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Hermione tapped her foot impatiently outside the boys' quidditch lockers. She tried not to appear as impatient as she felt. The sun was slowly falling over the mountains and the grounds were growing chilly as autumn set in. 

It was Hermione’s final year at Hogwarts. After years of hard work and endless labour, she was finally going to graduate top of her class. She could hardly wait until she joined the Department of Mysteries. She’d been dreaming about it ever since she’d learnt about the place in her fourth year. Nothing was going to stand in her way and Harry Potter was going to help make that happen.

She turned as the door to the quidditch lockers opened and the teenager in question stepped outside. His messy black hair was damp from a shower and he had a sleek racing broom in hand.

The tall Slytherin raised a dark eyebrow at the sight of her. “Granger,” he greeted neutrally.

Hermione inclined her head. “Potter. I need your help.”

He looked amused at that and began walking towards the castle. “I find that hard to believe.”

She sighed loudly and quickly moved to follow. “Oh, come on. You haven’t even heard me out.”

“You haven’t asked anything. I think this is the first time you’ve spoken to me since our fifth year.”

A blush burned across her cheeks at the mention of fifth year. As a rule of thumb, she tried her absolute hardest not to think about the utterly embarrassing disaster that had been their broom closet snog. 

“Can you blame me?”

He shrugged.

He was walking too fast for her shorter legs. She grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop, slightly out of breath from trying to keep up.

“Look, I… I’m not going to apologise for avoiding you after… Well…” She crossed her arms over her chest and tried not to look as hurt as she felt. “I think you can understand that I might not have found the joke as amusing as you.”

Harry frowned at her and she rushed to continue. “But this is completely irrelevant. I need help and you’re…” She sighed.

“Is this about defence class?” he asked.

Hermione wrinkled her nose as she looked up at him. “Why would it be about defence?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s the only class you’re not top of and… I am. Did you want lessons for NEWTs this year?”

“No– actually, if you’re offering, I never turn down extra tutelage.” 

Harry raised his eyebrows. His lips twitched.

“It was actually about something else entirely. It’s sort of school related? More about… magical customs and practices?”

He shrugged and began walking towards the castle again. It’d grown significantly darker during even their short talk. Fall was settling in over Scotland, shortening the days and bringing an icy bite to the air.

“I’m really not one for long discussions and elaborations, which I know you favour. You should ask a ‘Claw or someone.”

Hermione pursed her lips. “They wouldn’t help me,” she huffed. 

They made it to the castle doors and Hermione stopped Harry with a hand on his arm again. She knew if he walked away without agreeing, that she wouldn’t have a shot in hell at the Department of Mysteries. This was her dream – her future . She needed his help.

Hermione took a deep breath. “You said it yourself. The only class I’m not top in is defence. They all lord it over me. They make snide comments and sniff their noses like it’s proof I’m not actually that great. Like all the other classes are just flukes or I’m just lucky or… brownnosing my way to the top spot rather than actually intelligent and hardworking. They all want to see me fail.”

Hermione stared up at him and willed herself not to cry. She’d never verbalised the way the other students treated her. Not to her Head of House, not even to her parents. She didn’t like to think about it and she certainly never talked about it.

“The only person who doesn’t seem to care that I’m not at the top of DADA is you. You’ve never cared. And I’m not saying you want to see me succeed, but I don’t think you want to see me fail.”

Harry’s shoulders fell slightly. “The ‘Claws don’t hate you,” he murmured, “they’re jealous and intimidated. The Gryffindors are idiots so ignore them.”

“Your brother’s a Gryffindor.”

“Idiot,” he reiterated as if she’d just proven his point.

Hermione felt a smile tug at the corner of her lips. “Will you help me, please?”

He gave her a soft nod as he said, “What do you need help with?”

A bright smile stretched across Hermione’s face. She bounced on her toes, hardly able to contain her excitement.

“Library?” she suggested.

Harry scoffed. “Kitchens. I want hot cocoa.”

Hermione hummed in agreement and they headed inside together. Harry led the way to the kitchens and let them through the portrait. There was a long table within and they took a seat on either side. Harry set down his broom as he kindly asked a house-elf for two cups of hot cocoa.

“Alright,” he said with a sigh. “Lay it on me.”

“What do you know about magical ritual work?”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “I mean, a decent amount. Most old magical families do. Is that what this is about?”

She nodded. “I’m trying to apply for training with the Department of Mysteries for when I graduate.”

Harry’s confusion visibly deepened. “Okay? Is ritual magic a requirement for that?”

“Apparently!” Hermione snapped as she tossed her hands into the air.

He leaned back at her outburst. “Well, what? Are you bad at it or something?” He wrinkled his nose. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of someone being bad at ritual magic before.”

Hermione leaned forward across the table. “The problem is that I’ve absolutely no idea what the hell ritual magic is.” She waved her hand and sighed. “Well, I have a decent understanding now. I’ve been researching it for the past three days. But from everything I’ve read, it’s really only something you can understand in practice and practice requires a tutor of some kind.”

Harry placed his hands on the table, fingers spread out wide. “I’m sorry. What? Who the hell is your magical sponsor? They should have told you this.”

Hermione’s mouth flattened into a tight line. “Pansy Parkinson and I don’t exactly get along.”

He winced. “Yeah, alright. That’s fair. You could have petitioned for a different magical family to help you?”

Hermione sighed and shook her head. “I tried that. But all it got me was a bunch of questions about why a family of the Sacred Twenty-Eight wasn’t good enough for little old me and all that rubbish. It wasn’t worth the effort.”

Harry released a harsh breath. A house-elf trotted over with two hot chocolates that Hermione politely thanked them for. Harry continued to glare at her. 

“You don’t know about ritual magic.”

She raised her eyebrows and sipped her drink. “That’s sort of the problem.”

He leaned forward. “You’ve never even practised.”

“No,” she sighed. “And my lack of experience in ritual magic means I can’t apply to be an Unspeakable. Not unless I rectify the issue quickly.”

“And you’ve got until Yule for the applications to close.”

She winced and nodded.

He rubbed his forehead. “We’ve got less than three months to teach you ritual magic at a level that the Department of Mysteries would accept you.”

“Well, I suspect I’ll have longer before they bring me in for quizzes and tests of any kind. My main issue is I don’t have my own… guide? And I think I need to be a part of a coven?”

Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead. “This is not an easy task, you understand that right?”

“You will help me though, won’t you?” she asked desperately, her fingers curling around her mug.

Harry sighed again. “Yeah, alright.” He scratched his head. “No clue how we’re gonna make this work, but alright.”

Hermione practically vibrated in her seat with excitement. She leaned across the table. “Thank you,” she said with feeling. “You’ve no idea what this means to me.”

Harry rubbed his face. “Thank me when I figure out how the fuck we’re gonna do this.” He dropped his hand. “We might need to break some school rules.”

Hermione pursed her lips. She tilted her head in agreement.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “ Really ?”

She lifted her chin and sniffed. “I’m not above bending the rules in the name of learning.”

A slow smirk spread across his face. “You’ve snuck into the forbidden section in the library, haven’t you?”

Hermione scoffed.

Harry laughed and shook his head. “You’re a rubbish liar, Granger.”

She felt her cheeks warm as she smiled. “When do we start?”

Harry sipped his hot cocoa. “Well, right now, I suppose. You don’t even know what ritual magic is about. You said you needed a ‘guide’?”

She frowned and nodded. Had she understood that wrong? “There’s a ritual about getting a guide, isn’t there?”

Harry shrugged. “Yes and no. See,” he looked at her for a moment and sighed. He shook his head, “you should have been told this in first year. You won’t believe me.”

“Just say it,” she pushed, impatient.

“We get our magic from the gods.”

Hermione blinked. She sat back for a moment and waited. A part of her thought perhaps he was about to start chuckling. 

“You’re being serious,” she said slowly.

Harry nodded.

“The gods. Not like… in a Christian sense of a single god?”

Harry eyed her critically as he explained, “Christmas is called Yule in the Wizarding World. We celebrate All Hallows Eve on the 31st and then observe Samhain on the first.”

Hermione nodded slowly. “You’re saying that some of the muggle stories about witchcraft are true?”

“Most of them, actually. I mean, we do really ride around on broomsticks. We wear pointed hats. We cast spells.”

“We don’t worship the devil,” she returned quickly.

“But we worship gods – plural. For the muggle world, predominantly Christian in this region and other regions where witch trials took place, that would be seen as sacrilegious. We’d be devil worshippers for forsaking the Christian ideal of God.”

Hermione blinked. That made a disturbing amount of sense. She narrowed her eyes slightly. “You worship the gods?”

“I have for as long as I can remember,” he told her, not an ounce of embarrassment or deceit in his voice. “It gets more complicated with old magical families. When a magical family is around long enough, a god can grant them a special gift that’s unique to their family.”

“Family magic,” Hermione said with a nod. “All families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight have it. The Potters have it?”

Harry nodded.

“But you’re not Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

“No, but we’re an old family. The Twenty-Eight is just about pure-blood supremacy. It’s just prejudice. It doesn’t have any real standing in the Wizengamot. The families all get a pretty ring that signifies them as one, but beyond that?” Harry shrugged and rolled his eyes. “The Parkinsons have been pure-bloods for centuries, some of the oldest of the Twenty-Eight. But the Potters have a hell of a lot more political power than them. It doesn’t really mean anything.”

“It does in school,” Hermione scoffed. “Pure-bloods have been shoving that down my throat since I first got on the Hogwarts train.”

Harry winced. “Yeah, it’s… a problem. There aren’t a lot of muggle-borns. And a lot of them either don’t go far after school or leave Wizarding Britain after graduating.”

“Oh, I wonder why,” she responded acerbically. 

Harry shrugged as he grimaced. “I’m not responsible for it. I tell them to fuck off when they’re being like that.”

Hermione’s shoulders fell. She nodded. “You do. Thank you. It’s not so bad anymore. They were worse in first year.”

“Well, a lot of them are basically raised in seclusion. They don’t know anything else. Which is why they’re forced to take Muggle Studies.”

“There should be Wizarding Studies too.”

Harry nodded. “My mum has argued for that, but the Board of Governors claim there aren’t enough muggle-born students to warrant it.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Would you be willing to write her a letter? Your account of not knowing about something like this might help.”

Hermione nodded. “I will, I promise.” She leaned forward again. “We’ve digressed. A god will grant a family a gift and that’s called family magic.”

Harry nodded and sipped his hot cocoa. “Right, from that point on, the family would worship that god together as a family coven. That god is responsible for a very precious gift and it would be rude if we were to ignore who gave it to us.”

Hermione nodded slowly. “What’s your family gift?”

Harry’s cheeks turned pink and he scratched his cheek as he looked away. “Family gifts are usually a secret.”

“Oh…” Hermione stared at him for a moment longer. “Sorry.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. So, anyway, that’s a family coven. Then you’ve got your own individual god. This would be the guide you were talking about.”

“You can have a personal god?”

“Well, they help guide you. They’re also the ones who gave you your spark of magic. Their magic will feel familiar to your own. They say that the stronger connection you have with your god, the more your magic will mimic the feeling of their own.”

“Do you have your own god?”

“I do. I did the ritual over the summer. I practise separately. Just little rituals on my own. It’s difficult to do at school, but there are ritual spaces across Hogwarts that we’re allowed to use. Then,” he continued, “there’s cults and covens.”

“Similar to a family coven?”

“Very. We – all of us in a single coven – all worship the same god. Sometimes, that’s the same as your own personal god. Sometimes it’s a close facsimile.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose and she wasn’t the least bit ashamed when she said, “I don’t understand.”

“Well, let’s say the god who granted you magic is Persephone but there’s no coven in Britain that worships her. There is, however, a coven for Demeter.”

She nodded slowly. “Similar but not the same.”

“Exactly. And it can cross cultures too. There are various gods and goddesses for fertility, for example. So, if you’ve been chosen by one that has no coven in the Celtic religion, you could worship one in the Greek, Roman, or Hindu religion. Anything really. Something similar to your own god, though.”

“So, someone could, potentially, worship three separate gods at a time?”

Harry frowned. “I mean, yeah. I do?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that confusing? Or difficult? It’d be like juggling three girlfriends.”

Harry laughed. “No. It’s not like that. I mean, Dagda, our family god. We celebrate him on holidays when I’m home for them. Or if a baby is born or someone gets married. Stuff like that. My own god, I will perform rituals for when I need guidance with my magic or my emotions. Just… they’re there for you beyond just ritual. They’re there to help you with your mental health and emotional well-being. They didn’t just choose you, they helped create you – create your magic. They care for you – deeply.”

Hermione took a deep breath as a shiver ran up her arms and down her spine. 

“That’s beautiful,” she whispered.

He grinned. “Yeah, it’s… it’s a really important connection to have. But it’s more like taking on a third parent, if anything. They only want the best for you. In return, you follow their ways and adhere to their rules.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose.

“It sounds annoying at first, but when you meet your god or goddess, it just feels right. They’ve had a hand in who you are, so the rules they have for you are probably ones you’re already following.”

She tilted her head from side to side as she considered that. “I suppose… How involved is it to be in a coven?”

Harry shrugged. “It depends on the coven. Most celebrate the holidays together, because family magic isn’t that widespread. So, for me, I don’t see them for those events. But there are always other rituals, for full moons, new moons, and the like. Usually, a coven follows the lunar calendar to plan events.”

“Okay.” She spread her fingers across the table, staring at the wood grain as she took it all in. “I think I understand. I need to find my god?”

“Yes, but that's done in ritual. I don’t know if I’m able to perform it on my own. But we could do a sort of introductory ritual before that. My dad likes to do this ritual that helps you see which of the five elements is closer to your own. It helps you with your ritual practice later and to just better understand your magic in general.”

Hermione was nodding along. “Okay. Let’s do that.”

“Tomorrow night?” 

She swallowed. “Sure,” she responded, voice higher than normal.

Harry grinned. “It’s easy. Super low stakes. Trust me, Hermione. There’s literally nothing that can go wrong.”

She nodded.

~*~

Harry was waiting for Hermione at the base of the main staircase the next night, just after dinner. Hermione had gone back to her dorms and, at Harry’s instruction, showered before putting on one of her nicest dresses. She didn’t have a ritual robe, which Harry said was not ideal but fine. She just had to show she’d put in effort for the gods.

Hermione came down the final steps of the staircase, the fabric of her midi skirts swishing around her calves. Her mother had picked out the dress for her when they were in Diagon Alley that summer. The pretty champagne colour made her tanned skin look even more golden. The little autumnal coloured flowers that decorated the tulle overlay of the dress and short cape matched the flower clips pinned into her long dark curls. 

She met Harry’s bright green eyes when she reached the base of the stairs. He didn’t say anything as he stared at her with eyes wide and his jaw tensed.

“Do I look okay?” she asked after a prolonged silence.

Harry swallowed visibly. “Yes- yes . Merlin, you look beautiful.”

Hermione’s face warmed. She tucked a curl behind her ear as her eyes dropped to the toes of her heels. He was still staring at her when she looked back up.

“Should we go-?”

“-Oh!” He blinked widely and shook his head. “Yes. We have to go.” 

He took her hand and led them around the base of the staircase. There was a door there that Hermione had never noticed before. It had a pentagram etched into it. Harry knocked his wand against the door and the pentagram glowed white.

“The ritual space is free. Let’s go.”

He opened the door and gestured for her to go first. Hermione headed into the dark room beyond and tried not to tense when Harry closed the door behind them. They fell into pitch black for a moment before lanterns began to magically light. With a woosh , t he lanterns came to life, illuminating a long, stone hallway.

“This leads to a ritual space?” Hermione confirmed as Harry took the lead again.

“One of several in Hogwarts. They’re all available to the students. If the pentagram had glowed red, we’d have gone to the one in the east wing of the first floor.”

At the end of the hallway, they turned into a small stone room. The walls were lit with candles, casting flickering shadows across the large pentagram that was etched into the floor.

“Pentagrams represent the five elements,” Harry explained as he led her to a small altar at the side of the room. “They’re the most common symbol you’ll find for a ritual space. Others, like ones built for a specific god, will usually have one or several runes that directly relate to that god's cultural origin.”

Hermione nodded as she watched Harry pull together a series of copper bowls. Each had something to represent one of the five elements within them. He toed his shoes off before entering the ritual circle and placing each of the bowls at a point of the star. 

“The top of the star is always ‘spirit,’ the fifth element. It brings them all together – binding the earth to the spiritual plane and back again.” He looked up at her seriously. “Everything is connected. All the elements. Each is as important as the last.”

Hermione nodded. She remembered this from her research. The basic theory of the elements and their importance had been heavily outlined. 

“Shoes off,” he instructed her before gesturing her into the circle.

Hermione kicked her heels to the side before stepping into the ritual space. The second her skin met the pentagram-engraved floor, she felt magic zing up her spine and race along her skin. 

“Ready?”

Hermione nodded quickly. She moved to stand in the centre of the pentagram with Harry just in front of her. They shared one last glance to make sure the other was ready before Harry began.

“Oh, gods,” he announced, projecting his voice across the room, “I call on thee to witness this, the finding of one’s self. To help in this, the guiding to one’s true nature. To ensure in this, the continuation of the magic you have gifted to all magic folk.”

The air grew thick as Harry spoke. Warm magic filled the space, stretching across the pentagram and wrapping around Hermione’s body as if giving reassurance. Hermione felt herself breathe easier as the magic calmed her anxiety.

Harry frowned and looked around the circle. 

“Dagda?” Harry asked hesitantly.

All at once, the candles on the walls grew noticeably taller in height. Hermione’s head whipped around. She didn’t see anyone else there, but the magic surrounding her and manipulating the fire couldn’t be denied. 

“Dagda,” Harry continued, his voice less hesitant now that he knew who he was talking to, “I humbly ask you to guide Hermione as she takes her first steps toward ritual magic.”

Harry’s eyes were closed. He was waiting for something, but whatever it was, Hermione couldn’t tell. The god’s magic pulled away from Hermione. It still filled the ritual space but it was no longer pulled around her like a warm blanket.

Harry’s eyes opened. He nodded at her.

Hermione swallowed thickly. She closed her eyes. Her shoulders were tense. Her hands balled into fists at her sides. She waited. Nothing was happening. Wasn’t something supposed to happen?

Harry’s hand curled around her own. Hermione’s eyes sprang open at the touch. He gave her a gentle smile.

“Just breathe,” he whispered. “Deep breaths.”

Hermione forced her lips open and sucked in a shaky breath. Her shoulders fell as she let out a breath and the tension slowly released from her body. 

“Let your magic guide you,” he whispered.

She nodded, but his words only brought her concerns rushing back. A little line of stress appeared between her eyebrows. She fought not to shift on her feet as she often did when she was worried or overwhelmed.

Let her magic guide her? How was she supposed to do that? It was just a thing. It just was. She couldn’t listen to it or-

-Two of Harry’s fingers pressed into the centre of her chest. Her eyes sprang open and she looked down. 

“Right there,” he told her. “Do you feel it?”

She felt a pressure stronger than his two fingers pressing down on her chest. It was warm and powerful, similar to the god’s magic that filled the circle, but a lot more thrilling. Hermione’s cheeks warmed. That was Harry’s magic. 

“Hermione?”

“I can feel it – you.”

He nodded. “Good. Follow the feeling.”

Before she could frown at the vagueness of those words, Harry’s magic pushed through her chest. Hermione gasped loudly as she felt Harry’s magic touch her own. She stared at him with wide eyes.

“You feel it now, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“That’s you,” he told her. “That’s your magic. You need to guide it around the circle. Show it to the elements. Like taking a dog for a walk,” he joked.

Hermione laughed, an edge of hysteria in the sound. She’d never felt anything like that before. The way Harry’s magic smoothed against her own felt incredible. He was warm and strong, almost like controlled chaos. He was a matchstick burning above a pile of hay, ready to go off in a single second and burn everything down.

Hermione felt like she could identify the elements of her own magic even more clearly in contrast to Harry’s own. Her own power was calm and cool. Serene in the way the ocean looked from afar, but with the promise of noise and danger when the weather turned without notice.

Hermione tentatively spread her fingers, imagining her magic stretching out with them. She felt the calming power seep across the stone floor like water pouring from a fountain. She shivered in the centre of the cold ritual space. 

The copper bowl filled with water shook on the floor. Harry and Hermione’s heads snapped towards it. The bowl continued to shake until it tipped over and the water spilled out.

“Is that supposed to happen?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry didn’t respond.

They watched as the water, instead of spreading across the floor, moved like a stream through one of the grooves that made up the engraved pentagram. The water flowed across the pentagram to another copper bowl filled with soil.

The water flowed up the bowl and disappeared inside. Hermione waited on bated breath. She gasped when a bright green little seedling sprouted from the soil. The seedling grew larger and larger until it flowered into a bright pink flower.

“Was that- did my magic do that?”

Harry nodded. “We- we have to close the ritual now.”

“Okay.”

Harry took her hands and Hermione was surprised that she could still feel his magic so clearly. She closed her eyes, imagining her own water-like magic spiralling with the fiery nature of Harry’s magic. Harry’s voice was calm as he closed the ritual and thanked the god who’d come to oversee their practice.

“How do you feel?” he asked once the god’s magic had fully receded from the circle.

Hermione smiled widely. “Amazing. That was- that was incredible. I could feel him – Dagda, right?”

Dagda was the god that had granted the Potters their family magic.

“Yeah, not sure why he came on his own like that.” He scratched the back of his head and shrugged. “But… well, I wasn’t about to ignore him.”

She shook her head. “No, of course not. Honestly, I’m honoured. He felt… warm. Comforting.”

Harry hummed in agreement as he picked up four of the copper bowls and set them back on the altar. “He’s a god of gods. Familial and paternal. I’ve always felt loved and welcomed in his presence.”

“That’s lovely.”

Harry picked up the final bowl. The pink flower was twice the size of the little copper container. He held it out to Hermione who gently plucked the flower free. 

“You’re looking forward to meeting your patron god?” he asked.

Hermione took a deep breath of the flower’s scent and smiled up at him. “Immensely.”

He grinned. “Make sure you hold on to the flower, we’ll use it for the ritual. Sometimes it’s even a clue as to who your god or goddess is.”

Hermione looked down at the pretty pink flower in her hands as Harry set the last bowl away.

“It looks almost like a lotus. I’ll have to research it.” She looked up at him when he stood in front of her again. “What does it mean? Having both water and earth as my elements?”

“It’s rare,” Harry immediately told her. “Usually, a magical person only has one element they connect with. It likely has to do with your patron god. But it also says a bit about you.”

“Like?”

“Water isn’t stable. It moves through different states freely. Liquid to solid. Calm to dangerous.”

“I’m unstable?” Hermione said, feeling more amused than irritated. 

She’d felt her magic and it had been calming and cool. But she understood what Harry meant. She had felt the raging storm under it all, the ability to fly off the handle and tear everything down with terrifying force if pushed too far.

Harry grinned. “Your moods can change quickly, but with more reason behind it than someone with an element like fire. We’re hotheads,” he said with a nod. “A simple spark is all it takes to set us off.”

Hermione hummed in consideration. It didn’t surprise her in the least that Harry’s element was fire. She’d felt it herself.

“And earth?”

“Grounding. Controlled. Calm. Stubborn,” he added with a teasing smile.

She rolled her eyes. “So, you’re fire?”

“And air.”

She tilted her head. “That’s interesting. Between the both of us, we have most of the five elements.” 

Neither of them spoke for a moment as that statement settled in the space between them. There was still the hum of magic in the air from the ritual. Hermione could feel it dancing along her skin. She was more aware of her magic now than she ever had been before. She could even feel Harry’s warm magic. It flickered against her skin like a flame, teasing and dangerous like it was on the edge of consuming her.

A shiver ran down her spine.

“I wonder what that means,” she whispered.

Harry swallowed visibly. “It wasn’t a prank,” he blurted out.

Hermione blinked. “What?”

“The kiss. In fifth year. You said yesterday- and I can’t stop thinking about it. It wasn’t a prank, Hermione. Draco and the other Slytherins found us. They used- it doesn’t matter what they used to find us, but they might have thought it was a bit of fun, but I wasn’t- that’s not what it was for me.”

Hermione blinked widely. She didn’t know what to say in response to that. The memory of the Slytherins laughing at the two of them in their little hideaway as they shared what was Hermione’s first kiss was a terrible memory. She’d cried over it for weeks.

“Why did you kiss me then?”

Harry opened his mouth, but no words came out. His shoulders fell and he gestured aimlessly. “Because you're smart and beautiful and I- I’d been thinking about it for ages.”

Hermione’s breath caught. She stared up at him. They were standing so close. Harry’s hands were warm against her waist. She wasn’t even sure when he’d reached out to her. The flickering flames of his magic felt tantalising against her skin. Her fingers curled around the fabric of his robes, her other hand holding the magical flower against his chest.

She wanted him to kiss her again. She felt overcome with the thought of what it would feel like. He smelled like wind and sage. Her lashes fluttered shut as Harry’s nose nudged against her own.

The ritual circle warmed with magic beneath their feet.

Harry gasped and stumbled back. “No- shit .” He raised a hand as if to ward her off. “We need to leave the ritual space. We shouldn’t be talking like this here.”

“I didn’t start this conversation,” she responded, annoyed and more than a little hurt at his rejection.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He grabbed her hand. “Let’s just go. We’ll finish this elsewhere.”

Hermione allowed Harry to pull her from the ritual circle. They grabbed their shoes and dashed towards the hallway. As they departed, she glanced over her shoulder. For a moment, it looked as if there was a shadowed figure watching them from a dark corner of the room. 

Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine as the unseeing eyes followed them.

~*~

“There are a couple of options,” Hermione told Harry in a whisper. 

They were sitting together at the back of the library. A week had passed since the first ritual and neither had spoken about the almost kiss again. That didn’t stop them from spending practically all their time together. Harry was a good teacher, she’d learned. She was slowly learning more and more rituals in a far greater depth than the books she’d read had taught her.

They had yet to do another ritual, despite Hermione’s eagerness. First, Hermione had to find her patron goddess, then they could figure out if there was a ritual they could do together. It was difficult since most male and female rituals that didn’t use a shared patron god were sex-based. Harry and Hermione blushed through their research most of that day.

“Persephone, Demeter, and even Aphrodite as well as each of their Roman counterparts are often depicted with a similar flower to this.”

“But the flower is definitely from the Mediterranean region?” Harry confirmed, voice also hushed.

She nodded and leaned closer to show him the book she’d found. “There are depictions of it in Greece, mainly. I mean, there are a few outliers in other places. Lots of Greek imagery crops up around the world, but the oldest versions are near Delphi.”

“That’s where the Temple of Apollo is.”

She nodded and shrugged. “Yes, but his symbol is the sun, usually. And it’s just where the oldest images were found, not the most. A lot are found in temples believed to have belonged to Demeter.”

Harry nodded. “A mother nature goddess makes sense. Earth and water? Flowers? All sort of comes together, doesn’t it?”

“I think so,” she responded, sounding less sure than him. “I just… I’m not overly good at Herbology. I dropped it after my OWLs.”

“But you got an O in it.”

“Yes, but it’s not a class that comes easily to me. I had to work really hard for that grade and I barely managed it by the edge of my teeth.”

“Well, maybe it’s not about the nature aspect?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “She’s literally a goddess of plants and nature.”

“Yeah, but she’s also a mother goddess.”

Hermione frowned at him in confusion.

“A mother goddess is like… a type? Like a fertility god or a war god or something. Mother goddesses all fall under the umbrella of the Sister Mothers. Mother goddesses represent motherhood and a nurturing nature. Women still pray to them for healthy children and things. Demeter is said to have a very soft, motherly aura about her.”

“The Sister Mothers,” Hermione repeated with a nod. “I read about them. Gaia, Parvati, and Nana Bukuu. But they’re more commonly considered not to be goddesses at all. They’re referred to as Mother Life or just Life.”

“They’re considered to be Eternals… Death and Fate.” Harry shifted in his seat. “So, they don’t really choose magicals.” He swallowed and looked away.

“Right. Well,” Hermione tucked her curls behind her ears as she considered that, “I guess motherhood wouldn’t be so confusing. I mean, I’m spectacular with children.”

Harry huffed a laugh. “If you do say so yourself.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I do. I can always just tell what they need. They hardly cry in my presence. All the first years have been coming to be with issues since I was… well, since ever. Even when I was a first year.”

Harry frowned at her. “Maybe you have a magical gift? That’d definitely lend evidence to the suggestion that Demeter is your patron goddess.”

Hermione hummed and nodded. “I’ve never thought about it. Are there, I don’t know, tests I could take?”

Harry nodded. “There’s a ritual we can do after you find your goddess. Or you can spirit walk to her and she can explain things to you – well, if you’re lucky. Not all of them care to interact with each of us. Sometimes, they’ll come to you in a dream later, though.”

Hermione leaned closer to him and tried not to think about how her chest brushed against his arm. Harry’s magic licked at her like the flames of a fire. She felt her own cool magic spread across him like a pool of water. 

“Have you spoken with a god in a vision? Or a dream?” she asked, cheeks pink.

Harry swallowed visibly and nodded. “And uh- in person.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? Which one?”

He narrowed his eyes, unwilling to meet her gaze.

“Your patron god,” she surmised.

Harry still hadn’t told her who it was. She was beginning to suspect that he was ashamed or scared of what her reaction would be.

“Is it really so private, who your god is?”

Harry shook his head. “No, it’s perfectly fine to talk about. I just… my family would like me to keep it private for now and I’d like to respect their wishes.”

Hermione nodded. That made perfect sense to her. She had only a taste of what ritual magic was like and it had felt extremely personal. She couldn’t imagine how much more it would be with her chosen goddess.

“I can’t wait for the ritual.”

Harry grinned. “You have to. It has to be on a pagan holiday. Samhain is only a little ways away.”

She pouted up at him, leaning her head against his shoulder. “What will we do in the meantime?”

Harry grinned and his green eyes glittered down at her. “Oh, I dunno. I’ve got a few ideas.”

His magic grew warmer and Hermione bit her bottom lip. 

“There’s a spell,” he told her, voice low.

Hermione lifted her head but didn’t pull away. She could see every shade of green in his bright eyes through the thick lenses of his large round glasses. 

“What sort of spell?”

“One that someone chosen by a mother goddess could do. Basically, it brings a plant from wilting back to full bloom.”

Hermione’s mouth twisted. “I told you I’m not good at herbology.”

“It’s not like the spells in herbology. It’s calling on the goddess’ magic inside of you. Not everyone can do it, so it’s not like it’ll prove anything. But with practice, and if you’re chosen by a mother goddess or a nature goddess or one that is both, it should work.”

Her nose wrinkled as she thought about it. “Show me the spell?”

~*~

Hermione’s hands hovered around the wilted sapling. They were just beyond the edge of the Forbidden Forest one bright weekend morning. Samhain was just around the corner and Hermione had yet to make any more progress on her flower research or her ability to help wilting plants.

She huffed and her breath hovered in the air like a dragon’s breath before dissipating. 

She stood and crossed her arms over her chest before turning to Harry. “I can’t do it.”

“It takes time,” he assured her.

Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed again. “I’m top of the class. I’m the smartest witch at Hogwarts – I beat Helena Ravenclaw’s test scores!”

“You’re very accomplished,” Harry agreed, his voice somewhere between teasing and appeasing.

She scowled at him. “You’re not funny.”

“You’re cute when you’re angry. Like a miffed little kitten.”

Hermione made a sound of indignation. She stomped her foot. “Take that back!”

“Or what? You’ll hiss at me?” he asked, the teasing tone of his voice growing stronger.

She stomped forward. “I’ll hex you, Potter, don’t think I won’t.”

“Oh, I’m ‘ Potter ’ now? Now I’m really scared.”

Hermione’s anger grew high like a powerful ocean wave. Harry met her anger with a teasing flicker of fire. It only made her madder. She was angry and he couldn’t even have the decency to meet her anger with any serious intent back. He was teasing her. 

Her hands grasped the front of his cloak and she wasn’t sure what she was planning to do – she hadn’t even drawn her wand. Harry’s hands circled her waist, he turned and pressed her back against a tree. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat at the sudden closeness.

“Magic isn’t just about pronunciation and wand movement. Magic is alive ,” he whispered and if Hermione weren’t so shocked at the quick shift in the conversation’s tone, she would have protested the way his body was pressed against her own.

His magic teased hers and she pushed back with an angry wave of power.

Harry smiled. “See? You can do it. It’s about intent and power. Ritual magic doesn’t work the same as the spells they teach us in school.”

Hermione made a face. “Well, how am I meant to control it then?”

“I think your problem is that you have too much control. Relax. Play with your magic the way you do with mine.”

“That’s more you than me. I’m just reacting to you.”

“React to the magic around you,” he advised. “There is magic in all things. You just need to feel it.”

She whined wordlessly. “I can’t. I’m not good with plants, Harry. I’m not good at this. Can’t we go back inside? It’s cold.”

His hands reached up to cup her face. He wasn’t even wearing gloves, but his skin was warm. 

“Do you really want to give up?” 

Hermione fought back her tears. She didn’t want to give up . But it wasn’t working, hadn’t been working for days now. There was a high chance it would never work. At the same time, she knew that when she went back to her dorm that night and saw her perfect pink flower sitting on her bedside table that she would feel ashamed for not giving it her all.

She silently shook her head.

Harry’s answering smile filled her with more hope than she was willing to admit. The tip of his nose nudged against her own, warm against her own cold and pink skin. “Good girl.”

Hermione’s cheeks burned. Her fingers curled into the thick material of his cloak. She pulled him fractionally closer. It was all the encouragement that Harry needed. His lips met hers as he pressed her firmly into the tree. 

Hermione’s eyes fell shut as Harry’s flickering magic burned hotter than she’d even felt it. The fire surrounded her, consuming her with heat and power. Hermione’s own magic dropped into the earth like water pouring from the sky. She felt her power spread out around them, touching leaves and roots.

Her magic touched the wilting sapling she’d been crouched before only a few minutes ago. Her power sank deeper into the earth, soaking the soil around its roots and threading up through the veins of the sapling's body.

Hermione pulled back from Harry with a gasp. She turned and her eyes widened at the sight of the wilted sapling, now standing tall and green in the mostly dead forest.

Harry released a delighted laugh. After a moment, Hermione joined him. She rushed forward and touched the leaves of the tree. They looked almost like they were glowing with magic as the sunlight streamed through them.

She turned back to Harry, grabbed his cloak, and pulled him close for a quick kiss.

“Thank you!”

Harry gently brushed her hair away from her face. “I knew you could do it.”

She laughed and shook her head. “I don’t even know what I did!”

He shrugged. “Plenty of time to figure it out.” He nodded at the tree. “Least we’ve got another clue, now.”

“Let’s try another plant.” 

She grabbed his hand and led him to another part of the forest, still along the edge so they wouldn’t get lost in its magical depths.

“Here.”

Hermione stopped before a dark and dry plant. A flower of some kind. 

Harry made a face. “That thing’s gone past wilted.”

“Maybe I can bring it back?”

He shook his head. “It’s dead.”

She pursed her lips and turned back to the plant. She crouched down in front of it. “It’s wilted, certainly. But you never know. Sometimes there’s still a spark of life.” 

Her grandfather had a spectacular green thumb. She’d seen him bring many plants back from what had seemed like utter death. Most of those plants had belonged to her mother who was what Hermione’s father lovingly called ‘the kiss of death’ for anything green and living.

“It’s definitely dead. As a doornail.”

Hermione looked up with a scowl, but the amusement and delight she was feeling took all the heat out of it. Harry smiled, clearly bemused by her change in attitude.

Hermione turned back to the dead plant. She closed her eyes and felt for the calm pool of water in the centre of her chest. She pushed her magic downward like rainfall, trying to recreate the same effect she’d had on the sapling. It was difficult. Her magic always moved more easily in reaction to Harry.

Slowly, the magical water felt like it was trickling down her hands and into the earth. It moved steadily towards the dead flower. The roots began to fill with her power and the stems filled with life. Bright green leaves sprouted to life and bright red flowers bloomed in patches across the bush-like flower.

Her eyes opened. “Ha! I told you.” She plucked a clump of the flowers free and held it up triumphantly.

Harry blinked widely at her. “But it was dead .”

“Obviously, not,” she scoffed.

He was staring at her like she’d just proven the sky was purple. “Hermione-” he abruptly cut off and looked around.

“Harry?”

He stared out into the forest for a moment longer. “Let’s head inside.”

“Is something wrong?”

He took her hand and led her back towards the castle. “I was just remembering that they call this the Forbidden Forest for a reason.” He shot her a wry grin. “I don’t think we need the gods interceding in our lives more than they already do.”

Hermione grinned. She twirled her flowers close to her nose and breathed in their light, pretty aroma. She could hardly wait for the ritual on Samhain. She was going to meet her goddess. 

Hermione squeezed Harry’s hand. He turned and smiled at the joy on her face. He tugged her hand and Hermione bumped into his side. He pressed a kiss to her temple that had her blushing and hiding her face in her flowers.

Asking Harry to help her with this had been the best decision she’d ever made.

~*~

Hermione was kneeling alone at the centre of the ritual circle wearing the same dress as the time before. The pretty pink flower she’d created with her magical elements last time sat before her. It was still new. Hermione hadn’t needed to cast any spells to keep the flower blooming as if freshly plucked. She still didn’t know exactly what kind of flower it was.

Hermione glanced over at Harry. He stood outside the ritual circle, beside the altar. He nodded at her encouragingly.

Hermione took a deep breath as she closed her eyes. “Oh, goddess,” she called softly, “I call on you. I beseech you to answer my plea for a guide and teacher.” 

Hermione waited. She knew that the likelihood of a goddess appearing or even making herself known was low. Most likely, Hermione would have a dream that night that would tell her who her guide was. From there, she could find a proper coven to teach her even more. Her goddess would guide her through dreams and symbolism, but an actual-

-The flames around the room burned a foot higher as the ritual space was flooded with power. 

Hermione’s eyes widened and she gasped as she felt a powerful, almost stifling magical presence enter the room. She barely had time to gasp for breath before a figure entered the circle. Their form shimmered with falling gold as each part of their body passed through the magical barrier and into the ritual circle.

A stunningly tall, olive-skinned woman with dark eyes stood before Hermione. Her dark curls were pulled up and braided with a white cloth that matched her flowing Grecian-style robes. The woman was barefoot and her stomach round with the promise of a child.

“Hello, daughter.”

Hermione sucked in a breath. She stayed where she was, kneeling on the floor before the lightly glowing form of the pregnant goddess. She didn’t know what to do. What was she supposed to say to a goddess?

The woman smiled, her plump lips stretching into something so comforting that it brought tears to Hermione’s eyes.

The goddess held a hand out to Hermione. “Stand. No daughter of mine need ever kneel at my feet.”

Feeling a little like she was having an out-of-body experience, Hermione gently placed her hand in the goddess’ own. Power thrummed from the magical being to Hermione like a livewire. Hermione’s own magic had felt like rain and great ocean waves. The goddess, by contrast, was a tsunami of power. She was a hurricane, earthquake, and ice storm. 

Hermione swallowed thickly as she pulled herself to her feet. The goddess still towered over Hermione. The woman had to be at least 200 cm. 

“You came,” Hermione whispered without thinking. 

Her eyes widened and she raised a hand to her mouth. Was she even allowed to speak in a goddess’ presence? The goddess smiled again. She touched Hermione’s wrist and gently pulled her hand away from her mouth.

“I did. Naming my daughter is one of the only rituals I am allowed to grace the mortal plane. I would feel robbed if it had never come to pass.”

There was an undercurrent of ice in her voice. A frosting of fury that Hermione had almost left Hogwarts without first completing these necessary magical rituals. Though the anger wasn’t directed at Hermione, the young witch couldn’t help but shiver in fear. 

The goddess raised a gentle hand to Hermione’s cheek and an overwhelming feeling of comfort and safety fell across the witch. Her eyes teared as she leaned into the goddess’ touch.

“Are you ready for your naming?”

Hermione fought back her tears. Naming? She didn’t remember anything about naming being a part of the ritual. Then again, the goddess really wasn’t supposed to show up. Perhaps the naming happens in the dream that most people experience.

Hermione nodded.

“I name you the Life Giver, Daughter of Gaia, Symbol of Motherhood and Compassion. Be my hand and the hands of my Sisters, daughter.”

Hermione blinked widely. “ What?” She shook her head. “But you don’t choose magicals!”

Gaia looked amused. “You’re right. We don’t choose anyone. Eternals sculpt their Archetypes with their own hands. Every aspect of you was specifically designed by my Sisters and me. I sculpted your magical core with my own hands. Earth and water. A perfect balance of opposites, and yet so desperately in need of the other.”

Hermione couldn’t breathe. Her chest was tight. Her throat constricted and she feared she might be sick. “I don’t understand,” she finally gasped out once her lungs began working again.

“The world needs balance. Always. We’ve tried to leave the worlds we created to their own devices without interference, but it always resulted in war, famine, and disease. The end result was the knowledge that we needed a drop of ourselves here. To keep harmony. Each of us does it.” She looked to her left and pinned Harry with a heavy stare. “You could have warned her.”

Hermione choked. She’d completely forgotten that Harry was still there. He hadn’t said a word the entire time. “You knew ?”

Harry blinked quickly. “Only about the Archetypes. Not- not that you were one.”

“But you felt it,” Gaia stated with confidence. “Dagda has assured me that you both felt the draw towards one another.”

“Draw?” Hermione whispered.

Gaia smiled. She cupped Hermione’s cheek and the goddess’ power fell over her with the crash of a tsunami again. “Yes, you’re connected. One cannot exist without the other.”

“How- what am I supposed to do? How do I-” and despite it all, despite Gaia standing before her, the knowledge that she was meant for something impossibly important, and the information that she and Harry were connected , all Hermione found herself able to ask was, “-what do I tell the Department of Mysteries?”

Gaia grinned. “You wouldn’t be the first witch of ours to work there. They’ll be surprised but pleased. As to your practice of ritual magic, the Master of Death will guide you.”

“Master of Death?” Hermione responded, her voice choked.

“Me,” Harry whispered.

Gaia hummed in agreement. Her smile looked amused at their nonplussed expressions. “Feel free to explore ritual magic together. You worship different ends of the same spectrum. Your magics, while direct contrasts, will work together better than any other magic you’ll ever encounter. Sex magic will be particularly fulfilling.”

Hermione’s face burned with embarrassment. Neither she nor Harry were able to meet one another’s gaze.

“Dagda will be keeping an eye on you both,” Gaia continued, her amusement leaking into her voice. “He and the rest of us are all expecting many children from this union.”

Harry choked.

Gaia cupped Hermione’s face and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Hermione’s eyes slammed shut as a lightning bolt of power rocked through her. A goddess’ blessing was anything but gentle, especially when that goddess was Mother Life, Gaia. The stunned witch stared up at Gaia with wide eyes. 

“Blessed be, daughter.”

“B- blessed be.”

Gaia turned and disappeared from the circle like a ray of golden light. 

Harry and Hermione stood in utter silence. Hermione stared where the goddess had appeared in shimmering gold before disappearing like a ray of sunshine. The air tasted like ozone after a lightning strike, humming with the goddess’ residual power. The hairs on Hermione’s body were all standing on end. Her magic was squirming restlessly inside of her. She was fairly positive that if she went to the Forbidden Forest and let it free, her magic would bring half the plants back to the fullness of summer in a flash.

Hermione blinked. She turned to Harry. “Did she say union ?”

Harry made a sound of distress.

She didn’t dare move. Harry looked petrified. 

“Harry, are we married ?”

He shook his head minutely. “No- I don’t… I don’t know? Maybe?”

They stared at each other with wide eyes.

He raised his hands to his face. “My mum’s gonna kill me,” he whined in distress.

~*~

Hermione and Harry avoided each other for the month of November. They couldn’t even look at each other without blushing and turning the opposite way again. It was awful. 

It was made worse by the fact that they kept finding each other. Hermione would turn the corner and bump into Harry. She’d go searching for a book and they’d both be grabbing for it at the same time. 

It all came to a head when Harry and Hermione got locked into a closet by Peeves. Hermione crossed her arms and glared at the door in the dim light of the broom closet.

“Do ghosts and gods work together?” she asked.

Harry was leaning back against the door, hands in his pockets and ankles crossed. “Yes. Dagda regularly employs past descendants to guide us. Never seen a god do it with a poltergeist like Peeves before, but I’m sure we’re testing everyone’s patience.”

Hermione huffed. “They can’t force us to be-” she gestured aimlessly.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. “They’re gods .”

She sighed heavily before sagging back against the door beside him. “Have you been sleeping?” she asked into the silence.

Harry sighed. “Not well. I can feel it now, like a tie between us. I think it might have formed during the Naming.”

Hermione hummed in agreement. “It’s part of what keeps drawing us together,” she guessed.

“Probably. I’ve been speaking with my patron god-”

“-Death, you mean. You’ve been speaking to Death .”

Harry tilted his head. “Yes,” he responded tightly. “Have you spoken to Gaia?”

“No, she’s giving birth to a new universe.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose. He blinked down at her.

Hermione waved her hand. “Don’t get me started. I’ve been speaking with Parvati during mediation sessions. Nana Bukuu comes to me in dreams.” She rubbed her hands down her face. “When I manage to sleep, that is. Parvati has advised that we sort ourselves out before Gaia comes back from… mat-leave? I don’t even know. But she’s going to be furious if we’re not talking to each other.”

“I agree. Death is… insistent that we have a strong relationship. Life and Death are…” He trailed off.

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed.

“No more avoiding each other?”

She nodded. Her cheeks burned as she continued. “I’m not sure if I’m ready for… rituals.”

Sex rituals.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Yeah, no. I wouldn’t want to do that at school, even if we were – which we’re definitely not. Let’s- uh… meditate together?”

Hermione nodded quickly. “Meditation sounds good.”

The door unlocked. 

Harry and Hermione shared an uneasy look before quickly vacating the closet. 

“Saturday night? Same place?”

She nodded. “This dress is getting a lot more use than I thought it would.”

Harry grinned. “That’s not a bad thing. It looks beautiful on you.”

Hermione’s face warmed. She tucked a curl behind her ear. “Thank you.”

Now was probably a good time for them to separate. Hermione had homework she had to do. It was NEWT year after all. There was always work to do. But she didn’t want to leave Harry’s side. She could feel it, that tie that he’d mentioned earlier. It felt like there was a string around her pinky finger and if she let it, it would lead her back to Harry. 

Harry’s fingers brushed her hand as if his own thoughts mirrored her current ones.

“Want to go for a walk before curfew?”

She nodded.

Harry’s hand slipped into her own and they headed down the hallway. No one even blinked at the Gryffindor and Slytherin walking together. Harry and Hermione had been practically inseparable since the second week of October. It was old news, really.

“Do you have plans for Yule?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head. “I’m going to go home, like usual. But my parents have a few parties they want to go to.”

“You’re not invited?” he asked with his dark brows drawn together.

Hermione snorted. “Oh, I’m always invited. I just don’t want to go to their work parties. I’d much rather sit at home with a good book and a roaring fireplace. My family and I have all our traditions and we still do them. I’m not upset that they go see their friends at a party on the holidays. I just don’t want to get stuck babysitting all the children there if I go.”

“I thought you liked kids?”

Hermione’s eyes fell shut. “I love them,” she responded with feeling.

The newfound knowledge that she was the embodiment of Life on earth made that statement resonate a little bit stronger than it would have before.

“But I think my… abilities… shine a bit too brightly around that many children.” She wrinkled her nose. “I suppose it’d be less weird to be so good with children now. But when I was a child and all the babies wanted to crawl into my lap and cried when I so much as got up for a glass of cider – well…” she finished sounding more annoyed than anything.

Harry grinned. “I imagine you were everyone’s favourite babysitter.”

Hermione laughed. “I still am. It funds my book-buying problem.”

“You have a book-buying problem?”

She made a desperate face. “I don’t think I can fully express the joy it brings me to buy a new book. I have too many and I’ll never have enough.”

“Do you want to go to Hogsmeade after our meditation? We could go to the bookstore. I’d love a recommendation.”

Hermione looked up at him. There was a soft grin teasing the edge of Harry’s lips. He was so handsome with his large glasses and messy dark hair. The emerald green of his robes made his eyes look so bright. There was always a glimmer of mischief in them like he was sharing an inside joke with her every time he smiled. 

“Really?” she felt the need to ask.

They came to a stop by a window overlooking the dark forest and Black Lake.

“You won’t get upset when I want to spend hours in there just looking at all the books, even the ones I don’t want?”

Harry pursed his lips as he thought. “Can I put in a request for food at some point?”

She grinned. “I’ll allow it,” she teased.

He laughed and his hand squeezed her own. “Good. It’s a date then.”

Her eyebrows raised. “A date . How lucky am I? He still takes me out on dates even though we’re… married ,” she whispered the last word despite the fact that they were alone except for the portraits.

Harry leaned forward and his lips brushed the apple of her cheek as he laughed lightly. “Fate likes you, I guess,” he teased. He tugged on her hand. “Come on, I’ll walk you partway to your dorm.”

“I wonder if there are others chosen by the Archetypes in our generation,” Hermione mused aloud.

“My money’s on Luna Lovegood being Fate.”

Hermione blinked widely before she burst into laughter. “Or Chaos.”

“Love.”

“Destiny.”

“She’s something,” Harry agreed with a smile. 

Hermione laughed and leaned into his side.

~*~

Yule began on December 19th and continued until the 23rd. Harry, his parents, and his younger brother Evan, all headed out to their family ritual space on the night of the 19th. The ritual circle was deep in the woods that were a part of Tetwell Estate, the Potter’s home for centuries.

Harry’s father began the ritual as he always did each winter. He asked the family to enter the ritual circle together and then called on Dagda. They waited for the warmth of Dagda’s magic to fill the circle, signifying that he was there. 

Nothing happened. James’ eyes darted around the circle.

Something was wrong.

“James?” Harry’s mother asked quietly. 

Harry and his brother shared a look. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” James murmured. He headed towards the altar and scanned the candles and offerings placed there. “We’ve never been… ignored before.”

“He’s here,” Harry interjected before either of his parents could begin to panic that the family god had forsaken them.

James’ head snapped around to Harry. “He is? You’re certain?”

Harry forced himself not to shift uncomfortably as his family all turned to stare at him. He hated it. Hated the attention that came with his station . Harry nodded quickly. 

Evan frowned. “Well, then why isn’t he entering the ritual circle? Have we upset him?”

Lily shook her head. “If we’d upset him, he never would have shown up. He’s… waiting. Waiting for something to happen?”

James crossed his arms over his chest. “For someone to- I don’t know- to do something?”

Harry felt dread slowly creep up his throat. Oh, he thought. His eyes darted around the circle. He could feel Dagda’s eyes on him. Oh, no .

Harry stepped towards the edge of the ritual circle.

“Harry?” his father called.

Harry shot his family an uneasy look. “I’ll be right back.”

“Back? Harry, you can’t just leave-”

“-I’ll come back. Just give me five minutes.”

“Harry!”

Harry stepped out of the circle and disapparated. He didn’t even know where he was going. He should have splinched in half. But he could feel that tie to Hermione around his pinky finger leading him straight to her and he just followed it until he appeared in the living room of a home.

“Harry?” Hermione exclaimed as she jumped to her feet. She was wearing pyjamas with a pair of little slippers with bunny ears on them.

Harry couldn’t help but grin at the sight of the slippers. “Cute.”

Hermione smacked his arm with her book. “Harry, it’s Yule! Aren’t you supposed to be doing a ritual with your family?”

Harry ran a hand through the hair at the back of his head. “There was a development. Are your parents at a party?” He looked around and didn’t see any evidence of anyone else home with her.

“Baby shower,” she specified. “Our celebrations don’t really start until the 21st this year.”

Harry frowned in confusion. That was neither the start of Yule nor the muggle Christmas holiday.

“We’re Jewish,” Hermione supplied with a shrug.

Harry blinked widely. “Oh. I didn’t know that?”

“Well, we’ve been more focused on other things.”

At her words, Harry’s eyes immediately went to her mouth. “I suppose we have.”

Hermione blushed and looked away. “ Harry .”

“Would your parents be alright if you stayed over for the night?”

She tilted her head with a cute little frown on her face. “I don’t want to intrude on your family’s traditions, Harry.”

He winced. “Yeah, ‘bout that… Dagda won’t complete our circle for the ritual.”

“Why not?”

He looked at her significantly. “Because it’s not finished.”

Hermione visibly wilted. “... Harry.” 

“Dagda is expecting you, Hermione. I know we weren’t going to say anything until graduation, but I can’t ignore our family god for that long. My family wouldn’t know what’s going on and that’s not fair to them.”

She sighed and nodded. “Let me call my parents.”

Hermione disappeared through an archway into what looked like the kitchen. Harry stayed where he was in the living room. The fireplace was crackling warmly and above it, pictures adorned the mantle piece. Harry stepped closer and smiled at the sight of a curly-haired little Hermione in a pretty tutu. There was another of her sitting at a piano. A few with her parents on trips around the world.

“They’re okay with it,” Hermione announced as she entered the room again. “But I think that’s mostly because they don’t know you’re a boy.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s lying,” he teased.

She glared at him. “Omission of the truth.”

“Still lying.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t have my dress for the ritual. It’s at Hogwarts.”

He nodded. “Anything relatively nice will do.” 

He had purchased a ritual robe for her for Yule, but gift-giving didn’t come until the final day of the Yule celebrations. She’d have to do without for one more ritual.

Hermione nodded and quickly headed upstairs.

“We’ve only got a few minutes!” he called up the stairs.

“Okay!”

“My parents are gonna kill me,” he muttered to himself.

A few minutes later, Hermione came down the stairs in heels and a Gryffindor red velvet dress. There was a little dip at the collar of her dress. It gave only a hint of cleavage, but it was more than Harry had ever seen on her. His eyes drank her in. He felt the flames of his magic rise up around her despite his best efforts. 

Hermione’s cheeks warmed. Her magic slipped around him, fluid and free and so very enticing. 

“You’re beautiful,” he told her.

“You always say that,” she responded, not sounding upset about it.

“It’s always true.”

She fiddled with the strap of a bag she had slung over her shoulder. “Don’t we have to go?”

Harry blinked widely. “Right. Shit. Okay.” Harry took her bag. He waved a hand to the fireplace and the roaring fire immediately snuffed out. 

Hermione’s mouth opened. They didn’t have time for her questions though.

“I’ll show you again later. Promise.” 

He held out his hand and Hermione took it without hesitation. Harry drew his wand and apparated them away. They appeared in the forest. Harry could see the candlelights of their ritual circle through the trees. 

He squeezed Hermione’s hand and guided her through to the ritual circle. The second they broke through the treeline, all eyes were on them -- human and gods alike. 

“Harry?” his father questioned, the anger in his voice palpable.

Hermione’s hand tightened in his own. He gave his dad a weak smile before turning back to Hermione. He nodded at her and she kicked off her heels while he dropped her bag. Barefoot, they stepped forward.

The second that Harry’s and Hermione’s bare feet touched the ritual space, a golden glow formed around the two of them. Their magic hummed in unison and then before anyone could react, Dagda’s magic surrounded them and the ritual commenced.

James’ hands were shaking as he led them through the yearly ritual. Lily’s eyes were trained on Harry and Hermione. Hermione, for her part, refused to let go of Harry’s hand except for when Harry was handed the family goblet to drink the mulled wine within. 

There was a terribly tense moment when, instead of handing the goblet back to his father, he turned and presented it to Hermione. She drank from the cup before handing it back. Harry gave it to his father, unable to meet the older man’s gaze. It was a move he would only make in ritual if Hermione was his wife. 

Harry could feel his father’s anger filling the circle. The older man’s magic was like a billowing wind in the middle of a thunderstorm when he was angry. Harry’s mother had a cool temper that was decidedly more terrifying, but his father could get quite loud and dramatic when pushed too far. 

Once the ritual was finally complete, Dagda’s magic hummed warmly before dissipating. The residual comfort he provided warmed the stone ritual circle beneath Harry’s feet.

A long, tense silence filled the forest.

“Evan, go back to the house,” Lily ordered.

“Awe, but-”

“-Now.”

The teenager sighed and trudged away. Once he was gone, another silence descended.

“ Explain ,” James ground out between clenched teeth.

Harry opened his mouth, but no words came out. He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t about to tell Hermione’s secret without her permission. That wasn’t his to share.

“We’re married,” he replied with a wince.

“Oh, that was more than obvious. How exactly did my still in Hogwarts son get married ?”

Harry raised a hand to scratch the back of his head.

“I’m the Life Giver,” Hermione blurted out.

All eyes turned to her, Harry’s included.

“Hermione-”

“-It’s fine,” she cut him off. She raised her chin at Harry’s parents before stepping closer to Harry. “The same as Harry. We’re… counterparts. Gaia explained that it was a union of some sort. We didn’t… we didn’t really do anything. It just… I think it just is .”

Lily’s eyes narrowed consideringly. “Death can’t exist without life.”

All the anger drained straight out of James. He pressed his hands to his face and dragged them down his cheeks as he groaned in annoyance. “This is it. This is karma for everything I've ever done as a teen. And honestly? I think I'm getting off easy.”

Harry tilted his head. “Does that mean I'm not grounded?”

Lily scoffed. “Oh, you are so grounded. You should have told us about this the second you found out Hermione was the Life Giver.”

He shifted awkwardly. “It's not my secret to tell.”

Lily’s lips twisted. 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said. “Neither of us knew it would affect your Yule ritual. Gaia only said that Dagda would be watching us.”

James blinked widely at her. “Gaia was- you met- by the Horned One.” He raised a hand to his face. “What the hell are we going to do with you two?”

Harry shrugged. “Dunno, but Gaia seemed pretty set on me helping Hermine with her ritual magic-”

“-Wait.” Lily raised her hand. “Hermione. You sent me a letter. You’re the one who didn’t get help from your magical sponsor.”

She nodded. “Harry helped me. Which, in hindsight, might have been Mother Life leading me to my partner.”

Harry’s head tilted. He hadn’t thought about that before. It certainly made sense. She easily could have gone to a teacher. Hermione Granger would have chosen a teacher over a random student any day of the week. 

Huh, Harry thought. They really should have seen this from the start.

“What else did Gaia say?”

There was a brief pause. All Harry could think about was the goddess’ recommendation to do ritual sex magic and how he definitely did not want to talk about that with his parents.

Hermione’s brain, apparently, did not work like his. “She said she’s expecting lots of babies.”

Harry felt like his brain short-circuited for a moment. But of course his wife, the Life Giver, would be perfectly comfortable saying that and also sound a little like she was looking forward to it.

Harry glanced over at his wife. Her big brown eyes glittered up at him teasingly. A mixture of irritation and affection flickered at his chest. She was trying to get him in trouble, the little devil. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. Hermione’s gentle sway towards him was interrupted when James burst between them with his hands raised.

“No pregnancy until you graduate!”

“And then some,” Lily added with a scoff.

Harry laughed. “Come on, I want some warm cider and cookies.”

He held out his hand and Hermione immediately took it. 

They stepped out of the circle together, a warm golden glow around their bodies as they made their way into the forest together – Life and Death. 

THE END