Disclaimer: Not only someone else's sandbox, but someone else's sand castle. I'm just trying to pretty it up (and succeeding only in destroying it).

There are moments in life when we reach a crossroads in time, where one small decision decides the fates of many, when the flutter of a butterfly's wings can make or break a country, or when a smile can save lives.

Often such moments feel perfectly innocuous. The decision makers could not identify this one moment and say, "There. That was what saved the world/your life/my sanity."

One such moment was a cold and hungry morning for Harry Potter, a perfectly normal boy who had been left by perfectly normal relatives in a perfectly normal park overnight.

An oversight, they would claim later.

In any other world, Harry Potter might have been too scared to leave the park, waiting all night for his Uncle to come for him.

Not in this one.

Harry Potter instead saw a library, warm light spilling through a chink in the curtains, the crack under the door, and it attracted a cold, hungry, scared boy, who carefully crept down the street to this seeming haven.

In any other world, Harry Potter might have found the library closed or closing, unwilling to offer shelter or any other alternative to the unpleasant dampness of the night.

Not in this one.

Instead he stood hesitating at the threshold between dark and light, looking down at the doormat which said a welcome, wanting to enter, but unsure of his reception, listening to the pleasant, indistinct hum of conversation, listening as a bright voice laughed and trying to prick up enough courage to actually make a noise, announce his presence.

In any other world, Harry Potter might never have summoned his courage, might have returned dragging his feet to the park and waited for his relatives to return. In any other world, the librarian might never have looked up and seen something, enough to make her investigate. In any other world…

But, as we have said, not in this one.

Harry remained there, unsure, wondering what to do. He might have stood there indefinitely, but for the librarian's eventual voice saying clearly for once, "Hermione, check the door, please? I have a feeling someone is out there. There's a dear." He might have run, feeling briefly guilty, but the allure of the warmth was too much.

He heard footsteps, and the door opened slightly, just a crack that let warm golden light spill past him into what had a second ago been cold and inhospitable, and was now converted somehow into something more inviting, if only a little. A girl, his age peeked around the door, and blinked at him for a moment, clearly not seeing him.

Then her eyes sharpened, and he knew he had been spotted. She opened her mouth, and Harry just knew it was going to be some sharp unwelcoming inquiry and he shrunk into himself slightly. But then her posture seemed to soften and she opened the door wider. "Please, come in." was all she said, eventually.

And the world changed, just like that. Simply because one girl had just been given a lecture by her Aunt, (A library is a place of welcome, dear, a sanctuary for people of intellect, a modern-day church!) and because a small, cold boy found welcome in a warm library.

He was told later that Hermione had been left with her Aunt, the librarian for that night, and that the librarian lived above the library, and that both of them had just been talking, discussing as close family often do, skipping from subject to subject, laughing and being happy, content.

But at that time, all that he could do was stumble in through the door, finally entering the warmth of a large room, with a lit fireplace, a rug in front of it, and two cozy chairs, one occupied by the librarian Harry had only seen from afar 'til then.

She looked up at him with welcome, waved him to a seat. There were no questions about where he had been, and why at that time. She just smiled at him and continued her conversation with the girl, Hermione, who dropped onto the rug as if she had always been sitting there. Harry felt no pressure to talk, to participate, but he did not feel like an outsider either.

He listened, not to their conversation, but to the cadence and tone of the words, as they rolled on and on, sometimes rising in a laugh, gentle from the librarian, a little girl's shrill from Hermione, sometimes falling to a low whisper. And slowly he felt so very calm and warm, and quiet and his head drooped, and he was asleep.

Harry left early the next day, having woken up to find himself on a mattress on the floor of the library, covered by a warm blanket. He waited in the park until his 'family' returned for him, and went with them quietly, returning to a home that, despite being warmed by industrial grade heaters, held not a shred of the warmth that the library would have held with only a candle for a source.

And that year, when his class was taken on a field trip to the local library, he carefully noted the location and how to get there.

The first time he went there alone, he found himself a reason to be there. It was easy. He determinedly went up to the main desk and asked the librarian to give him a book. Though her face clearly said that she recognized him, she did not mention the shivering little boy that had spent a night in her library.

Harry knew that he could not have picked the girl, - was it Hermione? - out from a crowd. But the book he was given was Tom Sawyer, apparently really liked by boys his age, as the librarian had mentioned kindly.

He liked it. More to say, he loved it. And when he returned to the Library, hoping to obtain new books as well as return that one, there was a demure girl seated by the librarian's side.

She leaped up, seeing the book in his hand and immediate chatter began. "Oh, you had Tom Sawyer! I wanted to reread it, and I just couldn't find it, and that's so frustrating! Did you like it? Mark Twain is such an amusing author, don't you think." There was a brief pause as she scrutinized Harry's face, then, "Oh! You're that boy! What's your name? Why did you leave in the morning? Do you not have a home?"

Harry was pretty sure his face was conveying his feeling's exactly, 'What...?'

The girl, her name was Hermione, eventually managed to make Harry tell her that yes, he had enjoyed the book, and yes, he had a home, and his name was Harry, before the librarian rescued him, taking Tom Sawyer, handing it to Hermione, handing him Huckleberry Finn instead.

Then she closed the library temporarily, and took him and Hermione to the park. Harry wondered why, but not for long. Hermione seemed an enthusiastic companion, the likes of which he had never had before. Harry was unsure exactly how to behave, and Hermione didn't seem any more well versed in the art of communication with one's peers. In the end both of them ended up on the swings, swinging gently while discussing the book Harry had so recently read.

Both of them were rather enamored of the idea of 'having an adventure', and during discussion, come across the 'dark and dangerous' vow that Huck had referenced as the ideal vow of loyalty.

Smirking conspiratorially, plans were made despite Hermione's show of reluctance. And it was mostly show, and Harry was starting to understand this girl, like he had never had the opportunity to understand any other of his peers.

They met again at the park, this time at midnight. Harry had to be very careful sneaking out, as Dudley had been having a bad night, and kept wandering downstairs for water, or cough drops, and banging on Harry's cupboard door on his way back. But he managed to finally reach the park unobserved. Hermione was waiting with a backpack on her back, clearly prepared for any situation they might face.

They nodded to each other, either too tired to really say much, or just reticent by nature, neither truly knew, or even thought that much into it. Both turned and started making there way, side by side down to where the graveyard was, as shown on city maps. It was a long walk for their short legs, but just having company comforted them from what ever fears may have started to bud.

That had been the closest they could think of, a grave within a mausoleum in a graveyard, substituting for the haunted house and coffin thing.

But when they arrived, neither of them could remember what Huck had said about the oath itself. "Something about flinders?" Harry suggested helplessly with a shrug.

"And friendship." Hermione added firmly.

So they decided to make their own. Hermione had brought two sanitized needles for the blood part, and both sat and argued over the exact wording of their oath. When that was done they argued over who should do it first. The argument, interspersed by hysterical laughter that came with being awake at that time, only stopped when they realized that the sky was lightning.

Harry went first, pricking his finger, and letting the red drop trickle on the stone gravestone of someone whose name they had not bothered to read. "I swear," he started, at first trying for a deep impressive voice, then quickly giving up, "to always regard Hermione Granger with affection, treat her with kindness, afford her honesty, remain loyal to her, respect her, help her when and where I can, to protect her with all I am, and, in short, to be a good friend, a brother to her. Fiat!"

That ending had been argued over, Hermione having won the argument by stating that Latin was always cooler. The compromise had been Hermione's saying, "So mote it be."

Harry shivered slightly, as an odd feeling passed over him, tugging at the deepest part of him, giving him an... awareness at an instinctual level that he had not known could or would happen. He didn't feel that much like laughing anymore. The ceremony pulled at him, but before he could comment, Hermione was speaking the words, and he tried to dismiss the feeling as imagination.

"So mote it be," he chimed in after Hermione finished with "Fiat!" Then was wracked by a violent shiver this time in tandem to Hermione, both of them gasping as if ice-cold water had been thrown over them.

And there was a presence he could feel, not just a slight awareness anymore, not hovering at the edges of consciousness, but pushing it aside to make itself room, pushy and authoritative.

"What-?" "What was that?" They both spoke simultaneously.

They stared at each other, uncomprehending, startled. After a while, Hermione shook her head, and said dazedly, "We need to get back. We- we'll talk about this later."

Harry nodded, and both turned and left the graveyard together, side by side not looking at each other, heads bent and staring soberly at the ground, but wordlessly acknowledging the other's presence with a wholeheartedness little seen in more guarded people then a couple of children.

They made a strange sight for any watcher, who might expect more boisterousness from children of that age, but it was something that felt very inexplicably right to both of them.

For the next few days the two children met in the park, trying to figure out what had happened, reading, laughing, and becoming close friends. The presence that Harry described as living with a pet, a prowling, purring panther in his head, Hermione described as living with a comforting security blanket.

It was on the third day they actually figured out what the presences were. Something had gone wrong, very wrong, and they were standing across each other, fists clenched and straight at their sides, shouting at each other. Who knows how these fights start? Perhaps Harry had insulted one of Hermione's favorite fictional characters, perhaps Hermione had said something about Harry's 'family'. At any rate it escalated, and soon held no connection to the original point of contention, and insults flew, thick and childishly hurtful, until Hermione was reduced to tears, running away while Harry inhaled harsh and quick, blinking back his own hurt tears.

He turned to the swings, where they had so often sat side by side, talking quietly, or not so much, swinging gently, or trying to go as high as possible, pushing their limits until it seemed as if they could let go, and almost fly...

Sitting there, trying to convince himself that he didn't care, Harry turned his attention to his passenger, his head's occupant, and realized that it was distressed. It was, of course, not exactly a panther, but the prowling, growling, slinkily assertive manner that it had strode into his head had reminded him of one of the huge black cats he had seen on Dudley's T.V.

But it was upset, curling in on itself, then lashing out, vibrating with hurt, that he saw. Sensing it, Harry felt that it reminded him very much of the way Hermione had run away from him, that desperation, that hurt, and suddenly everything clicked.

Anger forgotten, Harry ran after Hermione.

Coming towards him, he saw Hermione, running as fast as she could, tears drying on her face as she smiled for all she was worth, the joy of a discovery shining in her eyes, embedded in every inch of her smile.

She was coming too fast, she was going to crash into him, and she did. Harry automatically caught her, swinging her around purely on ingrained instinct, whose source he did not know. She didn't even notice, babbling, "Oh, Harry, I found out what our passengers are! They are-"

"-Each other." Harry interrupted her, smiling, as she laughed in pure excitement.

"Yes!" She broke away, skipping a few steps, then whirled around, laughing at him, a sound of excitement, childish joy, and happiness.

Later there would be logic, and questions as to how this came about. For now there was just the happiness of a friend, and special/magic/wow, and forever!

Of course, all good things come to an end, and Hermione had been visiting her Aunt in Little Whinging, Surrey, England. The visit had been drawn out, when Hermione started to form a rapport with an age mate, her remoteness having been an object of much anxiety between herself and her parents, but the visit had to end, and one day Hermione was just not there anymore.

But her presence lingered, letters were exchanged, and Harry often thought of her, spending much of his free time on the swings of the park, pushing himself back and forth with a single toe, and just spending quality time with his sister, sensing her doing the same many miles away, as they had learned to do.

They sank in to each other's company, feeling cleansed after a hard day by the pure familial acceptance that always flowed through their bond. It was a sacred time for them.

While originally the bond had only, if a bit forcibly made them aware when either was hurt, always seeming to accuse, 'You promised to take care of each other...' though Hermione had said that Harry was being too fanciful about it. But after a while, it relaxed, and it had been Hermione who had said that it seemed to trust that they would do something, even if that was only sending reassurance to each other.

By this time, with plenty of practice, they could actually communicate, to some degree with each other, if not in words, then in flashes of images, and feelings. The children had long since concluded that the bond was an odd result of the vow they had made, which logically said that it had something to do with loving, helping and protecting each other.

After going back to Tom Sawyer, to reread the actual mention that Huck had said, Harry had sometimes wondered what the consequences of breaking the oath would be, what would happen if he deliberately let Hermione get hurt, or hurt her, or stopped loving her. But that wouldn't happen, he knew. They would always have each others' backs, no matter what.

Then there's magic, and startled/surprised/amazed/delight on one end of the bond, and weary curiosity on the other end. Then there is Hagrid, and careful nights trying to arrange it so that they'll meet each other in Diagon Alley, trying to avoid the miscommunication, that's so easy through their bond.

And then there is meeting again, after a few years, and with any other person it would be awkward, but never with his little sister.

She was dawdling near the entrance to an entire world of magic, hidden behind a normal looking brick wall. Harry saw her, and joy erupted on both sides of the bond, the panther stretching and purring, while Hermione sped to meet Harry.

As easily as if he had been doing it his entire life, Harry caught her, letting her momentum swing them both around, before setting her back on her feet, and she was babbling as she always did, when happy, while he just smiled so that his cheeks hurt, until a quietly cleared throat brought them back to a normal world.

Two nervous looking strangers stood there, looking at Hermione, and Harry automatically shifted slightly to put himself between them, before Hermione exasperated, said, "My parents, Harry."

"Of course," he murmured, but did not move from his stance, his only concession to politeness being an inclination of his head. They shifted nervously, looking past him at Hermione, who sighed, before pushing Harry out of the way.

"Mum, Dad, this is Harry, my friend. Harry, stop being useless." They still did not seem to know what to do, glancing continuously from Hermione to Harry, then back. Harry rolled his eyes, then sighed as Hagrid approached, and the Grangers grew even more apprehensive.

He saw Mrs. Granger pull Hermione aside quietly, heard her hissed, "But you only knew him for a month or so!" and heard Hermione's question, "So?" before the rest of the conversation was lost in the hubbub that erupted as they entered the wizarding world.

Sorry Luna, this is getting a bit out of hand. It's 3000 words already, and my original top estimate was 2000. I (kinda) intend to continue this, but I've never done a chaptered fic, ever before, so I don't know if I have the will to finish it.

And I can't seem to do humor to save my life, so I just try to go with a 'feel' for my scenes. (sad, touching, family, protectiveness, etc.)

My eventual decision was just to make sure it could still always be read as a oneshot. Lets see how it goes, 'kay?

Hija.