Hi, everyone! This is the piece I wrote for the HP Halloween Creatures Fest, where my creature prompt was Triclops. In comparison to what some other people wrote, mine is quite tame! Before we go on, I'd like to point out that this story does contain a Harry/Hermione pairing. If you don't like them together, back away now.

Rated purely for language, themes, and scenes of a slightly more suggestive nature in the second part, but no actual smut.

Thank you to kanames_harisen for beta-ing for me once again :)

DISCLAIMER:This piece of fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offense is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.

Hermione was quite certain that she had seen enough of Harry Potter's melancholy to last her a lifetime.

In between his dealings with – and defeat of – Voldemort in the years previous when war was on their doorstep, his girl troubles with both Ginny and Cho, his uncertainty about himself and his abilities (which had only become worse as their N.E.W.T.s loomed) and the general moodiness that seemed to come standard with every teenage boy, it seemed all she ever saw from Harry were crossed arms and a perpetually sullen, brooding demeanour.

It was in the wake of his recent, and rather messy, break-up with Ginny and his subsequent fall-out with Ron (who seemed to be doing his very best to avoid her too, oddly enough) that she swore his gloomy disposition had reached new and ever more depressing heights and, patient though she was when it came to her closest friend, Hermione wasn't sure she could take much more.

She had all but dragged him from the Gryffindor tower to take a walk around the Black Lake. She couldn't take another day of watching him stare blankly into the embers of the previous nights' dying fire. It was a beautiful, warm, cloudless spring day out, and Hermione would be damned if she was going to let Harry spend yet another day sitting in the common room on one of the old-faded couches with the drapes drawn closed just so he could pout some more.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" she asked, when nearly twenty minutes had passed in silence. They had ventured far in that short time, right on over to the other side of the lake where students hardly ever attempted to reach – closer to the edge of the Forbidden Forest than anything else. Students that roamed the bank on the other side were tiny and insignificant, and there was nothing to hear but the sound of the leaves rustling on the gentle breeze.

Her question earned a non-committal grunt and an uncaring shrug in response.

She huffed, throwing her fluffy ponytail over her other shoulder. "Harry?" she questioned, louder that time.

"I'm fine!" he exclaimed.

"Fine, Harry?" she repeated, disbelieving. "You don't have to be fine, you know."

He crossed his arms over his chest, and his shoulders slumped. "Well, I'm not upset, if that's what you mean."

"Really?"

Harry gave an enthusiastic nod, sending his glasses down to the very tip of his nose. "Not even a little." He paused and pushed his glasses back up. "Well, that's a lie; maybe the tiniest bit, but only because Ginny's a good friend and I don't like that I hurt her, not because I'm pining for her or anything like that."

"Have you spoken to her at all since?" she questioned, kicking at a stone along their path and sending it skidding away.

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at his feet. "No. I don't plan to, either. Distance is probably for the best. I don't want to push it."

"Why not?"

"Because it's for the best," he repeated. "I wasn't happy, and she…"

"And she?" Hermione prompted when he trailed off.

He sighed. "She knew I wasn't happy."

"Harry." Hermione slowed to a pause and looked up at him, her brow furrowed to the point that there was a deep wrinkle between them. "What exactly happened between you and Ginny?"

Harry stopped, tensing beside her and giving her a terrified, side-long glance. "Ginny didn't tell you what happened?"

She shook her head. "I tried to ask her, but she burst into tears and ran away. She's an absolute wreck, Harry. I haven't seen her since. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was avoiding me, too."

He let out a long breath and his tensed shoulders relaxed. "Gin's a strong girl, Hermione. She'll bounce back, I'm certain of it. And what do you mean, she's ignoring you, too? Who else is ignoring you?"

"Ron won't talk to me either. The last time I saw him, he took off immediately in the other direction as though I might be carrying something highly contagious. Which begs the question once more, Harry: what happened with you and Ginny?"

Harry sighed again – a heavy, long suffering sigh – and raked a hand through his hair, making the strands stand on end. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but it's not something that… happened. It was always there. I just hadn't noticed it, but once I did, I couldn't ignore it. It wouldn't have been fair to either of us if I had just ignored it."

"And Ginny was okay with that?" she asked uncertainly.

He snorted. "She most certainly was not okay with that."

"But surely Ron understands, doesn't he? Why would he be angry at you, too?"

Harry shot her a wry smile. "It was always you who said he had the emotional range of a teaspoon." He shuffled uncomfortably in place and let out yet another sigh when she arched a brow at him. "I broke his little sister's heart, Hermione. He knows exactly why I did it and he certainly doesn't appreciate it. I don't blame him for being angry, really."

"But you won't tell me?" Hermione huffed. "Honestly, Harry, it's not as though I'm going to judge you."

"It's not something I'm ready to share with you, Hermione. Ron had to coerce it out of me under threat – and exertion! – of violence! Suffice it to say, Ginny didn't turn out to be what I wanted... or what I needed."

"What you… needed?" Hermione repeated, confused. "Harry, was there someone else?"

Harry's eyes flashed with anger. "I didn't cheat on her, Hermione. You know I wouldn't do that."

"I know you wouldn't, and that isn't even what I asked." She grabbed him by the shoulder to keep him from stalking off. "Harry. Are you in love with someone else?"

"Yes, I think so."

"You think so? That isn't an answer, Harry."

Harry took a deep breath and turned to face her properly, setting his hands on her shoulders. Physical contact from Harry certainly wasn't abnormal, but his touches had always been fleeting; a pat here or a squeeze there, sometimes even the occasional hug. In the past week, though, Harry had become quite confident, almost blasé in his touches. Now, it wasn't uncommon for him to take her hand, to stroke her hair, even to tickle her sides when she least expected it. It left her feeling warm and content, yet there was the strangest sort of awareness between them now, too. She was certain he must have noticed it, as it surely couldn't just be her feeling it. While it wasn't at all unwelcome – it was quite lovely, in fact – it was certainly taking some getting used to.

His eyes glinted bright with something fierce, and his lips were set determinedly, like he was steeling himself to say something important. "Ginny wasn't right for me, Hermione. You know she wasn't."

The odd determination in his eyes caught her off guard, and she faltered just slightly before whispering, "I never said that."

Harry sighed, sounding almost disappointed, and dropped his hands from her shoulders to hang limply at his sides. "I know you didn't. You wouldn't."

"I wasn't sure, though," she admitted quietly, finally divulging to him a thought that had nagged at her ever since Ginny had first kissed him. "About Ginny, I mean. Something about the two of you didn't seem quite… right. But I never thought it was my place to say anything. You both seemed happy. Weren't you?"

Harry let out a frustrated breath. "At the beginning, maybe. Gin certainly was. But later, I just… drifted, and I… I didn't love her, and I thought I was doing the right thing by leaving her, but because I'm too much of a bloody coward I still don't get to have what I really want and –" Harry stopped abruptly, and his gaze drifted to the ground. His expression darkened then softened again, and shoved his hands in his pockets before stalking away. "You know what? Don't worry about it."

"Harry!" Hermione called after him. "Harry, please stop."

"Granger! Look out!"

A pair of unfamiliar arms wrapped around her mid-section and whipped her backwards, bringing her crashing to the ground. She looked up just in time to see a hole crumble open in the ground in front of her. Her eyes widened and her face felt cool as all her blood rushed away; just one more step and she would have stumbled in and fallen to her death.

Nott groaned beneath her. She squeaked and wriggled out of his grip and crept closer to the edge of the hole. She looked down and gasped; the bottom of it, even in bright daylight, wasn't visible at all.

"Hermione!"

Harry seized her around her waist and tugged her away from the hole to a cluster of stumps near the opening of the forest. He glanced between her, Nott and the hole, as though still puzzling the last thirty seconds out in his mind. He hauled her back up to an upright position and pulled her into a tight hug.

"Oh, God, 'Mione," Harry breathed into her hair, falling into the shortened name he usually only used when it was late at night, when full names and properly structured sentences were something of a chore. "'Mione, you… God, you almost…"

"It's all right, Harry," she reassured softly, her voice shaking. "I'm fine. See?"

His hands ran down her arms, around her waist and up her back, verifying for himself that she was still intact. He cupped her cheeks and pressed a flurry of soft kisses to her forehead and down her cheeks. "Jesus, Hermione," he whispered against her skin. "I didn't even do anything."

"Don't blame yourself," she mumbled. She could feel her heart pounding wildly in her chest, and she wondered if Harry could hear it, too. "There wasn't anything you could have done."

"Nott did," Harry retorted, jerking his head to where Theodore Nott was lying on the grass maybe ten metres away, his hands clutched to his forehead, still too close for her liking to the gaping hole. "There wasn't anyone around, no one knew we came out here. How the bloody hell did he know?"

"I don't know, but is he hurt?" Hermione questioned as she tugged herself from Harry's hold and ventured towards where Nott was lying. As she drew closer, she heard him laughing.

"Nott?" Hermione questioned cautiously. "Um, Theo? Are you all right?"

"All right? Granger, I am more than all right! I am fucking fantastic!" He let out another peal of wild laughter and rubbed at his forehead again. "It's really gone," he whispered to himself.

"What's gone?" Harry asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Did you lose something?"

"You bet your arse I lost something, Potter! Something I never, ever want to find again." He scrambled to his feet and dusted the dirt from his shirt and pants. "Never mind me, though. Are you all right, Granger?"

"I'm fine, thanks to you. You saved my life."

"It was nothing," Nott replied, shrugging his narrow shoulders. He looked down at the hole and let out a loud whistle. "I'll let Hagrid know his death trap needs to be refilled." He gave her shoulder a squeeze and turned to leave. "I wish you luck, Hermione, and be careful."

"Hagrid's death trap?" Hermione repeated, puzzled, once Theo had rounded the gentle curve of the lake and was well out of earshot.

"He was probably trying to catch something from in there," Harry guessed, jerking his head towards the forest entrance. "Students hardly ever come up here; he probably didn't think it would be dangerous."

Hermione shook her head. "Someone needs to have a good, long talk with that man."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, his brow deeply furrowed. It was his plotting face; she had seen it many times before. "Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"What do you suppose Nott meant when he wished you luck?"

"Luck in staying alive for the remainder of our walk?" Hermione teased weakly.

Harry glared at her. "Don't talk like that."

She let out a loud huff. "Then I don't know, Harry! He was probably just being polite. Perhaps he meant good luck in class, or good luck in our N.E.W.T.s. How am I supposed to understand and interpret the cryptic well-wishes of a boy I hardly know?"

"I don't know," he grumbled. "Just seems a weird thing to say."

"It's fine, Harry. I'm fine."

Harry sighed and took her hand in his. "I know."

"Come on," she said, tugging him the other way. "Let's head back."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her. "I thought you wanted to distract me?"

She smiled wryly. "I think we've both had more than enough distraction for one day."

XXX

The following morning was one like any other. At exactly half-past six, Hermione woke to the sound of birdsong and a gentle breeze from the open window, and loud footfalls in the halls beyond her shared dorm. With a sigh, she pushed back the blankets and set her socked feet on the cold, stone floor.

"Morning, Hermione," Lavender chirped from her bed across the room.

"You're up early this morning," Hermione muttered, rubbing the gritty vestiges of her restless sleep from her eyes. She looked up and quirked a brow. "And fully dressed."

"Ron has early Quidditch practice," she gushed, her cheeks tinged pink. "There's a place in the final match on the line in a few weeks, you know, so they'll be training extra hard from now 'til then. I want to watch. You know, Hermione," Lavender stretched flat across her bed, resting her head on her crossed arms, "Harry will be down there, too."

"Probably," Hermione said through a yawn. "Him being the Quidditch Captain and all."

"So… do you want to come with me to watch?"

Hermione shot her a confused look. "Why would I?"

Lavender looked bewildered. "I just thought that, since he and Ginny broke up, that you and he might –"

Hermione nearly burst out laughing. "Harry and I aren't – we're not –"

Lavender's face scrunched with confusion. "You're not?"

Hermione shook her head dizzyingly fast. "Of course not! Harry and I are friends. Best friends."

Lavender shot her an odd little smile, like there was a secret she wasn't quite in on. "For such a smart girl, Hermione, you can be so blind at times."

"Blind?"

Lavender giggled to herself before she stood and walked over to pat her patronisingly on her head. "One day, Hermione. And soon too, if how that silly boy is acting is any indication." She smiled and picked up her wand from her side table, then stowed it in a pocket on her skirt and skipped from the dorm without another word.

Hermione waited until she could no longer hear Lavender's footsteps to fall back to her bed, an incredulous little laugh falling from her lips. Harry and her. Her and Harry. It was ludicrous to even think about! Lavender must have paid too much mind to idle gossip again, as she was so prone to do.

Still laughing to herself, Hermione lifted herself from her bed again and busied herself in the set of drawers at her bedside, lifting out her toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, her hairbrush and a little hand towel.

The bathroom was mercifully empty when Hermione entered, and silent if only for the dripping tap on the far right of the sinks that had stubbornly refused to work in all the time Hermione had been at Hogwarts. With a sigh, she paused in front of a basin and set down her things. She ducked her head and turned the tap, cupping her hands under the running faucet to splash her face with the icy cold water.

But something didn't feel right. Something felt quite wrong.

Stiffly, Hermione turned the tap off and picked up her towel, lightly blotting her dripping face dry. Dropping the towel back to the basin, Hermione opened her eyes and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror.

She screamed.

Right in the centre of her forehead was a perfectly formed, closed eye,

Trembling hands reached up to push the dampened strands of her fringe away. She traced the edge of the eye, afraid to touch it directly. It even had eyelashes; small, golden blonde ones that were really only visible if she stood under the light. There were even tiny wrinkles at the corners, as though it was marred by little laughter lines. That made Hermione feel almost indignant, like the whole situation was some sort of a joke.

She had been staring at it for nearly ten minutes, her eyes wide and her mouth agape, before she caught herself. She swallowed the lump in her throat and fought against the stinging at the back of her eyes (the ones that were meant to be there, at least) and the dread clawing from the pit of her stomach. She needed to be rational, to retain the calm sensibility she was known for – she needed her books.

She bundled her things up in her towel and dashed from the bathroom and down the stairs to the common room. She found it completely empty save for Harry, dressed in his full Quidditch kit, sitting cross-legged on one of the plush armchairs by the window. He held a quill poised over a piece of parchment on his lap as he waited for his teammates.

"Harry!" she breathed. She cleared the remaining stairs two at a time and dashed across the room to come to a halt in front of him.

"Good morning, Hermione." Harry looked up and greeted her with a warm smile. "Did you sleep well?"

"Do you see it?" Hermione whispered, exhausted already despite the early hour. She pushed her knotted mane away, holding it back with one closed fist while the other hand made manic strokes over her forehead. She leaned in close and hissed, "Tell me, Harry! Do you see it?"

"See what?" He shot up from his seat, taking her wrists in his hands to guide her flailing arms down to her side, but he didn't let go. He studied her face closely. "Hermione, you're not making sense; what am I supposed to see?"

"The eye!" she wailed. "The sodding great eye in the middle of my forehead!"

"Hermione," Harry said softly. He slid his hands from her wrists to wrap his fingers around hers, squeezing with a gentle, reassuring pressure that absolutely infuriated her. "There is no eye on your forehead." He moved a hand to brush away her fringe, his fingers lightly dancing over her skin. "I certainly don't see one. Are you sure it wasn't just a nightmare?"

"Positive, Harry!" Hermione bit back shrilly, her tone bordering on hysteric. "There is an eye on my head! An extra eye! Why would I lie about something like that? Why can't you see it?"

"I don't know!" Harry exclaimed, immediately letting go of her hands. "Why would there be an eye on your head?"

"I don't know!"

"Well… what does it do?"

"How the frig should I know?" Hermione snapped, slapping at his chest. "I only found it five minutes ago!"

"Ow, Hermione! Calm down!"

"I think I'm entitled to be a little terrified right now, Harry!" she bit back, her voice painfully shrill. "There's an eye on my forehead! I'm a bloody Triclops!"

"You aren't a Triclops, Hermione," Harry placated, taking her hand again.

"A Triclops, by definition, is a creature with three eyes!"

"Three eyes that are usually visible," he responded. She wanted to smack him again for being so bloody calm! "So people can properly verify their… tricloptic nature." He cleared his throat and coughed when she arched a brow at him. "So, has anything happened with it? Can you see out of it?"

"There hasn't been enough time for anything to happen!" Hermione cried. "It wasn't there when I went to sleep! But…" She trailed off, thoughtful. "Lavender never said anything about it when I woke up earlier. She mustn't have been able to see it either. She definitely would have said something otherwise, the vapid, gossiping cow."

"No need to insult Lavender, Hermione, just because you're having a bad morning," Harry teased her.

She fixed him with a dark glare. "I am having a little more than a bad morning, Harry, thank you."

"Sorry," he said, sounding properly chastised. "But, Hermione." Harry gently squeezed her hand. "Are you absolutely certain you didn't have a nightmare?"

"Harry, when have you ever known me to be anything less than reasonable and level-headed? If I'd had a nightmare, I certainly wouldn't be kicking up such a fuss."

"Okay, then." Harry nodded, as though that was that. "I believe you."

"You… you believe me?"

He quirked a brow. "You don't want me to believe you?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, of course I do! Of course I want you to believe me. But, why?"

Harry shrugged and shot her a cheeky grin. "You're Hermione Granger; of course I believe you."

XXX

Hermione had been in Potions the first time the eye opened.

It had been only four days since the eye had first appeared on her forehead. She'd had a knife poised over her chamomile root, ready to dice it into cubes and crush it to release the juices, just as the instructions called for. Her vision became a wide expanse of black, and her whole body tensed, her limbs jarring and locking tightly. She was only faintly aware of her body hitting the stone floor before the black she was staring at became a blinding flash of white that slowly gave way to shape, colour and sound.

She was in the Great Hall. It was breakfast time. Nothing was odd or unusual about the scene. It seemed to be a weekend, as the crowd was sparse and no one was wearing a uniform. She was seated, as she usually was, next to Harry, with her customary two slices of toast with blueberry jam and glass of pumpkin juice in front of her, when the morning flock of postal owls descended.

"Not again!" Ron moaned loudly from his spot a little further up the table, his head falling to his crossed arms as Pigwidgeon dropped the menacing red envelope of a Howler onto his breakfast plate.

"What did you do?" Seamus asked, amused.

"Nothing!" Ron retorted, defensive, as he prodded the envelope with a butter knife. "At least, I don't think I've done anything."

"What about at home?" Ginny questioned, an eyebrow raised dubiously over puffy, reddened eyes as she stirred morosely at her cereal.

Ron looked up and fixed her with a glare. "I haven't exactly been home to do anything, have I? Unless Mum found…" He trailed off, his face blanching to a near Malfoy level of pale. "Oh, no."

"You'd better open it," Seamus commented with a grin. "The ends are starting to smoke."

"Hermione!"

Her eyes snapped open and closed again just as fast under the harsh sunlight from the window behind her. Her head throbbed where it had hi the stone, but she wasn't on the floor now. She was somewhere soft and warm. She was aware too of something damp and cool on her forehead, and a slow trickle of a drop of sweat or water down her neck. The light disappeared, and Hermione opened her eyes again, this time meeting the gentle, concerned gaze of Harry looming above her.

"What… what happened?" she asked, her voice strangely dry.

"You passed out," Harry whispered. "Or, at least I think you did; you jerked around quite a bit and mumbled, and your eyes were wide open, but white – no iris or pupil or anything. Pomfrey had no idea what was happening. I think she said she was going to find Dumbledore."

Hermione tried to pull herself up, probing the softness beneath her. "I'm not in the Potions room anymore," she stated.

Harry shook his head. "No. I brought you to the Hospital Wing. You got a nasty bump on your head when you fell, and you dropped your knife and cut your hand. Pomfrey fixed you up, though." He shifted so he was sitting next to her on the bed and took her hand in his. "What happened, Hermione?"

"I… I'm not sure," Hermione rasped out. Harry quickly poured a cup of water from the jug beside her bed and held it to her lips. She took three large gulps and sighed. "I don't know what happened, but I think I was dreaming."

"Dreaming?" Harry prompted.

"I think so, only it wasn't like a dream. It was so… normal, not at all like my regular dreams, and it felt so real, like I was watching it as it happened."

"What do you normally dream about?" Harry asked, curious.

"My dreams are usually quite strange," she told him with a wry smile. "Robbing a Muggle bank with a pink and green striped lemur in tow, performing onstage in a string quartet to a pod of dolphins, that sort of thing."

Harry chuckled. "Well, what was this dream?"

Hermione leaned back against her pillow. "We were all at breakfast, and Ron got a Howler. I don't know what it was for, you woke me before it opened, but Ron seemed to think his mum had found something of his."

Harry looked contemplative. "Strange thing to dream about." He paused and his eyes widened behind his glasses. "You don't suppose it had anything to do with…" He gestured vaguely to her forehead.

"The eye?" Hermione brought her fingers up to it. It was closed, as usual, and perfectly still – the eye within it didn't move at all.

"It's the only thing that's different, isn't it?" Harry pressed on excitedly. "What else could be doing it?"

"Miss Granger?" Dumbledore peered through the sheer white curtain surrounding her bed. Harry shot up from where he had been sitting next to her and flushed a deep red. Dumbledore gave a small, amused smile. "And Mister Potter, of course."

"Professor," Hermione greeted quietly, wringing her hands beneath the covers.

"I understand you collapsed in Potions?" Dumbledore prompted, moving to stand beside her bed, his hands clasped in front of him.

"I did, sir."

"You gave Madam Pomfrey quite a fright. She tells me your eyes were white."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm afraid I have no explanation for that, Professor."

"I didn't expect you would, Miss Granger. Perhaps you and Mister Potter could tell me what happened in the moments leading up to your fall?"

Hermione slumped further into her pillows, listening dimly as Harry detailed everything, from the potion they were making and the fumes that might have been present to the moment she had woken up.

"There is one other thing, too, Professor," Harry went on, shooting her an apologetic look. "Hermione says there is a third eye on her forehead, one that only appeared a few days ago. She can see it, but I can't, and neither can anyone else. Would that have something to do with her collapse?"

Dumbledore fixed her with a searching gaze. "Does anyone else know of this?"

She shook her head. "No, sir. Only you and Harry."

"I would recommend that you keep it that way, Miss Granger, for the time being."

"Is it something bad, sir?" Harry interjected. "Is Hermione going to get hurt?"

"Nothing so bad, Harry. There are few instances of individuals waking to find new features upon their faces; new eyes, ears, sometimes even mouths, but it could be any number of things. These instances, however few, all share a commonality. Miss Granger, while you were incapacitated, did you see anything?"

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again. She cast a quick glance to her side to Harry, who nodded reassuringly. "I think I was dreaming, Professor."

"Do you recall what you were dreaming of?" Dumbledore pressed, sounding nearly urgent.

"Nothing terribly interesting. We were all at breakfast, and Ron got a Howler."

"Were you yourself? Or an outside observer?"

"It was like I was watching from the outside, sir. I saw myself, but I wasn't myself. Rather like using a pensieve."

"Hmm." Dumbledore nodded and steepled his fingers, his entire demeanour giving the impression of deep, contemplating thought. "I will do some reading on your behalf, but I recommend that you pay attention to these visions, Miss Granger, if you have any more. They may be more significant than we realise. For now, however, I wish you a speedy recovery."

"Significant how, sir?" Hermione questioned cautiously as the headmaster moved to leave.

Dumbledore paused at the doorway, turning his body only slightly to survey her with a sombre, regretful smile. "I believe they may be glimpses into the future."

XXX

The second time the eye opened it had been early one Saturday morning only a week later. She had been sitting in one of the top tiers of the Quidditch stands with an open book on her lap. Harry was on his broom, a mere speck on the horizon as he chased the practice Snitch she had given him the previous Christmas through the cloudless sky.

Much the same as last time, Hermione felt her body seize tight, her joints lock, and her vision become a blank expanse of nothing.

"And Hufflepuff has beaten Gryffindor for the Quidditch Cup!" the excited voice of Lee Jordan bellowed through the magically amplified microphone over the din of the cheering crowd. "In a stunning upset, and for the first time in nearly one hundred years, Hufflepuff has won, 380-160!"

"Hermione? Oh, God, not again."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut tight against the sunlight and let out a groan. She felt a warm body behind her and arms around her waist. Slowly, she opened her eyes and met the concerned, upside-down gaze of Harry above her.

"Same again?" he asked, brushing her fringe from her eyes.

"Same again," she confirmed, wincing as she sat up. "Well, not quite the same again. Different dream."

"What was it this time?" Harry asked as he settled her back in her seat. He picked up her book and set it back down on her lap before kneeling in front of her.

Hermione smiled ruefully. "If these visions truly are glimpses of the future, then I don't think I should be telling you anymore."

He looked indignant. "Why not?"

"Because I'm sure telling you would violate a veritable host of magical laws."

"If it were… important… would you tell me then?"

Hermione quirked a brow at his sheepish expression. "Would you really, truly want to know?"

Harry paused, his brow furrowed as he contemplated. "I don't suppose I would, not if I couldn't change anything." He smiled and stood, extending his hand, like nothing of the previous few minutes had ever happened. "Come on, it's time for breakfast. You're still pale; some food would do you good."

Her stomach chose that moment to rumble, embarrassingly loud in the otherwise stillness. Hermione blushed, and Harry laughed. She took his offered hand and allowed him to pull her up.

"Want to fly down?" Harry asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Only if you don't mind going for the rest of your life without those eyebrows of yours."

"It's all right, Hermione. I promise I won't let you fall."

Hermione took a deep, fortifying breath and leaned over the side of the tower. It was one of the shorter ones, only about fifty metres in the air as opposed to the others that stood at seventy-five and one hundred metres tall, but looking down still made her queasy.

"We don't have to if you don't want to," Harry assured her when she had spent almost a whole minute staring over the edge. "I just wasn't sure you'd want to walk the whole way back down, since you're still shaking."

Hermione looked down to her quivering hands, then surveyed the stairs that led back down, which all of a sudden looked entirely too rickety. "You won't let me fall?" she asked carefully, eyeing the broom over his shoulder which barely looked enough to support him, let alone the two of them.

He shook his head. "Never, Hermione." He held out the broom and it hovered in mid-air. "You sit up front, and I'll go behind you. That way I can hold you and guide the broom at the same time."

Going against that voice inside her that screamed for common sense, Hermione lifted a leg over the broom and clutched the handle in white-knuckled fists. She gasped when she felt Harry slide on behind her, hot and firm against her back. His arms came around under hers, one wrapping around her waist, the other taking the handle just below her hands. His breath was warm on her neck when he whispered, "Hold on tight."

"Don't you dare let go," Hermione warned him, squeezing her eyes shut."

She felt his cheek twitch against her temple, and she guessed he was smiling. "Never, Hermione," he said again, in a way that made her think he meant far more than simply holding her on a broom. His arm tightened around her. "I'll go slowly, okay?"

She nodded, her heart pounding with such force that she was certain Harry was able to feel it from behind her. He kicked off from the wooden platform, and she gripped the handle even tighter at the twin sensations of wind in her hair and nothingness beneath her feet.

"You can open your eyes now, Hermione."

"How do you know they're closed?"

"Because I know you, Hermione. Now, open up."

Hermione slowly opened one eye and let out a sigh; they were hovering a mere foot above the ground.

"See?" Harry grinned at her as he set her down properly. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I vastly prefer having my feet on the ground." Hermione dismounted the broom and patted a hand over her braided hair and groaned. "My hair must look a sight."

"It looks fine. Lovely, even, though I think I prefer it out," Harry remarked, tugging fondly on a stray curl before tucking it behind her ear. She watched on curiously as the tips of his ears turned a bright pink when he pulled his hand away and coughed. He looked down at the watch on his wrist, feigning surprise. "Come on, they'll be serving by now."

He set his broom over his shoulder and stuffed his practice Snitch in his jeans pocket, and led her on a march back towards the doors of the Great Hall.

"How is everything going with Ginny and Ron?" Hermione asked him.

His sour expression was answer enough.

She huffed with exasperation. "Really, Harry?"

"I tried talking to Ginny two days ago," he replied defensively. "She didn't want to hear it. She called me all sorts of names and sent a Bat-Bogey Hex at me that McGonagall had to reverse."

"Goodness gracious!" Hermione exclaimed, shocked. "Two days ago? Why didn't you tell me?"

Harry shrugged, the tips of his ears turning pink again. "I didn't think it was all that important, to be honest."

"Well, was she given a detention?"

Harry shook his head and pushed the tall doors open. "I asked McGonagall not to. If hexing me makes Ginny feel better, then she can do it all she wants."

"You can't keep blaming yourself, Harry," Hermione told him with a sigh. "I understand you feel bad for hurting her but if you didn't love Ginny, then you did the right thing. Neither she nor you deserve to be in a relationship with someone you don't love."

"Tell them that," Harry muttered, his tone lowering as more people appeared. "Talking to Ron, you'd think I left Ginny at the altar."

"I'm sure it's not quite so dramatic, Harry," Hermione said dryly as they entered the Great Hall and approached the Gryffindor table. "Ron will come around soon, I'm sure of it. Ginny, too."

His answering smile was tight and strained, as though he didn't quite believe her, but he took his seat on the bench and patted the space beside him for her to sit down. His gaze fell to a little further down the table, where Ron and Ginny looked to be deep in conversation with Seamus Finnegan. "I hope you're right."

"Of course I am," she answered confidently, sliding in next to him. She set about gathering her breakfast – two slices of toast with blueberry jam and a glass of pumpkin juice – while Harry busied himself with a bowl of porridge with honey. He picked up a discarded copy of The Daily Prophet and began to peruse it distractedly when a small flock of owls came in through the large, open window, dropping letters and parcels amongst the students.

"Not again!" a familiar voice moaned from further down the table. Hermione tensed, and her eyes widened as she took in the scene: Harry beside her, two slices of toast with blueberry jam and a glass of pumpkin juice, owls flying overhead, and the ominous red envelope of a Howler on Ron's plate a little further down. Without even thinking, she reached a hand under the table and took Harry's, squeezing tight.

"Hermione?" Harry whispered. "What's wrong?"

"Shush," Hermione hissed. "Just… one moment, all right?"

She closed her eyes and listened carefully, whispering along as she remembered the words from her first vision. She didn't even need to look up to know exactly what was happening.

"What did you do?" came Seamus' voice.

"Nothing! At least, I don't think I've done anything."

"What about at home?" asked Ginny.

A few moments of silence, and then, "Oh, no."

"You'd better open it. The ends are starting to smoke."

The Howler began to scream, something about the impropriety of hiding naughty magazines under one's mattress ("Did you honestly believe I wouldn't find them, Ronald Weasley? I'm the only one who makes your bed!"), but Hermione could barely hear it, not over the insistent pounding of her heart. Instead, she looked down at her plate and focussed on her breathing as her skin grew cold and clammy and her hands began to shake.

"Hermione?" Harry ventured softly. "Are you all right?"

She didn't reply. Instead, she seized Harry by the arm and forcibly dragged him away from his food and from the hall, out the majestic front doors to the courtyard. She made a beeline for one of the stone benches that lined the area and sat down, holding her head in her hands.

A warm body settled next to her and gently took hold of her hands.

"What happened in there, Hermione?" Harry asked softly.

"That was the dream, Harry," she whispered. "The one I saw when I collapsed in Potions."

Harry paused, his grip on her hands tightening for a brief moment. "What?"

"After I collapsed that day in Potions, remember I told you I dreamed of Ron getting a Howler?"

His eyes widened. "And that – in there – that was it?"

Hermione sighed and gazed at the ground. "That was it."

"So, Dumbledore was right," Harry stated, sounding almost shaky. "You're seeing the future."

"Everything was exactly the same," Hermione breathed. "Everything! Same conversation, same breakfast, even the same owls flying overhead." She wrenched herself from his grip and tugged at her hair. "I don't know what to do."

"What can you do, Hermione?" Harry asked her, his tone sharp.

"I… I don't know."

"There's nothing you can do, Hermione. Not until we know what we're dealing with."

"There's nothing in the books, Harry!" she exclaimed. "And Dumbledore didn't know anything – nothing he was willing to share, anyway. There are vague references to eyes appearing on foreheads, but nothing about why or how. I'm lost, Harry, and I don't know what to do."

Her voice cracked on her last word and, catching her completely unaware, she began to cry. Her breath hitched on loud sobs that she quickly muffled with her hand before Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her to his side.

"We'll work it out, Hermione," Harry whispered against her temple before pressing a kiss there. "I promise."

Hermione sniffled. "We?"

"Of course!" Harry declared, sounding nearly affronted. "You've been there for me since the very beginning, Hermione. I want to help you now."

She reached a hand down to twine their fingers together. "Thank you, Harry."

There was a stretch of comfortable silence, and then, "So… whatever it was you saw before – that you won't tell me about? That was…?"

Hermione let out a weak chuckle. "Likely the future, too."

"Wow."

"I know."

Harry sighed. For a moment they sat in companionable silence, his hand held tight around hers.

"Do you want to go back inside now?" he asked. "You never ate your food."

The both perfectly and horrendously timed rumble of her stomach, far louder and more aggressive than earlier, answered the question for him.

Harry laughed, tugging her up along with him. Her breath hitched as he reached to push back another unruly strand of hair, his fingers brushing her skin with a softness that bordered on reverence. She barely noticed her eyes falling shut, or her breath holding tight within her chest, nervous to release.

"Well," Harry said, sounding just as shaken as she. "That answers that."