But Harry had to be sure. He shifted around and crossed his legs, settled his breathing into its accustomed pattern for meditation, slowing his heart till it was barely a tap against his sternum. He moved towards trance, tuning in for the tell-tale vibrations of Hermione's thoughts. Her signature was like her scent, warm and comforting. Harry loved when it swirled around inside him. The good thing about mind magic of this sort was that it was universal. Harry could pull memories easily from anyone. Except himself. He hated his own memories ... for most of them scared the living shit out of him. Literally.