Chapter One – Grandmother Figg

His mouth closed hungrily over hers.  She ran her fingers through his inky black hair, pulling him closer.  His heart pounded in his ears, he could just barely make out the strains of music playing softly in the background…

‘I can’t believe this moment’s come.  It’s so incredible that we’re alone.  There’s so much to be said and done.  It’s impossible not to feel overcome…”

***

In less than a half an hour they were ready.  Only Ron knew where they were going.  But he understood.  He had seen Hermione’s face when she’d read the letter from her mother. 

‘Besides,” Ron thought with a smile, as he watched Harry and Hermione scramble through the portrait hole and down to Professor McGonnagal’s office, “it’s a Hogsmeade Weekend.  Maybe I can get Holly to with me to the Three Broomsticks…”

Professor McGonnagal looked stern.  She wasn’t thrilled at the idea of letting student’s apparate away for the weekend, but Dumbledore had made an exception in their case.  “This is highly unusual” she said again, looking through spare spectacles at Harry and Hermione. 

“Yes, ma’m” said Hermione demurely.  “and I’m grateful to you.” 

Professor McGonnagal sighed.  “And you haven’t told anyone?  This is by no means a precedent setting arrangement…” 

“No m’am” Harry said firmly.   She sighed in resignation.

“All right then, off you go, but to Paravel only.  I am not to read in tomorrow’s Daily Prophet that you two have been seen in Diagon Alley.  Do I make myself clear?”  Harry nodded, trying desperately not to grin at her.  She rattled on… “And I expect you back here at 6:00 p.m. sharp Sunday evening – in my office.  I’ll be waiting.”

Harry and Hermione stood stock still, expecting further admonitions.  “Well, what are you waiting for?” she snapped.  They looked at each other and back to her.  She smiled fleetingly at the two of them.   A spontaneous smile lit Harry’s face.  Without warning, he leaned over and kissed Professor McGonnagal’s cheek.  Before she could react, he apparated away - taking Hermione with him.

“Scamp” she said softly, shaking her head and turning back to her papers…

Harry and Hermione touched down on the sweep of gravel drive in front of Paravel.  The familiar hodge-podge of towers and gables were a welcoming sight, lit softly by the light of a fading sun.  Hermione had never in her wildest dreams thought they would be back so soon, but then, she had never in her wildest dreams thought her parents would separate either.  A heavy sigh escaped her.

Harry brushed one of her cheeks lightly, saying only, “I know…” before giving her a tender kiss.  His arms were reassuring, his touch gave her strength.  “Better now?” he murmured into her hair. 

“Without a doubt” she whispered.  And taking his hand in hers, she drew him towards the terrace.  Arabella came running to meet them, sweeping Hermione into a warm embrace before hugging Harry affectionately.

“Dumbledore sent me an owl this morning!” she cried in delight.  “I can hardly believe you’re here!”  Hermione found herself smiling.  A dose of Arabella was exactly what she needed. 

With an arm around each of their waists, Arabella led them into the house, where Hopkins was waiting to take their things to their rooms.   “Why don’t you change out of those…” she wrinkled her nose slightly at their school robes, “and into something more comfortable for dinner?”  Harry and Hermione didn’t need telling twice and headed automatically for the rooms they had occupied over the summer.

The familiar sights, sounds, and scents of Paravel washed over Hermione as she entered her room – her perfectly beautiful room, with all her things laid out, as if they had been waiting for her to return.  She picked up one of the chintz pillows from her bed and buried her face in it, inhaling deeply.  A flood of happy memories filled her senses. 

Harry watched from the doorway, glad to see Hermione responding to the magic that was Paravel.  “Back in a flash!” he called and headed for his own room to change.

  Harry felt the sense warmth and familiarity upon entering his own room and was glad to be back.   He knew, without knowing why, that what Hermione needed most in order to deal with her parent’s separation, was time.  And he could think of no better place to spend time, than here.   Whistling softly to himself, he shed his school robes and took from his wardrobe something much more suitable for a weekend at Paravel.   Casual slacks and a soft cashmere sweater seemed right.  He surveyed himself in the mirror, running a hand through his dark hair.  “Back again, dear?” his mirror wheezed at him.  “No use fixing that hair you know…” the mirror continued, as yet again, his hair sprang back to its usual state.  He grinned ruefully and set off to find Hermione.

The door flew open before he had even knocked.  She stood grinning up at him, her hair perfectly smoothed, eyes bright, cheeks flushed.  Like Harry, she had donned a soft sweater and trim slacks.  She looked wonderful – ready for anything.  Dancing or billiards, or perhaps a moonlit stroll down to the cove - the possibilities were endless.

“Shall we?” he asked, making playful bow and offering his arm.  She accepted it gratefully and they walked, with hearts much lighter, down to find Arabella.

When Harry and Hermione had entered the sitting room, they found Sirius and Arabella waiting.  Sirius rose to his feet at once and folded Hermione in a fatherly hug.  Their eyes met – his searching hers for any evidence of turmoil or pain.  To his immense relief, he found none.  To Hermione’s immense relief, Sirius had the grace not to mention her mother - waiting, instead, for Hermione to bring it up if she so chose.   She didn’t.

Hopkins shimmered in with the familiar silver salver of sherry.  Hermione accepted her traditional glass and stood with her back to Arabella’s beautifully carved mantel, feeling the fire and sherry slowly spread their warmth.  In the few short weeks that they had been gone, the weather had turned cool.  There was a crispness in the evening air that spoke unmistakably of fall.  Hermione inhaled with pleasure the scent of wood smoke and candles, and…Harry.  He was standing with an arm draped casually over her shoulder, deep in conversation with Sirius.

She stole a glance up at him as he talked animatedly about the new house Quidditch team, and their chances for victory in house championship.   His eyes sparkled and an irresistible energy animated his features.  He still sported a tan, even though it had been weeks since he’d been at the beach, undoubtedly the result of his encounter with the Firebird of legend.  Apparently it was never going to fade, but Hermione didn’t care. It made his eyes seem greener, if that were possible.

She realized with a start that he had stopped talking and was now looking down at her expectantly.  “I’m sorry…” she mumbled, “What did you say?” 

“Hungry,” he said slowly, “I asked if you were hungry.”   She nodded, only slightly embarrassed to have been caught staring.  With a huge grin Harry escorted her into Arabella’s dining room.

He had been her best friend for years, her boyfriend for months, and Hermione’s heart still skipped a beat whenever she looked at him.  It was a wonderful feeling…

Over the course of dinner, the subject of Hermione’s parents never came up.  Harry was beginning to wonder if they would pass the whole weekend without discussing it, or if Hermione would wait until she had a moment alone with Arabella to bring it up.  But Hermione had other plans.

After dinner, Hermione gave Sirius a particularly fetching smile and linking one of her arms through his, said, “Take a walk with me?”  Harry knew that tone of voice and that look all too well.  He had seen her use it at school one or two times - just before she unloaded on Ron or Seamus.  

“Wouldn’t like to be in his shoes…” Harry thought, smiling ruefully as he glanced at his unsuspecting godfather. 

They had taken one or two turns around the terrace together before Hermione had worked up the courage to speak.  She pulled him into an unexpected hug.  He was surprised and pleased of course, but curious as to her motives.  Looking up into the handsome face of Harry’s godfather, Hermione could understand perfectly why her mother might be attracted to him.  But her mother wasn’t the question mark – he was.

‘So, Sirius,” she said softly, her arms still around him, “tell me something…”  He raised an eyebrow, still unaware of the blow that was about to fall, “What’s really going on with you and my mother?”   He was taken aback.  Hermione’s tone had never changed, but her eyes now had a steely glint. 

“Nothing…I swear” he said. 

“Nothing, or nothing yet?” Hermione returned instantly.  She had him there, for in truth, he did find Catherine attractive.  He wasn’t sure how to answer Hermione.  These were questions that even his closest friends would have simply never dared ask him – knowing that if they had, Sirius would have been likely to take off one of their heads.  But this wasn’t James or Remus probing into his personal life, it was Hermione - the girl to which he owed his freedom, not once, but many times over.  She deserved an answer.

Sirius took a deep breath and said truthfully, “I don’t know.”  He could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t satisfied.   She turned away, her mouth set in a firm line.  But Sirius wouldn’t let her go.  Pulling her onto one of the numerous benches that dotted the terrace, he decided to tell her everything.  “Hermione, I can’t honestly tell you where things stand.  I don’t know myself.” 

Hermione sniffed loudly.  He continued. “What I do know, is that Catherine is a warm, wonderful woman.  When she and your father visited here this summer, I found her company delightful. And yes,” he admitted grudgingly, “I might have gotten a bit carried away in my attempts to make her feel...welcome.”  He grinned like a schoolboy.  Hermione rolled her eyes.  “But I did it because I knew it was safe…”

She looked puzzled, “What do you mean, safe?” 

Sirius could hardly believe what he was saying, how easy it was to talk to her.  He was telling her things he hadn’t even told Arabella.  “I could flirt with your mother to my heart’s content because I knew that she married.  I knew that she wasn’t in a position to act on anything I said or did.  I could never be as free around an unattached woman as I was around your mother, or as I am with Arabella.  Unattached women read too much into every little thing I do or say.” He sighed, “They begin to expect things…” 

“So what are you saying?” Hermione said flatly.  “Now that my mother has declared herself unattached, has she begun to expect…things?”  That had been hard to say, but necessary. 

“No” he said quickly, “nothing like that.”  He ran his hands through his hair, distractedly.  “Hermione, when your mother decided that she wanted to move to Cornwall, it was with the idea that your father would come with her.  She made several trips to the area and Arabella asked me to show her around.  To put it bluntly, I thought the situation was much as it had been when she had been here this summer.  It never occurred to me that there was trouble brewing at home.  I thought I was still “safe” to be myself around her.  And we had a wonderful time.” His eyes sparkled at the memory.  He continued, “And you should see the place she’s picked out.  It’s a quaint little house in Penmarren.  Her office is right next door.  You’ll love it…” he said, forgetting for a moment why they had been talking about Catherine in the first place. 

“So what’s the trouble then?” Hermione said, “You two sound like friends.  What’s got you confused about where you stand?”  

“Another direct attack” Sirius thought to himself.  “This girl doesn’t miss a trick…”  Out loud he said, “Hermione, there’s something about your mother that you don’t know, that even Arabella doesn’t know yet.”  Hermione felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.  All sorts of unpleasant thoughts raced around in her brain. 

“Steady, Hermione” came Harry’s whispered voice in her head, instantly settling her nerves.  She was able to look Sirius in the face to ask, “What, what don’t I know about my own mother?” 

“That she’s not a squib, or even a muggle for that matter…” said Sirius calmly. 

“What?” Hermione breathed. 

Sirius put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder.  “I know you’ve always thought that your mother was a muggle – that she inherited none of Arabella’s powers.  Your mother thought so too.  But she was wrong.  Catherine has the latent powers of a true witch.  They’ve just never been developed.” 

Hermione looked skeptical.  “How do you know?” 

He grinned, “It happened quite by accident.  I was using my wand to rearrange some tables and chairs in her new place and laid it down briefly to do something else.  As I was leaving, Catherine noticed that I had overlooked my wand and picked it up, intending to hand it back to me.  When she touched it, red and gold sparks went everywhere.  Only a witch could have done that.   I’m telling you Hermione, she has powers.  They just have to be explored.” Sirius said firmly.   

A vision of her adult mother in a class full of first years at Hogwarts swam before Hermione's eyes. "What do you mean, explored?" she said to Sirius.

He had an answer ready. "I'm going to train her myself..."

"You're what?" said Hermione weakly.

He smiled broadly, "Well, she can't very well go to Hogwarts now, can she?" Hermione didn't respond. "Catherine has asked me to help her fully realize her powers." he said, watching Hermione's face closely for her reaction.

Hermione knew what that meant. Hours of studying together in very close proximity. "And," Sirius said softly, "I almost refused."

Hermione looked up sharply. "Why?" she asked.

Sirius was about to divulge an inner secret...

He sighed, "Because, I do find your mother attractive. And, sometimes things take you by surprise."

"You’re telling me..." Hermione said softly.

Sirius looked relieved. He rambled on, as though some emotional dam had broken inside. "I want to make sure that she has enough space and time to resolve whatever feelings she has about your father and their marriage. His affair really hit her hard, Hermione. Her self-esteem is pretty fragile at the moment and I wouldn't want to do anything thoughtless if you know what I mean..."

Hermione knew exactly what he meant. "Thank you, Sirius" she breathed.

He was surprised by her again. "For what?" he asked quizzically.

"For telling me the truth" Hermione said, "For being respectful of her feelings." Hermione had been touched by his openness with her, and sensed genuine concern and regard for her mother in him. It was very reassuring.

She was suddenly able to smile at him again. A real smile. She waggled a finger in his face, "But be warned, Sirius Black, if you hurt her, you'll wish you were back in Azkaban..."

He hugged her tightly and promised to behave. The air was cleared between them and the stars seem to shine brighter because of it.

They walked back to the sitting room, feeling much closer to each other than they had been before leaving it. And to the "How did it go?" look Harry shot him when he came in, Sirius gestured to Hermione said, "Harry, you're a very lucky man."

Arabella waved to comfortable arm chairs.  Sirius and Hermione joined Arabella and Harry by the fire.  They spent an hour or so in pleasant conversation, mostly about how Harry and Hermione should spend their weekend of freedom.  Eventually, Arabella said in a would-be-casual voice, “You know, Catherine is in Penmarren this weekend, maybe you’d like to go and see her…” 

Hermione’s features froze momentarily, but she recovered with the speed of light and said, non-committally, “We’ll see...”  Arabella nodded and changed the subject.

It began to grow late.  Hermione stretched in the comfortable arm chair, willing herself to stand up.  “I think I’ll turn in,” she said, “before I end up spending the night in this chair”.  She hugged Arabella and Sirius.  And then, laying a hand on Harry’s shoulder, gave it a quick squeeze, and saying, “Good night, then.” 

Her eyes had locked with his for a moment, and Harry found that his heart rate had risen distinctly in his chest.  He heard her whispered voice in his head, “Come soon…”  He closed his eyes for a minute, allowing himself to think of her, waiting upstairs for him.  He could almost taste her; almost feel her silky skin…

“Harry…..Harry!” Sirius prodded him.  Harry startled slightly, coming back to himself rather suddenly.  “I see Hermione isn’t the only one who’s tired.  You were nearly asleep!” Sirius laughed. 

“Not even close,” thought Harry to himself, but he purposefully didn’t correct Sirius.  “Sorry,” Harry said with a guilty grin. 

“Off with you then…” said Sirius.  Harry didn’t object.

As Harry climbed the steps to the second floor landing, he found that he was taking them two at a time.  He reached the long hall to the guest wing, and didn’t even bother going to his own room. Instead, he tapped quietly on Hermione’s door.  She didn’t open it, but spoke softly in his head, “Come in...” 

Harry slipped inside, closing her door noiselessly behind him.  He inhaled deeply – her perfume, her scent filled the air.  Thin tapers floated here and there, casting flickering candlelight on the walls and ceiling.  Harry was still taking it all in, when he heard Hermione’s quiet laughter from the vicinity of her large double bed.   His eyes focused on her slim outline, and he moved toward her.

She had been waiting for him for only a few minutes, but it had seemed like ages.  Unable to wait a second longer, Hermione threw herself into his arms and buried her face in his soft sweater.  He held her tightly, and then drew back slightly, looking at her with eyes that danced, “What did you say to Sirius?”  She sighed and dropped onto her bed.  Harry stretched out beside her.  She relayed their conversation and Harry predictably amazed to learn of Catherine’s latent abilities. 

“So,” he said cautiously, “you’ll go and see her then?”  Hermione looked away. 

She said softly, “Yes”.  She felt, rather than saw, his smile in the darkness.  “But Harry, I don’t want to talk about any of it now.  It’s still painful to think of either of my parents with other people, even if, in mother’s case, it’s Sirius.”  She let out a long sigh, “I’d really just like to forget it all for a while.”  She looked up at him with eyes full of pain and pleading.  It took him by surprise.  “Please, Harry,” she whispered, “for tonight, make it all go away.”   Without a word, Harry waved a hand at the small CD player Remus had given him for his birthday - the one that Hermione now took practically everywhere with her.  It began to play softly.

“Dance with me.” he breathed, holding out a hand to her.   She slipped her hand into his, and he drew her to her feet, only now fully aware of what she was wearing.   She heard his sharp intake of breath and guessed the reason. 

“Do you like it?” she said, almost shyly.  Harry’s mouth had suddenly gone dry.

Hermione was wearing a gossamer thin gown of pale silver.  It was sheer and clung ever so slightly, outlining each curve and feature of her figure. Harry touched the shimmering folds gently.  It felt like liquid, like the Invisibility Cloak, except that this gown, unlike the Invisibility Cloak, concealed nothing. 

He actually moaned.  Hermione allowed herself a small laugh.  “So Madam Malkin’s really does have robes for all occasions.”

But Harry hadn’t heard a word.  He was still mesmerized.  His arms encircled her waist and they began to move, almost imperceptibly at first, to the music in the background. 

At last they were away from Hogwarts and back in their own private paradise.  Harry could say and do all the things he’d wanted to do for weeks.   Nothing in his life had ever felt so right or as perfect as Hermione in his arms at that moment.  His hands slid along the rippling silver gown to her waist; his fingers caressing the small of her back. Hermione looked up him.  Her eyes nearly closed, lips parted.

His mouth closed hungrily over hers.  She ran her fingers through his inky black hair, pulling him closer.  His heart pounded in his ears, he could just barely make out the strains of music playing softly in the background…

‘I can’t believe this moment’s come.  It’s so incredible that we’re alone.  There’s so much to be said and done.  It’s impossible not to feel overcome…”

Hermione was drowning in his embrace.  With every touch, with every caress, he was driving away her demons – the image of her father at a seedy motel, of her mother laughing coyly up at Sirius.  Harry’s kisses, demanding and urgent, were burning them from her memory.  She was aware of nothing but Harry – his touch, his whispered words of love. 

He was bringing her higher.  She shuddered under his hands and lips.  Flames roared around her and she gasped.  Hermione was enveloped in sweet, searing pleasure.  She was being consumed; - they were both being consumed by the Firebird.  She felt her flesh melt away, but didn’t care.  She cried out, reaching the height of pleasure.  She felt a spasm ripple through Harry, and felt their connection grow suddenly deeper. 

The Firebird had indeed, burned away the living flesh, baring not two souls, but one.  At the moment of his release, Harry realized what he had never known before.  Their souls were intertwined.  Hermione saw his eyes glow preternaturally and in a flash of instant rapport, she knew it too.    Dumbledore had said she was embedded in his soul, but that was no longer true.   It was so much simpler now, so much more complete.  They were sharing the same soul.  

Emotionally and physically spent, they slipped into dreamless sleep, only to wake the next morning in each other’s arms. 

Later, Hermione would go to Catherine, and they would begin to rebuild their relationship.  Hermione realized that in time she would be able to put aside the hurt and disappointment at the dissolution of her parent’s marriage.  She was even able to accept that in addition to Catherine’s latent magical abilities, she also possessed latent feelings for Sirius Black.

The weekend was over much too quickly.  Harry hadn’t even been able to visit Godric’s Hollow before it was time to return.  “Next time…” he thought to himself as Paravel disappeared in a rush of wind, to be replaced by Professor McGonnagal’s office.

Epilogue II

The weeks sped by.  Quidditch began in earnest and the Gryffindor team was making an impressive showing, winning their first two matches.  In their first match against Hufflepuff, they got off to a shaky start – they were still coming together as a team.  They were perhaps and hour into the game before Harry was able to make a heart-stopping dive, catching the snitch.

Afterwards, Harry pressed Remus Lupin to help coach the team on weekends, but he never seemed to have time.  In fact, Remus seemed to be vanishing from Hogwarts whenever he had a spare moment.  His absences did not go unnoticed by Harry, Hermione and Ron, who were intrigued, but too polite to ask.  Instead, they followed him.

Using Ron’s map of Hogsmeade and the Invisibility Cloak, they were able to work out that at least every Friday afternoon, and sometimes during the week, Remus was taking the secret passage under the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack.  From their, he apparated regularly to…who knew where?  Hermione had her suspicions, but didn’t voice them.

One rainy afternoon, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat in the Library, books and papers surrounding them, studying for their O.W.L.’s.   Ron hissed, “Look…” and elbowed Harry in the ribs.  Harry and Hermione looked up to see Remus drifting among the stacks (a/n “stacks” are the librarian’s term for bookshelves) carrying an armload of books.  He was so focused on his materials and the hunt for more, that walked right by Harry, Hermione and Ron without noticing them.

“What’s with him?” Harry mouthed. 

Ron shrugged then mouthed to Hermione, “See if you can find out what he’s reading…”  Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“Would you?” Harry asked her, his concern for Remus evident in his voice. 

Hermione sighed.  “Whatever he’s doing is none of our business…” 

Harry’s voice whispered in her head, “Please?” he asked, giving her a lopsided grin.  She could never refuse him when he looked at her like that. 

“Oh, all right” she groaned inwardly.  Getting to her feet, she dropped a kiss on Harry’s cheek, said lightly, “For you, anything…” 

Harry and Ron watched her make her way silently toward Remus, who was trying to keep an imposing pile of books tucked under his chin, while reaching for yet another from a shelf about six inches above his head. 

Hermione slipped behind him, unnoticed.  With her mouth inches from his ear, she said in a credible imitation of an eager first year, “Uh Professor, I was wondering if you could help me with my vampire essay?”  Remus gave an almighty start and books spilled everywhere.  He looked down to see his cousin, smiling up at him, tears of laughter threaten to spill down her cheeks. 

Madam Pince turned in their direction, hissing “Hush”.  

Hermione dropped to her knees, saying. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you like that.  I just miss seeing you - we all do…”  She scrambled to help him pick up the texts he had dropped. 

Surreptitiously, she noted each title as she handed them back to him.  Hermione was surprised – no mystified by the apparent subject matter, but said nothing as she handed him:

“A Guide to Magical Architecture” by I. Khan DeZhine

“Magical Methods of Construction Made Easy” by Master Carpenter Bill Dere 

and

“Historic Homes of Cornwall” by Martha Stewart (we all know she’s a witch, right?)

He looked at her chagrinned.  “Re-building, if you must know.” 

Her grin became a broad smile.  She said in a low whisper, “A surprise for Harry?”  He nodded and was about to explain more fully when she held up a warning hand.  “No!  Don’t tell me anymore.  Have you forgotten?  He can read my mind.  It’ll be hard enough to mask this from him, much less all the details.” 

Remus smiled, relieved.  “Thanks Hermione, Sirius would kill me if Harry found out about all this…” 

Hermione finished helping Remus pick up his books, then stayed with for a bit, deliberately chatting about other subjects, trying to bury what she had learned about Remus’s true activity under layers of unrelated information.  She was hoping against hope that Harry wouldn’t immediately divine the truth as soon as she sat down beside him.

Fortunately, just as Hermione returned to the table, Tim Darcy, from the Gryffindor house team, strolled up with a question for Harry about their next practice.  “Thank you, Tim.” Hermione breathed to herself, knowing that there was no better distraction in the world (as far as Harry was concerned) than Quidditch.

Cold December settled on the Castle.  Frost covered the ground each morning and it was possible to see your breath in some of the lower dungeons.  Harry sat in an armchair before the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room, lost in thought.  His exams were nearly over and Christmas Holidays were tantalizingly close. 

Christmas.  This would be the first Christmas he hadn’t been at Hogwarts since arrival, nearly five years earlier.  He and Hermione were going to spend Christmas at Paravel with Arabella. “My first real Christmas” he thought, knowing instinctively that Arabella would approach the yuletide season in a much different spirit than the Dursley’s ever had. 

“Christmas morning with Hermione” he thought, a small smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.   He patted one of the pockets of his robes automatically, “Still there” Harry reassured himself as he felt the small box that he’d been carrying around for days.

Earlier that week, Harry had gone to see Dumbledore with an unusual request.  He wanted to go to Paravel for the holidays, but be allowed to apparate back to Hogwarts with Hermione on Christmas Eve so that they might attend the Yule Ball.   Dumbledore was amenable, provided that Harry could produce signed notes from Sirius and one of Hermione’s parents.  Harry thanked him gratefully and was turning to leave when Dumbledore said, “Wait a moment, Harry”

Dumbledore’s eyes were serene over his half-moon spectacles.  “Since you will be away over the holidays, I think perhaps I should give you these now.”  

Dumbledore opened a one his desk drawers and withdrew a smallish black velvet box.  He slid it across the blotter on his desk toward Harry.   Harry felt a queer knot tighten in his stomach.  Dumbledore said kindly, “These belonged to your mother.  I’ve kept them in trust for you much as I did the Invisibility Cloak, but now it’s time for you to become their steward…”  

With hands that shook imperceptibly, Harry gently lifted the lid from the box.  Inside were his mother’s engagement ring and wedding band.  Harry felt that prickly feeling at the corners of his eyes that meant tears were not far off.  He looked away for a moment, 

Dumbledore said quietly, “They have been in your father’s family for years, Harry, passed from generation to generation.  Your mother was always proud to wear them, and to have been a part of such a long-standing and cherished tradition.”

Harry fingered the rings gently.  There was certainly an aura of great age and ancient magic about them.  Lily’s engagement ring contained a truly remarkable sapphire cut in a large oval and encircled entirely in diamonds.  The wedding band itself was elegant and intricately carved with a design of small leaves and branches that actually moved, parting from time to time to reveal a gryphon, resplendent in the golden glow of the band. 

They were small and light to hold.  The wedding band itself would hardly slip over the end of Harry’s index finger.  He studied it closely.  Her ring.  His mother had worn this ring.  Harry kissed it reverently and tucked it back in the box.   His eyes were over bright.  “Thank you, sir” Harry said in a low voice.  Dumbledore put a hand on Harry’s shoulder.  “I think Lily would have liked Hermione a great deal…”  Harry smiled, catching Dumbledore’s meaning, and then showed himself out.

“A signed note from Sirius and from one of Hermione’s parents…” Harry mused.  That’s what Dumbledore had said would be necessary in order for Harry and Hermione to be allowed to apparate back to Hogwarts on Christmas Eve in order to attend the Yule Ball.  Getting the note from Sirius had been no problem.  It was safely upstairs in his trunk.  “But getting a signed note from Gordon Granger…” Harry thought to himself, “will be tricky to say the least…” for Harry had decided that the note should come from Gordon.  It would give Harry an excuse to talk to him and to ask him for something far more serious than a note.  

Harry was ready to formally ask for Hermione’s hand, and he wanted to do the thing properly.  It was his hope to approach Gordon Granger first, then Catherine Granger.  Harry had no doubts about their respective responses, but felt that seeking their consent before speaking with Hermione was a significant measure of respect to everyone concerned.  Harry also knew that this was not the sort of thing that could be handled by owl.  It needed to be done in person. 

If Gordon and Catherine had still been a couple, it would have been much easier.  They would have been at Paravel for Christmas and he could have asked them there.  As it was, Gordon would be staying in London for Christmas.  Harry sighed.  He had thought it through over and over again.  There was no way around it.  He was going to have to apparate to London, breaking about a hundred school rules in the process. 

And so on rainy afternoon, a few days before the holidays, Harry had Ron cover for him as he changed into muggle clothes and departed Hogwarts for London.  Harry found Dr. Granger’s office easily and entered a waiting room packed with patients.  He gave his name to the receptionist who smiled politely and, being a muggle, didn’t perform the customary flick of the eyes to Harry’s scar.  It was nice for a change.  She asked Harry to take a seat. 

Harry settled into an old vinyl chair and picked up a back issue of National Geographic, thumbing through it idly.  But he wasn’t seeing the pictures; instead, he was looking ahead to his conversation with Dr. Granger.  Knowing it would be all right, but anxious just the same.

Dr. Granger’s receptionist handed him a yellow post-it note bearing the name, “Harry Potter”.  Unlike his receptionist, he did jump at the name.  Dr. Granger looked up wide-eyed and said, “Is he here?” 

The receptionist looked puzzled, but said, “Yes, sir.  He doesn’t have an appointment, but says he prepared to wait…”  The receptionist never finished her sentence.  Gordon Granger had darted from his private office and into the waiting room. 

The door to the waiting room burst open, “Harry?” Dr. Granger said, a bit loudly.  Nearly everyone looked up.  Harry jumped to his feet. 

“Is everything all right?  There’s nothing wrong with Hermione, is there?” he said, with obvious concern. 

Harry’s swift smile and outstretched hand were immediately reassuring.  “Everything’s fine, Dr. Granger.”  

Gordon relaxed visibly and shook Harry’s hand.  “Well then, what brings you here?” he said, frankly a little puzzled. 

“There was something I wanted to ask you…” Harry began, but paused, looking around at the packed waiting room.  Gordon saw Harry’s glance and immediately remembered his manners. 

“Why don’t we talk in my office?” Dr. Granger asked, genially.  Harry was relieved and followed the white-coated figure of Gordon Granger down a short hall and into a handsomely appointed office and study.  Gordon pointed to a red leather chair and said, “Have a seat, Harry.”   

Gordon lit his pipe and puffed silently for a minute then said,   “Well, what brings you here?”  Harry explained about the Yule Ball and about how Dumbledore would need a signed note from the Grangers in order for Hermione to be able to apparate back to Hogwarts for a few hours on Christmas Eve.  “I see,” said Dr. Granger, and taking out a pad and pen, he scribbled a hasty consent and passed it to Harry.  “Will that do?” he asked as Harry looked it over. 

“Yes, sir, thank you.  I’m sure that will satisfy Dumbledore.”  Harry replied gratefully. 

Dr. Granger detected an unfamiliar tightness in Harry’s voice and noticed that he was clenching and unclenching his hands in tension.  Gordon could guess the reason and said shrewdly, “But surely Harry, you didn’t have to all the way to London for this note.  You could have gotten one from Catherine by owl…” 

“That’s true,” said Harry with a forced smile.  “but there was something else I wanted to ask you.”  Gordon Granger looked expectantly at Harry who took a deep breath and plunged ahead.  “I would like to ask Hermione to marry me.  I would like for us to become formally engaged.”  Gordon raised his eyebrows, but didn’t interrupt Harry who continued, “Of course, things are just as I described them to you this summer, at Paravel.  If she accepts me, then our engagement would, by necessity, be a very long one.  We would finish school and begin careers before we married.”

“Why now?” Gordon asked. 

But Harry was ready.  “Because I’m certain, and she’s certain, and it seems foolish to pretend otherwise.  I love her, sir, and I can’t conceive of a future without her.” 

Gordon knew that Harry wasn’t to be swayed, but felt the need to say, “You may have to wait a long time.  Hermione will surely want to go to University.” 

Harry gave Dr. Granger a knowing smile, “I’m sure she will, but I’m prepared to wait.” 

Dr. Granger returned, “And what will you do while you wait?”

It was a fair question.  “I haven’t entirely decided.” Harry replied evenly.  “I could, of course, go to University with Hermione.  Alternately, I might begin a career in the Ministry of Magic.  Then too, there’s always the possibility of playing professional Quidditch.  What matters, really, is that in everything I do, Hermione’s needs and comforts would be fully considered.  As my fiancé, Hermione would have significant input into any decision I made about the future, because it wouldn’t just be my future, it would be our future.  Together, we’ll map out a sensible course not just for me, but for the both of us.” 

Gordon was entirely satisfied, even pleased with Harry’s response.  “Fair enough.” He said.  Harry looked relieved.  Gordon said, “Have you spoken with Catherine, yet?”  This was awkward.

“No,” Harry shook his head, “I wanted to speak with you first.” 

Gordon sighed.  “Thanks for that, although I’m not sure I deserved such consideration under the circumstances.”  Harry said nothing, staring fixedly at a spot on the floor, knowing that Gordon was referring to the break-up of his marriage and to his extra-marital activity.

“How is Catherine, by the way?” Gordon asked looking uncomfortable. 

“She’s fine.  I saw her briefly at the end of September, around Hermione’s birthday, and she seemed to be pulling herself together.”  Harry said, not looking directly at Dr. Granger. 

“No shortage of people willing to help her pick up the pieces and move on, I’m sure…” Gordon said, more to himself than to Harry. 

Harry knew exactly what Dr. Granger meant, but didn’t respond.  Gordon composed himself quickly and re-focused on the topic at hand.  Harry wanted to marry Hermione.  Gordon and Harry locked eyes for a long moment, and in Harry’s unwavering, open expression, Gordon saw not a boy, but a man - a man steadfast in his convictions, kind, intelligent, and most of all in love with Hermione.  Gordon sighed, then said.  “You have my permission, Harry.  Ask Hermione to marry you - right now if you’ll like.” 

Harry smiled broadly.  “Thank you sir, but I think I’ll wait until Christmas morning.  Would you mind not saying anything about this until then?” 

“Not at all, Harry” Gordon said, smiling at the young man who would one day be his son-in-law, “Not in the least…”