Unofficial Portkey Archive

A/N: Hello, everyone! Here is the last chapter of "Above It All". Thanks so much to y'all for sticking with me, and for your continued reviews. I appreciate it so very much. There will be an epilogue. Enjoy and please review. Thanks

This chapter is for Lissanne, for being an awesome beta and friend, and Ipo (Hogwarts Hag), for her invaluable help with this chapter and for being a friend, also. Thank you for everything. Love you guys!

Chapter Twenty-Six - End of The Road

"Harry Potter. We meet at last."

For a full minute, Harry couldn't believe what he'd just heard. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Granted, he'd always known this woman was more or less mentally addled. How else would she be so fixated on warfare against a woman who had been dead for more than a decade? How else would she so effortlessly shift the burden of her hatred onto an innocent twelve year old girl, simply because that girl resembled the object of her hostility?

But surely, in spite of all that mental imbalance, this woman knew that she was in a pile of shit, to put it eloquently? Surely this woman could sense the contempt flowing towards her from every single person in the now-crowded cottage? She knew that, didn't she?

And yet... yet, she could say what she'd just said to Harry, while smiling with delight? As if she were some devoted follower who had just now been blessedly granted the dream of her life - an audience with her idol. Momentarily nonplussed, Harry stared into the face of the woman who had brought so much pain and upheaval to his family in the past months.

And then, he remembered.

He remembered Emerson miserably snapping at him that she'd just simply changed her mind about trying out for the Quidditch team. He remembered Christmas morning, Em's beautiful smile warming and uplifting his heart. He remembered the death of that smile, his daughter's anguished sobs, her frantic apologies to whom, he didn't know. Not then. He remembered her silent tears while singing of angels greeting and shepherds keeping watch. He remembered her saying, "I don't know" when asked what was wrong, and sounding so lost and forlorn that he'd believed her.

Something was bubbling inside Harry, something that he hadn't felt in a long time, not since that final, terrifying confrontation with Voldemort. But he couldn't think about it, not now, because the memories were still flooding him.

He remembered the tense frustration he'd felt as Emerson returned to Hogwarts after Christmas, knowing that something was wrong but not knowing what. That sense of helplessness, of fear, when the owl came from McGonagall, when he and Hermione listened to her and Professor Dumbledore talking about their daughter's angry actions, her non-verbal cries for help.

Something to do with her birth circumstances, Dumbledore had said. Why?

A familiar ringing began in Harry's head and his hands shook as he remembered Luke's sobs after his sister had waspishly broken his heart. The ringing intensified with the recall of Emerson's grief and pain, as she'd cried out the whole story of her terror, her fear and guilt. Four months. Dark magic, forcing his daughter to absorb everything, to keep it all to herself even as she bled from the desperate need to share the crushing burden.

The taunting letters, his rising guilt, pushing his children away, hurting Hermione - his soul mate whom he loved more than life itself.

So much emotion, so many forces gushed through Harry's being as he stared at the woman who was the cause of everything. It was her - she was the source, the originator of it all. Yet she stood there smiling, without an ounce of remorse, as if she was somehow separate, uninvolved in anything.

And the ringing consumed him, deafened him, took on a crimson hue and blinded him, numbing him to everything external so that Ron had to slap him repeatedly before he regained his senses. His ears cleared first and he heard screaming, terrible screams of agony coming from directly across from him, intermingled with his best friend's yells of "Harry! Harry!"

The red haze evaporated slowly and Harry blinked, turning to look at his friend. Ron's face was white, his eyes wide in horror. When he saw Harry looking at him he glanced away and, following his gaze, Harry gasped and stared in slight shock.

Cristella Montgomery was lying on the floor of the cottage, writhing in agony. Those terrible screams were coming from her and one wouldn't have to search for the source of her agony. Every part of her skin that was exposed was covered in blood and from the way her clothing was becoming soaked, it was clear that her clothed parts were bleeding profusely as well. Remus and Tonks were bending over her with their wands drawn, their voices anxious and horrified.

"Wh-what h-happened to her?" Harry stammered, gaping in disbelief at the spectacle before him.

"Harry!" Hermione came running up to them, looking as pale as Ron did, her eyes as wide. "Are you okay?"

"Wh- sure, I'm okay," he said, thoroughly confused. "Why are you asking if I'm okay? What happened to her?"

Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance before Ron said weakly, "You happened to her, Harry. Bloody hell."

Harry opened his mouth to ask what on earth he was talking about but was interrupted by Remus yelling that it wasn't working and they had to get her to St. Mungo's before she bled to death.

Hermione hurried forward. "I'll go with-"

"No," Shacklebolt said firmly in his deep, melodious voice. "Take your husband home, Hermione. We'll see you tomorrow."

"But wait a minute," Harry began hotly, angry at being so bluntly dismissed. "What's-"

"Harry," his wife said shakily, tugging on his arm. "I'll explain when we get home. Are you coming with us, Ron?"

The red-headed man nodded, still looking rather pale. "Yeah."

In somewhat of a daze, Harry watched the four Aurors Disapparate with Cristella while Hermione pick up the overstuffed briefcase and took his hand. "Ready?"

Forcing his mind onto the image of Ballynore's elegant foyer, he nodded and a second later was there, his mind whirling.

"I need a drink," Ron said weakly and headed for the kitchen, leaving Harry and his wife alone in the foyer.

Hermione was watching him, biting her bottom lip anxiously. "Come on," she said softly, taking his hand.

He let her lead him to the living room and he sat, watching her place the briefcase carefully on the floor beside the coffee table. The buzzing in his head was abating now, clearing his thought processes so that suddenly, Harry knew he didn't need them to explain anything. He knew exactly what had just happened in that cottage.

As if she'd heard his epiphany, Hermione looked over at him. "You understand, don't you?"

Swallowing hard, he nodded. "I did that."

"Without a wand too," Ron said, coming back into the room with three tumblers, an unopened bottle of Firewhiskey and a bowl of ice. "One minute she was standing there, smiling, and the next-"

And with those words, some of the fury that Harry had been experiencing came back in a blinding rush. It was that smile that had made him lose control, he was certain of it. That bitch, standing there beaming as if it was all a joyous gathering instead the righteous collaring of her that it was. That fucking cu-

"Harry, calm down," Hermione said quietly, peering into his eyes. "She's at St. Mungo's and from the looks of her, she's not going anywhere any time soon."

Breathing heavily, he jumped up and reached for a glass and the Firewhiskey bottle, but his hands were shaking so badly that he spilled a good measure of it before Ron grabbed the bottle. Taking the nearly full tumbler that his friend handed to him, Harry drained it in one continuous gulp, the amber liquid searing its way down his throat and bringing tears to his eyes.

None of them spoke for a long moment and finally, Harry sat down again, leaned back and sighed. "I think I know what happened, but- tell me anyway."

"Well, mate, remind me never to piss you off that tremendously," Ron said with a small shudder. "But this woman is obviously mental, isn't she? Utterly barking. I mean, there you were with fire practically shooting out of your eyes at her and she was standing there smiling as if you were going to knight her or something."

Hermione made a small sound of derision and took a sip from her glass but otherwise didn't comment.

Ron continued. "Next thing we knew, she was screaming and rolling around on the floor. At first, I thought she was having a fit or something. But then I saw the blood and- there was too much of it to tell exactly what or where she was bleeding from. Could you see, Hermione?"

Harry's wife shook her head, her voice hard. "I wasn't paying attention to her. I was deliberately forcing myself to concentrate of getting all her paperwork, because the more of them we got, the better for our case. I had to focus on something other than the fact that she was a few feet away from me. I think that was the only thing that kept me from launching myself at her and physically doing what Harry ended up doing magically."

In spite of himself, Harry felt a grin tugging at his lips. "I wouldn't have minded seeing that. Nothing like a cat fight to get the male juices going, right?"

Hermione shot him a look, while Ron laughed uneasily. "Pig."

Harry chuckled for a second then sobered. "I hope she doesn't die or anything. Cause I'm not quite finished with her yet."

"I don't think she will," Hermione mused, her forehead creased in a frown. "But I don't know if Kingsley will let you in the same room with her again, Harry. Even though this investigation is in an unofficial capacity, he still has to observe the international guidelines for the treatment of detainees and you have to admit that this is not a good thing to have happened right under his nose."

Harry glared at her. "Do you think I give a shit about that? What about what she did to Em? What about how it's been affecting our family, all of us?"

"I don't care either, Harry," she answered patiently. "I'm just saying that Shacklebolt will likely be peeved. I mean, he knew you would be angry which was why he took all those precautions, like taking your wand as a condition of your entering the cottage. And I think he was hoping that the magical shield around the house would hold you back, too."

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "Well, it worked against the woman, at least. That's why she couldn't conjure up more firewood and why her summoning charm wouldn't have worked, even if she hadn't been interrupted."

They lapsed into silence again, all three of them lost in thought. Harry found himself wishing that Emerson was there, so that he could hug her and smooth that long ebony mane that demonstrated its unruliness in the form of glossy tendrils of curls and waves. He wished she were there so he could tell her that he'd done it at last, that they'd found Cristella, that she could sleep peacefully once and for all again.

But it wasn't over, not yet. They still needed to get into the mind of the monster, to hear the doubtless twisted reasoning behind all their daughter had been forced to endure. So as much as he hated that woman, he hoped that the Healers at St. Mungo's could keep her alive, till they could get to the bottom of everything.

"Even if the Healers are able to save her, I hope that whatever it was that you did to her continues to really pain her, Harry," Ron said suddenly and the three of them turned to grin at each other, knowing that Ron had voiced what all of them were thinking.

Gathering Hermione into his arms, Harry nuzzled her neck and sighed. He looked over at his best friend again. "Thanks, Ron. For everything."

The redhead shrugged. "Harry, you prat. You don't have to thank me."

"All the same," Harry said. "You must be tired, though. You can go home if you'd like."

"Nah," Ron murmured, leaning back and yawning hugely. "Luna and the kids are at the Burrow along with your three, and I think Ginny is over there with her and Malfoy's sprogs, too. I'd obviously want to go back to our house and the boys would probably hate me if I removed them from such a hell-raising environment. So I think I'll stay here." He glanced at them with slight uncertainty. "That is, if-"

Harry grinned. "Now you're the prat, Ron. Of course you can stay."

"Excellent. Got any food in the house, by any chance, Hermione?" their best friend inquired, jumping up and striding away into the kitchen. "That whiskey sure whetted my appetite."

Hermione snorted. "Not that he needs any whiskey to whet his appetite, for Pete's sake." Her brown eyes softened as she gazed up at Harry. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he whispered, touching her cheek. "I'm okay. We're getting there, aren't we?"

She nodded, her eyes clouding with a mass of emotions. "We're getting there."

He leaned forward and kissed her, and his eyes drifted shut at her soft sigh as she opened her mouth and granted him entrance. The kiss was infused with both their anxiety and their hope, with the fierce love that they had for each other interspersed throughout. Their tongues mated, her hands in his hair before they pulled apart, the hungry motion of their mouths slowing, being replaced by gentle sucks and nibbles. They rested their foreheads together, breathing in each other and Harry knew that, for the rest of tonight at least, he would be fine.

Tomorrow would be a brand new day.

********

When Hermione arrived at St. Mungo's early the next afternoon, her head felt rather crowded by all that had transpired in the last twenty-four hours. At the beginning of their investigation, she could never have dreamed that things would resolve themselves the way they had, that persons such as those involved could end up being, well, involved.

'Like Pansy Parkinson,' Hermione mused to herself as she showed her badge to the guard at the Magical Research entrance, who waved her inside. 'I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for her, having to choose between the lesser of two evils - either inadvertently helping Harry Potter or letting Cristella get away with befouling her marriage.'

If ever she encountered Pansy, Hermione would express her gratitude. Though knowing Pansy, the blonde woman would probably just barely restrain herself from spitting on her in disdain.

The previous night had been rather restless for her and Harry. They had stayed up talking with Ron for a while after having a light supper, discussing their next moves and deciding how exactly to deal with Cristella. Then Ron had gone to bed while Hermione and Harry sent off an owl to Hogwarts, informing Professor McGonagall of the latest developments and asking her to tell Emerson that they had Cristella.

Sleep had been fitful and they'd gotten up just after dawn, showered and headed downstairs where they sat for a long time, drinking coffee and discussing their plan even more. Both of them wanted to punish Cristella using more than one angle, not just the physical. They had pretty much everything worked out, but Hermione had still been a bit unsatisfied. She didn't think that anything they had planned so far would really have an emotional impact on Cristella, and that was the chief aspect as far as Hermione was concerned.

"I mean, I want her to be broken," she'd said forcefully. "I want her to have no more excuses, to be forced to confront the reality of who she really is. She's living in a dream world of monumental proportions and she needs to join the real one or her obsession with Emerson will never truly go away."

They'd stared at each other and sighed, reaching for the other's hand across the table. The tap, tap of an owl at the kitchen window made them break contact when Harry went to let the bird in. It was from Hogwarts, containing a response from McGonagall in which she expressed her relief that the suspect had been apprehended.

But even better, a letter from Emerson was enclosed and when Harry and Hermione read it, they'd known instantly that it was what they'd been looking for. Reading that letter had reduced them both to tears and it hadn't even been addressed to them -- though Em had attached a note saying they could read it. If Hermione had ever feared that Em might not recover from her ordeal, that letter had drowned those fears once and for all.

Satisfied that their arsenal was complete, they'd arrived at the hospital, only to be told by Kingsley Shacklebolt that Harry wouldn't be allowed to talk to Cristella, at least not while in the same room.

"We've put up an invisible Bulwark shield between Miss Montgomery and whomever else goes into the room. It's the most powerful defensive shield available, for both parties, but after what I witnessed last night, I don't think it stands a chance against you, Harry," the Head Auror said, gazing at Harry critically. "So for precaution's sake, you'll have to talk to her from outside here."

Harry fixed the Auror with a shocked and ferocious glare, his face reddening alarmingly. "What the fuck are you talking about? I have to stay out here, like some naughty child? What about that--? What about what she's done to my daughter? I can't confront her? I can't-"

"Harry, I'll talk to her. I'll go in there," Hermione interrupted, reaching for his hand. She turned to glare at Shacklebolt. "I'm allowed, right?"

The Auror nodded but Harry spun around to scowl at her. "No, you're not, Hermione. This woman is dangerous. I can't let you go in there. I'm the one who should be doing this."

"So you're saying you don't think I can handle her, is that what you're saying?" she said coldly, crossing her arms across her chest.

He mouthed for a few seconds. "No! That's not- Hermione, listen-"

"No, you listen, Harry!" she whispered in a dangerous undertone. "Emerson is my daughter too. And this woman, this witch, dared to hurt her. So while I may not be you, I'm not entirely useless, you know?"

"I'm not saying you are," he returned irritably, reaching up to grip his hair so hard that his knuckles were white. His frustration was almost tangible and she watched him squeeze his eyes shut and breathe slowly through his nose. Finally, he opened his eyes and she saw the angry resignation in their green depths. "Fine."

She pulled him to her and hugged him fiercely. "Don't worry, all right? I'll take care of it." He nodded stiffly and she pulled away. "I need to go to my office for something first. I'll meet you all back here, right?"

The Aurors nodded and Hermione squeezed Harry's hand briefly before heading to her office, intending to make a beeline for her vast collection of spell books. The seeds of a plan were sprouting furiously within her head, a plan both audacious and formidable. But she couldn't see any other way about it. She only hoped that she could find the missing pieces that were crucial to its execution within the numerous volumes of her library.

"There you are, Hermione," Ginny Malfoy said, standing up when Hermione entered the reception area that led to her office, startling her from her musings. "How're you? How's Harry?"

"I'm all right," Hermione answered, hugging the red-haired woman. She led the way into her office and shut the door, hoping that this wouldn't take long. "And Harry... well, he's furious, as you can expect. Even though I warned him of the possibility that Kingsley might not let him in a room with Cristella again."

Ginny scowled. "I'd be livid, too, if somebody told me that I couldn't talk face to face with the bitch who tried to mess with my daughter. But at least Harry did quite a number on her when he could. The Healers still can't do anything, can they?"

"Nope," Hermione said cheerfully and the two women grinned at each other rather maliciously.

It was quite satisfying that one of the things that Cristella Montgomery so prided herself on, her physical appearance, had now been horrendously ruined. The Healers had been able to stop the bleeding, but that was as far as the wounds had responded to their ministrations. Something about the nature or the intensity of the magic Harry had used had rendered the welt-like bruises stubbornly resistant to any kind of healing charm, potion or salve. Quite frankly, Hermione hoped they wouldn't discover a remedy any time soon.

"-were all right last night but they kept asking about you and Harry all this morning," Ginny was saying. "I kept reassuring them that they would go home today. Are they?"

"Yes," Hermione said, pulling books upon books off the shelves. "This will be over before sundown."

'So help me,' she added silently, running her fingers along the spines of the heavy bound tomes. 'I need my babies at home with me so this ends today. If I can just find this counter charm.'

Carrying the books to her desk, she sat, pulled the first one open and was quickly absorbed so that she started when the other woman spoke.

"Er, what're you looking for?"

She looked up, feeling faintly harassed. "Ginny, I can't talk right now. I'll explain later?"

"Sure," Ginny said, standing up. "I'll go wait with the Aurors, shall I? Is Draco there?"

"Yeah," Hermione said, relieved that her friend had gotten the hint and understood. The door closed behind Ginny but Hermione hardly heard it. Twenty anxious minutes and more than a dozen books later, she found part of what she was looking for and after another ten minutes, the second half materialized.

Her heart hammering, Hermione carefully scribbled down the two incantations, leaned back in her chair and stared at the piece of parchment. The words appeared so deceptively simple but what she was about to do was surely illegal in some way. After all, only senior Aurors were allowed to know the counter charm for the Bulwark shield, one of the most powerful defensive spells ever developed, as well as one of the most exclusive. In fact, all the Aurors had to be vigorously trained before they could muster the magical energy necessary to dissolve the shield, and most of the time it required more than one person to successfully execute it.

"Obviously, I can't ask the Aurors to remove the shield, and Harry isn't being allowed into the room. Ergo, I have to do it myself," Hermione muttered, squaring her shoulders. "Because I can't end this if I literally can't touch her, can I?"

She stood up, grabbed her wand and took a deep breath. Upon staring at the parchment for a long minute, she closed her eyes and pictured the words exactly as they appeared on the paper, committing them to memory. Once she was sure she likely would never forget those incantations as long as she lived, Hermione laid the parchment on her desk and tapped it with her wand.

"Incendio."

Within seconds, a faint wisp of ash was all the evidence that the paper had ever existed, and upon waving her wand at the pile of books on her desk, there was then nothing at all to indicate that Hermione Granger Potter had just successfully researched a counter charm that was supposed to be frightfully guarded within the bowels of the Ministry of Magic.

She pocketed her wand, grabbed the briefcase and headed briskly back to where she had left her husband, the Aurors and Cristella Montgomery. It was time to get to work, time to end this once and for all.

******

Harry watched Hermione enter Cristella Montgomery's room with myriad emotions coursing through his person, chief among them being disbelief.

From the very beginning of the investigation, the Aurors had agreed to allow Harry and Hermione to question Cristella when they caught her. Officially, the Aurors should be the ones to handle any interrogating, of course, but since the investigation itself was in such an unofficial, off-the-record manner and the Head Auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt, himself was on the case, they'd managed to secure that special privilege. Harry had been really looking forward to the opportunity. And now... he couldn't believe he was being forced to stay on the sidelines, that he was being denied the chance to properly confront the person who had brought so much turmoil to his family in the past months. It wasn't his fault that he'd lost control, and the only part of the incident that he regretted now was the effect it had had on Shacklebolt. He would do it all over again, because he was convinced that whatever pain that woman had experienced hadn't been even half the amount she had inflicted on his daughter.

Watching through the deceptively thin wall-length glass window as his wife closed the door behind her, Harry felt a flicker of unease. Not that he was all that worried for or about Hermione. She was an extremely powerful witch in her own right and having fought against Voldemort alongside her, Harry knew she was more than capable of handling Cristella. And of course there was the Bulwark shield. It would protect her.

But it just felt so strange to be on the outside looking in, to be an observer. He was used to being in the thick of it; used to being the leader of the charge, whether he wanted to be or not. He wasn't sure he liked this feeling.

Harry sighed, reaching up to push his glasses up his nose. The Aurors - Kingsley, Malfoy, Remus and Tonks - as well as Ron and Ginny were all silent, watching what was happening in the room across from them. Which was nothing. Hermione hadn't moved from beside the door she had just closed. She appeared to be just standing there, staring at the woman sitting across from her, who was staring back. Neither of them spoke and after a few minutes, Harry turned to Ron with a frown.

"What's going on in there?"

Ron was frowning too. "I dunno, Harry. They just seem to be sizing each oth-"

But the rest of the word was drowned out by Hermione's voice suddenly casting a locking charm that Harry had personally never tried. It was one of the few spells that were user-specific, almost like a Muggle locker combination. And unless he'd misheard, Hermione had just made him the unlocking factor.

"What the-" Kingsley began, striding over to the door and tugging on the knob, even though he obviously knew the door wouldn't open. "What the hell is she playing at?"

But Harry's eyes were on his wife, who still had her wand raised, the briefcase held tightly in her other hand. From this angle, he could only see her profile but what he saw was enough for him to know that there would be no need for him to unlock that door this day.

She would do it herself.

And then, as he watched, Hermione set the briefcase down gently on the floor, trained the wand straight at Cristella and said another incantation, her voice so clear and strong that he felt momentarily weak. Harry had never heard that charm before but clearly the Aurors had, because every single one of them reacted instantly.

Shacklebolt jumped away from the door as if he'd been electrocuted, his eyes wide and shocked. Remus and Tonks were both open-mouthed, and even Malfoy looked rather stunned. For a second, nothing happened, but then a faint twinkle gleamed inside the room, as if a beam of sunlight had suddenly streaked in through a minuscule pinprick in the wall. It vanished just as quickly as it'd appeared so that later, Harry would never be sure if he'd really seen it or not.

"What- how- who- WHERE DID SHE GET THAT?!" thundered Shacklebolt, snapping out of his reverie, his angry voice resounding in the corridor like a deep gong.

Harry was puzzled and knew Ron was too, from the look on his best friend's face. "Get what?"

"Potter, didn't you see it?" Malfoy asked, and to Harry's surprise, his grey eyes were dancing with deep admiration and not a little amusement. "Never mind, it's kind of hard to see, anyway. But your wife, Potter, just disabled the Bulwark shield."

Harry's head snapped back to Hermione. "She what?!"

"Harry, don't just stand there!" shouted Kingsley, looking furious. "Come and open this door! You're the only one who can from out here."

Feeling all heads turning to look at him, Harry stared instead at the woman he loved, who had moved to sit on the chair across from Cristella. How could he ever have thought that she would need protection going into that room? No, Cristella Montgomery was the one who had needed the protecting, and who was now utterly defenseless.

Just like Emerson had been.

Grinning rather maniacally, Harry looked at the Head Auror. "I don't think I will, thanks. And try not to worry so much, Kingsley. Everything will be fine."

They all stood in silence for a few seconds before Remus, sounding awed, said, "But where did she get the counter charm? It's not so much that she was able to make it work - although that, in and of itself, is very remarkable - but only a scant handful of people know that spell and we're magically bound not to disclose it to anyone."

"Oh," said Ginny suddenly, her eyes wide. "That's what she was looking for!" Upon all their quizzical looks, she elaborated. "When I was in her office, she was just tearing through all her books, and you know how many books Hermione has in her office alone. I asked what she was searching for, but she said she couldn't talk and would tell me later."

The Aurors gaped and Ron blurted, "That was what, half an hour ago? You mean she located a top secret and highly complex charm in thirty minutes? Wait, why are we surprised? This is Hermione Granger we're talking about here."

"But the charm itself is not in any book," Kingsley said weakly. "How could she find it in a book?"

Harry just smiled, pride swelling within him, knowing that something did not need to be expressly printed on tree pulp for Hermione to find it. All she needed was the essence, the concept behind it and she could work her way from there. This wonderful woman.

"That Granger is something else, isn't she?" Malfoy murmured quietly, so that only Harry heard him. "Just so you know, if she'd asked me for the counter charm, I'd've given it to her without hesitation."

Harry looked at him for a second and nodded imperceptibly, the only gesture of gratitude needed for such an expression of support. Then he sighed. "Malfoy?"

"Yeah?"

"Her name is Potter."

The other man smirked and hugged Ginny to him. "Whatever."

*******

Hermione sat down across from Cristella Montgomery, willing her heart to decrease its frantic pounding within her chest. The power and adrenaline surging through her being was a result of casting the counter charm, but while she was obviously exhilarated by her success, she needed to be calm and in control for what was to come.

She didn't think Cristella knew that the Bulwark shield had been disabled. Most of the general population didn't even know of its existence, much less what the counter charm sounded like. From her critical observation of the woman while casting the charm, she'd noticed that Cristella had only looked at her with a bit of perplexity and plenty of disdain. And besides, she'd had the good sense to disable it in only one direction, which meant that while she could access the brunette, the other woman couldn't just reach out and touch her.

The room was bland and sparsely furnished. There was a bed in the corner, a nightstand with a lamp, and hung upon one plain, beige wall was a framed abstract painting of what appeared to be a wheat field. The wall opposite the bed was the one with the wide glass observation window, which had one-way visuals, just like Muggle Police interrogation rooms. There was a small, square table with a chair on either side, which was where Hermione sat, looking through the briefcase and taking deep breaths.

"Are you just going to sit there fiddling with your papers or are you going to state your business and get the hell out of my room?" Cristella said waspishly, one eyebrow pompously cocked.

Hermione looked up at her, trying to decide which emotion to latch onto; there were so many of them surging within her all at once. Fury, for what this woman had done to her daughter, to her family, to her marriage. Smug satisfaction that they'd caught her. Fiendish glee that the formerly spotless appearance had now been so ruthlessly tarnished.

Up close, Hermione realized that the wounds all over Cristella, from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, were not so much welts as actual cuts. She looked as if someone had pinned her down and carelessly slashed and stabbed her all over her body with a small but very sharp knife. A sleek-edged fisherman's knife gone berserk. That's why the cuts had bled so much even though none of them appeared to be very deep. For some reason, they resisted the natural reaction of lacerations to, with proper treatment, draw together and begin healing. They remained stubbornly gaping and raw-looking, and from what the Healers had told Hermione, they were also very painful, requiring hourly gobletfuls of pain relieving potions. To ward off infection, the Healers had covered her in antibiotic ointment, which gave her an unattractively greasy appearance.

As if sensing the mirthful gratification in Hermione's perusal of her, Cristella flushed. "What are you staring at?"

"Dear me, how the mighty have fallen," Hermione said, softly. "It must be very galling being stuck here, isn't it? For someone who enjoys her freedom and all that, hopping all over the world on a moment's whim. And now--"

The other woman glared at her with pure hatred. "When I get out of here, I'm going to sue your arses so hard, it'll make your heads spin."

"Really?" Hermione asked, with mild disinterest.

"Auror Brutality, False Imprisonment." Cristella paused and looked up at the long glass window, on the other side of which Hermione knew Harry and the Aurors were standing, though she couldn't see them. "Assault. I don't care if you're Harry Potter, and everybody feels obligated to kiss your arse. I'm going to get you for what you've done to me."

"Keep telling yourself that," Hermione commented dryly. "I'm sure you need the ego boost."

The color rose in Cristella's already inflamed cheeks so that combined with the angry red bruises all over her face, she rather resembled a sunburned and mutilated lobster. "You're going to be sorry. You are all idiots, and you're the biggest one. Hermione Potter. How can you be anything other than an idiot, when you love that product of your husband's indiscretions?"

"If you're talking about Emerson, I love her because she's my daughter, plain and simple," Hermione answered calmly, although inside, the anger was beginning to pulsate. How dare this woman talk about Em?

Cristella smirked. "Of course I'm talking about Emerson." She said the name as if it was a four-letter word and smiled, no doubt because of the way Hermione's eyes blazed in response. "You wish you could touch me, don't you? I can tell. Unfortunately, for you anyway, there's this shield, see? Apparently, the Aurors don't want to get into any more shit than they're already in."

Hermione looked down at her papers and bit back the retort struggling to break free from her throat, as she fought to restrain herself. But Cristella was still talking.

"When I get out of here, when I get my hands your filthy daughter, I'm going to-"

And Hermione's control snapped so that without thinking, she had jumped up, leaned across the table and grabbed Cristella by the throat. The oily sheen of the antibiotic salve on the other woman's skin forced Hermione to exact a firm grip, not that she minded having to do so. Cristella's eyes were wide with shock, although terror was rapidly closing in on the top spot. As Hermione kept up the pressure, squeezing not so hard as to literally choke her but hard enough for it to be clear that she was not fooling around, pain joined the other two emotions and the blue eyes filled up. Doubtless, all that force directly against the open wounds on her neck was excruciating.

Frankly, Hermione couldn't have cared less. The fury coursed swiftly and silently through her being, yet she felt strangely calm. When she spoke, her voice was chilling, if only for the sole reason that it was so matter-of-fact, as if she was merely mentioning the weather. As if she wasn't essentially strangling the dark-haired woman whom she was so genially addressing.

"Still think I can't touch you?" Cristella managed to shake her head and Hermione nodded. "Now, see, we have some business to attend to. So just sit still and shut the fuck up because I've just about had it with you. Understand?"

She loosened her grip enough for Cristella to whimper out a terrified "Yes", and just as suddenly as she'd stood up, sat down again. The other woman shrank back against her chair, looking horrified, one trembling hand reaching up to gingerly touch her gleaming throat. Looking and feeling repulsed, Hermione cast a cleaning charm on her hand and picked up the topmost piece of parchment.

"Now, first off, you are in absolutely no position to be making any kind of threats. You are our 'captive audience', I guess you could say, and you're not going anywhere unless we say you can. That nice little assortment of documents that you had at that cottage is more than enough evidence for us in our case against you, and rest assured, we're not going to be anything remotely resembling 'easy' on you. So you can just put aside every and all notions of revenge."

Cristella glowered, biting her lips hard, but not hard enough to keep herself from blurting out, "That bitch, Pansy! I can't believe she would stab me in the back like that!"

"You can't believe it?" Hermione echoed, gazing at her in disgust. "Why shouldn't Pansy have done what she had, when after everything she'd done for you, you were in her house, repeatedly fornicating with her husband?"

"Oh for fuck's sake, who cares about that?" Cristella spat. "He's just a man! He's not important, he's nothing. See, it's because women like Pansy let themselves get attached to men that they end up getting hurt, because all men are like Marcus. It's just what they do. It's just how they are. If it hadn't been me, it would've been some other woman!"

Appalled by how twisted the woman's reasoning was, Hermione returned her attention to the paper she held in her hand. "The only reason why you are not in Azkaban right now is because Harry and I have decided, for the sake of ensuring the privacy of our family, that we will not be prosecuting you through the criminal justice system."

"Ooh, can't let it get out-" the brunette began, but broke off abruptly at the murderous glint that shone in Hermione's eyes.

"I wish you were in Azkaban," Hermione said venomously, her hands clutching the paper so tightly that it began to tear. "What you've done, and not only to Emerson, is utterly evil. We have enough to put you away for the rest of your natural life, though I don't know why you would want to live until then. Not with the way things will appear to be from now on."

Cristella flushed, her blue eyes brimming with tears of rage and mortification. "If you're talking about my appearance, this is only a temporary setback. I'm sure they'll be finding a cure very soon!"

Hermione smirked, smoothing the edges of the paper that she'd accidentally ripped. "Actually, I know the cure. It was the sheer magnitude of the feelings that my husband felt towards you that have left you looking this - how shall I say? -- damaged." The other woman colored even more, if that was at all possible. "And since those were all negative feelings, the only cure for your affliction would be for him to all of a sudden start thinking only warm and fuzzy thoughts of you. I'm sure we both know that's never going to happen. Not in this lifetime."

"Y-You mean I'm going to look like this f-forever?" Cristella's voice was small and horrified, her eyes wide.

"I'm afraid so," Hermione chirped.

Cristella paled and her bottom lip trembled. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Hermione couldn't believe her ears. "Why are we- you're joking, right? What possible reason could we have for doing this? We didn't know you from Eve. We were just going about our lives, raising our children, who were happy, healthy and beautiful. And then, because of some demented obsession you have with my daughter's birth mother, a woman who has been dead for more than a decade-" Her voice was rising with every word and she had stood up again, her hands gripping the edge of the table, leaning over it to speak directly into Cristella's visage, who cowered in the face of this purest of wraths -- that of a mother. "-you attacked my daughter."

"I-I didn't, I just-" Cristella whimpered, then jumped when Hermione slapped the table, hard, frustration and rage nearly blinding her.

"Are you denying that you wrote those nasty, vicious letters to my daughter? Do you deny threatening to harm her siblings if she told us about it? DO YOU DENY USING DARK MAGIC AGAINST MY CHILD?"

The blue eyes were enormous now and tears were spilling from them as Cristella frantically shook her head. "No."

"No, what?"

"N-No, I don't deny it. But it wasn't my fault! I couldn't help it! My family, there's this history of-"

Almost without realizing it, Hermione had grabbed her wand and was pressing it directly over the other woman's heart. "Shut up," she hissed, her voice trembling with fury. "Shut up, or so help me God you will regret it. It was not your fault? How could it not be your fault? Was somebody holding a wand to your head? Was somebody forcing you to do what you did, to harass my daughter? To repeatedly try to tear down the very self of a twelve-year-old girl who had never done anything to you?

"There might well be a history of mental illness in your family, and while I do believe that you are very much unbalanced, that was not why you did what you did. You knew what you were doing was wrong. Otherwise, you wouldn't have tried so hard to get Em to keep quiet. You wouldn't have gone to such lengths to conceal your whereabouts." Her voice softened to just slightly above a whisper. "And you knew how pathetic you were, a forty-odd year old woman terrorizing a preteen girl, simply because of who she resembled."

Cristella's head hung to her chest and her shoulders shook with sobs. Hermione sat down again, gazing at her in loathing, her ears ringing still. She wished she could get out of this room before she ended up doing something she would regret. But she wasn't quite through; she needed to finish this.

Reaching inside the briefcase again, she pulled out a heavy, official-looking document. "Back to the matter of your threats to sue. In order to sue, one has to have the resources to retain and maintain an attorney. You have no such resources, so-"

"I do, too, have the resources," Cristella mumbled, not raising her head. "I am the sole heir to a prodigious fortune over in America."

This was something she had been particularly looking forward to and Hermione smiled with honest delight as she looked over the letter in her hands. "Actually, there were two heirs, as I'm sure you know."

"Yeah, but only if they can find her, and that's getting more and more unlikely as the days go by. So don't hold your breath."

Hermione chuckled and Cristella's head snapped up. "I have no need to hold my breath, Cristella. Didn't you know? We found the other heir, your cousin, Margaret."

"Y-You- what?"

"Yep. Turns out we'd known her for years, though we didn't know of her unfortunate, or is that fortunate, relation to you. Her oldest son is friends with Emerson at Hogwarts and her second son is even better friends with my oldest son. So, we're all good buddies and it was such a joy to be the ones to break the news to her of the wealth that she never knew was hers."

As she watched the other woman digest that news, Hermione found herself strangely wishing that Colin Creevey was present. The look on Cristella's face almost made everything worthwhile. Somehow, she knew Harry, Ron, Ginny and the Aurors on the other side of the glass were grinning themselves silly.

After a few minutes of stunned silence, Cristella seemed to struggle to regain some of her bravado. "Well, just because you've found my cousin doesn't mean I'm suddenly penniless. There's more than enough for both of us, and I'd still have enough to su- to do what I want."

"Tsk, tsk," Hermione tutted, shaking her head. "You don't seem to know the terms of your grandmother's will very well, do you, Cristella? What a shame. Why, if it were me, I'd want to know everything!"

"What are you talking about?" the brunette snapped.

Hermione sighed. "Well, the terms of the will are such that the fortune is to be divided between you and Margaret. But your grandmother -- perhaps because of what she'd endured during her teenage years, with her family taking her baby, putting it up for adoption and lying to her about its demise -- went a bit further with the specifics." She paused and frowned thoughtfully. "In a way, your family started this terrible cycle when they took that baby. Your grandmother never recovered, even though she went on to marry and have your mother, Cookie. One would think that the loss of one child would make her cherish the new one even more, but your grandmother went the other way and completely ignored your mother, didn't she?"

Cristella was silent, her eyes filled with myriad emotions as she stared at Hermione, who continued.

"I think in your grandmother's mind, Cookie seemed like a mockery of the love that she'd had for her young lover, as well as an even bigger mockery of the product of that love. Here was a child, born to her legitimately this time, via marriage to the son of your great-grandfather's business partner. A pure child, a beautiful child, by all accounts. A better child than her earlier youthful indiscretion; more worthy, I'm sure they all thought. Right? But it appears your grandmother didn't think so, and your mother suffered as a result. She grew up desperate for that attention, for that love from her mother, and never got it. So she looked elsewhere and while she thought she'd found it in her many lovers, in her alcohol, she hadn't really. Then she had you, and at last, she probably thought. But had she?"

"You don't know anything!" Cristella burst out, angry tears spilling from her eyes. "My mother loved me!"

"Maybe she did," Hermione conceded. "Or she thought she did. At least for a time. But things changed, didn't they?"

The brunette's hands were clenched on her lap, her head hanging down while tears glided effortlessly over the peaks and valleys of her greasy, ruined face. Hermione watched her for a minute, trying to imagine what this woman could have endured to warp her so deeply.

And then, she thought of Harry. Harry, who had grown up without love for ten years, who had lived in a cupboard under the stairs, who had been essentially an unpaid indentured slave to his own relatives. Yet this man, who had also had to shoulder more than it was conceivable for any one person to take on alone, had not only survived, but was the most loving person she had ever known. In spite of it, in spite of everything, he was a wonderful husband and father and friend.

So while she might pity Cristella Montgomery, Hermione did not excuse her, not for even one second, from what she had done, from what she had chosen to do. Cristella had had a choice -- and, so very unlike Harry, she had chosen to go the truly despicable route.

Feeling suddenly weary, Hermione picked up the paper again and sighed. "Anyway, the terms of your grandmother's will was such that the heirs would split the fortune equally amongst themselves and each have control over their own shares. With one exception: that if any of the heirs engaged in morally or lawfully reprehensible actions, their control of their inheritance be stripped and assigned to the other heir." Cristella's head snapped up, her mouth opening to protest, but Hermione held up her hand and continued. "In other words, while you still have your money, your actions have cost you free rein over what you do with it. Margaret has that control now. She decides how you will spend your money, when, on what and how much. Because there isn't any doubt that your actions these past months have been both morally and lawfully reprehensible, is there?"

Cristella seemed to have been struck dumb because although her mouth was working, no sounds emerged. After a full minute, she managed to croak, "For how long?"

"Why, forever, of course," Hermione said cheerfully. "So whenever you want even a Knut of your money, you'll need to get permission from your cousin to receive it. That's the way it's going to be, but don't worry. Margaret is a very wise and loving person. I'm sure she won't be terribly stringent without good reason."

Knowing that this tense and emotional meeting was drawing to a close, Hermione leaned back in her chair and observed the other woman. Cristella's eyes were bloodshot and her hands trembled upon her lap as she sniffled miserably. One would be quite hard pressed to reconcile her with the uppity, disdainful image that she had always presented, up until the night before.

Hermione shook her head sadly. "Was it worth it? All that railing against Julia Thomas, that ongoing war against a dead woman? Are you any better off?"

Cristella looked at her for a minute. "If you had asked me those questions yesterday, I'd have said yes. Having, for instance, incapacitated my old boss, successfully damaged Julia's daughter and successfully eluded you all, I'd have said yes. If you'd asked me yesterday."

"But you would have been wrong yesterday, nevertheless," Hermione responded. "On at least two of those counts."

"Oh, has that arsehole recovered then? How'd they find the antidote for the Acetanilid Draught? It's one of the most obscure poisons in the world, which was why I picked it. The recipe has only been printed in one book, ever."

Acetanilid Draught, got it. "No, your boss is still in the hospital. We couldn't find out what was wrong with him, but thanks ever so much for divulging the answer just now," replied Hermione, with a satisfied smile over this unexpected, but not unwelcome, piece of information. Cristella looked simply furious. "But you said you would have answered in the affirmative yesterday because you'd have successfully eluded us. Well, if we were there asking you the questions, you couldn't have been all that successful in your eluding, could you?"

The other woman scowled even more. "And what's the other one?"

"While you did hurt Emerson, you haven't damaged her." She reached into the briefcase and pulled out the letter that Em had written. "She'll be fine. She is fine, as you will see. This is for you, from Em."

Cristella hesitated, then took the envelope that Hermione held out. She stared at it for a moment before looking up. "What if I don't want to read it? I could just simply tear it into tiny pieces and scatter them to the winds."

"I think you'll find that you can't," Hermione snapped, her anger surging again. God, she was so tired of this woman! "We've made sure that you will not be able to lose or destroy that letter in any way. No, you will keep it until the end of your days. And while, unlike you, we don't utilize Dark magic, even if you don't read it the knowledge that it exists and is in your possession will still be there, gnawing at you like a relentless and untiring rodent. So whether you do it now or later is your business; though I can understand why you would be frightened of what Em has to say."

"I'm not frightened!" Cristella spat, her face twisting into an ugly look.

Hermione stood and closed the briefcase. "Of course you're not."

"I am not frightened," the brunette repeated, still glaring defiantly at Hermione, even as her hands visibly trembled around the envelope. Hermione smirked; Cristella colored and perhaps in an attempt to save face, began to tear open the envelope. She pulled out the long scroll of parchment, unrolled the top, but didn't look down at it.

Hermione smiled contemptuously. "Well, go on, then."

She watched Cristella take a deep breath, close her eyes for a second and look down. And having memorized her daughter's letter, Hermione knew exactly what the other woman was reading:

Cristella,

Mum and Dad told me that they finally have you in hand. I was honestly very relieved to hear that, because I think that you are someone who needs to be watched. I wanted to come and see you myself, not to discover what you look like or anything, because I already know. I remember meeting you last summer in Dallas. You asked me about my mother and if I missed her. It was only after a while that I realized that you weren't referring to my Mum. I thought that was very strange.

No, I wanted to come and see you in person so I could talk to you. But my parents decided it wasn't the right time for me to do that. So, I've written this letter instead . It's a long one, but after the many you've sent me, I think it's only fair that I get to write a real one back, don't you? The letter I sent with that ambushed owl doesn't count because you never answered any of my questions, and neither did you give the slightest bit of courtesy to anything I said.

But I don't have any questions this time. Or maybe I should say, I don't have any for which the answers are important to me. It's not that I don't care to know the answers, but simply that it doesn't and wouldn't affect me at all. Not anymore.

I don't know who you are. Since you never bothered to sign your letters with a name, I've thought of you as 'Smiley', because of that smiley face you used as your signature. When my parents told me your real name was Cristella Montgomery, I was sure I had never heard of you before. And although now I know where I've met you, the fact still remains that I don't know you. I don't know who you are, where you've been or how you came to be whatever way it is that you are. I don't know if I will ever know, or even if I want to know.

You wanted me to be sad, to feel useless, unworthy and unloved. And you know what I think? I think you wanted me to feel the way you feel about yourself. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense, especially after hearing what everyone who went to school with you told me. I think there are a ton of things you don't like about yourself. But for some reason, you couldn't bear to face them, so you projected them onto another person -- in this case Julia, and afterwards, me -- and hated us for 'having' those qualities.

We'll probably never know, just like you probably never knew Julia, not really, and you probably never will know me. You probably don't really care, and that's perfectly fine with me. But let me ask you, Cristella: do you know yourself? When you look in the mirror, do you know the person looking back at you? Do you like the person looking back at you?

Sincerely,
Emerson Potter

There was something utterly miserable about seeing a grown woman fall apart, Hermione realized, as she watched Cristella Montgomery crumble upon her chair. Even though this very outcome had been her goal, even though she loathed this woman more than she had ever loathed anyone before, save Voldemort, Hermione felt the faintest twinge of pity.

Had it been that last line? Had it been the ineclutability of the unvarnished truth behind that final sincere statement -- that it was love, all along, that Cristella had craved, but had never found? That's what the whole purpose of human existence came down to, didn't it? To love and be beloved?

Perhaps, on top of everything else -- the loss, indeterminately, of her freedom; the gruesome loss of the haughty good looks that she'd so jealously guarded; the loss of control over her own monetary fortune; the loss of authority over her own life -- that simple statement of Emerson's had been too much.

Or had it been just enough? Just enough to make Cristella Montgomery finally take a look inside herself, to put aside her masks for a moment and behold who she truly was, who she had become?

Perhaps it was what she had seen that had really broken her.

Taking one last look at the woman curled almost into a fetal position on her chair, Emerson's letter still clutched in her hands, her knees drawn up to her chest while terrible, racking sobs issuing from her throat, Hermione picked up the briefcase, turned around and left the room. For a moment, she leaned back against the door and closed her eyes, a dull pounding echoing behind her eardrums.

Then, opening her eyes, she beheld the small group of people who stood before the glass window, staring at her. There was something akin to awe in all their gazes and a little bit of something that might have been fear. Her eyes found Harry's and the way he was looking at her made Hermione want to cry and laugh at the same time, just like Em had said in that letter.

But not because of memories, not this time. It was because they had hope; they had a future again. What that future would bring, she couldn't know, but for her, it was enough to know that they had one. They had one, she, Harry, and their children.

A great wave of peace swept over Hermione and she smiled as she walked over to her husband and slipped her hand in his. He gripped it tightly, his touch calming her further and she looked up at him, renewed.

"Let's go home, love. It's over."

****

End Notes:

1. Acetanilid was an ingredient in certain types of "headache" powder remedies in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries that killed a lot more people than they helped. Their culpability was rather guarded, because the powers that be didn't want to admit that it was the "remedies" that were making people sick, even killing them. Just thought it sounded nice and obscure enough to be a poison that Cristella's, erm, messed up mind would select.

2. Please review?