Chapter 9: Rituals and RegretsSummary:Hermione's letter.
The Animagus Ritual.
A bit of shmax.
That's about all.
Notes:Here we are witches!
A bit of pre-reading warnings: everything is a mix of books, movies and my own imagination. If there's something you find different than what you remember, that's why.
Second: I wrote Hr's letter while listening to Purple Rain. You have no ideas of the tears I teared.
Third: sorry for the cringe smut, y'all. I'm not really used to it yet- but I'm trying! I want them to have their sexxxy times but not everything at once, if it makes sense? I want them to grow together and evolve in that sense, too.
Fourth: bitch this is looong. Like my longest yet. ENJOY I SAY.
Fifth: English is not my first language, learned by reading fics and watching things to be honest, so please feel free to correct me at any time!
Sixth: Remember- MORALLY GREY CHARACTERS. They're not completely good little rays of sunshine.
Seven: if something doesn't make sense-well, it's a fanfiction. We're doing this for fun pals. Close your eyes and think of England, I suppose- I swear I've done my best!
Have a good reading!
PS: I've had a problem with the spacing- the 'box' where you write in the site just won't let me change it. Sorry for that- I have hope for the next one, though.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextHermione wanted to think it was a prank. Just a stupid prank.
But when Harry woke up and saw what she had picked up from her nightstand, she knew she couldn't lie to herself anymore. It had happened again- this time to herself.
She could feel her anxiety mounting: it felt like an avalanche was about to swallow her, and she could do nothing to stop it.
When Harry had received his older self's intervention, the consequences of that advice had been enormous. If Harry hadn't believed the dream, they wouldn't have bonded, and everything would've gone the same way it had gone for them. The very thought was chilling.
Now another piece of information from that future had arrived, even if it wasn't yet clear how that happened. Hadn't that timeline been erased? Would her older self still be able to send her a letter, in that case? How did she do it, by the way? Sending a physical object was a lot more complicated than sending memories. Was the content of this letter just as earth- shattering as Harry's dream?
She could admit to being curious, too. Harry had received a wealth of information on his family and his future choices. Will she get the same?
"You should open it, love. Would you like to be alone for a while?"
Harry knew exactly how she felt. He hadn't shared everything about his counterpart with Hermione. The most important parts, yes.
But he didn't think the other Harry would want him to share the devastation clear in his phrasing, the raw obsession that had gripped him once he understood that what Tom had taken from him was even more than he thought.
Harry had been ruminating on this thought for a while. How had his older self felt in that precise moment? What could one feel when they realise that not only their family, friends and mentors had been ripped away from them, but also their legacy and their very destiny?
Because now that he had felt the Bond, he shuddered at the thought of living with that part of himself that was once barren and cold, that emptiness that ate at him every day when lying on the poor excuse of a bed in Dudley's spare room, or during the long, nightmare-infested nights in the Gryffindors' dorm room.
That hole in his chest had been filled by Hermione's presence, by the warm waves of her Magic that lapped at his every time they were near each other, by her voice in his mind and her skin on his. That was his destiny, Chosen One et all be damned, and he could understand being obsessed with the idea of what could have been, in such a scenario.
He resurfaced from his thoughts when Hermione decided to read the letter privately, in front of the sitting room's fireplace. He kissed her forehead and squeezed her hand once, then left her to it. She would speak to him when she was ready.
It was only half past five in the morning, and he tried to get some more sleep. It was the day of the Ritual, after all.
Hermione heard the bedroom door click shut. She was alone.
She took slow steps to the armchair in front of the fire, taking a glance at the still dark sky outside. It was that time in the early morning when she felt like the only one in the world. It was quiet; there were no distractions to divert her from her worst thoughts and no one to stop her from spiraling into them. That's to say, an overthinker like Hermione Potter had never liked the hours before sunrise.
It seemed like a fine backdrop for what she was about to do. She took a seat, breathed once, and broke the purple wax seal.
She'd known that purple wax anywhere.
Her mother had laughed when Hermione told her that wizards still used parchment and quill, and for the next festivity, she had prepared a complete antique letter-writing set with purple ink and wax as a gift. Only her parents, and now Harry, knew why it was her favourite colour - it was a special thing between them. It represented, in a way, the memories of a time when Hermione hadn't been assimilated into a completely different world than her parents'.
She had used the ink in all of her sporadically written diaries, but she had always kept the sealing wax for an important occasion- maybe even to send her wedding invitation to her parents. A simple yet sweet way of saying that she was still the same little girl who loved purple, as it reminded her of the stories of times long gone that her father told her to help her fall asleep. Her favourites, ironically, were the stories about Merlin, and Arthur, and Morgana. And, well, the ones about the Empires of the past. Her family believed in early education, after all.
Hermione couldn't have imagined she would ever see it used for the first time in such a way.
She opened the letter. It was particularly long; that was the first thing Hermione noticed.
'Dearest Hermione,
If you receive this missive, it means that Harry has done something reckless- again.
Do not worry, everything written with this ink is visible only to someone with our magical signature, remember? We enchanted it immediately after we got on the train in 1994. If my suspicions are correct, you should be reading this around 1995 or 1996.
I know you're curious, so I'll get the hows away, and then we can focus on the whys of this letter.
Do you recall when Harry showed us the way to conjure a Patronus? We were so frustrated. How could magic, which had always responded perfectly to our precise movements and correctly enunciated incantations, falter when it was our intentions at play, the resolve in our heart?
Here's how, Hermione. I learned that sometimes magic is just magic. It's not science nor cuisine, and it doesn't always respond to a neat recipe and little more. Feel the magic, Hermione, and let it take its course. That's the most important advice I could give you, both academically and personally. Not everything can be learned from the pages of a book.
Intention-based magic is how you have this missive in your hand. The arithmantic process is a bit too convoluted to describe here, as it employs time-warping theories. But if I cracked it, then you can do it too.
In short, I enchanted this letter to find its recipient whenever you needed it the most, if you needed it at all. A bit like the Sword of Gryffindor, if you think about it- but less flashy.
Now, why did I send it?
Because we made a mess, dearest. An enormous mess that everyone already has or will be paying for, if I'm right about Harry's intentions.
Let me begin from the start.
In our first year, we felt immensely drawn to that little boy with the broken glasses in the train compartment, didn't we? We were almost compelled to befriend him. It was instinctual, irresistible, and that impulse was only reinforced after he climbed a Mountain Troll for us.
Well, I recently understood that it was Magic.
Magic was drawing together two halves of a whole. It was tightening a tether that had been there from the moment we took our first breaths into this world, and before that still.
You might be wondering what I'm talking about, but I have the feeling that you already know about the Soulbond. Harry has probably intervened or will be intervening shortly on it, I'm sure.
If you already know, then all of these details will be nicely put together and will offer you an explanation for what's to come, if you don't- well, we've already researched the subject. You'll know what I'm talking about anyway.
During those first few months, we had a bit of a crush on Harry, didn't we? Childish and innocent, certainly, but an interest nonetheless. Maybe it wouldn't be strange for anyone else to lose that interest in such a short time, especially when we were so young, but for someone who has a crush on their Soulmate? It's almost impossible.
The reason why we were able to ignore that spark of feeling, to box it away and never think about it again, was that it was not our choice, Hermione.
Harry's scar holds a Horcrux.
If you still don't know about them, they're basically pieces of someone's soul, detached from the subject and placed in objects to guarantee the caster's survival even after his corporeal form is destroyed. It's one of the vilest forms of magic around, and Voldemort has made six of them -knowingly.
Harry is the seventh- created the night of the attack in Godric's Hollow, unknowingly.
I don't have to explain the significance of the number to you, of course.
They are all things linked to what he cares about most, but Magic will not allow me to tell you directly what they are.
Do not worry, you will find them. I believe in you- you're me, after all. We're The Brightest Witch of Our Age. Do not ever forget that, even in the bleakest moments.
But let us return to the main point.
For the argument's purpose, imagine the Bond like a string that connects your Magical Core, mind and heart to Harry's. The Horcrux is like a knot in the string, which, while stationary sitting on Harry's side, blocks the flow of the Bond for both of you.
Now imagine a magnet covering the knot. The Horcrux syphons magic both from you and the original soul it belonged to. In the end, the stronger you and Harry are, and the stronger Voldemort is, the stronger the Horcrux will become.
And with that will increase its impact on Harry and the effects on the Bond- that's why it has to go as soon as possible.
Do not, and I repeat, do not, listen to Dumbledore with such obsequious acquiescence. He's a man, Hermione. Men make mistakes -he's old and fallible. And especially, don't listen to him when it concerns Harry.
He wants to make him offer his life to Voldemort, Hermione. To destroy the Horcrux, certainly, but he would still have to subject himself to a Killing Curse- and we obviously don't want to risk that. My Harry survived, since Voldemort took the Horcrux and not Harry's soul with the Avada, but who is to say that Bellatrix Lestrange, for example, wouldn't hit him a couple more times in celebration? He would die while being vulnerable and unconscious. It's not a danger I want your Harry to experience.
After the War I researched privately, because I needed to know if there truly hadn't been any other way possible for it.
Guess what? There was. There's a book in Cologne's Magical Library that explains how a Blood Ritual could've eradicated the Horcrux without killing Harry.
To be honest, in my less gracious moments, I've thought that Dumbledore knew about it but didn't even think to try because Blood Magic is considered Grey, sometimes even Dark Magic. But I will never know for sure. I would have done it, however.
We would do anything for Harry, wouldn't we? That has been both a blessing and a curse for me.
However, what is certain is that the Headmaster cares more about keeping his own hands clean than about keeping Harry safe. He's a hypocrite, and he does not have Harry's best interest at heart. As such, he shouldn't be trusted unconditionally.
You have to distance yourself from this absurd conviction that every adult you respect knows what's best in every situation. I'm an adult, Hermione, and I most certainly do not know best most of the time. Think critically. Always question people's intentions, no matter who they are.
Constant Vigilance, as Moody would've said.
In any case, now that you know about the Bond, the process of sealing it should be able to remove the Horcrux. There's no lighter magic than a Soulbond, and a single soul cannot be tethered to more than one other at the same time. You can figure out the math.
Returning to the first year. We shelved those feelings, unconsciously, because the Horcrux had been syphoning more magic than before, since we had just started practising it actively and stabilising our Cores- and from Voldemort itself, who had just taken semi-physical form while tethered to Quirrel.
You can apply this logic to a lot of what happened between Harry and us.
Of course, not everything was the Horcrux's fault, either.
Hermione, I'm going to be honest with you.
The reason why I strongly suspect that you're reading this around your fifth or sixth year at Hogwarts is that, looking at it now, that was the period when everything started going in the wrong direction for Harry and me.
Let me tell you a story.
It will not be linear -and maybe it will not make sense for you at certain points- but it's my truth, and I want you to know it, even if most of the conclusions I made are in hindsight.
Right after the War everyone had very little time to themselves, and even less to spend alone with whomever we wanted. However, on a summer night at Burrow, Harry and I found each other in the kitchen and decided to sit outside for a bit to talk.
Our relationships with Ron and Ginny had just taken root (if you didn't know about this, I'm sorry for the shock), and any particularly prolonged physical contact between us, as you can understand, could have been considered inappropriate.
That's one of the reasons why we never Bonded, even after the Horcrux was destroyed -we never were as physically close to each other as we were previously.
That night, we told each other a lot of what we had bottled up over the years.
Harry told me about how betrayed he felt when I preferred to listen to Dumbledore's orders rather than consider his well-being, that summer before our fifth year. At the time, I even tried to justify myself by saying that I had sent a few letters, but we know that they were all meaningless small talk. We failed Harry, Hermione. He needed us, we failed him, and we never apologised.
That was one of the first rifts between us, other than the whole Firebolt incident.
During that whole year, the Horcrux gained more and more strength. It affected Harry a lot worse than it affected us, but I remember distinctly that strange feeling of wanting to stay as close to him as possible, and then stopping just before taking action. That, and the almost prevailing, immutable attraction that we had shelved away for years that every now and then came to bother us with feelings we had no explanation nor place for, at the time.
Harry's emotions were clearly out of sorts, too- and maybe he would've reacted to our awkward attempts at comfort in the same way, even without the Horcrux's manipulation of the Bond. I don't even need to mention his state after Sirius' death.
The truth is, Hermione, that we helped the Horcrux separate us from Harry, with our actions and our inactions, both. If we hadn't stopped communicating clearly with him, maybe it wouldn't have gone this way. If we hadn't paid attention to everyone's opinions but followed our own conscience, everything would be different.
Take the Half-Blood Prince's book, for example. We were right, partially. The book is indeed useful, but it contains very harmful spells- and I implore you to make him try them out on a mannequin, first.
But was it reason enough to fight with our best friend constantly? No.
That was another major fight.
Then the world went topsy-turvy. Dumbledore was dead, Hogwarts was occupied by Death Eaters, the Ministry too, and Harry, Ron and I went on the run to search for the Horcruxes.
I'm assuming you don't know about this part, but let's just say that it wasn't a pleasant time.
For a time, Harry and I were alone. Ron and Harry fought, mostly because Ron was very heavily influenced by the one Horcrux we had managed to retrieve at that time, and he left us for a while. We were graciously appointed Undesirables Number One and Two, and we were fighting for our lives in a tent in the wilderness.
Certainly not an ideal background for romance, but that could have been a possible moment for the Bond to take over. Even with all of our fights and increasing distance during the years, my feelings for Harry remained the same, after all, buried or not. He would always be the cornerstone of my life, even later on when he really shouldn't have been.
However, we were surrounded by not one, but two Horcruxes. Of course, they tried to turn us against each other.
We held on, but we didn't get closer to sealing the Bond than a silly dance in the middle of a cramped tent. A poor attempt at regaining hope, but it worked.
It always works with Harry- everything is always better when we're close to him. That's how Fate had intended for things to go, after all.
Then Ron returned, and with him came the final nail on the coffin of our Soulbond.
The Battle of Hogwarts is not something I like to think about often. It was our final struggle against the Dark Side, and we won.
But at what cost? Too many lives were lost, and we failed Harry yet again. To me, it looked like he had died, Hermione. I saw his lifeless body in Hagrid's arms, and I could not convey that kind of soul-tearing pain to you in a million years. I dearly hope you never have to experience it.
Harry had received Snape's memories and viewed them in Dumbledore's Pensieve.
That was the moment he was finally made aware of his purpose in Dumbledore's plan. He had to die. Plain and simple. I tried to stop him, I offered to go with him, but it was all for nothing.
He went. He went into the Forest and caught an Avada between his eyes. And I could do nothing about it. I consider it one of the biggest failures of my life.
The struggle after the War was immense, as you can imagine.
Ginny leaned on Harry, and Ron leaned on me after Fred's death, and I leaned on no one when I couldn't restore our parents' memories.
Yes, Hermione, I did it. I know that for you it should only be a vague idea right now, but before we went in hiding I resolved to send them away to Australia and retrieve them after everything if we won, or to let them live freely, unencumbered by their dead daughter's memory in case we lost.
Reality wasn't as fair as I thought. We won, indeed, but their memories of me were forever lost. It had to do with my excessively powered, too intricate Obliviate.
That's how I orphaned myself, Hermione. I will never regret it, because it kept them safe, but you try not to lose them if you can, okay? Not you too, please.
After that summer, Harry and I never lost contact, of course, but I spent a year at Hogwarts while he and Ron went to become Aurors. That year was crucial, because the complete lack of physical contact and proximity frayed the edges of our overstretched 'string' further and further and, a little after graduation, Harry married Ginny.
I want you to know that I wasn't aware of the Bond until about three months ago- not that it's of any consolation. I can't say for sure that I would've stopped the wedding, even knowing that my Soulmate was marrying someone else. Maybe I would've informed him. Maybe not. I will never know.
I only know that he was happy that day, Hermione. It was a beautiful wedding, if a bit overcrowded. The only strange point occurred during the vows.
Just after the hand-fasting settled, Harry put a hand on his heart and fainted. I fainted with him.
I didn't look closely into it. Maybe I didn't want to know anything at that point.
We chalked it up on the sun being too strong- ridiculous, isn't it? But everyone believed it. Harry and I included.
It seems like the War only made me more of a coward. Losing so much makes you walk on eggshells in fear of losing anything else, I suppose.
It's ironic, really, since I had made information the source of my confidence for years, only to plainly refuse to look into anything that could have disturbed that fragile balance we wobbled on every day. The first time in my life I rejected knowledge, even if it wasn't an entirely deliberate choice, and it cost me my Soulmate.
But I still remember that moment as if it were ten minutes ago.
I felt something snapping inside my chest, a pain so profound that it's indescribable in mere words. I now understand that it was the Bond rupturing, our souls separating for good. The Bond wasn't gone, as that would've meant our deaths, but it was uncompletable.
We were cursed to be near yet far for the rest of our lives, because we did not choose each other.
Nothing similar happened at my wedding with Ron.
We waited a couple more years, but ended up marrying in another beautiful, overcrowded ceremony. I was happy that day. I want you to know that. I didn't get to use our purple sealing wax, but still.
I loved Ronald.
Maybe not in the way I should've loved him, but I did. Just as I love our children.
But I knew, in the deepest recesses of my mind, that they should've been Harry's.
Years passed, and our relationship remained that of normal brother and sister, from the outside. I'm ashamed to tell you this, but I hope you will understand me, even if you don't forgive me.
While I was married to Ron, I sometimes caught myself thinking that something was not quite right- I could never bring myself to love him, with a capital L.
Now I understand that I was simply not made for loving him in that way. He was not Harry.
I genuinely don't know if I would have offered to walk to my death with Ron. Not like I did for Harry.
With Ron, I never had that indescribable feeling that I belonged at his side, that he was where I was meant to be. Not like every time I was near Harry.
I often found myself wandering, comparing him to the kind of husband I knew on a visceral level, Harry would've been to me- and he always came up short. That soured our relationship, of course, over the years. Not that I ever told him of my musings, of course. But he knew.
I didn't know why I compared him to Harry at the time. To me, our relationship had been strangely intense our whole life, but never truly romantic. The only hints of something fishy were flashes of thoughts that passed through my mind suddenly, at different and unpredictable moments, that always took me back to Harry.
Like a dam slowly breaking after years of overload, letting little streams of water through the points that broke because of the biggest pressure. And I ignored all of it.
Acknowledging it would've meant that my life after the War had been a lie, that my efforts to build a family with Ronald had been futile, that I was going to destroy Harry's family. I couldn't let anything like that happen, so I buried every thought, every flash of innermost truth, and went on with my life.
Still, I have always loved Harry more than I loved my own husband. As a brother, I've always said.
It's laughable, now. Maybe it was another case of self-deception, a way to deny my own sins and failures. It's ugly, but it's the truth.
If everything else wasn't enough to plant a seed of doubt in anyone who paid attention, our spoons never appeared on Molly's clock.
The Weasley Family Magic is old and Light, as you know, but it's been diluted in potency over the years. It doesn't have the sentience of the Potter Magic, for example. But the clocks were a signal- what little sentience their Magic had, it used it to say that we were not accepted into the fold. Even after our registration, our married names refused to show in the records.
And so I remained Hermione Granger, and Ginny became Ginevra Potter only by making a special request to change her surname at the Ministry.
The press had a field day with this, as you can imagine.
Fortunately -or unfortunately- the strange occurrences and the hints that something was wrong were distant in time and easily covered up enough that no one ever truly doubted anything, I think. No one but Harry and I, of course.
Eight years ago, Harry and I had taken our vows as Head Auror and Head of the DMLE on the same day, and the whole Ministry's personnel came to congratulate us. Someone from the Legacies Department went to talk to Harry, and I remember that moment well because I saw Harry's face changing completely.
I do not know precisely what was said, but from that day onwards, Harry was never the same.
He didn't smile at his children like he used to do, didn't laugh that loud barking laugh so similar to Sirius' anymore, and his eyes were sunken and lifeless most of the time.
I noticed immediately, of course. And I did try to make him talk to me, but he was even more closed off than he had been in our adolescence. The thing that stood out was the way he looked at me sometimes, when he thought I wouldn't notice. He looked at me with a pain in his eyes so immense that I flinched a time or two.
Of course, we never talked about that, either. What good could it have done? We had made our beds, and now we had to lie in them.
I'm not even sure he realised that I had noticed him. But even if I did, I did not know what it meant. I didn't know why he was looking at me like he had lost me.
Over the following five years, I often thought about divorcing Ronald. Not that I had any delusions about Harry- I know that he would never follow in my footsteps. He's always had this masochistic way of punishing himself for faults only he feels he's guilty of, after all.
And I really never thought about kindling any romantic notion between us anyway, until I found out about the Bond. Earlier than that, I just noticed he was unhappy, and one of the possible reasons could have been his marriage.
After I knew, it was already too late.
As for me, I couldn't deal with it anymore. With anything, really.
Every day I felt like the life I was living was increasingly wrong, and I didn't know why. I think I went a little mad in the third year after Harry started his decline, because one day I looked at myself in one of the mirrors of the cottage that I shared with Ronald, and cried until I fainted at the image reflected in it.
I wanted to hit the walls, to scream, to scratch my own face. Why? Why was everything wrong? Why was the life I had fought for, that I had shed tears and blood for, that I had been tortured for, not what I felt it should have been?
But I couldn't remove those shackles. I was trapped. Trapped in a wrong marriage with the wrong person and the wrong everything.
My son had been born four years prior and was still too young. I couldn't abandon him, nor his elder sister- my dearest Rose, born in 2003.
I hated that name the moment Ronald proposed it. He said he wanted two children and to give them names that started with one of our initials. He wanted to name his little girl Rose, like the protagonist of 'Titanic'.
That was the first film we ever watched together- and it would've been a sweet idea, if I hadn't immediately thought that Harry would've known of my family tradition of naming girls with names linked to literature, and if I hadn't almost snapped and told him to not dare mention initials, because Harry and I, in another life, would've had the same ones.
I felt like my husband was touching something that belonged to my best friend, and he had no right to appropriate it. It was such a stupid thought, but it was honest.
And I hadn't been honest with myself for a long time.
In the end, my mother was Juliet, and I was Hermione, but my daughter was Rose and I had to be content with that. After all, I hated her name, but I loved her so much.
Sometimes I couldn't help but think that she should have been Lily instead. Not only as in Harry's mother, but also as Lily from 'The House of Mirth'. We loved that book, remember? And what an impactful character that was.
A year after Rose, Lily Luna Potter was born.
Then, a year before Harry started to change, came my little Hugo. Meagre consolation for our tradition, but better than nothing. So I stayed.
I noticed Ginny's worsening attitude towards me at Hugo's fifth birthday. The day had been joyous, and I was happy lately, because I was working on a case in close contact with the Auror division, so I was seeing Harry almost every day- which didn't happen that often, since by then I was already Minister. I wouldn't say that the Bond was acting up, because it had been mostly dormant for years, but Harry's closeness always makes me feel better, Magic or not.
Ginny and I had never been close, and she had just started a round of snappy comments that had left me confused when Ron decided to wrap the party up and return home from the Burrow.
I asked him what was wrong with her, and in response, he just gave me a tired, resigned look. 'I think you should leave the case,' he said.
I asked for a divorce six months later.
Two years and a couple of months had passed from the day I officially destroyed my family, and I was doing better. I was thriving at work, my children hated me a little less, and the Weasleys even gave me a nod sometimes, when we encountered each other in public.
The only thing that disturbed the rhythm was Harry, because he changed drastically yet again.
From being listless and empty, he became full of fervour and focus. I had seen that manic look in his eyes too many times in the past not to recognise it immediately. Harry was brewing something big and was obsessed with it.
And I left him to his devices- everything was better than that soulless gaze he wore.
I started to become concerned when whispers circled about Harry's continuous presence in the Department of Mysteries.
At first, I thought he fixated on the Veil again, since he had already tried to retrieve Sirius a year before, and had failed. I tried too, of course, with the same result.
That was a very dark time for Harry- and I didn't even have the right to help him through it, since I understood that Ginny didn't like having me around much.
After the divorce, she then barred my presence from Grimmauld entirely.
At the time, I thought the problem had been the divorce itself, that she was taking a side- now I know better, I think. Even if I know for sure that he never told her about his discovery of the Bond, I'm still hurt that Harry let her do it.
Maybe his guilt was so heavy that he just let her do whatever she wanted. I understand the feeling now, frankly.
Let us come to the main event, I suppose.
A month after Harry started his daily coming and going from the Department of Mysteries, someone came to me with his written request for permission to use the Time Room. I became frantic.
Harry was playing with time, the one thing I told him to leave alone. I had repeatedly, as you know, imparted that making the slightest change in a timeline would completely alter the course of the future. What if Voldemort won, after whatever he wanted to do was done?
I thought maybe he wanted to eliminate Voldemort and the Horcruxes before his parents were killed, which is technically impossible with our current research, I later found out. Or maybe he wanted to end the War before it began, like in our third or second year. Save Sirius in this way, instead of pulling him out of the Veil.
I thought about all of the possibilities, but never thought about the truth.
In my desperation, I did something I never imagined I would do. I investigated my best friend. Not using Ministry facilities, of course. I did it quietly, privately, but I did it.
It was a major misuse of his trust, of course, but in the end, I'm glad I did it. He would have never told me otherwise.
I looked through all the papers linked to him until I found his last Mungo's report. At first I just skimmed through it, not really expecting anything to emerge, but I found out that a part of it was blackened out. Harry was purposefully hiding something from everyone.
So I went to Mungo's, and I'm ashamed to say that I abused both my power as Minister and my influence as a member of the Trio, but I got the report in its entirety.
A Soulbond. My Soulbond. That's what Harry was hiding.
I can't even begin to describe the emotions I felt in that precise moment. I was furious, mostly.
Furious with myself for never paying attention to the signs I had noticed, for never listening to that little voice in my head that told me 'wrong' every time Ron touched me. I was furious with Harry, who I then discovered had known for seven and a half years.
He never told me, Hermione. If I hadn't discovered it on my own, he would've let me die out my days without knowing why my life was all wrong, why everything pulled me towards him. Why I have that hole in my chest that not even my children's births have ever filled.
Why my Magic had always felt incomplete, lacklustre- like I knew that something was wrong with it, but didn't know what exactly. We even chalked it up to being Muggleborn, didn't we? We thought we just didn't have that nonchalance with it that Purebloods and people who had always lived in the Magical World had.
I was sad because I had been robbed of everything. A life filled with real love, my power, my Soulmate, the children that should have been ours.
We could have saved hundreds of people if we'd been more powerful earlier. The consequences are infinite.
I dug into it, finally. I understood that Harry had tried to claim his title but had been rejected by the Family Magic for a problem with his Core. He then got himself checked and found out the rest.
I was appalled when I saw that.
Getting rejected by their own Family Magic, after a life lived as an orphan, would do things to anyone. It explained his sudden change in temperament. Not to mention losing the relevant political power and private grimoires, which would have been an enormous boon during the War.
So I started researching. What Harry doesn't know is that even his name cannot open certain doors- like the Department of Mysteries' Archives.
It's a concept I know will give you goosebumps. Just the thought of rows after rows of books on secret practices, banned spells, and incomplete research made me salivate too, when I discovered it.
But I wasn't there for personal pleasure; I was there for the truth. I researched the Bond in dept, making use of the Room of Love- which is how I know everything I wrote to you. I made the connection with the Horcrux and how it could have influenced the events, and put together everything that had happened to me since the day I stepped on the Express and met Harry Potter.
The day that changed the entire trajectory of my life, now that I think about it.
I analysed the Prophecy with more attention and realised that it could be talking about us, too, other than talking about the Bond- because it's clear what 'the power he knows not' is, now.
It could've made everything hundreds of times smoother, but Harry had won without it, anyway. I guess there's a reason if he is the Chosen One.
I finally had the confirmation that I was not crazy, that the flashes of thought were not ugly, malice-filled complaints about my ex-husband or an absurd fixation on my childhood best friend.
Everything was true, real, and I had lost it. I had been robbed, and I helped the robber hide my stuff.
When I had this last, precise thought, I knew what Harry wanted to do. He wanted to go back and fix it. Reclaim our Bond, take everything that was made for us back.
But I still didn't know what he would do, precisely. Would he go in person? Too risky, and the research on the subject had been stalled for fifty years at least, so there probably even weren't any ways to do it. If he could not do that, maybe he wanted to warn his past self in another way.
So I signed that permission slip. I let him do his research and waited.
A month ago, I reviewed everything. He was establishing a temporal connection through his own magic- brilliant, really. He wants to use it as a go-between his current and past selves. Maybe he wants to send a memory, I don't really know.
What I knew was that he had prepared for this moment for eight years. Eight years of research in the Black and Hogwarts' libraries, I suppose, because if he had used the Department of Mysteries from the start, I would've known immediately.
Then I decided to do something extremely selfish. I boxed all of my morals, all of my second thoughts away, and I let him proceed. I didn't stop something that, in any case, would mean the entire destruction of my current timeline.
There's something inherently wrong, I think, in deciding for thousands of people. I do it daily. I have real power, and I usually use it to choose what I think would be best for the entire Magical Community.
This time, I'm ashamed to admit, I didn't. Oh, this change will probably save countless lives- but could also mean that other people will die. Just different ones. I don't know, nor does Harry.
I just thought about myself, and that's the real reason you have this letter, Hermione.
I want my Soulmate back, if even for your version of me. I want the life I was promised. I want the real, one great love I've had since I met him- and it will change everything.
Nothing is done in half measures when Harry is around, right? But we've already concluded that we would do anything for him. This is one of such cases.
That's not everything, however. I also want the inheritance that belonged to me.
When I researched everything I told you, I found myself compelled to look into the process of distinguishing one's magical lineage. It's a complicated process to do by yourself, so most people just don't- also, most people already know of their lineage or never think about it, like most Halfbloods.
Because the Gringotts' process is more straightforward, it's mostly used to confirm the person's identity on a five-generation limit, so any Muggleborn with older roots in Magic will never know of their lineage after confirming their identity to open a Vault.
I recently found that it is possible, however, to ask for an almost unlimited test for a substantial fee. Most people don't know about this, because Purebloods really don't like Muggleborns in positions of power, even now, and discovering that some older lineage had generated, hundreds of years after its extinction or dormancy, a Muggleborn child would undermine a lot of their personal convictions. Not to mention that it would bring another differently-minded person into the political spotlight, if that House had a dormant seat in the Wizengamot.
The process I found is old, complicated and obscure, but it lets you see your Magical and Muggle genealogical tree without any generational limits.
Hermione, I ask you not to panic at this information. I know that you will think it's impossible, that it's against everything you thought about yourself, but I swear that it's the truth.
We come from the Pendragon line, the direct one. Well, as direct as a millennia-old genealogy can be. We're the last descendant of the House of the Dragon, as it was called. That would mean basically being next in the line of succession for Magical Britain's throne, if Magical monarchy hadn't been dismantled when our ancestors' Magic went dormant.
It will also be a great confidence boost for you, because I know you still need to find the right place for yourself in the Wizarding World, and to win a War in the meantime. This will help you with both.
But remember, dragons are always stronger than snakes- even if they're at Voldemort's side.
I'm sure you have a lot of questions, but I'm confident you can find out everything else by yourself. Personally, I haven't even had the time to arrange a meeting with Gringotts after I discovered it, because Harry's progress is very fast, and I have to act accordingly. I doubt my House would recognise me, anyway. Not with an almost severed Soulbond on my shoulders.
But you have to go, Hermione. Go to Gringotts and confirm this as soon as possible- you have no idea of the weight our name has in Magical history. It's basically a ready-made alliance with the Goblins, and trust me- you will need it. It's the only way they will ever agree to intervene in the War, and they hold everyone's purses in their hands. Do not forget it.
Returning to my choice to anticipate Harry's actions, I prepared a contingency plan -if his didn't work, than mine maybe would. I went behind his back just as much as he went behind mine. I realise it perfectly, but it's worth it.
If Harry has chosen us, then I will choose him too. If I have to have my hands half-clean, dirty of second hand guilt, then I prefer them completely soaked.
Even if I have misconstrued his intentions and he's not planning to do something about the Bond (which I still consider the most probable outcome), I will choose him anyway to make up for every time I didn't.
I know I won't regret this because it gives you my side of the story, and in any other case, you'll have all the information you need to proceed in your life with certainty.
To do this, I researched faster, found another way to connect my reality to yours, and decided to send you this letter as soon as I could before Harry's findings brought him to act, and your Harry does something about it.
Because after he does, I probably will not exist anymore. That's why I integrated the 'Sword' feature -my existence, or inexistence, will not limit your ability to receive the letter, once I've sent it into the larger time-space plane.
This letter is my contingency plan.
I told you that reading it meant Harry had done something rash, but I'm truly not any less culpable. As always.
I hope that what you read will give you a new perspective on everything, Hermione. The things that I've discovered in forty years are very different from what I understood when I was sixteen.
To leave you for good, I will give you some final advice.
Stick to him, Hermione. Believe in Harry, in yourself and in your Bond. He's your everything, and you'll be his.
Never abandon your personal quest for knowledge, but do not shun other people's insights just because they do not fit into one of the boxes you have built in your mind.
We are often right, but we do not know everything. You have to accept it.
Even if we know the extent of our brilliance is vast, do not let it blind you- be humble in your quest.
Take knowledge from everyone, consider even the most absurd things you've ever heard (and yes, I'm talking about Luna, too). Take and research, experiment, experience things. Build your knowledge like you would build a house- reading books is fantastic, but it's not enough. You need more than bricks to build a house. You need steel, glass, wood and cement.
Reading is not enough to satiate our hunger, Hermione- feed that hunger with a more open mind. It will serve you well, I promise.
Be as creative as I know you are, free yourself from any preconceived notion- you know that Harry is a living exception to the rules, anyway. If he exists, who says Nargles don't?
You're living in a Magical World. As I've said before, sometimes magic works just like magic.
Lastly, live your life like you conjure a Patronus- with intent, with your heart.
I didn't, and it only brought me 'what ifs'. What if I'd been braver, what if I'd been stronger, what if I'd been smarter, what if... the list is infinite.
My life is one of regrets, Hermione, and I truly hope yours won't be.
With all my love, and my hopes,
Hermione J. Granger.'
By the end of the letter, Hermione had shed countless silent tears. The load of information was enormous, and the emotional weight wasn't any less. The numerous pages, dotted with her fury, sympathy and profound sadness towards her older self, were left unattended on the low table in front of the fireplace.
The sky outside had started lightening up, the world becoming less quiet.
All she needed for now was Harry's embrace, his warmth and the certainty of his presence. Hermione slipped into their new bed and was immediately surrounded by his arms. She burrowed her face into Harry's chest, her sobs filling the room until she fell asleep, while his comforting hand rubbed her back in circles.
Harry didn't know what Hermione had found in the letter, but he was certain it would be useful for something. Hermione would never send a useless letter across time, after all. He decided to ask about the content, and if Hermione permitted him to read it then he would. His curiosity, however, was less than his compassion for his wife.
He had briefly slipped into a light form of sleep earlier, the kind during which he felt almost awake but not entirely. In that state, he had felt each and every one of Hermione's emotions, so he had a general idea of just how impactful that letter had been for her.
He needed to know, but Hermione needed to sleep more.
So he offered the comfort he could and held his wife until they both fell asleep.
Hermione woke up still nestled in Harry's arms.
He was looking at her from above, his hair even messier than usual, and his green eyes glittering in the sunlight coming through the window.
"Feeling better?" His voice was still rough from sleep.
"Yeah," Hermione nodded. "I still can't truly metabolise what she said, though. I should read it again, just to be sure. It was... a lot."
"Can I?" Harry asked. "Read it, I mean. If you don't want-"
"No matter," Hermione shook her head. "We can read it together." Harry acquiesced. "So, breakfast first?"
"What do you think about calling Dobby? I really am not up to meeting people. We have to read her letter first, then we have the Ritual. For that, we need to be as focused as possible- we cannot have any distractions." Hermione proposed.
"Can he even come here? I mean, he doesn't work for Hogwarts anymore."
"I don't think Dobby gave Dumbledore his resignation, Harry."
"Fair enough. Dobby!" he called loudly.
"Master Harry Potter Sir!" Dobby arrived with a pop.
"No, no, you're not calling me Master," Harry shook his head frantically.
Dobby's eyes instantly brimmed with tears, a bony hand raised- ready to strike himself.
"Dobby!" Hermione exclaimed, stopping his hand.
"What Harry meant," she gave him a contemptuous look. "Is that we are friends, you're not our slave. As such, you can just call us by our names," Hermione explained, as calmly as possible.
"F-friend? Dobby is Mast- Harry Potter Sir's friend?" his lashes were filled with tears again.
Hermione looked around, panicked. Harry gave her a replica of her earlier look, and she rolled her eyes.
"Dobby bes proud to be Harry Potter Sir, and Hermy Potter Ma'm's friend!" Dobby almost shouted through his hysterical sobs.
'Hermy Potter Ma'am is new,' Harry cracked up with laughter in her mind- she could feel the slight pain in his abdomen for the way he was reigning it in.
'Shut it.'
'Alright, Hermy Potter Ma'am.'
'I despise you.'
'You were literally made to marry me.'
'I still hope for a divorce.'
'Magic won't allow it, and neither will I.''Then I'll go full Muggle. Let us see if the Police will believe you or me, then.'
'Darn it.'
'That's what I thought.'
"Alright, Dobby. No more crying," Harry tapped his little shoulders lightly. "Did yous need something, Friend Harry Potter Sir?"
'Friend Harry Potter Sir is just as ridiculous.'
'Nothing beats Hermy Potter Ma'am. Nothing.' Harry laughed a little more.
"Yes, Dobby. We thought that you would be able to get us some breakfast discreetly. Can you do that? Because, if you're busy-" Dobby disappeared and reappeared with another crack, an enormous plate in his hands.
"This enough, Friend Harry Potter Sir?" He asked, almost smugly.
'Well, that was efficient.' Hermione admitted to herself, impressed.
'That's House Elves for you.'
"Thank you, Dobby. That's more than enough. I've got a few sickles on-" Dobby disappeared.
"I'm not going to comment on that."
"That would be for the better, thank you."
After a blessedly lighthearted breakfast, they decided to change into casual clothes and sit with a cup of tea to read the letter.
To say that Harry was shocked by the content would be an understatement. "I don't even know where to start," Harry blew a breath out, his eyes glassy. "There are two of us, then."
"It's just... wild, you know? I heard the same story -with a lot less detail, by the way- from Harry, and it looked like his Hermione wasn't affected by the Bond at all. He didn't even know she had noticed what he was doing, let alone that she planned to cover her part of the job." Harry focused on this comparison, trying to divert the attention from the myriad of emotions the letter expressed.
Older Hermione had not been a simple person, that's for sure. But now was not the time.
"You've always had a sort of tunnel vision, Harry." Hermione said. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that you're usually very perceptive and observant, but once you fixate on something, it's the end. You won't notice anything else."
"Truly? You think so?"
"Yes, but it's not a bad thing per se. It's very useful when you have a goal, because you always manage to make five from two plus two, but it's also inconvenient if there's more than one thing going on at the same time." Hermione explained her point of view.
"Maybe," Harry conceded. Then he stopped. He took the pages in his hands, looked at them better, and spread them out on the table.
"Look at this, love."
"What?" Hermione asked, confused. "The underlined words."
"What about them?"
"'Directly', 'what',' Hogwarts', 'Grimmauld', 'Gringotts', 'at Voldermort's side', 'Dumbledore', 'Sword of Gryffindor'. Hermione wanted to say something that she couldn't write, and she even mentioned it. Look," Harry indicated a passage to a suddenly excited Hermione.
"'Magic will not allow me to tell you directly what they are.' Hermione underlined 'directly' and 'what'. This means..."
"That she was telling us where they are, indirectly," Hermione spoke in one breath, shocked. "You're... brilliant, Harry. Truly."
"You were the one to write this. Well, not you, you, but... you understand what I mean," Harry rubbed the back of his head, blushing.
"Just take the compliment."
"Very well, thank you, then." Harry smiled and kissed her lips lightly. Hermione blushed, still unused to it- in broad daylight, at least.
Hermione suddenly stopped in her tracks, as if stricken by lightning.
"Harry, what did you use to destroy the diary?" She asked, still immobile.
"A Basilisk fang. Why?"
"And what did you use to kill the Basilisk?"
"The Sword, you know that," Harry said, baffled.
"Did it come in contact with the venom?"
"Yeah, I stabbed it through the mouth. It should be covered in it."
"It's goblin-made, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but why-"
"It absorbs only things that make it stronger." Hermione breathed out.
Harry stopped, too. He turned his head towards Hermione, his eyes brighter than ever.
"The Sword."
"The Sword." Hermione nodded, a slow smile appearing on her face. "The Sword can destroy a Horcrux, because it has absorbed Basilisk venom."
"Brilliant. Brilliant!"
Harry abruptly stood, picked Hermione up and twirled her around amidst her laughter.
"We know how to destroy them, and where they are," he breathed out, his forehead pressed to hers.
"We do."
"We only have to find out what they all are, destroy them and then it's just him," Harry whispered, almost incredulous.
"And this time we're going to be prepared. No more spur-of-the-moment suicide missions."
"Shall we go on with the Ritual immediately, then? If it works, it will even heighten our senses, based on what our Animagi are. That would be invaluable in battle if we get a predator," Harry reasoned.
"You just want to be a big animal," Hermione rolled her eyes. "But yes, you're right. Can you imagine being, like, a fish? Useful if you live near water, certainly, but for us, it would be almost useless. What are you going to do, splash Voldemort from a bucket of water?"
"Tell that to me in fourth year. I could've used transforming into a trout."
"Viktor transfigured himself into a half-shark, I think", Hermione remembered.
"Yeah. Almost gave me a heart attack, that one. You know, that time I was going to save you immediately, but then I saw Ron, and I understood that they were using you for Viktor's task." Hermione nodded.
"You have no idea of the rage I felt later, when I thought about it. Like- I've been glued to this girl almost since the day I stepped into this place, and you're going to make her the most important person for him? The guy who met her, like, a month before?" Harry was indignant.
"What can I say, I'm just that charming." Hermione faked desolation.
"They just have to try something like that now. Let's see if I don't put-" "Harry James."
"Very well," Harry mumbled.
"Anyway, I do think that we're going to be predators of some kind." "How do you figure?" Harry pulled the Cloak out of his trunk.
"Because we weren't made to be prey, Harry. Just think about the amount of magic in us- does that feel like it belongs to someone born to be hunted?"
"No," Harry admitted.
"Correct. Then we're meant to be the hunters." Hermione finished.
"That's true enough, I guess. Talking about animals- don't you have any opinions about the Magical line you come from? 'House of the Dragon' has a ring to it, honestly."
"What opinions could I have, Harry? I'm more shocked than anyone else. From being a Muggleborn nobody to the last descendant of the most famous and oldest Magical House in existence is a big step, I would say." Hermione's trepidation was evident.
"At least I'm not the only Lord around. Hey, do you think I should take your surname? Like 'Harry Potter-Granger: husband to Lady Pendragon, last of King Uther's line'. Everything is better than 'the Boy-Who-Lived', anyway." Harry diffused the tension.
"You're ridiculous."
"Maybe I could even lift Excalibur..."
"If there's anyone who's going to use Excalibur, it's going to be me! You already have the Sword of Gryffindor, Harry, don't hog them all."
"But maybe you would prefer something like a bow and arrows, you know-"
"Because I'm a woman? Thank you very much, but no. I'm going to get Excalibur, and that's final." Hermione huffed while they slipped out of the door under the Cloak.
'But I don't really have the Sword of Gryffindor. It comes and goes as it pleases.' Harry whined.
'Poor Chosen One, doesn't get a famous sword,' she mocked. 'But I honestly don't understand this. I mean, is it reasonable for the Sword to appear only once in a millennium, just for you? Over the years, I'm sure a lot of members of the House needed it.' Hermione hypothesised.
'Is it possible that you have some connection with the Gryffindor line? Maybe 'It appears to any Gryffindor in need' means that it comes to a literal Gryffindor, one by blood. You could try keeping it for longer, then -a weapon more is always welcome, especially one full of deathly venom.'
'Everything is possible at this point, Mi. You could tell me that I'm Merlin's grandfather reincarnated, and I would believe it.'
'This whole thing has become kind of nutters, hasn't it?'Hermione admitted.
'This whole thing was nutters six years ago, Mi. Now, if Lucius came directly into the dorms and delivered a whole villain monologue before casting a Tarantallegra on Seamus and leaving with a hair toss, I would call it just another Tuesday.'
'That would be very Irish of him, I suppose.'
'I'm not even responding to that.'
"The runes are ready," Hermione announced from her crouched position on the ground. "Fantastic," Harry said. "Can we start, then?" He was vibrating with anticipation.
"Yes, but you have to calm down. Lose focus for an instant, and you're dead. And if I die because you died because you were distracted, I'm going to kill you again."
"Roger, Captain Potter."
"You're Captain Potter, Harry. I should be a General, at least. I'm basically a Princess, give me a bit of dignity."
"Right, right, you're always right. Now, can we begin or not?"
"Yes, before I decide to just can the whole thing and punch you in the face." Hermione joked, rolling her eyes.
"A reintroduction to the stage of 'Granger versus Malfoy: the Bird of Discord'. Great 1994 classic, I have to admit."
"I'm ignoring you."
"Come on, Mi, that moment was epic. One of my favourite memories to revisit at night, if you get the gist," Harry wiggled his eyebrows.
"I can't understand why you're so fascinated with the idea of me being violent or misbehaving in some way, but today is not the right time for psychoanalysis. Get in position, Cap. I'm going first."
"Are you sure? What if something happens?"
"If something's going to go wrong, it will not happen to me," Hermione deadpanned.
"Fair enough," Harry grumbled, then exited the circle on the ground to observe the Ritual.
Hermione walked to the centre of the circle, her eyes closed. She raised her wand, which had been tested before to see if it was still able to conduit her enormously grown power, and started to chant.
Purple beams of light touched the runestones placed strategically on the ground, making them float and glow. A silver dome formed from the reflected spell, enveloping Hermione in an impenetrable fortress of magic. Her complex, old chant continued for minutes, until it stopped suddenly. The light gradually lost its brilliance, the spell dissolving.
Where Hermione had stood before, an enormous, proud-looking lioness saluted the world with her first roar. Harry held his mouth agape in awe, walking slowly to meet the magnificent creature in front of him.
"You're... incredible," he breathed out.
'Can you hear me?' he asked, smoothing a hand on her furry head.
'Yes. How do I look?' she purred at his touch.
'Majestic. What if I'm, like, a butterfly? Wouldn't that be awkward?'
'Please. You could never be a butterfly.'
It was the first time Harry had seen a lioness roll her eyes.
She was beautiful in this form, too. Her coat was the same colour as her hair, a rich dark brown, and even a little curly, too. Her eyes shone gold, and her size was immense.
This was not something you could find in nature.
'Now it's my turn. Get ready to reverse the transformation, kittycat.'
Before she could answer, Harry had already performed the reversing spell.
He almost ran towards the circle, raising his wand and winking at Hermione before starting. She rolled her eyes fondly, waiting to see what kind of spectacle he was going to put on this time.
The same process was repeated, and when silence fell on the room, Hermione saw a beautiful black mane first.
Harry was -predictably, since they were Soulmates- a lion. He was about the same size as her, maybe a bit bigger, and he took even more space because of the fluffy black mane around his head.
The first thing she wanted to say was 'black lions do not exist', but then she remembered Hermione's advice. 'Sometimes, magic just works like magic'. And, more importantly: 'Harry is a walking exception'.
She decided to just let it go.
'How do I look?' Harry asked, his gigantic head tilted to the right.
'Just as magnificent.' Hermione confirmed, but then she stopped as if in recollection.
"Wait..." she said out loud, and took another good look at Harry's lionine face.
She burst out laughing uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face and bending over to clutch her stomach.
'What is it?' Harry asked, both confused and miffed at her reaction.
"It's just, you..." Hermione tried to say between one hiccup and the other. "You're Scar from 'The Lion King'," she dissolved in laughter again, breathless.
'Who?'
"Scar. It's a lion from a Disney animated film. You're exactly the same. The green eyes, the scar, the black mane. Identical." Hermione sat down, still shaking with mirth but calmer.
"Don't worry, he's the villain, but he's very hot." She reassured.
Harry roared in her face in response.
'No lion is hotter than me,' he declared.
"Whatever you say," she patted his head in consolation.
'Let alone a cartoon one. Pft.' Harry scoffed haughtily. 'Now, can I turn human again before you die from suffocation? I'd have to kill you again, then.'
"Very well," Hermione proceeded with his request.
Harry returned to normal and adjusted his clothes.
"Can we try without spells now?" He already loved his animal form. He felt like himself, but stronger, freerer -primal, in a way.
"Sure."
Hermione transformed on the spot, her body already incorporating the previous Human Transfiguration work into the runes imprinted by the Ritual.
She tried running, finding herself on the other side of the room in nanoseconds. This body's speed was phenomenal. Its strenght too, it seemed, because she was able to send a mannequin crashing into the wall with a swipe of her paw- and the only remains were pieces of wood scattered on the floor.
Harry, who had been trying the same things, looked up in time to meet Hermione's golden gaze. They both grinned maniacally- not a great sight, since they were still in animal form.
They ran towards each other in unison, clashing in midair and rolling around on the ground, tussling and lightly biting each other. They were having the time of their life- Harry had only ever experienced this feeling while flying, and even then, it wasn't this pronounced.
It felt spectacular.
When they got tired, a particularly spacious red sofa appeared, and they happily made their way to curl up together on the cushions. After a while spent necking each other, they simultaneously returned to their original form.
Harry almost fell on top of Hermione, but managed to stabilise himself with an arm. He found himself face to face with his wife, who was watching the whole thing from below, amused.
'We've got to improve the landing, I think,' he joked.
'Yeah,' Hermione nodded slightly, her eyes fixed on Harry's face.
'Have I got something on my face?' he asked.
'No. Just admiring my husband,' she teased.
'Mhm, really?'
'Yes. He's kind of handsome, you know?'
'Oh, I know. The most fanciable boy in Hogwarts, someone said.'
'That someone was certainly not me, because I just said that you were more fancia-' Hermione was silenced with an unexpected kiss, more forceful than Harry had dared that morning.
'What did I do to deserve this reaction?' Hermione asked.
'Existing is enough, believe me.'
'Do say more,' she teased, her lips still locked with Harry's.
'You like me talking a lot, don't you?'
'You noticed it last night, why ask again?' she admitted.
'Because I love knowing that I could turn you on everywhere, at any moment, just by talking in your head.'
'Do you have a thing for exhibitionism, instead?'
'Nope. Never going to let anyone see what's mine.'
'Possessive, aren't we?'
'You love it. But yes, I do have a few ideas for more… risky playtimes.'
'Why was I surprised? Dumb luck and sheer adrenaline are exactly your thing, after all.'
'Why, you did meet me.'
Harry snorted lightly, his head shifting. He pressed a few kisses near her ear, teasing the spot with his teeth now and then. Hermione shivered.
'Never say I do not listen to my wife,' Harry declared.
'What-' Hermione was picked up, her back resting against Harry's chest, her thighs on either side of his. She felt a bit like a doll in this position. She loved how he was generally bigger than her, but not extremely so. Too much of a difference could have been awkward, she often thought.
Harry tilted her head back, supporting it with his shoulder. Her curls cascaded down his arm, the long line of her throat completely exposed to him.
He replicated what he had started to categorise as 'Hermione's favourites'. He licked where he knew would give her goosebumps, bit where he had seen her graze his marks with her fingers, and sucked where her neck was still bare.
The Room was much more well-lit than their bedroom. He could see every detail of her skin and every expression on her face.
He loved watching her, but Harry already knew that when he was twelve. He'd just gotten a new perspective from which he could admire her.
Hermione melted onto his body like butter, enjoying his attentions. His lips on her skin were hot and soft, his teeth sharp and his sucking forceful, decisive. She felt so relaxed, sensual and uninhibited in Harry's arms. There was no one she trusted as much, after all, even with her body.
Harry trailed a hand down to the buttons of her shirt. 'MayI?' Hermione nodded, sluggish.
He slowly undid one button after another, leaving her shirt completely open but still on. He looked down, noticing the barely-there blush pink bra she had put on that morning.
'That's not very proper, is it?' he teased the skin underneath one strap of the bra with a finger. 'What?'
'This thing. It's not very proper for school, is it? Why would Miss Perfect Prefect have it in her trunk? I thought the white set was an isolated case.'
I like wearing pretty underwear,' Hermione shrugged lightly.
'I like them, too. But this is not pretty- this is a tease, Mi.'
'Mh?'
'Yeah. If I had known you had these things under your uniform...'
'What would have you done?'
'Probably gone mad, knowing I could not touch. Or wanked myself stupid.' Hermione snickered.
'Knowing that my gorgeous, swotty best friend wore such maddening lingerie would have short-circuited my brain at thirteen, I think. Woul've gotten a boner every time you raised your hand in class, cast a spell or said something with that know-it-all tone you like to use so much.' Harry took one of her hard little nipples between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing lightly. Hermione moaned, her face now buried in his shoulder, Harry's other hand holding her hair.
'Not to mention the night we flew on Buckbeak. Felt your tits pressed on my back, your arms and the smell of your perfume all around me. My cock was so hard I was minutes away from coming in my boxers,' Harry admitted.
'I was so wet, too,' Hermione confessed in a whisper.
'Yeah? Should have told me. We could have used the Time-Turner for something more enjoyable.'
'Like what?'
'Like this,' Harry grazed a trail down her abdomen and stopped on her thigh, his fingers barely touching the hem of her skirt. He used the hand wrapped in Hermione's hair to make her look at him.
Hermione nodded, eyes half-lidded, at the question in his eyes.
'Are you sure?' He asked for good measure.
'Harry Potter, if you don't continue, I swear-'
'Very well.' Harry gently pulled her knickers down, Hermione helping him until they fell on the Room of Requirements' floor.
'You too,' she said, pulling lightly at his neckline. He nodded, a smug smile on his face, when she immediately started caressing his chest and attacking his neck anew.
'Do try not to look so satisfied', Hermione grumbled.
'I was a scrawny little git, Mi. It does satisfy me to see you attracted to me,' Harry replied honestly.
'Who says you're not a git now? And you've always been handsome, by the way. You've just filled up, now.'
'Love you, too,' he chuckled, turning her head to kiss her, his hand reaching up her thighs until it rested on the mound of her pussy.
Harry raised his eyebrows, surprised.
'Pav taught me a spell,' Hermione answered his unasked question, embarrassed. 'I feel tidier like this.'
'Would have eaten it anyway.'
'Harry James!'
'What? It's the truth. Now look.' Harry asked the Room for a body-length mirror.
Hermione raised her head slightly, blushing red as a tomato at the picture they made together.
Harry was naked from the waist up, full of red marks on his skin, and his jeans were unfastened. His dark boxer briefs bulged obscenely, and his hair was a mess. She was in even worse condition, her long curls still held in his fist but in complete disarray around her face, her eyes glistening and lips swollen.
Hermione's shirt was completely open, her bra had been pushed aside, and her breasts were spilling out of it- her abused nipples red from when Harry had impulsively bit and sucked on them.
Her legs were spread apart by Harry's thighs, her centre exposed by the bunched-up skirt, but covered by Harry's possessive hand.
He was holding her gaze through their reflection when he started caressing her folds. She opened up for him like a flower, her wetness spilling onto his fingers.
Harry hummed contentedly, eyes fixed on the reflection of her cunt in the mirror. He parted her lips with two fingers, the clear, musky fluid glistening in the light of the room. Harry moaned at the sight, his hips bucking against Hermione's back involuntarily.
'You're so wet,' he whispered in awe.
Hermione was so embarrassed by her wanton reflection that she tried to hide her face with her hands, before being stopped by a light tug at the nape of her neck. The slight sting made her moan, her cunt pulsing visibly in the mirror.
'You like having your hair pulled?' He asked.
'Har-ry!' Hermione whined.
'No, Mi. Tell me what you like. Tell me what you want me to do. It's my first time doing it, and want this to be good for you.'
'Okay...' Hermione took a deep breath. 'Circle a finger on my... opening,' she started awkwardly.
'Very well,' Harry encouraged, his finger following her wishes.
'Now try to press your middle finger inside, but be careful, it might be-'
'Tight, yeah. You have such a wet, tight little cunt, Mi. I can't even imagine how good it will feel on my cock.'
Harry was moving gently at first, but with Hermione's encouragement he started fucking her in earnest, adding another finger when she requested it.
His hand was covered in her juices, the squelching sound they made sending jolts down his spine and towards his prick. He had to pause what he was doing to lower his constricting jeans, freeing his cock and shifting Hermione on top of it.
His shaft now covered Hermione's slit, and Harry groaned out loud when she took it in her fist, tapping her own clit with the head and giving it a couple of squeezes.
'Mi, love, please stop. I'm not going to last long this time- I'm too keyed up. Want you to come first,' he panted. 'But I want you to come too.' Hermione pouted slightly, maybe for the first time in her life.
'I will, I swear. But let me make you come first. Please,' Harry begged.
Hermione nodded, her eyes following Harry's movements.
Harry moved her down his thighs again, his cock now trapped against her back, and spread her legs anew. Her little slit was red and swollen, he noticed, and he couldn't contain the impulse to slap it lightly with four fingers.
Hermione moaned loudly, and he smirked. His little witch didn't mind a bit of pain, it seemed.
Harry circled her clit with his thumb, his other two fingers fucking her open again. He freed his other hand from her curls, massaging and teasing her breast instead.
Hermione's legs trembled, and she came with a choked moan. Her folds contracted, dripping and squirting her clear liquid all over Harry's wrist and thighs.
Harry couldn't contain himself at the sight. He allowed her to ride out her orgasm on his fingers first, before slipping them into his mouth. His eyes were fixed on Hermione's while he licked her cum from his digits, and she decided she couldn't let him win like this.
On slightly wobbly legs, she slid down until her knees hit the ground. She took Harry's cock in both her hands before noticing that his precum was not enough to make her movements easier.
She swiftly passed a hand through her still-dripping folds, using her own come to lubricate his dick as much as possible. She had read in one of her secret books that dry friction could be painful for a man, after all. Better be prepared.
Harry looked at his gorgeous, almost naked wife on her knees for him. She was a vision, and his cock pulsed with the need to paint that perfect face white. He recognised the increasing obscenity of his thoughts- even in his wettest dreams, he hadn't dared imagine cumming on Hermione's face- but he also enjoyed the way things were going.
At first, he had been scared of somehow offending Hermione during these moments. He tended to let his tongue loose when he was too aroused, he now knew. But now he recognised Hermione as his perfect match in this, too.
He could see the need for praise in her eyes, the way her nipples hardened at his slightest touch, the way her cunt had squirted all over his hand after a few thrusts of his fingers.
She was as feral for him as he was for her, and until now, he had not been wrong about her in anything related to sex. So he took a risk.
'Look at you,' his breaths became heavier and heavier with every stroke of Hermione's hands. 'Such a good wife, jerking your husband's cock so well. My perfect little slut.'
Hermione's small moan was involuntary and unexpected. She closed her thighs abruptly and rubbed them against each other in an attempt to stave off the need to touch herself.
Harry smirked, something darker and more intense than she had ever seen on him.
He admired the view of her backside in the mirror. Her skirt had almost returned to its original place, but didn't cover the sight of her cunt and asshole in the position Hermione was maintaining.
His cock was harder than ever in Hermione's hands, its size intimidating and its head almost purple from the orgasm he had staved off until now.
Hermione never thought she would like dirty talk during sex. She enjoyed reading about it, but never imagined it would translate into real life.
She was happy to say she was wrong. She loved Harry's filthy mouth and, even if she would never admit it, the second he praised or called her in some way -of all things- instead of feeling insulted, she felt something like lightning strike her pussy.
She stroked Harry's cock faster, loving the sight of his flushed face and darkened eyes, not to mention the solidity of his cock in her hands.
Hermione studied his reactions. She noticed that he particularly liked it when she passed her palm on his cockhead, or when she briefly and lightly increased the strength of her hold on his balls.
She felt him jerking in her palms, the shaft almost as long as her face and as thick as her wrist.
But she wanted to see if her Harry was wired like other boys.
'You're so big,' she whispered in his mind, awed. 'Will it fit?'she asked, faking intimidation.
'Don't worry, love. I'll make it fit even if I have to cut half of it off,' Harry spoke without filters.
Well, not exactly like men in books, it seemed. A bit morbid, but something you would expect from Harry.
She saw his chest rising and falling quickly, his breaths heavier and more fragmented, his balls tightening in her hold.
Hermione decided to give him her coup de grace. She leaned in and parted her legs, exposing her private parts better to the mirror, then raised her gaze to catch Harry's. Once he managed to detach his eyes from the reflection in front of him and returned to look at her, she smiled sweetly and decisively swiped her tongue over his slit.
Harry almost jumped in his seat. His cock became even more engorged, his mouth opened slightly, and he groaned loudly. He came, hard, all over Hermione's face and hands- white, viscous spurts covering her lips, cheeks and the tip of her nose.
Hermione decided to repay him in kind, taking two fingers' worth of his cum and sucking on them with a soft whine.
Harry looked upwards, spent and exhausted, then collected his wife from the cold ground, spelling away their body fluids and cuddling her into his side.
While she righted their clothes, Harry asked the Room for a blanket.
They spent a good half-hour in that position, taking pleasure in each other's presence and warmth. Harry decided to speak first.
"Do you want to talk about the rest of the letter?" he asked tentatively.
"What is there to talk about, Harry? They didn't communicate at all. They did things and thought thoughs and felt emotions, but never actually talked to each other. They did a lot of people wrong, like their children and spouses. They were victims of circumstances, yes, but also executioners. I feel sympathy and anger and sadness and a million other things for my older self, but what can I do other than take her words to heart? Her life is already over, her timeline gone. And maybe that's for the better, maybe not, but it is done. The only thing I can do is try not to repeat her mistakes."
"We'll be better than them, Mi. I swear to you, we'll be better. We're already together, after all. That was, like, eighty percent of the problem for them, right?"
"Yeah, if you do not consider the homicidal maniac and his little fan club."
"Details. I have a fan club, too, after all."
"Don't we all," Hermione deadpanned.
"Tough crowd."
"Tough head that you have there."
"Not a single soft part in my entire body, sweet wife of mine, if you want to try."
"Was this supposed to be an innuendo?"
"Yep."
"I'm asking for a divorce."
"That's the second time today."
"You can speak to my lawyer for any further communication."
"I think I can convince you otherwise."
Harry pulled a laughing Hermione in his arms, and spared a moment to think about how he was happier than he had ever been in his entire life.