestrained friendship and affection ...

As she stared at Abigail Granger, she saw once again the two toddlers snuggling in a crib, Harry's tiny arm around Hermione's small stomach, the latter with a hand resting on Harry's chest ... baby Harry tugging baby Hermione even closer to him, as if he needed her warmth even then ...

"Lily?" She heard her name and knew that Abigail was remembering the same scene as she did; for a long moment, their eyes locked as the memory washed over them ... turning away to look at their children and remembering the years that Harry and Hermione had spent at Hogwarts ...

"Oh my God!" she'd whispered, knowing that Abigail had said the same thing ... felt her own knees buckling at almost the same time as Hermione's mother even as James caught her and led her to a chair. She watched in mingled amusement and quiet pride as her son and Hermione attended to Abigail Granger with only a look passing between them ... nearly gave in to hysterical laughter at the Granger's bewildered expressions at the appearance and explanation of Mr. Roarke ... saw Tattoo handing a photograph to David Granger, which Hermione then grabbed to look at, with Harry over her shoulder ...

"Mum?" She didn't know whether it was Abigail or herself that Hermione addressed, so used was she by now to have the young girl address her that way, but she knew the plea for understanding and explanation that was in that single word ...

"You were barely six months old, Harry," Lily Potter began in a hoarse voice, and she paused for a moment to clear her suddenly dry throat, "... six months old, and already a prophecy was hanging over your head ... our heads."

She felt James' fingers entwining with hers and she gave him a small smile of gratitude. "I was running scared ... jumping at every shadow ... afraid that every one who came knocking on the door would turn out to be Voldemort or one of his people."

"I finally made her go out with me," James Potter interrupted her with a somber smile. "It was Christmas ... I told her that it was a shame to let all those toys and things that the Muggles made for Christmas go to waste."

"My father felt the same way," Abigail Granger spoke up and smiled at her husband. "David apparently thought the same - I kept asking them who it was they were going to buy for, Hermione or themselves!"

Lily Potter's laugh broke out then as their husbands looked down at the floor, blushing: "You should have seen your father, Harry - he dived into that store as if Snape was after his tail -"

She broke off at the sudden bark of laughter from her husband and the children - and met Abigail's puzzled eyes for a brief moment, that single look conveying the message, "Ask Hermione later" to which the other gave a small nod. "Anyway," she continued, looking at Hermione, "... I bumped into your mother's cart and panicked, thinking that I had hurt you or something ..."

"We started talking and showing you off to each other," Abigail Granger picked up the tale. "You were fussing and fretting even then," she said to her daughter, "and I remember telling Lily that you were going to be trouble," she said with a smile at Harry.

"What?" Harry's shocked voice resounded on the veranda, and Abigail Granger's laugh tinkled, "Girl troubles. I knew you were going to turn into quite a looker even then."

Harry blushed at the compliment and looked at the floor; Hermione, for her part, smiled broadly at the comment and nudged him with her elbow. He refused to look up as Lily continued, "Anyway ... we fell to talking, Abigail and I, and looking through the shelves, until James came in."

"I took one look around the place, and there you were," James Potter said, the glee and amusement evident in his voice. "It was so cute - you and Hermione snuggling together in that crib, although how you made it there is beyond me ..."

With a smile, Hermione handed over the picture in her hand to Lily, who took one look at it and smiled broadly before passing it to James, who also glanced at it and smiled, unconsciously echoing his sentiments of nearly two decades before, "It seems Harry doesn't miss a beat, does he? Looks like he has himself a new girlfriend," as he grinned at the suddenly redder than red faces of his son and Hermione. "A few more minutes and you'd have been snogging Hermione ..."

"JAMES!"

Lily's shocked voice rang out - but was drowned out by a bellow of appreciative laughter from Abigail as she regarded the acutely embarrassed Harry and Hermione. Even Lily's mouth was twitching as she glared at her irrepressible husband - but the sudden build-up of mirth was interrupted by the quiet voice of David Granger: "Would you mind telling me what this Prophecy is all about? And why," he looked at James and Lily Potter, "would you both be all hot and bothered about it?"

An oppressive silence suddenly fell over the veranda - and David felt a shiver of fear running up and down his spine at the expressions of the people in the room. He felt Abigail's fingers reaching out and entwining with his as if she were trying to draw comfort from him - something that he didn't feel able to give at this point as he waited for the shoe to drop ...

"Mr. Granger ... Mrs. Granger ..." They turned to look at Harry, who was looking down at the floor, Hermione beside him with his hands in hers. They watched as she squeezed his hands and he looked at her with a pained smile before turning back to them. "The prophecy is simple: it's either I kill Voldemort ... or I get killed."

They stared at him for a long moment, and then David Granger cleared his throat. "You're joking, aren't you?"

"I wish I were."

***

They could only stare at him in shock as he detailed the prophecy that he'd learned about only a few minutes before - their looks a mixture of fear and horror at what the young boy faced. He continued to look down at the floor as he spoke, Hermione's hands in his the only warmth that could offset the coldness of his soul ...

It was a revelation the Grangers would much rather have done without.

That the wizarding world was not much different from the real world was something that they'd come to expect - Hermione's stories through the years had made that singular fact clear. It may have been a magical world, but bigotry and envy, petty cruelties and insults, slavery and darkness, continued. They could both remember Hermione's ranting about being called "Mudblood" - and the reasoning behind that odious word to describe muggle-born wizards and witches. That there were people in these supposedly enlightened times who still believed in racial superiority and purity - and for whom pejorative words rolled so easily off the tongue - it continued in the real world even now ...

That Hermione would be involved did not come as a surprise - she had, after all, grown up with their causes and beliefs. They may not have marched against many of the injustices that plagued the real world - but they had constantly discussed it at the dinner table, and they were both constant petition-signers as well as active contributors to many of the groups formed to try and right the wrongs that plagued their world - Hermione and S.P.E.W. was, for them, as inevitable as the sun rising in the east.

But to learn that their daughter's best friend - and, they had to admit to themselves as their eyes met, something more than a mere friend - was on the front lines ... no, they both thought: Harry wasn't "on" the front line - he was the front line. There was no other way to interpret the prophecy - it was kill or be killed, and the consequences of defeat were too frightening to contemplate.

And there lay the problem.

Intellectually, they could understand ... emotionally, they were still parents and, like all parents everywhere, loath to sacrifice their most precious possession even for the most worthy of causes.

But then, what were they to do? For the first time in their lives, they were aware of forces moving beyond their control or understanding - was it mere coincidence that the two toddlers who'd found themselves together in a crib so many years ago would find each other on a magical train to Scotland? And, if what they had seen when they stepped on the veranda of this fantasy bungalow was any indication ... that chance encounter so many years before was only the prelude - and they could only shake their heads in wonder at the vagaries of fate - or the sense of humor of whichever cosmic Being rolled the dice of their separate but interconnected lives ...

With a start, they realized that Harry had fallen silent ... that his story had ended, and they now had to face the biggest question of all: what were they to make of all this?

For a long moment, no one spoke, engrossed as they all were with their own thoughts, the only communication coming from the entwined fingers of Abigail and David, the clasped hands of James and Lily, the held hands of Harry and Hermione in their separate chairs.

The silence was finally broken by a soft, concerned voice: "What do you want to do about it, son?"

"I don't know, Dad." Harry sighed as he lifted his face to look at his father - and felt his heart stop as he realized that he was looking at the troubled but compassionate eyes of David Granger. "I'm sorry -"

The latter waved away Harry's mumbled apology. "It's all right, Harry. Abigail and I feel we have a right to call you that. Hermione's been talking about you non-stop for four and a half years now ..."

"Dad!" The elder Granger cocked an eyebrow at his daughter, who quickly fell silent at his amused look, mumbling something about smart-aleck fathers under her breath, to the amused smiles of James and Lily Potter and her own mother.

"And after what I saw earlier," he continued, his amused eyes turning to the suddenly red face of Harry who was avoiding his eyes, "... what do you think I should call you?"

"Really, David," his wife said beside him, a smirk evident in her voice. "It's nothing more than what you've done with me ... and with my Dad snoring away on the sofa after you tried to drink him under the table!"

"Well, what did you expect me to do, Abby?" David smirked back, "You've been shaking it in my face from the moment I stepped into your house ... it was either get your Dad out of the way fast so I could snog you, or walk around with a bottle in my pants!"

"Dad! Mum!" The Grangers glanced at their slack-mouthed daughter and broke into laughter at her stupefied face.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" Abigail Granger said as she winked at her daughter. "I doubt if James or Lily would mind ... after all, they've been there and done that too, if Harry's any measure!"

"Oh yes," David Granger put in, "remember, he was already putting the moves on you when he was barely able to walk!"

"Dad!" The look of utter shock on Hermione's and Harry's faces at seeing this side of her parents was enough to send the other adults into laughter - James and Lily laughing so hard that tears were actually running down their faces as they hugged each other, the hilarity a welcome relief from the dark and gloomy atmosphere created by Harry's explanation of the prophecy.

But Harry's look of shock and surprise ran deeper - after everything he'd told them, after everything that he'd learned this day ... after everything that fate or Destiny or an uncaring Divinity had done to him ... they were laughing?

He tried to fight against his suddenly clenched fists ... tried to stop the suddenly painful ache in his throat from the angry words that were trying to spill out ... tried to stop the tears threatening to burst from his closed, pained eyes as he listened to the laughter around him ...

And nearly jumped as he felt a hand on his shoulder - realized that it wasn't Hermione's slim fingers, but a stronger, masculine hand - and opened his eyes to stare, once again, into David Granger's sympathetic eyes.

"It's not that I'm not taking you seriously, son. It's just that," the older man paused for a second, as if ordering his thoughts, " ... one thing I've learned a long time ago ... people laugh because it is the only way to keep from crying."

Harry's mouth opened - and closed, as the gentle words wrapped around his tired mind, and he saw the unerring logic and deep thought given to the statement - something he should have expected, having been exposed to Hermione all these years. His jumbled, muddled mind brought his words to Fred and George when he'd given them his Tri-Wizard winnings: "If you don't take it, I'm throwing it down the drain. I don't want it and I don't need it. But I could do with a few laughs. We could all do with a few laughs. I've got a feeling we're going to need them more than usual before long."

And why shouldn't they, he thought? In the midst of all the darkness surrounding them, there had to be some light ... it wasn't that they didn't understand what he was going through - but, as David said, it was better to try and laugh than sit down and cry.

Or even, to simply sit down and die.

He felt Hermione's arm around him, and he turned to her with a smile. James - and David - always tried to look for the bright lining in the dark clouds ... something that he and - yes, even Hermione - often seemed to forget in their constant contemplation of the darkness surrounding their world ...

"Thank you," he whispered, and felt David give his shoulder a gentle squeeze before letting go to sit with his smiling wife. Harry felt his heart swelling a little as he thought over the older man's words - and felt a smile break out as he remembered the hilarious moments that he'd shared in this dream world with Hermione.

And felt the smile fade as Abigail Granger repeated the question that David Granger had asked: "What do you want to do about it, Harry?"

He raised his eyes to hers, reflecting for a brief moment on the number of times that he had looked into Hermione's familiar, compassionate brown eyes - the same eyes he saw on her mother - but he had no answer to give.

He didn't know ... at the end of it all, he simply did not know. There did not seem to be much of a choice - the Prophecy was irrevocable as even Dumbledore had said: kill, or be killed. He looked up and saw his parents nearby - and felt his heart squeezed in his suddenly tight chest.

They had died because of the Prophecy ... Voldemort had gone after them because he'd misunderstood it, because the dumb bastard thought that he, Harry Potter, was the one predicted to kill him.

But Voldemort hadn't succeeded. Harry might have been "The-Boy-Who-Lived" but he had done so only because of his mother's sacrifice and protection. And Voldemort had not been destroyed - because it was his mother who'd done it.

Not him.

As the thought gripped him, another, far more frightening idea made its insidious way through his already-tired mind: how many more will die before the Prophecy is fulfilled?

The image of Cedric Diggory in the graveyard, spread-eagled, the surprised look on his face and the open gray eyes, blank and expressionless as the windows of a deserted house, rose unbidden - quickly followed by the images of Bertha Jorkins, of an old man that he'd seen in a dream, of the shades of his parents climbing out of Voldemort's wand ... even of Quirrell and Moaning Myrtle, the latter the first known victim of the wizard once known as Tom Riddle ...

How many more will die before the Prophecy is fulfilled?

"DON'T even think about that, Harry Potter!"

He blinked in surprise and looked up into the angry eyes of his father, realizing in that moment that he had voiced his thoughts out loud - and he was staring at a father that he had never seen before -

"You cannot blame yourself for what happened, Harry! If there's anyone to blame, blame Voldemort! He's the one who's causing all the pain ... he is the one who's causing all the misery ..."

"He's right, you know." Harry's eyes turned and met the pained, caring eyes of his mother. "There's nothing you can do about those who went before you, Harry - Voldemort has been killing and torturing people even before you were born. Marlene McKinnon, Benjy Fenwick, Edgar Bones, Gideon and Fabian, Dorcas ... so many others we never knew .... And don't go around blaming yourself for that bastard going after us ... he has done it before and for even less reason than the prophecy."

"But why, Mum?" He asked in a plaintive voice, "Why did you and Dad have to die? Was there no other way ... no other choice?"

"There's always a choice, Harry," James replied, eyes boring in on him for a moment before continuing, "I could have chosen not to fall in love with Lily Evans the Mudblood."

A frightening silence fell over the veranda at the use of the hated word - and Harry lifted his own blazing, angry eyes to his father, but before he could utter a word, James Potter continued, his voice ringing with suppressed anger: "Isn't that what Voldemort and his cohorts call your mother and Hermione? Mudbloods, scum, creatures of dirt? They called me a blood-traitor for falling in love and marrying Lily ...

"But do you know something, Harry? I would have walked through hell to have your mother notice me ... it didn't matter to me to stand up in the middle of the Great Hall, looking like the biggest fool in the galaxy just so Lily would be willing to even think about going out with me.

"And you know why? Because I love her ... loved her then, love her now. Even when she refused to look at me, I was still in love with her. Even when she thought she hated me for what I was ... I was still in love with her. She is the best thing that had ever happened to me and no one - not Voldemort, not Dumbledore, not even Merlin in whatever tomb he lies hidden - would ever change that!"

"James." Lily Potter's soft voice stopped her husband's rant and he broke his gaze from his bewildered son. She quietly placed an arm around his shaking shoulders and he continued in a softer, calmer voice: "I had a choice, Harry ... we always have a choice. I could have chosen to turn away and look for someone else; I could have chosen to turn my back on your mother and refused to fight Voldemort - but no! She is everything that Voldemort and his gang hated and feared and wanted to kill ... and for that single fact, I made my choice: to fight them and everything they stood for."

The steely eyes that he never knew his father could have locked with his own: "I wasn't fighting for Dumbledore, Harry. I wasn't even fighting for what people thought was 'right.' I was fighting for the most important thing that happened to me ... I was fighting for the woman I loved - and the woman who loved me.

"The choice is yours, Harry ... to fight for what you love and believe in, or simply roll over and die - and let them take away everything that you love."

"But why does it have to be me?"

"Harry -- you're a great wizard, you know."

"I'm not as good as you," he replied automatically, as he turned to face the first person who'd ever expressed faith in him, the only one who'd stood beside him through everything - and his jaw dropped when he realized that it wasn't Hermione who'd spoken.

"You're a great wizard, Harry," Abigail Granger repeated. "And it isn't because of what your parents were, or even that Voldemort marked you as his equal. It is because of what you are ... what you have become, what you will become."

"Mrs. Granger," he tried to interrupt, but the older woman's voice and implacable gaze stopped him - and he stared at the mother from whom, he now realized, part of Hermione's formidable manner came from.

"David and I may be Muggle dentists, Harry ... we may not count for anything at all in your world. But we are still the parents of a special, magical and wonderful child ... and that child has told us, again and again, of how special and wonderful you are."

"But I'm not! Don't any of you know that? Can't any of you see that? Hermione's better than me at all this ... everything I've learned, everything I am, I learned from her!"

"But not the important things, Harry," David Granger put in, as he put his arm around his daughter. "There's friendship, and bravery ... and love. She learned that from you."

He paused, looking for a long moment at Harry before he continued, "And for that, I thank you."

"Mr. Granger," he began, but stopped as Hermione placed her hands on his shoulders.

"Harry," she said in a soft, pleading voice as she looked into his eyes. "Can't you ever stop doubting yourself? Have you forgotten what Dumbledore and the Prophecy said? You have a Power that the Dark Lord knows not ... and it is that power which has saved you, which has kept you safe ..."

"But that's just it, Hermione! Can't you see that? If what I have is so powerful ... then why didn't it stop him from killing Mum and Dad?"

"It stopped him from killing you, Harry."

"But why me? Why did I have to be left alone ...why--"

"Maybe because it was meant to be, Harry." He looked up in surprise at Lily Potter, who was now standing beside him, her pained eyes on his and he could feel the aching pain as he considered, once again, what might have been ...

"I didn't want to die, Harry," Lily said to him in her soft voice tinged with pain and regret, "... Merlin knows, neither your father nor I wanted to leave you alone. But it happened and there's nothing we could do about it."

"But why, Mum? Why did it have to be you and Dad?"

"Maybe because you no longer needed us." Lily Potter gave a wistful smile at his shocked face, and carefully brushed off a stray lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. He closed his eyes as his mother bent and gave his lightning-bolt scar a soft kiss before continuing, "Because there was someone waiting for you ... someone who would need you as much as you would need her."

His eyes flew open at her words, and he saw Lily Potter's eyes sparkling with tears as she held out the photograph of two babies snuggling in their crib. "Someone who would love you, and need you - and who you would love and need in return."

"Mum!" His mother's gentle fingers on his mouth stopped his protest. "Harry ... I don't know who or why or what. But you have to admit, there has to be a reason for everything that has happened. You have to ask what it was that drew you to a baby that was no different from a thousand other babies in the world, magical or not ... what made Hermione notice you and approach you when you were only nine years old ... and how you could have found each other again, and grown together in friendship and knowledge even though your memories were removed."

"You've never been able to explain why you went after Hermione in the girl's bathroom," James began, only to be interrupted by Abigail: "Or why you have been the most constant feature of Hermione's letters to us."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise and Abigail smiled at him, "From the very first letter, Harry ... why else do you think David and I feel like we know you so well? Every letter Hermione had ever written had something about you although," and she gave her daughter a mock-glare, "it seems that she's been keeping some things from me."

"Mum," Hermione protested, although a slow blush had started creeping up her face.

"In fact, the only thing we know about Viktor Krum or Ron Weasley is how they compared to you, Harry," David said, a sly note in his tone.

"Oh?" James' face was a study in major curiosity, but he kept quiet as Lily asked, "And how did Harry compare to those two?"

"Much, much better, Lily," Abigail answered, with a devilish grin at her counterpart. "Although I must say, Hermione did find him rather dense and clueless ... she wrote us one time that she was glad that Viktor invited her to the ball, because Harry did not even realize that she was a girl!"

"Well Harry, that proves you are a guy," David Granger said in a laughing voice, unknowingly repeating James Potter's earlier comment to his son. "You didn't see what was in front of you the whole time!"

"Speak for yourself, David Granger," Abigail said, her eyes lighting up in amusement as she looked at her husband. She turned to Lily: "What is it about these guys? I thought I would have to flash my titties at him so that he would realize that I was a girl!"

"Abby!" David's face was crimson with embarrassment, but he was saved from responding by James' hoot of laughter: "Well, I knew that Lily was a girl the first time I saw her ..."

"Yeah, right," Lily fired back in a sarcastic voice. Turning to the Grangers, she said, "He literally dived into my compartment on the Hogwarts Express in my first year ... I thought he was trying to get a peek up my skirt--"

"Lily! Sirius tripped me!"

Lily ignored him as she continued, "So I did what any self-respecting girl in my position would do - I tried to kick him in the face!"

"Only problem was," James said, a manic gleam in his eyes, "I was already standing up and trying to apologize to her when she did it!"

With a mad grin at the wide-eyed Grangers, he continued, "She - uhm, connected with something else ..."

Lily's smile was a sight to behold as she finished, "I thought it was a girl from the scream he made ..."

"Actually, I thought I was gonna be a girl for the rest of my life!" At that, James suddenly bent over and mimed his first meeting with Lily Potter - a horrible grimace on his face, knock-kneed and one hand at his crotch with the other extended towards Lily, saying in a high falsetto voice, "Excuse me, my name is James Potter ..."

It was too much for the adults in the place - the resulting roar of laughter was such that it literally drowned out the sound of crashing waves on the beach ... and the rising moon was witness to the sight of four adults either on their knees or on their backs, rolling around in helpless merriment, while two teenagers looked bemusedly on - both of them wondering what would have happened if things had been different, and their parents actually met - and befriended - each other in the real world.

It was a horrifying thought.

***

Harry watched his and Hermione's parents rolling around on the floor, helpless with laughter, and he couldn't help but smile as he remembered David Granger's words: "people laugh because it is the only way to keep from crying."

It was, he reflected, a far better approach than the one he'd been taking ... of keeping his feelings inside, of wallowing in his misery, of constantly questioning the shitty hand that Fate had dealt him. Better, he reflected, to face what was coming with a light heart and steadfast companions by his side rather than succumbing to the darkness--

He felt Hermione's hand entwining with his and he turned to her bemused face as she watched her parents clutching their stomachs; impulsively, he leaned down and kissed her cheek, whispering, "I'm sorry."

She turned to him, a question in her warm brown eyes: "For what?"

"For the Yule Ball ... and I guess ... for all the times I've taken you for granted." He paused for a moment, allowing himself to be drawn into her warm eyes and continued in a hoarse voice, "For taking you for granted all these years ... never really seeing you, never really knowing you. I just kept accepting you by my side the whole time as if you being there was my right. I kept thinking that after everything I've gone through ... it was just right that I should have you there ..."

He stopped, not realizing that he'd placed his arms around her waist and had drawn her closer to him - neither did he realize that she had also placed her arms around him - "I guess I wasn't ready," he continued. "I wasn't ready for you."

Her gentle fingers on his lips stopped him, and she spoke in a soft, gentle voice: "It's all right, Harry ... it has been an honor to have been there with you."

She paused as she felt herself drowning in the sensation of his arms around her, and continued, as she felt herself drawn deeply once again into his emerald orbs, "I don't know how or why or even what ... I just knew that when I saw you on the Hogwarts Express, that there was something about you ..."

"I know, Hermione," he said as he placed his head on her bushy crown of hair, even as she rested her face on his chest. "I think I felt it too, but I guess ... I was too engrossed with what was happening to me - being a wizard, doing magic, learning that I was the 'Boy-Who-Lived'. But looking back ... even then, you were always there with me ..."

He heard her murmuring something from beneath the curtain of her hair; listening closely, he recognized something he remembered reading when he was stuck within his cupboard under the stairs: "_Do not ask me to abandon or forsake you! For wherever you go I will go, wherever you lodge I will lodge, your people shall be my people, your God will be my God. Wherever you die, I will die and that is where I will be buried...'"

He remembered wondering then if that was the way his mother and father had been, if the words said by a Moabite woman to her Hebrew mother-in-law applied to them ... and his father's words struck him. That was what his mother did when she married James Potter ... it wasn't so much that she had left the Muggle world behind, but that she had embraced the danger and peril that it entailed.

And ... it will be the same danger and peril that Hermione will face in loving him.

For a moment, fear and indecision gripped him - and he forced the anxiety away. He knew his more than best friend and companion too well ... if she had stuck by him all this time, even through the years when they knew nothing about their shared pasts ...

He hugged her so tightly that she almost squeaked in pain at his embrace; buried his face in her fragrant hair and whispered fiercely, "I love you, Hermione Jane Granger."

"Oi! Get a room, you two - OW!"

Harry turned to his parents with a smile - and blinked when he realized that it was Abigail Granger who'd swatted his irrepressible father.

"Stop it, you! If you remember, this is their room!" She glanced at Lily Potter, who was giggling from behind the palm over her mouth. "Honestly, Lily! He hasn't grown up -"

"Maybe that's why we love them, Abby," responded Lily with a snicker.

Mrs. Granger turned to look at James - and caught both her husband and James sticking their tongues at her - and she rolled her eyes to their sudden laughter and high-fives.

Hermione and Harry smiled at the antics of their parents, the same thought in their minds: with parents like these, they had nothing to fear.

The quiet cough of Mr. Roarke cut off the laughter of the adults - and sober looks quickly replaced their smiling faces as they looked at him.

"I'm sorry but it is getting rather late," he said. "Much as I hate to break up this family gathering ... David and Abigail still have lives to lead."

He paused for a moment, a look of sympathy in his eyes. "And ... I'm afraid that James and Lily have tarried here too long."

Harry closed his mouth to the protest he was about to utter as he saw the implacable yet understanding look on Mr. Roarke's face; realizing, at the same time, that he had been given a gift beyond measure ... and that he should be grateful to whatever alignment of the planets there was that had allowed him - and Hermione - this magical moment in time with their parents.

"Harry..." Startled, he quickly grasped David Granger's outstretched hand, as the latter locked eyes with Harry for a long moment, his suddenly hoarse voice coming out as a close approximation of Hagrid: "What's comin' will come, an we'll meet it when it does. We're with you, Harry, whatever you do."

David Granger let go of Harry to embrace his daughter, and Harry felt the warm arms of Abigail Granger enfolding him in a hug to rival Molly Weasley's rib-crackers. "Don't be a stranger next time, Harry," she whispered. "If it's possible ... plan on staying with us for a while. You'll always be welcome," she winked, "... and Hermione would be more than happy to have you with us."

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before turning away to embrace a silent Lily Potter, who hugged her back tightly. Harry watched as David solemnly shook hands with James, the simple gesture conveying both sympathy and support and felt tears in his eyes when the handshake quickly turned into a backslapping hug ...

And then it was his turn.

For a long moment, they stared at each other - Harry and Lily, James and Hermione - none of them making a move or saying a word. It was Lily who finally broke down, embracing Harry tightly before kissing him on the forehead and letting go - only to realize that her son was also hugging her tightly, his tears again flowing down his face.

With a gentle nudge, Harry finally let go - and turned into the warm embrace of his father. As befits men, this embrace was quick and both quickly let go - and saw Hermione and Lily also hugging, with tears on their cheeks.

And then they let go - both of them wiping away the tears and trying to summon up a smile, neither aware that everyone else was doing the same.

"We have to go," Mr. Roarke said as he turned away. Silently, the adults started following him, each of them giving Hermione and Harry a warm kiss on the cheek before stepping away.

The two teens watched the darkness slowly engulf their parents before turning back to each other - neither aware that their parents had been looking at them the whole time ...

***

David Granger blinked his eyes open - and saw the outlines of his familiar bedroom in the gray of the surrendering night, wondering what had awakened him. He felt Abigail stirring beside him and said the first thing that came to mind: "Was I dreaming or did we just leave Harry and Hermione without a chaperone somewhere?"

Abigail Granger sat up in bed to stare at him, wondering whether she was going mad - for she had awakened with that very same thought in mind, although it seemed that she had addressed the question to someone else ... Lily Potter?

Before she could respond to David's question, they heard a tapping at the window - and she was on her feet, rushing to open it and let in a beautiful snowy owl which dropped an envelope at her feet before flying to her dresser and sitting there. She eagerly tore open the heavy, parchment envelope with the Hogwarts seal - neither one noticing that something had fallen out as she eagerly scanned the letter.

"It's from Dumbledore," she said, disappointment evident in her voice. "He said that Hermione has been in an accident on the Quidditch field and that she and Harry are sleeping in the hospital wing - but we know that already!"

She suddenly froze as the words she'd uttered sank into her - and she stared at her wide-eyed husband. "How ... what ..." she stuttered, as David approached her and took the letter from her suddenly nerveless fingers.

"I know, honey," he soothed her as he placed an arm around her to lead her to bed where she sat down. Her wide eyes met his and he continued, "I think we were having the same dream, although how that can happen is beyond me ..."

"Same ... dream?"

"Fantasy Island? Hermione and Harry?"

"David ..." she began, but cut off as he held a hand up, his eyes quickly scanning down the parchment filled with Dumbledore's neat, elegant script. He began reading portions out loud:

"My apologies for sending this owl rather late ... or early, as the case may be. However, I just woke up with the strangest urge to write you and inform you that Hermione is all right and is resting comfortably in the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey, our School Nurse, expects that she and Mr. Potter will be up and about in a few days."

He looked at Abigail and said, "Yes, we already know that ... Quidditch accident ... no harm intended or done ..."

He began reading again: "Enclosed please find something that has been in my possession for some time. For some reason, I felt that it was important that I send this to you as soon as possible ..."

He looked through the envelope and, finding nothing there, glanced around the room and saw - face up - a photograph lying on the floor where it had fallen. He walked over and picked it up - and a puzzled look passed over his face for a moment before a smile broke out.

Silently, he handed the picture to Abigail, who took one look at it and gasped, her fist to her mouth.

It was a wizarding photograph of three people: a young man with messy black hair and glasses, leaning over a young woman with beautiful red hair and mesmerizing green eyes who held a baby in her lap. The lady in the picture kept pointing at the camera, and helping the baby wave at whoever was taking the picture, while her husband was alternately waving at the camera, kissing his wife on the head - or holding up two fingers in a 'V' behind her head.

"James never could resist a joke," Abigail said, and again looked at her husband, surprise etched on her face.

"David -"

"I know, Abby. As Hermione would say, 'Welcome to the wonderful world of magic'." I guess," he said, as he took the picture from her hand and smiled at it, before looking at his wife. "... it wasn't just a 'dream' dream. As the man said, Harry and Hermione's magic are such that they're interfering with the orderly running of the place!"

Abigail shook her head at that and glanced at the snowy owl on her dresser, who seemed to be looking at her expectantly - and she remembered something from their vacation in France. "Would you like some water, Hedwig?"

She smiled as the owl hooted happily at her, and stood up to get some water and treats for the bird. Before she could step out, however, David stopped her: "Wait, Abby ... there's something more from Dumbledore."

He began reading again: "I would be most grateful if you could send me a letter through the owl as to why I should be sending you this particular photograph. Even though, at my age, I know that there are some things which will likely remain a mystery, any help you can give me would be most appreciated."

He raised an eyebrow at Abigail, who smiled back at him as she said, "I think I know just what to send him."

She turned and left for her errand, leaving behind a middle-aged man with a magical daughter, vaguely worried but still smiling, wondering what his daughter and her best friend were doing now ... somewhere where they were chasing a dream.