Unofficial Portkey Archive

A/N: Happy New Year, everyone! Hope your celebrations were fun :) Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and I apologize for taking longer to post this one.

danielerin: Actually, Em is twelve and in her second year. But don't worry. When I said "And effectively banishing the wayward synapse.." that made her suddenly think that Brandon was cute, I really mean that she effectively banished it. There will be nothing romantic between Emerson and Brandon at Hogwarts.

Thanks again, y'all and please leave a comment! Many, many thanks to the awesome Lissanne for the beta!

Chapter Twenty-Five - Long Day's Journey Into Night

7:30 am

The morning of the first day of February dawned dreary and cold, and it was doubtful that anyone unfortunate enough to be outside could possibly receive any kind of cheery outlook from it. But inside the Potter estate, warm fires crackled and the mouth-watering aroma of sizzling sausages drifted out from the kitchen as Harry Potter entered the bedroom that his sons shared.

He'd wanted to keep them at home today. Why not let them have a day off, a day in which all of them could be together and he could try to repair some of the damage that he'd unintentionally caused? He'd awoken Hermione with soft, nuzzling kisses, which had quickly escalated into something much better, and as they lay contentedly in each other's arms afterwards, he'd run his notion by her.

"I don't know, Harry," she said, frowning slightly. "I don't think it's a good idea."

It was his turn to frown. "Why not? It's just the one day."

She sighed, brushing a lock of hair aside. "Well, the thing is, they've already had quite a bit of change these past two weeks. What with, you know-"

"Yeah," he said, ducking his head and swallowing hard as the old guilt jabbed at him. "What with my misguided attempts to stay away from all of you. That was a huge mistake on my part. Which is why I want them to be home today. With me."

"I understand," she replied, lifting his chin and looking into his eyes. "But, Harry, that would just be one more blow to their consistency, their sense of stability. They know that during the week, they go to school with no exceptions unless they're sick or it's a holiday or something else happens. They just need you to be here and available when they get back. Like you used to be."

She was right, of course, and he'd told her that before leaning in to kiss her again. The last thing he wanted was to unsettle his kids any more than he already had. Besides, he'd tried from the very beginning, starting with Emerson, to give his children a relatively normal and routine childhood and he'd had a fair amount of success. No reason to shake all that up just because he was feeling like a jackass over his recent behavior.

At least he'd managed to convince Hermione to let him handle all the domestics today. Which was why he was perched on the side of his eldest son's bed, staring at the boy whom everybody said was his uncanny image, all the way to the rat's nest of black hair smushed against the pillow.

He could sit here all day, Harry knew, and just watch Ben sleep, but that wasn't why he'd come in. Sighing, he reached out and stroked his son's hair.

Ben stirred and his eyelids fluttered for a few seconds before opening heavily. He blinked and squinted sleepily. "Dad?"

"Yeah," Harry said, smiling as he reached over and handed Ben his glasses. "It's time to get up."

Ben put on his glasses and sat up. Frowning, he looked around the room for a second then back at his father. "Where's Mum?"

Ouch. But I deserved that. "She's sleeping in today. She's been working pretty hard lately, hasn't she?"

"Yeah," Ben said, sounding rather wary, as if he wasn't quite sure what was going on.

Exhaling a deep breath, Harry looked gravely into Ben's hazel eyes. "I want to apologize for how I've been the past few weeks. Working late and all that, without any explanation. I'm sorry and I promise that that is over. I'm back."

His son stared at him for a few seconds before breaking into a beaming smile and launching himself at Harry. Harry held him tightly for a long minute, his heart pounding with a fierce love. "Love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too," Ben answered.

When they pulled apart, they smiled at each other for a few seconds before Ben's brow furrowed again.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Your working late, is it because of what happened to Em?"

Harry looked at him sharply. "What do you mean, because of what happened to Em?"

"Oh, just- she told me at Christmas that she was really miserable but she wouldn't tell me what it was," Ben answered hastily. "I just figured she told you, cause you let her stay home from Hogwarts for a whole week and she was going around singing sometimes like she used to."

He stared at his son for a few seconds before chuckling. The kid was brilliant, make no mistake. "Em's doing better, though, isn't she? But enough chit-chat. Time for school. I have to wake Budget."

"Okay," Ben said, yawning hugely as he climbed out of bed, his dark hair sticking out spectacularly in seemingly every direction.

The bathroom door closed behind Ben, and Harry stood up and walked over to where his youngest son was still sound asleep, his right thumb dangling loosely out of his mouth. Appearances could be deceiving, however, because Harry knew that if he were to dislodge the digit, it would be swiftly and automatically replanted into Luke's mouth without the small boy even waking up.

Smiling to himself, Harry stared at his five-year-old handful, his eyes skimming over the peacefully slumbering features. Luke was the odd one out in terms of physical resemblance to his parents. With Emerson, the likeness to Julia was eerily striking and Ben was almost the image of Harry at age nine. Davina, too, could pass for the living version of many of Hermione's own infancy snapshots.

But Budget was special. While he had many of his parents' features - Harry's eyes, nose and smile, Hermione's lips and ears - they were combined in such a way that he didn't particularly resemble either of them more than the other. He just looked like Luke, and he was adorable; everybody said so. Of course, Harry agreed.

"Budget," he said softly, rubbing his son's back. "It's time to wake up."

Luke mumbled around his thumb and turned his head away. It took a few minutes but finally, he managed to open his eyes. For a few seconds, he blinked sleepily up at his father, then his thumb jerked out of his mouth and he sat up abruptly.

"Daddy!"

His arms were around Harry's neck before the latter could blink, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut and thanked the heavens that his son was still young and innocent enough to not have yet learned the concept of holding a grudge. Because nothing quite compared to the tangible joy of this little boy, delighting in his father's simple presence, even though he'd been more or less ignored in the very recent past.

Much too soon for Harry's liking, Luke pulled away, though he was still within his father's embrace. "I love you, Daddy."

"I love you, too, Lukas," Harry managed through the mass in his throat.

"I missed you. I didn't like that you went to work all the time. You should play with me and Vina," his son said in that brutally straightforward way that only children are capable of.

Harry's heart clenched with love and guilt. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay," Luke replied diplomatically. "Mum said you are just really busy sometimes. But, Daddy, you must come home for dinner, you know? Cause Mum is a whopping good cooker and you missed some scandalously good things."

"I did, did I?" Harry said, trying very hard to keep a straight face. How could a five year old articulate like that?

"Yeah," Budget answered, nodding seriously. "Just FYI, that means delicious food."

Unable to hold back anymore, Harry laughed, hugging his son to his chest, while Luke's small arms encircled him again. After a minute, still chuckling, Harry pulled away and sobered, looking earnest. "Sometimes, Luke, I need to work by myself and it's not because I don't want you with me. It's just so I can completely focus on what I'm doing. Do you understand?"

Luke nodded.

"But I promise I won't be working late everyday anymore, and I'll definitely be home in time to have some of Mum's scandalously good cooking with you," Harry continued with a smile. "Now go on and get ready for school. You need any help?"

"No, I think I can manage, thanks," the little boy said, sounding impossibly grown-up. As if he wasn't decked out in Martin Miggs pyjamas. As if he hadn't mere minutes before been sucking his thumb.

Harry chuckled to himself for another minute after Luke left the room, shaking his head. The sound of his sons' voices drifted to him from the bathroom, and the merriment faded slowly from his being as he recalled the fact that there was someone out there still who wished them harm.

She'd almost succeeded too, Harry realized with a jolt. Because what could be more harmful to these children than their losing their trust and innocent faith in one or both of their parents? Which was worse, some kind of physical trauma or the mental and emotional anguish of self-doubt?

Thank God for Hermione, that's all, he thought to himself as he headed back to the kitchen to finish the breakfast preparations. If it wasn't for her... He had truly needed that wake-up call. Being angry was all good and well, but he would've been of no use to anyone if he'd let that anger run away with him, if he hadn't mastered himself.

One thing was for certain, he needed to find Cristella Montgomery. He needed to put a stop to this once and for all.

And he needed his family, and they him. Now, more than ever.

********

11:45 am

Ben Potter was in a great mood as he headed to his spot under the beech tree that sheltered a corner of the school playground. His cheerfulness was the result of a combination of things: the fact that he'd once again achieved a near-perfect score on his latest assignment from Miss McDonald; the fact that it was lunchtime and he knew that, for dessert, his father had packed him blueberry muffins - which was Ben's favorite kind of muffin in the whole world; the fact that there was more than enough muffins to share with his friend, Arnie, and even Andy.

But the thing that made Ben happiest of all was waking up that morning to his Dad smiling down at him. He had really missed his father, though he hadn't been as vocal or obvious about it as his younger siblings. And although he would never admit it, least of all to Andy, it had felt so good to have his Dad hug him!

'Really, though, there's nothing wrong with getting a hug from Dad,' Ben thought as he neared the spot where his two closest friends were already sitting. 'It's not like I sat on his lap or anything. Now that would be going a bit too far.' He smirked suddenly. 'I wonder if I could trick Andy into sitting on his Dad's lap?'

"What're you grinning about?" Andy asked curiously when Ben plopped down beside him.

Ben shook his head, trying to put aside the amusing image. "Nothing. Hey, Arnie."

"Whazzup, Star?" Arnie murmured, holding his head at an odd angle and nodding once.

"Er, who?" Ben said, sniggering at the rather odd picture that Arnie made.

His friend looked convincingly affronted. "I'm channeling my inna rasta. Yu nuh seet?"

Ben laughed while Andy looked at Arnie peculiarly. "What're you on about?"

Arnie didn't answer. Instead he waggled his head elaborately, as if he had a long mane and was shaking his hair out of his face. Clasping his hands in front of him, he gazed at Ben out of suddenly drooping eyelids and began to speak in a slow, drawling Jamaican accent:

I man smoke I holy herb
I man dreadman wile
When I man forward pon I bike
I man prowl in style

Ben howled. It was just like Arnie to spring weird stuff like that on them, but which was also really clever. Even Andy was laughing, although he looked a bit confused at the same time.

Arnie dropped his stoned act and chuckled. "No matter what anyone says, Muggles are cool. They're way more creative than wizards, I think."

"You're only saying that cause your dad is a Muggle. But they couldn't invent Quidditch, could they?" Andy countered.

"Circé, is that all you ever think about?" Arnie answered, looking annoyed. "Muggles have a lot of sports that are just as exciting as or even more dangerous than Quidditch."

"Like what?" Andy challenged sharply.

Arnie shrugged. "Like bull-fighting. Sky-diving. Even rugby. I'd rather have a nice game of football, meself. Real football, which Americans call 'soccer'. My Dad reckons the Americans call it something different just to be contrary."

"Well, they have another sport that they call football, don't they?" Ben offered.

"Sure, but our football was around first," Arnie replied irritably. "We had first dibs on the name." He sighed. "Merlin, I wouldn't mind going there some day, though. But you have to get a special kind of Portkey and you only get to buy one if they give you permission to go there."

Ben nodded. "My sister's friend, Lyna, had to get permission. Em didn't have to, though, cause she's American as far as they're concerned."

"Wicked. How'd she do it?" Arnie asked, looking hopeful.

"By being born there."

Arnie snorted. "Cripes. I'm outta luck, then."

"Is there any chance at all that we might get to eating our lunch?" Andy snapped suddenly.

Ben turned to glare at him. "No one's stopping you, jeez."

It was something he'd noticed about Andy - that if Ben and Arnie had too good a conversation, Andy would get huffy. Ben didn't understand why Andy couldn't, for instance, just join in the conversation! That way he wouldn't feel left out. But no, Andy insisted on sitting there, glowering at them and frankly, Ben found it rather irksome.

Arnie was looking uncomfortable, as he always did when Ben and Andy got mad at each other. Clearly he knew that he was the one driving a wedge between the lifelong best friends, which Ben knew wasn't something Arnie wanted to do at all.

"Hey, have you ever seen a Rubik's Cube?" Arnie said, looking eagerly between Ben and Andy, as if hoping to take their minds off the fact that both boys were irritated at each other. "Mum found one that she'd forgotten she had. It's in my bag; I meant to bring it out to show you. I'll go get it."

He jumped up and scampered away before either of them could respond and Ben scowled. "Why do you always have to get like this?" he asked Andy peevishly.

"Get like what?"

"Why do you have to act all jealous when we hang out with Arnie? You know you're my best friend, don't you?"

Andy went slightly red. "Of course. I was just ready to eat."

Ben refrained from pointing out - again - that nobody had been stopping him from eating, for God's sake. Instead, he sighed and began opening his lunch. "Want a blueberry muffin?"

His best friend grinned. "You sure you can bear to part with one?"

"Shut up. Here."

Andy took the muffin. "Thanks. You can have one of my chocolate frogs if you'd like." He paused for a second. "There's enough for Arnie, too; if he wants one."

Ben ducked his head so Andy couldn't see his grin and the two of them were soon chattering easily.

"Arnie's coming back," Andy said suddenly. "What's a Ru- oh, crap."

His head snapping up, Ben looked around and immediately agreed with his best friend's assessment. Arnie had been intercepted by Paddy McPherson and his stupid thugs, and a sense of unease trickled over Ben. Hastily rewrapping his lunch, he shoved it into his bag and stood up. He and Andy hurried over.

"Give it back!" Arnie was saying loudly, trying to grab at something that Paddy was holding out of his reach.

The bully smirked. "Why should I? It looks rather interesting. I think I'm going to keep it."

"You thought wrong, as usual, because it's mine. Give it here," Arnie said angrily, his face reddening.

"You disagreeing with me?" Paddy snarled, taking a step towards the smaller boy. But then he caught sight of Ben and Andy and smirked again. "Ahh, your rescue brigade has arrived. With friends like these, who needs heroes? Always running to save your runty arse. Can't see why they care, actually."

Ben scowled. "Wake up and face north, Twink. You're a berk and berks don't have friends. So you wouldn't understand if your life depended on it."

A most peculiar expression flitted across Paddy's face and if Ben had been paying attention, he would have recognized the look as embarrassment. But he was much too irritated to notice. After what had happened last term, he hated Paddy and he didn't care one iota about anything to do with him.

"None of these idiots would want to be friends with me," Paddy barked, jerking the hand clutching the Rubik's Cube at the crowd that had gathered.

"Well, boo-hoo, Paddy, I'm all busted up inside," Ben returned sarcastically. "What do you expect? You're mean to them! If you want to have friends, try to be one first!"

"And this is mine," Arnie said, reaching out and grabbing the cube. "Thank you."

He started to walk by but a sudden ugly look erupted on Paddy's face and before anyone could react, he had whirled around and punched Arnie square in the jaw. The Rubik's Cube flew out of the smaller boy's hand as he stumbled backwards a good three feet before collapsing, his blue eyes wide with shock.

"ARNIE!" Ben and Andy chorused, running over to their friend.

Ben reached him first and dropped to his knees, just as a tremor rent Arnie's thin body and the blue eyes closed. "Andy, go get Miss McDonald!"

He turned back to his friend, whose eyes were still closed, and he knew that Arnie was seriously hurt. Arnie's face was pale and seemed somehow lopsided, and although Ben could see him breathing, his lips were slowly developing a bluish tinge.

Why was Miss McDonald taking so long? Ben looked around wildly and caught sight of Paddy grinning and elbowing Dirk Messner. A wave of hot prickly anger swept over Ben and perhaps Paddy felt the furious glare, because he looked over at him and smirked.

Adopting a mock-apprehensive visage, Paddy glanced at Arnie's prone body. "Sorry, did I hit him? Ah, well. Darn my big strong arms."

And Ben saw red.

Something in the back of his mind was screaming admonitions but the crimson tide was sweeping his entire being and the next second, he had launched himself at Paddy so hard that they both fell to the chilly ground. Fury, fear and adrenaline coursed through him, making him pound - his head, his heart, his fists.

Ben's senses were on overdrive, it seemed. He could hear them both breathing harshly, their angry noises and involuntary yelps against the backdrop of their schoolmates' yells. He could smell the sweat from both their exertions, the scent of freshly disturbed earth as their shoes gouged marks into the hard ground. The taste of blood was in his mouth and he felt Paddy's flesh giving when he hit him, just as he felt the blows that Paddy managed to land.

Paddy's fist collided with Ben's left eye, shattering his glasses, the pieces raining down onto his school robes. But that was okay. Right now, he didn't need them.

Because all Ben saw was red.

******

12:05 pm

When Harry arrived at Woodlands to pick up Budget, he was immediately informed that the Headmistress needed to see him urgently over at the main school.

Frowning, he picked up Davina and strode across the red brick courtyard. Vina wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. His daughter hadn't wanted to let him out of her sight all day, to the point of crying if he even went to the bathroom. Of course, Harry didn't mind. He adored his little girl and he knew this was her way of saying how much she had missed him.

It had been a rather nice morning at Ballynore with himself, Hermione and Vina. Just before he'd headed here, however, Hermione had had to go to St. Mungo's so it would probably be just Harry, Vina and the boys for the rest of the afternoon. He'd been looking forward to them all having some fun together, but if his suspicions about the tone of the Headmistress's summons were correct, there might likely be a change of plans.

Upon reaching the office, he knocked and was told to enter. Opening the door, the first thing he noticed was that Ben was sitting in a chair across from Miss Esson, his head hanging down.

"Ben!" Davina squealed, wiggling to be put down.

Ben looked up, went red when he saw his father and quickly looked down at his lap again. Closing the door behind him, Harry's frown deepened as he walked over.

"Mr. Potter," Miss Esson said, shaking his hand. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"Of course," Harry said, confused. "What's going on? Ben, are you okay?"

His son didn't answer but the Headmistress did. "Why don't you have a seat and I will explain." Once Harry had settled into a chair with Davina on his lap, the woman sighed. "I regret to inform you that Ben was in another fight today."

Harry looked sharply at his son, who seemed to sense his gaze and shrink even more upon his chair. Now that he was closer, he noticed that Ben had purple splashes of color on his face, the telltale sign of the Healing Potion used for minor cuts. A thousand questions were racing through Harry's mind, but he forced himself to look back at the Headmistress. "What happened?"

"Well, I must say that the number of students who came forward with their eyewitness accounts is very encouraging," Miss Esson began. "And all their versions were essentially the same. Apparently, a certain student attacked one of Ben's friends and Ben got into the fight in his friend's defense."

Harry nodded once. "I see."

Miss Esson sighed again. "I'm sure you're aware that the last time this happened, I said that if it reoccurred, I would have no choice but suspend Ben. And regretfully, that still stands."

"But if he-" Harry began but the Headmistress held up her hand.

"Please hear me out, Mr. Potter. Ben is an exceptional student and it is a real privilege to be having a hand in his education. But we must be seen to be doing the fair thing, and the fact remains that your son broke the rules after being warned about doing so again. Under normal circumstances, this would call for a two week suspension." She looked thoughtfully at Ben, who was as still as a statue. "But in light of the facts, I'll only be suspending him for a week."

"And what are the facts?" Harry asked.

"That your son was merely defending his friend, who was actually rather seriously injured."

Harry glanced over concernedly at Ben. "Which friend?"

"Arnie Shriver," Ben muttered without looking up and Harry nodded.

"How is he?" Harry asked, looking to the Headmistress. "What do you mean, he was seriously injured?"

Miss Esson looked very grave. "He had a broken jaw, which caused some problems with his breathing. It was actually very fortunate that your son was there and quickly sent for a teacher. Arnie's situation would likely be much more critical if they had lingered. The boy that Ben was in the fight with is also at St. Mungo's, but that is merely for caution's sake than anything else. He had mostly cuts and bruises but there was a rather nasty bump on his head that we thought should be checked out."

They conversed for a few more minutes, but Harry was anxious to get home so he could inform Hermione and talk with Ben, who hadn't said another word. He knew his son had to be very miserable and the sooner this was resolved, the better for everyone. Finally, he made his leave, carrying Davina, while Ben dragged his feet beside him.

Harry's heart ached at the utter misery that seemed to be emanating off Ben in waves. Stopping in mid-stride, he looked at his son. "Ben?"

"Yes, Dad?"

"Look at me." Ben looked up and his eyes revealed a jumble of emotions swimming behind his glasses, his face tight with anxiety. "I'm reserving any judgment until I've heard your side of the story. Okay?"

Tears spilled over onto Ben's cheeks as he nodded, and Harry hugged him for a second. "Let's go get Budget."

The ride home was very subdued, because although Luke had gone into raptures when he saw his father and siblings, Ben's unhappiness was almost palpable and Luke quickly quieted. Once they arrived at Ballynore, Harry sent off a note to his wife, fed the kids and put Luke and Vina down for their naps.

Then, gesturing Ben to follow him, he entered his office. "Have a seat." Once they were both settled, Harry had a vague sense of déjà vu. Hadn't it been barely three weeks ago that another one of his children had been sitting across from him, looking just as distressed, if not more? Suppressing a sigh, he spoke softly. "Tell me what happened."

He listened to a strange tale of Rastafarians, football, contrary Americans and a Rubik's Cube. He listened to how Paddy had hurt Arnie without any remorse at all. Ben spoke to his knees, as if unable to bear his father's gaze, as he told how he hadn't even decided to do it, how he'd just wanted Paddy to hurt too, like he'd hurt Arnie.

"You and Mum told us that sometimes we have to stand up for people who can't stand up for themselves," Ben said, his voice stretched tight with misery. "Arnie couldn't stand up for himself, not then. He was lying on the ground with his face hanging funny. And Paddy was just standing there- just- like smirking- like- I couldn't just sit there and do nothing!"

And if, by some unlikely chance, Harry had ever doubted the inherent goodness in this child, all those doubts evaporated in that moment. This boy- this beautiful boy. His son.

"Come here," he said, and Ben rushed to him and scrambled onto his lap, sobbing messily into Harry's shirt. And Harry held him, held him fiercely until his sobs subsided, until he only sniffled. Until he only sat, breathing silently and slowly.

Finally, Ben raised his head and wiped his eyes. He seemed to come back to himself and when he realized where he was sitting, he blushed and quickly went back to his chair. "Are you mad?" he asked timidly.

"No, I'm not mad," Harry said. "I understand why you did what you did."

"You do?"

He nodded, then sighed. "I wish you hadn't gotten into a fight, Ben. There are other ways you could have dealt with that situation. You could have waited until a teacher got there and let them handle it. Self-restraint is a powerful thing and says a lot about a person. Do you get what I'm saying?"

Ben nodded.

"But I understand." Harry smiled at his likeness. "And I'm proud of you."

The light that erupted in his son's eyes made Harry wish he'd said those five words long before now. "You are?"

"Very much. Sometimes, it's not easy doing the right thing - not that I'm saying it was right for you to get into another fight-"

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes before Ben spoke again, looking worried. "I hope Arnie is all right."

"He'll be fine. I'm sure of it," Harry said gently. "Mum's at St. Mungo's. Maybe she'll stop by and have a look at him."

"Yeah," Ben said, looking a lot cheerier all of a sudden, and Harry smiled. Such faith. "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Who's Cristella Montgomery?"

Harry froze. "What? Where do you know that name from?"

Ben looked startled by his tone of voice. "Oh, it's just over there, on that folder."

Harry looked where his son was pointing, his heart pounding in his chest. Closing his eyes for a second, he pushed the folder out of sight. "She's- just some woman."

"Okay," Ben said, looking puzzled. "It's just, Arnie's Mum's middle name used to be Montgomery."

Harry looked at him curiously. "Really? What do you mean 'used to be'?"

Ben shrugged. "When she got married, she changed her name to Margaret Lovejoy Shriver. But before she was married, her name was Margaret Montgomery Lovejoy. Arnie told me. Only reason I remember is because it's such a long name, isn't it, and..."

A blaring alarm bell was going off in Harry's head, drowning out the rest of his son's words. That name- he'd read it somewhere. Hadn't he? But- could it possibly- Reaching for the folder that he'd just shoved out of sight, Harry pulled it open, trying to calmly flip through the copious parchments and documents. Until-

"Margaret Montgomery Lovejoy," he muttered to himself in disbelief. Could it be, all this time, this link had been right under their noses? Could it be- "Ben, go bring me an owl."

"Okay."

Harry scarcely heard the door close; his mind was a dizzying whirl of thoughts and exhilarating emotion. He hastily scribbled a note to Hermione, sealed it and started another one. And another one.

Within minutes, Ben returned with a speckled barn owl and Harry tied the three notes to the bird and carried it to the window. "Go to Hermione at St. Mungo's with this one first. Then go to the Ministry of Magic, to Kingsley Shacklebolt. Go!"

The bird took off with a whoosh of wings and Harry watched it go, fists clenched, his heart pounding a fierce rhythm within him, hardly daring to hope that the breakthrough they had long been awaiting could possibly be at hand.

"You figured something out?" Ben asked from beside him, and Harry looked down at him.

"I hope I did, Ben," he said, hugging his son to his side. "I sure hope I did."

*******

1:10 pm

Hermione looked up from her notes at the rush of wings as another of Ballynore's owls entered her office. Feeling apprehensive, she went to untie the note on the leg that the bird stuck out at her. Wilbur, the owl that Ben had illogically named after the pig in Charlotte's Web, had come to her barely an hour ago with a note from Harry saying that Ben had been suspended for fighting. Had something else happened?

As she finished undoing the knot, she noticed that there were two other notes tied to the bird's other leg. Frowning, she made to untie them too, but the owl hooted and gave her a reproachful look. "Oh, they're for someone else. Sorry."

The bird took off as soon as she'd unrolled her note and as Hermione read her husband's handwriting, her heart began to pound:

Hermione,

Arnie's mother is at St. Mungo's somewhere. Ask her if she is Margaret Montgomery Lovejoy. You understand, right?

Harry

"Oh, my God," Hermione whispered. How could- could it possibly be? Jumping up, she grabbed her cloak and headed for the door, just as a knock sounded on it.

Dammit. She would have to get rid of whomever it was quickly so she could catch Mrs. Shriver before she left. Anyway, she'd been intending to visit the woman and her son. From what Harry had told her in the first note, Arnie had been quite seriously injured in the bully attack.

Rearranging her face to hide her impatience, Hermione pulled the door open. And suppressed a gasp. It was a thin, fair-skinned woman, who was rather on the short side. She had shoulder-length dark hair, a small, straight nose and beautiful blue eyes. One could easily see her son's face in hers. "Margaret?"

Margaret Shriver smiled shakily. "Can I come in?"

"Oh, sure! Sure," Hermione said, stepping aside, feeling slightly rattled. "Would you believe I was just going out to see you? How is Arnie?"

"He's okay. He'll be fine, the Healers said. They were able to fix him up in a jiffy, even though it was quite scary at first." Margaret tried to smile but then her face crumpled and she began to cry into her hands.

Grabbing her wand, Hermione quickly locked and soundproofed her office. Then, taking the other woman's hand, she led her to sit and sat down beside her. Conjuring a box of tissues out of thin air, she handed it to the distressed woman, who sobbed her thanks.

"It's okay," Hermione kept murmuring soothingly, rubbing her hand. "It's okay."

After a few minutes, Margaret calmed down somewhat. "I'm s-sorry," she said shakily, wiping her eyes with a tissue.

"Don't be," Hermione said softly. "I'm here for you. Would you like some tea?"

Margaret nodded. "I'd like that, thanks."

Hermione fixed them both a cup of tea and they sat down again, sipping slowly. She could hardly sit still, wanting to present Margaret with the question Harry had told her to ask. But the mother in her understood how upset the other woman was over what had happened to her child. She had to be a friend first.

Margaret put down her cup. "I didn't mean to fall apart like that. It's just- Arnie, he looked so wounded when they first brought him in." Her eyes filled up again and she wiped at them. "His jaw was broken, you know, so by the time he got here, it was all swollen. And something about the break had been interfering with his breathing. I was so scared."

Hermione squeezed her hand, but didn't speak, sensing that the other woman simply needed her to listen.

"But they healed him right quickly and when he opened his eyes and saw me, he just started crying," she said, starting to cry again herself. After another minute, she looked up at Hermione through red-rimmed eyes. "Thank you for everything you've done for him, and for your discretion. Thank you for Ben, for who you and Harry have raised him to be so far. Arnie is completely enamored by him. And Andy Wood, to a lesser extent, but it's always 'Ben this' and 'Ben that'. I thank God for your son."

Touched, Hermione hugged her. "Thank you."

"Would it be possible for me to tell Ben this in person?" Margaret asked, looking earnest.

Hermione smiled. "Sure. It would probably embarrass him, but-"

"Yeah. But he needs to know. I am truly grateful to him for being Arnie's friend. I was so worried when Arnie started going to Woodlands." She sighed. "Up until last year, I'd taught him at home myself, and my other son, William. But Will went away to Hogwarts last year and I had the twins..." her voice trailed off.

"Do you know what's wrong with them?" Hermione asked, frowning in concern. She knew that the Shriver twins, Clifton and Clinton, had some kind of chronic illness.

"They have Crohn's Disease. It's an inflammatory condition of the digestive system. Most people who have it usually get only a handful of flare-ups but my boys are among the very unfortunate few that have a severe form of it. And because they're so young, it's even harder for them."

Hermione nodded. "Is there anything that can be done?"

"Well, there's a variety of medications and dietary adjustments. Sometimes, surgery is required, and the way things are going, I don't doubt that either or both of them will need it at some point. Unless we can come up with some other option," the other woman said, twisting her hands in her lap. "But I don't know what's going to happen there, because we can barely afford to keep Arnie clothed and fed, and he's perfectly healthy. Imagine with two sick children under age two, both of them with the same illness and requiring the same treatment. It's just very hard. At least Will is at Hogwarts, where I know from experience that he's getting three square meals a day."

"Why is it so hard? What does your husband do?"

Margaret gave a sad smile. "Jack? He tries so hard but- he wants to be a writer. That's his passion. But there's no market out there for his work. Not that he has any time to really work at the writing, anyway. He's too busy job-hunting, trying to keep the roof over our heads, a little food in our bellies.

"We weren't always like this, you know. We were all right in the beginning. I met Jack when I was visiting some friends in Muggle London and we hit it off immediately. This was just after I graduated Hogwarts and my father had just passed away. Mum had died years before, when I was only four, and my two older brothers with her."

"What happened to them?" Hermione asked, appalled at all the misery that this woman, who was younger than her, seemed to have gone through in her life.

Margaret fiddled with her wedding band. "Broom accident. One of those family brooms, you know. I remember Mum had taken my brothers to Diagon Alley. My second brother, Jimmy, was starting his first year at Hogwarts. Anyway, on the way home, something happened. They never were quite sure what. But the broom crashed and all three of them died." She sighed sadly, before looking up at Hermione. "The scary thing is, she'd been planning to take me too, but Dad found a litter of kneazles and at the last minute, I decided that I wanted to see them. So she let me stay home."

They talked for several more minutes, with Margaret telling Hermione about how she and Jack had dated, how William had come along within a year of their marriage and Arnie a few years later. Jack had been a paralegal by day, while working on his writing at night. Somehow, the company he'd been working for had shut down in disgrace and all the people who had worked for it were somehow blacklisted. Jack left the legal profession, but was never able to find anything steady or well-paying after that, and with the arrival of the twins and their medical problems, the family had slowly slid into hard times.

As they both sat in silent thought, Hermione stared into her cup of tea, questions swirling through her mind. If Margaret was who she and Harry thought she was, there might be a light at the end of this tunnel of misery for this woman. Perhaps some good might actually come out of the evil that had begun with those horrible letters to Emerson.

"Margaret? Can I ask you something? It's actually kind of personal," Hermione said, looking at the dark-haired woman.

"Sure. You can ask me anything, Hermione," Margaret said. "I am so grateful to you and Harry, for everything."

Hermione nodded and took a breath. "Okay. Are you Margaret Montgomery Lovejoy?"

The other woman looked slightly puzzled. "Yes, I am. Or I was. I changed my name after I got married. Why?"

Hermione turned to face her, looking intently at her. "Can I ask how you came to have 'Montgomery' in your name? Is it a family name or-?"

"Actually, it's kind of a long story," Margaret said, smiling to herself. "See, my mum was adopted when she was only a few days old. The people who adopted her were a Baptist missionary couple, of all things. She always knew she was adopted. Not that her parents didn't love her or anything, because they did very much. She was their only child."

She fiddled with her wedding ring again, still with the same thoughtful smile. "But they were very honest with her, and when she turned eighteen, they gave her all the information she wanted. Out of respect for them, though, she didn't do anything about it, didn't make any contacts. Years later, after she'd married my Dad and had my two brothers, her parents died within months of each other. She was very depressed for a long time, and in an attempt to cheer her up, Dad suggested that she try to find her birth family."

Hermione was listening raptly, her cup of tea forgotten in her hands. She almost wished she could take notes but didn't want to do anything to disrupt the narrative groove that Margaret seemed to have entered.

"I think the birth family had tried to keep it very discreet, because it turned out they were some old, wealthy wizarding family over in the States. The girl had been rather young at the time, seventeen or eighteen at the most. And to make it worse, according to their way of thinking anyway, the baby's father was a local Muggle boy. So her family put the baby up for adoption, without her knowledge or consent. They told her the baby had been stillborn.

"But my mother was able to find them. Not that anything good came of that."

Hermione sat up straighter. "Why? What happened?"

"Well, the family wasn't about to admit that they had an illegitimate blood relative out there, were they, and one with Muggle blood too. Quelle horreur! By that time, my Mum's birth mother had died. She'd grown up, of course, married and had another daughter, but from what my mother learned, she had never quite gotten over the loss of her first child. Apparently, she'd really been smitten with her lover and his memory became all the more precious to her when he died a few months before she had the baby. She was convinced that her family had had something to do with his death."

Which was probably why, Hermione reasoned, from her research into Cristella Montgomery, somehow the woman had never really believed that her baby was dead. Why else had she secretly written her illegitimate daughter into her will? With the death of Margaret's mother and brothers, Margaret remained as the only offspring of that young woman's love child, and hence heir to the Montgomery fortune right alongside the woman's marriage family.

"Anyway," Margaret was saying, "After that distasteful experience, my mother never contacted them again. I don't even know what she did with those papers and Dad only told me about it because I kept nagging him. But for some reason, when I was born, she gave me Montgomery for my middle name. Perhaps she was holding onto the hope that her birth mother hadn't been anything like the rest of the family that she'd met."

Hermione smiled at her. "Perhaps. Your mother sounded like a wonderful woman. What was her name?"

"Damaris. Isn't that lovely? And she was," Margaret said, her eyes filling up. "Jack and I agreed early on that if we ever had a daughter, we would name her Damaris, for my Mum. But- we had four boys. And of course, we can never justify having another child. We can't even properly provide for the ones we have now."

Hermione badly wanted to tell her what she knew, but she didn't dare. She would never be able to forgive herself if she gave this poor woman false hope. And besides, they had to find some way to use the information, if it was accurate, to reach Cristella and punish her once and for all. For the time being, the less people who knew the truth, the better.

In fact, as Hermione sat there, the seeds of a plan began hatching in her head. And unless she was mistaken, Harry had had much the same idea, judging by the fact that he'd sent off two additional notes. Probably to the Aurors on the case.

Turning her attention back to the woman beside her, she said, "Do you remember where in the States this family lived?"

"Um, I think so," Margaret said, frowning. "Somewhere in the eastern part of the country, I believe. There's a fish in the name of the area. That's why it stuck. Mackerel? Tuna?"

"Cod?"

The blue eyes lit up. "Yes! Cod. Crown Cod. No, Cape! Cape Cod. The Montgomery family from Cape Cod."

Gotcha! It was all Hermione could do not to whoop. But forcing herself to remain composed, she bit her lip anxiously after a second. "I'm sure you're wondering why I asked all those questions. I'm afraid I can't really tell you right now, but I will as soon as possible. Will you trust me with this?"

"I trust you, Hermione," Margaret said without hesitation, smiling at her. "I remember you at Hogwarts. You were so strong and... honorable. Not to mention brilliant! And then you and Harry and the others made V-Voldemort go away. I trust you."

"Thank you," Hermione said, hugging her again. "There's something I need to do right now, but just owl me if you need anything, all right? I'll come by and see Arnie before I leave for the day."

Margaret stood up and nodded. "Thank you."

"No, thank you. You have no idea how helpful you've been, Margaret," she said earnestly. "Hang in there."

They hugged again, and Hermione shut the door behind her and hurried over to her desk. She needed to venture into Muggle London to get in touch with that probate lawyer for the Montgomery estate. Thank goodness she'd jotted down his number, because boy, did she have some news for him!

And unless she was much mistaken, the threat to her money would have Cristella bursting out of hiding like her arse was on fire.

Well, when she did, Hermione would be waiting right there with some jet fuel, among other things, to happily dump upon the searing flames.

******

1:55 pm

"I would like to speak to Auror Malfoy," a cool, refined female voice said in tones that left little doubt that she would just as soon castrate said Auror Malfoy as speak to him.

The young receptionist, who was sitting behind a wide and cluttered mahogany desk, looked startled. "May I ask the purpose of your visit?"

"No, you may not," the woman snapped. "Is he in or isn't he?"

"I'm sorry, I can't give you that information, Miss-" the receptionist began, then flushed as she realized that she didn't know the name of this haughty-looking woman who was looking down at her with such disdain.

The woman had an air of wealth about her, from her elegantly tailored wizard robes to the healthy sheen of her short blonde hair. Her face was tastefully made up, although the harsh set of her mouth right now reduced her attractiveness quite a bit and her nose rather resembled a pug's.

The receptionist hurried on. "-unless I know what your reason for needing to see Auror Malfoy is."

"Listen, Miss-" the blonde witch said coolly, inclining her head to read the nameplate on the receptionist's desk, "Zeller, tell that to someone who cares. Now is Malfoy here or not? I don't have time to waste while you sit here sprouting your stupid rules."

Miss Zeller went even redder, if that was at all possible, her blue eyes blazing now. "I'm sorry, I must follow protocol-"

"It's okay, Rose," drawled a voice from the doorway as Draco Malfoy smiled reassuringly at the flustered Miss Zeller, who looked ready to pull out her wand and show the other woman a hex or three. "Well, well, well, long time no see. What brings you by, Pansy?"

"Malfoy," Pansy replied brusquely, by way of greeting. "I need to speak with you. In private." She pointedly glared at Rose on the last word, and the other woman seemed to be suppressing the urge to roll her eyes.

"This way," Malfoy said, indicating an open doorway to the right of Rose's desk. "Let me know if anything arrives for me, all right?"

Rose nodded, then shot a scathing look at Pansy's retreating back. Malfoy shut the door of his office and regarded the woman rummaging in her brand name handbag across from his desk. It was surprising, to say the least, to have her here in the Ministry of Magic demanding to see him, of all people. The last time he'd seen her, she'd made no bones about letting him know exactly what she thought of him - nothing remotely resembling good - and that if she never saw him again, it would be too soon. Her name was mentioned every now and then in the society pages of the Daily Prophet, but he hadn't given her a thought in years.

"Have a seat. So what brings you by, Parkinson?" he asked casually, sitting down behind his desk.

Pansy scowled. "It's Flint."

Christ, touchy much? "Sorry. What brings you by, Parkinson-Flint? How's ol' Marcus, by the way? Married life treating you well and all that?"

"None of your business. Though I'm rather curious about yours. You tired of the littlest Weasley yet? Bet she's popped out a hutchful of your spawn by now, right?" she snorted derisively.

Malfoy gave her a cold smile. "I don't discuss my personal life with strangers, Parkinson - I'm sorry, Flint. But back to my original question: what brings you by? Surely you didn't turn up to talk about my marriage."

"So now I'm a stranger," Pansy huffed, then muttered something under her breath that he didn't catch. Something nasty, no doubt. He found that he didn't at all care. "All right. I have some information that I think you might be interested in."

He said nothing and Pansy fidgeted for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. She fumbled with her bag and pulled out a cigarette. "Mind if I smoke?" she asked, then lit up before he could get a word out.

He watched her smoke feverishly for a few minutes, her hands trembling, while every five seconds or so she would open her mouth but not speak. In any other situation, it would've been comical but feeling his irritation mounting, Malfoy stood up. "I really haven't got time for this. Come back when you're serious."

"Wait! Just give me a moment, would you! This is hard for me." She ground out her fag, leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes for a second and sighed. "It's about Potter."

"What about him?" Malfoy asked impatiently. Merlin, if he had a Knut for every time someone had claimed to have information about something to do with Harry Potter, he could be wiping his arse with gold bricks by now.

"Actually, it's about his daughter. The oldest one. I have information that she might be in danger."

Now this was more like it. His impatience vanishing, he forced himself to walk slowly back to his desk and sit down. "Danger from what or whom?" Though he was sure he already knew.

"Whom. She's an old friend of mine, or rather she was," Pansy muttered bitterly. "Cristella Montgomery. Some kind of upper society Yank."

Malfoy's heart rate sped up. What did Pansy know about Cristella? Could she know what had happened to Emerson? Could she know what Cristella was up to, where she was? The nearly three weeks that they'd been searching for this woman had been an exercise in frustration. All their leads had quickly dried up, until barely an hour ago when they'd inadvertently discovered the woman who was apparently Cristella's cousin and fellow heiress.

With that new information, they had rapidly got a plan underway, in which the lawyer for the Montgomery estate would contact Cristella and inform her that he had found the other heir. All of them were pretty sure that that would bring Cristella out into the open, but what if it didn't? What if Pansy knew where she was? What if there was a way to go to her now instead of waiting in uncertainty for her to come to them?

But, on the other hand, this could yet be a trap. His instincts were telling him that it was best to play it safe, so maintaining the same detached, faintly interested demeanor, he spoke. "And this Miss Montgomery is a danger because-?"

"She was the one who dropped off Potter's daughter, did you know? She's really proud of the way she did it too, just a bit disappointed that Potter came to the door so quickly. She'd rather been hoping the kid would sit on the doorstep all night, at least."

"But all that's in the past. Why is she a danger now?" Malfoy asked, tapping his Quick Quotes Quill and setting it onto a sheet of parchment.

As if the sight of the scribbling quill had alerted her to the gravity of the situation, Pansy sat up straighter. "Because she really has it in for the girl, Emma."

"Emerson," he corrected automatically. He would probably never admit it to Potter, of course, but he thought Emerson's name was one of the coolest he'd ever known. But then again, Potter hadn't been the one to pick it, had he? At least he'd had the good sense not to change it. Knowing Potter, the kid likely would've been called something generic like 'Mary' or 'Jane'. God knew the man had no sense of refinement.

"Whatever," Pansy was saying dismissively. "But Stella's been sending the kid newspaper clippings and letters, threatening her siblings, trying to mess with her head, you know. Make her life a living hell."

He already knew that, of course, and his impatience made the words come out harsher than he'd intended. "But why?"

Pansy shot him a dirty look. "Something to do with the mother. Cristella and Emily's mother went to school together and from the way Stella talks, she loathed the woman." She lit another cigarette and took a deep drag. "The mother is dead so Emily is the next best target for her hatred. Sins of the father and all that. Or shouldn't I say 'sins of the mother'?" She giggled, but stopped abruptly and her brow furrowed. "Lately, though, her obsession is getting worse. The girl told her parents and now Stella can't write to her anymore. She's written to Potter, but she told me that it's not quite the same and now she's convinced that the only way out for her is to get rid of the girl."

Malfoy's mouth went dry. "She wants to kill Emerson?"

Pansy nodded, already grounding out her fag. "Of course Potter's kids are very well-protected so I'm not entirely sure how she even plans to get near the girl. All her threats against the other kids were just talk, just a way to spook Emily. For all she cares, they might as well not exist because she's completely fixated on the girl. She wants to do it within a month."

A month. Malfoy stared in stunned silence at the quill still flying across the parchment, scribbling away. An image of Emerson Potter floated into his mind, the lovely girl with the green eyes, the dazzling smile, the long ebony hair. Dead? Murdered?

Not on my watch. And, holy shit, certainly not on Harry Potter's.

Draco Malfoy was not a man who scared easily. He had grown up in a family of Dark wizards and had barely survived with his life upon deciding not to follow that path himself. As part of his job, he had been in more dangerous and terrifying situations than he cared to count. And yet the memory of Harry Potter's face when he'd been telling him, Ron Weasley and Remus Lupin that first time about Emerson's troubles was enough to make Auror Draco Malfoy shiver with cold dread.

One thing was certain: this Cristella Montgomery had no idea what the hell she had gotten herself into. She had not a clue who she was up against.

His gaze wandered back to the woman sitting across from him, and Malfoy frowned suddenly as his gray eyes narrowed. "How long have you known these things, Pansy? And why are you coming forward now?"

Pansy avoided his eyes. "Well, you can bet it's not because I want to help Potter or anybody related to him." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "But by doing this, I can get back at that back-stabbing bitch a lot more effectively than I could have on my own."

"Of course," he nodded, staring at her in mild revulsion. "Only if you could benefit in some way, is that it? If this Miss Montgomery hadn't done something to piss you off, you'd have just gone about your merry way and let her harm Emerson, is that what you're saying? How very Slytherin."

"Don't forget you were in Slytherin too, Malfoy," she spat, glaring daggers at him. "Though one wouldn't know it from the way you act these days, not to mention the company you keep."

He ignored her. "What did she do?"

Pansy stared at her hands for a full minute and when she spoke, he was taken aback by the amount of pain in her voice. "She slept with my husband. More than once. I took her in, I gave her a place to stay. I listened to all her neurotic ravings, stood by and let her do what she wanted. And this is how she repays me - by fucking my man." She gave a harsh laugh and wiped angrily at her eyes. "That's what I get for being a fool and opening up, for trying to be a friend. But now I know there's no such thing. Friendship is nothing but a cruel myth."

And he found himself staring, unable to come up with even a word of comfort, because he was too startled by the fact that he actually felt pity for her. Even though they had hung out at school, even though they'd been teenage lovers, Pansy was part of a past he no longer cared to even think about. He had come so far, so narrowly escaped the bitter monotony that she was obviously still stuck in.

His eyes were drawn to the picture of himself, Ginny and the kids in the middle of the desk, and he watched them and marveled. He was lucky; he was so very blessed.

"I'm sorry," he managed at last, and meant it. "But what about Marcus? He obviously had a part in it, too."

Pansy sniffled and her eyes seemed to flash all of a sudden. "Oh, don't worry, I'll deal with Marcus. That man will rue the day he even thought about cheating on me. If it were not for our son and the fact that Gaius needs his father, I'd've-" She broke off, breathing heavily.

"Something illegal, I'm sure," Malfoy supplied. Though Flint would probably deserve it. As far as he knew, and with this new and unexpected information, the man hadn't changed one bit. "Well, in light of this information, obviously the most important question is, do you know where Miss Montgomery is now?"

She scowled at him. "Are you even listening to me? Didn't I say I gave the whore a place to stay? She's at our summer cottage up in St. Combs. Northeast Scotland. Would you like a map or something?"

Yes! "That would be appreciated."

She fiddled inside her bag for another minute before handing him a hideous silver candlestick holder. It was covered with curving snakes, all with gleaming ruby eyes reminiscent of Voldemort and he fought the urge to recoil. "If you turn this into a Portkey, it will take you right there."

"Thanks, but could you sketch out a map as well?" Malfoy drawled airily, not wanting to let on that he didn't quite trust her enough to simply let something she gave him just transport him to God-knows-where.

She consulted her watch. "I don't know. I have to pick up Gaius. Woodlands should be letting out about now."

"Just a few minutes," he said, reaching inside his desk for the special cartographer's parchment that was exclusive to magical law enforcement. "Just picture the area as vividly as you can, tap your wand to your head and then to the parchment, and it should all materialize."

She did as he'd instructed, and Malfoy watched the lines and grids appear for the village of St. Combs, which was just off the Aberdeenshire coast of Scotland. Of course, he would verify it with the department's resident map whiz, but to his untrained eye, it all appeared to be legit. He managed to get her to stay long enough to give him directions to the cottage from the main road as well as a layout of the house itself and its protective features before she jumped up and shrugged into her cloak.

"Just owl me if you need anything else," she said, sounding rather harassed. They headed for the door but just as they reached it, she stopped suddenly and spun around. "Listen, Malfoy, can we keep this between us? I'd rather not have my dirty laundry aired to all and sundry."

He nodded. "Well, I obviously need to tell Potter and the others on this case. But other than that, don't worry."

As they reached the door, he paused with his hand on the knob and looked at her closely. "There isn't any chance that you'll change your mind and alert Miss Montgomery of your actions today, is there?"

She stared back at him, looking both insulted and hurt as her eyes filled up and when she spoke, her voice cracked with emotion. "Do you really think I would do that after what she's done to me?"

Knowing that no answer was needed, he opened the door and they walked out into the reception area. Pansy flounced across the room with her head held high, clearly fighting to hold on to her remaining dignity, and again he felt that jolt of pity. "Pansy? Thanks."

"Don't thank me," she spat. "I'm not doing this for you or anybody associated with you."

And with a swish of her cloak, she was gone.

"What a bitc-" Rose started, scowling at the empty doorway but Malfoy interrupted.

"Contact Harry Potter immediately. And everybody else on the Smiley case. Tell them to come to my office urgently. We got our break."

*********

3:45 pm

Harry Potter was tense.

And oh boy, was he seething. It was taking all he had to sit on that chair in Malfoy's office and not go completely berserk. Why were they still here? Why were they still standing, sitting around when they knew the location of the monster who had hurt his child?

It was amazing how quickly things could change. The owl from the Auror's office had arrived not long after the one from Hermione confirming the identity of Arnie's mother. Demonstrating again just how mentally in tune with him she was, Hermione had already been on her way into Muggle London to update the probate lawyer on their findings. Barely half an hour after he'd sent Fleet to Malfoy with the new developments and the fledging plan to capture Cristella, the Auror had owled back saying that, incredibly, they'd just gotten the ultimate break and to come to his office as soon as possible.

Hermione was contacted, the kids quickly chauffeured to the Burrow and Harry had Apparated to the Ministry of Magic post-haste. There he'd found Malfoy, Ron, Remus, Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt already assembled and awaiting his arrival. He'd forced himself to sit down and listen to a tale almost too good to be true, because since when did salvation arrive in the form of Pansy Parkinson, one of his unwavering adversaries since Hogwarts?

Since today, apparently. And while the cynical part of him was extremely wary of this new development, the vast majority of his consciousness was raring to go. Didn't they say hell hath no fury as a woman scorned? From what Harry remembered of Pansy Parkinson, the woman could be vicious when she felt the need to be, and nothing quite scorned a woman as what had befallen her via Cristella.

After three weeks of frustrated languishing, things were happening at last. They knew where the woman was, they knew how to get there and the hunger for vengeance was swelling voluminously within. And just in case Pansy did end up changing her mind, the sooner they acted on what they had been mercifully given, the better.

So why the hell were they still here? They were expecting Hermione any minute and Harry wanted to leave immediately after she arrived. Why weren't they packed and waiting, ready to spring into action the instant Hermione appeared? But the way the Aurors were acting, one would think there wasn't anything at all urgent about the situation, as if they had all the time in the world.

"I've heard of St. Combs, but I wouldn't have thought it was somewhere that the likes of Pansy Parkinson would want to have a summer home," Remus was saying thoughtfully. "But maybe it's privacy they wanted because it's rather secluded - practically the edge of the world - and it does get some amazing sunsets."

"Is it near anything?" Malfoy asked, perusing the map spread out on his desk. "Just in case we have to stop in a larger town or something."

The older man leaned over the map too. "Well, Aberdeen should be around here somewhere, since it's the same county. Yes, there it is. And that would probably be around forty miles south of St. Combs."

They started in on the size of the village, the population of its residents (which numbered under a thousand), and the convenience of where the Flint cottage was located. The house was far enough from any of the other homes so that nothing unusual need be witnessed by anyone not involved in the stakeout.

That was the last straw for Harry. Jumping up, he cleared his throat loudly. "Excuse me. What stakeout?"

The Aurors exchanged glances. "Well, what we've just been talking about, Harry. Weren't you listening?" asked Tonks, looking concerned. "Remus is going up there first, to verify the location and get a feel of the area. Then he'll contact us with where the best place is to aim for with the Portkey."

"And how long is that going to take?"

"Well, obviously, we can't make any move for Cristella while it's still light," Malfoy drawled, and for the first time in a long time, Harry hated Draco Malfoy's cool, unruffled exterior.

He looked irritably at the other men and Tonks. "Why can't we? On second thought, don't answer that. Where is the Portkey?"

"Well, technically, it's not a Portkey yet. It needs to be activated," Shacklebolt said slowly, looking wary.

"Fine," Harry snapped, his ears ringing as frustration volcanoed within him and blended with the simmering rage within his belly. "Where is the unactivated Portkey?"

Something about his voice, his stance or his trembling hands, which were balled into fists, must have alarmed his friends because Ron laid a restraining hand on his arm and Malfoy, a bit of tension creeping into his features, spoke in a low, calm voice. "Harry, we have to be careful with this opportunity. We can't just rush headlong into battle without at least making up a game plan, some kind of strategy. This woman could be very unpredictable; the least we can do is be somewhat coordinated. Look, I understand what you're going throu-"

"No," Harry interrupted, his voice barely above a whisper. "No, you don't, Malfoy, and I hope to God that you never do."

A tense silence filled the room as the words hung in the air and that near-maddening ache to do something, to act, to maim, to wound pulsed through his being, his heart pounding out a vehement rhythm, the ringing in his ears intensifying, mingling now with the blood resounding against his eardrums-

"Harry."

The voice was soft and still; the voice was gentle and mild. Almost meek. And yet that voice pierced him like a sword, so that the bubbling lava of his rage gushed out from the puncture and flowed away from him, leaving him suddenly drained and weak. His fists unclenched and he turned around and rushed to Hermione's arms, nearly blind from the tears swimming in his eyes.

She held him tightly, so that he had to take short, shallow breaths and the tears squeezed out from behind his eyelids, despite all his effort to keep them in. She held him tighter when he began to tremble, when he had to bite his lips hard against the whine of emotion that threatened to escape his throat.

"Hermione."

"I'm here," she whispered, her voice still small and calm, yet somehow alive and powerful. "It's okay. It's okay."

Harry clung to her, feeling himself calming, his heartbeat slowing as the desperation ebbed. "I'm so scared," he whispered, swallowing hard at the lump in his throat.

"Me too," she answered, pulling away to look into his eyes. "Me too, Harry. But we're not alone. We have each other, and we have our friends. They know what they're doing."

It took him a few seconds to recall what she was referring to; he'd quite forgotten that they weren't alone. "I know. I know they do," he mumbled, blushing slightly.

Taking deep breaths, Harry rested his forehead against his wife's and closed his eyes. He knew that when his baser emotions took over, he tended to not think clearly and people ended up getting hurt as a result, even killed. Like Sirius, and even all those years later, he still felt a stab of agony at the thought. So while he couldn't honestly say that he would regret it if Cristella got hurt (or even killed), Harry knew he would never be able to live with himself if his rashness caused anyone he cared about to be harmed.

Or worse, enabled Cristella to evade them again somehow.

At last, when he felt sufficiently composed and as rational as could be expected under the circumstances, he hugged Hermione tightly for a second, thanking heavens for her again, and turned around. Everybody was watching him with varying degrees of anxiety, and Harry almost smiled at the relief that crept across each face when they saw that he no longer appeared to be on the verge of going postal.

"Sorry about that," he said a bit sheepishly. "So... what was the plan?"

Malfoy sighed perceptibly and reached for the map again. "Okay, Remus will Apparate to a discreet location in the village - we're thinking here - and take a look around...."

And Harry listened to his friends and took heart. They were here for him and although that sense of urgency and hunger was building again, this time he knew that he wouldn't be directing it at the wrong targets. No, he needed to save all that for the woman who had dared besmirch the innocence of his children, who had dared attack his family.

He'd waited this long; surely he could last a little longer? The day of redemption was at hand, he was sure of it, getting steadily closer, while the clock ticked....

*******

7:20 pm

Whenever she thought about it later, she would always be unsure of whether or not she had expected something like it to happen. Had there perhaps been a premonition, an inkling, a raising of the hair on the back of her neck that something was going to happen -- something wrong? Had there been a red flag that she'd missed or ignored?

It all happened very quickly, that much she would always remember. She'd whipped together a quick supper and settled herself on the couch with all her papers and plans spread out around her. She was rather pleased with her progress on the plan, actually. The chief obstacle that would need to be overcome would be the very first - getting physical hold of Emerson Potter. All the Potter children were almost obsessively guarded, though not in a way that any of the kids knew that, and if Cristella didn't know that they had reason to be overprotective, she would've thought the Potters to be right paranoid.

Which made her task that much more difficult. But not impossible. Harry Potter himself had been accessed more than once at Hogwarts, which had been considered the safest place in the world for him at the time. If Sirius Black could enter his dorm room while Potter lay in helpless slumber, so could she. If the evil Lord Voldemort could literally spirit Potter away from the school altogether, well, again, so could she.

"Except it's a different Potter this time," Cristella said with a smirk. The expression faded and was replaced by an ugly look. "And this one won't live to tell the tale."

Because she knew she would never be free, not really, as long as Emerson Potter still existed. She had no choice; there was no other way to go about it and she was happy for it. She was happy that she had no choice. And she would relish watching the life fade once and for all from Emerson Potter, from Julia, from the woman who had stolen so much from her. Then and only then would she truly be vindicated, because her liberation will have come via her own hands and victory is always that much more precious when it has been brought about by one's own efforts.

Setting down her glass of white wine, she leaned back with a sigh, her eyes wandering about the dark and cozy living room. The only illumination came from the flickering flames within the fireplace, while the crackle of the logs added a special touch of ambiance. The windows were hung with heavy drapes of a deep green, blocking out the last of whatever weak winter light that remained outside. Here and there were tastefully arranged pieces of antique furniture and overstuffed chairs, all following a deep green and silver theme. It was rather nice and she was glad that Pansy had graciously persuaded her to come here.

Of course, that graciousness would probably evaporate the second her friend discovered that Marcus had been here earlier. Cristella smiled as she stared at the rug beside the fireplace, seeing in her mind's eye what had transpired there mere hours ago. He'd wanted to stay afterwards, but she'd managed to get him to go home. She'd gotten what she wanted from him and any lingering of his would just sour the memory.

The last of the logs broke apart with a shower of sparks, and Cristella reached for her wand and lazily muttered the incantation for a fresh deposit of the fire sticks. When nothing happened, she frowned slightly and repeated the action.

"Ah, I must have had more wine than I thought," she muttered when the logs still failed to materialize. She did have a rather nice buzz going, and she shifted luxuriously atop the sofa, still holding her wand loosely. A slight shuffling sound made her turn her head in the direction of the nearest window but before she could even wonder what that could have been, the door of the cottage suddenly swung open with a loud bang.

A gust of cold winter air swooshed into the room and Cristella jumped up in alarm, her alcoholic buzz seemingly to rapidly depart. Her grip on her wand tightened as she took in the three people who stood in the doorway, all wearing dark cloaks and tense expressions, their wands trained on her.

She didn't recognize any of them and managed an outraged expression. "This is a private residence and you are trespassing! And I do believe you might have just caused some damage. The owners will be hearing of this unless you can offer me some explanation."

"Oh, don't worry. Pansy knows we're here," the tall, blond one in the middle drawled, his grey eyes cold. "Might you be Cristella Montgomery?"

A whine of something was beginning in Stella's head as her mind scrambled to process what she'd just heard. Pansy knew these people were here? That meant she likely had sent them. Which meant- had Marcus- did Pansy know? Who were these men?

"Are you Cristella Montgomery?" repeated the blond wizard.

"Depends on who wants to know," she said, and was pleased with how casual and unconcerned she sounded.

She shifted slightly, taking care to hold her wand hand steady. Then a horrifying thought occurred to her that made that simple task much harder: could these men be Aurors? And if they were, could they know? About everything? If Pansy had told them where to go, couldn't she also have told them everything? The whine jacked up another notch and beads of sweat formed on Stella's brow.

"Dammit, Malfoy, we know who she is!" snapped somebody from behind the three men. "Let's cut the crap!"

Stella's heart was racing now, desperation lapping at the edges of her consciousness, and her thoughts landed on the emergency Portkey that she'd made, just in case she ever had to leave abruptly. She had never really believed that she would need it, and certainly not for something of this nature. But things couldn't fall apart now, not after all this time, not after everything.

I haven't completed my task! I must- kill- need to be free- I must get out!

Her eyes darted to where the Portkey, a small silver goblet, rested innocently atop the coffee table. If she could just summon it over, she would be out of here before these men could blink. She could disappear... again. The wizards appeared to be distracted by the man behind them, who seemed to be trying to force his way to the forefront and seizing her chance, her heart pounding from the tense anxiety, Cristella swung her wand around.

"Acc-"

"Oh, I wouldn't bother if I were you," interrupted a low, commanding and macabre voice from the doorway.

"-io," she finished, even as her head whipped around to face the speaker and her eyes widened in honest terror.

Those eyes. It was the eyes of Emerson Potter, those shockingly green orbs, blazing now with profound fury, loathing, murder. Only these eyes weren't on the beautiful face of her enemy. They belonged to a man with a mess of shiny black hair, a proud straight nose, a fine mouth drawn into so hard a line, it appeared to be carved out of stone.

A man with a thin, white lightning-shaped scar etched into his forehead.

Harry Potter.

And for the first time in her life, Cristella truly knew what fear was. Every instance in which she'd thought she'd experienced that emotion - when her mother had stared at her with sinister madness, when Logan Brunswick had flushed and looked away from her after they'd slept together that first time, when Julia Thomas laughed and somehow made everybody else laugh with her, Emerson Potter in Dallas... she'd been wrong. What she'd felt those times, all those times combined was nothing to what she felt right then.

Nearly deaf now from the whine within her head, her hand fell limply back to her side as she stood paralyzed, speechless and staring, pinned to the spot by the sheer fire in those eyes. She didn't move when the three Aurors stepped aside and let three other people into the room. She didn't move when one of them, a woman, muttered something that made all her parchments and painstakingly obtained papers gather themselves into neat piles and float into a briefcase. She didn't move when the tall, black Auror plucked her wand out of her useless fingers and pocketed it.

It was over, was all she could think. It was over and she hadn't done it. Julia Thomas had won again, even after a dozen years within the grave. She had failed. The old pain and hatred stirred burningly within her, rousing her enough for her to look away from the piercing emerald gaze being leveled upon her by Harry Potter, who hadn't moved either.

The sense of desperation swelled to dizzying heights inside Cristella and like any creature of habit, she regressed to her comfort zone. Summoning her old stand-by, that startling acting prowess, that indispensable ability to pretend, she conjured a beaming smile and looked up into those blazing forest eyes. It had always worked for her, that ability to mask and conceal her true neurotic self. Why should this time be any different?

"Harry Potter. We meet at last."

The words flowed from her smiling mouth, infused with a believable measure of elation and delight, and she let them go, not knowing that she would regret them for the rest of her life.

****

End Notes:

Almost there, y'all! Next up is one more chapter, an epilogue and this story is finis. There will be no sequel to this sequel but I will be writing a future fic, which will be Emerson/? (Anybody guessed who she'll be with?).. I won't be posting it anywhere except on my Livejournal. I'll email whomever wants to be notified when the story is posted on LJ, if you leave your email address. I hope to have it done by the beginning of next month.

1. The little stoned act thingie that Arnie recited is an excerpt of a poem I memorized in high school. I can't remember the name of the poet, and I couldn't find it online but if I locate that school textbook, I'm sure it's in there. So take this as a disclaimer: the poem ain't mine and is property and copyright of the poet or whomever owns it, which isn't me. Please don't sue!

2. The line where Ben says "Wake up and face north, Twink.." is from the movie Little Man, Tate.

3. Pansy's son's name ("Gaius") is the real first name of Julius Caesar, and I thought it would be in keeping with the arrogance of her type.. to name their son after a mighty Roman ruler. But I didn't want to use "Julius" since we already have a "Julia", and it might be confusing. "Gaius" works nicely in the role, though, methinks.

4. Please review?