Unofficial Portkey Archive

A/N: Here's another chapter! And I want to say profuse thanks to all those who have reviewed. I appreciate it very much, especially as I'm puzzled by the dramatic lack of response considering so many were clamoring for this story - a sequel to "Safe in Harbor". Oh well. Guess you win some, you lose some. Hope you enjoy and drop me a line, if possible. It'd be much appreciated.

Chapter Four - Friendships and Figures

A knock sounded on the shiny mahogany door of Harry's office in Wizarding London. It was mid-morning and Harry had some Quidditch contracts that needed to be reviewed and sent out by the end of the day.

"Come in," he called, without looking up.

The door creaked open and a tall, red-headed man stuck his head in. "Oh, sorry to bother you, Mr. Busy Big-shot Billionaire."

Harry grinned as he laid aside the unbelievably legalese parchment he'd been consulting, happy for a distraction. "Ah, you seem vaguely familiar. Now where- oh yes. You're the manager of that team that we just scrubbed the pitch with the other day. How has the sting faded from your arses?"

Ron laughed as he closed the door and sat across from Harry. "We're coping. And you lot had better get ready because next time, it'll be you who'll be the pitch-mops."

Harry snorted. "Keep talking, Slick Keep jibber-jabbering, cause that's all you'll be able to do."

"Jibber-jabbering?" Ron asked and they burst out laughing.

The men were on opposing teams, but their friendship was as solid as ever. Harry was part owner of Puddlemere United and Ron was Senior Manager of the Chudley Cannons. When Harry had bought Puddlemere with Oliver Wood five years ago, the media had gone into a kind of anticipant hysteria. Speculation ran rampant that the friendship between the great Harry Potter and his longtime best friend, Ron Weasley, would be inevitably strained. Afterall, everybody knew of the rivalry between Puddlemere and the Cannons. Both teams were usually in the top five at the end of a season, and skirmishes between rival fans was not uncommon.

Not that the Quidditch talk between them didn't get occasionally heated and when there was a game between their teams, there was definitely a healthy competitive tension. But Harry and Ron had been friends for too long and had been through too much together to let their jobs come between them.

Indeed, they had laughed over the disgruntled articles that came out in the aftermath of the first Puddlemere-Cannons game with Harry in ownership. Puddlemere had won but all the papers had had to grudgingly sport pictures of Harry and Ron hugging and guffawing away at the end. Quite the scandal that was, judging from the way the media had reacted.

"How're you, Ron?" Harry asked once they'd stopped laughing.

Ron grinned. "I'm good. I'm really good."

And he looked it. The years had lent a maturity to him, given him proportion - both physically and emotionally. He'd always been long and gangly but now, at thirty-eight years old, his height suited him. His hair had darkened somewhat but his freckles were as pronounced as ever, what with him always being outside yelling at his players.

Emotionally, Ron had long ago grown up as well. It said a lot about him that his and Harry's relationship was so great even with the huge professional-level competition between them now. It was no longer merely differences in fame or money, the things that had strained their schoolboy friendship. There were much bigger things at stake, but Ron had come into his own. He had discovered his inner worth and confidence and it suited him.

"How're you? Hermione and the kids?"

"They're great. Emerson just went back to Hogwarts yesterday," Harry said, glancing reflexively at the picture of his family that was perched in a prominent position atop his cluttered desk. Emerson was currently giving Ben bunny ears, while Budget tried to jump up her back. Harry was holding Davina with his arm around Hermione, who was trying to get the kids to stand still. Short of putting Petrificus Totalus on them, she would never succeed, of course.

"Makes you feel old, doesn't it?" Ron commented.

Harry looked up. "What does?"

"This," Ron said, gesturing between them. "Once upon a time, we were the ones going back to Hogwarts. Remember second year and Dad's old Ford Anglia?"

Harry grinned, ruffling the back of his untidy hair. "How could I ever forget? We came that close to being expelled. Or rather, Snape would dearly have loved for that to be true."

"Greasy git," Ron muttered and again their laughter filled the room. They were both on decent terms with Severus Snape these days but that didn't make reminiscing about when they'd thought him to be an evil bastard any less fun.

Finally, Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair. "So what's up with you? Luna, the boys?"

Ron's gaze seemed to turn to a place only he could see and Harry smiled. His friend's happiness warmed his heart and he couldn't suppress a surge of pride that he'd had a hand in bringing them together. With Hermione's help, admittedly, and Ginny to a lesser extent, but it was mostly his work. They had seemed such an odd fit at first, Ron being the loud, volatile person he was and Luna was, well, Luna. Even Harry who'd been the one to try to push them together in the first place had had his doubts.

But now, Ron and Luna had been married seven years and were still going strong. Their son, Joey, had been born exactly nine months after they'd been married (Malfoy still teased Ron mercilessly about his potent Weasley sperm) and Alex had followed two years later. Harry and Hermione were godparents to Joey while Alex and Budget were usually collaborators-in-crime.

"They're wonderful," Ron said at last, his eyes shining. "She's pregnant, did I mention?"

"No, you didn't! Congratulations, man!" Harry said, jumping up to hug his friend. "When is she due?"

"Some time in April. The boys are really excited. When we told them, Joey just burst out 'I hope it's a girl!'," Ron chuckled and he almost seemed to be floating in his seat.

"Girls are great," Harry agreed. "You pretty much helped raise Emerson, so you know how that is. And now, Davina. She's awesome."

"A little princess, that one. She's gonna be just like Hermione. Looks like her so much already, it's kinda creepy. Can't you just see her going "Honestly!" and bossing some poor kid around?"

The two of them chuckled again. "Look at us," Harry mused. "We've turned into a pair of old saps, discussing daughters and due dates. What say we move onto manlier things?"

Ron snorted. "Speak for yourself. But what's this I hear about you lot trying to sign Wildfire Wilson? I thought the Tornados got him?"

And with that, the conversation was off and running in a direction that if Hermione were present, she'd be rolling her eyes in exasperation. Though they would, of course, have the handy excuse that they were merely discussing work.

And what woman can resist a hard-working man?

For Harry, however, he was reconnecting with another of the persons who knew him best and to whom he could tell almost anything; the only other person besides Hermione who knew all he'd been through and had weathered the heavens and hells right alongside him. They were grown men now, with their own wives and children, with their own lives but they were best friends still.

Harry knew they would always be. Because neither of them would have it any other way.

********

Emerson was up and out of her room bright and early on September 2nd. Part of the reason was that she couldn't stand to see the smug looks Jerrianne and the Fakers kept exchanging over how nicely she and Lyna had been split up. Frankly, if Em saw Jerrianne drape herself across Maria's bed one more time, while smirking over at her, she might be forced to do something drastic.

Like maybe strangle the bint with her perfectly straight yellow hair.

A small part of it was she'd realized that she'd forgotten to send an owl to her parents like she'd been asked. She quickly took care of that and went back to the Common room to wait for Lyna, who wasn't at all a morning person and usually needed a lot of time to wake up.

The bulk of the reason, however, was that Emerson was too excited about being back at Hogwarts to stay in bed. It wasn't only Quidditch that she liked about her school. She was a good student who genuinely loved learning and while she wasn't as zealous a reader as Ben was, she did have a healthy appreciation for the library. She'd been raised by Hermione Granger, after all.

"I wonder what class we have first today," she said to Lyna as she poured herself some orange juice in the Great Hall.

Lyna grunted, still not fully awake. "I bet you're hoping for Charms."

"Moi?!" Em gasped in mock consternation, clutching her chest. "Perish the thought!"

"Yeah, right. You're the best Charms student in our entire year, or have you forgotten?"

Emerson grinned. She hadn't. Charms was her favorite subject and tiny, old Professor Flitwick was her favorite teacher. And she wasn't kidding when she said Flitwick was old. He had taught her mum and dad and Lyna's dad before them. Which meant that Em was the third generation of Potter to have Flitwick as a teacher! He was a great one too; hadn't lost his touch at all.

"Morning, girls," came a voice behind them.

"Hi, Annamaria," they chorused upon turning around to see who it was.

Carolyna's older sister was carrying an armload of books. "Here are some more of your books that somehow ended up in my trunk," she said, rolling her eyes which were sky blue at the moment. Annamaria was a Metamorphmagus like her and Lyna's mother, Tonks, and tended to change her hair and eye color at least twice a day.

"Oh, thanks," Lyna said, taking the books. She frowned up at her sister. "Must you have blue and silver hair? Everybody already knows you're proud of being in Ravenclaw."

Annamaria ignored her. "Could you keep an eye out for Intermediate Transfiguration in your things? I cannot find it anywhere and since I had so many of your stuff, it probably ended up in your trunk."

"Ok," Lyna answered softly, turning back to her breakfast.

Em frowned slightly. She knew her friend was somewhat sore about not having inherited the Metamorphmagus trait too and to be honest, she rather thought Annamaria didn't have to flaunt it so much. Em thought Lyna was prettier than her sister, anyway. Perhaps Annamaria thought so too and that was why she felt the need to change so often.

"See you around," the older girl said as she headed back to her fellow fifth years at the Ravenclaw table.

Em glanced over at Lyna, who was still looking a little deflated. Her eyes scanned the breakfast table and she smiled. "Look, Lyna! Chipolatas!"

Her friend looked over and after a few seconds, smiled reluctantly.

"Ni-i-i-i-ice and slightly crispy! Just the way you like them!" She speared one with her fork and wiggled it in her friend's face. To her relief, Lyna laughed and tried to grab it away. They were still mock-wrestling over the chipolata when the post owls swooped in though the ceiling, carrying the morning's mail.

A large, unfamiliar tawny owl landed in front of Emerson and dropped a plain white envelope on top of her toast. The girls left off their playing and Em grabbed the envelope.

"It's probably from Mum," she said, tearing it open. "I wonder why they didn't send Wilbur, though. I've never seen this owl before." Wilbur was the son of Dad's old owl, Hedwig. Ben had named him after the pig in Charlotte's Web, which made no sense to Em. But she wasn't one to talk, no siree, having done her share of bizarre christenings.

"Guess she doesn't want an answer either, cause the owl's already taken off," Lyna commented, buttering her toast.

Emerson didn't respond. She had gotten the letter open and immediately knew it wasn't from her mum. It wasn't her dad's slanty scrawl either. In fact, Emerson was quite sure she had never seen this handwriting before. Something had fallen out of the letter but she ignored it for now, frowning as her eyes skipped to the bottom of the page. In lieu of a signature, there was a smiley face, which told her absolutely nothing.

"That's weird," she muttered.

Lyna looked up. "What?"

Emerson looked over at her. "This isn't from Mum or Dad or anybody whose handwriting I recognize. In fact, there's no signature at all."

Lyna frowned, brushing her still damp light brown locks out of her eyes. "What does it say?" She leaned over to read with Em and her expression quickly became as horrified as Emerson felt.

Kiddo,

I promise to write again soon. Until then, toodles.

Emerson sat frozen in numb disbelief, staring at the simple and familiar figure that she herself had doodled countless times, that now seemed to be mocking her. Was this somebody's sick idea of a joke? What kind of-

Jerrianne! I'll bet it was her! This is just the kind of thing-

Her head whipped around to stare down the table at Jerrianne Youngleer who was laughing haughtily at something one or the other of the Fakers had said. Em felt a hot rush of anger and fear intermingle in her belly but before she could think of what to do, the sound of paper being crushed made her turn around.

Carolyna's fist was closed tight around something and a second later, Em realized what it was: her 'reading assignment'. In spite of herself, Emerson wanted to know what it was. "Give it to me."

Lyna paled. "You don't have to read it, Em. It's just some sick weirdo trying to get their jollies!"

"Give it here, Lyna."

Her friend reluctantly handed it over, her eyes wide and pleading but Em ignored her. She unwrapped the paper, smoothed it out and immediately wished she hadn't.

It was obviously a news clipping but cut out in such a manner that there was no way to tell what paper or magazine it'd come from or even the date. It was obviously a Wizarding paper though, because the black and white picture of her father was moving as he repeatedly turned his face away from the camera. The headline read:

HARRY POTTER'S ILLEGITIMATE CHILD
The Inside Story

Whomever had sent it and the letter had crossed out 'Illegitimate' and written 'Bastard' instead. Beneath the correction was scribbled:

All the politically correctness these days is rather tiring, isn't it? What I added was what they really wanted to say, but couldn't.

It was more the sight of that diabolical smiley than the words of the headline, or even the correction, that made Emerson's eyes fill up as the blood rushed to her face. She crumpled the clipping again, grabbed her bag and sprang up from the table.

Lyna, her eyes glistening with tears of sympathy, got up too and hurried after her friend. As Emerson rushed past their table, she heard Jerrianne call, "Hey, Kiddo! Where's the fire?"

She stopped dead in her tracks and spun around, her heart pounding, the word echoing in her ears. Kiddo, Kiddo, Kiddo. "What did you say?"

Jerrianne smiled. "Aww, are your little ears going bad? I said, where's the fire? What's the big rush?"

Em ignored her. "What did you call me?"

The other girl looked puzzled. She glanced at her sidekicks, who shrugged. "What? Whe- oh! 'Kiddo'." Her perfect blue eyes widened and she put a hand to her mouth in mock horror. "Oh, you don't like that name? Why not? Is it too common for Pretty Princess Potter?"

Lyna scowled. "Shut up, Jerrianne! Come on, Em."

They turned around and Em let Lyna lead her out of the Great Hall, Jerrianne and the Fakers' laughter ringing in her ears now as well. The girls turned into the first bathroom they could enter and Emerson ran into a stall and shut the door. She heard Lyna close the door of the stall to her right but her friend remained silent, for which she was grateful.

She needed to think. What on earth was that and who had sent it? Was it one of her Dad's old enemies, Death Somethings? Did she know the person? Had Julia?

Being the fool she always was, I'm not surprised...

The unbidden excerpt floated through her mind and she frowned deeply. It sounded like this person had known Julia and hadn't been all that impressed with her. And Jerrianne, calling her exactly what this weirdo had. Was she in on it somehow, or was Em just being paranoid? It wasn't as if the moniker 'Kiddo' was that unusual.

Anyone could have sent it. Her father was the most famous wizard of the age, afterall, and the story of her birth circumstances was just as well-known. And without even a name... would there be any way to find out who had sent it?

Emerson squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed them with the heels of her palms. Outside, she could hear the sounds of her schoolmates beginning to leave the Hall for the first lessons of the new term. They all sounded so happy and unburdened. Shouldn't she be out there too, just as carefree?

And with that thought, Emerson was suddenly furious. Why the hell was she cowering in a bathroom stall just because some maggot with too much time on their hands was trying to 'get their jollies' as Lyna had said? Was it so shameful to be Harry Potter's daughter? Her father was a great man and he loved her. So what if he and Julia hadn't been married when they'd-

More to stop herself from finishing that thought than anything else, she jumped up and unlocked the door. She walked to a sink and splashed cold water on her face, wishing it could penetrate her brain and wash away the thoughts swirling and bumping about inside her head.

"Are you ok?" Lyna asked from behind her.

Emerson took a deep breath. "I will be. It was just a shock, that's all. Why should I let some sick motherfu- sorry - prat mess with my head? I'm stronger than that, right?" She turned around.

Lyna looked relieved. "Of course you are! Want a hug, though?"

Em smiled. "That'd be great, thanks."

When they pulled apart, Em wiped her face and picked up her bag, just as the morning bell rang.

"So are you going to tell your dad?" her friend asked as they hurried to their first class of the day.

Emerson frowned. Was she? Whomever had sent it had said she shouldn't, but why should she listen to them? But did her Dad need to know? This was likely just a prank, wasn't it? Coming to a decision, she shook her head. "Nah. He has enough to worry about, I'm sure. I bet this was just a one time thing."

The two girls looked at each other and Emerson saw reflected in her friend's eyes the exact same question she was silently asking: What if it wasn't?