Unofficial Portkey Archive

A/N: Howdy, all! I must say many, many thanks for the wonderful reviews of the last chapter! I appreciate it very much, you all taking the time. And I apologize for this chapter taking longer than usual to be posted.. what with the holiday season and going out of town and all. But I hope you all had a great holiday! What's your New Year's Resolution? Mine is to snatch up Half-Blood Prince as soon as it's available (7/16/05, whoohoo!). But here's another chapter and please review! Thanks.

Chapter Twenty-Four - An Iron Bridge

The noise of people could be a beautiful thing, Emerson Potter decided as she leaned back into a squishy old armchair in a corner of the Gryffindor common room. How had she never noticed how it could ripple and flow, tapering off almost to a whisper before surging in a roar of laughter or mock-outrage? And interspersed through the whole thing was the back beat of human speech, issuing incessantly from every throat.

More than once recently she had used this noise to her own ends, as a distraction, a comfort and shield against the cold arrows of her poisoned mind. She had sat in the midst of it, and yet been somehow separate, like oil floating over water in vain of any merging. Surely, back then, none of these people could have had any inkling of the weight of grief that threatened to suffocate her? How could they know?

Em sighed and crossed her legs on the chair, brushing her hair away from her face. To the casual observer, it would appear that nothing had changed with her. She was still sitting more or less alone, adjacent to the fray composed of the high-spirited occupants of Gryffindor Tower.

But if one looked closer, one would notice that there was a smile playing about her mouth that could never have survived the mental turmoil of her former self. One would notice that her shoulders were no longer tensed or her forehead taut in anxiety.

One would notice that her green eyes sparkled with at least some of their old life and laughter.

Emerson was back, and those who knew her best were happily aware of that and so were making this joyful noise. Marc and Marissa Weasley, as well as Brandon Wood and assorted other people, had all come together to throw this little party for her. They'd pooh-poohed her objections, telling her that she deserved this.

"Please!" Em had laughed when they told her. "I don't deserve anything, least of all a party. Come on, you lot, you'll just end up embarrassing me!"

Marc pretended to be offended. "Now see here! I am the son of Fred Weasley, infamous Gryffindor party organizer, and I believe that I know how to plan a roaring bash so-"

"-if you think we're going to drop this, you've got another think coming," finished Marissa, her arms akimbo. But her brown eyes were soft. "We missed you, Em-"

"In more ways than one," supplied quirky Olivia.

"-and we want to welcome you back," Marissa continued. "Besides, since we can't go out and help our parents hunt down the-" She paused, scowling as she tried to think up a harsh enough word of description.

"Weibchen," Brandon supplied, then blushed slightly at all the heads that turned to look him funny. "It's just German for.. um.. well, a female dog."

Marissa gave him a strange look before addressing Em again. "Yeah, the weibchen who dared do to you what she did. So this is the least we can do."

"So, as the Yanks say, just sit down, shut up and hang on," Marc said eloquently, earning a glare from his twin, which he ignored.

Lyna had smiled and thrown an arm around Em. "Looks like you're overruled."

Seated in her armchair as she watched Marc trying to spit a cherry pit into the cup his cousin Rory was holding six feet away, Em colored as she recalled how she'd turned into a blubbering mess. She'd just been so overcome by their support, by how much they'd rallied around her upon hearing about Smiley- no, Cristella.

It wasn't that she was no longer affected by her ordeal. Because she was. She still had nightmares in which Cristella hurt one or more of her siblings. She still occasionally suffered crying jags and bouts of irritability. But her week at home had not been unproductive. Just being with her family had been a healing balm and, additionally, she'd been to see a Muggle psychologist a few times. Dr. Frasier was very nice and although it had been hard at first talking about her painful feelings, it had gotten easier every time. It was as if a vast, festering sore inside her was being slowly lanced and drained every time she talked. Obviously, she'd had to return to school but her parents had worked it out with McGonagall so that she could go home every other weekend to see Dr. Frasier.

With people like this in her life, how could she ever had believed anything in those letters? The Weasley grandkids and her other friends had made good on their word and the resulting shindig was in full swing. Most everybody was clutching warm bottles of butterbeer, and Em knew for a fact that a few had something much more hardcore in hand.

And all around swirled the chatter of happy, well-fed people. Only a handful of them knew the real reason for the soiree but that put nary a dent in their enjoyment. As far as they were concerned, a party was a party was a party.

She was lucky. She was so incredibly lucky.

"Hey," somebody said from her left and Em turned.

"Hey," she said back, smiling at Brandon Wood, who plopped down beside her. "How come you're not drunk yet?"

He grinned. "Ah, the night is young, if you know what I mean. Besides, I must be sober for my dance with you, right?"

Em rolled her eyes but she was smiling. She would never admit it, of course, but she was very glad to be back on good terms with Brandon. Upon returning to school after a week at home, she had gone around apologizing to those people that were not only close to her, but could understand why she had been the way she had. But she'd avoided Brandon at all costs, ignoring his attempts to approach her. Somehow, she couldn't get over what had happened the night before her breakdown.

Lyna had tried to play peacemaker but Em had told her loudly that she didn't want to talk about Brandon Wood and to just drop it. Her best friend had opened her mouth, no doubt to launch into a sermon on the virtues of conflict resolution, but had been distracted by Davis Chapman coming over to their table. By the time Davis returned to his fellow Ravenclaws, Lyna had been too giddy to do much more than giggle and blush and Em breathed easy.

Later that same evening, however, as she sat in the common room by the fire waiting for her friend to return with some books, Brandon had managed to catch her unawares.

"Hi, Emerson."

Her expression softened at his discomfiture. "Not to everyone, I don't think. But since I'm the one you routinely harass, I couldn't help but notice how you always glance at her when you're teasing me, as if to see if she's watching. How you always blush when she talks to you. Marissa is who you want so why flirt with me?"

And effectively banishing the wayward synapse, she smiled at him again. For the first time ever, they sat in companionable silence, listening to the logs crackling happily within the fireplace.

"Don't you mean, for your dance with Marissa?" Em said now, chuckling at the color that crept into his cheeks. "How's it going on that angle, by the way?"

"Non una cosa maledetta," Brandon said with a sigh. Upon seeing her puzzled look, he smiled. "That was Italian. I said 'not a damn thing'."

"Oh."

Something else Em liked about being back on good terms with him -- and especially with the understanding that that conversation had given them -- was that she got to see other sides of the real Brandon. Like the fact that he was some sort of linguistic whiz. He had a working knowledge of at least a dozen languages and was always out to learn more. Somehow she'd never known that before, thinking all he cared about was Quidditch and exasperating her.

"Don't give up," she said, following his gaze to where Marissa was dancing with Kal Durham, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. "You know?"

He nodded, but didn't speak and they sat in silence watching the festivities, occasionally laughing at the antics of their housemates. Will Shriver stopped to chat for a little bit before returning to his friends. Then Lyna came to sit with them, clutching a butterbeer, and the three of them chattered merrily for a few minutes.

"Hey, Em! How 'bout a song?" Marc called from the other side of the room, looking like he was having the time of his life. His drink was listing in his hand and his forehead was shiny with sweat from all his dancing.

Emerson grinned. "Nah! Ask Rory!"

"But it's not Rory's party, is it now?" Marc returned. "Your guests demand it. Don't you lot demand it?" he asked the throng, who roared their confirmation. "They demand it!"

Brandon chuckled. "What can you do, eh? But you know what?"

"What?"

"Sing a really silly one."

Lyna giggled. "Sing the one about the yellow dog."

"You mean, the yeller dawg," Em said in her best Wild West drawl and laughed. "Okay, here's a song for you," she said, turning back to the assembled crowd. Clearing her throat, she took a deep breath.

Oh, the yeller dawg died
And I curdled inside
With a taradiddle-hey-nonny-ho!

Everybody burst out laughing while Marc began doing an exaggerated high-stepping jig and Em was cracking up so hard, she could barely continue.

Oh, my old Bessie cried
When that yeller dawg died
With a taradiddle-hey-nonny-ho!

She couldn't continue for laughing, but was applauded and cheered anyway. In lieu of her singing, somebody cranked up the wireless and as the evening wore on, Em danced with her friends while drinking countless bottles of butterbeer. She even got pecked on the cheek by her crush, Etienne, and needless to say was very red and giggly for a long time afterwards.

By the time midnight rolled around, the party was beginning to wind down and many people had retreated to their dorms. Em was feeling tired but very happy, and although she wanted to head upstairs soon, was hanging around with the intention of thanking each of her "cousins" and friends individually. It really had been an awesome and magnanimous gesture on all their parts and she was touched and humbled by their kindness. With the grown-ups handling the investigative end and her friends being so wonderful, she knew she would be fine much sooner rather than later.

As she and Lyna sat beside the dying fire, the portrait hole opened and to her surprise, Jerrianne and the Fakers clamored in. Em hadn't given them a thought all evening, but now that she considered it, surely they'd have rather been somewhere other than her party. Because nothing at all had changed between the four of them, and frankly Em didn't care one way or the other. The enmity between them was at an all-time high, especially after the events in the Great Hall.

As usual, Jerrianne led the way to the stairs, head held haughtily high, but just before she reached it, she paused to adjust her cloak. Maria continued on and had one foot on the lowest step when Jerrianne looked up.

"Where're you going?" she asked disdainfully, glaring at Maria.

"To our room. Right?" Maria said.

Jerrianne gave her a cold look. "Ahead of me?"

Emerson couldn't believe her ears. Neither could the rest of the people in the room, from the looks on their faces. Her disbelief surged another notch when Maria actually stepped down and let Jerrianne climb the stairs first.

"What's wrong with you?" Em blurted, gazing in mingled pity and disgust at the dark-haired girl who for some reason was still standing facing the stairs, even though Jerrianne and Janie had already disappeared into the girls' dorm. "Why do you let her treat you like that?"

Maria blushed slightly, then tossed her head. "None of your business."

"You don't have to put up with that, Maria," Em said. "You should stand up for yourself."

The other girl glared at her. "You wouldn't understand. She's my friend. I won't abandon her." She turned and stomped away up the stairs.

There was a heavy silence in the common room for a long moment.

"Dergelijke loyaliteit," Brandon commented sarcastically in Dutch. "Such loyalty. How very touching. Doesn't that just warm the cockles of your heart, Em?"

"Aye," she responded, still staring at the stairs in mild revulsion. "It warms the shit out of my cockles."

For a few seconds, the words hung in the air before everyone burst out laughing for the umpteenth time that night, shattering the negative aura. But when at last she was snuggled warmly in her bed, Emerson couldn't help but send up a prayer of thanks for how blessed she was. Although she had been attacked, although someone had tried painstakingly to make her lose sight of that blessing, she was still here. She still had her wonderful family and fantastic people who knew what the word "friend" really meant.

Perhaps it was up to her to help someone else discover that true meaning for themselves.

*******

The same spirit of outreach that had alighted on Emerson as she slept was also swirling about her mother hundreds of miles away the next morning. But for Hermione, the matter was much more crucial because the very foundation of her family was being threatened.

Harry was withdrawing from her, from their children. And she knew from experience that that was the worst thing he could possibly do. The memory of their sixth year at Hogwarts, for instance, still emerged vividly enough for her to uneasily leave their bed just before dawn and head down to the kitchen. After making herself a cup of tea, she sat alone for a long time, warming her hands on the etched porcelain mug as she watched the thin late January snow drift down outside the paneled window.

Sixth year had been the year after Sirius died, and Harry had tried his hardest to shut her and Ron out. And he'd almost succeeded. Partially, it'd been because of the sheer ferocity with which he tried to repel them. But another reason was that Hermione had been fighting essentially alone, because not only had Harry been pushing her away on one end, but Ron had been pulling her back from the other end. Finally, she'd managed to tell Ron in no uncertain terms that if he wanted to just sit on his hands and watch Harry waste away that was his business, but she had no intention of doing the same so he could either help her or get the hell out of her way.

Rubbing her eyes, Hermione sighed, remembering. The inner strength that she'd always known Ron possessed had emerged somehow, and they'd managed to get through to Harry before he spiraled too far out of control. Had that not happened, had they not come together again like they had, it was doubtful the wizarding world would even have survived the threat of Voldemort.

Now, though, it wasn't the wizarding world at large that was at risk. It was their family. It was the lives of four little people who were depending on them for consistency and stability. Why must Harry always think he had to do everything himself? Wasn't she his wife? Hadn't she been beside him, supporting him since they were eleven years old? Didn't he know how much it hurt for him to shut her out like this?

Blinking back her tears, Hermione took a deep breath, steadying herself. She was not going to let it continue, not this time. As soon as he came down, she would talk to him; she would make him listen.

With that decision made, she set about making breakfast, packing Ben and Arnie's lunches while keeping an eye on the time. The pale light of the winter morning was fully illuminating the kitchen when Harry entered the room. He was already dressed and carrying his briefcase.

"Morning," he said, reaching for a mug and pouring himself some coffee. "You're up early."

She turned to look at him, noting the dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping well lately. Not since Cristella. "Yeah. Let me fix you a plate."

"Thanks, but I can't stay. I have a meeting at-"

"Harry, we need to talk."

He looked up at her, his green eyes wary, and she could almost hear the gates of his walls slamming shut and being padlocked and double-barred. Not to mention Colloportus-ed. "Can't it wait?"

Her hurt made the words come out sharper than she'd intended. "No, it can't."

"I'm afraid it's going to have to," he said, setting down the mug and picking up his briefcase again. "I need to get this done."

Hermione stared at him, this man that she loved, but oh, right now she just wanted to shake him! "I never thought I'd see the day when Harry Potter would run away from his problems."

His green eyes betrayed how her words smarted. "That was unnecessary."

"Of course you would think that, wouldn't you?" she snapped, brushing past him to stand beside the stove, turning her back so he wouldn't see how upset she was. She hated when they fought. It always felt like she was being torn asunder, great chunks of herself being ripped from her being. She loved him so much. Why did he have to be so stubborn?

"I'll see you tonight," he said quietly and Hermione spun around.

"Harry, wait!"

But he'd already Disapparated.

"Dammit!" she swore, wiping her eyes angrily. "That stupid, stubborn, egoistical bast-" Her voice broke and she covered her face with her hands and cried, standing alone in their vast kitchen. God, he was so infuriating! If it wasn't for the fact that their young children were still upstairs, she would've Apparated straight into his Puddlemere office and given him a piece of her mind.

But she couldn't; their children needed her. She needed to get them ready for school, to take them there. She needed to be strong for them. For their sakes, she needed to fight.

Upon composing herself, Hermione went upstairs and woke Ben and Luke. She fed them breakfast, putting on a cheerful face, trying valiantly not to cry again when Ben asked where Dad was, at the disheartened way in which her son said "Oh" when she answered.

After dropping the boys off at school, Hermione returned home with Vina and tried to work on the same thing that was causing Harry to shut her out. There was something they were missing about Cristella, she just knew it. But what could it possibly be? There must be something - someone - who knew where this woman was. There had to be some way to wound her.

At midday, she returned to Woodlands to get Luke and was accosted by his teacher, who asked tentatively if everything was all right with him.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, her heart sinking within her.

The other woman frowned slightly. "He just seems very quiet lately. And he's- oh, you know he's always been, well, mischievous, but-" She paused. "Like today? I told them all to line up to go outside and everybody did except Luke. He just remained sitting and when I asked him why he wasn't in the line he said, 'Cause I know you weren't talking to me'."

Hermione looked over at her son, who was sitting in the backseat beside Davina, lazily kicking the back of the seat in front of him.

"-he became rather irritable as well," his teacher was saying.

"Thanks for bringing it to my attention," Hermione said, giving the teacher a small smile. "I'll be sure to have a talk with him when we get home."

She was sure she knew why Luke was acting that way. He must be so confused. Both she and Harry had always lavished attention on him and his siblings, so the sudden absence of it from his father had to be particularly jarring.

They ate lunch on the back porch. Luke picked at his food and was just generally bad-tempered, even snapping at his little sister. Once the dishes had been cleared, Hermione sighed and sat down beside him. "Why are you so crabby today, Luke?"

Her son frowned up at her. "I'm not crabby. I'm pensive."

She tried very hard not to smile. "Okay. Why are you pensive?"

It took him a few minutes to answer and his voice was very tiny when he did. "Cause Daddy doesn't like me anymore."

Hermione's heart clenched within her as she gathered him into her arms. "Oh, Lukas. Of course he likes you! And even more than that, he loves you very, very much."

"So how come he doesn't want to play with me anymore?" Luke asked, his green eyes wide and bewildered. "He sent me back to the family room when I was in his office."

So that's what happened. "Well, you know, he's very busy and sometimes, he needs to work alone. You know, by himself."

Luke frowned. "Oh. But why doesn't he come home for dinner? He has to eat dinner, doesn't he, Mummy?"

"Yes, he does," she said, blinking rapidly.

"I don't like that he goes to work all the time!" Luke burst out angrily. "He should play with me. He's my Daddy!"

Yes, he was. And Vina's Daddy. And Ben's. And definitely Emerson's. But something had happened, someone had happened to make Harry shunt them aside, to make this man whom Hermione knew would be lost without them all forget that protecting them shouldn't mean avoiding them. It shouldn't mean shutting them, her, out.

"Come on, let's go inside," she said heavily, getting up and setting him on his feet. "Let's all take a nap."

Davina toddled away ahead of them as they crossed the living room on the way to the stairs. Spying one of Luke's magic markers on the carpet, she squealed and ran towards it.

"Hey, that's mine!" Luke said loudly, marching over and grabbing it away.

His sister grabbed back at it, looking outraged. "Mine!"

"Okay, both of you put that down right now. We're going upstairs," Hermione said wearily.

Expecting them to obey her more or less instantly, she couldn't believe her eyes when she saw her sweet little Davina all of a sudden let go of the marker and sink her sharp, little teeth into her brother's arm.

"OW! She bit me!" Luke howled, bursting into tears as Hermione hurried forward, feeling horrified. Before she could reach them, however ("Lukas, no!"), Luke suddenly swung his injured arm and cuffed his sister so hard that she fell to the floor in a heap. "I hate you!"

Now Hermione had two wailing children on her hands and was on the verge of tears herself. Somehow, she managed to get them both upstairs. Knowing that Luke would never calm down as long as Davina was with them, she had no choice but to put Vina in her own room after checking that the toddler was unhurt. Activating the barrier charms on the bed so that Vina could neither fall nor climb out, she shut the door on her daughter's screams, feeling like a horrible mother.

If Harry was there, they could each take a child, but there was only one of her, goddammit! As much as she wanted to, she couldn't be in two places at the same time and Hermione's head throbbed from trying not to burst into tears of frustration. Luke clung to her, still sobbing and she laid him on his bed.

She healed the angry, bite-shaped bruise, even as her heart ached with the knowledge that that wasn't really why he was crying. Under normal circumstances, he would've been fine in less than a minute. But this wasn't normal circumstances. His young mind was weighed down by things it shouldn't even be able to conceive of in the first place.

She smoothed his brown hair, stroking his ears with her fingertips in that way that had always soothed him and gradually he calmed down. He heaved a great sigh, rubbed his eyes and yawned.

Hermione could hear Davina still crying in the room next door and tried to initiate some peacemaking. "You shouldn't have hit your sister, Luke. Vina didn't mean to bite you, you know that, right?" she said softly. "It's just that she's very young and she doesn't know how to say what she's feeling. Do you understand what I mean?"

Luke nodded, blinking sleepily. "I understand."

His mother began to sigh with relief but it died in her chest with her son's next words.

"But I still hate her." Her distress must have shown somewhere because Luke reached out and patted her hand. "I love you, though, Mum. Don't worry."

He fell asleep within another minute; Hermione kissed his forehead and slipped out of the room. She took a few deep breaths, fighting to hold onto her composure before she went to her baby. She cradled her daughter, rocking her gently, feeling the anxiety and anger swelling within.

She would never have believed it before this year but it seemed that her and Harry's children could be incredibly violent. Emerson had basically assaulted three other girls while Ben had beaten the crap out of the school bully. Davina, not to be outdone, had taken a chomp out of Luke's forearm and was promptly backhanded by him in retaliation. This was how their children dealt with stress? They lashed out?

Oh God, what a horrible day. Why was she dealing with this alone? Where was Harry?

She knew where he was, of course, and she knew why he was where he was. She'd waited for him to reach out to her, to come to his senses and realize - again - that they were stronger together than apart. Look how much they'd endured together. How many times over the years had they overcome together?

But he didn't come to her and the longer she waited, the harder it became to approach him. Until now, when even their two-year-old was acting out, unable to cope with the tension invading their home.

Was she going to lose him, her family, now? After all this time? After everything they had been through?

"I want my Daddy!" Vina sobbed suddenly and Hermione's response slipped out before she could stop it.

"Join the club!"

It was doubtful that Vina understood what her mother meant, but with guilt for snapping at her daughter now added to the mix, Hermione lost the battle against her tears. She buried her face in Vina's soft russet curls and cried out her fear and remorse, rocking the toddler the whole time. How long she cried she didn't know, but when she raised her head and shakily wiped her eyes, Davina was asleep. She laid her daughter back in her bed, kissed the small smooth brow and straightened up.

Was she going to lose him, her family, now? she wondered again, staring through swollen eyes at her sleeping child. After all this time? After everything they had been through?

"No," Hermione said aloud, straightening her back as pure, undulating anger gushed through her being. "Not without a fight. I will not lose my family. And I sure as hell will not lose Harry."

And she knew who was to blame for all this. It was Cristella Montgomery. Cristella Montgomery who thought she could attack Emerson, that she could try to wreck Em's life. And somehow the evil had diffused its noxious odor into the household, infecting them all like a foul virus.

That bitch thought she could do that, did she?

"Well," said Hermione furiously, as she stormed into her office, "Old cliché - there is a time for everything. And the time has come, Cristella Montgomery, for you to think again."

******

She spent the rest of the afternoon while her youngest children slept poring over her notes, determined to locate the missing link. Nothing new materialized, but she refused to be discouraged, even when she had to put it on hold for a while. She picked up Ben from school, helped him with homework and devoted her attention to all three of them. All of them "helped" her make dinner, and she knew that the children were hoping that tonight would be the night that their father would make it home in time to eat with them.

As usual these days, that didn't happen, and Hermione found herself becoming increasingly angry at Harry. What the hell did he think he was playing at? He finally arrived more than an hour after they'd eaten and, after the kids had been tucked in, she went to his office, trembling with righteous rage.

Closing the door behind her, she began without preamble. "I thought you'd be home in time for dinner. What's going on with you?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, not looking up from his paperwork.

Hermione wanted to scream in frustration. "Don't you dare give me that, Harry Potter," she hissed, her eyes practically emitting sparks. "You know exactly what I mean! You are never home and you give me no other explanation than that you have work. Since when did work become more important than your family?"

Harry's head snapped up and his green eyes were blazing. "What the hell is this? How can you say that to me, Hermione?"

"HOW CAN I SAY IT?" she shouted. "I can say it, Harry, because your children are repeatedly asking about you! I can say it because your five-year-old son is asking me why Daddy doesn't like him anymore, why Daddy doesn't want to play with him! I can say it because even our toddler is lashing out! Do you know how hard this is for me, Harry? I have to be placating our children, lying to them because I don't know any more than they do! And it makes me really angry."

All the emotions she'd been holding in washed over her and suddenly weary, her hands trembled as she raised them to wipe her eyes. Her voice dropped to a pained whisper. "I love you so much. And it hurts that you won't talk to me, that you're shutting me out. We're supposed to help each other and I want to help you, Harry. But I can't because you won't let me."

Through her tears, she stared at the back of his head as it slumped forward on his shoulders. She ached to touch him, but that forbidding air still lingered about him and after a few moments, when he still hadn't said anything, she turned around and began walking away, choking on her sobs.

"Hermione."

She stopped as his voice reached her, but didn't turn around. She heard his chair scrape and seconds later his arms were around her and oh God, they felt so good. When was the last time he'd held her like this? Too long. Too long and it just felt so good.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his breath warm against the back of her neck. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Harry," she sobbed softly. "Change something instead."

He grasped her shoulders gently and turned her around to face him. His face clouded when he saw how red and swollen her eyes were. "I'm so sorry," he said again, wiping her cheeks. "I never meant to hurt you."

She covered his hand with her own. "I know you didn't. I want to help, even if it's only by listening. Will you let me?"

He closed his eyes, then took her hand and led her to the black leather couch in the corner, one of the last relics from his days of bachelorhood. They sat and he was silent for a few moments, gathering his thoughts.

"I just feel like such a failure," he began quietly, gazing at some point over her shoulder.

"Why?" she asked, though she thought she knew.

He jumped up and began pacing. "My daughter was being psychologically abused. She was being terrorized and I didn't know. I'm her father. I'm supposed to know these things, to protect her. To shelter all of you. I'm Harry Potter, liberator of the fucking wizarding world, but I can't even protect my own family."

Tears rolled down Hermione's cheeks at the pain in his voice. She got up and stood in front of him, lifting his head so she could see his eyes. They were dark with anguish and self-loathing as only he knew best how to conjure. Would he never unlearn that wretched habit of absorbing the blame for everything? Would he forever question his own worth?

"I'm her mother, Harry, and I didn't know either," she said softly. "That only makes us human. As much as we want to, we can't know everything. We're not perfect. And how can you think you don't protect us, Harry? You are the rock, the anchor of this family! Our children adore you. I adore you. And we know we've gotten the better end of the bargain by having you in our lives."

He was crying too now. "Somebody hurt one of my babies, Hermione," he half-moaned, as if in physical pain. "And I couldn't stop them. I can't even find them now. What am I good for if I can't even keep you safe? If I can't even punish the bitch who did this?"

"You will. I know you and you won't stop until this person is found. Nobody blames you for this and you have no right to blame yourself for it, either. I thought you would have figured out by now that you can't take responsibility for what the evildoers of the world do. Let them shoulder the responsibility for their actions for once! You don't have to do it for them."

His shoulders slumped as he crushed her to him. "I'm so sorry for staying away. Oh God, it was killing me to do it, to be keeping myself away from you and the kids. But look what happened to Emerson just because she's my daughter! I couldn't risk it happening to any of you, too."

Hermione rolled her eyes into his chest, in spite of herself. "Harry. I thought you'd have learned that lesson back at Hogwarts. You can't push me away, not for long. You think I'd let you? And those kids? They're part me, which means they got some of my pertinaciousness, so you couldn't push them away for long either."

Harry laughed and she felt the sound and sensation travel though her whole body like bleach, cleansing and purging and whitening away a whole bunch of the stains caused by her worry and anger and hurt.

He leaned back to look into her eyes, and her heart swelled at the depth of love and feeling in his. "You're right. How could I have forgotten that? My Hermione. I love you so much."

"I love you, too," she said, tears spilling over again. "No more pushing me away?"

"No more pushing you away," he repeated very seriously. "No more staying late at work out of misguided nobility. This man is ready to rough-house, to be crawled all over, to be a hands-on Daddy again. I promise."

She sniffled. "You had better. The kids would probably have ambushed you if you'd gone on like that much longer."

He frowned. "How are they, really? I haven't traumatized them or anything, right?"

"No, they'll be fine. They were just getting very worried. Nothing a little prolonged and undivided attention from Dad couldn't cure."

"We are so lucky to have you," he whispered, gazing almost worshipfully into her eyes. "And do you know, you are the real rock of this family, Hermione? We'd be lost without you."

His words filled her with happiness and as he lowered his head to hers, she slipped her arms around his neck and met him halfway. The kiss was tender for all of five seconds before they were feverishly expressing their love and relief. Hermione could feel the heat rising in the room and it wasn't long before his lips wandered to her neck.

They lowered themselves to the couch, deliriously undressing each other and she surrendered to the exquisite feelings only he could arouse in her. Their lovemaking was fiery and unrestrained as if the heat, the towering flames of their passion, could burn to a crisp all the division that had sprang up between them. As if it would forge an iron bridge, made enduring and invincible by that fire, and thus unite them again, as they had been for all but the first decade of their lives. They moved together in a harsh rhythm, desperately, and the release was devastating, cathartic, cleansing, their helpless cries echoing through the room.

Sexually sated, they wept and their tears were for everything: their sorrow, anger and fear. For their hope that resolution would come soon, please God, and their family could truly heal.

They didn't know it, but their prayer would mercifully be answered the very next day, in the form of one of the last people they could ever have imagined.

*****

End Notes:

1. I forgot to credit the line in the previous chapter where Merry says to Em "..send you home hairless and full of holes" to the movie, My Girl 2. Thanks to the two people who pointed it out!

2. Also the line in the last chapter: "They were the same people who had greased Voldemort and his Death Eaters; one rich bitch with issues should be a walk in the park, right?" is based on something ShawnPickett said in one of his reviews. Thanks, Shawn!

3. The song that Em sings, "Yeller Dawg", is something I memorized from an issue of Archie Comics, of all things. I can't recall which issue or title the song was in, and my searches online were fruitless. So if anybody knows the issue number/name, let me know. But just so ya know, I didn't invent the song or anything.. I simply read it and my weird mind clung to it.

4. The line where Budget says "I'm not crabby. I'm pensive." is from the movie, Little Man, Tate with Jodie Foster. Very sweet movie, but rather unknown, for a Jodie Foster film, anyway.