At What Price?

Chapter 12- The Beginning of the End

There was a shout from the kitchen. Marix shot up out of her chair, the loom she had been working at started to tip over, but she pushed it back down. "Oh, my babies, no!" Molly was crying. Marix ran into the kitchen to see Molly sitting at the table, the evening edition of the Prophet clutched in her hands. "My babies," Molly said through tears as she shook the paper.

Marix dropped into a chair and scanned the article quickly. Students attacked at King's Cross Station... Two Aurors killed... Hermione Granger, Head Girl at Hogwarts and former love interest of Harry Potter...

She sat up, perplexed. None of them had ever mentioned Harry and Hermione dating. It might explain why Ron had been so touchy where Harry and Hermione were concerned.

She read on. ...was seriously injured in the attack...in serious but stable condition now following attention of on scene medical personnel...No other serious injuries...Aurors killed beast with help of Harry Potter...Ministerial Candidate Lucius Malfoy praised the Aurors work saying, "I commend the bravery of those who put a stop to this attack. However, this is the failure of my opponent and the previous administration. Had they been more concerned about the safety of Wizards and their children, they could have prevented this disaster...The article then devolved into an opportunity for Lucius Malfoy to give a campaign speech. Near the bottom of the page was a picture of Harry shaking hands with, and talking to an older man.

She slid her chair closer to Molly, and rubbed her back. "I'm sure she'll be fine. The article said she was being treated and that the doctor said she was stable. It didn't say anything about any of the boys or Ginny being injured. I'm sure everything will be just fine Molly." Marix hoped that she was right. She genuinely liked Hermione. More importantly, Ron would be absolutely devastated if Hermione wasn't. She had rebuilt Ron once, she wasn't sure she could do it again.

In the month since the big fight between Harry and Ron, Marix had spent a significant portion of Ron's lessons teaching him to control the flow of power when he was reading. She realized that she had given him access to the deck too soon. He hadn't mastered all the lesser arts that fed into Tarot, and as such the deck was using him rather him using the deck. So she made him study Numerology and simple Arithmancy. She had made him study Astrology until he could read star charts with his eyes closed. Finally, she had given him a dozen different "Muggle" decks that she had collected and made him study and explain the differences between the different interpretations.

By the time Ron had left to go to Hermione's two nights ago, he had been near exhaustion. Between his divination studies and his regular homework, he had been getting less than four hours of sleep per night. Marix worried that she had driven him too hard. She justified it by reminding herself that his control exercises were introspective meditation, which was rest of a type. His studies had gone well though, she was very proud of him. She was sure he would be a great seer someday. Now though, she had another problem; if Hermione wasn't okay, Ron was going to come apart at the seams. She kicked herself for ignoring this aspect of Ron's development. She had been so concerned about him mastering his power before it ran away with him, that she had let his heart run away with his brain.

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Harry and Ron were sitting in the great hall, talking, or more accurately, Harry was talking and Ron was inhaling his breakfast. "Ready to go?" Ron asked as he slammed down his juice glass. Harry grabbed a piece of toast and the two of headed for the exit, planning to go see Hermione.

"Harry!" someone shouted just before they left. Ron stopped and began to shift back and forth, looking from Harry to the door.

"Go ahead, I'll catch up." Ron took off like he'd been shot out of gun. Harry turned around to see who was calling him. "Hey Terry, how's it going?"

"Good, you?" replied a boy with short straight brown hair and bright hazel eyes. Harry shrugged. The boy continued on in a very excited voice. "I just wanted to say thanks. Your endorsement of my dad's candidacy is doing wonders for us."

Harry wasn't sure how to feel about this. He knew a great deal of it had to do with what he had done sixteen years before. The fact that he had been all but duped into it by Jack Boot's campaign manager, who just happened to be his principal advisor in the Order of the Phoenix, was not improving his view of the situation. However, Jack was certainly preferable to his opponent, Lucius Malfoy. The fact that Harry was doing things to earn the power and respect that his name engendered was also improving his outlook.

Terry tapped the paper he was holding. "According to last night's poll numbers, we've surged ten points overall, and twenty points in the swing vote category." He smiled brightly, "we're leading by four points in the polls and internal numbers say it may be even higher." He smacked Harry companionably on the arm, "You and dad actually made the Prophet cover." He showed Harry the morning edition.

"That's good." He cuffed Terry on the shoulder. "That's really good. Tell your dad I said to keep up the good fight. See you in Charms." Harry turned and headed for the Hospital wing before anyone else could corner him.

He was just climbing the last staircase to the hospital wing when he heard a commotion and shouting. "Dammit, Sirius, let go of me!" There was no mistaking Ron's voice.

"Ron, calm down. I have my orders, you can't go in there."

"What the hell is happening to her, why can't I see her? Let! Go! Of! Me!" The grunts of people in a physical struggle and the sound of crashing armor accompanied the yelling. Harry sprinted up the last dozen steps. Sirius had Ron pinned to a wall, about six inches off the ground. With one hand he was holding Ron's arm, with his other he was groping for his wand. Ron was trying to push away from the wall and lever Sirius off him at the same time. "Harry!"

Sirius snapped his head around at the sound. "Harry," Sirius said in a strangled voice, "come help me." Ron took advantage of Sirius's distraction and pushed against the wall with all of his strength, the two men fell to the ground. Harry ran up and dragged Ron off Sirius. He knew he was badly outmatched as soon as he did it. Ron was six inches taller than Harry and spent his summer doing outdoor work around the neighborhood. Ron began struggling toward the Hospital Wing door as soon as he was up.

Harry didn't know what the struggle was about, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that Ron wasn't supposed to be in there. He turned himself hard to the right, throwing Ron off balance and the two of them fell to the floor. Sirius stupefied Ron. Harry looked up at his godfather. "Suppose you want to tell me what that was all about?" He hadn't yet gotten up off Ron, who was still not completely pacified.

"I don't know, Harry. All I know is that Professor McGonagall dragged me out of bed at six-thirty this morning and told me to keep you and Ron out of the Hospital Wing." Harry's first reaction was to jump for the door, but Sirius seemed to have already considered that and had put himself between Harry and the object of debate. Harry rolled off Ron and sat up.

"You could have told me you were teaching this year instead of making me find out from Dean Thomas." Harry's eyes hadn't left the door, he was trying to get a sense of what was going on inside.

"I wanted to surprise you at the Sorting. Sorry."

"It's all right. So why can't we go in?" There was only one reason Harry could think of to keep him and Ron out of the hospital wing, and if he was right, Sirius was going to have his hands full.

"I really don't know."

Harry took a deep breath and suppressed his desire to shove his way in and find out what was going on. "Would you... ask... Madam Pomfrey to come out here and tell us what's going on?" He pointed to Ron; "I'll keep him quiet while you go." Sirius gave him a hard look, then nodded. Harry stood up and helped Ron sit up while they waited. Ron's eyes were out of focus, but he kept moving his arms like he was reaching for the door. Harry pointed his wand at his friend and muttered the counter-charm.

Ron shook his head, and then gave Harry a serious look. Harry watched Ron very closely, waiting for the telltale signs. Ron coiled his legs under him; there was a tightening in the muscles around the eyes. Harry stuck his wand in Ron's chest, "Forget it Ron, we've been told we can't go in. So just sit tight."

"Something's wrong in there." Ron gestured to the door. Then his voice turned plaintive. "There's something wrong with Hermione. I have to go see her."

"Sirius went to ask Madam Pomfrey to tell us what's going on. We'll know in a couple of minutes."

"I can already tell you." Ron slumped down. "She's dying." Harry gave Ron a hard look, but his giant of a friend looked very small with his arms crossed on his knees and his head buried in his arms. "I can feel it," Ron patted his chest, "here."

"Ron, I don't mean to say you're sounding melodramatic, but you are. Hermione's not dying. Dr. Patil said last night that she was coming along well."

"Harry, I don't expect you to understand. You've never been this close to someone, but when Hermione hurts, I feel it. When she's sad, I'm sad. When she's happy, I'm happy." Ron started to stand up, but Harry put out a hand and laid it on his arm.

"Don't. Wait till they come to us." Ron deflated, and sank back down. "I don't pretend to understand what you two have, but don't you mean her being happy makes you happy, and her being sad makes you sad."

"No, Harry. I actually feel it. It happened this summer." Ron took a deep, shuddering breath, and wiped at his eyes. "You remember when I was first telling you about Marix, and I told you how she kept referring to Hermione as the Bearer of Stars?" Harry replied that he did. "I finally figured it out. The Star is one of the Major Arcana. It represents a dramatic change in life, strong and abiding love, and contentment. It means a good place in life, a place where all is well." Ron leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. Harry could see his eyes were very bright, and his voice was very thick.

"She is my bearer of stars. She's the best thing in my life. She makes me happier than any thing else. Hell, even when we were first years and she was such a pain, she made me take notice. She's always been there, trying to help me, make me better. She changed my whole life." He held his head up and looked directly at Harry. To Harry it was like being pinned to a wall. He could see the unshed tears in his friend's eyes, but the gaze behind them was intense and deep.

"The first time she made love to me," Harry cringed, "it changed everything. She opened me up to something that I never even knew about. She unlocked my gifts. She gave me the universe." He didn't say anything for a long moment. He wiped his eyes. "There isn't anything I wouldn't do for her... and she knows that."

"Even after what happened at the Burrow?" Harry had heard from Hermione about what happened after he left. The night he went to dinner with the Grangers, he and Hermione had sat and talked a long time about Ron. It was hard for Harry to hear about how much she was struggling between him and Ron. She wouldn't give up though; he was still her best friend.

"That's what started it," Ron replied. "I know you heard about what happened after you left. Did she tell you what happened when I was at her house?" Harry shook his head. "We were fighting, arguing about what had happened and some things that were said and done. That was when I found how important you are to her. She said she couldn't divide her loyalty between us." Ron took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

"I hated you, Harry. For a flash of a moment I hated you more than I loved her." Harry raised an eyebrow. He knew this was in the past, they had agreed to that. To hear Ron admit this though was still pretty shocking. "I felt empty. She was everything to me. Yet, she couldn't pick me over you or you over me. I didn't understand it, still don't completely, but I know where I stand." Ron looked at him, and smiled. "In her eyes, you and I are equal, but not. If you know what I mean."

Harry nodded, he understood the difference; it was the similarity that he hadn't quite grasped yet. Tears were streaming down Ron's face, and he was gripping his chest. "What happened?" Harry asked. He wanted to keep Ron talking, keep him here until they got some answers.

Ron swallowed, but did nothing to stem the flow of tears. "I did the only thing I could. I laid myself open to her. I just... wanted her to see... so I showed her... and somehow... she understood. That night... we connected. Now, I just... know. Whatever she feels, I feel." The break in Ron's voice threatened to tear all of Harry's self-control asunder. He could feel the stinging in his eyes and the tightness in his throat. "It's the same for her, she feels what I feel. It's kind of awkward sometimes...." Ron's voice died, and he looked up. Harry followed Ron's gaze.

"It's too late, isn't it, Sirius." Ron's voice was painfully quiet, and so thick Harry had to swallow. Sirius stood framed in the hospital wing doorway. Harry looked past Sirius, trying to see what was going on inside. He couldn't see, but he could hear.

"One, two, three, four, five." The five was held out for a long second. "One, two, three, four, five." It was Dr. Patil's voice. "One, two, three, four, five." Harry knew the rhythm of the count, and it chilled him to his very soul. He tore his eyes away and tried to stop hearing the voice, though it filled his head. "One, two, three, four, five." Harry looked over; Ron's hands were over his face, and his body shook and trembled. "One, two, three, four, five." Harry stood up, this was not happening. He felt Sirius's hand on his chest; then the morning class bell rang.

He thought of a dozen different things he could say. He wanted to scream at Sirius for blocking them, for not moving faster, for not saving his friend. He wanted to say something biting, to reflect the bitterness that was already biting at him beneath his grief. Finally though, he settled on the simplest answer. "Please, Sirius, let us in."

"I'm sorry, Harry. She was a good girl, the best. She always believed me. The world was a better place for having her in it." Harry felt himself enveloped in a crushing embrace. In response, he clung to Sirius.

"One, two, three, four, five."

Sirius thumped him a couple of times on the back and broke away. "I have to go, Harry. I can't be late for class on my first day. I'm sorry." Harry released Sirius, then watched as he took the familiar form of Padfoot and launched himself down the stairs. Harry turned and tapped Ron's shoulder. With a little bit of effort, he got Ron to respond, and pulled him to his feet. Slowly, he pushed the hospital door open.

"One, two, three, four, five."

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The first thing Ginny noticed when she walked into the Muggle studies classroom was how much it had changed. Previously, when Professor Dumbledore had taught the class, the room had the look of a traditional classroom. Student tables were in the center with the lab areas surrounding the edges in a sort of controlled chaos. It was a bit like her father's workshop at home. Now however, it was a segregated room.

In the middle were several couches and chairs along with coffee tables and end tables. Most conspicuous though, was the percolating coffeepot on a table in the middle of the room; a teapot and a plate of donuts and muffins accompanied it. Around the edges of the room were the props that they used to experiment with Muggle ways. They were stacked in such a way that showed clearly that they were not expected to see use. She and her classmates began to take seats on the couches, many of which appeared to be new.

"Good morning, class." They looked up to see a woman walking into their presence with a large coffee cup in her hand. "Feel free to help yourself," she said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She took a seat on the couch where Ginny was sitting and kicked her feet up on a coffee table. "I'm Irina, your new professor."

Ginny wasn't quite sure what to make of this woman. Her accent was decidedly European, though not specific to any one area. She had a round face with a pale complexion that was framed by short black hair. She dressed in a casual Muggle style, wearing black jeans, an un-tucked gray Polo button down with a white collar, and open toed sandals.

"Let me tell you a little about myself. Up until a couple of years ago, I was a bit of a professional student. I received my first Bachelor's degree in Sociology from Boston College in 1980. From there, I took on a virtual cornucopia of Liberal Arts programs. Since then, I have earned degrees in art history, philosophy, religion and occultism, literature, history, and political science. I am fluent in Latin and all its derivative languages, in addition to most of the Slavic languages and German." The woman paused to take a sip of her coffee.

"This year, fifth and sixth year students will be taking a different approach to Muggle studies. We will be studying the institutions and customs of Muggles, as well as social interaction and the development of their humanities." Ginny wasn't exactly sure what she meant, a quick glance around the room told her several others felt the same way. "The art, literature, and philosophy that defines a culture." There were several nods of assent. Irina stood up and began to walk around.

"Now, to the real meat of the course - the whys. Increasingly, Wizarding Society has to deal with Muggles. Our paths cross more and more often, nearly half of the students at Hogwarts this year are either Muggle-born or come from mixed families. There are powerful political forces within the Wizarding community that would force these Muggle associated wizards and witches out. If they succeed, where will these people go, and do you really expect them to abandon what they know and are?

"Yet we continue to deal with Muggles the same way we always have. We ignore them. When we have to deal with them we lie to them, deceive them, follow the same practices that led to witch burnings of the Middle Ages. When that doesn't work, we simply erase their memories. To compound this matter, the people we place in charge of dealing with Muggles on a regular basis are all pureblood wizards that look at Muggles like a whole other species. Take for instance, the Head of the Department of Muggle Relations, Arthur Weasley. He's a good sort, and he means well, but he hasn't the first clue as to how Muggle society works. Yet, he deals with Muggles more than anyone else in the Ministry. Yes, Miss-"

"Weasley. Virginia Weasley." There was an eruption of whispering and the air was filled with tension. Ginny stared daggers at this woman who presumed to speak ill of her father. After several seconds, Professor Pendra called the class to silence. Ginny was pleased to note that when she had given her name, the Professor's eyes had widened for just a moment. "You've told us all about your qualifications as a Muggle, but are you a qualified witch?" There was another sharp intake of breath by the class.

"Would it bother you, Virginia, if I said no?"

"So, you mean to tell us that you are going to come in here and presume to educate us on how to interact with Muggle Society when you haven't a clue as to the background we come from? You don't know anything about our society, or our lives, or our beliefs. Yet you expect us to defer to you and your judgement." Ginny crossed her arms and leaned back against the arm of the couch.

There was a loud pop, and one of the coffee tables suddenly became Professor Dumbledore's old desk. The Professor perched on the edge of it. "I presume nothing, Virginia. The fact is that I was born into a house that was half-and-half. Under British Wizarding Law, I am a qualified witch. I have studied at more schools than Fudge has scandals." The room fell silent. Ginny sat and smoldered. She really wanted to bring this woman down a peg. This woman and her self-righteous I'm-more-educated-than-you attitude. How dare she come in here and mock her dad? Her dad was a good man. The thing that most angered her though was that she had mocked Ginny and made a fool of her. Nobody made a fool of her, not anymore.

"That will be five points from Gryffindor, Miss Weasley, do you want to answer the question or shall I make it ten?"

Ginny realized that everyone in the room was looking at her. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear the question." Her face was burning now; curse her Weasley genes.

"Of course you didn't." Professor Pendra's voice was patronizing. "The question posed by Michelle was, 'what are the political forces trying to push the Muggles out?' My question to you, Virginia, is what are the driving political motivations of the Pro- vs. Anti-Muggle philosophies?"

Ginny thought for a long moment before answering. "I guess the number one driving force is our survival. The Anti-Muggle forces believe that Muggles threaten to wipe out the purity of our kind by diluting the number of wizards that are born. It's a very aristocratic argument. Kind of a, we are better than they are and mixing with them will be the death of us, thing. Those with Pro-Muggle sentiment believe that while we are different, we are all humans. Some of us just have different abilities."

"That's good Virginia, three points for Gryffindor. In the future, please make sure you are paying attention to the discussion. Now, you've had your hand up for some time, Miss?"

"Jennifer Boot." Ginny smiled as she looked over. Jennifer was a sixth year Slytherin that she got on quite well with. The girls had worked together many times in their classes and were in constant competition for the top student ranking. Next year the girls would be competing for the position of Head Girl.

"Any relation to Jack Boot?"

"My father."

"Interesting. It seems we have an all-star class here. Go ahead." Jennifer stood up and started to speak several times, then stopped.

"Sorry, I'm trying to answer the question without giving the campaign speech." The class chuckled. Ginny knew Jennifer had been stumping for her father. The group of them, Jennifer, Terry, Jack, and his wife Nell had appeared on the cover of the Prophet several times over the last month. "Ultimately, it's a question of isolationism. Are we members of a world community, or not? We're all happy to claim being members of a world community when it comes time for the Quidditch World Cup. Other than that though, the Wizarding communities of the world have very little interaction. We have even less willing contact with the Muggle world. Yet every year, more and more talented young Wizards and Witches abandon our exclusive society because they encounter the barrier of 'Purity.' Our society becomes more and more exclusive, and as a result we get smaller and smaller. Rather than embracing the diversity that makes us strong, we exclude that which is different. And those we exclude take their talents and their magic with them. So really, the whole ideology boils down to whether we are stronger as a community when we embrace our diversity, or when we segregate that which is foreign."

There was some applause from around the room. Interestingly enough, it was strongest from the two Muggle-borns in the class, Dennis and Colin Creevy. Professor Pendra stood up. "Very good, Jennifer. Five points for Slytherin." She began to pace. "And that brings us to the moral dilemma that we as young wizards and witches face. As we move forward into society and take up our places there, what social responsibilities do we have in the world at large, and how will we discharge them?" The impending discussion was interrupted by the voice of Professor McGonagall.

"Professor Pendra, sorry to interrupt, but I need a word with Miss Weasley. Bring your things, please." Ginny quickly gathered her things and headed out into the hall with the Headmistress. Professor McGonagall's eyes were red and puffy, and her voice trembled slightly as she spoke. "I'm sorry to interrupt your classes, Ginny, but your brother very much needs you right now." Ginny looked up at the normally stoic woman, wondering what could be so important that she would be called out of class. Then it hit her.

"Hermione!" Ginny raced down the stairs, ignoring the Headmistress's calls to wait.

----------------

Ayla glanced at her watch and realized that the first classes would begin in less than ten minutes. According to her schedule, she had a long walk ahead of her. Care of Magical Creatures was held in a classroom up on the sixth floor. She began to gather her books, it wouldn't do to be winded and running in to class at the last minute. "Is it that time already?" asked Shara, one of her dorm-mates.

"Well, class doesn't begin for another ten minutes, but I don't want to be late. You never get a second chance to make a first impression." The other girls began to gather their things as well.

"I don't know why you're so worried." Ayla looked up to see who the speaker was. Lindsey Nott, youngest of the Nott boys, a year older than her. She had met him on previous occasions and didn't particularly care for him, they were clients of her father. "He's just a Weasley."

"Weasley or no," Ayla replied, "he's still a Professor, and his marks still count." She swept her books into her arms and led the way out of the main hall, followed by most of the other Slytherin first years. Ayla didn't know who had been responsible for decorating the sixth floor hallway, but her guess was that they liked dragons. Every painting had a dragon motif. According to her schedule, the classroom was to be found behind a painting called 'The Source of the Dragon's Legend.' "Anybody have an idea of what this painting looks like?" Ayla asked.

"I think this might be it," called a round-faced girl with wide eyes named Katrina. The group pushed ahead to see the one she was looking at. The painting was certainly large enough to cover a door. At four feet wide and eight feet tall, it showed a large, glimmering black dragon plowing his way through a band of beleaguered knights.

The dragon reared up then noticed the students. He gave them a malicious grin, then suddenly spun on a knight that was charging from his flank. Fire burst forth from his mouth and engulfed the knight. His wings spread wide as he stood tall and growled for all to hear. "Flee before me heroes of the realm, lest I slay thee." He launched himself into the sky and disappeared from the painting. The group watched as the dragon swept down across the scene, gouts of flame erupting from his mouth and setting fire to the battlefield. They watched as he flew across several other paintings and set fire to their scenes as well.

"That was cool," said a rough looking boy with long blonde hair. Ayla couldn't disagree more. She had never seen a painting that was so destructive. Certainly, her father would never allow such a thing in his house. Whoever had painted that picture had a morbid fascination with the destructive nature of dragons. "Allow me," said the boy, pulling the painting open to reveal a classroom beyond.

"Thank you," Ayla swept past him with a perfunctory nod after noticing his yellow and black tie. A man she assumed was Professor Weasley sat at a desk and watched them entering. He smiled at her pleasantly as she came in, and she returned his smile. First impression is everything, she reminded herself. Two Hufflepuff students came running into the classroom just as the bell rang.

"Morning students, don't get too comfortable. Today we have an outdoor lesson." After a quick attendance, the students followed him out and down the stairs to the ground level. The day was pleasant, the sun bright, and he led them down to an old stone hut with an overgrown garden out back. The house appeared to be empty, but a large hound dog lay on the front steps. "Hallo, Fang." The dog raised its head and thumped its tail on the wooden porch. He led them back past the garden into a large open field that bordered the lake.

"Okay, everybody keep an eye on the sky." She watched as Professor Weasley pulled out a horn like object and placed it to his lips. He blew a long note on it, followed by two short ones.

"What are we looking for, Professor?"

He grinned. "Just keep a look up." Ayla craned her neck back along with the rest of the students. She was scanning the sky, though she had no idea what she was looking for. Then, a shadow appeared in front of the sun. It quickly grew in size.

"There," Ayla pointed toward the sun. There was a blinding glint of light, and then suddenly a shadow covered them all. The silhouette resolved itself into a dragon, its wings flared and brought it to a stop a few meters above the ground. Several of the other girls screamed; Ayla didn't though. Years of handling herself at social events and learning to control her emotions paid off. She held her ground. She held herself still and tall, though she did take a step to her right so that she was closer to her Professor. With a resounding thud the dragon dropped to the ground, then shook out its wings. The creature was magnificent. She guessed that it had to stand a good seven meters tall, and its wingspan was probably ten meters. Its scales were a beautiful copper color, and glistened in the morning sun.

"Morning, Cumarin." Professor Weasley approached the great beast. "Have a good flight?"

"Excellent. Caught a flock of pigeons coming over London. Good breakfast." Ayla had to make a conscious effort to close her mouth. She noticed many of the other students doing the same. Some just continued to stand in open-mouthed shock. None of them had ever heard an animal speak in a human tongue before. Ayla had certainly never heard of dragons that could do it. "Oh, Charlie, how thoughtful. Maiden sacrifices." The other girls screamed. Ayla took a step back, but swallowed her own scream. "Mmm, that one is strong." She saw that the dragon was pointing at her. "Let's start with her."

Professor Weasley stepped up next to her. "It's okay," he said in a quiet but very serious voice. "If you're strong, and face him without fear, he may let you go. Tunisian Coppers are like that. They feed on fear. If you aren't scared though, they respect that." She felt the Professor's hand on her back, pushing her forward. She swallowed. The dragon licked his chops. She pulled all her years of etiquette training and all of her self-control around herself like a cloak. She stepped forward. The dragon seemed to be considering her seriously. She continued to walk forward, though her steps were small. The dragon hunkered down as she covered the last few feet. Its head lowered and its nostrils flared right next to her head.

"You fear what I might do, but you try to cover it. I like that." The head pulled back. "Hmmm. What to do with you?" Suddenly, the dragon reached out. As she looked at the extended claw, she thought it looked like he wanted to shake her hand. Tentatively, she reached forward. The claw came forward even more. A single digit extended. She reached out and took hold of it.

There was a loud buzzing, and her whole arm vibrated. She screamed and yanked her hand back. She was aware of a loud booming sound; it almost sounded like laughter. She looked up in time to see the dragon roll over on his back. He was laughing, so was her Professor. As a matter of fact, Professor Weasley was actually lying on the ground pounding his fist on the turf. She turned around to see that several of her classmates were starting to smile and chuckle as well.

"Oh Merlin, that was funny," Cumarin roared. "Shock buzzer, gets 'em every time." He pounded his fist on the ground and she heard the buzzing sound again. "Oh, the look on her face. It was beautiful. Charlie, tell me we get to do that again." Ayla couldn't believe her ears. The two of them had perpetrated a joke on her. Her face burned, she was not going to stand for this. She turned on her heel and stalked away. She was pleased to see that two of her dorm mates, Shara and Jenna, came with her, and that one of them had brought her books. She was going to find Draco. It wouldn't be the first time he had taken down a Care of Magical Creatures professor; the fact that this one was a Weasley was all bonus.

*

Robert Whitmore wasn't too proud to admit that he had been scared when the dragon landed. Most of the class had been panicked right out of their wits. However, the pretty girl had stood her ground. He watched her as she walked toward the dragon. She was very pretty, in a porcelain doll kind of way. 'Society bitch' is what his father would have called her, he probably would have been right, too. She was undeniably arrogant; he had figured that out with the way she tossed her head when he held the door for her. She looked rich, too; gold combs in her hair, diamond earrings, and that air that the wealthy seemed to carry with them. Still though, he had to admire her bravery, walking up to a dragon that had just called her a maiden sacrifice.

Suddenly the dragon was roaring and Professor Weasley was lying on the ground. Instinctively, Robert dove to the ground. He looked up to see her standing stock-still. The dragon was on the ground now, and seemed to be laughing. He said something about shock buzzers and Robert realized what had happened. It was kind of funny, the dragon had wound them all up, and then gotten her with the oldest gag in the book. He smiled, then began to chuckle. Professor Weasley was banging on the ground and holding his side he was laughing so hard. Robert began to laugh harder.

Then, he saw her walking away; she looked pissed off. He ran towards her, wanting to make sure she was okay. He felt someone grab his arms on either side. "Forget it, Hufflepuff." He turned to see a girl with strawberry blonde hair; Jenna was her name if he remembered right. "Leave her alone."

"Stay away from her, Mudblood." The other voice belonged to a raven-haired girl named Shara. The two girls took off after their friend.

"Mudblood," he said quietly to himself, turning the phrase over in his mind, trying to figure out what it meant. He pulled at his long, stringy blonde hair. He, and most of his friends, had been insulted all through primary school for their lack of money. Maybe it had something to do with that. He was disappointed by this, he had hoped coming to the Wizarding world would mean that people treated each other better. He didn't hold it against Ayla that she was rich, why should her friends hold it against him if he wasn't? Disappointed that people were the same pretty much everywhere, he kicked the ground and went back over to join his other classmates.

----------------------

Now that she had helped Molly finish the morning chores, Marix sat down at her loom and looked at the tangle of threads that were knotted there. She had bought the tapestry loom two days ago with her savings from her carnival earnings. It had been a long time since she had last done tapestry work. It was a trade she had apprenticed in when she was living with the Vistani, at least until the old woman took her in. Once the old woman took her in, everything changed. She had begun to learn the readings, she was released from her apprenticeship as a weaver, and she had a steady place to live. The young men no longer spoke to her, of course, but that also meant she didn't have to worry about their coarse or awkward advances, which always made her uncomfortable.

She closed her eyes and buried again the memories she didn't want to remember. When she opened them again, the loom stood before her and she was looking out the window into the bright sunshine of a September day. There was a thump behind her. She turned around to see Molly sitting down, a large basket of yarn on the floor next to the couch.

"Beautiful day out, isn't it?" Molly said. Marix had to agree, the day was nearly perfect.

"It is. What have you got there?"

"Well, now that the kids are all off to school, it's time to start on the annual batch of Christmas Jumpers." She began pulling out balls of yarn. "Bill, Charlie, Ron," Marix watched a large ball of maroon yarn bounce off the pile. Poor Ron, she thought. She knew he hated the maroon, but didn't have the heart to tell his mother. The idea of convincing Molly to do a different color for Ron crossed her mind, but she decided to stay out of it. "Do you think I should do one for Hermione this year? I mean, she and Ron have been dating for two years now. She's practically one of the family."

"I think that would be a marvelous idea." She wasn't going to be the one to tell Molly that Hermione already had a Weasley sweater.

"How do you think she'd look in maroon?"

"I wouldn't do maroon, but that's just me."

"Oh?"

"Well, they'll both see it as meddling if you give them matching sweaters."

"Really? Do you think I'm meddling?" Marix tried to ignore the slight emphasis that Molly had placed on the word 'you.' It was becoming more apparent where Ginny had learned it. Molly was terribly interfering in her boys' lives, even after they had left home. She knew Molly meant well, but she really just needed to let those boys make their own decisions.

"No, I don't. I actually think it would be cute, but look at it from their points of view. If you give them 'his and hers' sweaters, then you create that expectation. They might feel like you're pushing them. Besides, Hermione prefers light purples and light blues." She watched as Molly dug through the basket and produced a ball of light blue yarn. She tossed this over by itself, then added another ball of dark blue and a cream colored one. Finally, she picked up another ball of blue that matched the first, seemed to be weighing it thoughtfully, then tossed it over.

"Thank you, dear." Molly retrieved a set of knitting needles from the basket, then picked up the large ball of light blue yarn and began to work. Marix turned back to her own work, and began laying out the threads she would need for the day's work.

"You know," Molly said conversationally, "I've known since his first year there was something between them. Ron used to write Ginny about once a week back then. Ginny would always sit at the table and read them to me. I don't think more than two weeks went by when he wasn't ranting about that 'crazy Granger girl. Barking, I tell you.' He was so funny then. I miss those days." Marix responded with a simple 'oh.' "Not sure if she's good wife material though. Too much dedication to her causes, not enough focus on family. That's going to cause problems when Ron's ready to start having kids. Probably be the source of a lot of trouble for them. Hopefully she'll figure it out before then."

Marix found the piece of pale golden colored thread she was looking for and began her stitching. "Give them a few years Molly, they'll figure it out. They're too young to start worrying about that yet anyway."

"I know, but I'm beginning to despair of ever having grand-children. As it is, my house is empty now. Next summer, Ginny wants to go visit a friend in Paris. Then she goes back to school and then she's gone. I don't know, Marix, I'm either too young or too old to have such an empty house; I'm just not sure which." Marix made the mistake of mentioning Percy and his impending wedding. Molly began going off about how Percy was always her reliable one.

"Molly, would you look at this?" Marix pulled on the thread she had tied off. About half way down its length, the thread abruptly changed color from a pale golden color to a lustrous black. Molly leaned over her shoulder and examined the thread as well.

"Interesting. I know you can get yarn like that, but I've never seen tapestry floss like that. It's probably just a dye mistake."

"Probably," Marix agreed as she untied the last couple of knots. Though she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that settled over her as she wound up the thread.

-------------

Hermione lay back, gasping for air. She was exhausted. Her arm dropped from the edge of the bed, but she ignored it. It wasn't terribly uncomfortable, and she wasn't sure she had the strength to lift it back up. She lay staring up into the darkness, slowly she became aware that there was light in the room, very close by. She turned her head to the side, her eyes half shut. Two beds over she saw a silvery light. "Hello?" she croaked. The light shifted, moved, shifted again until it appeared to be sitting on the bed next to hers.

Hermione knew every ghost at Hogwarts; she had even taken the time to learn about the Bloody Baron. This spirit though, she did not know. It didn't even look like the ghosts she was used to. They were all grayish or dull white in color, and resembled people. This spirit was merely an incandescent silvery white blob. "Who?" she wanted to ask more, but couldn't. Her throat was just too dry.

The form coalesced and took a form she could recognize as human, though only a torso. It was a woman, old and bent. She appeared to be laughing, though there was no sound, and by her expression it was not a mirthful laugh. "Mon enfant," the voice rang through her skull like a cathedral bell. "Je m'appelle Henriette d'Encausse d'Nostradame."

It took Hermione several agonizing seconds to make the translation to English. "Why...here?"

"You... can't..." She couldn't say anymore as a dry, painful sob tore itself from her throat. "Help," she squeaked, but couldn't give it voice enough to carry to Madam Pomfrey's office. The spirit laughed at her again. This time though, she heard it in the vaults of her mind. It was hollow, bitter, and echoed like a tomb.

*

Madam Pomfrey looked up to see what it was that was shaking her so hard. It was her assistant, Flory. The elf came up at night and took care of cleaning and organizing the hospital wing and watching over patients when there were any. "Poppy, Poppy get up. Poppy, Miss Hermione Granger not well. Miss Hermione Granger getting blood on floor. I checked before starting towels and Miss Hermione Granger was okay, sleeping. No blood on floor. Now, blood on floor."

Poppy jumped out of bed and grabbed her dressing gown. As she rushed out into the ward she glanced at her clock, three in the morning. "Oh, heavens no." She lifted the tube that was supposed to be connected to Hermione's wrist. Looking down she saw the puddle of thickened blood. A quick check told her that Hermione was still breathing and had a heart beat.

"Flory, I need you to go get Dr. Patil and the Headmistress. I need them here right away." With a pop, Flory disappeared. She returned to Hermione's bed. "Miss Granger, what has happened to you?" She picked up Hermione's arm that was draping off the bed, the fingers were a dusky color and cold from lack of blood. She placed a thumb lightly on the wrist. There was no pulse. She placed a finger on the girl's neck, there was a pulse. "Spirit of Asclepius. Child, you've a clot."

Carefully she began feeling along the length of the inner arm, looking for the barrier between the cold skin and the warm. She found it in the crook of the elbow. "Status?" a male voice asked.

"I'm sorry?" Madam Pomfrey looked up to see Dr. Patil walking toward her.

"Status," he said as though that answered everything. "Patient's breathing rate, pulse, heart rate, temperature, blood pressure. Every nurse should know this."

"Well, I'm sorry I'm not one of your big city nurses. If it had been up to me she would have been going to St. Mungo's. Pulse in her neck is one hundred thirty-six and erratic, she has no pulse in her arm. I think she has a clot in the elbow."

The door slammed open against the wall. "Poppy, what's going on?" Professor McGonagall was clad in her tartan dressing gown and was trying to pull her long curly hair into some semblance of a bun.

"Miss Granger threw her potion needle. According to Flory it was within the last hour, but I don't know when."

"The last hour you say?" Dr. Patil asked, prodding gently at Hermione's upper arm and shoulder. "She should have absorbed enough of the potion that her blood shouldn't be this thick." He picked up the vial that held the potion that was being dripped into Hermione's blood stream. He took a whiff and wrinkled his nose. "Professor McGonagall, could you ask Professor Viscol to come up here, I think this potion has been tampered with." He reached into the cupboard in the bottom of the bedside table and removed another bottle of translucent blue liquid. He set it beside the first, and frowned. The first was very nearly clear, and almost as full as the new bottle.

"Doctor," Madam Pomfrey said in a frantic tone. "We're losing her."

*

Hermione could feel her heart rate spike; it thudded like a trip hammer in her chest. She was vaguely aware of voices around her and hands touching her. Her blood no longer burned like fire, but she ached all over. She wanted to drift back into sleep, so that the pain would stop. "Oui enfant, dormez."

She knew that voice meant something, but couldn't place what it was. She knew she should fight it, but couldn't remember why. "Dormez enfant, dormez." Yes, sleep, that was what she needed. It was calling for her. Why would she resist such a thing? Sleep would be good. Sleep.

She was jerked awake by a pain in her chest as she drew a sharp breath. She was aware of light around her. The voices were more distinct now. She heard something about an Enervation potion. There was a sharp pinprick in her upper-arm. There was liquid in her throat and she swallowed out of reflex. She sat bolt upright, her eyes opened, the light burning them and blinding her. She felt a hand on her chest pushing her down.

The light phantoms around her began to resolve themselves into human shapes. She squeezed her eyes shut against the light. "Where?" she croaked.

"Oh, Hermione." The voice was tearful, and choked with a thick Scottish accent. She felt arms around her and wrinkled, tear stained skinned pushing against her cheek.

"Headmistress," the tone was rather motherly and sympathetic.

"Hermione," it was a man's voice, one she didn't recognize. "I want you to listen to me carefully. My name is Dr. Patil; you are in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. I'm going to help you sit up, and have you drink some water, then I'm going to have some questions for you." She felt hands on her back and she sat up. She kept her eyes closed; the light was still quite bright. "Just a little bit now."

The liquid that dribbled into her mouth was sweet and she slurped it hungrily. She groped with her mouth when the glass was taken away. "Not too much. I'm going to give you a little more." This time she sipped gently, relishing the taste and feel of it in her dry mouth. "That's a good girl." She recognized the patronizing tone of his voice. She couldn't count the number of times her father had used that tone with her when she was little. The cup was brought back and she drank again, this time drinking it rather than rinsing her mouth. Her throat was no longer sore, she was sure she could talk.

"Ron? Harry?"

"They're okay dear." It was the voice of Professor McGonagall. "I sent them to get some sleep a while ago. Young Mr. Weasley was most strenuous in his objections." She could hear the smile in the Headmistress's voice. The fact that Ron and Harry were all right gave her a sense of peace.

"Do you know what day it is?" It was the doctor's voice again. The wheels in her head spun. It was after the first, because they had taken the train on the first. She tried to think, but she had no reference of time.

"After the first of September."

"Good." There was a stabbing pain in her left arm, she reached over to massage it, as she did she felt something pull against her upper right arm. "Careful there, wouldn't want you to pull out that potion needle again." She nodded and began to rub the spot. She felt finger's prying her hand away. "Does it hurt there?" She responded that it did. "Sharp pain?" She nodded. "Does it hurt anywhere else?"

"All over my back. My feet."

"The pain in your back, sharp pain or dull ache?" She nodded. "Sharp pain?" She shook her head. "Okay. Miss Granger, do you know what an embolism is?" She nodded. This question alarmed her. She knew that embolisms were clots in the blood stream and that if they got into the heart or lungs they could cause death, or in the brain they caused strokes. Panic gripped her by the spine. She tried to stammer a question.

"We've got you on medication for it." She was beginning to warm to the man treating her. He spoke to her like she had a brain, which was unusual for the doctors she normally saw. "Do you remember being attacked?" She nodded. "The creature that attacked you also poisoned you. We are working on getting the poison out now. The poison has thickened your blood, and you have a clot in your elbow. What I need you to do is show me where it hurts, or anywhere you are cold. Don't rub the areas, because if you do, you could break the clot loose and cause an embolism." She nodded slowly and pointed to her arm, her left foot, and her left knee.

"Good. Now, I want you to lean back and relax. I'm going to place you in a semi-comatose state so that I can find and treat the clots. Ready?" She leaned back and got comfortable, not that it would matter, she realized. She nodded, and everything went black.

*

Wilhelm Viscol ran up the stairs to the hospital wing, careful not to spill any of the vials he was carrying. "Rama, I think I've got it," he said as he pushed through the door. He walked over and began setting up the vials. The doctor was inserting a long needle into Hermione's ankle. He glanced over to see the Headmistress sitting at the head of the bed stroking the girl's hair in a very maternal fashion. Poppy stepped into his line of sight. "Doting on the favored one, I see. I guess I never really saw Minerva in that light."

"Professor Viscol, I hardly think that's a fair assessment." Poppy gave him a very disapproving look.

"Don't get me wrong, if you're going to have a favored one, Hermione is an excellent choice." He smiled at the very nasty look Poppy was giving him. "Speaking of, how's she doing?"

"Unstable." Dr. Patil answered. "I put her under a Faux Mortre so I could work on the clots. Her heart stopped beating twice. Right now I've got her on an Ibupro potion to block out all the pain while I work on the problem."

"Lucky for her that you're here then. Now, about that potion; I broke it down and removed all the ingredients that were supposed to be in the blood-thinning potion. This is the list I ended up with: Lizard Tail, Ashes of a Phoenix, Aloe plant, Werewolf hair, Mandrake leaf, and last but not least, snake venom. The snake venom also happens to be the same kind that is used by Moat Guardians and was already in Hermione's blood stream."

"Any idea what the ingredients could form?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"Top of my head? Not really, too tired to think right now, maybe some kind of regenerative. Do you need it right away?"

"No," Dr. Rama replied, "I think we have it in hand."

"Okay kiddos, I'm going back to bed. I'm gonna need at least a couple more hours sleep if I'm gonna face Draco Malfoy and the other two-thirds of the Trio in," he glanced at his watch. "Ugh, three hours."

*

"Bloody hell, Poppy, get over here! I need a third hand. She threw that embolism through the last vessel wall." Dr. Patil let loose with a string of Hindi words, it wasn't difficult to surmise that he was cursing a blue streak. He was quickly nearing the end of his rope. An hour before, Hermione's body had finally reacted to the blood-thinners and the clots had begun to break up. For reasons he couldn't explain though, several clots had remained intact and broken away from the vessel walls and had gotten loose in the blood stream. If he didn't know better, he would think that somebody was trying to sabotage him. It was times like this he was glad he was a Medi-Wizard and not a Muggle doctor. If he had been a Muggle, he would have lost this patient hours ago. As it was, she had gone into cardiac arrest six times since he had re-entered the ward five hours before, twice in the last thirty minutes.

He removed the needle he had been working with. He had punctured the clot with it and was in the middle of dissolving it when it broke loose and passed into the heart. There was no help for it, she was probably going to go into cardiac arrest again; but he held his breath, hoping against hope that it had broken up enough to pass through the heart valve. He could hear the sounds of struggle outside, and he heard a voice shouting. It sounded like Ron. "Keep him out of here!" Rama shouted. Several tense seconds passed. Her breathing remained shallow and stable. His wand was amplifying the sound of her heartbeat, which was slowing rapidly.

They both held their breath, as there was a hiccup in the heartbeat. The clot had passed through the valve and into the second chamber; perhaps it was small enough to exit out the other side. If he could get it into the blood stream it would dissolve before it made it back through the system. "Excuse me, doctor?"

"What?" He didn't even bother to look up; he didn't recognize the voice though.

"The boys want to know if someone can come out and tell them what's going on. I told them I'd ask." Suddenly there were several loud and very rapid poundings in Hermione's chest. Dr. Patil began pushing on her chest, trying to create additional pressure. She gasped three of four times, then her heart stopped.

"Minerva, would you hold this please?" He indicated the wand that was resting on Hermione's chest. The Headmistress stood and did as he asked. He began to press on Hermione's chest with a rhythmic force. "Not really," he called across the room without looking up. She stopped breathing. "Poppy, ready for CPR?" She nodded.

"One, two, three, four, five." He held the five for a long second and Poppy blew into the girl's mouth. He watched the chest rise then fall, no other movement. "One, two, three, four, five."

"Anything I can do to help?" The voice behind him sounded rather lost, almost defeated.

"One, two, three, four, five. Sorry, but there isn't, just keep those boys out. Five."

*

Harry looked across the ward. It was the worst sight in the world. Dr. Patil was standing over Hermione, rhythmically compressing her chest. During every fifth compression, Madam Pomfrey would breathe into her mouth. Hermione was terribly still. He felt Ron at his back. "Harry, she can't be. She's not. Harry, tell me she isn't." Harry wanted more than anything in the world to tell his friend what he wanted to hear. But Ron had known before Harry did, and no amount of lying would change it.

Harry walked over to the bed where they were working. "Is there anything we can do?" Harry asked.

"Boys, you-" Harry gave Professor McGonagall a pleading look, she shook her head and looked back down at Hermione. Three weeks before, she had been shocked when the headmaster had been brutally murdered. She had seemed distant, and detached. Now though, she looked bedraggled. Her bun was loose and falling down, her eyes red and swollen.

Harry sat down at the foot of the bed and placed a hand on his friend's foot. He didn't consider himself a religious man, far from it. He had only ever attended services on Christmas Eve and Easter Sunday. Now though, he bent his head and prayed that some miracle would grant life to his friend again. He watched as Ron sat down on the floor opposite Dr. Patil and took Hermione's hand in his own. Her hand seemed very small in Ron's. Harry closed his eyes tightly, willing the tears not to come yet.

"Doctor," it was Madam Pomfrey, "it's been three minutes. There's still no pulse and no breathing." Harry wanted to scream, how could she talk abandoning Hermione if there was any chance that she could be saved.

"Not yet, Poppy." She marked the time at four minutes and again at five. The doctor sighed and took the wand from the Headmistress. "I'm sorry." He glanced at his watch, then marked the time of death, 8:10 a.m. Ron bent low over Hermione, pressing his lips to hers, then rested his cheek against hers. His body was wracked by loud sobs that filled the hospital ward. Harry pulled himself up and moved around to the head of the bed, resting one hand on Ron's shoulder and the other on Hermione's. He leaned his head against Hermione's forehead, and gave in to his own grief.

*

"Show me the way?"

"Oui, mon enfant." The silvery light coalesced into the shape of an old woman. Hermione reached out and took her proffered hand. The world fell away and she was standing in a plane of eternal black. There were no stars, no objects to give a sense of depth, nothing save her and the old woman. "Such a shame, really."

"What was that?" Hermione asked the woman, surprised that she could speak English.

"A shame, that I have to leave you here. I can't have you giving him hope, now can I?" Hermione dropped the woman's hand in shock. "Good-bye." The figure faded to an incandescent light, then disappeared.

She looked around, now there was truly nothing but oppressive darkness. "Hello?" she asked softly. "Is anyone there?" she asked a little louder. She knew she should be fighting panic, but strangely there was no panic, only a desire to travel, to seek, to find. She turned herself in what she felt was a circle looking for anything that might be a marker or show her the way.

She knew that there should be a light, those who claimed to have life after death experiences always spoke of being led to a light. She looked in every direction, but there was nothing. "Is anyone here to show me the way?" she called out, but there was no answer; not even an echo. She thought it very odd that she was not panicked, there was not even a tremor of fear, just a detached curiosity. There was also a strong desire to travel, to find her destination.

She began to travel, walking, out of habit more than anything. She had not been traveling long, or at least she didn't think it was long, but in the endless darkness it was hard to tell. Ahead she saw a faint glimmer of golden light. "Hello?" she called. She began to walk toward the light, which seemed to be moving closer very quickly. Far more quickly than she was moving.

Within seconds, the golden light had resolved itself into a pillar like shape and then a human shape. "Are you the guide?" Hermione asked. The shape resolved itself into a tall woman with long, pale blonde hair and wearing a rich blue robe. She felt the golden light wrap around her. It was an odd sensation, like one she thought she should remember, but couldn't remember why.

"There you are child, I thought we'd lost you." The golden woman stepped back and looked at her. She felt a tendril of golden light sweep along her face. "I was so afraid we'd lost you, Hermione."

She looked at the strange golden woman, a puzzled look on her face. "Hermione?" That name meant something; she concentrated on it, but couldn't place it. "Are you the guide?" she asked again. "Every culture and mythology has a guide, as far back as the Egyptian dynasties. They called him Anubis. The Greeks called him Charon. In ancient India he was called Puchan and ushered the dead over the river of blood. Even the Christians incorporated the guide's mythology by referring to Christ as the Shepherd. Are you here to lead me to the afterlife?"

The golden woman heaved a sigh. "Mind like a steel trap. Born twenty years later you might well have been born to Rowena's line. You are so much like her." She felt again the golden tendril on her cheek. "But there is not time for that. There is much to do, and your task is not yet complete, Mistress of the Star. It is time to go back."

"Go back?" She didn't understand. Go back to where? Why? "I don't need to go back to anywhere. I need to go forward. She said that I needed to seek the light, and that I would find my purpose on the next turning of the wheel."

"No Hermione, you have purpose on this turning."

"But the old woman said my thread was broken. She said that the only way to fix it was to seek the light." A wave of unpleasant feeling radiated from the golden woman. She waved her hand, and a young woman with auburn hair replaced the golden woman.

"Your thread is fine, dear. Look." Between the young woman's hands appeared a skein of threads. She plucked at it once and pulled free a golden brown thread. At one end it was braided with a coppery red strand and a coal black thread. Along the rest of the length it was fine. There were no breaks, no fraying, no imperfections. "You're not supposed to be here. You need to go back." The young woman disappeared in a spinning pillar of silver light. The light turned a golden color and resolved itself into the woman with pale golden hair again.

"Where do I go back to? Why?"

She saw the golden tendril, though this time she felt the contact of a hand on her face. "Remember," the woman whispered. Hermione felt something warm on her cheek. She reached up and touched it, it was wet. She touched it to her tongue and it was salty.

"Ron," she whispered the name. She remembered a night in her parents' house when she looked in his eyes and the world changed. She remembered sun in a grove of trees and his tremulous touch. Memories flashed through her mind and with everyone she missed him more. "Ron."

Then warmth spread through her shoulder. It was like having the weight of a hand there. She reached up and placed her hand in the same spot. "Harry," her voice was less shaky now. A thousand memories flashed through her mind. "I have to go back."

"Yes. They need you."

"I don't know the way."

"Yes, you do. Follow your heart. They will lead you home." The tall golden woman leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead. "Until I see you again, be well, my child."