Above It All by weird4hanson

Rating: NC17
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 19/05/2004
Last Updated: 23/01/2005
Status: Completed

SEQUEL TO "SAFE IN HARBOR". "Harry Potter" and "normal life"
doesn't usually reside in the same sentence but somehow, lately, that had been true. But deep
inside, Harry awaited the day when a vindictive fate would lash out against him once again. They
say "Love conquers all". But what do you do when even love is not enough?




1. Prologue
-----------

A/N: Well, howdy folks! Long time. Guess what? This is the sequel to "Safe in Harbor"!
This probably won't make any sense if you haven't read that one, so check it out if you
haven't. Now this sequel has been very weird to write. Long before I even wrote the prologue,
chunks of later chapters were floating around in my head and demanding to be jotted down. Now I
have the whole thing plotted out, but you should see my organization notebook!

Now just a refresher: at the end of "SIH", Harry and Hermione had been married two years,
Emerson was 3 years old and Ben was a newborn. This story begins nine years after SIH's
epilogue - making Emerson twelve years old and Ben going on nine.

As I said above, I have the whole thing plotted out and about seven full chapters written and
typed. A bit of the later chapters have already been written (in incomplete chunks, lol). I'll
try to update as often as possible, but it won't be more than once a week, I don't think.
Work is craaaaazy these days and real life just being very demanding, but I'll really try not
to leave y'all in the lurch for unreasonable amounts of time. I do ask your patience,
though.

As always, reviews are soo very welcome and much appreciated. Here's hoping y'all will like
this one - fair warning, I won't be going easy on the angst. :)

Rock on!


Prologue


She had been doing fine.

Really, she had. Granted, things might not have been exactly the way she had fantasized that they
would be when she was this age.

She was nearing forty and was single. Twice divorced. No children. No prospect of any either, at
least not naturally. Ever. Not unless medical science, Wizarding or Muggle, effected some
astronomically divine fertility breakthrough, which was incredibly doubtful.

Her job, initially such a source of fulfillment in more ways than one, seemed to have stalled.
There were higher levels to be attained than where she currently was, but the concept of 'The
Glass Ceiling' was still alive and thriving. That's what she got for staking out a career
in the Muggle world, anyway. She was indispensable to her boss so long as she didn't get any
illusions of grandeur and start thinking that *she* could be the boss. Oh, and everything was
dandy so long as she dutifully held her legs open when he wanted her to.

And it was too late for a change now, too late to try to forge a new path for herself.

But she'd learned to accept that. She'd convinced herself that she was content. Who needs a
husband anyway? He would just hold her back and she cherished her freedom. The freedom to bed
whomever she wanted. The freedom to jump up and travel without really answering to anyone, since
the travel was a part of her job. She loved being able to jet-set all over the world, whether with
her job or by herself.

Ditto for children. They would likely drive her insane after a while. The women in her family
didn't exactly have the best legacy for motherhood and she'd probably end up doing
something drastic to the little brats. And what they would do to her figure! Lord, no. Her figure,
her beauty was her passport to almost anything she wanted and she guarded it jealously. A child
would surely take a toll on such priceless assets.

As for her job, the money was good and, well, let the boss think what he wanted. He thought he had
the upper hand? Pfft! She could make him do anything. All she had to do was give him a certain
look, bare a little thigh or cleavage, toss her head a certain way and he couldn't shoo the old
farts on the almighty Board out the door fast enough. His mental capabilities would drastically
diminish as his 'little head' took over, and with him reduced to a gibbering idiot, she
could get anything from him. The keys to his private plane for the weekend. A blank check.

She would then skillfully convert the thrills of power this gave her into waves of ecstasy for
herself that her boss, with his oversized ego, would smugly take credit for.

"I'm mighty good at everything I do, aren't I? And I mean *everything*."
Nudge. Nudge. Wink. Wink.

Right you are, Sir Mr. Boss-Man Asshole.

Let him think what he wanted. He was just one more drone in her stable of slaves. Really, men were
so predictable.

So yes, she was content. She was fine.

Until that day in August. Until that day when she bumped into someone so unlikely, so unexpected
that she was forced to see through the façade she had erected around her mind. She was forced to
see that everything she was or thought she was was a lie. And if not a lie, then dramatically
inferior to the perfection staring her in the face.

Oh, how she loathed this! She had been free. She had gotten the last laugh. Wasn't she still
healthy, still beautiful and desirable when that bitch had been lying helplessly in bed, pale,
emaciated and near bald? Hadn't the satisfaction been sweeter than the honeycomb at the thought
that never again would her men tear their eyes from her to goggle at that hussy? Hadn't she
laughed as she'd done her last 'friendly duty' for the one who had stolen so much from
her?

Hadn't she gotten the last laugh?!

Until that blasted day in August when her eyes had beheld what she was sure was the reincarnation
of Julia Thomas, only younger, healthier, lovelier. She had stared open-mouthed at the avenging
devil returned to torment her happy existence and the eventual knowledge that it wasn't Julia
hadn't given her even the slightest bit of comfort. As far as she was concerned, this was
Julia, except with astonishingly green eyes. This was Julia gazing upon her with that same mixture
of pity and disdain. This was Julia, taunting her from beyond the grave: *I win. Again.*

And her eyes had been pried open to the reality of her life. To the reality that she was a barren
forty year old woman, sleeping with her boss and a handful of other married men. Desperately trying
to hold onto her beauty and relative youth because really, they were all she had left. Julia was
dead but she had still won because she had this graceful imitation of herself walking the earth
still.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Why should one person receive all the blessings? Why
should fate be so unjustly skewed in the favor of any one person?

Well, what do you do when you know something is wrong? You try to make it right, of course.

And that was what she was going to do. She would make this right. Let perfect Julia Thomas frolic
happily in the stuck-up Paradise to which she had undoubtedly been carted on the snow-white wings
of the archangel. Let her continue on in the delusion that she was loftier, holier, more sublime
and desirable, even in death.

Because things were going to change. Why should the misery be dumped on one side, on one pair of
shoulders? Sharing was a virtue, wasn't it, and when she was done sharing with the spawn of
Julia Thomas - when she was done sharing with the daughter of Harry Potter - she will have
accumulated so much virtue points that the friggin' Pope wouldn't have any choice but to
canonize her.

But enough ranting. Must get to work. Lots to do.

Oh yes, lots to do.





2. Just For One Day
-------------------

**Chapter One - Just For One Day**


There is something about time that can make one pause and ponder; a certain blandness that makes it
not unlike water. Whatever you put in water lends it character, just as what you do with your time
lends it quality - or not. And just as with water, unless you pay attention to time it can run
swiftly away with you, so one moment you're one place and next time you blink you're
somewhere else altogether.

It was these strange musings about the attributes of time that occupied Harry Potter's thoughts
on that Sunday morning in late August. Harry wasn't sure what had awoken him. The house was
silent - a rarity these days - and the sun was just beginning to peek out of its nest in the
Hertfordshire countryside.

Yet he was wide awake and for a minute, he lay still and savored the stillness because Lord knew
when such a moment would arrive again.

Finally, he rolled over to face the woman who slept beside him. She was sleeping on her stomach but
with her face turned to him and Harry smiled as he stared at her. She was so beautiful. Her
thirty-eighth birthday was coming up next month but one wouldn't know it from the way Hermione
Granger Potter looked. Of course people in the Wizarding world aged far slower after age thirty
than their Muggle counterparts but Harry still thought it extraordinary how little Hermione looked
her age.

She had grown her hair out to midway down her back, longer than it had ever been and it suited her.
The weight of her hair lent itself a measure of manageability so it was no longer the bushy mass of
yore. It also didn't hurt that she'd discovered certain Muggle products that worked
wonders. At present , her hair was spread out all over her pillow, a few locks obscuring
Harry's view of her face.

He reached out and gently brushed them aside and his wife stirred. Her lovely brown eyes fluttered
open and she smiled sleepily when she saw him.

"Hi. Been staring at me long?"

He grinned. "You know me too well."

She snuggled up to him and Harry held her close, inhaling her scent as their legs tangled under the
warm covers. For a long moment, they were silent and Harry thought she had drifted off again when
she spoke.

"They'll be here soon, you think?"

Harry smiled. "I'm sure of it."

She chuckled. "Sunday morning in the Potter household. The week gets started off with
a-"

BANG!

Harry and Hermione both jumped and the next second they heard a voice hiss outside their
door:
"Try to do that a little louder next time, Ben. I don't think the people heard you over in
Canada!"

There was a brief pause. "Should we knock?" their son asked.

"Certainly. Because there's no way Mum and Dad heard that racket," Emerson replied
and Harry could just see her rolling her eyes.

"Know who they remind me of?" Harry whispered, grinning.

"Who?"

"You and Ron. When we were at Hogwarts."

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him and Harry lunged forward to kiss her just as the knock
sounded. He made sure to kiss Hermione soundly, then they broke apart and put some respectable
distance between each other before calling "Come in."

The door swung open and something small and chocolate-haired zoomed across the room and landed on
Harry's chest with a joyous cry.

"Daddy!"

Harry pretended to faint back onto his pillow. "Be gentle with your old dad, Budget.
You're much too strong for me," he groaned, clutching his chest.

The little boy laughed before crawling across the bed and launching himself at his mother.

"Good morning, Luke," she said, kissing the curly head. "Did you sleep
well?"

He nodded. "I dreamed it was my birthday."

"You're always dreaming about your birthday," commented Ben as he climbed onto the
bed, clutching a book as usual.

Luke frowned. "You're just jealous cause yours isn't till 'Cember."

"It's called *December*, moron," Ben retorted, pushing his unruly hair out of
his eyes.

"Ben," Hermione chided gently.

"Sorry, Budget," Ben replied. "Morning Mum, Dad." Seconds later he was
stretched out near the foot of the bed, already engrossed in his book.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a smile. At age eight, Ben already considered himself much too old for
the overt displays of affection that Luke, thankfully, still demonstrated.

"Morning, Ben. Ah, but where are my lovely ladies?" Harry asked, peering around the bed
in an exaggerated fashion, even picking up a delighted Luke to frown at the spot where he'd
been sitting.

"Right here, Padré," came a voice from beside Hermione and Harry gave an overly dramatic
start.

"Oh, there you are!" he said, beaming.

Emerson rolled her eyes but smiled. "Hi Dad. Morning, Mum." She transferred a small
sleeping child to Hermione's arms and climbed onto the bed too. "She's really sleepy
today. Didn't even open her eyes when I picked her up."

Hermione nodded as she tucked her youngest child in between her and Harry. "Yeah. She had an
ear infection but it should be better by now. The healing potion makes her tired
though."

Harry smoothed the wild, auburn-tinged curls off little Davina's forehead, smiling as he did
so. His little princess, their "Unexpected Bonus" as Hermione liked to say. Not quite two
years old but Davina definitely lent something wonderful to the family and even though she'd
been a surprise, Harry couldn't imagine Ballynore now without her.

"So your first Sunday back in the craziness," Hermione was saying to Em, smiling.
"How does it feel?"

"Awesome," Emerson replied. "I really did miss you guys so much!"

"Did you miss me?" piped up Luke.

"No, I didn't," Em said with a completely straight face. "Of course I missed
you, goofball!" She ruffled the curly head of her little brother and as he watched his
children interact, Harry found himself thinking about time again.

It seemed like only yesterday he was discovering the baby left at his doorstep, opening that letter
to find out that she was his daughter. Where had the time gone? Because far from the little
tousle-haired moppet with the big, green eyes that he'd been terrified to even hold that first
time, his daughter was now a strong, independent young girl of twelve.

Emerson was going to be a beautiful woman, by anybody's standards. She had inherited her birth
mother's striking features - high cheekbones, full, red lips, long black lashes - but it was
Harry's emerald eyes that leapt out of her face. She had a lovely olive complexion that was, at
the moment, somewhat darker after her month in the Texas sun.

"-it was so hot," Em was saying. "And not the kind of dry heat that we get here
sometimes. Just really humid, ya know? And then, Mum, you should've seen Wizarding Dallas!
It's unbelievable! You know that's cattle country and Herb and Enigi live on this huge
ranch. But they're-"

"What are 'cattle'?" interrupted Luke, his small brow furrowed exactly the way
Hermione's did when she was concentrating on something.

"That's just another name for cows," Ben supplied without even looking up.

"Yeah, and you should've seen *these* cows, Ben!" Em exclaimed, turning around
to address him. "They have horns longer than your legs and this really fierce look. I kept
expecting them to decide to turn around and gore me any second."

Ben snickered, looking up from his book at last to listen as his sister recounted more about her
Texas holiday.

Harry felt Hermione's eyes on him and turned to look at her.

"I love you," she whispered, reaching for his hand.

"Love you too," he said, leaning over to kiss her quickly. He reached out a hand to brush
her hair from her face and she beamed him her secret smile that made Harry wish they didn't
have four kids in their bed. Judging from the gleam in the wench's eye, she knew exactly what
he was thinking too and was loving it!

"I'm gonna get you for that," he whispered.

Hermione raised her eyebrows innocently. "For what?"

"For what?" he echoed, just as innocently but Hermione apparently got the message because
she blushed. Harry nodded slowly, savoring the fact that after all these years, he could still make
this amazing woman blush.

"Daddy," said a small voice between them.

They both looked down to see the big, hazel eyes of little Davina blinking sleepily up at
them.

"Hey, somebody's awake!" Hermione said brightly, helping her daughter climb out of
the covers. Harry and Hermione took turns kissing her all over her little face until she
giggled.

Davina was clutching her stuffed rabbit, Ol' Bob. That was the name Emerson had christened it
with when Ron had presented it to her on her second birthday. Harry remembered the looks of
amusement and bewilderment directed at the toddler when she'd made that announcement.

"Do you mean 'rabbit'?" Harry had asked, stooping before his daughter.

Emerson hugged the stuffed animal. "Ol' Bob," she said again.

Hermione seemed to be trying not to laugh. "I think she's trying to say 'bunny',
Harry."

"Ol' Bob," Emerson insisted, frowning up at them all as if they were the peculiar
ones.

"Ok," Harry replied, seating her and the rabbit on his lap. "Ol'
Bob."

Emerson beamed and that had been that.

She'd been really attached to that animal too, couldn't even fall asleep without it. But
after Ben had been brought home from the hospital, Harry and Hermione had been surprised and
touched when Em had solemnly declared that she wanted to give the rabbit to Ben. Apparently so
Ol' Bob could give him "pleasant bunny dreams".

Strangely enough, she'd slept just fine without it from that moment on. And furthering the
Potter family's attachment to the floppy-eared trinket, both Ben and Luke had passed on Ol'
Bob to their younger sibling, without any kind of prodding from Harry or Hermione. Now Davina was
its owner but really the bunny belonged to all of them, old and battered now but very much
beloved.

"Look who's here, Vina," Harry said, pointing.

The toddler looked and her eyes widened. "Emma!" she squealed mightily when she saw
Emerson. She couldn't quite manage Em's name yet so 'Emma' was the closest she
could get. The little girl launched herself into her sister's open arms and the two of them
toppled over laughing onto the huge bed. Harry couldn't help grinning as he watched them; he
knew how much Vina had missed Em.

Everyday she'd asked "Where Emma? Emma home?" and they'd had to keep telling her
no, Emma not home. And yesterday when Emerson had finally come home, poor Davina had been fast
asleep, knocked out by the healing potion for her ear infection. This was the first time she was
really seeing her sister and her innocent joy made Harry want to weep.

"Group hug!" Luke yelled, pouncing on his sisters and Ben dropped his book to join in the
melee, to hug and be hugged too.

Harry gathered Hermione into his arms and watched the jumble of pajamaed arms and legs, giggles and
assorted noises that was his children. His whole world, his entire reason for living was right
here.

There were other things in his life, for sure, but it was these five people who made it all
worthwhile. They were the ones who lent character, who gave quality to his time. Both the time that
had already sped away and the time - and he hoped it was vast and chiefly joyous - that was yet to
come.

****

*Time, you old gypsy man!
Will you not stay
Put up your caravan
Just for one day?* - "Time, You Old Gypsy Man" Ralph Hodgson




3. No Place Like Home
---------------------

**A/N:** Hey y'all! Thanks soo much for the reviews! I truly appreciate it. I realize the
story doesn't make any sense so far, which is completely understandable, right? It's only
the beginning! Frankly, I would be disappointed if y'all understood everything just by reading
the first chapter. And the Potters seem so wonderful, don't they? Too bad it's gonna..
hmm.. can't say anything more. And you'll find out who the "she" in the prologue
is, of course. All in due time.. heh heh.

Don't forget to review. Please. It really helps, don't ever doubt that. Enjoy and rock
on!

**
Chapter Two - No Place Like Home**


Later on in the evening of her first full day back at home, Emerson Potter sat outside on the wide
swing of Ballynore's back porch, looking out on the rolling green hills of their backyard. All
her favorite plants were still in bloom, even though it was almost autumn and Em - secretly, of
course - believed that it was because they knew she was back and were letting her know how happy
that made them.

From where she sat, the small mixed orchard wasn't visible but she could smell the wild
rosebush that she and Dad had discovered when she wasn't quite a year old. She hadn't told
anyone but that rosebush was her favorite of them all, simply because she and Dad had found it
first.

She breathe in deeply and closed her eyes, turning her face to the slight wind and rush of
happiness filled her heart. She was so happy to be home! Certainly, she had enjoyed her time in
Dallas, especially since Lyna had gone with her, and it had been great being with Enigi and Herb.
But they felt somewhat separate from her, from who she was, even though she'd known them her
whole life and what they were to her. She knew they were blood relatives, her birth mother's
parents, but perhaps because she only saw them twice a year, if that...

She reached up to release her long, ebony hair from its ponytail and it tumbled and danced about
her shoulders in the wind. Her thoughts turned back to the people in the house at her back and she
couldn't help the smile that bloomed on her face. Being here with Mum and Dad and her brothers
and sister; was there anywhere else she would rather be than with them?

'Well, be honest,' she thought. 'There are a few places - key word here is
'few'.'

But being with her dad - it'd been a shock to her when she'd realized how famous her dad
was, that he was the 'Legendary Harry Potter'. The first time she'd gotten an inkling
of his fame was when she was three years old. They'd been out at a restaurant in Muggle London.
Mum was huge with Ben and that had actually turned out to be the last time it was just the three of
them out to eat.

*After dinner, Harry stood up and helped Hermione from her chair. Mum needed a lot of help
getting up from a sitting position these days. Em had heard her say to Daddy that it felt like an
elephant was camping out on top of her pelvis. She'd asked what a pelvis was but Mummy and
Daddy had only said it was a type of bone, while they made the funny faces that she knew meant they
were trying not to laugh.

Which was fine to Em. She knew that the reason why parents had kids was so their kids could make
them laugh. She was a good kid then, because she made Mummy and Daddy laugh a lot.

Harry had just taken Emerson's hand when a female voice behind them squealed, "Oh my God!
Harry Potter!"

They turned.

It was a young woman clutching a small device (what Em later learned was a mobile phone) to her
face while she gazed in rapt awe at the tall, bespectacled man. She hurried up to them and stuck
out her hand and Harry graciously shook it. "I can't believe it's you! I'm Mitzi
and my parents told me all about you. About how-" her words tumbled out in a rush.

Em noticed the woman's eyes raking Daddy's forehead. A lot of people did that, she'd
noticed. It was because Daddy had a funny scar on his forehead.

"I was just meeting a friend for dinner - they have the best lasagna here, don't they! I
can't believe-" her eyes left a bemused Harry's face to land on Hermione and her mouth
fell open. "And you're Hermione Granger! Potter, I mean, sorry. I heard you are
brilliant!"

Em was clutching her mum's hand, gaping at this stranger who seemed to be going into a fit of
excitement. How did she-

But just then the woman's eyes landed on her. "And you're Emerson!"

"Hi," Em said automatically. Mummy and Daddy said she was always to be nice to people
first.

"Oh, you are so* cute*!" the girl gushed. She turned back to Harry. "Could you
say hi to my friend Katy real quick?"

Harry hesitated then took the device she held out. "Hi to Katy real quick," he said into
it and Em jumped as the girl squealed and grabbed it back.

"Did you hear that?! That was Harry Potter! Harry* bloomin' *Potter! I know, I know,
I couldn't believe-"

Seeing that the stranger was safely occupied, they managed to sneak away. They walked in silence
for a minute, Em between her parents with them holding her hands, when suddenly they both burst out
laughing. She stopped and watched her parents hold onto each other as they laughed about something
she hadn't quite grasped. Which wasn't anything new; they were always doing that.

" 'Hi to Katy real quick'?" Hermione giggled, wiping her eyes. "Honestly,
Harry!"

Her dad shrugged, grinning. "What was I supposed to say? I was expecting her to go into
hysterics any second."

Finally, Em couldn't stand it any longer. "How did she know our names, Daddy?" she
blurted.

Her parents froze. She saw them exchange a glance and a nod before her dad stooped before her.
"It's a long story, Moppet," he said, using his special nickname for her.
"We'll tell you when we get home, ok?"

Em nodded.*

And that night they'd told her an abbreviated version of the story that was in all her Hogwarts
History books. A story that seemed too fantastic to be true, much less to be about her own parents!
And Uncle Ron. And a mysterious Professor Dumbledore, after whom Ben had been named.

Not to mention an evil wizard named Voldemort, whose name some people still whispered with furtive
looks as if they expected him to be summoned up like a genie if they said it too loud.

Harry Potter might be the savior of the Wizarding world to everyone else but to Emerson, he was
just her dad. He was just the man who'd raised her with Mum's help, beginning back when Mum
was still Hermione Granger. He was the man who'd taught her how to fly, who'd wiped her
tears when she fell. She worshiped the ground he walked on; though she hadn't told him that, of
course.

Emerson's thoughts drifted to the woman she called "Mum". As far as she was
concerned, Hermione Potter was her mother. She certainly couldn't remember the woman who had
given her life, though she knew most everything there was to know about her. Herb and Enigi and,
increasingly, Julia's old best friend Merry Reynolds made sure to share every scrap of memory
they possessed about the woman they all said she physically resembled so closely, it was
scary.

And she was happy to possess that knowledge. It gave her insight into who she was, who she was
developing into as her own person.

But Hermione Granger Potter was her Mum. They had a great relationship. Emerson knew she could tell
her mum anything and Mum would be right there, treating her as an intellectual and not being
condescending or talking down to her. Her mum was brilliant and the love between her and Dad was so
apparent that even though Em groaned and "Eww"ed when she saw them kiss, somewhere in her
heart she prayed for a love like theirs when she was older. She loved hearing about how they'd
discovered their feelings for each other; she and Mum always got really giggly and she delighted in
the fact that she'd had a bit of a hand in bringing them together.

And her siblings - they got on her nerves sometimes, for sure, but she wouldn't trade them for
anything in the world.

Ben was the one she could have long, smart/silly conversations with. Even though he was not quite
nine years old, he'd read so many books that he knew a little about a lot of things, Wizarding
and Muggle alike. Sometimes last term, she would be at Hogwarts doing homework and the thought
would suddenly pop up "I wonder what Ben would think of this?", "I wonder what Ben
would say about that?"

And don't let his bookish appearance fool you because Ben, when he put his books down long
enough, was dazzling on a broomstick! Already, Dad was predicting he could get Seeker at Hogwarts
if he wanted and Em quite agreed. Ben would start Hogwarts when she'd be in fourth year and
frankly, it'd be cool to play on the same team with her brother. But that was something she
wouldn't tell him, of course.

Now, Luke-

Emerson grinned as she thought of Budget, her Tasmanian Devil of a little brother. If you had some
energy that needed to be used up in boisterous play, Budget was your man. Grandpa Granger had
nicknamed him "The Fuss Budget" when he'd been a small and, well, fussy baby and the
name had stuck. Over time, it'd been shortened to just "Budget" and Luke only
answered to it when it was uttered by family or people he knew and liked. He was the one everybody
said was most like her and not just because they'd both inherited Harry's eyes.

And the kid was hilarious! He asked the weirdest questions but showed remarkable logic for his age.
Tomorrow would be his fifth birthday, though, so lately that was all he talked about.

Then there was Davina. She was so cute. Emerson never knew how much she'd wanted a little
sister until Mum had taken her aside and asked her how she would feel about having one. For some
reason, Mum had thought she would be upset. Em *had* liked being the only girl but once the
idea entered her mind, it had become more and more appealing as the months of Mum's pregnancy
had gone by.

And now Davina was her little shadow, the two Potter girls, and she was the one Em missed the most
when away at Hogwarts. Perhaps because she'd been present during the entire babyhoods of Ben
and Luke but she felt really sad about being away from Vina. Mum and Dad sent her urgent owls when
a 'baby milestone', as they called it, occurred. But a part of her resented that she
couldn't witness the first few times for herself. By the time she got to see it, Vina had
usually been doing whatever it was for a while and that "wobbly baby aww" factor was
gone.

Soon she would be returning to Hogwarts for her second year. There was still a week to be had at
home with those she loved most in all the world, though, and she intended to treasure it.

The sliding door behind her slid open and Em turned around. It was Luke and, as usual, he ran
rather than walked over and clambered onto the swing beside her.

"Hi!" he said enthusiastically.

Emerson mimicked him. "Hi!"

He laughed and snuggled up to her and Em hugged him. Luke's sheer presence, it seemed, caused
the swing to move slowly back and forth and for a few seconds they swung quietly. Then he jerked
back suddenly and peered into her face.

Expecting one of his bizarre inquiries, she was surprised when he said, "I'm really glad
you're home, Em. I missed you."

Touched, she hugged him again. "I missed you too, Budget. And I'm glad to be
home."

"Cause tomorrow is my birthday and I want you to help me open my presents," Luke
continued matter-of-factly.

"Really?"

He nodded. "Uh-uh."

Emerson pretended to frown in thought. "Ok. But I'll have to keep half of your
presents."

Luke's green eyes widened in horror but just as Em was about to inform him that she was just
joking, he grinned. "That's ok. I'll give you some of them."

She giggled. "I was kidding, Budget. Your presents are all yours. But it's really nice of
you to want to share."

"Mummy and Daddy say we should share," Luke stated wisely, looking up at his sister, who
nodded.

"Yeah, we should."

"Do you know how old I'll be?" he asked suddenly, abruptly changing the
subject.

Em grinned. Time to have some more fun with him. "Of course! You'll be twenty."

Luke burst out laughing. "No, you silly rabbit! I'll be five," he chortled, holding
up the correct number of fingers.

"Oh, you're right. You're right."

"How old are you, Emerson?" he asked, the mirth still dancing in his eyes.

"I'm twelve," she replied. "How many fingers is that?"

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten-" Luke counted, then his face
fell and he looked up. "Emerson, I don't have enough fingers," he whispered as if
ashamed of the fact.

Em fought to keep a straight face. "Everybody only has ten fingers, Budget. See?" She
held up her hands. "The secret is you can count them over and over again. Like
this-"

And as she showed her brother how to get past the "shortfall" of only having ten fingers;
as she watched his eyes light up when he figured it out; as she showed him how to calculate how
many years he would need to wait before he could go to Hogwarts too (six); and as she laughed when
he bemoaned the length of the wait, Emerson Potter was at peace.

She was back where she belonged, with her family, and at this moment in time, there was nowhere
else she would rather be.


*******

"So, Moppet, how was your month in Dallas, really?" Harry asked Emerson that evening
after dinner. They had just finished washing up and everybody except Hermione and Davina were
scattered out on the back porch, enjoying the last late rays of the setting sun. Hermione was
upstairs putting Vina, who still wasn't feeling all that great, to bed.

Em turned to look at her father. "It was good. Really. I'd never been there that long
before, you know, but after a while I didn't notice. Other than missing you lot, it was all
good. Especially since Lyna was there too."

Harry smiled. Emerson and Remus and Tonks' youngest daughter, Carolyna, had been inseparable
since they were five years old. This had been Carolyna's first trip outside Britain and he knew
the girls would enjoy themselves, if only because they were together.

"How're Herb and Enigi?"

"They're ok," she replied. "Getting older, but they're still pretty strong.
Herb is so funny and Enigi..." her voice trailed off. "She seems kinda sad. Sometimes
I'd catch her staring at me and I'd always want to hug her."

Harry gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. She was so empathic, one of the things he loved most about
her. She genuinely cared about people. Like Hermione. In fact, Em was so much like Hermione that
sometimes he completely forgot the circumstances surrounding her birth.

Another effect of time, he guessed.

"Anyway," Em was saying. "I'm excited about going back to Hogwarts!"

He grinned. "Can't wait to leave us again, heh?"

Em scoffed. "No, Dad. But I'm trying out for Chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch team this
year, remember?"

"That's right. How do you feel about your chances?"

"I'm pretty confident," she answered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
"I've been looking forward to this my whole life!"

"I know," Harry said, smiling at his daughter. "I've been there for pretty much
the whole ride."

"Yes, you have," she said softly. "I love you, Dad."

"Love you too," he answered, hugging her to him, his heart pounding with happiness and
pride. His daughter loved him and he knew his sons, loudly chasing each other on the grass below,
loved him too. He knew the little girl upstairs clutching an oddly-named rabbit loved him and he
certainly knew the woman tucking her in adored him.

And he loved them too, so much that his heart ached - but in the best way in which a heart can
ache.

"I wonder who'll be Captain this year, though," Emerson's musing brought him back
to the present.

"Maybe Marc or Marissa?" Harry supplied. Fred and Angelina's twin terrors and
Quidditch powerhouses.

Em shook her head. "I doubt it. It'll be either of them or both next year, definitely. But
they're only sixth years this year."

"Well, I got Captain my sixth year," Harry pointed out.

Em rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and you got Seeker your *first* year! Dad, you're the
exception, not the rule."

Harry chuckled. "I suppose so. Well, I'm sure whomever it is won't be anything but
dazzled by you."

Emerson beamed. "Flatterer."

"No, it's the truth. How could you be anything less?" He stood up. "Let's go
inside, though. It's getting rather chilly."

"Yeah, and I need to finish my Transfiguration homework," said Em.

Harry frowned. "I thought you said you'd finished that."

She nodded. "I have. I'm just tweaking it a bit."

'Just like Hermione,' he thought, smiling to himself as he called to his sons to come
inside. The boys rushed by him laughing, heads wild and cheeks flushed with the innocence of
idyllic youth. It did Harry's heart good to see his children so unburdened. Why, when he was
their ages, he'd had to put up with the indifference of the Dursleys and the bullying of Dudley
and his gang. Not to mention the knowledge that he was this famous name and face for something he
couldn't even remember contributing to.

He watched Ben and Luke flop down onto the lush beige carpeting of Ballynore's expansive living
room and felt a rush of joy. When he'd first bought this place, it had seemed so huge and empty
with just himself and baby Emerson in it. He'd hoped, sure, that one day Hermione would live
there too and help him fill it up but his hopes had seemed to be merely wishful thinking and
extremely unlikely to come to pass.

And now.. the walls were covered with winking, smiling, sleeping, rough-housing pictures of his
children. They had filled and converged on every square inch of the place, imprinting their own
unique insignia wherever they went and frankly, Harry wouldn't have it any other way. They
reminded him why he got up in the morning and why he went to bed every night having been reassured
that fate could actually be nice sometimes.

The layout of the house made for efficiency as well as aesthetic grace. All the bedrooms were
upstairs, five of them in all, as well as Hermione's office. There was the Master bedroom, a
guest bedroom and the boys shared a room - they'd both wanted to. Emerson had her own sanctuary
and little Davina still owned the nursery. Four bathrooms, numerous closets and other storage space
completed the upper storey.

A gleaming marble and mahogany staircase gently curved to the downstairs. This contained the living
room, a spacious dining room, an almost professional-grade kitchen with a breakfast nook, a
Family/Playroom and Harry's office. There were also two half-bathrooms downstairs. Both Harry
and Hermione's offices looked out onto the backyard and porch so they could keep an eye on
things and get some work done at the same time. Everything was, of course, sensibly decorated and
furnished, lots of colors that were at once elegant and cozy.

Both his and Hermione's offices sported the requisite colored drawings of their children,
masterpieces each and every one. There were little mementos of the children's presence
everywhere - a single shoe, a stray gobstone, the latest edition of '*Martin Miggs*.'
His house was a home, filled with love and laughter.

And it was primarily because of the woman coming down the stairs now, twisting her long hair into a
bun at the nape of her neck.

"She's finally down," Hermione said, bypassing the wiggling bundle on the floor that
was Luke. Ben was already flipping the pages of his book, trying to find his spot and Emerson had
spread out her Transfiguration parchments and was scrutinizing them with her quill tip in her
mouth.

Harry grabbed Hermione's hand and led her into the kitchen. As soon as they were out of sight
of the kids, his lips descended on hers and he was kissing her as if it had been years since
he'd done so. She melted against him and kissed him back with equal fervor and skill.

When they broke apart, Hermione's cheeks were flushed. "Wow," she murmured
breathlessly. "What's the occasion?"

"I just love you so much," he whispered, blushing a little as he said it.

She smiled and touched his cheek. "I love you too."

They hugged each other and Harry would have been content to stay that way indefinitely. A soft
humming reached his ears after a while, however, and he smiled.

"D'you hear that?" Hermione asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. She's really home, isn't she?"

Hermione pulled away and led him back to the living room. They gazed out at their children sprawled
on the carpet, all of them listening to Emerson. Em had always loved music and boy, could she sing.
Most of the time she didn't even seem to be aware that she was humming, and although the
instances were fewer now than when she was younger, she would burst into song every now and
then.

Tonight seemed to be one of those times as the humming faded and was replaced by Emerson's
sweet soprano:

*Down the way where the nights are gay
And the sun shines daily on the mountain top
I took a trip on a sailing ship
And when I reached Jamaica I made a stop

But I'm sad to say, I'm on my way
Won't be back for many a day
My heart is down, my head is turning around
I had to leave a little girl in Kingston town*

She went back to humming and nodding her head in time to a beat only she could hear and Harry
grinned at Hermione. This was classic Emerson.

"What's Jamaica?" asked Luke suddenly.

Emerson looked up and seemed vaguely surprised by the question. "Um, it's a country.
It's an island."

Luke frowned. "What's an island?"

"It's land that is completely surrounded by water," supplied Ben from the
floor.

Luke's eyes widened. "So everybody has to swim underwater like goldfish and
plimpies?"

Harry and Ben snorted. Hermione shot Harry a look, but he could see that she was fighting a smile
too. "No, Luke. They don't have to. The land is surrounded by water, not covered. That
means the water is all around them."

"Oh," he said, his brow furrowed. Then his eyes widened again. "So they have to take
a boat to go to school?"

"Well, no," Emerson said, grinning. "The schools and stores and everything are on
the land with them. They don't have to go into a boat unless they're trying to go to
another country."

Harry got down on the floor beside his inquisitive son with the rich, chocolate curls and
Hermione's mouth and sat him on his lap. "Tell you what, Budget. If your Mum says it's
ok, we'll all go to Jamaica on our next vacation. Then you can see for yourself."

"Dad, you're joking!" cried Emerson, her eyes shining. "Mum, can we go? Please,
please!"

"Well..." Hermione said, frowning. Of course Harry knew she was just yanking their
chains. The Potters typically took one family vacation a year so they'd already discussed it.
Hermione had reacted pretty much the same way Emerson had when he'd mentioned Jamaica.

"Mum, please!" Ben joined in, his book forgotten for the moment.

Hermione sighed theatrically. "Well, I suppose it couldn't hur-"

The rest of what she said was drowned out by the cheers of Emerson and Ben. After a few seconds,
Luke joined in too, though Harry was sure he didn't really understand why his brother and
sister were so excited. Luke just liked making noise and didn't really need an excuse to do
so.

Harry and Hermione grinned at each other, the kids' excitement being very infectious. The
vacation would likely be a year from now since this summer was drawing to a close, but it would be
something for them all to look forward to.

After another half-hour of excited chatter, it was time for one last cup of hot chocolate and the
kids were herded upstairs. They all got ready for bed and Harry and Hermione went around reading
bedtime stories, giving hugs and kisses and hugs and kisses and "I Love You"s, little
sleeping Davina included of course, as per their nightly ritual.

When at last he and Hermione were snuggled together in their own bed, Harry Potter heaved a sigh of
contentment. His life was full and blessed and not for the first time, he thought to himself that
if this was the reward for all the hardship of his earlier life, he would gladly go through it all
again.

Because this was so worth it.


*******

That same night, someone stayed up late into the darkness, however, too hard at work to notice that
the things of the day had succumbed to slumber.

She was pleased with her progress so far. She knew what she was going to do, and she thought it
might succeed. It really worked in her favor that Harry Potter was so famous, that the media had
gone into a foaming-at-the-mouth type of hysteria at the news of his daughter, as well as of his
other children. Trust Julia Thomas to aim high and not fall flat on her stuck-up arse. No,
she'd actually snagged The Harry Potter. And not only that, but she'd had his child.

Now, how was that fair? How?

But she mustn't dwell on that. Sometimes you have to make your own way; you have to exact your
own justice.

Well, boy howdy, was justice coming. And it would not be swift and short either. Slow and steady
wins the race.

And this time she would win. No doubt about it.


*****
**End Notes:** The song that Em sings is "Jamaica Farewell", and performed by Harry
Belafonte, Jimmy Buffett, to name a few. Copyright of Cherry Lane Music and whomever else owns it.
Full lyrics can be found at: http://www.theguitarguy.com/jamaicaf.htm.

Plimpies are a kind of fish from that HP 'schoolbook' "Fantastic Beasts and Where to
Find Them". Check: http://www.hp-lexicon.org/bestiary/bestiary_n-s.html#plimpy for a
description, if you don't have that book.





4. There and Back Again
-----------------------

**A/N:** Well, howdy all! Just want to say thanks for the reviews and I truly appreciate it.
Enjoy this chapter and don't forget to drop a few a line or two letting me know what you think.
Thanks and rock on!

**
Chapter Three - There and Back Again**


"Emerson! Get down here right now or we'll be late!" Harry called from the foot of
the stairs on the rainy, gray morning of September first. The Hogwarts Express was leaving at
eleven o'clock, as usual, and it was already half past ten.

Meanwhile, his daughter was loitering as if they had all the time in the world.

"What more could she possibly be trying to take to Hogwarts?" he grumbled as he took his
seat behind the wheel of their car.

They'd bought the sleek Jaguar just after Ben was born when it became evident that the infant
loathed Portkey travel, and since Ballynore had never been connected to the Floo Network and
Apparation was out of the question, buying a car was their only viable option. Conventionally,
Jaguars weren't family cars but they'd had it remodeled to their specifications. And with
the growth of their family, rather than upgrading to another vehicle, they'd simply added the
appropriate expansion charms as well as a few modifications solely for convenience's
sake.

"Well, you know girls," Hermione said from beside him. She tried to hide a smile but
Harry noticed anyway and it irritated him. What could possibly be funny about this? Besides-

"You were never like that!" he raged, turning to look at her.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "How do you know?"

Harry mouthed wordlessly for a second. "Well.. you.. but-"

"Exactly," his wife replied smugly just as Em got in and slammed the door.

"Sorry," she said breathlessly. "Ok, *vayamos*!"

"What's *vayamos*?" asked Luke, from the middle row where he was sitting beside
Davina in her car seat. Emerson and Ben were in the back seat, Ben flipping through a Martin Miggs
comic book.

"It means 'Let's go' in Spanish."

"*Vayamos*!" yelled Luke.

"V*ayamos*!" cried Davina, swinging her legs. She was fully recovered from her
illness and was her usual cheery self again.

Hermione grinned. "Well, you heard your customers."

Harry glared at her but he couldn't stay annoyed for long, not with his children chattering and
laughing behind him. Ben was reading aloud from the comic book and doing the character voices, to
the loud amusement of Luke and Davina, and he found himself relaxing in spite of himself.

Thankfully, with the aid of the enhancements on the car, they reached King's Cross with ten
minutes to spare. Hermione went through the barrier first with Davina, the other three kids went
next (Luke bunny-hopped; so much for being inconspicuous.) and Harry followed with Em's
Hogwarts trunk.

As soon as he stepped onto Platform 9¾, Harry's senses were assaulted by the noisy chaos that
always brought him back to his own school days. There was the chatter of students greeting friends,
the hisses and assorted noises of cats and other pets disgruntled at being caged and the odd sounds
that the gleaming scarlet engine emitted. The platform was teeming with youngsters and their
parents and siblings out to see them off for another year of learning.

Harry smiled as he watched Emerson already happily chattering with her best friend, who was holding
an excited Davina. Hermione was greeting Tonks, who was looking rather sedate today with a short,
dark-brown bob of a hairstyle.

"Howdy, Harry," said a voice behind him and he turned.

"Remus! How're you?" Harry said, giving the older man a quick hug.

It was rather scary to Harry sometimes when he thought about the fact that he and Remus had
daughters who were within a month of each other's ages. It made him feel distinctly old, even
though he knew that he was young enough to be Remus's son. Remus had started a family rather
late in life, though it seemed to suit him. Certainly, being the father of two daughters and the
husband of such a vivacious woman as Tonks had largely diminished the aura of despair that had
always seemed to linger about him.

"Can't complain. Their second year, huh?" Remus said, gesturing at their giggling
girls.

Harry shook his head. "I can't believe it, either. Seems just yesterday I was terrified of
even burping her and now-"

"- there are three others," Remus finished for him, smiling.

Harry grinned. Yep, there were three others. Instinctively, his eyes sought them out through the
crowd and his heart lightened further when he found them. Ben was over by the train doors talking
to the conductor, no doubt grilling the poor man to death. Luke was nowhere to be seen - no, there
he was jumping up and down in front of Bill Weasley, who was seeing his and Fleur's seventeen
year old son, Etienne, off for his final year at Hogwarts. And Davina was now clinging to Emerson,
obviously not wanting to be parted from her sister again so soon.

The first warning whistle blew and Harry and Remus quickly *leviated* their daughters'
trunks onto the train. Most of the kids were hurrying aboard and Remus went off to hug and kiss his
girls goodbye. Then Emerson and Carolyna came over and Harry hugged them in turn.

"Have a good term, girls," he said, plucking a very upset Davina off Em. A part of Harry
wished he could cry too, but how would that look? His time at Hogwarts had been some of the best of
his life, near-death experiences notwithstanding, and he couldn't deprive his daughter of such
an integral part of growing up. Still, he couldn't help wishing she wasn't going so far
away from home.

Ben and Luke reappeared to hug their big sister and finally Hermione held Emerson close. "Send
us an owl when you get there, alright?"

Em nodded. "Bye Mum. Bye Dad. Bye Ben and Budget! Don't cry, Vina. I'll be home in two
weeks for yours and Mum's birthdays, ok?"

Davina only wailed louder just as the final warning whistle blew behind them and the two girls spun
around and ran onto the train. After closing the doors, they leaned out the window and waved at
their parents and siblings on the platform. Most of the parents Disapparated when the train started
moving, Remus and Tonks included, but Harry and Hermione stayed until it had faded out of
sight.

Finally, he sighed and looked around at the rest of his brood, rubbing little Davina's back
soothingly. "Well, *vayamos a casa*. Let's go home."


********

Emerson and Carolyna dragged their trunks to an empty compartment and flopped down onto their
seats.

"Whew," Lyna said, fanning herself. "That is always the hardest part of September
first, isn't it?"

Em nodded, looking miserable. "I hate leaving them. Especially Vina."

Carolyna's warm, honey-colored eyes softened. "But you'll see them in two weeks like
you said."

"Yeah." Emerson jumped up. "C'mon, I need to go to the bathroom."

The girls bumped into old classmates and other people they knew, lingered over greetings, exchanged
snippets of news. On their way back, Lyna was telling Em about how the sunburn she'd gotten in
Texas was healing. Emerson, with her olive complexion, tanned excellently but even with all the
Anti-Burn Spells that had been placed on her, Carolyna had still sustained a few painful
sunburns.

"Mum put some kinda salve on it and it just-" Lyna's voice trailed off.

"It what?" asked Em, looking up at her friend. She turned her gaze to the direction Lyna
was staring in and Em's eyes narrowed. Her least favorite person at Hogwarts, Jerrianne
Youngleer, as well as her usual sidekicks, Janie Crestmore and Maria Ingalls ("The
Fakers" as Em referred to them) were prancing down the corridor as if they owned it.

Em felt a great rush of dislike. Jerrianne was the leader and always walked about with Janie and
Maria flanking her, which invariably led to a rather slanted look since Janie was taller than
Jerrianne, who was taller than Maria. Maria was the nicest of the three, if "nice" were a
word that could be applied to them. She was as pale and freckled as a redhead but with dark eyes
and hair as ebony as Emerson's. Janie had chin-length dark blonde hair and light blue eyes that
always seemed to be squinting in disdain at whatever she was gazing at. And Jerrianne - she looked
like a ridiculously expensive china doll, there was no other description.

These three girls had been the only blights on her first year at Hogwarts, largely because she had
tried to be friendly and, inadvertently, had let them walk all over her somewhat.

Well, not anymore.

She decided to give them a fresh chance first, though. "Hi, Jerrianne, Janie, Maria," she
said cheerfully as the three girls drew abreast of them. "Have a good summer?"

Jerrianne and the Fakers walked right by Em and Lyna without a word, though Jerrianne gave Em a
filthy look before tossing her perfect blonde hair over her shoulder.

*Well, nobody can say I didn't try*. Emerson twisted around to watch them. "Right
back at ya!" she called to their retreating backs. Turning around, she scowled. "Hags.
I'm telling you, Lyna, I'm not letting them fu-"

"Don't say that word," interrupted Lyna, frowning.

Em widened her eyes innocently. "What word?"

Carolyna's frowned deepened and after a second, Em smiled. "Ok. I'm not letting them
*mess* with me this year. And you're right. Merlin knows Mum and Dad would probably cut my
tongue out if they knew what a dirty mouth I have."

Lyna snorted and the two of them burst out laughing. As they neared their compartment, they saw a
mousy-haired boy, obviously a first year, sitting on his trunk in the corridor and looking near
tears.

"Hi. Are you ok?" Em asked once they'd reached him. "Why are you sitting out
here?"

"All the compartments are full," he muttered, not looking up.

She looked over at Lyna, who shrugged. "What's your name, love?"

The boy looked up and Em saw that he had amazing blue eyes. "William."

"William," she repeated. "Can I call you 'Will'?"

He nodded.

"Will, I'm Emerson. This is Carolyna."

Lyna smiled. "But you can call me Lyna. Come on, you can sit with us."

Will's eyes lit up. "Really?"

Em nodded. "Really. Up you get, now."

They helped Will drag his trunk to their compartment that, miraculously, hadn't been discovered
and invaded. The hours went by quickly. Will turned out to be hilarious, for all he had initially
seemed so reserved. They learned he had three younger brothers, that his dad was a Muggle. His mum
was a witch though, and had told him all about Hogwarts.

"I hope I'm in Gryffindor," he said excitedly. "It sounds like the best
house!"

Em and Lyna exchanged grins. "It is."

Will's eyes widened. "Are you in Gryffindor?"

They nodded. "Yep," Em said. "We'll cross our fingers for you that you'll
get in too."

The compartment door slid open and a tall, blond boy stuck his head in the doorway. "Ah, I
should have known," he said, looking grave. "When I hear talk of 'getting into'
something, I shouldn't be at all surprised that Emerson Potter is somehow involved."

Em blushed crimson while Lyna nudged her and giggled. Emerson had the biggest crush on Etienne
Weasley, Hogwarts' new Head Boy. She'd known Etienne her whole life and she thought him to
be the most gorgeous specimen of the male gender that she had ever beheld. Those crinkled blue
eyes! That too-long blond hair that he was forever shaking aside!

"For your information, Etienne, I was merely expressing my support for Will here to get into
Gryffindor House. You know, the one *you're* a part of?" Em was proud of her voice
for not wavering, though her face was still hot and she couldn't quite look head-on at his
magnificence and brillia- ahem, his face.

Etienne grinned. "I'm just joking, Little Sis," he said, sprouting that nickname he
had for her that Emerson hated because it always brought her back to reality. Which was basically
that he *was* practically her brother. Or at least, a cousin. Deep in her heart, she knew it
was all superficial on her part anyway; but it was just so much fun having a crush!

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Will," Etienne was saying. "Now I know I'm not supposed to
show favoritism, but just between you and me, Gryffindor *is* the best house. Good luck at the
Sorting."

Will grinned. "Thanks."

"Hey there, Carolyna. See you around, Little Sis. Stay out of trouble, but that's asking
the impossible, isn't it?"

The door slid shut behind him and Em huffed. "He makes it sound like I'm some kind of
raving terror. Everybody knows that's Marc and Marissa. I only did something like that
*once* and it was an accident!"

"Well, you gotta admit it was pretty funny," giggled Carolyna.

"What did you do and who are Marc and Marissa?" asked Will, his eyes alight with
anticipation.

Em leaned back in her seat and pretended to pout as she listened to Lyna tell Will about how she
had "accidentally" filled the Great Hall with huge, soap bubbles that smelled like
lavender and which refused to pop for hours. It wasn't long, though, before she was laughing
too as she recounted how Jerrianne's perfect blonde hair had gotten soaked and how the other
girl had freaked out as if it were the end of the world to have limp hair.

That had been the whole point of Em's prank, anyway - although it had gotten out of hand.
She'd been given detention but it'd been so worth it, especially with the bonus effect that
the soap bubbles had on Jerrianne's hair. They'd turned the blonde's locks a slight,
but noticeable, shade of lavender that didn't wash out for a week.

That little thing was extremely weak compared to what Marc and Marissa Weasley got up to, however,
and the rest of the trip was occupied with telling Will about the exploits of this set of infamous
Weasley twins and the other Weasley grandkids.

When the train arrived at Hogwarts, the girls said goodbye to Will, who would be taking the
traditional first-year boat ride to the castle. Em and Lyna took their places at the Gryffindor
table, optimistically saving a seat for him.

"Emerson, my girl! How're you?" somebody said loudly right by Em's left
ear.

She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. "Hello, Brandon. I'm fine, thanks
for asking. And I'm not your girl."

Brandon grinned. "Ah, come on now. Aren't you done playing hard-to-get yet?"

"I don't *want* to be 'gotten', Brandon," Em said wearily. *At least,
not by you*.

Brandon Wood had been after her since she was ten years old, which Em thought was really creepy.
Whenever she'd complained though, the adults had just chuckled and said he just liked annoying
her. Well, he certainly did *that*. He was always at Ballynore since his dad, Oliver Wood, was
co-owner of Puddlemere United with Harry and his little brother, Andy, was Ben's best
friend.

It wasn't that he was gross or anything; he was actually kind of cute in a generic sort of way,
with his brown hair and eyes. Em just didn't like him like that. But the obsession gene ran in
the Wood family and Brandon was relentless in his pursuit. Worse, he was a fifth year so she still
had two more years of him to endure. Unless something changed before then, which she highly
doubted.

"Brandon, I swear to-" Em began.

"Oi, Brandon!" somebody interrupted. "Harassing young Miss Potter already? And
term's barely started. Why don't you give it a rest? The girl ain't
interested."

"Hey, Marissa," Brandon said to his Quidditch teammate. And to Em's surprise, he
blushed. "Just kidding around, you know."

Marissa rolled her eyes. "Leave the girl alone, Brandon, for God's sake."

Brandon grinned. "I will if you give me a peck on the cheek."

Marissa arched an eyebrow. "Don't push your luck, pal." She sat down beside Em, who
sighed.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. You're still trying out for Quidditch next week, right?"

Emerson smiled. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Just then the doors of the Great Hall opened and a long line of first years came in.

"Keep an eye out for Merrick," Marissa whispered, referring to her younger brother who
was starting his first year.

A hush fell over the Hall as the Sorting ran its course, punctuated by the periodic outbursts of
applause as the new students were placed in their respective houses. Merrick Weasley joined his
brother and sister, of course, and Em and Lyna cheered particularly hard when one William Shriver
was also placed in Gryffindor.

The meal went by quickly - they were all starving - and after announcements, they went up to
Gryffindor Tower. After saying goodnight to Will, Em and Lyna found their dorm, where their trunks
had been placed on opposite ends of the room with another bed between them.

"Shit," Em muttered, frowning at the beds.

Last year, hers and Lyna's beds had been right next to each other, which had come in very handy
for whispered conversations late in the night. The arrangement had obviously gotten messed
up.

Lyna went to check whose trunk was in the middle. "Darn, it's Maria
Ingalls'."

One of the Fakers. Em looked around the room. They were the only ones there so far. "Quick,
let's switch the trunks before they get here. They'll never know."

They had gotten halfway through shoving Maria's trunk to the other end when the door opened and
Jerrianne and the Fakers came in. They stopped short in the doorway, staring down at Em and Lyna
who had both frozen when the door opened.

"What're you doing?" asked Jerrianne, wrinkling her perfect nose.

"Hey, that's my trunk!" cried Maria. "What're you doing with my
trunk?"

Em straightened up. "We were just... arranging it. See, it was kinda to the side so we wanted
it to be clear which bed was yours."

Jerrianne was watching her with a shrewd look. She smirked. "Nice try. Did the two of you get
separated? And you were trying to move Maria's trunk so you could be together, right?" She
stepped forward regally into the room. "Sorry but sleeping arrangements are final."

Em glared at her. "Says who?"

"Says me," piped up Maria, marching to the middle bed and plopping down onto it.
"This is my bed and I'm not moving. You'll have to kill me first."

"That can be arranged," Emerson replied, smiling sweetly. But her eyes told a different
story.

Lyna grabbed Em's hand. "C'mon. It's not worth it."

The two girls climbed onto Lyna's bed and yanked the hangings closed.

"Stupid, fucking sheep," Em grumbled. "I bet she doesn't even want to be in the
middle like that. She's just doing it because she knows it annoys us and that's what
Jerrianne wants."

Lyna didn't answer, only lay back on her pillow. That was Carolyna. She had a serenity to her,
like her father Remus, and Em couldn't help but calm down. Now Emerson was generally very
even-tempered, but something about Jerrianne Youngleer and her two lamb chops irritated the bejesus
out of her.

Her first year she had tried to be nice, to be friendly and Jerrianne had pretended to share the
sentiments. It was only when she'd overheard Jerrianne telling Maria and Janie how much she
couldn't stand her that Em realized her efforts had been wasted.

That wasn't what made her loathe the other three girls, however. Emerson wasn't so arrogant
as to expect herself to be endeared to every living creature. But what she had heard Jerrianne say
next about her best friend was what had ensured that Em would forever feel only the utmost dislike
for her. Emerson had stormed out of her hiding place and given the three shocked girls a piece of
her mind and the 'friendship' had soured dramatically. It sucked that they were in
Gryffindor House too, not to mention the same year.

She had never told Lyna what she'd heard Jerrianne say about her. It would only hurt Carolyna,
who was the sweetest person in the whole world and whom Em loved like a sister. Maybe she should
take a page out of Lyna's book and not let those girls ruffle her feathers so much.

She blew out a deep breath. "You're right. They're not worth it. Besides, we're
still in the same room together. And we can always budge up on each other's bed like this,
right?"

Carolyna smiled. "Exactly."

"That'll have to wait till tomorrow, though," Em said, stifling a yawn. "I'm
completely knackered." She started to open the hangings. "Oh. Good night, sleep
tight-"

"- don't let the bed-doxies bite," Lyna finished and they both laughed and hugged
each other before Em climbed off the bed.

Ignoring the other girls, she changed into her pajamas and got into her bed. Her last thought
before she fell asleep was "This is going to be a great year."

She could not know how wrong she was.




5. friendships and Figures
--------------------------

**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,

At this moment, I'm sure you don't know who I am, but that will soon change. In the
fullness of time, if you know what I mean - which you probably don't.

You won't find me using your name in these at all. Such a silly name she gave you. Christ, she
always was one for stupid, sentimental prose. Don't bother kidding yourself, however, that this
came to you by mistake. If you are the firstborn of the famous H.P., this is for you.

But let's not get sidetracked. I have come to the realization that it is my duty to educate you
on what you are. What you really are, I mean. Your family might have led you to believe otherwise,
but you are not like them. You are as different as it is possible to be. Because you see, Kiddo,
unlike you, they are all innocent (except maybe your father, but that's another tale for
another time). They are pure.

And the heart of it all - they were created in the purest of loves, to wax nauseatingly
poetic.

You, Kiddo, were not. You were created out of lust, out of physical greed and selfishness. You are
a bastard child, as cruel as that sounds. But I wouldn't feel right about sugarcoating the
truth for you. You wouldn't like that, am I right?

And if only that were the only difference between you and them! But sadly, it isn't. Because
you, Kiddo, are also a murderer. Your very existence cheated someone out of her life (though being
the fool she always was, I'm not surprised she let you kill her).

But this is getting long. I will write again soon. And as with any educator, I have given you
homework. Enclosed, your first reading assignment. Study it and learn from it. I will know if you
haven't and I'm not just saying that.

Oh, and before I forget, don't even think about telling anyone about this. By 'anyone',
I mean your famous father, his missus or anyone in any form of authority at that stuck-up school
you go to. Once again, I will know if you disobey and you know who will pay? Here's a hint:
their names begin with B, L and D. You love them, don't you, Kiddo? If you really do, take my
advice: keep that pretty little mouth shut. The innocent need not suffer unnecessarily, after
all.

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?



6. The Keys to Wisdom and Hell
------------------------------

**A/N:** Profuse thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! I appreciate it very much.
Special thanks to everyone who reviewed **"How Much?"** as well. I had a great time
writing that one, but I'll take this opportunity to say that no sequel to that one is planned.
Thanks again and hope you enjoy this chapter - let me know, would ya?

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is JK Rowling's marvelous sandbox. I'm just
playing in it. The poem that shows up in this chapter isn't mine either; it has been merely
borrowed for this chapter and belongs to those that it belongs to (which isn't me). If you
happen upon any other characters that you don't recognize from canon, however, then they're
mine.
**

Chapter Five - The Keys to Wisdom and Hell**


Ben Potter was completely, irreversibly captivated by words. The written word; the spoken word. The
nuances of the English language fascinated him: the way the word "*stone*" could
have so many meanings, depending on whether it was used as a noun, an adjective, an adverb or a
verb. The way the spelling of a word was no guarantee that that was the way it was pronounced:
"*psoriasis*".

The cannibalistic nature of the English language, the way it stole from other tongues and
integrated the loot so thoroughly into itself that the average person isn't aware that the word
wasn't English to begin with: "*boulevard*".

Words had placed their hooks in him from an early age. Harry and Hermione had always read to their
children, even after the kids learned how to read themselves. Ben had always been a rabid reader,
something his mother enthusiastically encouraged. His Grandpa Granger said Mum had been exactly the
same way when she was younger, simply ravenous for books. By the time he was seven years old, for
instance, Ben had read a quarter of the works of Charles Dickens and was within sight of the
halfway mark.

All that reading was hell on his eyes, of course, so by the time he finished *A Tale of Two
Cities*, he'd needed glasses. The ones he'd been fitted with made him look even more
like his father, which Ben thought was infinitely cool. Uncle Remus frequently said he looked more
like his grandfather James, though, since James had had hazel eyes too.

But considering the way he was now, it's hard to believe that Ben and the English language
weren't always on the best of terms. Like his sister Emerson, Ben had been a very vocal baby -
babbling, laughing, assorted noises. But unlike Emerson, who was already saying comprehensible
words by the age of eleven months, Ben's first birthday came and went without him saying
anything clearer than 'Mama', 'Dada', 'Em' and 'Ol' Bob'.

As the months after his first birthday went by, his parents had become increasingly concerned,
Hermione much more so than Harry. Harry just thought Ben would start talking when he was ready but
Hermione had gotten upset and said it was exactly that kind of laissez-faire attitude that allowed
little problems to expand and overwhelm. And just because Harry didn't want to confront the
reality that there might be something wrong with their son was no reason for *her* to do
the-

She had broken down crying then, and Harry had hugged and kissed her and told her of course he was
concerned and how could she even think he wasn't?

So Hermione had taken Ben to her former boss and colleague, Dr. Ramesh Garg. They'd had to be
mindful of who they told since they were still celebrities. Heck, they couldn't even go out to
eat without pictures being taken of them and "experts" analyzing whether there were
problems in the marriage based on the way Harry held his fork. So if they'd gotten even a whiff
of this...

Dr. Garg had poked and prodded and cast multiple diagnostic Charms on poor, screaming Ben while
Hermione wrung her hands out of guilt and anxiety. And in the end, it'd been all for naught as
Dr. Garg had merely proclaimed that Ben was perfectly healthy and would simply start talking when
he was ready.

Harry had tried very hard not to look smug when Hermione relayed the verdict to him that night. He
knew his wife had been really worried. But getting the professional opinion of someone she trusted
calmed Hermione down somewhat, though of course her worry never really went away.

Then a little over a month later:

*They were outside on the back porch, enjoying the late July dusk. Harry and Emerson were
giggling together on the eastern end while Hermione held nineteen-month-old Ben on her lap aboard
the swing.

Hermione listened to the whirring of crickets in the bushes beyond and breathed in the clean, night
air, which was lightly perfumed by the cherry and apple blossoms in the small orchard. She loved
that they lived in the countryside and got to benefit from cleaner air and wide open spaces. Trips
into London were definitely enjoyable but she was extremely happy that at the end of the day, she
got to come home here to the Hertfordshire hills and to those she loved.

She glanced down at her son, whose hair was sticking out in every direction exactly like his
father's. She was secretly proud of that fact. Merlin knew, it was better than having the kid
inherit her own fried locks. At least Ben's hair was soft and silky straight, even if it had a
mind of its own.

He was being really quiet and she thought perhaps she needed to put him to bed. Just as she started
to get up, however, she heard a little voice say:

"Look, Mama. The moon is broken."

Hermione froze and leaned back on the swing, her eyes wide. Even though Ben's little hand was
outstretched, pointing up at the crescent moon, a part of her mind didn't dare register that
he-

Somewhat dazed, she looked over to where her husband and daughter were. Emerson was laughing and
twirling, long hair streaming behind her, in the multi-colored circles of light that Harry was
conjuring with his wand. She seemed pretty occupied. So who had spoken?

There was a tug on her shirt and she looked down into Ben's big, hazel eyes. "The moon is
broken, Mama," he repeated.

Hermione's mouth fell open and her heart began to palpitate. "Oh my God," she
whispered, her eyes not leaving her son's. Ben could talk! Ben could- "Harry!"

She heard her husband come running over and only then did she look up, though she couldn't get
any words out.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked, looking alarmed.

Hermione, her eyes filling up with tears of happiness and profound relief, looked back at Ben.
"Tell Daddy about the moon, Ben. Tell him about the moon."

Harry stared at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted horns. "Hermione? What-"

"The moon got broken, Daddy."

Harry's head whipped around so fast that she heard his neck crick. Almost absentmindedly, he
reached up to rub it while he stared at his son, wide-eyed. Hermione hugged the small boy to her,
laughing and crying at the same time.

Not wanting to be left out, Emerson clambered onto the swing beside her mum and brother. "Ben,
you can talk!" she exclaimed in delight, grabbing her brother's little hand.

Harry sat down too, his face reflecting the awe and relief that Hermione felt. From not saying any
coherent words for nineteen months (besides the names of the four most important people in his
life), Ben had suddenly, out of the blue, spoken six words in a perfect sentence! What were the
chances of that?

"Somebody cut off a piece," Ben said, pointing at the sky and his parents laughed and
hugged him between them while Emerson threw her arms around as much of them as she could and the
swing creaked slowly, bobbing gently on the soft winds of love, happiness and relief.*

And Ben had never looked back. It had actually been kind of scary how well he talked for someone so
young. His intelligence astonished everyone; were he a Muggle, he was what their educators would
call 'gifted'. Ron had remarked more than once that Ben made him feel
'unnecessary'.

"I mean, I'm the adult, right? I'm supposed to be giving the information, right? And
the kid is supposed to be absorbing it in awe, right?" Ron had whined about a then
three-year-old Ben. "So I'm telling Ben about Bludgers. I tell him that Bludgers try to
knock players off their brooms. And I pause, expecting him to be wide-eyed and ask 'Why?'.
Heck, no! The kid says, as matter-of-factly as you please, 'That's to prevent them from
scoring.' That sproglet is not normal! But then again, his parents are as abnormal as they
come."

His mum and dad had exchanged a glance then simultaneously put the *Rictusempra* Tickling
Charm on Uncle Ron. Uncle Draco had really liked that.

"So how's your latest book?" Hermione asked Ben the day after Emerson went back to
school. Dad had already gone to work so it was just Mum, himself, Budget and Vina at home. The four
of them had all slept in and Mum had whipped up a late breakfast. Ben and Budget's school
didn't reopen until the middle of the month so they had another two weeks of summer vacation
left.

Ben swallowed an enormous mouthful of pancakes and bacon before he answered. "It was ok. I
already finished it."

His mum raised her eyebrows. "Already? But that book was at least-"

"658 pages," Ben supplied, leaning over to swipe a piece of bacon from Luke's
plate.

"MUUM!" Luke whined, trying to grab it back but Ben had already stuffed it in his
mouth.

"Don't be a baby, Budget," Ben drawled as he chewed the stolen bacon.

"I'm not a baby!"

Ben rolled his eyes. "Quit acting like one, then. Cease and desist."

Luke frowned and Ben knew he didn't understand what that meant. But in true Budget fashion, he
didn't let that stop him. "You cease and desist!"

Ben grinned at his little brother. "Do you even know what that means? But nevermind, gotta
admire your tenacity. But lookie! Bangers. Want them?"

"Yeah!" Luke exclaimed, being the fervent bangers fan that he was. He stuffed one whole
into his mouth and chewed with his eyes closed. "Man, this is good stuff! But what's my
'ten-a-city', Ben?"

His mum got up and went into the kitchen and Ben knew it was to laugh. She always listened to them
as if she took what they said seriously, and Ben knew she did. Ben hated when people laughed at
what he said when he wasn't trying to be funny. If he meant it be serious, why did they laugh?
But sometimes Budget just said the funniest things and Mum would leave the room and laugh about
it.

That was one of the things he liked most about his mother; she was very considerate of other
people's feelings, even kids'.

He looked over at his brother, who was still staring at him, awaiting his answer. "Tenacity
means you stick to something. Like just now? I took your bacon and you didn't like that. And
even though I said something you didn't understand, you didn't give up."

"Didn't give up," parroted Davina, her face more or less covered with the oatmeal she
was eating.

Luke swallowed the last of his bangers. "I see. Wanna chase me outside, Ben?"

"Maybe." Actually, there was a book he'd been hankering to read for years that he
finally had his hands on. *The Call of the Wild* by Jack London. Ben muttered the title to
himself under his breath, delighting in the way the words rolled off his tongue. What did that
mean? Was it a play on words? How could the wild call? Did it have a voice?

The sound of his mother's footsteps made him look up. "Are you guys done then?" she
asked.

The boys nodded and scraped back their chairs. Hermione helped Davina down from her chair and
cleaned her up with a quick *Scourgify*. They all helped clear the table, Davina gravely
carrying the silverware to the kitchen. Vina tended to get upset if she was left out of anything so
Mum always tried to find some way for her to be involved in whatever was going on.

Hermione thanked them, dropped a kiss on each of their heads in turn and shooed them outside.

"I need to do something for work so try to keep it down out there," she said as she held
the door open for them. "And no climbing the trees, Luke!"

"Ok!" Budget yelled in response as he took a flying leap off the back porch and tumbled
over, laughing, on the grass below.

Ben heard his mother sigh. "I'm surprised he hasn't broken his neck yet," she
muttered as she went back inside.

"Come chase me, Ben!" Luke yelled up at his brother, already crouched in prime take-off
position on the ground.

Ben hesitated. The book.. he wanted to know what the title meant. What was the call? It was nagging
at him, a maddening itch that could quickly be satisfied if only he could get upstairs and read.
Davina toddled off the porch and joined Luke on the grass, turning back to look intently up at
him.

Their eyes were shining with anticipation, with the expectation that their brother would come to
them. And suddenly, Ben Potter understood. The call. That feeling deep in his gut, the pull of
those he loved, of wanting to be with them, of wanting to make them happy.

His book could wait.

He took a running jump off the porch and his brother and sister began scrambling around with sounds
of delight. For a fleeting second before it was pushed out of his head by the sheer joy of
child's play, Ben marveled again at the ingenuity of the English language. How the word
'call' could mean so many things...


*******

As with almost everything else, there is a flip side to words - an unsavory side that knows how to
expertly burrow into a mind and linger, disrupting soothing routines.

Which was why the morning of her second day back at Hogwarts found Emerson up much earlier than
usual. She wasn't a morning person, (though not to as repugnant a level as Carolyna) so it
certainly wasn't the norm for her to be up a mere hour after dawn. She had slept fitfully and
more than once had been startled to realize that she was wide awake. Finally, she had gotten up,
put on her bathrobe, checked on Lyna and headed downstairs to the Common room.

She couldn't stop thinking about that mysterious and malicious letter and the article that had
accompanied it.

Her first full day at school had been busy and well-scheduled with learning new things about old
subjects. History of Magic was the first class of the new term but they'd had Charms right
after lunch and Em had been in her element. All thought of what had happened at breakfast was
driven from her mind in the happiness of finally opening *The Standard Book of Spells, Grade
Two* in an official setting. By the end of the day, she'd been too busy discussing Quidditch
with her classmates and Will, arguing with Germ Forrester about Puddlemere's chances this
season to give the letter a thought or a worry.

It wasn't until she'd gone to bed to find herself suddenly unable to fall asleep that she
remembered what had happened that morning. And once she started thinking about it, she couldn't
stop and neither did the questions. Who had sent it? Why? Was it a prank? What did they hope to
accomplish by sending her something like that?

Because there was no doubt in her mind that it had been meant for her. If she'd been at all
skeptical upon reading the letter, the headline of the article had vaporized them effortlessly. How
many Harry Potters were there in the Wizarding world, anyway?

Emerson sighed and tucked her feet under her in one of the overstuffed old chairs closest to the
fire. The room had brightened as she sat and she was only just hearing the early-risers beginning
to stir upstairs. Her eyes felt grainy from lack of sleep and she rubbed them, fidgeted in the
chair and sighed again.

It was the letter that was bothering her. The article wasn't that much of a shock. Her parents
had always been honest with her about the circumstances surrounding her birth, though of course
they hadn't told her the whole story until they were sure she could handle it. Because
she'd always been told the truth, whenever she stumbled across those old media stories, she was
always able to read them with a sense of indifference. The media's attempts to twist the facts
had come across as pathetic to Emerson because she already *knew* what the facts were.

And especially her first year at Hogwarts, upon hearing her name, some of her schoolmates had
inquired as to whether such-and-such was true and did her dad really do this and that? Most of them
had just been curious but there'd, of course, been the cruel ones - especially Jerrianne -
who'd tried to throw that part of her history in her face. To those, Emerson had merely smiled
and tossed her head dismissively.

Nobody had ever gone to such a level of malevolence as this unknown letter-writer, however.
Whomever it was seemed to want to make sure Emerson knew just how inferior she was considered to
be: not even doing her the common courtesy of using her name, just referring to her as
'Kiddo'. Labeling her a bastard and worse, a murderer. That diabolical smiley face.

Threatening her brothers and sister.

What if whomever it was really could hurt Ben, Budget and Vina? Em knew she could never bear it if
anything happened to them because of her.

Right there and then, she reaffirmed the decision to keep this just between herself and Lyna.
'There's no need to tell Dad or anybody else,' she mused silently, gazing
absentmindedly at the coals flickering in the fireplace. 'Besides, I won't be getting any
more.'

A knot of cold unease tightened in her stomach at that thought and she found herself suddenly
dreading going to the Great Hall for breakfast. The letter-writer had said he (or was it a she?)
would write again and although Emerson was sincerely hoping that that was a bluff, what if it
wasn't?

"Emerson?"

She started and looked over to the stairs leading up to the girls' dorm. Lyna was gazing
sleepily down at her, rubbing her eyes.

"Hey, Lyna. What're you doing up so early?" Em asked, but already knowing the
answer.

It was a custom the girls had that if one of them got up for any reason, they would check that the
other was ok. This had been their means of coping with nighttime terrors when, as little girls,
they'd allowed themselves to be spooked by horror stories too close to bedtime. The knowledge
that the other was safe somehow became a source of comfort. Lyna had obviously checked Em's
bed, found it empty and come looking for her; just as Em had checked Lyna's bed before
she'd come downstairs earlier.

Old habits die hard. Not that this was a habit Emerson wanted to die any time soon.

Her friend shrugged. "Wondering where you were. Are you alright?"

"Sure. Just thinking," she said, unfurling herself from the chair and getting up. She
stretched, crossed the room and paused on the stairs beside Carolyna, who hadn't moved.

Lyna's honey-colored eyes appeared darker in the gray light of the early morning. "What
were you thinking about?"

"Stuff, you know," Em said, starting up the stairs again and trying to ignore the twinge
of guilt she felt at lying to her friend. It wasn't really lying, was it? She *had* been
thinking about 'stuff'. She just didn't want Lyna to worry about her.

When they reached the door of their room, though, Emerson stopped and turned to her friend.
"You're a really good friend, Lyna."

Lyna smiled. "So are you." They pushed open the door and went inside.

"Aww, wasn't that really touching?" sneered Jerrianne, whose bed was right by the
door and had apparently heard the exchange.

Em felt a surge of irritation. "It was, wasn't it? Especially to such royalty as yourself
whose 'friends' are more like serfs."

The other girl flushed; it was, afterall, rather obvious to anyone who really observed the
'friendship' between Jerrianne, Janie and Maria that the Fakers seemed to live and breathe
to cater to Jerrianne's every whim and want. It was something that really pissed Emerson off
because her parents had always taught her that nobody was above anybody else. She couldn't
understand why Janie and Maria let themselves be "reduced" like that. She'd labeled
them "Fakers" because they were hiding who they really were and faking it so as to please
Jerrianne, for whatever inane reason.

Emerson didn't notice the other girl's discomfiture, however. She had already turned away,
now irritated at herself for rising to Jerrianne's taunt. Hadn't she decided that she
wouldn't let herself be so easily riled up?

She and Lyna set to getting ready for the day and went down to the Hall for breakfast. That feeling
of dread in her belly multiplied with every step she took but Emerson tried not to show it. She
laughed at the bickering between Germ Forrester and Takeshi, two of the Gryffindor boys in her
year.

Germaine 'Germ' Forrester was a tall black kid who was a rabid fan of the Wimbourne Wasps
and who could typically be found arguing with a rival Quidditch fan. Today, that happened to be
Stanley Takeshi, whom everyone called by his last name. Takeshi was short and wore glasses but was
much quicker than he looked. He was also more than a little passionate about the Ballycastle Bats,
whom Germ had just predicted would not even make the top ten this season.

Takeshi's fervor propelled them all the way to the Gryffindor table and everybody sat,
chattering and more or less light-hearted. Em tried hard not to seem any different, though from the
glances Lyna was throwing her, she knew her friend wasn't fooled.

"Keep hoping, Takeshi," Germ was saying gravely, patting the smaller boy on the back.
"Gotta have hope, my man, even in the face of such terrible odds."

Takeshi shrugged off the hand irritably. "We don't *need* hope! We'll be getting
on that list by sheer talent and arse-whupping!"

Germ snorted and caught Em's eye and she smiled weakly back at him. She picked at her eggs,
sitting tensely on the edge of her seat as if awaiting something momentous. Actually, she was. Any
minute now the owls would start swooping in and-

"Mail's here!" cried one of the first years, gazing upwards, obviously still
awestruck by the whole packages-through-the-roof concept.

Emerson took a deep breath and steeled herself. She gripped her fork tightly and stared at the eggs
getting chilly on her plate. But just as things started dropping onto the Gryffindor table, a part
of her wondered suddenly why she was so uptight. Didn't she believe that the letter was a
one-time thing? Wasn't this all in her head, then? What was she tormenting herself like this
for?

She forced herself to look up, at the exact moment that a small spotted owl landed in front of her.
Her heart flew into her throat, a freezing ball of dismay snaking icy tendrils through her stomach.
The unfamiliar bird had a fat envelope tied to its leg and after staring at it in shock for a few
seconds, Em reached out trembling hands to untie it.

But just then, another of her classmates, Dylan Brown exclaimed "Spottie! I'm over here,
you stupid fowl!" and the owl hopped away and flew to him.

Emerson lowered her hands slowly to the table, feeling her heart beating wildly as a flood of
relief shattered the snowball in her belly. She closed her eyes and gulped mouthfuls of air as the
truth sunk in: there was no letter.

There was no letter!

Feeling suddenly ravenous, a smile blossomed on her face as she reached for the stack of toast
across from her. "Ah, sliced bread! The best thing since itself!"

She broke into a fit of heady giggles until Carolyna nudged her. "What's wrong with
you?"

Em grinned at her. "Nothing, Lyna. Nothing at all is wrong." And she laughed. Oh, she was
so relieved. It was stupid of her for worrying so much. Hadn't she told herself it was just a
prank, just a one-time thing? Likely the maggot who had sent it had found a job or a lover or
something and now had other, hopefully less pathetic, ways of passing time.

Emerson's good mood continued all through breakfast. As they left the Hall, she threw her arm
around Lyna's shoulder. "Have you ever heard of '*Mia Carlotta*',
Lyna?"

"Mia what?" her friend asked, craning her neck over the crowd thronging the
corridor.

"'*Mia Carl*-" Emerson broke off. "Who are you looking for?"

Lyna blushed suddenly. "Nobody," she lied unconvincingly, staring across the Hall.

Em followed her gaze and her eyebrows arched wickedly. "Carolyna Lupin!" she
exclaimed.

Her friend's head whipped around, her eyes wide but her cheeks were still red.
"What?"

"What?! Don't give me that! You were staring at him, weren't you?" Emerson
grinned mischievously, then spun around. "Davis! Davis Chapman! Over he-"

A hand clamped over her mouth, shutting off her shouts. "Don't, Em! Please. I would
completely *die* if he came over here!"

"Ok, ok, I won't call him. But why would you die? I thought you liked him."

Lyna blushed harder. "I do. But I can't talk to him yet!" She not-so-subtly changed
the subject. "What were you saying about Mia something?"

Emerson grinned, debating whether or not to let her friend off the hook so easily but in the end
she took pity. "'*Mia Carlotta*'. It's a poem." She threw her arm around
Lyna again and they started climbing the stairs to the Transfiguration classroom. "It goes
like this:

*Giuseppe, da barber, ees greata for "mash,"
He gotta da bigga, da blacka mustache,
Good clo'es an' good styla an' playnta good cash.*

"What?" Lyna giggled. "You're making that up."

"No, I'm not. It's a real poem. The second part says:

*W'enevra Giuseppe ees walk on da street,
Da peopla dey talka, "How nobby! How neat!
How softa da handa, how smalla da feet.*"

Emerson was really working the Italian accent and by the time they reached the classroom, both
girls were giggling helplessly. They pushed open the door to discover that they were the last ones
to arrive, though they were not late, and that Headmistress McGonagall was there.

The girls quickly composed themselves. Why was McGonagall here? She wasn't the Transfiguration
teacher anymore.

"Take your seats, please," the Headmistress said briskly.

Em and Lyna exchanged glances and grabbed a pair of desks near the center of the room. Once they
were seated, McGonagall turned to the class. "I am sure you are all surprised to see me here.
Professor Sanders had some personal matters to attend to so until she returns, I'll be handling
this class. Now, I trust everyone has their books?"

The class murmured in the positive and Emerson grinned at Lyna as they reached for their texts. She
was feeling mischievous again and as soon as McGonagall turned her back, she leaned over to her
friend.

Lyna began giggling before Em had even opened her mouth. "Em, don't!"

*He raisa hees hat an' he shaka hees curls,
An' smila weeth teetha so shiny like pearls*-

That was too much for Carolyna and she burst out laughing. Em quickly straightened up, fighting to
rearrange her face to look as perplexed as everyone else who were turning to see what was going
on.

"Miss Lupin, get ahold of yourself," McGonagall said disapprovingly.

Lyna covered her mouth, her eyes filling up with tears of mirth. "Sorry, Prof-" But then
she snorted and started laughing even harder. Everybody except Jerrianne and the Fakers was smiling
now, though they obviously didn't know what was so funny.

McGonagall fixed Em with a beady eye and Em knew her innocent act had been seen through. "Miss
Potter, take Miss Lupin outside until she's regained control of herself!"

The girls stumbled from the room and Em broke into laughter too. After a few minutes, they sighed
and leaned back against the wall.

Emerson's green eyes twinkled. "*O! many da heart of*-" she began.

"Emerson, stop!" Lyna cried, wiping her eyes. "Oh my gosh, you are such a
troublemaker!"

"Me?"

Lyna rolled her eyes in exasperation, but she was smiling. "You certainly waste no time, do
you? But ready to go in?"

"Yep."

They took their seats again, ignoring the quizzical looks being thrown their way and began to take
down the notes from the board. Emerson was feeling herself again, but she didn't dare try
anything more while the Headmistress was present. She knew McGonagall hadn't been amused. Which
was too bad, really. The woman looked like she could use a little laughter in her life.

"I'm glad there wasn't another letter," Lyna whispered under her breath suddenly
and Em smiled over at her.

'Not as glad as I am,' she thought. 'Nowhere near as glad.'


********

But oh, the fleetingness of feelings and emotions!

Because sadly for Emerson, by the end of the week she couldn't even remember what that profound
sense of relief had felt like. This was owing to the fact that two days later, an unfamiliar eagle
owl dropped a letter in her porridge and there was a letter every third day after that. It was
always a different owl which always left within seconds of making its delivery.

By now, she had began to doubt ever having a name to assign to the letter-writer. Invariably, a
smiley face was the 'signature' of every letter, which were all just as vicious as the
first. The author had so far never wavered from reminding Emerson how impure she was, how different
from everyone else.

How irremovable the blood on her hands.

Lyna kept telling her to throw them away unopened. "I mean, Emerson, why would you want to
keep reading that stuff?" she pleaded in a whisper as Em stared at the latest epistle. It was
Sunday morning and the Great Hall was sparsely populated, since they'd both come down after the
breakfast rush. Will was seated across from them, thoroughly enamored with his kippers.

Emerson frowned. Why did she? At first, it'd been mere curiosity. She'd wanted to know what
else the writer would say, what else she could be accused of. The mantra had never wavered from
"Impure Bastard Murderer".

But still Emerson kept unsealing them, almost as if she'd been cursed into being unable to
*not* open them.

She didn't know why she had this sort of morbid compulsion to read each and every one,
sometimes more than once. Kinda like the way people are somehow unable to look away from the blood
and gore of a horrific accident. She had read all the enclosed clippings but they didn't really
bother her. She was still able to look at them with a jaded eye.

The letters, of course, were a different matter.

*If you are anything like she was, and frankly I'd be shocked if you aren't, you are
likely more than a little full of yourself. You likely think you're something special. Well,
maybe I'm too much of a cynic, but not even having killed someone makes one unique these days.
Isn't that something? I can't decide if that's more scary or sad.

I bet she fancied herself some kind of martyr; she was doing the noble thing, sacrificing herself
for the poor, innocent babe. Except the babe wasn't so innocent, afterall - being born with
blood on her hands, what irony.

But one thing I'm sure of, Kiddo, you aren't anything special so it would benefit you to do
away with that kind of thinking. Self-delusion is, afterall, a terrible thing.*

"What're you reading?" Will asked, somehow managing to tear his attention away from
the kippers for a second.

Emerson looked up, trying to tell herself that what she'd just read hadn't stung.
*Self-delusion*. "Just a letter."

"Who from?"

"Smiley," she invented on the spot, folding the parchment and stuffing it in a pocket of
her jeans. Well, at last she had a name! Sort of. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry at
that. Emerson suddenly wanted to get out of there.

"What kinda name is 'Smiley'?" Will wondered out loud. He frowned when she jumped
up. "Hey, aren't you gonna eat your kippers?!"

"No, I'm not, Will. Ain't that a scandal?" Emerson grinned at his incredulous
expression and turned to her best friend. "You coming, Lyna?"

Carolyna hesitated, glancing at her pancakes then put down her fork. "Yeah."

Em felt a rush of warmth at the selflessness of her friend. "No, you stay and finish,"
she amended quickly. "I'll meet you back in the Common room."

"Are you ok?"

She smiled. "Sure, why wouldn't I be?"

But as she climbed the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, she felt an odd lump rising in her throat.

*But one thing I'm sure of, Kiddo, you aren't anything special...*

Emerson knew she didn't have a big head. She had always been friendly and outgoing. She had
always treated people the way she wanted to be treated. She didn't consider herself better than
anybody, not like Jerrianne. The other girl had tried to turn the fact that Em's father was
Harry Potter into grounds for a case that Emerson therefore had a superiority complex. And that was
an outright lie. Her father didn't let his fame define him so she had never had any reason to
let the fact that he was her father define *her*.

But Emerson Potter did like herself. She did think she was special. Her family had always showered
her with love, had always taught her that she should be proud of who she was and to not change for
anybody.

And someone was trying to take that away from her.

Who was sending her these things? Why did they hate her so? And, perhaps most troubling of all: why
did they want her to know it?


********

**End Notes:**

1. The "sliced bread" line is from "Good Eats" on the Food Network. Alton Brown
is almost as cool as Jamie Oliver. Almost.

2. The poem "Mia Carlotta" is by T.A. Daly and is owned by him and whomever else owns it.
It ain't mine. The full poem can be found here: http://www.bartleby.com/104/51.html.

**NEXT CHAPTER:** We finally meet the "she" from the Prologue who has been writing to
Emerson. Till next time, rock on and drop a review!




7. Masquerade
-------------

**A/N:** Just want to say THANK YOU!! to those who reviewed the last installment. I
appreciate it very much! And this is a looong chapter, where you meet the woman from the Prologue.
I'd very much appreciate any comments y'all can leave. Next chapter it will be some
Harry/Hermione quality time. Enjoy and thanks again.

**
Chapter Six - Masquerade**


Wrapped in a plush, expensive terry bathrobe, the woman sat gazing out the third storey window of
her Inverness flat, while she sipped from the large ceramic mug in her hands. She swallowed slowly,
consciously tracking the progress of the warm liquid as it traveled into her stomach and diffused
its heat through her being.

Licking her shapely red lips, she smiled lazily. It was amazing the differences in the drinking
habits of British and American people. Everybody knew 'tea' was practically synonymous with
'British' and the sheer number of "Tea Times" was enough to boggle the mind. High
tea, Low tea, Evening tea - no time was the wrong time for tea if you were in Britain.

Americans, on the other hand, had been primarily coffee people ever since the colonists told King
George to take his tea and his taxes and shove them where the sun didn't shine. Though not in
so many words, of course. She felt a pride about that which went beyond mere patriotism. The New
England blueblood that flowed in her veins could be traced back to a prominent participant in the
initial stirrings of the Revolutionary War.

She'd been spending the majority of her time in this country for quite a while now and she
really wasn't a tea person so-

'Thank goodness for Starbucks, that's all,' she thought, taking another sip of her
Cappuccino.

Setting the mug down, she stood up to her full 5'10" and stretched languorously. All her
muscles ached in that pleasurable way that they always did after an energetic and satisfying round
of sex. Her lover had just left; Jack was his name. Twenty-two year old University student, tall,
dark and handsome.

It was his hands that had caught her eye first when he'd handed her the mug of black coffee on
her first visit to the local Starbucks a year ago. They'd struck up a conversation and less
that a week later, were in bed together. She'd laid out the rules of the arrangement right from
the get-go. This was not a relationship; it was even less than a fling and he had no claim to her.
Besides, she was only down here a few times a year. She found that it was very handy to have a
boy-toy in every city she had to visit on a regular basis and Jack was merely the one for down
here.

The sooner he learned that, the better and she made a concerted effort to be disinterested in his
life outside her bed.

For instance, she knew he was in college but she hadn't the faintest clue what he was studying
and no inclination to find out. His body was what she wanted, no pillow talk attached. That might
sound cold but hey, he seemed to like the arrangement too. Weren't most young men of that age
in near-constant arousal but not wanting any sort of commitment?

It was a win-win situation - she got her needs met while in Inverness and he, in addition to the
needs thing as well, doubtless received an ego-boosting. He was, after all, involved with as
sensuous a Mrs. Robinson as she was.

Not that he knew her real age or anything.

She reached up to unwound the towel that was wrapped around her wet hair and laid it over the back
of the chair. Now that Jack was gone, she could charm her hair dry instead of doing it the Muggle
way. She tended to go for Muggle men, for some reason. Maybe it was the knowing that she was
something more than they thought she was that gave her such a thrill of power.

She walked over to the obsessively neat coffee table and spotted her wand poking out from where
it'd been hastily hidden. Reaching for it, her eyes landed on the scroll of parchment that had
been the initiator of this afternoon's whole sequence of events. Reading it had filled her with
such rage. Who the hell did they think they were anyway, messing with her perfectly structured
life? Had they any idea how hard she'd worked to get everything, even her future, arranged just
so? And by merely sending her that piece of tree pulp they'd effected numerous little cracks in
the painstakingly constructed masterpiece that was her life.

Instead of doing something drastic and destructive, she'd rung Jack and he'd played hooky
from work to come over, bearing a large container of Starbucks product as usual. She'd
channeled the anger and fear she felt about the letter into the kind of violent copulation that
requires a good nap to recover from. The nap had been good for her and she and Jack had hit the
showers, had much gentler sex and then he'd had to leave.

Which was just as well. She needed to think.

Ignoring her hair for the time being, the woman sat back down and picked up the letter, holding it
up to the light of the early afternoon. It was from some kind of probate lawyer, informing her that
there was in fact another heir to the family fortune. Apparently, this other person had no idea
that she had inherited a nice sum of money because the lawyer couldn't find her.

"And there's no reason for that to change," she said, smoothing out the parchment.
"What this Margaret Montgomery Lovejoy doesn't know can't possibly hurt
her."

One thing was for certain, if the length of the name was any indication, this Margaret was
definitely her cousin. Her family had a knack for long-winded names and hers wasn't any
exception.

She smiled to herself as she traced the letters of her name in the addressing of the letter -
Cristella Montgomery. When she was much younger, she had hated her first name. Everybody but her
mother called her 'Stella', anyway.

She'd made the mistake once of interrupting her mother during one of her martini
'therapy' sessions to complain about it. "Why couldn't you have just named me
that? Just 'Stella'?"

"If I'd wanted to give you such a whorish name, I would have," her mother had spat
waspishly, the martini glass wobbling in her hand. "Though that does seem to be all you're
shaping up to be. Now get out of my sight!"

She was eleven years old that day.

And although one would never know it from their later relationship, once upon a time, Cristella and
her mother had been as close as a mother and daughter could possibly be. Though now when she
thought about it, her mother had always treated her more like a pampered poodle than a child. An
extravagant accessory. This was made much easier by the fact that Cristella had been the kind of
cherubic, photogenic child that caused perfect strangers to stop on the street to ooh and ahh over
her. And if there was one thing that Cookie Montgomery - her mother - loved, it was attention and
that was what Cristella brought even more of.

Until she'd made the mistake of growing up, of developing breasts, of getting taller and
shapelier than her mother. Until her mother's many male friends began pretending to listen to
the older one while their eyes lingered on the younger.

And with the speed of a runaway train, just like that the idyllic relationship was gone. Cristella
had been understandably hurt and confused by the drastic change in her mother's attitude
towards her but with a childlike hope, she'd held onto the belief that things could go back to
normal.

"And what are you crying for now?" the adult Cristella asked herself in the otherwise
empty living room in Inverness. "It's all in the past. Get over it! You've moved on
and conquered that old bag anyway!"

But the tears kept coming; the memory of the next major event was still painful enough to crash
through her carefully constructed walls, even now. Because was there anything more agonizing than
the premature death of your childhood and all that that represented? The innocence, the joy? The
hope?


*The annual Christmas Eve party was in full swing in venerable old Montgomery Mansion. Outside,
all the world was white and the snow was still gently wafting down, obscuring all her favorite Cape
Cod landmarks. Inside, however, it was deliciously warm - enough for Cristella to wear the new
strapless black gown that her mother had bought her.

Her chestnut hair was arranged in cascading ringlets that framed her face and her mother had let
her put on a little eyeshadow that brought out her blue eyes nicely. Her well-defined features, a
proud nose and shapely lips - tinted with the faintest smidge of lipstick, just for tonight -
culminated in an attractive jawline. At her throat, she was wearing a sapphire choker that had been
in her family for generations.

In short, Cristella looked grand and she knew it. She looked and felt much older than her twelve
years.

All around her, people were milling around the large lavishly decorated ballroom that she knew had
taken the house-elves weeks to beautify. She thought they'd done a good job; not that she would
ever tell them that. Why express gratitude for something that was supposed to be done anyway? And
besides, she couldn't stand being near them. They all looked so creepy, all bulbous eyes and
floppy ears.

The twelve-piece orchestra (that was ridiculously overpriced, she'd heard her mother griping)
set up on the platform overlooking the room was playing a slow waltz that had her itching to get on
the floor with the other couples.

Smiling to herself, she tried to imagine someone asking her. "Oh, thank you, Tom Cruise. I
would love to dance with you!" Nah, Tom Cruise was much too old. And besides, he was a Muggle.
Hmm.. ah! "Yes, you may have this dance, Harry Potter. And thank you for the compliment! I
think your eyes are gorgeous too."

Harry Potter was ridiculously famous and all the girls at her school had huge, unattainable crushes
on him. Who better to dance with, to incur all their collective envies?

"May I have this dance?" somebody asked right behind her and illogically the thought that
Harry Potter had magically materialized to ask her actually flitted through her mind. Upon spinning
around, however, her eyes widened at the sight of John Macy, her mother's latest boyfriend,
smiling down at her.
* And you thought this was Harry Potter? Please. He's two years younger than you are,
anyway and what would he be doing in Cape Cod to begin with?

*Besides, the look of open admiration in John's eyes was incredibly thrilling and she set
down her tumbler of cranberry juice and let him lead her to the floor. The waltz had turned faster
and she felt so grown-up being twirled and rocked across the room. She felt like she would never
stop smiling again and when the song ended, quite a few people cheered them.

"Whew! Was that something or what?" John said with a laugh. "You're truly nifty
on your feet. But now I'm parched. Would you like a drink?"

Cristella was still too delirious by what had just happened to articulate a reply. "Um-"
she began but was cut off by the elf that suddenly popped up with a tray bearing glasses of
burgundy wine.

"Here you go, sir and miss," the elf squeaked, bowing.

John plucked two glasses off the tray and shoved one into her hand before she could react.
Cristella stared at the glass, her euphoria rapidly vanishing. "Er, I'm not allowed to
drink wine yet. I'm not old enough."

"Then it'll just have to be our little secret, won't it?" John whispered with a
wink. He grabbed her hand suddenly. "Or better yet, let's go where they can't find
out. Out of sight, out of mind and all that."

He led her out onto one of the glassed-in balconies off the ballroom that looked over onto the
grounds. Cristella fidgeted nervously, brushing her hair from her face, unsure of what to do. Would
her mother get mad if she drank it? But John was telling her to. Shouldn't she listen to
him?

"Well, go ahead. Take a sip," he prompted, grinning down at her.

Hesitantly, she obeyed and immediately broke into a coughing fit as the liquid burned its way down
her throat. She wasn't aware of him moving but suddenly he was right in front of her, standing
so close that even through the water in her eyes, she could see the small freckles on his
nose.

The next thing she knew, his mouth was on hers and she had gone completely rigid. She'd been
pecked on the lips before, just silly games with classmates. But never the way John was kissing
her, hard and demanding. His tongue worked its way into her mouth and her eyes widened in shock.
Abruptly, his lips left hers and wandered to her neck and she could hear him muttering. "So
beautiful.. so soft.. smell so good."

Her heart was pounding and she was terrified. What was happening? Why was he doing this? Wasn't
he her* mother's *boyfriend?

He pulled away and cupped her face. "Y'know, your mother's beauty is legendary in
these parts. But I do believe you'll put her legend to shame."

And he kissed her again, gentler this time and somehow spun her around so she was facing the glass
doors to the inside of the house. Her eyes were still open and they widened further when she saw
her mother staring out at them with such a look of profound hatred that she found the wherewithal
to jerk away from John.

"Wha-" he began but then he caught sight of Cookie too and his expression rapidly morphed
into an ugly look. "And what d'you think you're doing drinking wine? Get back
inside!"

"But you gave it to me!" Cristella exclaimed in bewilderment, baffled by his sudden
personality shift.

John glanced at the doors, through which Cookie was striding towards them. "Shut
up!"

"Come here, Cristella," her mother said in a surprisingly gentle tone of voice given the
circumstances, her blue eyes completely blank.

She went to her mother, who took her hand and led her back inside the house without a word to John.
They weaved their way through all the party guests, and her mother smiled and chattered, telling
them that, "Cristella has to say goodnight. We can't have her glimpsing Santa now, can
we?"

Hand in hand, they climbed the stairs to Cristella's room and her mother shut the door.
"So what was happening with you and John?" she asked, still in that same gentle
voice.

Cristella suppressed a sigh of relief. She'd thought her mother would be mad or blame her for
what had happened. The horror she'd felt earlier began welling up inside her again. "Oh,
Mom! I don't know what happened. He just started kissing me like-"

SMACK!

The young girl's head snapped back violently from the force of the blow. Her mother who had
never ever hit her before had just slapped her across the face with all the force she could muster.
Cristella's eyes filled up with tears of shock and pain as she gaped open-mouthed at the woman
she'd idolized, the woman who was now looking at her with profound loathing.

"You lying little slut! John loves me. He would never-"

"But he did!" Cristella burst out, tears spilling down her throbbing, heated cheeks.
"He did, Mom! He gave me wine and then he started kissing-"

"Even if he did-" her mother hissed right in her face. "-it wasn't his fault. Do
you think I'm stupid? It's never the man's fault, sweet little Stella. They can't
help how they are. It's the woman who flirts and charms and even, I dare say,* enchants
*them into doing what they do. So don't give me any of that rubbish about you didn't do
anything. You're* always *doing something. Remember that."

She stepped back, her eyes hard and glinting. "Now, I'm letting you off easy this time.
But trust me, if I ever see you.." She trailed off, breathing deeply. Then suddenly, she
smiled so sweetly that if someone had happened upon them at that instant, they'd've been
touched by the way the woman was gazing at her child. "Merry Christmas, Stella."

And she was gone.

Cradling her aching cheek, Stella walked over to her bed and lay down, completely stunned. That
night, she cried herself to sleep, the first of many such nights.*


She'd awoken in the morning to discover that her jaw was red and painfully swollen. Her mother
had come into the room fairly early, bearing a tray filled with delicious-smelling foodstuff and
had acted horrified by the sight of her daughter's face.

"Who did this to you, Stella?" she'd asked, tears shining in her eyes. "Was it
one of the guests? Tell me and I'll make them pay."

And Cristella had stared at her mother, feeling so confused and angry and loathing this woman who
she still, paradoxically, loved too much to say, "It was you. *You* hurt me,
Mom."

But from that day on, she didn't hope for things to go back to normal anymore. She knew they
never would. Her mother's behavior, unpredictably swinging from loving to hurtful and back
again, quickly taught her to be wary, to be always on the defensive. And from being mostly
perplexed by all the male attention she was receiving, she began welcoming it, encouraging it,
*enticing* it. And she made sure to never ever lose control again, to never get into such a
situation like the one John had manipulated her into. If there was going to be any manipulating,
*she* would be the one doing it, no one else.

John never touched her again but she frequently felt him watching her. He and her mother broke up
not long afterwards but she never forgot what he'd said about her shaming her mother's
legend. Unconsciously, that became her mission - to be better at everything her mother had ever
undertaken.

And that included the startlingly convincing acting prowess that her mother used to charm everyone
and conceal her true neurotic self. Cristella got so good at it that she could fool even herself
with what she said and did. Although her life had not been without its rough patches, that ability
had made everything so much easier. Not to mention the near-pathological aptitude to twist any
situation to present herself in the most favorable light possible.

Only one person had ever jolted her so much from her one-woman performance that she'd had to
confront the reality of her life and actions.

******

Wanting suddenly to get away from her memories, Cristella had left her flat to go wandering around
downtown Inverness. She'd browsed through the stores but didn't buy anything and had eaten
dinner with a few people that she came to the city to do business with.

Upon heading back to her apartment, however, she found herself thinking about Julia Thomas and how
things had turned out the way they had. The day she saw Emerson Potter in Dallas had been the day
everything began falling apart. The girl just looked so much like Julia, too much, and she'd
thought herself completely and eternally free of that woman.

Because that woman had been the only person ever to make her acknowledge the fact that she was a
lie. And Cristella couldn't bear that. Her dream world was a defensive mechanism and when
threatened, even the most primitive of animals lashed out. Should one expect any less of as complex
a creature as a human being?

"No," she said out loud, heading to her bedroom closet for the box in which she kept all
her Julia/Emerson-related papers. Carrying it back to the living room, she set it on the coffee
table and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of it.

There was a picture of Julia Thomas charmed to the inside of the box cover beside one of Emerson
Potter. Were not for the eye color discrepancy, one would think that they were pictures of the same
person at two different chapters in her life. As far as Cristella was concerned, they were the same
person - come back from beyond the grave to taunt and harass her ordered existence.

So she was merely protecting herself here. The best defense is a good offense, didn't they
say?

"The funny thing is, I could have liked you, Julia," Cristella said to the empty frame
she had picked up from inside the box. The frame contained a picture of her nemesis, who was
usually mutely yelling at her, but sometimes the portrait decided to revert out of sight and this
was one of those times.

"In fact, I probably would have if we'd met in almost any other circumstance than the one
in which we did."


*It was the second day of her fourth year at Berkshire Academy of Magic and Cristella Montgomery
could be found happily bounding down the stairs to the Main Hall. She was in a great mood. Last
night, she and her boyfriend had made love and while it wasn't their first time together,
it'd been the first time that she'd reached fulfillment. It'd been incredible and
she'd never felt so close to him before. He'd wanted to leave right afterwards but
she'd just told herself that he needed his sleep and she was a supportive girlfriend so of
course she wouldn't try to hold him back.

It'd been hard enough to snag him in the first place.

They'd been classmates since their first year at Berkshire but for some reason, Cristella had
never noticed Logan Brunswick until her third year. Which was mind-boggling because, oh Lord, was
he gorgeous! He was the clichéd All-American boy, funny, smart, athletic. He was the most popular
guy in their year and since she was the most popular girl, she'd decided that they belonged
together. He just didn't know it yet and it was up to her to bring him that enlightenment.
Together, as the best of their school, just imagine how much power they could wield over their
fellow students!

Her acting skills had come in very handy in securing her spot at the top of the social ladder. To
everyone, she was this perky, friendly female who was ever so nice. She used her skills to get
almost anything she wanted. Secretly, nobody was worth her time or energy but that would make for a
very lonely existence, no? So she acted, with flawless perfection.

But anyone who got in her way had better watch out.

For instance, one male teacher who had somehow seen through her façade had found himself without a
job, by some niftily shed tears and a shocking tale about inappropriate looks, words and touches.
So what if his dismissal shocked and saddened all those saps to whom he was a favored mentor? So
what if her story was a lie? For all they knew, she really had spared some innocent young girl from
such horror. He did have a rather creepy look to him, anyway.

But strangely, Logan never treated her the way nearly every other guy did. He never looked at her
as if he wanted to run his hands through her hair just to see if it really was as soft as it
looked. He never flushed and fidgeted when she licked her lips a certain way, not like the other
boys in her class did. At first she'd thought he was gay, but then she'd happened upon him
kissing an older girl and he'd seemed to be enjoying himself tremendously.

He just seemed to ignore* her *and that had both infuriated her and made her all the more
determined to have him. She'd put all her charms and smiles and pseudo-personality into action
and by Christmas of that year, they were at least on speaking terms.

But she wanted more - she wanted to own him - and it'd taken an embarrassingly vulgar
conversation with her half-drunken mother to give her the idea of how to make him truly hers. And
it'd worked, to a point. She and Logan had lost their virginities to each other, both of them
barely into their teens. It'd been a painful but mercifully brief experience. But she'd
been elated that finally, she'd gotten what she wanted. She'd gotten him.

In retrospect, it probably hadn't been the best idea to do that the day before they went home
for the summer. She'd written to him numerous times but he only wrote back once or twice. Of
course she simply convinced herself that that was just how boys were, hardly "faithful
correspondents". But upon arriving back at school two days ago, there was no mistaking that he
was embarrassed by what had happened between them at the end of last term. Sure, he hadn't
wanted to do it in the first place, but hadn't he eventually succumbed to her ministrations?
The body doesn't lie about what it desires.

She'd been incredibly hurt by his attitude. As far as she was concerned, he had gotten the
better end of the bargain by being with her that way. Couldn't he see how all the other boys
watched her, wishing they could be as lucky as he was? The least he could do was show a little
gratitude! But she had hidden her bruised feelings away expertly, and surely as a reward for her
candor, he'd come to her last night and the magic had happened.

She couldn't wait to see him, to tell him how much it had meant to her. Wasn't that what a
girl was supposed to say after something like that?

"Hey, Stella!" various people called out and she returned the greetings with genuine
friendliness for what was probably the first time ever, so good was her mood.

Upon entering the Main Hall, she saw him sitting over by the west wing of the Hall, his blond head
thrown back as he laughed at something his friends were saying. For a moment, she actually felt
something other than the possessiveness and mild hatred that she felt towards him for hurting her
feelings.

Shaking her head, she looked instead at the group of guys he was always with. She'd tried to
get him to leave them - they took away from her time with him and her efforts to bring him under
her control - but he'd gotten really irritated with her at the suggestion and she'd let the
matter drop. She hated those guys, though; she always got the feeling that they were secretly
mocking her, even as their eyes lingered too long on her chest and behind.

Halfway across the Hall, Cristella raised her hand to wave at him just as a small girl with long,
dark hair, obviously a first year, bounded up to him and playfully punched him on the shoulder.
Cristella let her arm drop slowly in confusion, half-expecting him to push the girl away in
annoyance. What she wasn't prepared for was for him to jump up, throw his arms around the girl
and swing her around with such a look of joy on his face.
* Has he ever looked at me like that? *The thought floated unbidden through her mind as
she watched his friends crowd around Logan and the girl, their chattering drifting all the way
across to where she was standing frozen in aching disbelief. Shaking her head again, she started
briskly towards them, feeling the disbelief being shoved aside by the hot anger swelling within
her.

Who was this fresh little tart with such a lack of manners? Didn't she know he was taken?

"Oh shut up, Logan, or I'll tell them about that time with the ants' nest!" the
dark-haired girl was exclaiming. Up close, Cristella realized that everything about the girl was
dark - her hair, her eyes, mocha-colored skin.

Logan blushed, his blue eyes wide. "You wouldn't."

"Oh yes, I would," the girl sang then burst out laughing at the look of horror on his
face.

"What about the ants' nest? What happened?" asked Quincy, the tall black guy that
Logan played Quodpot with.

The girl grinned mischievously. "Well, Logan-"

Her words were cut off as Logan's hand clamped over her mouth but he was laughing too.

And then he caught sight of her and the smile died on his face as the hand fell away from the
girl's mouth. "Oh hi, Stella."

It was as if cold water had been doused on the scene based on how rigid everybody suddenly became.
Everybody but the little first year.

"Oh hi!" she said brightly. "I'm Julia Thomas. And your name is
Stella?"

It was right on the tip of her tongue to snap, "No, it's* Cristella *and don't
you forget it!" But a quick glance around indicated that everyone was gazing at this Julia
Thomas with unabashed fondness so summoning her best 'Pleasant!Stella' mask, she smiled.
"Yes, I'm Stella. Nice to meet you. Where do you know Logan from?"

"Oh, we grew up together. Our parents are old friends so we've known each other since he
was three and I was a newborn, basically," the girl chirped with nauseating
cheerfulness.

"Yeah and a right little pain in the ass you were too," Logan said, scowling
good-naturedly.

The girl tossed her head with a scoff. "Keep telling yourself that, Brunswick. But think what
a joy it would be to share that little tale involving Oklahoma, a cocky little fellow and a mad
bull? How was that for a 'pain in the ass'?"

There was silence for a few seconds as the other boys tried to work out what that meant. Logan was
blushing scarlet and Quincy suddenly grinned. "Oh! That scar on your butt,
Brunswick?"

Realization coming, the other boys doubled over and howled with laughter, but far from that
reaction, Cristella was livid.

'So that's how he got that scar,' she mused silently, glancing from the giggling Julia
to the red-faced but laughing Logan. She'd asked him about it that very first time and probably
every time afterwards but he'd never once answered her, saying it was personal. Yet here he was
laughing about it as if it was nothing, this fresh little first year having broadcast it to all and
sundry.

Illogically, she decided that his behavior to her was all Julia Thomas's fault and she did
nothing to suppress the hot rush of dislike that flooded her stomach. Who the hell did this little
bint think she was, anyway? So what if they'd grown up together? He was* her *boyfriend;
he belonged to* her*.

Rearranging her face to hide her fury, she plastered on a smile. "Logan, how about we get some
breakfast? I'm starving," she said loudly and just as quickly as before, a cold silence
fell over the group.

Logan frowned, glancing at Julia as if debating leaving her.

"Oh, that's ok. Go on," Julia said. "Merry's waiting for me at our
table."

"Merry? She's here too?" Logan asked with obvious delight and Cristella found that
she hated this Merry already.

"Of course. We're inseparable, remember? But I'll see y'all later or around,"
she said. "Bye."

And Cristella watched her boyfriend watch Julia Thomas, still with that same fond expression and
found that the dislike in her gut was rapidly morphing into loathing.*


"But I couldn't do anything then, could I, Julia?" Cristella asked the empty frame.
For some reason, she was suddenly in the mood to revisit the whole thing. "The way people
acted at school, you must have thought you were some kind of royalty. So what if you were friendly
and outgoing? So was I! So what if you started getting pretty? I was that first and way more than
you could ever hope to be."

These feelings and thoughts frequently kept her up at night these days, ever since she bumped into
Emerson Potter in Dallas. She lay awake obsessing about the younger girl that her boyfriend seemed
to rather spend time with. What did Julia Thomas have that she didn't? Hadn't she given him
the most precious part of herself? They were meant to be together, dammit so why was he still
fighting it?

She didn't realize that she was thinking in the present tense, as if it all were an ongoing
trial instead of being more than twenty years in the past. How could she, when Julia Thomas's
reincarnation was out there, mocking her still?

The old frustration welled up within and she stood up abruptly and stalked to the kitchen to pour
herself a glass of white wine. She never touched red wine of any kind. Too many painful memories
associated.

Taking a sip, she sat down again as the memories emerged of the day her feelings about Julia Thomas
had truly crossed the threshold.


*It was a week before the Spring Formal Dance of her fifth year and she was extremely excited.
She loved any opportunity to dress up and show off her refined bluebloodedness, show these amateurs
how it was really done without her disdain being too obvious, of course.

But right now, she was looking for Logan. She needed to know what time he wanted them to meet for
the dance, so she could plan everything right up to that second. Upon reaching the Quodpot stands,
however, the happy excitement inside turned to irritation. Julia Thomas and Merry Reynolds were
sitting in the stands cheering the players in the air.

"What the fuck are they doing out here?" she muttered. "Don't they have friends
in their own year or what?"

But rearranging her face into pleasantness, she strode over to them. "Hey girls!"

"Stella! Hi," Julia said, smiling widely and all of a sudden Stella was aware of just how
attractive the younger girl was. How had she not noticed it before? And this fly was hanging around
her man? Oh heck, no!

"Hi Julia. What's up?" she managed with convincing amiability.

"The boys," was the giggled response and she forced a grin. Glancing over at Merry, she
saw that the blonde girl was regarding her with barely concealed dislike and frankly, the feeling
was mutual. Stella knew Merry wasn't really fooled by her friendly act; she wasn't as open
and guileless as her best friend so Stella had to take extra care not to tip her off.

"So you're going to the Formal, of course?" Julia was asking.

Stella nodded. "Of course."

"Man, I wish I could! I love to dance. But you have to be in third year and above to
go."

'And thank goodness for that,' Stella thought. 'You'd probably get Logan to spend
all the dances with you.' Her blood churned at the thought and she had to force herself not to
scowl.

"So who are you going with?" Julia asked, gazing up at her.

Cristella laughed with slight asperity. They hadn't really discussed it but he was her
boyfriend so it was a given. "With Logan, of course. He's my boyfriend, after
all."

There was a brief silence. "He's your boyfriend?"

You better believe it, bitch! "Yeah, he is. Why?"

"That's weird," Julia said, frowning. "I asked him if you were his girlfriend
and he said no. Remember, Merry?"

"Yeah," Merry replied with an unmistakable smirk.

A strange ringing began in her ears as she felt her carefully ordered plans beginning to slip. That
bast- no- these bitches! What were they doing questioning Logan about her business? Surely he'd
merely lied to them because frankly, he was under no obligation to tell them a damn thing.

She glanced over at them to see Julia looking sympathetically at her but which Stella, through her
simmering rage, deciphered as pity.

How dare she? Does she think I want or need her pity? "Oh, you know Logan," she said more
tersely than she'd wanted. "Always joking about."

"Ri-i-i-ght," drawled Merry sarcastically and Stella seriously came that close to
slapping the little witch.

Jumping up instead, she faked a sigh. "But I just remembered I have some homework left to
finish up. I'll catch Logan later."

And not waiting for a response, she hurried off the field, feeling fury swelling up and
overflowing. More than a few people leapt out of her way in surprise as she stalked up to her room
and slammed the door. Sitting down on her bed, she grabbed the picture of Logan that was on her
nightstand and threw it hard across the room. The sound of the glass shattering seemed to bring her
to her senses and she closed her eyes and took deep breaths, willing herself to calm down.

"It's not his fault. It's her," she muttered repeatedly. "It's not his
fault. It's her."

Because she had never forgotten her mother's words to her on that Christmas Eve night.

'It's never the man's fault, sweet little Stella. They can't help how they are. It
is the woman who flirts and charms and, I dare say, enchants them into doing what they
do.'

"Reparo! Accio!" she whispered, pointing her wand at the broken picture and setting it
gingerly back on the nightstand. "It's not your fault, Logan. And I'm gonna free you
from her. I promise."

She lay back on her pillow, trying to devise ways of getting back at Julia Thomas without it being
too obvious. But she must have fallen asleep instead because the room was suddenly dark and
glancing at her clock, she realized it was after six.

"Shit," she murmured, bounding off the bed. She went to the bathroom to freshen up, then
headed out to look for him again. She needed to know so she could make her plans. Unable to find
him anywhere, she decided to go by the Quodpot locker rooms. She'd once snuck in while he was
alone taking a shower and after getting over his initial irritation, he'd enjoyed himself
tremendously, she recalled.

Upon reaching the lockers, she paused at the door, debating whether to go in. Deciding to just peek
in real quickly, she opened it a little bit and heard the chatter of male voices.

'Dammit,' she thought. 'I'll have to wait till later because there's no way
I'm talking about our business in front of those buffoons.'

She started to close the door but the sound of her name made her pause.

"-can't deny that Stella Montgomery is one of the hottest chicks in the whole
school."

A smile blossomed on her face as she listened. She recognized the voice and wasn't surprised
that that guy would say something like that. She'd once slept with him in a fit of anger at
Logan that the sex had profitably burned up.

"Well, she is pretty. But I dunno. There's something weird about her, like she's not
all there. Like life is just this big stage production that she's acting her way through,"
said another voice that she recognized as Quincy, the tall black boy. "And she's such a
control freak! Honestly, I don't envy Brunswick being saddled with her."

The smile died as she listened to the other boys muttering their agreement.* Fuck you,
Quincy!*

Quincy went on. "Besides, I don't think he really likes her all that much."

"Yeah, I agree. He would never admit it, of course, but I think the only reason he's still
with her is cause he's a horny bastard like the rest of us and she offers him some
regularly."

Hearty snickers all around.

"How about that Julia Thomas, though?"

Excited murmurs. "Oh man! Now that's a girl!"

"And she's only twelve! That's so unfair. She looks at least sixteen."

"Fuckin' A! And she's just as pretty as Stella too, but in a different way, ya know?
Any fool can see that Stella tries really hard to look stunning all the time but Julia just is. She
doesn't have to try."

"Besides that, she seems like the kinda girl who is real, ya know? Like she wouldn't go
batshit if she broke a fingernail or something stupid and girly like that."

Laughter.

"That's my kinda girl."

"Well, don't let Logan hear you say that!" somebody else piped up and Cristella
leaned even closer, straining to hear over the sudden loud chatter.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," said Quincy, sounding amused. "He likes her.
'I'm just looking out for her cause we grew up together.' My black ass!"

Loud laughter.

"Any fool can see that," somebody repeated. "Except Julia, maybe. She doesn't
seem to notice that he feels more for her than merely 'the little sister he never had'-type
feelings."

Breathing deeply, Cristella let the door close at last and walked slowly away from the locker room.
Any doubts she'd had about the need to do something had been thoroughly extinguished. Because
she begged to differ with whomever had uttered that last statement. As far as she was concerned,
Julia Thomas knew exactly what was going on because she'd started it in the first place.

'You* always *are doing something. Remember that.'

"Well, it's time for me to do something too," the brunette said softly under her
breath as she headed back to her room. "The time for dilly-dallying is over. And this means
war."*


********

Darkness had fallen around Inverness and still Cristella sat cross-legged on the floor in front of
her coffee table, perusing the contents of the box. Every now and then she would linger over a
certain picture or piece of paper, smirking to herself and taking sips of white wine. She'd
lost count of how many times she'd refilled her glass but oh, she had such a nice buzz going
right now. No reason to mess with it.

She picked up a Muggle snapshot of a thirteen-year-old Julia, who was smiling tearily at the
camera. Her swollen eyes gave mute testimony to the fact that she'd been crying copiously just
before the picture was taken.

"That was the beginning," Cristella said aloud, grinning. "That was just the
beginning, you fool." She adopted a ridiculously high voice, clutching the front of her shirt.
"Oh, Stella! How can they say those things?! *Nothing* is going on between me and Logan!
You know I'd never do something like that. You know that, right?"

Stella had assured her that she did indeed know, even as she fought valiantly not to betray her
glee at the younger girl's distress.

"But where did those pictures come from?" Julia had lamented, wiping her overflowing
eyes. "They are obviously fake, why can't they see that? I would n-never- Logan would
never do that! He's p-practically my brother!"

"I know. It's a wonder where they came from," Stella had murmured in a believably
soothing voice. Of course she'd known exactly where the pictures came from. *She* had
doctored the Wizarding photos herself so that they depicted Logan Brunswick and Julia Thomas
engaged in an unmistakable liplock, their hands wandering to shocking locations.

Because, you see, that had been the modus operandi that Cristella chose to wage war on her
self-appointed nemesis. She couldn't just launch an out and out attack. Because she knew if it
came down to a choice between herself and Julia, the vast majority would side with Julia. She
couldn't understand why but people just seemed to like that stupid, ever-smiling bint and try
as she did, she couldn't discover why.

So her passive-aggressiveness had come chiefly into play and had worked beyond her wildest dreams.
It surprised her how readily the female population in particular had accepted the lies she sneakily
spread about their schoolmate. Apparently, they were all harboring increasing senses of unease
about the pretty little biracial girl who had almost all the boys eating out of her hands. Julia
could get them to do almost anything for her, without having to flirt or charm or put out so much
as a kiss.

It was all very puzzling and the other girls became increasingly jealous, helped along by the
stories Stella was able to distribute in such a way that one would be hard-pressed to ever trace
them back to her.

During her free time, Julia could be found in one of two places: in the company of the increasingly
angry and overprotective boys who kept vowing to find out who was hurting their darlin' Julia.
If she wasn't with the boys, she would be sobbing in her bed, her young heart breaking under
the strain of that oh-so-effective brand of nastiness that only females are capable of dishing
out.

Merry could be found stubbornly by her side at all times, glaring daggers at anyone who so much as
glanced at her distressed friend. More than once, the blonde had gotten into fights in her
defense.

And through it all, Stella had been right there too, offering 'a shoulder to cry on', an
ear to hear the hurt and bewildered sobs of Julia as she earnestly tried to figure out what
she'd done wrong, why it seemed like everybody suddenly hated her so.

"Not everybody," Stella had said once, some of the bitterness she was feeling seeping
through. Which Julia, in her distress, fortunately failed to pick up on. "You still have all
the guys."

Julia had smiled, missing the implication in the statement. "Yeah. They've been awesome.
But Stella, I don't know what I would do without you. And Merry, of course, but you're like
my big sister. I'm so glad you're on my side."

"That's why you thought, didn't you? Stupid bitch," Cristella snapped, dropping
the picture back into the box and fishing around for another one.

She actually burst out laughing when she saw which one she'd picked up. "Ah! Probably my
best feat ever - breaking up The Great Friendship. Too bad that wasn't permanent."

She sighed and stared at the people in the snapshot who were smiling and waving at her - Julia and
Merry Reynolds with their arms around each other, not knowing that later that same night they would
have a falling out and would not be reconciled with each other for almost three months.


*"Ok, you can turn around now," Merry Reynolds said excitedly, putting down her wand.
The girls were getting ready for the first dance recital of the season with Berkshire's Dance
Troupe. After putting on their makeup, Merry had used her wand to arrange Julia's long hair
into an elegant knot at the back of her head.

"This is good. Thanks, Merry," Julia said, turning her head this way and that as she
observed herself in the mirror. She blew out a deep breath and smiled shakily. "I'm so
nervous."

Her friend looked over from where she was double-checking that her slippers were properly laced up.
"Come on. You'll be fine."

"I don't know. Not only dancing in front of a packed audience, but singing too! By myself.
I don't know what the hell I was thinking agreeing to this."

"You have an amazing voice, that's why. Only you could handle that song," Merry said
firmly, standing up and stretching. "If I had a voice like that, I'd want everybody to
hear it."

Julia sighed, picking at a sequin on her top. "I used to think that way too. But that was
before almost everybody turned against me over some stupid lies. It makes me so mad, ya
know?"

"Me too."

"Anyway, Stella reckons I should lie low for a while. Y'know, not advertise myself too
much."

Merry shot her a sudden look, her lips tightening but didn't speak.

Her friend had noticed the look and observed her somewhat warily. "What?"

"What what?"

"What was that look for?" Julia asked with a slight frown. "You're not still on
about Stella having it in for me, are you?"

Merry raised her eyebrows but still didn't answer, instead turning in front of the mirror to
check her tights.

Julia made an impatient sound. "Merry, you know I hate when you do that. If you have something
to say, why don't you just say it?"

Merry spun around, her grey-green eyes hard. "You want to hear it? Fine! I think Stella is the
one spreading those lies about you."

A tense silence filled the small changing room for a long moment as Julia Thomas stared at her
childhood best friend in disbelief. When at last she spoke, her voice was cold. "I've
always known you didn't like Stella and I've tried to see it from your perspective. You and
I have been best friends since we were six years old. She was infringing on your territory. But I
never thought you could sink so low, Merry. How can you say that?"

"Christ, Julia, you can be so naive!" snapped Merry. "You think everybody is all
sweetness and light. Have you ever stopped to think why on earth Stella is always in your business?
Because she's perpetrating your business, that's why! Or at least the nastier
aspects."

Julia had stood up now, her dark eyes flashing. "Well excuse me if I'm not all suspicious
and distrustful of every damn person! Stella has been a good friend. She's been on my side
through all this crap!"

Merry looked profoundly hurt. "And where have I been, Julia?" she asked softly.
"Where have I been?"

"God, Merry, I didn't mean it like that!" Julia cried, looking aghast. "I just
meant-"

"You know what?" Merry interrupted loudly, holding up one hand. "Save it. You
obviously aren't going to take the word of someone whose been through thick and thin with you
for more than half our lives. So there's no point in going through this again. Let me know when
you're ready to talk reality."

And with those words, she spun around and strode from the room with as much dignity as one could in
ballet slippers. Leaving her best friend staring after her, biting her bottom lip and blinking
rapidly so as not to burst into tears of confusion and anger and hurt.*


That had been sweet.. so very satisfying and the best part was that Stella hadn't set out to
break up Julia and Merry. That had merely been a by-product but it'd been brilliant because
Julia had been so distraught that she'd gone into a deep depression. She lost weight, there
were dark circles under her eyes and for a time there'd been speculation that she would need to
be hospitalized.

She wasn't the best student to begin with - too many extracurricular activities and an
inability to say 'no' to whomever asked for her assistance took away from her ability to
really hunker down to her schoolwork. And her depression brought on a steady drop in her grades
that Stella knew embarrassed Julia greatly because she frequently was 'lending an ear' to
those woes.

"Merlin, the number of times I had to listen to you moan about how much you missed Merry, how
much you wished you could talk to her, blah, blah, blah," Cristella sniped, flinging the
picture back into the box.

She drained her glass but now her head was beginning to pound. Too much alcohol and for fuck's
sake, when would she learn not to drink so much? But alcoholism, mental illness and crappy
mothering skills seemed to run in her family.

Not that she had any cause to worry about the last two.

With her headache came the inevitable recollections of the times when things hadn't gone all
that great on the Julia Thomas War front. Eventually, Julia and Merry reconciled and seemed to be
even closer than ever before, though Julia had never withdrawn from Stella either. She'd
stubbornly refused to think ill of the brunette and she and Merry had merely agreed to disagree in
that regard.

Eventually, Julia developed a thicker skin so that the lies, barbs and cold shoulders lost much of
their effectiveness. Instead, the young girl immersed herself in the things she loved: Quidditch,
books, music, the dance troupe. She surrounded herself with people who really cared about her -
unknowingly, with the exception of Stella, of course - and truly blossomed into a lovely,
"well-rounded person", whatever that meant.

Eventually, in the last term of their fifth year, Logan broke up with Stella, confessing that he
had feelings for someone else and apologizing for 'using' her for as long as he had.

"Using me?" Cristella scoffed, standing up in somewhat of a wobbly manner and pulling out
some clippings. "It was more the other way around, arsehole. And three guesses who that
'someone else' was."

Distractedly, she tossed the clippings aside to fish around in the box for the photo taken in her
seventh year of Logan kissing Julia - for real this time. Logan had admitted his feelings during
the summer of that year and Julia, being the considerate idiot that she was, had written to Stella
to ask if it would hurt her terribly if they dated. Stella had gone into a rage that terrified the
house-elves and amused her mother. But in the end, she'd written back that no, she didn't
mind and how could Julia even think that and go for it!

They had gone for it, alright. The way Logan looked at her, as if she were some goddess descended
from Mount Olympus. They couldn't keep their hands off each other. It was obvious to all that
some very strong feelings were involved, on both sides. Even the teachers began joking about
planning a wedding ceremony for them.

"And I had to have it all shoved in my face, the fact that you had won. That you'd stolen
him from me. That you'd gotten him to look at you like he'd never ever looked at me. That
you'd gotten him to cry out your name and be the one trying to stop *you* from leaving
afterwards. But I had to keep smiling, didn't I? You'd gotten everything I'd ever
wanted, without even trying, and I could no longer do jack about it."

And perhaps worst of all, through it all, Julia's vibrancy, her laughter, her almost childlike
trust in people, even after all the pain they had caused her, frequently had Stella lying awake in
bed, huddled in fear under her covers. Fear of the world, fear of life. Fear of living. Because she
had no idea who she really was. She had been acting for so long that the thought of laying aside
her costumes and masks and really examining herself was terrifying. The masquerade was her shield,
her source of comfort and protection.

And she hated the woman who, simply by being herself, could make her doubt her fortress.


*******

"I remember the first time I saw you," Cristella said softly to the picture of Emerson
Potter that was charmed to the inside cover of the box lid. "You were about a month old and
honestly, you were the straw that broke the camel's back. You were what made me finally decide
to break away from Julia once and for all. You made me decide that the time had come to let her
know just what I really thought of her.

"But not even that plan could go right, could it? Oh no, sir!"


*It was early July of the year she turned twenty-eight and Cristella Montgomery was in Dallas,
Texas for the first time in quite a while. It was a hot, muggy day, the kind of weather wherein not
even a rainstorm could alleviate the stickiness in the atmosphere. In other words, typical summer
weather for Texas.

The air smelled organic, like hay and cow dung as she bumped along in the rented Range Rover down
the country lane, on her way to see Julia Thomas, her 'old friend'.

'Right,' she thought to herself with a smirk. 'Amazing how all these years and
she's never once picked up on reality. I don't know whether to hit her upside the head for
being such a trusting idiot or give her a medal for making my job that much easier.'

Upon reaching her destination, she parked the Rover in the sprawling driveway of the Thomas's
ranch and walked across the wide wooden porch with its assortment of rocking chairs to ring the
doorbell.

Mrs. Thomas admitted her, looking like one of those paintings of Indian squaws in history books,
right down to soft leather moccasins. Only thing she was missing was an infant strapped to her
back. "Cristella! How lovely to see you!" the older woman exclaimed, her long braid
swinging behind her. Her cheerfulness had the desperate quality of those who knew that crushing
grief was incoming and that they were absolutely powerless to stop it. "Come in, come in. You
must be burning up!"

"Well, it is kinda hot," Cristella laughed somewhat nervously. Julia's parents always
made her uneasy. Talk about a marriage of minorities! Every time she saw Mrs. Thomas, she
couldn't help feeling a twinge of guilt, which in turn made her angry. It wasn't her fault
if her ancestors had stolen Mrs. Thomas's ancestors' land so what was she feeling guilty
for?

And Mr. Thomas was always cracking jokes in his Jamaican accent that had never really gone away,
even after more than four decades in the United States. Cristella remembered how Julia used to roll
her eyes and implore her father to stop embarrassing her. But anybody could see the deep bond of
affection and respect between them.

Just one more reason for Stella to hate Julia. Her own father had died when she was a year old and
the thought of finding a father figure in one of her mother's many men was laughable. They were
all much more interested in trying to grope her than in teaching her to play the guitar or the
steel drum like Mr. Thomas did with Julia.

After getting her a glass of lemon iced tea, Mrs. Thomas led her through the deceptively cozy house
- the place was huge - upstairs to Julia's room. "She's been looking forward to seeing
you. She's had so many visitors lately, it's kind of hard to keep track! How can one person
know so many people?" The older woman laughed but broke off abruptly and now seemed to be
trying to hold herself together.

Cristella felt a strange rush of foreboding, intermingled with hope. Pausing on the stairs, she
turned to Mrs. Thomas and adopted a concerned look and voice. "How bad is it?
Honestly?"

Mrs. Thomas sniffled. "The doctors say she has less than fifteen weeks left to live," was
the choked reply.

In spite of herself, Cristella was stunned. Fifteen weeks? That was what, less than four months? In
less than four months, this would all be over, this chapter in her life would be closed? At
last?

After comforting the older woman for a sufficient amount of time, she finished the trip up the
stairs. She knocked on the door that still had that wooden plaque of a pair of pink ballet
slippers, below which was flourishingly written "Julia's Room".

Footsteps from within and then the door was opened gently. Stella found herself looking into the
rapidly hardening grey-green eyes of Merry Reynolds. "Oh. Cristella, hi."

"Hello, Meredith," Stella said, hiding her delight when the blonde bristled at the use of
the name she detested.

"Try to keep your voice down. The baby is sleeping," was all Merry said as she spun on
her heel and walked back into the room.

Stella closed the door behind her and turned. The room predominantly had that bland, antiseptic
smell that is omnipresent in hospitals - the smell of desperation, bleach and death. But there was
also the faint odor of nature's best perfume. Vases of flowers were all over the room,
obviously from well-wishers who all knew their 'wishes' would be in vain. Most of the
furniture she remembered from her visits here had been replaced with beeping machinery and carts
bearing even more beeping machinery. The Muggle side.

The bed was almost smack in the middle of the room and in spite of the heat outside, the lone
occupant of the bed was bundled up to the chin in several heavy blankets. Only a dark head was
visible and Cristella kept her eyes on it as she approached.

Merry was helping her drink from a cup but Julia turned her head when Stella reached the bed.
"Hello, Stella." She smiled.

And in spite of herself, Cristella couldn't help but stare. Because Julia looked... diminished,
there was no other word. Her mocha skin seemed to have lost its luster and her features were gaunt
so that her eyes seemed to take up her whole face. Her long, luxurious hair was gone, replaced by
an inch of curly, dark fuzz. The glow of various charms ebbed and flowed above her, offering their
futile assistance. The Wizarding side.

She simply looked gravely ill and even to her untrained eye, Stella knew that the doctors were
right. Julia would be dead very soon.

But her smile was still dazzling, Stella noted. Her dark eyes still held a bit of their old
laughter, though one could definitely see the veneer of pain lurking in the background.

And her voice was as strong as ever.

"Julia," Cristella managed to croak at last, feeling bewildered by the emotions she was
experiencing. She was actually feeling sorry for this woman, imagine that!

Merry leviated a chair to the bedside and Stella sat awkwardly, the retreat of her usual sentiments
towards Julia now leaving her at a loss as to how to act.

"How're you, Stella? It's been too long! You're looking good," Julia was
saying with nary a smidge of bitterness.

Cristella smiled. "So are you."

Julia snorted. "Riiight. Admit it, Stella. I've had better days."

"Well, you do look a bit under the weather," Cristella admitted and felt a twinge of the
old delight that always surfaced upon seeing Julia Thomas in a low spot.

Julia laughed softly but Merry jumped up abruptly and leaned over to touch Julia's cheek.
"I need to go check on something, ok? Holler if you need me."

"Ok," Julia said, her eyes suddenly sad because she knew why Merry was really leaving the
room. When the door closed, she sighed and shut her eyes briefly. "So what have you been up to
lately?"

"Oh, just work, ya know. I work for this company based out of London, remember, a Muggle firm
so I do a lot of traveling."

Julia seemed to perk up a bit. "London?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Do you ever go into the Wizarding part?"

Stella wrinkled her nose. "Rarely. Their Diagon Alley seems unbelievably medieval these days,
especially compared to the Wizarding hubs in, say, Paris or Rome. Or even New York. So nah, not
very often."

Julia nodded weakly. "Ok. Cause I was-"

Just then there was a small whimper from the other side of the bed and Julia turned her head to it,
but not before Cristella saw the deeply heartrending look of love that had erupted on her face at
the sound.

"Shh, it's ok," Cristella heard her murmuring, her voice permeated with that same
love and the whimpers died away. Julia stared at the side of the bed for so long that Cristella
began to think she'd drifted off.

"Julia?"

The fuzzy head moved around. "Oh, I'm sorry, Stella! It's just sometimes I can't
stop looking at her, y'know? I can't believe she's mine, that she's my
baby."

"Can I see her?"

"Of course! Just come around here."

Cristella walked around to the other side of the bed and saw that there was a cradle on the floor
beside it, being magically rocked. She crept closer and her first glimpse of Emerson Potter filled
her with so alien an emotion that she gasped out loud.

"I know," Julia said softly, obviously mistaking Stella's reaction. "I can't
believe it sometimes either."

"It's not that I can't believe it," Stella blurted before she could stop herself.
"It's that she's so-"

"Beautiful? Perfect? I agree," the young mother said, gazing at her daughter, her face
suffused with such adoration that Cristella had to look away.

And suddenly, so suddenly that she almost had sit down, all the old feelings towards Julia Thomas
came back in a blinding rush. Never, ever had she hated Julia as much as she did at that moment.
Because even now, even on the verge of death, Julia had gotten something else that Stella knew she
never would - a child. She'd just received the news from her doctor the other day, that she was
infertile. Something about the early onset and quantity of her sexual activity had likely caused
some kind of irreparable damage to her reproductive system. Twenty-eight years old and she would
never be a mom, not biologically. Ever.

But Julia - even though she was bundled up on a hot day, even though her hair was almost all gone,
even though she occasionally had to close her eyes during a surge of pain, still had this creature.
This tiny, little human being with fat black curls and long lashes against rosy cheeks and a little
rosebud of a mouth, beautiful - even Cristella could not deny that - product of her failing
body.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

"Who is her father? Logan?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the baby because surely if she
looked at Julia, the gig would be up. Though Stella was rapidly discovering that she was beginning
to not care if that happened.

It took Julia a while to answer. "Um, no. Logan is not her father. Though for a while he was
the only one besides Merry who knew who the father is. I didn't tell even my parents of his
identity until after Emerson was born, and not very many people know even now."

Stella moved her chair so she could sit beside the baby, feeling another stab of hatred. Imagine
Logan and Julia still being that close even after having broken up. She'd been delighted when
she'd heard the news of their breakup - though she never did find out why they'd split up
in the first place - but upon hearing that Julia was expecting, she'd assumed they'd gotten
back together and the baby was the result. It wouldn't be at all surprising. She knew that
Logan, at least, still loved Julia.

"So who is it?"

Julia was again staring at her daughter but this time Stella didn't speak and finally-
"Harry Potter."

Cristella frowned, sure she had misheard. "Come again?"

"Her father is Harry Potter," the other woman said, looking up at last.

"Harry Potter?" Stella laughed dryly. "Good one. For a minute, you almost had me
going there."

Julia looked puzzled. "Why would I joke about something like this?"

The indulgent grin faded from Cristella's face as she gaped at her nemesis, who appeared to
have been affected in the head by all the cancer treatments, no doubt. How on earth could she
possibly think her kid was Harry Potter's?

Please! Think highly of yourself much?

"Oh, she's awake!" Julia said delightedly, jolting Cristella from her mocking
thoughts.

She looked over at the baby, who was staring back wide-eyed at her mother and it was as if
she'd been kicked in the stomach. Because those eyes- She'd only ever seen eyes like them
in pictures of-

"Harry Potter," she muttered in disbelief. "Her eyes!"

Julia nodded, smiling. "Harry's eyes. They started changing last week, which everybody
said is almost abnormally early for that to be happening."

'Harry's eyes', she'd said, oh so intimately and Cristella honestly felt sick. It
couldn't be. How could- Harry Potter was supposed to be unattainable! That kind of
astronomically famous person that you grow up having fantasies about that you know will never come
true.

The type of person that you discuss over martinis with your girlfriends and imagine what it would
be like to look into those green eyes, to trace that famous scar with your fingertips. To feel
those powerful, conquering hands on your body, and oh you get shivers just thinking about it. And
that's all you ever get to do because he's out of 99.9% of the world's league.

But not Julia's. Once again it seemed, the rules didn't apply to her.

Tears of bitterness and frustration welled up in Cristella's blue eyes. But she kept them glued
on her hands, blinking rapidly because she would be damned if this bitch would see her cry!

"So what does he think of her?" she managed after awhile, without sounding too
malevolent.

There was another long pause. "He doesn't know about her yet."

Stella's head snapped up. "He doesn't know about her?" she parroted.

"No, but he'll be finding out really soon." Julia's eyes grew sad and filled up
as she gazed at the baby. "I know I-I'm going to d-die. And I want Emerson to be with her
father, if he'll have her. So I'll be sending her to him before too long."

The seed of a plan hatched in the back of Cristella's mind as she gazed at the woman who had
stolen so much from her. "I'll take her to him for you."

Julia looked startled. "Oh, that's ok. My parents will be taking her over. Thanks for the
offer, though."

"No, Julia, I'm serious. I want to do this. I'm going to London anyway so all I'd
have to do is find out where Harry lives and take her to him," she said earnestly, the wheels
going on overdrive in her head. "If your parents do it, they'll have to pay to travel to a
country where they don't know anyone - with a newborn. And who would look after you?
Wouldn't they want to spend every bit of time possible with you, while they still
can?"

Julia frowned, turning to look again at the baby who was still awake, though blinking sleepily.
"I don't know-"

"It's the least I can do and you know I'll be really careful and make sure she gets to
him safely! How long have we been friends? Years upon years. Don't you trust me? Please let me
do this for you."

There was a very long pause as Cristella watched the emotions play across Julia's face as she
turned the offer over in her mind. Stella was just beginning to think that she would turn her down
again when Julia looked up.

"Ok, I'll let you do it. I'll let you take her over. I do trust you, Stella.
You've always been there for me so I'll let you do this. And thank you."
* Yes! *Fighting the urge to laugh maniacally, Cristella smiled instead. "No,
thank* you*. For giving me this opportunity. I'll make good use if it, I promise."
Yep, very good use.

"Would you like to hold her?"

Did she? That was probably a bad idea. If she held the kid now, maybe she would feel something she
didn't want to feel. "No, I really have to run. But I'll see you soon, ok? You promise
you'll let me do this for you?"

"I promise," Julia said, smiling. "See you soon."

And as Cristella drove away down the bumpy, dusty lane, she was smiling too. Because finally, she
could exact the biggest blow ever. Which would be no less than Julia deserved because really, why
should any one person reap all the benefits?

No, balance was a part of life and this time Julia Thomas would finally know, once and for all,
just where she stood in the balance.

You have been weighed. You have been measured. And you have been found wanting.*


******

Of course Julia's parents and Merry, in particular, had been deeply alarmed and had tried to
get Julia to back down from her promise. But Julia stubbornly refused, saying she trusted Stella
and she would not go into death having turned her back on someone who had always been there for
her, just like they had. So please don't ask her anymore and please try to respect her
wishes.

Stella kept in touch, even Flooed down every so often over the next few weeks, trying to keep up
Julia's faith in her. It would never do for her to change her mind. Not now. So she endured the
hostility from Julia's family and Merry, who apparently felt that she'd manipulated their
precious into making a promise that she obviously wouldn't even get a chance to live to regret.
She watched Julia steadily deteriorate and her triumph surged with every visit, knowing what she
had planned.

She watched Merry Reynolds, who always seemed to be on the verge of tears those days, almost never
leave Julia's side. Merry would sit there and whisper stories from when they were little,
"Remember when?"s and Julia would close her eyes and try to smile.

She watched Logan Brunswick hover over Julia, his eyes filled with anguish as he watched her
forehead wrinkle in pain. The love he still felt for her was evident to all and Stella knew that if
Julia hadn't gotten sick, they would likely have gotten back together. They would've had
the kind of saccharine suburban bliss family that you see on old Muggle television shows.

It had been a little more than a year after Logan and Julia had broken up that Julia had gone to
London and gotten herself knocked up by the great Harry Potter. Julia told her that it'd been a
very confusing time. She'd been undeniably attracted to Potter and yet, at the same time,
she'd felt almost as if she was cheating on Logan. Even though they weren't together
anymore.

Stella knew that Potter was only the second person that Julia had ever slept with. And since
apparently they'd agreed not to pursue anything, with time, Julia would probably have gone back
to her first, and only, boyfriend. Feelings as intense as what had existed between Julia and Logan
didn't just evaporate.

But fate had other plans, just as Stella did.

Unfortunately, while fate could do whatever the heck it wanted and nobody could do a damn thing
about that, it wasn't so for Stella. Because when at long last she had Emerson Potter in her
arms, having witnessed the final sorrowful, tearful goodbyes of the weakened young woman to her
child, she had arrived in London having second thoughts.

What was her plan? To get rid of the baby. How? Well, that varied depending on her mood. It ranged
from abandoning the infant somewhere in Britain without any form of identification, which would
leave her on God's good humor. Muggle Britain because that way there was less chance that
somebody could take one look at her eyes and know immediately who she belonged to. Not like in the
Wizarding world.

The most extreme end of the plan spectrum consisted of dropping Emerson buck naked into the muddy
and polluted Thames in the dead of night.

But on the night that she would undertake the final phase of her plan - whatever that would turn
out to be - *Emerson smiled at her*. And she found, to her eternal regret, that she
couldn't do it. She just couldn't. Cursing her sentimentality, she'd taken the baby to
her father instead and settled for leaving her on the doorstep and hoping that Potter wasn't
home.

Of course he'd come to the door almost immediately, looking rather ruffled but very
attractively so. It was her first time seeing him in person and the fact that she was only just
doing so, while Julia had already gone the ultimate length with him, had irritated her greatly. But
she quickly suppressed any and all desire to approach him. She would be damned if she would have
Julia Thomas's seconds - even if that included Harry Potter. She'd watched with amusement
as he'd fallen over in shock when he saw the baby. She watched him take her inside and suddenly
it was as if a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

"Free at last. Free at last. Thank God Almighty, I'm free at last," she'd
murmured to herself as she removed the Disillusionment Charm from herself and left the
building.

She was free from doubt, from guilt, from fear. She was free from the disdain of Julia Thomas's
family and close friends - who definitely knew now, with little satisfaction, that they'd been
right about her all along. Well, bully for them and good riddance.

And she was free of Julia Thomas - the smooth thief of all she'd ever wanted, of all she'd
ever desired. Of all she'd ever needed. She was free.

Or so she had thought.

"Until I saw you," Cristella told the picture of beautiful, green-eyed Emerson Potter.
"I know now that what I did that night was a mistake. I should have gotten rid of you once and
for all while I had the chance. And oh, what a chance that was! But no matter. I clean up my
messes. I'm a control freak, as that asshole Quincy said all those years ago. Yes, Quincy, you
were right on that count. Treat yourself to a pint or a bullet to the noggin, take your pick."
She chuckled to herself.

She'd thought up her letter campaign, after recalling just how much media coverage had been
given to the discovery that the great Harry Potter had an illegitimate daughter. Emerson was about
twelve now, and Stella knew from painful experience that this age bracket was when your sense of
self was really formulating and was particularly susceptible to negative influences. The plan
merely called for attacking the girl where she was vulnerable: how she had come into being,
especially in comparison with her younger siblings. It was simple and profound all at the same
time: make her question herself, her worth, her place in her family and the world.

Make her feel as different and as dirty as she, Stella, had always been made to feel by Julia
Thomas.

That old Dark Arts book in her family had come in very handy in providing obscure spells that
she'd placed on the letters and clippings. She placed strong Compulsion Hexes on each and every
one, which would make Emerson unable to resist reading what she'd received, even if she fought
it. Stella thought that her threat against the younger Potter children should be enough to compel
Emerson to keep her mouth shut, but just in case it wasn't, she'd placed Suppression Charms
on the letters as well. She made duplicates of everything she sent and linked them so that if
somehow the girl broke down, Stella would know by the change in the color of the charm on the
copies.

Just as with her first opportunity twelve years ago, Stella wasn't really sure what her
ultimate plan was in regards to Emerson Potter. She was still thinking that part through, and it
varied greatly with her mood.

"But don't worry, little girl, Julia/Emerson/whatever-the-hell-your-name-really-is.
It'll be over soon. For real this time, you can count on that. It'll all be over
soon."




8. You Know That, Sometimes...
------------------------------

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, Harry Potter and his world are property of JK Rowling and all
those other lucky bastards. Someone you don't recognize from anywhere in canon? Then that's
mine.
**
A/N:** Well, howdy all! Sorry for taking so long to post this one. Thanks to all who reviewed the
last chapter. I appreciate it very much. I really enjoyed writing that one. The mixed feelings
towards Stella are perfectly understandable cause I'm not sure how I feel about her,
myself!

**Danielerin:** I'm surprised you thought Julia needs some flaws. I thought hers are pretty
obvious. For one, she is stubborn to a fault. I definitely think some stubbornness is good (since I
can be pretty obstinate myself, lol) but you know what they say about too much of a good(?)
thing... Look at it this way, Julia would rather be stubborn than listen to people who cared about
her. So much so that she unwittingly endangered the life of the very person (Emerson) that
she'd compromised her survival for. Death gave her a respite from realizing the error of her
ways, but her mistake was no less significant because of that.

Thank you for your review :) I hope you'll keep reading and I hope you'll continue to be
honest, cause that's how I know where I need to improve in my writing!

So here's another chapter. Many, many thanks to **Lissanne** for the beta!! You rock!

And as always, comments would be welcome. Thanks.


**
Chapter Seven -You Know That, Sometimes...**


On that same Sunday afternoon, hundreds of miles away from both Hogwarts and Inverness, Ballynore
could be found in loud and disheveled chaos. People of various sizes breezed in and out through the
open glass doors to and from the vast backyard, chattering and laughing.

It was the annual Back-to-School Bash that the Potter, Weasley, Malfoy and Wood families organized
for their children, all of whom attended The Woodlands Wizarding Day School (usually referred to as
just 'Woodlands') . Woodlands was the school that most Wizarding children attended up until
they received their Hogwarts letters. It had only been existence for about a decade and a half,
founded in the wake of the final defeat of Voldemort.

The Lupins used to be included in that list but since Carolyna was their youngest child and she was
already at Hogwarts, they didn't have any children at the party. Remus and Tonks did put in an
appearance, though, and the party was generally open to any student of Woodlands that the party
children invited.

Perhaps 'organized' was too rigid a word to describe the gatherings. They were always
scheduled within the month before the Woodlands kids went back to school and were always held at
either Ballynore or the Burrow, alternately. But as a general rule, activities were left more or
less spontaneous.

Although that wasn't for lack of trying on Hermione's part.

"What's wrong with making an outline of all the things they can do and for how long?"
she demanded of an exasperated Harry. They were in the living room and Harry had just advised
against her whipping out the "Schedule of Events" that she'd spent quite some time
putting together.

"Maybe because they're kids?" Harry responded wearily. He came up to stand behind her
and rubbed her shoulders. "Hermione, relax. You do this every year."

She spun around, glaring at him. "What do you mean, I do this every year?"

"You know what I mean," he said gently, peering into her eyes. "I think it's
great that you're so enthusiastic about it, you know that. But you get yourself worked up
making your lists that get followed up to maybe item number three, at the most. And then the
midgets get restless and need to be let loose to run around and scream aimlessly for a good thirty
minutes. Which, in turn, messes up the schedule so that the Creative Writing Workshop has to be
scrapped."

Hermione shot him a look. "I didn't put in Creative Writing this time," she retorted,
but there was a smile tugging at her lips. That *had* been aiming rather high to expect kids
stuffed full of sugar to sit still long enough to even remember their names, much less write them
down.

She did tend to get over-analytical about these things, though. She'd always been that way and
even her job as a Research Consultant for St. Mungo's demanded her organizational and heuristic
skills. It wasn't that easy to turn those things off.

"And don't call them 'midgets'."

Her husband grinned and pulled her close; she sighed and let him hold her. Outside, she could hear
the yells of more than a dozen children and their harried caretakers. He was right, of course. Soon
enough, the kids would all be following lists and schedules for the better part of nine months.
They deserved to enjoy these last days free from any bureaucracy.

Swallowing her pride, she leaned back to look into his eyes. "You're right."

Harry's eyes lit up but he didn't rub it in. He knew how hard it was for the brilliant
Hermione Granger Potter to admit she was wrong. Instead, he kissed her forehead and pulled her back
into the embrace. She inhaled deeply, closed her eyes and exhaled.

Sometimes Hermione found it hard to believe that she was a grown woman with children and married.
To Harry. For all intents and purposes, he should be dead. He should have been dead since the age
of fifteen months. But he survived and kept surviving. Where would she be- no, *who* would she
be without him?

If she were to ask him that question, he would just look at her with his intense green eyes and
throw the question back at her. He seemed to think he'd had less influence on her life than
she'd had on his and Hermione knew that to be false. Being Harry's friend had been such a
defining aspect of shaping who she was today. The things she had endured with him had taught her
that she was stronger than she gave herself credit for. That she could be scary when someone she
loved was threatened.

That it was possible to love so much that nothing and no one could come before or between them and
their family.

Sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night and felt strangely frightened by the thought of
how happy she was. More than once, she had bounded out of bed and hurried silently to her
children's beds to watch them sleep. She would just stand there and smile over the way
Emerson's covers always seemed to end up on the floor; the way Ben's fingers would twitch
in such a manner that to an uninformed eye, it looked as if he was dreaming about playing the
piano. Hermione knew, however, that it was actually dreams of turning pages that made his fingers
move like that; he'd told her so once when he was six.

Budget, surprisingly, sucked his thumb in his sleep and little Davina still slept with her bottom
sticking straight up. Once she had feasted her eyes on the pillars of her world, once she'd
reassured herself that it wasn't all an elaborate dream, she would go back to bed and stare at
the one who had made it all possible.

The years had been kind to Harry, in terms of physical appearance. He was gorgeous and it
wasn't just because she was biased. Granted, the Wizarding world wasn't a good barometer,
since all and sundry still paid him excessive attention. But whenever they went into Muggle London,
women of all ages would invariably do double takes, toss their hair, smile and employ other such
flirty behavior. Her husband would react with bewilderment and Hermione knew he honestly had no
idea just how attractive he was. Which just made him all the more appealing!

Except for a few tiny crow's feet at his eyes, one would guess him to be at least five years
younger than he actually was. His body was fit and toned from all his Quidditch; he still trained
with his team sometimes, even though he was now the owner.

Oh, and his eyes! Sometimes all he had to do was look at her and Hermione would feel herself
melting. She was so in love with him that, after all this time, the thought that she was Mrs. Harry
Potter would have her wanting to hug herself and shed tears of girlish delight.

Yep, he was her man and whenever she saw other women ogling him, she would beam and make no effort
to suppress the rush of pride that she was the one he wanted. Sometimes it would actually excite
her so much that if they were without the kids, Hermione would steer him somewhere private, from
which they always emerged sated and grinning naughtily.

She'd once read a book in which there was a thought that she identified with so strongly, she
almost felt she had written it herself:

*How terrible it must be for all the people who have no one to love them so and no one whom they
loved so...*

"What're you thinking about?" he asked, dropping a kiss on her temple.

She smiled. "You."

"Excellent answer. And what part of me were you thinking about?"

From that cheeky grin on his face, there was no mistaking what he meant and Hermione blushed.
"Control yourself, Potter. The place is full of 'midgets', after all."

His brow furrowed as if in thought. "I know!" he exclaimed, holding up a finger. "We
can- get this- send them home!"

"And what'll we do with the three that belong to us?"

"Oh, right."

Hermione laughed and raised her face to kiss him. "I love you." He kissed her back and
for a minute, she actually forgot that their property was filled to overflowing with a vast
assortment of redheads and other colors.

"Love you, too," he whispered, letting her go just as the glass door slid open again and
the patter of small feet and young voices raised in carefree laughter surged through the
room.

"Hahaha! You're gonna have to do better than that!" yelled six-year-old Tristan
Malfoy, who was being pursued by Luke as well as Ron and Luna's Alex. Tristan was the image of
his father, except he had strawberry blond hair. He had a twin sister, Theresa, who was the
sweetest little girl and as mild as Tristan was wild.

Hermione rather thought Tristan had inherited all of both his parents' showier aspects, leaving
Theresa with what little meekness Malfoy and Ginny possessed between them. In fact, were not for
the resemblance between them, one wouldn't know they were even related, much less twins.

Ginny Malfoy came storming in then, her red hair long and wind-blown, brown eyes flashing with
annoyance. "Tristan Malfoy! How many times have I told you not to run in the
house?"

Tristan stopped short in mid-dash, causing Luke and Alex to run smack into him and the three of
them tumbled over, laughing. They wrestled around on the floor until Tristan caught sight of his
mother's face. He got to his feet and adopted a smirk so reminiscent of a young Draco Malfoy
that even his mother looked momentarily startled.

"Quite a few times, Mum. But you were talking about our house, not here. So that doesn't
count."

Harry snickered softly beside her but Hermione was watching Ginny, whose eyes had widened. Tristan
seemed to realize he'd gone a bit too far. He all of a sudden appeared so angelic, probably
even Snape would've been fooled. "I think I'll go outside now, though."

"You stay right where you are, mister," Ginny said in a dangerous whisper. "Luke,
Alex, go outside and play. Tristan won't be joining you for a few minutes."

"Yes, Aunt Ginny," the boys chorused, scrambling up from the floor.

Hermione watched her son as he ran by Tristan and distinctly heard him say, "Bad luck, mate.
But better you than me!"

Harry took her hand and led her from the room so Ginny could have some privacy. As soon as they
were outside, though, he burst out laughing. Hermione didn't think it was at all funny; she
quite sympathized with Ginny. Luke could be the handful at times too.

"Can you believe that, with the exception of Andy Wood, every single child here is either a
Potter, a Malfoy or a Weasley?" she asked suddenly, gazing out across the lawn.

He shook his head, still chuckling. "Pretty unbelievable. Though of course a good
three-quarters of them are Weasleys." He turned to grin at her. "Let nobody say the
Weasleys aren't being fruitful and multiplying."

He pecked her quickly on the cheek and hurried to help Ron and Oliver Wood with the mini-tournament
they were putting together. Hermione rolled her eyes and went to chat with the other mothers, while
also keeping an eye on things. Once the "tournament" started, she held Davina on her lap
and helped her daughter cheer unabashedly for Ben, whom everybody said was going to be as brilliant
a Seeker as his Dad was. Certainly when he was hovering on his broom, squinting against the glare
of the sun on his glasses, Hermione could have sworn she was seeing an eleven-year-old Harry in his
first matches at Hogwarts.

Unfortunately for Hermione, Ben seemed also to have inherited Harry's fearlessness of heights
and speeds. She could only hope that, unlike his father, he didn't have rogue Bludgers or
Dementors, not to mention an evil wizard, anywhere in his future by the time he got to fly in a
more official capacity. Watching Harry fly at school, especially with all those obstacles, had
already shaved months off her life, she was sure.

Once the game was done, everyone sprawled around eating fish and chips, pumpkin juice and treacle
tarts. The rest of the day seemed to fly by after that, as always when there are numerous children
underfoot. Before she knew it, Hermione was saying goodbye to the last visiting family at the
party.

"I'll probably see you tomorrow at Woodlands for that parents' meeting," she
said, helping Theresa into her coat.

Ginny nodded even as she expertly confiscated the trick sweets that Fred and Angelina's Matthew
had given Tristan. Ignoring her son's whining, she leaned in to whisper, "I'm so glad
the summer's nearly o-v-e-r. Too much more of this and I'd lose my mind." She leaned
back to hoist her bag higher up onto her shoulders. "No, Tristan, you may not have them."
Pause. "Because I said so. Draco, we're ready!"

Malfoy came into the room then, carrying his youngest child, three-year-old Abigail, who was a
flaming redhead and utterly adorable. She was also spoiled rotten, being the youngest Weasley
grandchild. But her spot would surely be usurped in a few months when Ron and Luna's infant
arrived.

Malfoy was an Auror and, surprisingly, was complaining about how quiet things had been lately.
"It's times like these I actually wish ol' Mad-Eye Moody was still on the force,"
he was drawling to Harry, who was toting his own little curly-haired princess. "He would, at
the very least, liven things up a bit with his paranoia."

Harry snorted. "If that's by turning you into a ferret again, then I agree."

The other man made as if to present Harry the bird but he caught sight of Ginny's face just in
time to turn the gesture into a rather anti-climactic "Talk to the hand" instead.
Hermione caught Ginny's eye and the two women hastily ducked their heads to keep from bursting
into laughter. Imagine Draco Malfoy adopting something so decidedly Muggle! If that didn't
indicate he had changed, Hermione didn't know what would.

"Thanks for having us," Ginny said, her eyes twinkling as she pulled out their family
Portkey, a limited edition miniature mahogany broom, elegantly engraved with all their names and
the Malfoy family crest. "And remember to owl me about- I said *no*, Tristan! Bloo- Just
owl me, okay?"

They gathered around, activated the Portkey and were gone, Tristan grumbling all the way out of
sight.

Hermione stood still for a moment, listening to the deafening silence that always follows the
cessation of a great noise. The Malfoys were the last of the crowd to leave and for a moment,
Ballynore seemed unnaturally quiet.

Then Davina said, "Put me down, Daddy."

And sound returned. She could hear Ben and Luke in the family room, the ticking of the heirloom
grandfather clock her Dad had given them as a wedding present.

Harry granted Davina her request and he and Hermione watched their daughter toddle away to where
her brothers were. Harry put his arms around Hermione and she leaned back against him.

"Well, that's over with for another year," she said with a sigh.

"Yeah." She could feel the vibrations of the word through his chest. "And you have
another year to obsess about and micromanage your list."

She smiled and wrapped her hands around his. "You love me anyway."

His nose rubbed deliberately against the side of her neck before being replaced by his lips and she
shivered. As his arms tightened around her, Hermione closed her eyes and savored the perfection of
the moment while she could.

Because surely it wouldn't last. The perfect moments came and went, as it was. Such was life
but all things considered, she knew she had a pretty good one.


*********

Later that night, Harry was in the kitchen getting himself a glass of water when Hermione came in.
As always when he first caught sight of her, a tingle ran down his spine and he paused in mid-drink
to stare at the way her long hair rippled at her back. Sometimes Harry wondered whether it was
either normal or healthy to be as attracted to his wife as he was. Because if the answer was
'no', he was in desperate need of a medi-psychiatrist. Or whatever the Wizarding equivalent
of a Muggle shrink was.

Thankfully, he hadn't yet had to find out.

She was wearing jeans and a sleeveless top, and his eyes traveled the length of her body
appreciatively. When they returned to her face, she was staring back at him.

"You are so beautiful," he told her softly, watching the color creep up her neck. Even
after all the times he'd told her this, Hermione still blushed every time and a part of Harry
got such a kick out of it. He was so incredibly lucky to have this woman a part of his life. He
knew she wouldn't have had any problems whatsoever finding a husband, had she not settled for
him. What man wouldn't want her?

She was beautiful and her brilliance was legendary in the Wizarding world. Even the almighty St.
Mungo's had bent over backwards to hold onto her when she'd wanted to leave. Hermione had
been determined to shelve her career indefinitely after Ben was born. Effectively delivering a
shock to all those who knew her (or thought they did), she'd declared that she wanted to be a
stay-at-home mother to her children, without any outside demands on her time.

Harry had had his doubts. Not about her as a mother, not at all; there was nobody else he could
even dream of being the mother to his children. But he knew how much fulfillment she got out of her
passions and he wondered if putting them aside was the best thing for her. He had, of course,
supported her decision after letting her know his concerns.

The hospital, however, had been frantic. You'd have thought the very foundations of the
institution would've crumbled if the great Dr. Granger (Hermione used her maiden name
professionally) had resigned. After a lengthy courtship, they'd managed to convince her to stay
on in a consultant capacity but with all the rights and privileges of a full-time employee.

So periodically, she needed to go to the company for meetings, debriefings and whatnot, and she
usually had quite a bit of paperwork. But she got to be home with their children the vast majority
of the time, which was what she'd wanted in the first place. Harry knew she was secretly
relieved that she still had something external to occasionally be consumed by, though. And he
completely understood. He couldn't imagine Hermione Granger without something book-related to
obsess about.

He watched her move around, Summoning the ingredients for the kids' nighttime hot chocolate
that they always had before bed. He smiled as she lingered over the cups, running her fingers over
the names printed on each one. She was as wonderful a mother as she was a bookworm.

He set down his glass and walked over. "Can I help?"

"Sure. You can put chocolate in the mugs," she replied, handing him the enormous
container of hot cocoa mix.

There were ways of making hot chocolate using only a wand, of course. But once upon a time,
Hermione's father had prepared the drink for the kids using a well-known Muggle mix and from
that day on, nothing else would do. Smiling to himself, Harry removed the lid and began doing as he
was told. Just as he'd finished scooping into the last mug, he happened to glance at the
countertop across from him. The space was clear of anything but Harry suddenly got such a look on
his face, you'd have thought it was covered with Golden Snitches.

He grinned suddenly and looked over at his wife, who seemed oblivious. "Hermione."

"Hmm?"

"D'you remember what happened over there?" he pointed at the countertop right beside
the enormous refrigerator.

She looked where he indicated, stared at the spot for a second and frowned. "No. Should
I?"

"I think so," he replied, moving to stand behind her.

"What happened there?" she asked, turning around to look at him, the hot chocolate
forgotten for the moment. One thing he loved about Hermione was she still retained that high level
of curiosity, that thirst to know. It was part of what made her such a great mother; she actively
sought to *know* their kids.

Harry grinned. "Not going to tell you."

She looked annoyed. "Well, if you're not going to tell me- wait. When did this
happen?"

"That's the spirit. It happened, let's see.. going on nine years now."

"Nine years!" she cried, gazing at him in exasperation. "You expect me to remember
something from nine years ago?"

He nodded, still with that same infuriating I-know-something-you-don't grin. After watching her
stew for a few seconds, he chuckled. "It was a few weeks after Ben was born. *Ten* weeks,
in fact." He emphasized the word 'ten' as if it would mean something to her and his
grin widened when he saw that it did: Hermione was blushing deeply.

"Oh."

" 'Oh' is right," he whispered, pulling her to him and letting himself fall into
the memory.


*It was ten weeks after the birth of his first son and Harry Potter could be found shoved up
against the refrigerator in his kitchen. Every now and then, his elbows would bump against the
gleaming brushed silver surface of the appliance and he would emit soft groans and other assorted
noises.

The sounds were not of pain, however. Far from it. Because Harry had, in his arms, his wife, who
was kissing him with a feverish passion and he wouldn't have stopped her for all the Galleons
in Gringotts. He was a willing and active participant, you see. His hands wandered down to cup her
buttocks, pulling her flush against his body and he smiled at the feral growl that Hermione
emitted. She was on fire, she was in heat and knowing her as he did, Harry was not surprised.

Beginning shortly after they'd confessed their true feelings for each other, Harry had
discovered, to his delight, that Hermione had a vigorous sexual appetite. When he'd commented
on it to her, she'd said he was the cause of it and while that was pleasing to his ego to hear,
Harry wasn't sure how much of that assessment was accurate. He rather thought it was simply
Hermione, as much* her *as her obsession with books and lists. And to say he was happy to be
reaping the benefits of that particular trait of hers would be putting it mildly. Not for nothing
were they considered the randiest couple in their circle of friends.

So imagine how they'd reacted when after Ben's birth, their doctor had casually added that
they were to abstain from sexual activity for at least ten weeks.

Hermione had finally managed to tear her eyes away from Ben's tiny face. "Excuse me. I
thought I heard you say 'No sexual activity for ten weeks.' I* know *I misheard
you."

The Healer looked up. "I'm afraid not, Mrs. Potter. Because of the.. ahh.. complication,
it is absolutely essential that you allow yourself time to heal and ten weeks is the minimum for
that."

"What?!" Hermione exclaimed, gaping. "Isn't it supposed to be* six
*weeks?"

"Usually, yes," the Healer conceded. "But that's merely a benchmark and in your
case, ten weeks is what will be required. I'm afraid that number is not negotiable, unless you
want to further compound the complication."

Hermione looked aghast, then glanced up at Harry as if pleading for help. What could he do but look
just as helpless? Surely the Healer knew what he was talking about?

Harry had listened to his wife rant and rave about what the hell use was it to be magical and
living in a medically superior world if they couldn't even heal a simple tear? The very idea
made Harry wince and he couldn't help but feel somewhat relieved that he wasn't a woman.
The next instant he was overwhelmed with love and sympathy for his wife for what she'd endured
to give him the perfect little boy he was holding.

He knew he wouldn't really suffer from the ten week abstinence order. Sure, he would miss
making love to Hermione but if things got too hard (no pun intended), he could always.. ahem.. take
matters into his own hands. Or hand, as it were. And he really needed to stop thinking about
that!

But his beautiful, lusty wife would not be able to even attempt anything of a sexual nature for ten
weeks? How would she survive?

She had, but Harry was not at all shocked when as soon as they reached the end of the ten weeks,
his wife had attacked him. The ten weeks were finally up, which was how he came to be smashed
against the fridge, being mauled by the brown-eyed woman. Not that he minded. After all, what man
can resist the woman he loves being so hot for him that she was literally tearing his clothes
off?

"Harry," she gasped, fumbling with his zipper. Her hair was wild around her face and he
brushed it aside as he kissed her possessively. Her aggressiveness excited him and he was as eager
to be with her as she was to be with him.

He unbuttoned her shirt and cupped her breasts, heavy with nourishment for ten-week-old Ben, who
was fast asleep upstairs, along with Emerson. The house was charmed so that when the kids were
upstairs, Harry and Hermione could hear them from anywhere inside but the kids couldn't hear
them.

He made as if to unhook her bra, but her hands came up to stop him. "No, not unless you want a
faceful of milk. My nipples are aching too, but not in a good way," she said in a rush, before
she was sucking so hard at his neck, Harry knew he would need Concealment Charms there the next
day.

"Okay," he murmured, running his hands up and down her back instead. Their lips met in a
sweet and drugging kiss even as she managed to get her hand inside his pants to stroke his
erection. Harry groaned and tugged her skirt up, his fingers creeping up her thighs to move her
knickers aside. Except-

"No knickers, Mrs. Potter?" he whispered as his fingers met soft hair, but not even the
most minuscule of materials. But of course. Surely she'd been looking forward to this all day
and his wife was nothing if not practical. Still- "Tsk, tsk."

Hermione moaned and ground her crotch into his hand as his fingers delved into her folds. She was
so wet, so responsive and Harry felt suddenly overcome with emotion. He knew it was silly but even
after more than two years of marriage, it still shocked and thrilled him that Hermione was always
as hot for him as he was for her.

"Please," she gasped, unable to wait anymore and Harry needed no further
encouragement.

He pushed his jeans and boxers down, lifted her and perched her on the edge of the counter. She
opened for him but before he could enter her, she reached down to grasp him.

"Oh, Harry," she sobbed. "I've missed you. I've miss it."

He kissed her rosy lips softly. "It missed you too," he whispered and entered her in one
smooth motion. She cried out and quickened around him immediately, her head falling forward onto
his shoulder as her body shook. But he moved slowly, knowing that getting there was only half the
fun and that she wouldn't be satisfied that easily.

Not after ten weeks of abstinence.

Harry couldn’t have defined in words how good it felt to be inside her again. How had he existed
without this? The sensations were incredible, his wife’s heat intoxicating. She caught her breath
and began moving with him, her tongue mating with his in direct imitation of what they were doing
further south. Harry picked up the pace and Hermione threw her head back, her knuckles white from
clutching the countertop.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," she moaned repeatedly. "Do it."

He did it, faster, and she went into a frenzy. Her hands were everywhere, grabbing at him, tugging
him closer as if she was trying to absorb his entire being into her. As if she couldn't get
close enough to him and Harry couldn't help but be caught up in her passion, her hunger.

He was gripping her hips so hard that he knew there would likely be bruises, but Hermione
didn't seem to care. Because at that moment, he couldn't hold her tight enough; he
couldn't move fast enough; he couldn't go deep enough. She was calling out his name,
ordering him, begging him, telling him what to do and how to do it, and in such colorful terms that
it took all Harry had not to lose it right there and then. He needed her to reach Shangri-la first
because frankly, he feared for her sanity if she didn't get this release.

"I love you," he whispered raggedly, hearing her beginning to make the little whimpers
that he knew signaled that she was close.

At that precise moment, there was a sudden plaintive wail from upstairs. Apparently Ben was awake,
for some reason. Instinctively, Harry started to slow down and turned his neck to look in the
direction of the sound.

But Hermione grabbed his head. "Harry Potter, if you stop now, I swear to God I will*
murder *you," she growled, her hips bucking frantically against his.

At her words, Harry felt himself swell even more within her and her eyes widened then fluttered
shut.

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered, giving her his all again, pounding into her and barely a
minute later, her tension burst and she was screaming into his neck as her body went into powerful
spasms around him. She convulsed in his arms, her walls clenching him and undomesticated equines
couldn't have held back his explosion.

For a moment, nothing else existed but the utter bliss of being one. The pleasure was sublime,
exquisite, mind-numbing. They returned to Earth, gasping and shuddering, to the sound of the
increasingly angry yells from upstairs. They swiftly disentangled themselves and tried to set their
clothing to rights. Harry helped Hermione off the counter and held her up until her knees could
support her. Her face was flushed and she was still trembling but their son needed her.

"Thank you. I really needed that. Continue this later?" she said, speaking rapidly.

He nodded quickly. "You're on."

She took a deep breath, gathering herself, and Disapparated; a mere second later, Ben's cries
had lessened dramatically. Harry stood alone in the kitchen, bracing himself against the counter,
taking gulps of air. His whole body felt simultaneously weakened and invigorated by what had just
happened and he wondered vaguely why there weren't scorch marks on the side of the fridge.
Because surely the heat in the kitchen just now had been an inferno.

"Daddy!" another little voice piped up and Harry's head whipped around. Checking to
see that he looked presentable and mentally putting on his 'Daddy' cap, he hurried from the
room. His daughter was standing at the top of the landing, sporting spectacular bed head.

Harry climbed the stairs to her. "Hey," he said, stooping to pick her up.
"What're you doing awake?"

Em pouted and rubbed her eyes. "Ben woke me up."

Harry could sympathize. His son had a voice loud enough to raise the dead and no qualms about
putting it to use, either. "He's pretty loud, isn't he?"

"Uh-uh," Em nodded, then let out what Harry thought seemed like a far too grown-up sigh.
"I guess it's too much to hope for a little peace and quiet around here."

'Now where on earth did she hear that one?' Harry thought, gaping at his daughter as he
fought the laughter bubbling up inside him. He and Hermione had long been telling themselves not to
be surprised by the things Emerson said anymore; the kid had a remarkable memory and an excellent
pair of ears. But the decidedly grown-up manner of speaking that she had, especially coming from a
three-year-old, afforded them more moments of amusement and pride than the laws of humility
normally allowed any two parents to experience.

"I guess so," Harry said, grinning as he buried his face in Emerson's untidy jumble
of curls. "Let's get you back to bed, though."

Once he got her tucked in again, he sat beside her bed and watched her fight to keep her eyes open.
She had pretty much lost the battle by the time Hermione slipped into the room, though she managed
to sleepily mumble, "Mummy?"

"I'm here," Hermione whispered, smoothing the small forehead.

"Love you, Mummy. Love you, Daddy."

"Love you too," they whispered, taking turns to kiss the sleeping child before slipping
out of her room.

They made a detour to the nursery so Harry lean over his now-contented son and kiss the little
face. He felt a rush of love and protectiveness for this miniature version of himself, who was
sleeping peacefully once again.

"He's so greedy," Hermione said later as she undressed for bed. But she was
smiling.

Harry chuckled, pulling the blankets back and climbing inside. "He is my son, isn't he? We
Potters love our food."

"That's for darn sure," his wife sighed, slipping under the covers too. "I fed
him barely two hours ago."

"Guess what Em said just now," Harry said as they snuggled together under the covers and
they both laughed heartily when he told her.

"That kid," Hermione giggled. "I bet she picked that one up at the
Burrow."

"Probably," he replied. "But enough about that. I seem to recall receiving a request
to continue a certain something right about now."

Hermione colored, but he could see the lust creeping back into her eyes. "Oh, really? I
don't remember."

"Well, let me refresh your memory, Mrs. Potter. A mind is a terrible thing to waste," he
whispered as he lowered his lips to hers once again.

And let's just say her memory was very thoroughly refreshed by the time they surrendered to
their sated exhaustion and fell into slumber.*


"How did you manage to get upstairs that night without splinching yourself, anyway?"
Harry asked his red-faced wife, as they both stared at the infamous countertop.

She giggled. "I don't know. I could barely stand up but I guess I was just determined to
get up there. I was feeling a bit guilty by that point. You know, that I let my baby cry because I
was too busy getting off."

"You wicked, sex-crazy wildcat, you," Harry growled, slipping his hands under her shirt.
The memory had turned him on and from the look in Hermione's eyes and the fact that her nipples
were rock hard, he knew it'd had the same effect on her. "How about an encore
performance?"

She grinned devilishly and stood up on tiptoe to gently bite his earlobe. "I thought you'd
never ask."

Just then, they heard Davina let out a scream of what sounded like frustration. The next second,
Budget exclaimed, "I had it first, Vina!" and Davina burst into loud wails.

Hermione rested her forehead on his shoulder with a sigh, then stood back. "Can I take a rain
check?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered grudgingly, his lust fading for the time being.

Such were the joys of parenthood, anyway, right? Being a parent meant, to be pessimistic, a
dramatic reduction in the time and opportunity for little quickies. Besides, you don't always
get what you want, when you want it. Actually, didn't that apply to every area of life, whether
you were a child, a teenager, an adult or a parent?

Hermione went to sit in judgment over the dispute, leaving Harry to finish preparing the hot
chocolate. As he left the kitchen, *levitating* the tray with the steaming mugs ahead of him,
the countertop gleamed beside the shiny refrigerator, wrapping its covers again around its
secret.

Until next time.


********* **

End Notes:**

1. The quote: *How terrible it must be for all the people who have no one to love them so and no
one whom they loved so...* is from the book, *Annie John* by Jamaica Kincaid, and belongs
to her and the publishers, yada yada. Lovely book!

2. The "undomesticated equines" is a shout-out to Stargate SG-1 and the luscious
Teal'C!




9. Like A Sore And Then Run
---------------------------

**A/N:** Just want to say thanks to all who've reviewed the story up to now, and
especially the last chapter. Here's the latest one. Profuse thanks to **Liss** for the beta.
I appreciate it so much!
**

Chapter Eight - Like A Sore And Then Run**



"Ah, yes, excellent Quidditch conditions!" Marc Weasley exclaimed from beside Emerson,
gazing up at the ceiling of the Great Hall. Today was Quidditch tryouts at last, and they were
having breakfast. The sky outside was being advertised as a clear, exhilarating blue, yet not too
windy or cold. Just right. "'Ow ya feeling, Emerson?" the Gryffindor Beater managed
with his mouth full.

"Marc, you nauseating prat!" his twin sister snapped across from him, her face screwed up
in disgust.

Marc swallowed and grinned, his brown eyes twinkling. "Mind your own business. Was I talking
to you?" He turned to Em again and nudged her so hard she was knocked sideways into Lyna, who
yelped and dropped her fork. "Well?"

"I was doing great up until you started battering me, thanks," Em replied, rubbing her
arm and trying to look annoyed.

"Keep up the good work," Marissa said sarcastically to her brother. "The kid is
going to try out for our team, which needs some decent players, but never mind that. Let's put
her out of commission before she can even finish breakfast, shall we?"

In response, Marc gargled his mouthful of pumpkin juice and his sister kicked him under the table.
And they were off and running. Welcome to the Marc and Marissa Show.

Em looked over at Lyna and the two girls grinned. Because frankly, it was impossible to be in a bad
mood when you were around the Weasley twins when *they* were in good moods. And nothing got
them in better moods than Quidditch or the prospect of it.

Their good moods usually manifested itself in the form of merciless bickering, but nobody had any
doubts about how much Marc and Marissa cared about each other. They were twins after all, and for
all their sniping were usually to be found in each other's company, even though each had their
own friends. They had similar facial features: the same nose, brown eyes and curly hair, but Marc
was taller and his hair was jet-black, whereas Marissa's had a slight coppery tinge to it. Em
loved Marissa's hair. It was so wiry and springy, the type of hair that gave you the urge to
pull a lock just to see if it would go "BOING!" as it sprang back into place.

Everybody at Hogwarts, regardless of house or year, knew of the Weasley twins. Marc and Marissa
were only two of a half dozen Weasleys at Hogwarts but mention their first names and everybody knew
which Weasleys you were talking about. They were both incredibly popular and funny, with
larger-than-life personalities and athletic to boot.

Em had known them all her life and their personalities weren't at all surprising, considering
that Uncle Fred and Aunt Angelina were their parents. For that same reason, neither were their
Quidditch abilities - Marc was a fantastic Beater, and although Marissa wasn't one to be
sneezed at either, she'd opted to be a Chaser instead. Of course it went without saying that
she was indispensable to the team.

If all went well, Em hoped to have joined her as another Chaser by day's end. She'd been
awaiting this day since she was six years old and right now she was more excited than nervous.
There were two Chaser spots available and not to be arrogant or anything, but she felt confident
that she could snag one.

"I wonder how many idiots will try to send you mail today?" Marc asked his sister
suddenly with a scowl.

Marissa's head whipped around to glare at him. "What're you trying to say? That a
bloke is an idiot for liking me, for wanting to be nice to me?"

"You know that's not what I meant," her brother snapped. "They are idiots for
thinking they can get with *my* sister, as if by sending her flowers and Honeydukes chocolates
they can-"

"Oh shut up! As if they need your permission to like me!"

"You're damn right, they do! These blokes, they're only after one thing,
Mari!"

Marissa scowled. "And of course you would know, being the *Casanova* that you
are."

Marc mouthed wordlessly but Em had to admit that his sister had him there. Marc was very popular
with the ladies (and she knew for a fact that a few boys wanted him too). Marissa was, in addition
to being funny and vivacious, very pretty so it wasn't at all surprising that the opposite
gender had noticed and tried to make their admiration known. Only they hadn't counted on her
twin brother hunting them down and either threatening, hexing or playing humiliating pranks on
them.

Em's attention had wandered from the romantic entanglements of the Weasley twins, however. With
Marc's comment about mail, she'd been reminded of the only foreseeable downside for today.
It was a "Bashing Day", as she'd come to refer to the days when a letter arrived from
Smiley.

One thing she had to hand to whomever was sending the letters: they were consistent; not only in
the contents of the letters and articles but in their frequency as well. Em could probably set her
calendar based on the fact that every third day, a letter would arrive.

And, unfortunately, today was one of them.

Of course she wished it wasn't so, but she really could see no reason for Smiley to waver from
the routine. It would be far too convenient if today Smiley would suddenly come down with a lethal
strain of the Wizard Flu or be hit by a stray *Avada Kedavra*, rendering he or she incapable
of sending along the toxic epistle. Sadly, fate didn't work that way.

Lyna seemed to be thinking along those lines. "I wish today wasn't a letter day," she
whispered, casting Em a worried glance.

"Me too. But Smiley wouldn't feel right about laying off the psychological abuse just
because today is a big day for me, innit?" Em whispered back with more glibness than she
felt.

*Not that Smiley knows today is important. Right?*

Emerson frowned at the thought but was distracted from further analysis by the disgruntled huff
that her friend emitted.

"There's no law that says you can't chuck that piece of trash into the fire unopened.
Why do you have to be so stubborn?"

"What if there's a clue to this person's identity but I miss it because I throw away
the letter without opening it?" Em hissed. "Do you want whomever it is to get away with
this?"

"Of course not!" Carolyna snapped. "But let's take it to a teacher. Or tell your
Mum and Dad! They'll-"

"What're you two whispering about?" Marc interrupted, his ears still red from his
fight with his sister. Apparently, being labeled a "Casanova" wasn't that much of a
compliment.

Em grabbed the opportunity to change the subject. "Nothing important. Just school
stuff."

Her friend said nothing and only glared at her but Emerson tried to ignore it. 'Lyna
doesn't understand, anyway,' she thought irritably, buttering her crumpet with more vigor
than was necessary so it did what all good crumpets should do and, well, crumpled. 'That's
her solution for everything: Go to an adult. The lass needs to learn to handle things herself
sometimes, for Circé's sake.'

The frostiness lingered between the two girls for the next ten minutes as they waited for the mail
to arrive. But as soon as the barn owl landed in front of Emerson, Lyna leaned over and laid her
hand on the letter the bird dropped. "Can't you at least leave it till later, Em? Till
after your tryouts?"

'Should I?' Em thought, staring absentmindedly at the bunch of gold and scarlet tulips that
an owl had delivered to a blushing Marissa, and to Marc's obvious consternation. She dragged
her eyes back to the innocuous-appearing white envelope that she held. Anybody looking at it
couldn't possibly dream of what hurtful libel it contained. Did she want to leave this
'till later? Wouldn't it be better to get it out of the way? If she made the team, she
didn't want to have something like this waiting in the wings to rain on her parade.

"Better to have the nastiness now so later can be all sunshine and roses," she said to
Carolyna as they entered Gryffindor Tower. The tryouts weren't for another two hours, so they
had some time to burn.

Lyna sighed. "If you say so. But I still think you should tell an adult."

"I hear you."

"Do you?" said Lyna sharply. "This could be bad, Emerson."

"Don't you think I know that, Lyna? Just let me try to deal with this myself first. Can
you at least give me that?" They had paused in the middle of the stairs to the girls'
dorms, causing people behind them to have to push past to get upstairs.

Carolyna rolled her eyes and stomped away and after a few seconds of irritation, Emerson followed
her. They climbed onto Lyna's four-poster and yanked the hangings closed.

"You gonna open it now, then?" Lyna asked stiffly, eying the envelope as if expecting it
to bare poisonous fangs any second.

"No reason to wait," Em replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

But her hands shook as she began to tear the seal. No matter how much she told herself that it was
nothing, that she didn't care what Smiley said, it still hurt to read those letters. She'd
told herself and Carolyna that it was because she wanted to know who was writing to her. That was
the reason she kept chancing the hurt by opening the notes. But she knew Carolyna didn't
believe her and, frankly, Emerson didn't believe herself either.

In fact, she had no idea why she kept doing this.

She pulled out the inevitable clipping and reached inside for the letter. After a few seconds of
groping and shaking the envelope upside-down, however, she realized that she hadn't been
mistaken. There was no letter.

"Hmm, Smiley. Getting tired of writing, are you? Getting lazy on me now?" she muttered,
throwing the envelope aside.

"There's no letter?"

"Nope. Just a clipping today. You reckon the fuckwit is getting bored?" Em mused, then
laughed at the look her friend shot her. "Come on, is there a better word to describe this
person? Wait, don't answer that. I can think of a few. There's assha-"

"Emerson!" Lyna exclaimed, looking chagrined, but there was a twinkle in her eyes. She
sighed. "Well, that's good then. And the clipping is probably nothing we haven't seen
before."

"Yeah," Em agreed, unfolding the paper. It opened out to be a full page neatly cut out of
some semi-glossy magazine called *The Diricawl Wailer*. The article had a date from twelve
years ago, October. At first glance, the title made no sense: "**When Promise Goes
Unfulfilled**".

But then her eyes caught the byline and slowly comprehension dawned on her. The small hairs on the
back of her neck prickled eerily as a wave of unease swept over Emerson.

This was another variation from the routine. First there was no letter. And now this. Up to now,
Smiley had only ever sent clippings about Emerson or her dad. And most of those she'd already
seen in one form or the other, which drastically diluted their effect on her.

But today Smiley had gone a different route: the clipping was about Julia Thomas, her birth
mother.

She hadn't thought about it before but the fact that Smiley stuck to the same routine, the same
points in the letters had become oddly comforting in the midst of the stinging barbs. She'd
come to expect certain things from the author, just as she'd come to expect that the clippings
would be about herself or her father.

She'd never dreamed that a wrench could be thrown in the sick familiarity.

And with that, with the small source of refuge that she had discovered now nastily trampled,
Emerson experienced a new emotion: fear. The rules had been changed on her and the only thing worse
than being dead was being powerless. Which was what this made her because by this twist, she had
been left utterly defenseless - she would never know what to expect from now on, which defeated any
kind of preemptive measure.

And the thought was terrifying.

"Em?"

She jerked and looked up. She'd forgotten that she wasn't alone and hastily tried to
rearrange her face from the expression of terror she was sure it was frozen in.
"What?"

Lyna looked worried as she brushed her brown hair from her eyes. "It's just another
clipping, right? Just one of those-"

"Actually, it's not," Em interrupted, looking down at the glossy sheet in her hands.
"I mean, it's a clipping but it's not about me or Dad. It's about
Julia."

"Julia? Why- what does it say?"

But Emerson was already reading and her stomach began rolling as if she had ingested something foul
or was witnessing some kind of gruesome, nauseating spectacle. The article started off innocently
enough. It was an obituary of some kind, more like an eulogy, actually.



**WHEN PROMISE GOES UNFULFILLED**
**The Tragic and Premature Demise of a Rising Star**
**** **...This life has closed at the moment when it seemed to have reached its
springtime... [She] expected to die: [she] was willing to die... and [she] advanced towards the
brink in perfect serenity, with absolute conviction of the rightness of [her]... cause and a heart
devoid of hate.**

**Joyous, fearless, versatile, deeply instructed, with classic symmetry of mind and body, ruled by
high undoubting purpose... [in these] the days when no sacrifice but the most precious is
acceptable, and the most precious is that which is most freely proffered.**


*The above words were quilled by the esteemed Muggle leader and politician, Sir Winston
Churchill, to eulogize a young soldier killed on the beaches of Gallipolli.*

*And while perhaps, at first glance, it might seem rather presumptuous to apply such a profound
excerpt to a 21st century young woman, I believe that clarification will come if you keep reading.
Because while she wasn't killed by anything so dramatic as curses, bullets or swords, Julia
Thomas did also make a decision out of a depth of love very like a profound love of country. She
did personally wage a battle which she, unfortunately, lost.*

*Just like that young soldier.*



There, Emerson paused and took a deep breath, trying desperately not to acknowledge the three words
that were striving to break through her barriers: *Because of me*. It wasn't. She was
being irrational. Wasn't she?

Her hands were trembling so much that she had to lay the paper on Lyna's bed and lean over it.
She dragged her eyes back to where she had left off:



*I knew Julia for less than five years but it was enough time for me to realize, with conviction,
that she was an exceptional person. I was her coach and her boss and I like to think that I was her
friend. Her external loveliness was what hit you first but it didn't take long to discover that
the loveliness actually came from within. She was full of life and vibrancy, the kind of person
that you somehow, illogically, expect to live forever.*

*I was aware that she was involved in numerous outside activities but when she was with us, it
seemed that nothing else mattered or existed. She was absolutely dedicated and loyal to our team.
Julia was unafraid of hard work, laboring almost obsessively to improve her talents for our team,
the Dallas Diricawls. As a Chaser on our squad-*
*


As a Chaser...*

"Oh my God," Emerson whispered, her hand flying to her mouth in horror. Julia had been a
Chaser. She had known that, of course.

*But she'd forgotten*.

How could she have forgotten something like that? Especially with the way that very position had
been occupying her thoughts?
The shock of the recollection rapidly faded to be replaced by numerous unsavory emotions. Tears
prickled at her eyelids as the unfamiliar thoughts and feelings converged on her from seemingly all
directions at once. She tried to keep them out but they got in, anyway. Horror. Shame. Guilt. This
was not some trivial thing - it was a matter of life and death, and she was directly involved. Was
she really so self-absorbed? How could she not have- Oh God, had Smiley been right about her all
along?

"What is it, Em?" Lyna asked anxiously, leaning forward to read the clipping too.
Obviously she hadn't figured out what was troubling Emerson, who didn't want that to change
in a hurry if she could help it.

She managed a weak shrug. "Nothing really."

Em kept her head down so Lyna couldn't see how upset she was, blinking rapidly. She wanted to
stop reading but wouldn't that give her away? And didn't she owe it to Julia to at least
read the whole thing? How come she'd never seen this one before, anyway? Why had the adults
kept it from her? Emerson found that somehow, she didn't want to know. She forced herself to
read on.



*As a Chaser on our squad, she was essential to our reaching the finals of the All-USA Quidditch
Championships twice in a row. I'm sure you all remember what a profound and exhilarating
experience that was, especially when we brought home the Cup on our second try! Everybody played a
part and we couldn't have done it without everyone who was there, and that included Julia
Thomas. She demonstrated, along with Mallory Winfield and Annie Blackbenton, why the Diricawls are
ranked in the top five in the Contingent.*

*But it was in the area of strategizing that Julia's light really began to shine. Even as an
excellent Chaser-*



"She was good at Quidditch. But we already knew that, right?" Lyna said softly,
distracting Emerson from her task.

"Yeah," Em managed. *Except I forgot. I was too wrapped up in myself to even consider-
Just keep reading!*

The article continued on in that vein for a few more paragraphs, Julia's old boss praising her
powers of planning and deduction. But then he started in on the shock of losing her, the sadness
they were all experiencing. Especially since:



*The truly sad thing about all this is that she didn't have to die. We live in a medically
advanced age, and there is no shortage of excellent physicians or Healers. Julia was, in every
other way, strong and hardy. She could have beaten her illness, I believe, were not for the other
circumstance and her resulting choice.*



The thought materialized before Emerson could stop it: *The other circumstance. Me.*

A gorge of bile surged in her stomach as guilt like she had never known swept over her being. All
of a sudden, things that she'd read in Smiley's letters began popping up.

*Your very existence cheated someone out of her life...*

*...I bet she fancied herself some kind of martyr; she was doing the noble thing, sacrificing
herself for the poor, innocent babe. Except the babe wasn't so innocent, after all - being born
with blood on her hands, what irony...*

She tried to fight the feelings threatening to overwhelm her but they just kept bubbling up and to
her dismay, Emerson burst into tears, startling her friend.

"Em, what's wrong?" Lyna exclaimed, looking more scared than worried, reaching out to
grasp her hand.

Em shook her head. What was wrong? She rarely cried, which was unusual for a girl. It was more
stubbornness than anything else that made her like that, simply because she knew the vast majority
would expect tears. And why not prove them wrong? None of the other letters or clippings had made
her cry, though a few had made her choke up.

But there was something about this one. Somehow, this clipping struck closer to home than any of
the others ever had. It addressed something dear to her own heart, right down to the same position
and brought to mind that someone else had loved this sport too. Someone else had loved the same
position she had. But that person was gone, that person was dead. Because of her. And she
hadn't even had the common decency to recognize that, to spare that a thought or a care. What
kind of person did that make her?

Deep in the recesses of Emerson's young mind, the brutal words of the mysterious letter-writer
finally whittled a big enough hole in the barriers to stick their grimy hooks through and pierce
her like a syringe. They drained out the murky brown contents of themselves, which bubbled and
swelled, into her and Emerson wept. She had never experienced such self-loathing before and it
hurt. It really hurt. She covered her face with her hands, pressing her fingers against her eyes as
if attempting to staunch the flow of tears. After a few minutes, during which Lyna kept rubbing her
arms, Em took a deep shuddering breath and looked up.

She avoided her friend's eyes, not wanting to see the undoubtedly profound sympathy and
confusion in them. Grabbing the piece of paper, she tried to resume reading but her eyes were still
swimming so much that she missed the first sentence, which perhaps might have granted her a bit of
comfort:



*But Julia chose what felt right to her. It was her decision and although it cost her her life,
she never wavered from it, not even in the very end. And in so doing, she lost the battle for her
life but won the war for the legacy of the depth of her principles and beliefs. Or perhaps I could
simply say, her stubbornness.*

*Sir Winston Churchill wrote for that young soldier of Gallipolli:*

*The voice has been swiftly stilled. Only the echoes and memory remain, but they will
linger.*

*In the same way that Julia Thomas's memory will linger with us. Because while the promise of
her full potential - and oh, how far she could have gone! - has been left unfulfilled, we will not
forget what she did achieve or the sacrifice that she willingly made.*

*So rest in peace, Julia. We'll miss you.*

*And we won't forget.*



Emerson sat back slowly, her head hanging down. Tears fell from her eyes with faint *splats*
onto the paper and rolled across the glossy surface to be absorbed by Lyna's bed. She watched
them disappear, wishing she could be absorbed by something too because she had never felt worse in
all her life.

They wouldn't forget and they were just Julia's teammates. *She* was Julia's
daughter, the one Julia had made the ultimate sacrifice for and she'd completely blotted it
out. What an ungrateful- And she'd had the nerve to be trying out for Chaser today. She
didn't have any right to want to play.

'You don't deserve to take up the position of the woman you killed,' a cold voice
whispered from deep inside her skull.

And with that horrifying thought, the bile that had settled in her stomach suddenly mushroomed as a
wave of nausea and goosepimples swept over her. Nearly blind with distress, Emerson clamped her
hand over her mouth and scrambled off an alarmed Carolyna's bed. She reached the loo in time to
retch into the toilet what felt like everything she had ever eaten, and fell to her knees. The sobs
she'd managed to suppress broke free and she lowered the lid of the toilet, sat down on it and
cried until her head ached.

She could hear Lyna repeatedly asking if she was okay but Emerson didn't answer. She didn't
see how she could ever be okay again. Because not only had she discovered something horrible about
herself, but the dream of more than half her life had been shattered.

Somehow, it never occurred to her to think that it didn't have to be that way. Just as it never
did to think that it was anybody else's fault but her own.

Because the new cistern of guilt, self-blame and self-loathing that had been chiseled out in her
mind was getting wider, deeper and greedier. And the best and most delicious of nourishment to it
was more of itself.

******

Ironically, many, many miles away from Hogwarts, a woman was berating herself for a piece of mail
she had sent that day.

Why had she sent that clipping? Dammit! It didn't fit in with her scheme. It was basically a
praise piece to the dead witch that she'd cut out to parody and had never intended to send.
Mailing such glowing crap rather defeated the purpose of her campaign, didn't it?

It was all her damn boss's fault, calling her away from her breakfast about some kind of
important document that he couldn't find. She usually wrote her letters and selected the
clippings the night before, double-checking them during breakfast the next day. So during
breakfast, she'd had the papers all spread out on her table. This time, she'd decided to
shake things up a bit and not include a letter and had simply picked out an article to send. But
then the boss's message had come in. She hadn't wanted to miss a mailing day so she'd
grabbed what she thought was the right clipping and sent it on its way. Then she'd abandoned
her breakfast and hurried to the office, where the "important" document turned out to be
some kind of collectible sports card that the boss wanted to show off to the old farts on the
almighty Board but had misplaced.

Hell's bells, had she been seething! That useless rat bastard! Some wrinkled piece of junk was
what she'd missed her breakfast for?! The fucker had leered and patted her ass when she'd
handed him the old card that she'd discreetly Summoned with her wand when he wasn't
looking.

"You are so very versatile, Crissie. Whatever would I do without you?"

Likely nothing, you piece of crud. And my name's not Crissie! It's-

Oh screw it. She really needed to do something about this man - something subtle... maybe it was
time to use that book on him, her family's old tome of obscure Dark magic that had been passed
down for generations. Maybe a nice poison...

Her fury only surged all the more when at lunch, she discovered that she'd sent along the wrong
article. Every day of her campaign counted and today was a complete waste, as far as she was
concerned. She didn't think it would do anything negative - the girl was probably just as
conceited as Julia had been and would surely use it to pad her ego. That she'd come from the
womb of such "greatness". Wow, in addition to being the seed of Harry friggin'
Potter. Gag.

Oh, well. No use crying over spilled potion. In her next mailing, she would just have to make sure
to send a particularly vicious note. Wait, did she say 'vicious'? Oops, she meant
'honest'. Honesty was, after all, very important, wasn't it? She was merely righting a
wrong, by telling the real truth, the whole truth. It wasn't her fault if that came across as
viciousness, if the truth sometimes hurt.

Though she wouldn't deny that every ounce of pain inflicted on her subject was definitely very
gratifying and- She just needed to find a chink in the girl's armor so the work could truly
take root. So the revenge could truly be sweet. So her victory could finally be complete..

Cristella didn't know it but perhaps she should have been thanking her boss, after all. Because
his laziness had inadvertently provided her with the most unlikely - in her eyes - of
armor-piercing arrows.

Perhaps she should've been thanking him because her prey, long sought and pursued, had finally
been wounded.


****
**End Notes:**

1. The title of this chapter is from the poem "Harlem: A Dream Deferred" by the still
awe-inspiring Langston Hughes. I wanted to title the chapter "A Dream Deferred" but
thought it would give away the contents of this part. I figured that titling it with an incomplete
line from the poem might be less conspicuous.

2. In case anyone wants to read more, the full eulogy written by Sir Winston Churchill can be found
here: http://www.oucs.ox.ac.uk/ltg/projects/jtap/tutorials/intro/brooke/obituary.html

3. Finally, please review! Thanks!




10. Beneath The Vast Cathedral Of Sky
-------------------------------------

**A/N:** Thanks very much to every person that reviewed the last (depressing) chapter. It is
much appreciated and hope you'll enjoy this one. Rock on!


**
Chapter Nine - Beneath the Vast Cathedral of Sky**


"You two ready to go, then?" Hermione Potter inquired of her two sons on the brightly
sunny but cold day in September that the Woodlands Wizarding Day School reopened.

There was a sudden blur of motion as the two boys jumped up excitedly. "Yeah!" they
chorused.

Their mother smiled, even as she felt the telltale prickling of tears on the backs of her eyelids.
Her boys looked so smart in their navy blue robes with the Woodlands crest (two wands crossed and
emitting a sprinkle of stars over a lush forest) on the left, navy and grey clip-on ties, shiny new
black shoes, fingernails clean for the next hour or so. When did Ben get so tall? He wasn't
even nine yet... and Luke. Five years old already! Wasn't it just yesterday he was a screaming
infant and she was crying right along with him out of sheer helplessness? Why did they have to grow
up so quickly?

"Mum! Let's go!" shouted Luke, jolting Hermione from her reverie. He picked up his
knapsack and ran to the front door, turning back to see if his mother and brother were
following.

Ben was rummaging in his bag for something, a frown on his face, his hair already resembling a
rat's nest in spite of his mother's hopeful attempts at taming it. The frown cleared as he
found what he was looking for and he too walked over to the door.

"Hang on. Dad had to take Vina to the potty," Hermione said, trying not to appear to be
stalling, which was what she was doing. She had so enjoyed having all her children home full-time
during the summer and that had now come to an end. First Emerson had gone back to Hogwarts and now
the boys were going off to Woodlands. Who would have thought that bookish Hermione Granger would be
dragging her feet about school?

"Hurry up, Vina! Pee really fast!" Luke yelled in the direction of the bathroom, hopping
from one leg to the other as if he too was in need of a potty break. "We're going to
schooooooo-" He broke off as his father came into the room, leading Davina by the hand.
"Let's go, Daddy!"

Harry chuckled. "In a hurry, are we?" He ruffled the chocolate curls of his youngest son
as he opened the door and the boys flew out like the devil was chasing them. "Let's get
going, then," he added, unnecessarily.

Hermione picked up her daughter and shut the door behind her, listening to the telltale hum that
was the house sealing itself against any intruder, which was basically anyone it didn't
recognize. All points of entry into Ballynore knew who could and couldn't enter the Potter
household and the charms on the estate were among the most powerful in the world. Polyjuice Potion,
for instance, was useless. Harry and Hermione took no chances with the safety of their
family.

"And awaaaaaaaay we go!" cried Luke, throwing his arms wide as Harry backed the Jaguar
out of the driveway. "Ah, man! Only one more year and I go to your part of the school, right,
Ben?"

Ben glanced over at his brother. "Yeah. And God help us all."

Harry snorted softly so only Hermione heard him and she smiled to herself. Yeah, God help the
teachers at Woodlands when Luke began going full-time. Right now, he was in nursery school, so he
only went half-days. And from what his teacher had told her, he was already a handful.

Woodlands was divided into a nursery school and a regular school. The school began admitting
children as young as eighteen months and they remained in the nursery section until grade one when
they moved over to the regular school.

Woodlands operated under the expectation that all of their kids would receive Hogwarts letters by
their thirteenth birthdays. The regular school educated the children only up to that age and if a
child didn't get a letter, that was just too bad. The parents would need to find other
accommodation for the humiliated child because Woodlands had nothing to offer beyond that point.
Such an occurrence was extremely rare, fortunately; something like that had only occurred twice in
the school's fourteen year history.

"So, Ben, you looking forward to seeing Miss McDonald?" Harry asked coyly, glancing in
the rearview mirror at his son, who was predictably flipping through a book.

Ben blushed. "She's my teacher, Dad."

"Not just any teacher," his father continued, his eyes twinkling. "Didn't you
say-"

"Harry," Hermione interrupted softly, a smile tugging at her lips.

Her husband grinned over at her and she shook her head. Harry loved teasing Ben about his teacher,
Miss McDonald. Woodlands had a non-rotating teacher system. That is, a teacher got assigned to a
beginning class, usually of three-year-olds, and he or she remained with them until they left the
school. The only other teacher that the kids usually had, other than occasional substitutes for
their main teacher, was Madame Chanson, the music teacher. With so much time spent together, the
kids invariably became very attached to their teacher and s/he to them.

And Ben was very attached to Miss McDonald, to the point of once declaring that he was going to
marry her.

Hermione turned to look into the backseat at her eldest son, who was now reading to his sister and
brother. He must have felt her gaze because he looked up at her and smiled so adorably that she
wanted to weep. He looked and acted so much like Harry that sometimes she wondered if she really
had had any part in creating him. Seeing Ben always brought her back to her first year at Hogwarts,
when she'd met Harry and he'd been so small and skinny. He'd been so young, and yet so
much had already happened to him and would continue to happen that year.

Thankfully, Ben was neither small nor overly skinny; he was perfectly normal for his age. And his
life, she was happy to say, had so far been free of any hurt more major than normal childhood
mishaps.

Oh, she loved them so much! The ebony-haired boy with the round glasses that kept slipping down his
nose. The rambunctious green-eyed one currently yelling, "Pick me! Pick me!" for some
reason. The adorable little girl with the hazel eyes like Ben's, who was laughing and kicking
her feet at her brothers' antics. The lovely young girl away at Hogwarts, child not of her body
but of her heart.

Perhaps she'd made a sound, because Harry suddenly reached out and touched her cheek. The depth
of feeling in his eyes - there was no need for him to speak but he did. "I love
you."

"I love you too, Harry," she said somewhat croakily, the emotion swelling within
her.

"Kiss! Kiss!" cried Davina from the back and her parents laughed.

"I don't know whether to be pleased or alarmed by that," Harry said as he drove into
Woodlands' wide, red brick courtyard with the tinkling bowtruckle fountain in the center. On
their first visit to the campus, Hermione had commented that she thought the fountain was rather
appropriate considering the name of the school, in keeping with the trees/woods theme and all, but
Harry had said it looked and sounded "wimpy". Whatever that meant.

The boys jumped out of the car as soon as their father shut it off and Hermione went around to
remove the Restraining Charm on her daughter. Harry shut his door and pocketed the keys, which was
just force of habit. The car didn't need keys to operate. It ran on magic but since the Potters
ventured into Muggle London quite a bit, they'd kept the keys for appearance's sake.

"I mean, you don't think we're too demonstrative in front of the kids, do you?"
he continued, even as he lightly pinched her bum then glanced around quickly to see if anyone had
noticed. Ben and Luke were already halfway to the open doors of their school with the crowd milling
around in front so they were safe in that regard.

Hermione turned around and handed Davina over to him. "No, I don't think we are. They know
Mummy and Daddy love each other very much."

"Mummy and Daddy love each other," parroted Davina seriously, in the kind of voice that
one uses to state solid, indisputable facts such as, "The Earth is round" or "Malfoy
is a git".

Harry nodded. "Yep, they do."

"And Ben."

"Yeah, and Ben."

"And Luke."

"Definitely."

The little girl's eyes lit up. "And Emma!"

Harry chuckled and dropped a kiss on the small nose. "Absolutely."

"And Vina?"

Her father hugged her close and tickled her lightly so she squealed. "And Vina. No doubt about
it."

'Suburban bliss and Harry Potter in the same sentence, who'd have thunk it?' Hermione
Potter mused to herself as she walked hand in hand with her husband across the red brick towards
their excitedly chattering children. Fate, it seemed, was not without a sense of irony - lavishing
normality on the offspring of the one whose childhood it had labored tirelessly to ensure was as
far from normal as was possible.

She was just thankful that she got to be a part of it. Her husband loved her and she loved him.
Their children were safe and happy. And all was right with their world.

Or so she thought.

*******

"Ben! Over here!"

Ben's head whipped around and he grinned. His best friend, Andy Wood, was beckoning to him from
the other side of the crowded entrance hall. His parents had just left to take Budget over to the
nursery school and Ben was on his way to his classroom.

This part of the school was always a favorite lounging place between classes. The walls were smooth
stone, brightly and colorfully painted with images and words in ode to learning. It did take
getting used to the way a whole section of the wall art would sometimes move about or suddenly
decide to change their colors, but it definitely added to the "coolness" of the
building.

Elbowing his way through the throng, his ears ringing with the shouts and chatter of his
schoolmates, he managed to reach his friend without getting too battered. "Hey. When did you
get here?"

"Not very long ago," Andy replied, shrugging. Then his blue eyes lit up. "But did
you hear? Field trip this year is to the Bertie Bott's factory and we get to-"

"Hey, Ben! Have a good summer?" someone interrupted loudly from right behind him, but
before he could even turn around, his best friend had already made an outburst.

"Why don't you get some bloody manners, Pretty Boy? I was having a conversation,"
Andy barked, a scowl twisting his features.

"Excuuuse me. And don't call me 'Pretty Boy'!" snapped the dark-haired boy
who had interrupted, drawing himself up in an attempt to look taller than he actually was.

The two boys were glaring at each other but Ben didn't even bother trying to hide his grin.
This was a sight as familiar as the sunset.

The dark-haired boy's name was actually Rajiv Patil-Thomas but all of their schoolmates called
him 'Pretty Boy'. He was the only child of Parvati Patil and Dean Thomas, who were still
together but had never married (to the consternation of Parvati's devout Sikh parents). Dean
and Parvati considered themselves too ultra-modern for something as "conformist" as
marriage; she was a writer for Gladrags Fashion Magazine and Dean owned a pair of art galleries,
one in Diagon Alley and one in Muggle London.

Poor Rajiv had been stuck with that nickname for as long as Ben could remember. Rajiv hated it but
he couldn't get away because he really was pretty for a boy. For instance, Ben had once heard
his mum talking about Rajiv's "big, doe eyes fringed by eyelashes long enough to make any
woman jealous."

Ben was actually the only one of his peers to call him by his real name, a fact that had bewildered
Rajiv enough for him to ask Ben about that.

"I mean, everybody else calls me by that blasted nickname. But you don't. How come?"
the younger boy had inquired curiously.

Ben had shrugged. "Cause Rajiv's your name. Isn't it?"

And that had been that. Ben had given up on trying to get his friends to do the same, however. In
fact, he rather thought Andy especially liked riling Rajiv up by calling him by his hated
nickname.

"Why don't you run along now, Pretty?" Andy was saying dismissively. "I think
they're changing the nappies in your class."

"I'm only a year younger than you are, so just sod off, Wood!"

Andy opened his mouth, no doubt to impart some kind of stinging barb, but Ben shot him a look and
he settled for shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning back against the wall, his scowl
deepening.

"Anyway, what I came by to tell you was there's a new kid in my class," Rajiv
intoned, leaving off his glaring.

This got the attention of both Ben and Andy. It was very unusual, and hence very intriguing, for
new students to enter so late in the grade system. Rajiv was in grade three and most class rosters
had been well-established by then. After all, how long did it take a parent in the Wizarding world
to realize that their child was, fortunately, magical? Magical children came from all over Britain
to attend Woodlands, just as they did Hogwarts, so distance was not an issue. Could it be a
foreigner?

"Know who he is?" Ben asked, leading the way to the grade three classroom, hoping for a
peek at the new kid.

Rajiv trotted along beside him. "No. I'd never seen him before and I didn't get a
chance to ask his name."

But just then, the bell rang and the boys had to split up, Rajiv to his classroom while Ben and
Andy continued down the hall to the grade four room. Ben felt his face grow hot when he saw his
teacher, Miss McDonald, standing at the blackboard, writing on it with her wand. Miss McDonald was
at that strange in-between age place, old enough to command their respect but young enough to
inspire crushes in her male students and hero-worship in her girls. Ben, who thought girls in
general were gross, nevertheless was quite taken by Miss McDonald, who obviously wasn't a girl.
She was a woman and there was a difference; though what exactly that difference was, he
couldn't tell you.

"Hello Ben, Andy," his teacher said, smiling at them from behind her desk.

Ben smiled back shyly. "Good morning, Miss."

"Good morning, Miss," Andy mimicked quietly in a ridiculously sing-songy voice and Ben
elbowed him as they walked to their seats. Of course he hadn't sounded like that!

The room settled down quickly. Ignoring the girls who were glancing at him and giggling - Why did
they keep doing that, anyway? Did he have dirt on his nose or something? - Ben leaned back in his
chair and looked around. He truly liked it here. There was something comforting about his classroom
with its rickety bookshelves and ink-stained desks. There were lots of bright posters on the walls,
as well as a section devoted to what Miss McDonald loved to call "Superb Work!".

In this room though, once upon a time, he'd been bored beyond belief. Woodlands taught the
basics; the three R's: reading, writing and arithmetic, as well as basic science and music.
Since the children were too young to even own wands, the founders of the school had decided to
leave all magical instruction up to Hogwarts. So Woodlands, essentially, merely taught structured
reading and writing. But by the time he was seven years old, Ben was reading at the highest level
that Woodlands offered and the only class that challenged him even a little was science.

Restless, he'd complained to his parents who, after having long discussions, had decided to
enroll him in some prestigious Muggle private school until Hogwarts. They'd informed him of
their decision and he'd been so upset that he'd cried for hours. He didn't want to
leave Woodlands, even though they weren't challenging him there. He didn't want to leave
his friends or Miss McDonald whom, he tearfully informed his parents, he was going to marry and,
"If I leave, some other bloke will woo her!"

Ben didn't know it, but that had given his parents a good laugh in private. ("Imagine our
seven-year-old talking about 'wooing'!"). Somehow, his Mum and Dad had worked
something out with Miss McDonald and Headmistress Esson so he could stay at Woodlands with his
classmates, but be given more demanding schoolwork.

So it was smiles all around. Ben was challenged without leaving his school or his friends. Nor his
'future bride', Miss McDonald.

"Welcome, Class, to another year!" his teacher was saying, smiling out at them from the
front of the room, her shoulder-length brown hair framing her face. "I'm trusting you all
had a good summer?"

The class murmured excitedly, everyone clearly hankering to share their adventures to their
favorite teacher.

"That's good. But this summer, I was thinking back to my own school days and something I
remember doing on the first day back at school after every summer holiday was writing an
essay."

Most of the girls immediately began whispering giddily while the boys groaned aloud. What the heck
did essays have to do with summer?

Miss McDonald held up her hand, effectively shushing the whispers and grumblings. "I'm not
finished. Now, instead of everyone simply reciting what you did on your holiday, I want you to
write it down. Then we will take turns reading to the class what we've written. I'll give
you all of today to do that and tomorrow we'll begin sharing. Any questions? Yes,
Andy?"

Ben turned to look at his friend, who had his hand in the air. "What if I can say it all in
one sentence? 'This summer I went to an awesome Quidditch camp with my Dad and
brother.'"

Ben snickered. It was just like Andy to try to take the easiest way out of schoolwork.

"Essays will need to be at least a full page," Miss McDonald replied, and she seemed to
be fighting a smile.

"Bollocks," muttered Andy, scratching the back of his dirty-blond head as he grudgingly
picked up his quill.

The teacher instructed them to begin after doing a quick review of the rules for paragraphs,
headings and other such elements of writing. For the next hour, the only sounds were the scratching
of quills on parchment, occasional whispers, smothered giggles and other sounds that a roomful of
children typically make. Ben was completely occupied with writing about the trip his family had
taken to Godric's Hollow, Wales, so that by the time they recessed for lunch, he'd
forgotten his curiosity regarding the new kid.

Which was why he stared in bewilderment when Rajiv ran up to him and said, "There he
is!"

"Who?"

"The new sprog," Rajiv blurted. "Remember?"

"Oh, right," Ben said, turning to look in the direction in which Rajiv was pointing.
"That one?"

"Yeah."

"Merlin, he looks like a runt, doesn't he?" Andy commented, peering at the stranger
as if inspecting a litter of puppies for the one most likely to be shoved aside at the mother's
teats.

Ben would never say it out loud, but he kind of agreed with Andy. The new boy was even shorter than
Rajiv, who was at least a head smaller than Ben and Andy. He was standing alone by the side of the
playground beside the big beech tree but not quite under it, as if afraid of encroaching on the
tree's territory. His appearance set him even more apart from his peers. All the kids were
decked out in their back-to-school finery, new robes and shoes. The new kid's robes were
patched and at least two shades lighter, but very clean. Obviously bought second-hand. Even from a
few yards away, Ben could tell that his trainers were well-worn, although, like his robes, they
were very clean.

"His name's Arnie," Rajiv whispered. "Doesn't he look pathetic?"

The rush of pity for the new kid that suddenly surged caught him by surprise and made Ben's
response come out sharper than he'd intended. "What do you mean he looks
pathetic?"

Rajiv looked startled. "What? I meant- just, his clothes, like-"

"C'mon," Ben said to Andy, suddenly much more irritated with himself than he was with
Rajiv. Why were they standing around staring at and discussing the poor kid like he was some kind
of freak in a zoo? Surely he had it hard enough being at a new school without any friends? Besides,
Ben knew what it was like being stared and pointed at because of something one had no control over.
It wasn't as if it was obscure knowledge that he was the son of the legendary Harry Potter and
Hermione Granger.

As lunch progressed, Ben couldn't help glancing over at Arnie a few more times, however.
Everyone was sitting outside eating the lunches that they'd brought from home and Ben
couldn't help noticing that all Arnie ate was a big red apple. He watched the way Arnie's
eyes darted around, taking in his schoolmates happily munching their fat sandwiches and treacle
tarts.

"Is that all he had to eat?" Andy asked loudly, craning his neck to see over the heads of
their classmates, his cheeks bulging with steak and kidney pie.

"Dunno," Ben replied, embarrassed for some reason. Perhaps Arnie had already eaten the
rest of his lunch, and had saved the apple for last.

And why were they still goggling? He elbowed Andy, hard; his friend yelped and returned the favor
and in the wrestling match that ensued, staring and other such rudeness were rendered truly and
effectively obsolete.

*****

But the next day, it was the same thing over again. Arnie ate his big red apple, then sat around
trying not to watch everyone else downing their mince pies and jam doughnuts. Again, Ben felt that
uncomfortable mixture of embarrassment and sympathy. Right there and then, he came up with a quick
plan that he put into action that night after dinner.

He was helping his mum clear the table, something he loved to do because she let him use her wand
to clear the plates. He couldn't have a wand of his own until Hogwarts, so this was the next
best thing. Budget and Vina were cuddled up with Dad on the porch swing outside, too full to do
much more than smile and emit contented sighs.

"*Scourgify*," he said cheerily, waving the wand at the casserole dish the way his
mother had shown him. The last of the peas, carrots and gravy vanished and he grinned. Looking up
suddenly, he said, "Mum, can I have an extra sandwich tomorrow?"

Hermione glanced at him in surprise. "Why?"

"A growing lad sometimes needs additional nourishment," Ben replied in what he hoped was
an endearing tone of voice.

It must have been because his mother smiled and hugged him suddenly. Fighting his mortification
(and secret delight), he let her hold him for longer than the normal three seconds. This was for a
good cause, after all. "Yes, you do," she said softly.

Ben suppressed the twinge of guilt he felt at her words. She obviously thought he was talking about
himself. But was this wrong? It wasn't as if he was lying for his own benefit, was it? "So
can I?"

"*May* you what?"

"Have an extra sandwich?" he repeated, peering up at her through his glasses.

She chuckled. "I don't see why not."

"Wicked! Thanks, Mum."

Objective One: *Check*.

Later that night, he lay in bed staring about his blurry room (he didn't have on his glasses),
trying to devise ways of offering the sandwich to Arnie without it coming across as pity. Even if
he didn't have a lot of money, surely Arnie still had his pride and Ben knew he'd
personally rather go hungry than have food offered to him in such a way that it would hurt his
dignity to accept it.

His little brother made an odd slurping sound in the bed across from him and Ben yawned and rolled
over, trying not to fall asleep yet. He wanted to have the next part of the plan worked out before
he went to school the next day. After a few more minutes of tossing, he decided that the best way
would be to try to come across as non-threatening as possible.. try to.. be.. friend...
sleepy...


******

"Hey, can I sit here?" Ben asked brightly of the small, mousy-haired boy who was sitting
alone on the grass beneath the beech tree. Apparently, permission to encroach on the tree's
territory had been granted. Ben had told Andy that he couldn't eat with him today but
hadn't really given an explanation. He'd just thought it would probably be easier for Arnie
to accept help if he didn't have an audience.

Arnie shrugged. Up close, Ben could see that there was a small hole in his left trainer and that
Arnie's nails were bitten to the quick. "It's a free country."

Ben sat and, after a few minutes of uncertainty, opened his lunch bag. He knew what was inside but
pretended to be surprised by the sight of the two neatly wrapped sandwiches nestled between the
bottle of pumpkin juice, the banana and the wedge of cherry pie. "Uh-oh. Looks like my Mum
made a mistake and gave me an extra sarnie. Want one?" he asked, holding it out.

Arnie's eyes darted quickly to Ben's outstretched hand and back before he muttered,
"No, thanks."

Ben sighed as he unwrapped one. "That's too bad. There's no way I'll be able to
eat both of them and I'd hate for it to go to waste."

He took a big bite and let his eyes drift shut as he chewed. And no, that wasn't an act because
boy, could his Mum cook! The weirdest thing was she couldn't do it with a wand like Grandmum
Weasley at the Burrow. Mum could only cook the Muggle way and, perhaps to make up for her
frustration at not being able to do it with her wand, she'd worked really hard to master the
art of Muggle cooking.

Ben thought his Mum was the best cook in the world and, frankly, that was saying something because
he knew a lot of good cooks. Like Dad's friend Jamie Oliver. "This is good! You sure you
don't want it? Oh, go on!"

Arnie shrugged his thin shoulders again, but Ben could sense that his resistance was crumbling.
"Don't want your charity."

"Then you can definitely have this, cause it's not charity. It's a sandwich!" Ben
replied cheerily, shoving the package into the other boy's hand. "You'll like that.
It's chicken, ham and swiss with mustard. My Mum makes the best ones."

It took all he had not to whoop when Arnie, after a long moment of hesitation, unwrapped the
sandwich and took a bite. The other boy chewed slowly, holding the sarnie gingerly in his hands as
if expecting it to vanish if he grasped it too tight, his blue eyes determinedly fixed on some
point just beyond the horizon.

Finally- "It's good."

Ben grinned, feeling a thrill of success race down his spine. "I told ya."

Objective Two: *Check*.

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Ben decided to chance more. "I'm Ben Potter.
What's your name?"

"Arnie Shriver." There was a brief pause in which Ben felt Arnie sneaking glances at him.
Then- "Is Harry Potter your dad?"

*How very predictable*. "Yeah, he is."

Arnie looked awestruck. "Wow! What's that like?"

"Dunno. He's just my Dad," Ben replied, shrugging. Actually, he was used to questions
like these. The trick was to downplay it because really, his father was just like anybody
else's father. He just happened to be famous as well. "What about your Dad? What does he
do?"

"He's a Muggle," Arnie blurted, somewhat defensively, as if he expected Ben to attack
him over that piece of information.

"My Grandpa Granger's a Muggle," Ben supplied matter-of-factly and felt, rather than
saw, Arnie relax. "What does your Dad do?"

It took Arnie a while to answer. "Nothing right now. But he's trying really hard to find
work. My Mum has to stay home with my little brothers. They're twins."

'So that's why his shoes are worn and he doesn't have any lunch,' Ben mused to
himself, as he listened to the other boy crumpling the empty wrapper in his fists. He silently
resolved to bring Arnie something every day from now on, if he could. He was sure Mum wouldn't
mind.

"I have a big brother, but he went away to Hogwarts this year," Arnie was saying. He all
of a sudden seemed to have a lot to say. Maybe that was what hunger did - it made you mute and
eating something cures the verbal lockjaw. Hmm, something to read up on or ask Mum or Dad
about...

Ben looked over at him. "My sister, Emerson, is at Hogwarts too."

"I can't wait to go there. It sounds so awesome," Arnie spouted, his blue eyes
suddenly coming alive. "Mum told us so many cool stories about going to school
there."

"Yeah, it's really neat," Ben agreed. "My sister said-"

"Oi, Ben!" came a shout from the right. It was Andy. "There you are. What're you
doing sitting over he- oh." Andy's eyes landed on Arnie and he frowned. "What're
you sitting with *him* for?"

Ben glared at him. "It's a free country, isn't it?" he echoed, and thought he saw
a flicker of a grin on Arnie's face.

Andy stared down at them indecisively for a long moment before he flopped down on the grass too.
"Whatever. I'm Andy Wood. You're Arnie, right?"

The smaller boy gave a tic of a nod.

"Welcome to Woodlands, Arnie. So what's your team?"

Ben laughed. Trust Andy to insert Quidditch just like that! For all his occasional flashes of
mean-spiritedness, Andy really was cool. And in no time at all, the three of them were arguing
Quidditch and jokingly mocking each other in that bewildering way that boys do.

The sense of accomplishment and pride that Ben felt over what he'd done did not quickly
diminish. He and Arnie never spoke about it but over the next few days, he brought what he could
from home to share with his new friend at lunchtime.

He decided not to tell his parents where the extra food was really going, though. No reason to
embarrass hilarious, Chudley Cannons-loving Arnie, his new pal.

Objective Three: *Check*.

Because everybody deserved to have a friend.


******

**End Notes:**

1. In case anyone is wondering about Woodlands' enrollment being open to age 13, whereas in
canon Hogwarts letters are sent out at age 11, this was just my way of providing a loophole for..
ahem.. dunces (think Crabbe, Goyle, Marcus Flint).

2. The title of this chapter is from one of the first poems I ever memorized, by a Jamaican poet
named Roger Mais. Oh, I love it still! It's entitled: *Children Coming Home From School

I can hear
The gospel of little feet
Go choiring down
The dusty asphalt road.
Beneath the vast cathedral of sky
With the sun for steeple,
Evangelizing with laughter,
Go the shining ones-
The little people*

3. Please review! Thanks :)







11. But Things Have Changed
---------------------------

**A/N:** Thanks to you guys who reviewed! funvince, tabitoo, RickyElRey (dual reviewing, eh?
You rock!), shawnpickett (I promise you'll find out Arnie's deal eventually :) And thanks
to the anonymous reviewer.

As always, many thanks to **Liss** for the beta!

**

Chapter Ten - But Things Have Changed**


Isn't it strange how the loss of the *anticipation* of something can ache even more than
the loss of the something itself? Even if you do get what you were anticipating, after receiving
it, you go through a kind of withdrawal that might take upwards of weeks to overcome.

And if you don't even get what you were anticipating in the first place - the ache lies just
beneath the surface, deceptively dormant because absolutely anything can make it rear its head
without a hint or a warning.

For Emerson, this time it was the sight of that t-shirt she'd gotten in Dallas that had made
that now familiar all-encompassing agony stab through her being. *Why drink and drive when you
can smoke and fly?* asked the t-shirt.

She'd thought it was cool, thinking it kinda funny that it was being sold in a Muggle store
where they obviously thought there was only one meaning to the word "fly". Obviously
"fly" in that sentence was as in "airplane", right? Or, to be extreme, perhaps
as in the feeling of being "high", were one to partake of more illicit smoking materials.
Certainly it had nothing to do with broomsticks! Really, what nonsense!

Em folded the top and placed it back in her trunk with a sad smile. Mum didn't like this shirt.
She thought it "promoted aberrant behavior", was how she'd phrased it and had had a
long and candid discussion with Em about substance abuse and what a persistent, wide-reaching
problem it was in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. Not that she had even the slightest
interest in getting involved in any of that stuff, and she'd told her mother that.

But today, the t-shirt reminded her that she would not be doing any flying any time soon. At the
very least, not with the Gryffindor Quidditch team. That opportunity had flown away, pardon the
pun, and wasn't going to be coming back for a while.

'And whose fault is that?' hissed a small voice in the back of her head.

Whose fault was it? Sometimes she thought it was all Smiley's fault for sending her those damn
letters and clippings, for contaminating her mind. Sometimes she thought it was her parents'
fault for not being completely honest with her, for glossing over the nastier details of her
existence so that when she did find them out, they came as a massive shock. Sometimes she even
thought it was Julia Thomas's fault for being such a bleeding heart and not trying to preserve
her own life.

The vast majority of the time, however, Emerson knew it was her own fault. It was her fault for
continuing to open the envelopes when there was every sign that the contents weren't ever going
to change in tone. It was her fault for forgetting the sacrifice that Julia had made. It was her
fault for being so self-centered, for thinking she had any right to want something like that.

It was her own fault for hoping, for anticipating something so much that with its untimely demise,
she was left frequently crying herself to sleep out of sheer disappointment.

Oh, how she wished she had listened to Lyna! She wished she had left that clipping till after the
tryouts. That way, she would've been safely on the team and there'd've been no way it
could have prevented her from fulfilling her dream then. The most she could've done in that
case would be to try to resign and there wasn't a chance that Kal Durham, the Gryffindor
Quidditch Captain, would've let her.

But no, she'd just had to "get it out of the way". Stupid!

'There you go, thinking only about yourself again. You had no right to be on the team, anyway.
So it's just as well that you read it before the tryouts,' another voice piped up.

And with that thought came guilt. She felt guilty for wishing that she'd done things
differently. She felt that she deserved what had happened, yet at the same time she wished that
what happened hadn't. She felt so disappointed and the next second, her disappointment turned
to guilt for feeling disappointed.

God, she was so confused!

And it didn't help that everyone was on her case for missing the tryouts. Marissa and Marc had
practically ambushed her at dinner that night, demanding to know where she'd been and-

"How in the name of heaven could you have missed the tryouts, Em?! Did you get temporary
amnesia or something or what? I'm completely bamboozled here. Help me understand!" Marissa
had exclaimed over and over again, gazing at Emerson as if she were some bewildering multiple-hex
victim with eyes on her forehead and teeth in her nose.

"I already told you. I changed my mind," Em muttered to her plate, keeping her head down
so the older girl - and the rest of the Gryffindor table that was eagerly listening to the
conversation - couldn't see the tears shining in her eyes. The reality had only just began to
sink in that her opportunity was really and truly gone. She would not get another chance to try out
for at least two years when Marissa would leave Hogwarts, hence vacating a Chaser spot. And then,
the odds would be less favorable that she would get on the team, what with there would be only one
available spot instead of two like there was this time.

But why the hell did they have to keep rubbing it in that her chance was gone? Why did they have to
keep telling her how much she'd been looking forward to it? Did they think she'd forgotten
that? Didn't they know that her disappointment was at least ten times worse than whatever kind
of letdown they were experiencing?

Marc sat down beside her and leaned forward, trying to peer into her eyes. "You keep saying
you changed your mind. Okay. But why did you?"

*Because I'm an ungrateful, murdering, self-centered brat and thus undeserving, that's
why.*

Such self-negativity was still so alien to Emerson that she had sprung up from the table and turned
the anger she felt at herself onto the people who were trying to pry into her business. "I
already told you! I just changed my mind! *Stop* ganging up on me!"

She had stormed blindly out of the Great Hall, managing to hold back her sobs until she'd
reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, who had sympathetically swung open after Em repeatedly tried
and failed to choke out the password.

"It's alright, dearie. I know what you're trying to say," the Fat Lady had said
gently. "Go on up and do what you need to do. We all need a good cry every now and
then."

"T-Thanks," Em sobbed.

And she'd done just that until sleep overtook her.

But the morning hadn't brought any relief from the interrogations. Emerson wished she
hadn't been so vocal before about her intense desire to be on the Gryffindor team. Because now,
even people from other houses were stopping her in the corridors to badger her about it. They'd
taken to asking Carolyna too, but thankfully Lyna hadn't said anything to anyone. Yet. Em
didn't think her friend really understood what had happened, anyway, which made her situation
all the more precarious.

To make matters worse, the next letter that arrived from Smiley was definitely one for the record
books in terms of nastiness. Somehow, Smiley had thought the eulogy clipping wouldn't affect
her and had tried to "make up" for that by being particularly mean. Em had, for the first
time, read the letter without Lyna and had been so hurt by the vicious words that she'd skipped
lunch and cried in the empty Charms classroom until the bell rang signaling the next lesson. When
asked where she'd been and why she wasn't at lunch, she'd lied and said she hadn't
been hungry. Though come to think of it, that hadn't really been a lie; food was pretty much
beginning to lose its appeal these days. Just try eating when you have an ever-expanding lump of
misery lodged in your throat.

Tomorrow, it would be a week since her dream was bludgeoned to death and she knew not to expect
relief any time soon. Because today after lessons, she would be going home to spend the weekend
with her family. It was her Mum's and little sister's birthdays this weekend and, instead
of forward to this, Emerson was now dreading it. If people who knew her casually could be so
curious and persistent, how would she possibly survive the questions of those who knew her
best?

'But they don't really know you, did they?' asked the hissing voice that had taken up
residence in her head. 'They don't know what a-'

"SHUT UP!" she burst out, letting the lid of her trunk slam shut. The noise startled her
out of her haze and, chest heaving, she stared down at the wand she was gripping tightly in her
hand.

Her wand? When had she picked it up, anyway? Emerson let it drop onto her bed and covered her face
with her hands, breathing rapidly. Bloody hell, she was losing her mind. She had shouted at
herself, for Christ's sake. Was this what people meant when they said someone was "touched
in the head"?

"Emerson?"

She looked up quickly and blinked in surprise. The strangeness factor of the day had just jumped up
another notch. Olivia Weasley was standing in the doorway, looking down at her with a concerned
expression, her vivid red hair gathered haphazardly away from her face. Olivia was the eldest child
of Uncle George and Aunt Nina and was a fifth year like Brandon Wood. She was in Gryffindor too, of
course, but Em rarely interacted with her; Olivia definitely marched to the beat of her own
drummer, to put it mildly. She had a brother, Rory, who was a third year and who was really shy but
had the most amazing singing voice.

"Hi, Olivia," Em said uncertainly. "What's up?"

Olivia leaned her left hand against the door, her brown eyes darting wildly about the room before
settling back on Em. "Are you all right? I thought I heard you shouting at
someone?"

"Um, no. You must've-" Em began, then stopped as a bubble of shame welled up and
popped inside her. She'd been about to say that Olivia must have imagined it. That fitted in
perfectly with Olivia's personality anyway, didn't it? She believed the weirdest things,
she smoked Muggle cigarettes and it was common knowledge that she never wore a bra. It wouldn't
be hard to tell her that she'd just been hearing things.

Except that that would've been an incredibly mean thing to do - not unlike something Jerrianne
Youngleer would instigate without batting an eye and derive great enjoyment from. And it would be a
lie, besides. Em felt bad enough about herself without sinking to the level of the classmate she
most detested.

"Actually, I was talking to myself," she amended with a blush. "I guess I got a bit
carried away."

The other girl smiled. "That's all right. I talk to myself all the time. Sometimes
thinking out loud makes it easier to figure things out, y'know?"

"Er, yeah, I guess. Sorry if I bothered you."

"You didn't. I was just heading outside for a quick fag," Olivia said, holding up the
packet of smokes. She sighed. "I wish I didn't need them so much, actually."

Emerson was startled by the admission. She'd always thought Olivia seemed content with herself
and didn't care what anybody thought of her. Kind of like Aunt Luna. "Really? Why
don't you just stop smoking them, then?"

Olivia fixed her with a look of pity. "Merlin, you're so naive. It's adorable, though,
in retrospect. Makes me wish I could go back to when I was that innocent." She stepped back
from the door and turned to leave. "But don't worry about it. Everybody has their quirks,
right? I sure as heck have mine."

And she was gone, leaving Emerson staring at the doorway in bewilderment. What did Olivia mean she
was naive?

And innocent?

"Yeah, right," Em muttered. "If you only knew, Olivia. If you only knew."

She went back to packing her trunk, trying to think of ways to stave off the inevitable maelstrom
of inquiries that she would face once she got home that evening. She couldn't possibly tell
them the reason for her abrupt decision, could she? What if they pried the information about Smiley
out of her and Smiley somehow found out and hurt Ben, Budget or Vina to punish her?

The thought made her freeze in horror, so that she quickly gave up that line of thinking and forced
herself to focus instead on the fact that she would be with her family again. Think of how great it
would be to see them, to see little Davina's face when she opened the present that Em had
gotten her!

There was no reason for them to discover the darker aspects of her soul, of her existence. There
was no need for them to know that their safety likely hinged on her keeping her mouth shut. She
could do this. She had to. And she would do whatever it took to keep them safe. Even if it meant
carrying this burden all alone.

Because, anyway, she had no one to blame but herself.


******

"Wotcher, Harry! You're early," Fred Weasley said brightly by way of greeting as
Harry stepped inside the noisy chaos that was the largest store of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.
The store was located in a prime spot in Diagon Alley and somehow, Harry had never quite gotten
used to this craziness, even though he had always been more or less involved with the
company.

The twins had done very well for themselves, indeed. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes (or 3W as it was
commonly called) was a major player in the tricks, pranks and jokes business and there were
typically at least a half-dozen store openings a year all around the world. Needless to say, the
twins and their investors were not in any danger of financial ruin from this angle any time soon
and as the very first investor in the company, Harry was included in that statement. He was a
silent partner on the board of directors for 3W but that was the extent of his involvement these
days.

Except as a customer, of course. Today, he was here to pick up some party favors for Hermione's
and Davina's birthday celebration, as well as some other business to attend to.

"Your order is being put together as we speak," Fred continued, letting Harry into his
office, which was cluttered with noisy, colorful prototypes of future products. Despite all the
people they had working for them, Fred and George were still the chief designers of all the 3W
merchandise. The dual wells of creativity, apparently, hadn't yet run dry. "George is
personally seeing to it. Only the best for Sir Potter, right?"

Harry snorted as he took a seat. "Yeah, yeah. But I'm picking up Em here too,
remember?"

"Oh, that's right. I forgot. What time does her Portkey get in?"

"She should be here in about ten minutes," Harry answered after consulting his watch.
He'd thought this would be a good place to have her arrive so that she could help him pick out
some other things or if she needed to buy a present.

Fred leaned forward, a frown on his freckly face. Harry noticed that there was a rather cartoonish
white stripe down the middle of the other man's bright hair, surely a temporary souvenir from
one of his and George's crazy experiments. "Speaking of Emerson, though, what do you think
about her not trying out for the Quidditch team?"

"What?" Harry said sharply, sitting up straighter. "Where'd you hear
that?"

"From my twins. What, you didn't know?" Fred asked, gaping at Harry.

Harry stared, confusion surging through his mind. No, he hadn't known. He and Hermione had sent
Em a "Good Luck!" owl, also signed by Ben, Luke and Davina, on the day of the tryouts and
she'd sent a thank you note in response. They had thought it surprising that Emerson hadn't
written to tell them about the tryouts but he'd just figured she was waiting till she came
home. That way she could give the whole animated play-by-play without any constraints.

But now Fred was saying she hadn't tried out *at all*?

"No, I didn't know," he said finally with a deep frown. "Are you sure about
this?"

"Positive. I was shocked too when I heard, that's why it stuck. Hasn't she been
wanting to do this practically since she could walk? Think she got stage fright?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. I'll be sure to have a talk with her,
though." He leaned back in his chair, looking troubled. Why hadn't Em tried out for the
team? Why hadn't she owled them about it? What could possibly keep her from doing something
she'd been wanting to do for ages?

So occupied was he with these thoughts that it took him a few seconds to register that someone was
tapping his shoulder. Glancing up, he saw the object of his confusion looking down at him with a
smile dancing about her mouth.

"Earth to Dad! Earth to Dad!"

He smiled as he stood up to hug her. "Hey. Did you just get here?"

"Yeah." Emerson pointed at the Portkey on Fred's desk, a full bottle of Butterbeer.
"Think this is still safe to drink, Uncle Fred?"

Fred chuckled. "I don't see why not. Hey, Emerson? You okay? Everything all
right?"

Harry watched his daughter intently, looking to see her reaction to those questions. She merely
looked puzzled, however. "Sure. Why?"

Fred glanced quickly at Harry, who shook his head the tiniest bit. He didn't want to broach the
subject here. He needed to talk to Hermione about this first, see what his wife thought about this
strange development.

"Just you going back for your second year and all," Fred supplied effortlessly. "How
has it been so far?"

Em shrugged. "Oh, it's fine. It's fine."

"Good. That's good. Well, let's go see if that slow-as-molasses brother of mine has
finished putting together your order, Harry. It should be done by now."

"Hey! Watch who you're calling 'slow'," interjected a voice from the doorway.
George came into the room carrying a large and loudly decorated box, which he presented to Harry
with aplomb. "There ya go. It should have everything you wanted... and I added some extra
stuff."

Harry fixed him with a look of suspicion. "If you've put anything in there that causes my
wife to get mad at me, Weasley, you're going to pay."

"Ah, you wound me, Harry!" George cried dramatically, clutching his chest. "You
truly wound me! But I won't hold it against you. I'm a professional. Here, let me shrink
the box so you can get it home easier."

After pocketing the now walnut-sized box, Harry picked up his daughter's bag and thanked the
twins. "See you lot tomorrow, then. Two o'clock, all right?"

"Aye, aye Captain!" the twins chorused, complete with salute, making Emerson
giggle.
Even now that they were in their forties, Fred and George Weasley had hardly changed from their
schoolboy alter-egos. Frankly, Harry didn't know how Angelina and Nina, respectively, managed
to keep their husbands in line.

They browsed the shelves for a few more minutes, before deciding that there wasn't anything
else they wanted. Harry took out his wand and tapped Emerson's bag, turning it into a quick
Portkey. He looked down at his daughter. "Ready?"

"Yeah," she said, placing her hand on the bag too.

Perhaps he'd imagined the fleeting look of apprehension in her green eyes. Why on earth would
his daughter be worried about going home, anyway?

The strange thought was pushed out of his head by the familiar tug behind his navel as the Portkey
activated and by the time they arrived on the large and lush hand-woven rug in Ballynore's
foyer, to be immediately and loudly pounced upon by Luke and Davina, Harry had forgotten that
he'd ever thought it at all.


*********

Late the next night, after all the party guests had left and the house was cleaner and quieter once
again, Harry sat in the living room looking over some documents from work. Hermione was doing the
same thing and Emerson was lying on the carpet reading a book. Ben, Luke and Davina had all been
put to bed, worn out from the exertions of the day.

The day had been busy and loud, crammed with all the people they considered extended family, as
they celebrated Hermione's thirty-eighth birthday and Davina's second. Davina had been born
the day after Hermione's birthday two years ago, a belated but oh-so-welcome gift. Sometimes
Harry couldn't even recall how he and Hermione could possibly have decided not to have any more
children after Luke. Because with Davina here now, that decision had obviously been
erroneous.

Harry knew that his wife agreed that this was one case where they were both delighted to have been
wrong.

He looked over at his other daughter, who seemed to be staring at a page of her book without really
reading. At the very least, her eyes were not moving. Which suddenly reminded Harry of something.
With all the things going on that day, he hadn't had a chance to talk to Emerson about what
Fred had told him. Hermione had been just as perplexed as he was when he mentioned it to her and
they'd both agreed that they should hear what their daughter had to say before going any
further. They'd also decided that it would probably be best if only one of them questioned her,
just so she didn't feel ganged up on.

As if she sensed his gaze, Em looked over at him and he was surprised to see the steely look on her
face, as if she was bracing herself for something. Before he'd had a chance to ponder it,
however, she closed her book and got up from the floor.

"I think I'm gonna go to bed now," she announced, tossing her long hair over her
shoulder.

"Already?" Harry asked. It wasn't quite ten o'clock and usually Em had to be
threatened with all manner of horror for her to even go to bed before eleven. She was a night owl
of the highest order.

"Yeah," she said rather more defensively than Harry thought the situation
warranted.

Hermione looked concerned. "Are you all right, Em?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just tired."

Quickly coming to a decision, Harry stood up and laid aside the parchments he was scrutinizing.
"I'd like to have a quick word with you, though, before you go."

Emerson frowned. "Can't it wait till tomorrow?"

Harry was tempted to say yes but something about her voice made all the questions begin nagging at
him even more insistently than ever before. "I'm afraid it can't. Let's go into my
office."

His daughter sighed impatiently and stormed away ahead of him without another word. Harry and
Hermione exchanged looks of surprise. This was not like Emerson at all. What was going on?

His sense of apprehension increasing, Harry entered his office and closed the door behind him.
"Have a seat."

"No, thanks. I'd rather stand," she answered irritably.

"Okay," he said as he sat down on the couch in the corner. "Is everything all
right?"

Emerson threw up her hands. "Why does everybody keep asking me that?!"

"Who's 'everybody'?" Harry asked, leaning forward.

"You, Mum, Uncle Ron, Uncle Fred. Is something *supposed* to be going on with me?"
she raged, her face turning red.

"I don't know. Is there?"

"NO, DAD!" Em snapped. "I'm fine!"

"I'm not liking your tone, Emerson. Do not speak to me that way. Regardless of how upset
you might be, I am still your father," Harry said sternly, yet striving to keep his voice low
and calm. No use antagonizing her further, though his mind was racing trying to figure out why his
daughter was so angry with him.

"As if I could ever forget that," she muttered under her breath, but Harry heard her and
for a moment was at a loss for words. Was that why she was so upset - because she was his child? A
chilling sense of anxiety swept over him. This was something he'd worried about ever since
Emerson was a baby and the world-at-large had found out about her. He didn't want his children
to suffer just because he was their father. What did Emerson mean by that?

But, shaking his head, he decided to let it go for now. He needed to get back to the matter at
hand. "The reason I'm concerned, Emerson, is I heard you hadn't tried out for the
Quidditch team. What happened? You've been wanting to do that for as long as I can
remember."

Em shrugged. "I changed my mind."

But Harry noticed she avoided his eyes as she said it. "But why?" he persisted.
"What happened to make you change your mind about something like that?"

Her head snapped up and Harry caught a flash of something like fear in the green eyes so like his.
The next second, however, his daughter spoke and there was no way the fire in her eyes now could be
mistaken for anything but fury. "Why does there have to be a reason? What, now I'm not
allowed to just change my mind?"

"Of course you are," Harry said quickly, taken aback by the venom being flung at him by
his firstborn. "But you know you can tell me anything, Emerson, right? Or your
Mum?"

She looked away, blinking rapidly and it was a moment before she looked up again. "Was there
anything else?"

'Yes there is,' Harry thought, gazing at his child who was so obviously troubled about
something. 'What's going on? Why are you so angry at me? What are you hiding? Where did my
happy little girl go?'

But instead he shook his head. He didn't want to push her. He knew her and she would come to
him or Hermione when she was ready. "No, that's it. Good night."

She stared at him for a full minute, her expression unreadable before she turned and left the room
without another word. Harry slumped back against the couch, ripped his glasses off and covered his
eyes with his hand. His mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions: shock, fear, confusion,
worry.

What the heck was that? Was this what all the parents of teenagers had warned him was impending?
Was this secrecy, this volatility what he had to look forward to, not only with Emerson but with
his other children too? Merlin, he was honestly shocked more than anything else.

And then, through the haze, another feeling emerged. Deep in his heart an ache began as he came to
a realization so seemingly trivial but which nevertheless made everything else appear ten times
worse: she hadn't said 'Good night' back.



12. Who Made These Rules?
-------------------------

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I appreciate it very much.
Here's the next one and comments/constructive criticisms would be very much appreciated. Thank
you!
**

Chapter Eleven - Who Made These Rules?**


October arrived in a swirl of howling winds and chilly rain that seemed to jump the Hertfordshire
hills in sheets to smash into the walls of Ballynore. The weather appeared to bring with it all
manner of germs and viruses, or perhaps it just appeared that way to Hermione. Davina was now
getting booster Pepper Up Potions at least once a week; the poor kid seemed especially vulnerable
to whatever bug that was going around.

Ben and Luke were enjoying their school and Emerson... Hermione really didn't know what to
think. She and Harry had had a long discussion about Em's behavior, but as this was so new,
they really had nothing to go on. The young girl had apologized to her father the next morning for
her outburst but still hadn't told them anything further about her Quidditch decision. Nothing
else seemed to be out of the ordinary. Maybe it was puberty; she was twelve years old, anyway. High
time for those changes to start happening, and emotional outbursts were to be expected, Hermione
told herself. But something about it made her uneasy.

Em owled them twice weekly, brief little notes saying she was drowning in homework but was
otherwise fine. Harry and Hermione sent her care packages at least once a week, filled with news
about what was happening at home as well as some of Em's favorite foodstuff.

Work, too, was going well. Puddlemere was on the warpath. Their ranking had jumped to number one
just last week and Harry and Oliver had ordered an extra regimen of training sessions that the bad
weather had done nothing to interrupt. They intended to hold onto the top spot for as long as they
were able, come hell or high water.

With Hermione's job, they were currently researching the difference between Muggle and Wizard
Flu and why Muggles almost always had fatal reactions to the Wizard version. This was something
especially sensitive to Hermione because her father had nearly died from a particularly virulent
strain of the flu that had developed into pneumonia. It had been just before Davina was born, and
her father had been in a coma for more than a month. They hadn't thought he would ever wake up
and had named their newborn daughter in his honor -- "Davina" for David Granger.

Thankfully, he had miraculously recovered (Harry had a theory about that, actually) and while he
was by no means an invalid, he had never really regained all his strength. Hermione and Harry had
invited him to live at Ballynore with them but her father had politely declined, choosing instead
to remain in his own home but with a live-in personal assistant.

Hermione was jolted from her thoughts as the front passenger door of the Jaguar was yanked open and
Ben hopped in, slamming the door. He waved wildly at someone out the window before turning to grin
at his mother.

"Hi Mum."

"Hey," she said, leaning over to drop a kiss on his slightly damp head. "How was
school?"

"It was all right," he replied, rubbing his glasses on his robes to dry them.
"Nothing earthshaking happened."

She smiled as she pushed the Invisibility Booster that would allow them to travel much faster than
mere driving would. She wanted to get home quickly because her dad was watching Luke and Vina for
her, and Lord knew what kind of mischief those two would charm their grandfather into letting them
into. Harry was in Brussels with the team and wouldn't be back until tomorrow night, and she
missed him terribly. She always hated when they had to be apart.

"What do you know about reversible and irreversible reactions?" Ben asked suddenly,
looking over at her.

Hermione hastily pushed away the thoughts of her husband and his absence. "Hmm, let's
see," she said, her brow furrowed as she strove to recall the definitions. "A reversible
reaction is one in which the products of a reaction can react back to produce the original
reactants. And basically an irreversible reaction is one that can't revert back to the
originals."

Ben gaped at her in awe. "Wow, Mum! That's Muggle science stuff! How come you know
it?"

"I read a lot, remember?" she replied, smiling over at him. "Just like a certain
someone I know."

Her son grinned. "Miss McDonald brought in a Chemistry book from that school you and Dad
wanted me to go to?"

"Yeah."

"And I was reading up on that while everybody else did homework revision. It's kind of
fascinating, isn't it?" he asked, his eyes shining behind his glasses. "Like how
water can turn into ice and back to water. Whereas if you burn wood, you get ash but you can't
turn the ash back into wood."

"That's the way it usually works," Hermione commented as the car rolled swiftly
through London's wet and foggy streets.

He was quiet for a while before he spoke again. "I wonder what it's like to be a Muggle.
To be so limited. I mean, the reversible and irreversible stuff doesn't apply to us, does
it?"

"No, it doesn't. If you're in the Wizarding world, you can usually cheat science and
turn almost anything into whatever you want, if you know how," she answered, silently
marveling at his depth of insight. She'd personally never thought about that before. He was so
smart and she was so proud of him.

"D'you think you'd have minded being a Muggle?"

She turned to look at him. Would she have? On the one hand, she'd likely have gotten to spend
more time with her parents, something she regretted especially with her mother being gone and
herself being a mother now. Sometimes, she wished she could talk to her mum about her children, the
joys, sorrows and fears of raising them. Molly Weasley helped a bit in that regard but nothing took
the place of her own mother.

But on the other hand, if she'd been a Muggle, then she never would have gone to Hogwarts. She
never would have met Harry and Ron. She never would have gone through all those adventures with
them.

She never would have fallen in love with Harry and there would be no Ben, among other things.

"Yeah," Ben replied when she told him that, frowning thoughtfully. "I wonder if
there are alternate realities and in some of the others, you and Dad never met and I don't
exist."

The thought sent a tingle of unease down her spine and she was supremely glad that he *did*
exist. She was supremely glad that Emerson, Luke and Davina existed and she was astronomically glad
that Harry existed. "Sounds scary, doesn't it?"

Her son grinned. "Kinda." As the car turned into the long, winding lane that led to
Ballynore, Ben turned to her again. "Mum?"

"Hmm?"

"Can my friend Arnie come over on Saturday?"

She looked over at him, startled by the change of topic. "Arnie?"

"Yeah. Arnie Shriver. He's in Rajiv's class but he hangs out with me and Andy.
He's really funny."

Hermione looked slightly puzzled. She'd never heard him mention an Arnie Shriver before. Who
was this kid and how did Ben come to be friends with him? Hmm.. perhaps she should have him over
and perhaps her questions would be answered. "I thought you were having Andy over."

Ben nodded. "I am, but I want Arnie to come too. So can he?"

"Well, if it's okay with his parents, I don't see why not. I'll send them an
owl," she said, parking in the garage and using her wand to shut off the engine.

He beamed. "Thanks Mum. You're the best."

Hermione couldn't resist her heart swelling at those words and she smiled at him. "I am,
aren't I?"

Ben laughed and she ruffled his already untidy head as they went inside. Hermione hugged and
thanked her father, who had been showing Luke how to twirl a yo-yo. She watched as Luke tried it
yet again, his small forehead creased in concentration as he tried to jerk the classic Muggle
toy.

"This is too hard," he whined at last as the string tangled yet again. "Grandpa, let
Mum tap it with her wand and it'll just spin."

Mr. Granger sighed. "But that would defeat the purpose of a yo-yo, Budget. The whole point is
that *you* make it spin."

"Well, this little boy can't make it spin so it's a bust," Luke commented dryly
and his grandfather burst out laughing.

Hermione hid a smile as she stooped to cuddle and kiss her daughter, who had attached herself to
her mother's leg while loudly clamoring for attention. She was so glad that she still had her
Dad. Seeing him with her children always brought home the fact that she had come so close to losing
him, that her children had almost lost their best link to the world into which she had been born.
Ben's curiosity warmed her heart because as long as that curiosity existed, there would be no
room for apathy or feelings of superiority. The wizarding world had come very far since the final
defeat of Voldemort, but Hermione knew that negative feelings towards Muggles still existed.

"Let me try it, Grandpa," said Ben, dropping his backpack and picking up the discarded
toy.

Davina toddled away to sit on her namesake's lap and Luke ran over to hug his mother in
greeting. She held him close, feeling his small arms around her neck and suddenly she missed Harry
so much, the ache became almost palpable. He had only been gone two nights but she just missed him
horribly.

As if he sensed her distress, Luke pulled away and peered at her with the green eyes he'd
inherited from his father. "Are you sad, Mummy?"

Blinking back tears in surprise, she nodded. "Yeah, a little bit. I miss Daddy."

"I miss him too. But don't worry. He'll be back home tomorrow, okay?" Luke
assured her wisely.

Feeling strangely like the child instead of the adult, she nodded again. "Okay," letting
him go so he could yell in awe at Ben, who had quickly deduced the way the yo-yo worked and was
twirling it to the delight of his grandfather and younger siblings. Of course, after that new
demonstration, Luke put forward a fresh effort to master the toy. If his big brother could do it
then, by Jove, so could he!

That night when she went to bed, after all the kids had been tucked in and read to (she tried not
to take it personally that none of them wanted her to read to them; only Grandpa would do), she
laid alone in the huge bed and tried to hold onto her five-year-old son's words. *He'll
be back home tomorrow.* She knew that, of course; she was just being silly. She was just wishing
that he was here to hold, to thank for all joy he had brought to her life; for all the dreams he
had made come true.

For the fact that he *did* exist and because of him, these wonderful beings did too.

She would have to wait till the morrow. For now, she held his pillow tight, inhaled deeply of his
scent and fell asleep.

******

Ben was particularly excited for lunchtime the next day because he had the good news to share with
Arnie that he could come over to Ballynore that weekend. Having been afflicted by one of those
nasty bugs going around, Andy wasn't at school that day and Ben was sort of glad about that. He
still wasn't entirely sure how his best friend felt about Arnie. Most of the time, everything
seemed to be fine, but sometimes Ben would catch Andy scowling at Arnie when the other boy
wasn't looking.

It seemed Andy was slightly threatened by the younger boy. Which Ben didn't understand at all.
Couldn't he have more than one friend? It wasn't as if he'd replaced Andy with Arnie or
anything; Andy was still his best friend.

He was late getting outside for lunch because Miss McDonald wanted to go over some things from that
science book with him. He had blushed at her praise of his homework about the
reversible/irreversible assignment that she'd given him and there was a definite spring in his
step as he hurried outside.

It had stopped raining, though the sky was still overcast and a few people were furtively trying to
dry puddles via wandless magic. Most of his schoolmates were sitting around eating, but there was
quite a large crowd gathered near the beech tree.

'Probably they've found a nest of newts or toads that got flooded out by the rain,' Ben
thought as he weaved his way across the courtyard, craning his neck for Arnie. He couldn't see
his friend anywhere and he decided to look inside. Maybe Arnie was still in class, for some
reason.

"Ben!"

He spun around. After a few seconds of searching, he saw who had yelled his name. Rajiv was
beckoning to him frantically from the edge of the large crowd by the beech tree.

"What?" he called, neither wanting nor caring to see newts or toads right now. Besides,
he didn't have time for this. Poor Arnie was probably starving.

Apparently impatient with Ben's lack of action, Rajiv came sprinting over. Clutching his side,
he pointed back at the crowd. "Arnie," he panted. "Paddy's got
Arnie."

Ben's eyes widened in horror behind his glasses. Paddy McPherson was the biggest bully at
Woodlands and nearly every student had a horror story about a run-in with him. The fact that he was
already twelve and bigger than the other kids gave him a definite advantage, which he had no qualms
about utilizing.

Ben hadn't been treated any differently. In fact, Paddy had taken special delight in tormenting
him until he realized that Ben didn't react the way he wanted him to. Instead of getting mad,
crying or cowering, Ben had simply tuned Paddy out and ignored him, and after awhile the older boy
had gotten bored and left him alone.

But Arnie- he was new. He didn't know the best way to respond to Paddy. The bully had only just
returned to school and in his absence, Ben had forgotten to advise Arnie.

With Rajiv hot on his tail, he ran over and pushed his way through the crowd. Reaching the front,
he stared at what was happening in front of him. Arnie was standing beside the beech tree with his
head hanging down while Paddy plucked at his threadbare robes and shoved him.

"I mean, what's up with the clothes?" Paddy taunted, his broad face twisted with
malicious glee. "Did you lose a bet or do you always dress like this?" His two sidekicks,
Paul Raptor and Dirk Messner, guffawed appreciatively while Arnie flushed deeply.

For what felt like forever but in reality was only about a minute, Ben stood and watched everybody
watch. Most people were looking both scared and relieved at the same time, scared for Arnie yet
relieved that *they* weren't the ones being bullied. Arnie's arms hung limply at his
sides, his head bowed as if he was ashamed of himself. Why? Arnie had nothing to be ashamed of. It
wasn't his fault that his dad got laid off from his job and couldn't find another one. It
wasn't his fault that his mother was consumed by two chronically-ill toddlers. Yet he was being
treated as if it was.

And Ben was livid.

His Mum and Dad had always taught him that it was our choices and actions that made us who we
really are, not our last names, not our blood pedigree and certainly not the state of our clothes.
And in spite of everything, Arnie chose to be a good person, a really funny person. He didn't
deserve this.

"Leave him alone!" Ben yelled, stalking forward. Before anyone else could react, he
stopped short right behind Paddy, grasped him by the back of his robes and yanked him forcefully
away from Arnie.

"What the-" the bully sputtered. Nobody had ever dared stand up to him before and his
face contorted further when he saw Ben. "You! Come to play the hero like your famous father,
Potter?'

"Whatever," Ben snapped. "You just leave my friends alone."

Paddy looked Arnie up and down, a sneer on his face. "You're friends with
*this*?"

Ben's hazel eyes flashed as he glared up at the bigger boy. "His name is Arnie. And yes, I
am. You wanna make something of it? You have a problem with that?"

"Mind your own business, Four Eyes. I wasn't bothering *you*. I'm just having
some fun with- what'd you say his name was? Smarmy?" Paddy snorted at his own joke and
casually shoved Arnie, who lost his balance. He tried to break his fall but the ground beneath his
feet was wet and muddy, and he slipped and fell heavily, his whole weight landing on his left
arm.

Paddy, Paul and Dirk burst out laughing as if that was the funniest thing they had ever seen and
even a few people snickered in the crowd. Arnie was cradling his elbow, making little pitiful
whimpers and something exploded in Ben's head. Almost without deciding to do so, his fist was
sailing through the air and connecting squelchily with Paddy's nose. The bully let out a yowl
like a punctured cat, his small eyes watering in pain and fury. He lunged for Ben and the two boys
fell to the ground beside Arnie and rapidly became a blurred tangle of arms, legs, yelps and thuds,
writhing around in the mud.

Ben's heart was pounding, his ears were ringing from the shouts of his schoolmates, his left
jaw was aching from where Paddy had got him good but the only thing that mattered was making this
piece of filth pay for hurting his friend, for mocking him, for-

He was yanked away from Paddy roughly by the back of his robes and pulled to his feet. Turning
around, he found himself looking into the shocked and furious grey eyes of his teacher.
"Benjamin Potter! What is the meaning of this? Explain yourself!"

Breathing heavily, Ben glared at Paddy with hatred, taking little pleasure in fact that Paddy's
nose was bleeding profusely or that he had a long red welt down one cheek. Ben could feel his jaw
throbbing, his fists were still clenched and there was something trickling from one side of his
mouth. He swiped angrily at it.

"Benjamin! Didn't you hear what I said? Explain yourself!"

Some of the rage that he was feeling dissipated enough for Ben to feel the beginnings of
embarrassment creeping up on him. Dropping his head, he stared instead at his muddy shoes, unable
to bear the look of profound disappointment in the eyes of one of the adults he so admired.

"Go to the Headmistress' office right now. Both of you!" Miss McDonald said sharply.
"And all the rest of you, to your classrooms. Immediately!"

The crowd parted to let them through and Ben walked slowly back into the building, myriad emotions
now competing for dominance inside him. On the one hand, he had done the right thing, hadn't
he? He had stood up for his friend. He had defended him.

But on the other hand, he had let Miss McDonald down. Hadn't he? Why else would she look at him
like that, as if she had never seen him before, as if she hadn't barely twenty minutes ago been
telling him how proud she was of him? Hadn't he done what was right in standing up to
Paddy?

Later, even though they all asked him why, he wouldn't tell them. He hadn't had a chance to
talk to his friend, but didn't poor Arnie have it bad enough without even more embarrassment?
Let them think that he'd simply picked a fight with Paddy for the heck of it. He knew none of
the kids who had witnessed the confrontation would say a word, for fear of incurring Paddy's
wrath themselves.

He didn't cry when the school nurse healed his cuts with some kind of potion that stung even
more than the wounds did in the first place. He didn't cry when his teacher told him to get his
bag and wait for his mother in the Headmistress' office. He came mightily close, but he
didn't cry when his mother looked at him with almost the same mixture of disappointment and
bewilderment that Miss McDonald had.

No, he didn't cry, not until he was safely tucked away in bed. Because his father had come home
that night and hugged him in greeting, obviously not knowing of his behavior that day. Would his
Dad still have hugged him like that if he had known? Or would he have looked at him that way too,
unknowingly striking another and even bigger blow to his young heart?

Because out of them all, it was his father that he idolized the most. It was his father who was his
hero. And Ben cried at the prospect of his hero ever looking at him in that way, simply because he
had done the right thing.

*****

*It seems we lose the game
Before we even start to play
Who made these rules?
We're so confused
Easily led astray*

- Lauryn Hill *"Everything is Everything"*



13. Let Me Count The Ways
-------------------------

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews of the last chapter :) I appreciate it very much! Yep, Ben is
Harry's son, isn't he? :)

**danielerin:** Thank you for your review :) Where are we going with all this? We're going
to the resolution of Emerson's problems and their effects. I understand your confusion, and I
assure you that everything will tie-in together by the end.

And as you'll discover in this chapter, of course Hermione knew something had upset Ben.
She's already figured out why he did what he did, even as she doesn't know who he did what
he did for. And remember, she's human. She was disappointed that her son got into a fight; no
reason for her not to let him know that - even if she didn't have all the facts. She has flaws,
alas :) Hope you enjoyed this chapter and thanks again!

So, y'all, here's a lighter chapter - complete with our favorite couple and some.. ah..
just read on...

**
Chapter Twelve - Let Me Count The Ways**


Hermione sat down across from Harry and watched him enthusiastically wolf down his food. She knew
he was ravenous, having arrived home from Brussels more than an hour after dinner. And then their
children hadn't given him a chance to even think about eating. Every single one of them had
loudly demanded his attention, although Ben had been noticeably much more subdued than usual and
Hermione frowned as she recalled why that was so.

He had given her the same answer every time she'd asked him why he'd done what he had. That
he wanted to tell her but he couldn't. That it would embarrass someone, and somehow, she knew
that that was more information than he'd given anyone else.

At least she could take comfort in the fact that he hadn't done it out of maliciousness and
really, if anybody deserved to be beaten up, it was Paddy McPherson. Not that she would ever voice
that opinion to anybody save Harry, of course. But most of the parents knew about Paddy and how
mean he was. Why he hadn't yet been expelled was probably only because none of the children he
beat up dared to stick to their stories.

Still, she couldn't help but be worried. It was not like Ben to get into fights. She knew that
his schoolmates in general seemed to gravitate towards him, not something he asked for or
necessarily liked, but that was just the way it was. He was a born leader, just like Harry. He was
a good student but Woodlands had rules: if it happened again, they would have no choice but to
suspend him. And if after suspension, it happened yet again... it was so unfair. Paddy McPherson
should've been expelled ages ago, and yet her son got into trouble once and now had a bigger
strike against him than Paddy'd ever had.

Hermione sighed and turned her attention back to her husband, whose cheeks were bulging. "You
can slow down, you know. There's plenty more left."

"What's that?" he asked distractedly, before shoving a huge forkful into his
mouth.

She laughed. "Nothing."

She gave up trying to have a conversation with him while he was still eating. Besides, she was
content to watch him, the way he closed his eyes to savor a mouthful. The way the hair fell across
his forehead, obscuring the scar which was either the bane or blessing of his life, depending on
how one chose to look at it. His lips that she longed to kiss, his hands that her body ached for
him to use on her. Three days he'd been gone, but she'd missed him so much it had felt like
an eternity. How was it possible to love someone so much and in so many ways?

Finally, he put down his empty glass and leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh.
"Blimey, that was good," he murmured, sending his plate to the kitchen sink with a twitch
of his wand. "So what was that you said?"

Hermione hid a smile, suddenly wanting to play. "When?"

"Er, just now," he said, his brow furrowed.

"Oh, I was just saying how I was thinking of getting in touch with Viktor again," she
replied airily, getting up to take his glass to the kitchen.

Harry had been in the act of standing too but at her words, he froze. He seemed to be trying not to
scowl. "Krum? Why?"

She shrugged. "Just wanted to know how he's doing. I've been feeling up to writing
another of those 'novels' to him, as Ron used to call them."

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he approached her, fighting the smile that was
threatening to give her away. Just as she was about to laughingly tell him that she was just
joking, he suddenly grabbed her hands and pinned them behind her.

"Were you, now?" he asked and she could hear the friskiness in his voice.
"That's all good and well, but how on earth will you manage to write if you're unable
to stop laughing?"

And then he was tickling her everywhere and she was laughing so hard, she could barely breathe. Her
eyes were watering, her sides were aching and she was sure the kids upstairs were sitting up in
their beds, wondering if their mum had gone barmy.

"Harry! Harry- stop-" she gasped, trying to twist away from him. "I was- kidding-
Harry!"

Finally, he stopped and held her close, laughing with her. "You're mine. Let Krum find his
own bloody woman." His expression slowly turned serious as they gazed at each other. "I
missed you."

"I missed you too," she whispered, her love for him practically seeping from her every
pore as she stared into his eyes.

Harry stroked her cheek gently before he lowered his lips to hers and she met him eagerly. They
kissed softly and sweetly at first, before his tongue slipped inside her mouth and with that first
taste of him, Hermione's senses reeled. Her hands reached up to tangle in his hair as he pulled
her closer, his mouth moving harder on hers, his tongue caressing hers, their breaths mingling.
They broke apart, gasping before he was planting little kisses all over her face and she was trying
to do the same for him, her hands gripping his shirt.

He kissed her again leisurely and she suddenly wondered why they'd stopped doing this. Sure,
they kissed often and with much enjoyment, but it was usually the precursor to greater things.
They'd stopped snogging just for the heck of snogging and they needed to start that up again.
Beginning now, and the passions swirled through her being as she kissed him back with everything
she was.

When breathing became absolutely critical, they broke the kiss and she laid her head on his chest
and wrapped her arms around his waist. They held each other for a long moment before he pulled
away.

"Oh, before I forget, somebody requested that I be extra nice to you," he said seriously,
even as his emerald eyes twinkled.

She cocked her head. "Who?"

"Luke," he replied softly. "Apparently, Mummy was really sad that I was gone and he
thinks that Mummy will feel better if I gave her a big hug. Because getting a big hug always makes
*him* feel better."

Feeling tears welling up, she nodded. "I missed you so much. And Luke- I guess he picked up on
it and he reminded me that you would be back really soon."

Harry pulled her to him again and held her tight for a long moment, while Hermione took deep
breaths and reminded herself to give Luke a big kiss and a favorite biscuit the next day. He really
was a wonderful child. Not unlike-

She sighed deeply. "By the way, your son got into a fight at school today."

"Really? Which one?" he asked, sounding as if he already knew the answer.

"Ben."

Just as she'd anticipated, Harry pulled away to look into her eyes. Because that definitely
hadn't been the answer he was expecting. *Ben* did not get into fights - Luke was their
occasional squabbler. "You're joking."

"I'm not. And from what I hear, he really kicked some tail too, to put it crudely,"
she replied, moving to sit down again.

He looked flummoxed for a few seconds before he grinned. "But of course. A son of mine would
only come out on top."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's not the point. Why would Ben be getting into a fight in
the first place?"

"Didn't he tell you why?" he asked, sitting down across from her.

"He wouldn't tell me and he refused to tell Miss McDonald too. I think he was trying to
defend somebody, though, because he kept saying that he couldn't tell me because it would
embarrass someone."

Harry stared at her for a full minute. "What a great kid," he said finally, sounding
awed.

She nodded. "I know. Going to somebody's defense. But I don't want him to think that
this is the only option he has for solving conflicts. He's much too smart for that. And you
know Woodlands' rules - if it happens again, he'll be suspended."

Her worry must have shown more strongly than she'd intended because he held out his arms.
"Come here."

She went to him and sat on his lap, breathing him in. He smelled so good, like the outdoors, fresh
air and green grass, intermingled with that unique scent that was pure Harry.

He rubbed her back slowly. "He's a good kid. He'll be fine. Want me to talk to
him?"

She shook her head. "I already did and since I'm sure he did it for a good cause, you
know, as opposed to-"

"-being frustrated and taking it out on somebody."

"Yeah. I don't want to ream him out too much. He was very contrite when I spoke to him and
besides, it would devastate him to have you be disappointed in him." She turned to look into
his eyes. "He worships you, you know?"

He nodded, looking worried. "I know. And that scares me because it'll be quite a long way
to crash from when he discovers that I'm not all that great."

"Who's been telling you you're not that great?" she asked sharply, her hackles
rising.

"Hmm.. let's see. There's Oliver Wood," he said, with a mock pout. "And some
of the players. Then there's those blokes in Brussels. They weren't that impressed with our
offer." He batted his eyelashes at her. "They hurt my feelings. You going to take care of
them for me?"

Suppressing a giggle, she punched him lightly in the arm as she shifted around on his lap, trying
to get comfortable. "Fight your own battles, Potter. You're a big boy."

Harry laughed but it died away as she kept moving around. Finally, he grabbed her hips to still
her. "Don't do that," he said in a low voice that raised the hairs on the backs of
her arms.

She knew that voice and suddenly her heart was pounding. "Don't do what?" she
whispered, deliberately grinding her bum into his lap.

His hands left her hips to wander upwards. He moved them so slowly that by the time they cupped her
breasts, Hermione was almost trembling in anticipation. Her nipples sprang to life against his
palms and as he gently kneaded the soft masses, she was suddenly, shockingly, ridiculously
aroused.

Absence makes the heart - and the body - grow fonder, and whomever had thought that one up
certainly wasn't kidding. Because the three days since she'd felt his hands on her body
like this, since she'd cried out his name in completion, had done nothing but fuel her hunger
for when she could do so again.

Harry's lips brushed against her left earlobe, making her shiver while she continued squirming.
But then she froze as a sudden thought occurred to her. "We can't do this
here."

"Why not?" He squeezed one nipple, making her gasp.

"What if one of the kids woke up and came downstairs?" she managed, while trying to bite
back a moan as her husband alternately squeezed and rolled her taut peaks between his thumbs and
forefingers.

He paused and Hermione almost cried with dismay, even though she was the one who'd brought it
up. Damn her over-analytical brain!

"You're right," he said, reaching for his wand and pointing it at the ceiling.
"*Soporiferum*. Now where were we?"

She smiled. Let nobody say Harry Potter was a dimwit. The *Soporiferum* charm would render
every living thing upstairs into a state of deepest sleep, wherein a 3W shop could explode right by
their ear and they wouldn't so much as flinch. Kind of like a mild (and very much safer) Charms
equivalent of the Draught of Living Death.

"You are brilliant," she whispered, twisting around to kiss his neck.

His arms slipped under her shirt. "That's just you rubbing off on me."

Hermione could only close her eyes and moan as he brushed his thumbs lightly across her nipples.
She raised her hands so he could pull the top over her head before he quickly divested her of her
bra as well. She leaned back against him, moving her rear in circles and figure-eights against his
bulge and Harry groaned into her ear.

She turned her head until their lips met in a bruising kiss as the urgency surged between them. His
right hand slid up her leg, under her skirt and up the inside of her thigh. Her knickers were
already damp and he moved them aside and slid his index and middle fingers into her. She cried out,
arching into his hand, her head thrown back against his shoulder.

To her disappointment, his fingers left her but only to slip her knickers down her legs and she
eagerly kicked them off to somewhere under the table. He leaned her back against his chest and
pulled her legs wide open. She couldn't help the noises she made as his fingers found her
again, stroking her, stretching her, plunging into her, lighting her afire with a blinding
need.

"I was thinking about this the whole time I was away," he growled as his thumb lightly
stroked her clitoris. "Did you know that?"

"No," she gasped. "Oh Harry, oh Harry."

His fingers picked up speed, and she was so wet and he was whispering in her ear comments that had
her writhing even more. His lips found her neck, suckling at the spot that drove her wild, while
her hips moved desperately against his hand. He hooked one arm under her left leg, holding her open
in such a way that that same hand could reach up to caress her left breast. His fingers on her,
inside her, his lips on her neck, his words in her ear; it was too much, and she was coming so hard
that she nearly blacked out. She screamed his name with abandon while the pleasure lambasted her
until she slumped back against his chest, her cries finally dying away, trembling, spent and sated.
For now.

He slowly withdrew his fingers from her, making her shudder, and held her close until she caught
her breath, whispering now how much he loved her, how much he had been looking forward to
this.

"I love you too," she whispered back, once she could speak again. "I love you so
much."

He kissed her greedily, his hands in her long hair that had somehow come loose from its ponytail.
Her skirt had gotten bunched up around her waist and she wiggled out of it while still sitting on
his lap, making Harry groan deeply.

Smiling to herself, she stood up and turned around to face him, delighting in the way his eyes
roamed her body. Hermione had given birth to three children and naturally, her body had changed and
not all that favorably, in her opinion. Her breasts were fuller now, her hips wider. Thankfully,
she'd more or less regained the waistline of her early twenties but she doubted her stomach
would ever be completely flat again. That stubborn "pouch" on her lower belly just
refused to go away.

But Harry always made her feel so beautiful, so wanted, and just the way he was looking at her now
made the ache begin again between her legs.

"We always seem to do this," she sighed in mock exasperation.

"Do what?" he asked breathlessly. His eyes blazed with desire and she knew he was barely
restraining himself from bending her over the table and fucking her senseless. Not that that would
be a bad thing, but she wanted to tease him a bit first.

"Somehow I always end up naked while you remain fully clothed." She leaned forward to
lick the shell of his ear. "I think that is grossly unfair and must be remedied. Don't you
agree?"

"Yes," he gasped eagerly, his hands warm on her arse.

She smiled, sucking his earlobe into her mouth, loving the feel of his hands dancing up and down
her bare back. She took off his glasses and kissed him lightly all over his face, unbuttoning his
shirt as she did. Once his chest had been bared, she eagerly pushed the shirt off, his shapely
pectorals jumping under her fingers. Harry suddenly grabbed her face and kissed her, hard, and
Hermione felt a thrill race down her spine. She wanted to push him to the edge of his control and
she seemed to be succeeding.

Continuing her maddening pace, she kissed down his chest, flicking his tiny nipples with her
tongue.

"Hermione," he groaned, his hands wandering through her hair.

Her hands fumbled with his belt and she undid the zipper and pulled his pants down slowly. He
kicked them off as she grasped his erection through his boxers and stroked him with the soft
fabric. He threw his head back and gripped the edges of the chair so hard his knuckles were white.
Wanting him desperately now, to see him, to taste him, she slipped the boxers off him too and he
sprang free, proud and straining.

"Oooh," she cooed, dropping to her knees and cupping him with both hands. Harry jerked
and she leaned forward and enveloped him in her mouth. He cried out, raising his hips and she
swirled her tongue over the head, inhaling his scent, absorbing his taste. She sucked him deeper
into her mouth, as far as he could go, and back up again, feeling herself getting even more excited
by the sounds he was making.

"Hermione. Please," he begged as her mouth moved faster and she slowed and popped him
out.

"Please, what?" she asked coyly, her tongue snaking out to collect the pearl of moisture
that he leaked.

His eyes opened, forest green with hunger. "I need to be inside you."

"As you wish," she drawled, standing up and straddling him, her feet braced on the edges
of the chair on either side. His breathing was ragged as he positioned her and they both moaned
gutturally when she sank down onto him. He filled her so perfectly, so completely. Like two pieces
of a jigsaw puzzle, they had been made to match, there was no doubt about it.

"Oh yes," he hissed as he grasped her hips and began moving her on him in a swift and
steady rhythm. Her hands gripped his shoulders for leverage as he began to thrust up into her and
Hermione was so turned on, she knew she wouldn't last very long. From the sounds he was making,
neither would he.

They were both muttering unintelligibly as the pace sped up. Harry crushed her to him, kissing her
possessively, the poor chair getting quite a workout as their passion overtook them. His mouth
latched onto first one nipple, then the other and back, as if he couldn't get enough of
her.

"Touch yourself," he whispered, his hands holding her waist tightly now and she obeyed
without hesitation. At the sight, Harry groaned and began moving even faster, his hips almost a
blur and Hermione whimpered as she felt the threshold speeding towards her. His lips found hers
again, surprisingly tender in the midst of the frenzied passion and his tongue was still in her
mouth when her orgasm burst forth, full and deep, from her very core.

Her eyes fluttered shut but his mouth absorbed her scream of release. Harry yanked his lips away
from hers as she felt him stiffen, and he yelled her name with the arrival of his climax, as
powerful as her own. Time stopped for an everlasting eon and they were at the mercy of the ecstasy
that only those in love can truly know.

They were both covered in sweat, breathless and shaking when they sagged against each other and no
more words were spoken until their heart rates had gotten halfway back to normal. Harry slipped out
of her, weakly grabbed his wand and muttered a quick cleaning charm before settling her more
comfortably on his lap.

"Great Caesar's Ghost," Hermione murmured numbly, her head pillowed against his chest
as she listened to the staccato rhythm of his heartbeat.

She felt him nod. "You can say that again."

"Okay. Great Caesar's Ghost."

He chuckled and rubbed her back. Finally, she pulled away to look into his eyes but didn't
speak. Instead, they just smiled goofily at each other, reveling in each other's company and
the silence of the sleeping house. Not to mention the undeniable thrill in the knowledge that,
after all this time, they could still blow each other's mind.

The inevitable lethargy of post-coital bliss was beginning to set in before Harry spoke again.
"Let's go to bed."

They got up somewhat wobbly and hunted for their discarded clothing. Hermione had to summon her
knickers from under the table and Harry slapped her bare bum when she bent to pick them up.

He removed the *Soporiferum* charm from the upstairs and as they left the room, she looked
back at the chair, sitting so innocently at the table. "The kids would never sit in that chair
again if they knew what we just did," she commented to Harry, her eyes laughing.

Harry snorted. "Well, if that's the criteria, I guess they'll just have to move out of
this house. Is there anywhere here we haven't done it?"

"In eleven years of marriage? I doubt it," she replied, pushing open the door of their
room. "Can you believe it?"

"What?" he asked sluggishly.

"That we've been married for eleven years."

He sat down on their bed and stared at her for a while before answering. "Sometimes I
can't. But all it takes is a certain smell, a certain color. A certain word.
*'Honestly'*. And I remember you. And when I remember you, I remember that I belong to
you and that's all that matters."

She had come close to crying quite a few times that day, but only now did her eyes really overflow
as she hurried to him and fell into his outstretched arms. Earlier she had wondered silently how it
was possible to love someone so much. Could she count the ways? Now she knew that it didn't
matter. The 'hows' didn't matter. What mattered was that they just did; they simply
did.

And as long as they did, they would get through whatever life or fate or the cosmos or
what-have-you decided to throw at them. They would help their daughter through this confusing time
of growing up. They would help their son figure out a better way to deal with confrontation. They
would do it - together.

Because they were stronger as one than they were as two and as her husband's lips descended on
hers once again, Hermione had never ever been more sure of that fact.

And, please, let them never forget it...


******

**End Notes:**

The latin in this chapter (*Soporiferum,* which means "deep sleep") is from:
http://catholic.archives.nd.edu/cgi-bin/lookdown.pl?deep+sleep







14. A Time To Live
------------------

**A/N:** Many thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter. I appreciate it very much!

**Disclaimer:** There are references to *Star Wars* in this chapter and the series is
obviously not mine. It belongs to George Lucas (duh!) and any and all characters/dialogue/etc.
pertaining to that series are his. Also, the poem "*Jabberwocky*" is property of
Lewis Carroll and its other owners, which isn't me. Thanks.
**

Chapter Thirteen - A Time to Live**


If Hermione ever wanted to highlight the differences between various stages in her life, an
excellent means of doing so would be by examining her Hallowe'ens.

As a little girl growing up with two dentist parents, Hallowe'en hadn't really been that
big of an occasion for her. Certainly nowhere near the caliber of materialism that the holiday
generated in the States. Really, in the Muggle world, the celebration of Hallowe'en was more of
an American thing.

Upon entering Hogwarts, and thus the wizarding world, however, Hallowe'en began making huge
impacts on her life. Her first Hallowe'en at Hogwarts had been the day she truly became friends
with Harry and Ron and she would not be the person she was today were not for the events of that
evening. Subsequent Hallowe'ens consisted of Hagrid's gigantic pumpkins, huge feasts in the
Great Hall, wizarding crackers and other such amusements, truly some of her fondest Hogwarts
memories.

These days, her Hallowe'ens were busy with planning the means for the making of memories for
her children and those of her friends. All the mothers typically got together to plan the day's
events and this year, the celebration was held at the Burrow. Basically, all the kids from the Back
to School bash were present and a jolly time was being had by all.

The chilly weather did absolutely nothing to repress the high spirits of the youngsters. Their
mothers just had to make sure that they were all adequately bundled up and Charmed before turning
them loose to go nuts in the Burrow's grassy backyard.

Dusk was beginning to fall and Hermione was sitting on the porch with Ginny and Luna, watching the
children burn off some of that excess sugar from dinner. The mothers had put together a scrumptious
feast, reminiscent of Hogwarts - or so the men said - and everyone had eaten their fill. Especially
of the desserts: apple and pumpkin pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts; it was
a wonder anybody could even move afterwards, much less the running and leaping happening
outside.

Ben came zooming up to the porch, sporting a lurid red and gold party hat. "Mum, d'you
know that tonight you can see Ve-" he began, but suddenly broke into a string of gibberish
punctuated by shouts of "Rumpelstiltskin!", of all things. After a few seconds, he gave
up trying to talk and burst out laughing instead; Hermione rolled her eyes.

Fred and George's Rumpelstiltskin Hats were a huge hit with their test subjects. As far as the
kids were concerned, it definitely paid to be related to the founders and chief product developers
of 3W. They got to sample new products before the general public even knew the items existed.
Tonight, it was the Rumpelstiltskin Hats that were the main draw. The seemingly innocuous party
hats made you unexpectedly start sprouting nonsense in the middle of perfectly normal speech, as
evidenced by Ben's outburst.

The night air was filled with the startled fluttering of live bats and the yells of children,
chasing each other around the backyard. There were the occasional booms, wheeeeees and other loud
noises from the Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs like the ones Fred and George had let loose on
Umbridge in Hermione's fifth year, and the conversation turned to that subject.

"That was definitely one for the record books," Ginny said, chuckling. "For once, I
was proud to admit that I was related to those goofballs."

Hermione nodded. "That was exactly what we all needed. That woman needed to learn that she
couldn't oppress us like that. What, did she think we would just sit back and take it? Not for
long, no."

"Well, at least these are the G-rated versions," Luna murmured, taking a sip of her hot
apple cider. "The ones at Hogwarts taught me swearwords I'd never heard
before."

The three women laughed companionably, reminiscing on one of the few happy periods of that time.
The Second War had begun not too long afterwards and such carefree times were few and far in
between after that.

Hermione sobered first as she watched Ben chatting animatedly with his friend, Arnie Shriver. She
was incredibly curious about Arnie's family. She knew his mother had entered Hogwarts the year
before Umbridge had had that brief, tyrannical reign but somehow, Hermione couldn't remember
her. She wasn't in Gryffindor, of that much Hermione was certain. The owl she'd sent asking
permission for Arnie to spend Hallowe'en with Ben had come back with approval and profuse
thanks, signed by a Margaret Shriver, which told Hermione exactly nothing. 'Shriver' was
obviously the woman's married name.

'Maybe I'll invite them over for dinner some time,' she thought to herself. 'Ben
does seem really attached to Arnie, for some reason.'

Actually, Hermione was pretty sure she knew what the reason was. She would bet almost anything that
Arnie was the one Ben had been trying to protect when he'd gotten into that fight with Paddy
McPherson. She was also sure Arnie was where Ben's extra lunch was going, though her son had
never said. The obviously hard times that the Shrivers appeared to be going through made Hermione
all the more determined to find out more about them.

And she was so proud of Ben! This was exactly something Harry would do, right down to not
advertising the good he was doing.

"What's that Luke is carrying?" Ginny asked suddenly, jolting Hermione from her
musings.

Hermione searched around for her youngest son and giggled when she found him. "It's a
lightsaber."

"A what?"

"A Muggle toy," Hermione explained, her eyes twinkling. "It's like a sword but
according to the story is much more powerful than that. It's from this hugely popular film
series called *Star Wars*."

"I think I've heard of it. At first I thought it meant the stars in the sky were at
war," Luna said serenely, rubbing her slightly rounded stomach. Luna was almost four months
pregnant with her and Ron's third child. "Isn't there a Luke in it?"

Hermione smiled. "Yeah, Luke Skywalker. My father is rabid about the series; he gave Ben and
Luke the sabers and has watched it so many times with them that they can probably recite dialogue
from it by now. Sometimes he actually tells people that Luke is named for the one in the
movies."

Ginny giggled. "Is he?"

"Please!" Hermione laughed, watching her son chase Tristan and Alex with the saber, which
was glowing a brighter green as the night got darker. "His name is Lukas, remember? Spelled
with a 'k'."

"Oh yeah. Why'd you spell it with a 'k'? Did you ever tell us?" Ginny asked
as she swirled her gillywater with a swivel stick.

"It has to do with Malfoy, actually."

The other woman seemed to perk up and Hermione suppressed a smile. Malfoy and Ginny were mad about
each other and everything about them just seemed so intense. She knew for a fact that they did some
pretty wild things in private, so it really said a lot that Harry and Hermione were actually the
ones voted "Randiest Couple". If the title was "Craziest in Bed", Malfoy and
Ginny would probably win hands down. Though surely Ron and Luna wouldn't be far behind - what
with Luna practically being the living epitome of the word 'crazy'.

"Well, Harry and I both really liked the name 'Lucas'," Hermione explained.
"We thought it sounds so strong. Not too adult for a little boy, yet it won't sound
childish on a grown man, you know?"

"Yes," Luna replied dreamily. "That's why there's our Alex."

Hermione and Ginny caught each other's eye and looked away quickly to avoid bursting out
laughing. Because there was a lot more to Alex's name than first glance provided, and not the
way one would expect either.

"So yeah," Hermione continued when she felt she could without going into hysterics. Ginny
was making it a bit hard by giggling into her glass. "Anyway, we both thought 'Lucas',
with the usual spelling seemed too much like-"

"Lucius," Ginny supplied, the laughter abruptly vanishing from her eyes. Lucius Malfoy
had been dead almost twenty years but his dark influence still had faint twinges in the land of the
living, particularly in his son. Draco Malfoy had come very far but Hermione knew he still had his
demons. He still wrestled with the legacy his father had left him, fighting to be better for his
own children. For his wife. For himself.

"Yeah. Only the spelling bothered us - the two names don't really sound that much alike.
And we both liked it too much to scratch it off the list. So we decided to change that one
letter." She shrugged. "And it works."

'Though now he only gets called 'Lukas' when he's been or was being particularly
naughty. Which is every few hours, it seems,' she thought, smiling at her son who was jabbing
the sword at a laughing Tristan.

"What's that he's yelling?" Ginny was wondering aloud now. She pulled her wand
and muttered a partial *Sonorus* charm at Luke so that the sound was amplified only to the
three of them and Hermione found herself suddenly on the verge of tears.

Because Luke was reciting something that she knew he'd picked up from her father. Just like the
yo-yo. Just like the lightsaber.

"*Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!*"

(Though Luke said the last line as "The furious Balderdash!")

Ginny looked puzzled. "Is that some kind of poem? Where'd he learn that?"

"It's a poem," Hermione affirmed, wiping her eyes. "He learned it from my Dad.
Dad used to recite it to me all the time when I was little too, even after I memorized it myself.
Mum would roll her eyes but even I could tell she was trying not to smile. It's really famous
in the Muggle world, which is strange, isn't it?"

"I've seen a Jabberwock once," Luna murmured with a slight shiver. "Gave me
nightmares for weeks."

How things could change! Hermione knew that once upon a time, she would have been gaping at Luna in
bewilderment and disdain over such an utterance. But she was wiser now - knowing that there really
were Jabberwocks. Apparently, Lewis Carroll had been a wizard, who cleverly camouflaged real
creatures in nonsense poems. Muggles obviously thought he'd invented "Jubjub birds"
and "Bandersnatch"es, just as he had "gimber" and "outgrabe".
Hermione's father hadn't known whether to be delighted or offended when she'd shown him
pictures of those supposedly made-up creatures.

"*And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?*" Luke yelled, raising the saber while the
other kids regarded him with amusement. Tristan was really laughing now.

"*Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
Oh fabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
He chortled in his joy.*"

Ginny laughed and ended the *Sonorus* charm, leaning back in her chair, just as a drowsy
Abigail and Davina climbed hand in hand up the porch and onto their respective mothers'
laps.

"I'm very tired now," Davina told her mother sleepily and Hermione smiled and dropped
a kiss on the curly, russet head.

The voices and laughter of the men drifted out from inside to intermingle with the sounds of their
children and the industrial noise of the Whiz-bangs. Hermione leaned back in her chair too and blew
out a deep breath of the chilly air as Hallowe'en entered its last stages.

They would need to go inside soon; the day was almost done. But it had been filled with family,
friends, food and frolicking. It had been filled with laughter, and some good memories had surely
been made.

Oh fabjous day, indeed.


*****

"So this tip came in about suspicious activity in this house up in Bethnal Green," Draco
Malfoy was drawling, his glass of Firewhiskey listing dangerously in his hand. "Any idiot
could tell you this wasn't anything serious but you know how it is these days." He shook
his head and took a big gulp.

The men were sitting around the Burrow's ramshackle living room, nursing various alcoholic
drinks, shooting the breeze and discussing things that the women would likely be rolling their eyes
about if they had been present. Harry could hear the shouts of the children wafting in from
outside, as well as the chinkle of dishes being washed in the kitchen by Mrs. Weasley, Angelina and
Nina. "Helped" by Meghan and Nicole, of course - who were never far from their mothers.
Seven years old, inseparable, born twelve hours apart and no, they weren't twins, though they
were referred to as that sometimes. Meghan, the eldest, was the daughter of Fred and Angelina,
while Nicole was George and Nina's.

Under the pretense of needing a glass of water to go along with his Firewhiskey, Harry had gone
into the kitchen to see if his wife was in there too, but she wasn't. He'd glimpsed her
through the windows, though, chattering merrily with Ginny and Luna, and after feasting his eyes on
her for a few seconds, he'd been chased out of the kitchen by the little Weasley girls to the
amusement of their elders.

"Ah, an uneasy peace. The calm before the storm," Fred Weasley was declaring
sarcastically. "Seriously, the Powers That Be are being ridiculously paranoid these days. They
can't seem to accept the fact that there actually are *no* big evil plans underway for the
wizarding world."

"We don't know that, do we?" Harry said from his perch near the fireplace.
"Frankly, I like the fact that they're still on their toes. This is definitely better than
the heads-up-their-arses attitude of my fifth year at Hogwarts. Nobody wanted to believe that
Voldemort was back."

There were a few sharp intakes of breath and Harry made an exasperated sound. "Aren't you
lot over that by now? The bastard has been dead some twenty-odd years!"

"You've got to understand, Harry, superstition never quite goes away," Bill Weasley
said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Well, it should," Harry replied somewhat irritably. To be honest, he hated the fact that
some people still allowed themselves to be held under Voldemort's power, even this many years
after his demise. It made Harry uneasy, as if he hadn't actually vanquished that evil scum once
and for all. Like he was merely pretending and would one day wake up to a horrible reality.

"Anyway," Malfoy said loudly, turning the conversation back to the original topic.
"I swear, Shacklebolt has it in for me; he's always giving me useless assignments. He sent
me and Haskings over to check it out, right? Bloody house looked like it hadn't been inhabited
in more than a decade, much less had had people coming and going at all hours like the report said.
The place was dusty like you wouldn't believe and littered with dead puffskeins the size of my
dick."

Harry snickered. "Very *tiny* puffskeins, then."

"Fuck off, Potter," Malfoy drawled as the other men roared with laughter. "I have
assets you can only dream about."

"Ooh, kinky!" George exclaimed with a grin. "You want Harry to dream about your
assets, Malfoy? Tsk, tsk." His grin morphed into an evil look. "That would be cheating on
our beloved Ginny. I do believe we promised to beat the ever-loving- what was it, Fred?"

"Shit," Fred supplied with an identically evil look. "We promised to beat the
ever-loving shit out of him if he ever hurt our sister. Think this warrants a beating, dear
brothers?"

Ron grinned. "Nah. He wouldn't dare. Ginny has him thoroughly whipped all by
herself."

The other men chuckled while Malfoy scowled at Ron. "You're one to talk. Didn't your
woman get you to name your son *Trafalgar*?"

Ron went crimson as even Harry burst out laughing. Poor Ron would surely never live that one down.
Harry remembered how shell-shocked Ron had been when Joey was born, even though he'd had nine
months to get used to the idea. Luna had gotten pregnant on their wedding night and maybe the
suddenness of it, no real 'newlywed couple' time, was what had caused Ron to go catatonic
like that.

Whatever the reason, Ron had emerged from his "Ohmigod - I'm a dad!" coma to discover
that he'd somehow agreed to name his newborn son Trafalgar Joseph Weasley.

"I mean, I knew she wanted that name," Ron had moaned to Harry later on that momentous
night. "But I thought we agreed not to use that one! How'd she get me to sign the
parchment finalizing that name for the poor kid?"

Harry had assured him that women could get men to do anything they wanted, especially after going
through something as arduous as labor. They had absolutely no qualms about playing the guilt card -
they had, after all, been the ones to push the equivalent of a pumpkin through their privates, as
Hermione had once eloquently put it, while the men stood around feeling and being useless. And it
was all the man's fault too, of course.

Thankfully, since his middle name was 'Joseph', Harry's godson was called Joey and thus
managed to escape too much teasing. But surely that luck would eventually run out when his peers
discovered his real moniker. And Harry knew from experience that kids could be incredibly
cruel.

Now, even as adults, the twins never wasted an opportunity to take the mickey out of their younger
brother. "Luckily, for poor *Trafalgar* anyway," Fred was saying, his eyes watering
with mirth, "his little brother also got afflicted by the 'Dumb and Whipped Daddy
Syndrome'."

George laughed. "It actually started pretty normal - 'Alex'. But then Luna said the
last part. The kid's name is Alexalorden Weasley!"

The majority of the men howled with laughter, Malfoy slapping his leg. "And there you kept
saying it was just a one-time thing. It was just the shock of being a first time Daddy!"

"Well, to his credit, he recovered quicker the second time," Harry said, taking off his
glasses to wipe his eyes so that he missed the "Et tu, Brute?" glare Ron sent him.
"Except he was still a bit too late and his son had officially been christened Alexalorden
Ronald Weasley. Trust Luna to come up with something like that."

"Well, I happen to think it's very creative," came a voice from the kitchen doorway
and they all turned to see Molly Weasley frowning out at them while she wiped her hands in her
apron. "I also like the name for the little girl you and Luna are expecting.
'Esperanzita', isn't it?"

If she'd thought that would help matters, she was mistaken. The twins and Malfoy went into
near-hysterics, and Ron turned such a searing red that Harry thought they could've doused the
cheerfully blazing fire in the fireplace and the comfortable temperature in the room wouldn't
have dropped a single degree.

"It's *Esperanza*, Mum, not Esperanzita. And for your information, gits, I've
gotten Luna to agree to use that as the baby's *middle* name. Her first name will be
'April'. A perfectly nice, normal name."

Malfoy calmed down enough to smirk over at Ron. "Yeah, but only if you manage to keep your
wits about you this time around. We'll remember you in prayer."

"Oh sod off, Ferret," Ron shot back wearily, but Harry could see he was fighting a
smile.

"Fred, George, your wives need some help in here!" Molly called as she turned to go back
into the kitchen and it was almost comical how quickly the twins leapt up and hurried away.

Harry grinned at Ron, knowing that his best friend was thinking the same thing. For all the ribbing
that they gave each other, they knew they were all whipped. And loving it tremendously.

The door to the backyard opened, letting in a chill wind, and Harry turned. He smiled when he saw
the unruly ebony head of his eldest son coming in backwards, red lightsaber flashing as he
"dueled" with his little brother.

'Ah, *Star Wars*,' Harry thought, watching his boys. He'd heard a bit about it as
a child, as it was surprisingly a series that his tight-arsed Uncle Vernon actually enjoyed. It
wasn't until David Granger, though, that Harry'd had a chance to really discover what all
the fuss was about and it seemed his boys liked the series almost as much as their grandfather
did.

"You have learned much, young one," Ben said in as deep a voice as he could manage,
jumping to parry Luke's thrust of the green saber.

Luke's green eyes were laughing. "You'll find I'm full of surprises!"

"Your destiny lies with me, Skywalker. Obi-wan knew this to be true."

"No!"

Harry couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at their reflexes. Ben and Luke met each
other's every twist and lunge. Everyone had paused in their conversations to watch the mock
battle, which was ended when Ben made a spectacular swipe and Luke's saber clattered to the
floor.

Ben advanced on his little brother, his red saber gleaming. "There is no escape. Don't
make me destroy you. You do not yet realize your importance. You have only begun to discover your
power."

Luke clutched his hand and fought to appear outraged, though Harry could see he was trying not to
laugh, his cheeks rosy from innocence and the cold night air that he'd just left. "I will
never join you!"

"Obi-wan never told you what happened to your father," Ben murmured deeply, throwing out
his chest.

Harry caught Hermione's eye and his wife grinned at him, nodding her head in the direction of
their sons. He nodded and turned to watch the boys again.

"He told me enough!" Luke was exclaiming. "He told me you killed him."

Ben's eyes widened with mirth and for a second, Harry thought the gig was up. But then his son
recovered. "No. I am your father."

That was it and they both burst out laughing, to the applause of the other occupants of the
Burrow.

"May the Force be with you!" cried Luke, raising his saber aloft.

Ben chuckled and walked over to flop down on the chair beside his father. Harry reached out to
ruffle the messy head, smiling at his son.

"Had a good Hallowe'en?"

Ben nodded, his hazel eyes alive behind his glasses. "Yeah. It's been great."

"You and Luke seem to be pretty nifty with those swords," Harry commented and watched his
son blush at the praise even as he shrugged. Ben was just so much like Hermione. "Even saying
the lines and everything."

"It's nothing. These are really light, anyway."

"Ah, light or not, those were some wicked moves. Where'd you pick them up?"

"From their father, didn't they?" said Angelina, coming into the room, the
"twins" tagging along behind her. "Weren't you unbelievable with Godric
Gryffindor's sword when you were like only twelve?" She turned to address the kids that
Hermione, Ginny and Luna were herding inside. "Are you guys all here?"

"Yeah," Hermione said, carrying Davina, who was fast asleep. She caught Harry's eye
again and smiled at him and he, as usual, had the sudden desperate urge to snog her
senseless.

'Later,' he told himself and settled for sending her a wink and a smile.

"Sit down, you lot!" Angelina said loudly. "Hot chocolate coming out in a
minute." Her voice softened as she smiled down at her daughter and niece. "Thanks for the
help, girls. You can sit now too."

The kids cheered and began dropping all over the place, giggling and chattering. It seemed so
strange to Harry that the Burrow always was capable of holding whatever number of people that
happened to get crammed inside. Of course by now it shouldn't surprise him anymore; the very
stones of the place seemed to hum with magic.

When Fred and George's 3W had began really taking off, the twins had offered to buy their
parents a new dwelling. But Arthur and Molly had politely declined. They didn't want to leave
the Burrow, ever. It had been their home for too long and they were loath to abandon it now.

They did allow the twins to pay for numerous renovations, however. So while the Burrow wouldn't
win any architectural awards any time soon, a few of its rough edges had been smoothed. For one,
the kitchen was now a thing of envy among all Molly's friends and only Ballynore had one that
could really compete. Which suited Mrs. Weasley perfectly; there were always hungry mouths to feed,
especially with more than a dozen grandchildren, biological or otherwise.

"Tell us about the sword, Dad," Ben was saying, the hero worship gleaming clearly in his
eyes.

"Haven't you already heard that one?" Harry asked, not really wanting to repeat that
story yet again. The kids always regarded him with stars in their eyes after hearing about his
Hogwarts adventures and frankly, that made him slightly uncomfortable. It make him feel like a
phony. Hermione had kissed him and told him to stop being silly when he'd told her that but he
couldn't help it.

"Yeah, but Arnie hasn't," Ben said, pointing at his blue-eyed friend, who blushed.
"Besides, it's a good one and you can never get tired of good stories."

"Yeah," piped up Fred and Angelina's nine-year-old, Matthew. "Like the one about
Uncle Draco being turned into a ferret and-"

"Potter, just tell the bleedin' story already," Malfoy interrupted loudly, his cheeks
slightly pink and Ron guffawed happily.

Grinning to himself, Harry settled Luke on his lap and told them a kid-friendly version of the
story of the Chamber of Secrets and Fawkes and the basilisk. And of course, the sword. The kids
hung onto his every word, their mugs forgotten in their small hands and when he finished, they
erupted into excited chatter, as usual. Really, one would think it was their first time hearing
that story, as well as the one about the Hallowe'en troll and the big, black dog that was
Sirius Black.

Harry couldn't suppress the feeling of sadness that washed over him as he thought about Sirius;
it was times like these that he wished with a vengeance that his godfather was here. What a kick he
would get out of Ben, Luke and Davina! Not to mention Emerson - Harry just knew his daughter and
Sirius would have gotten along famously. They both had that *aliveness* that some people
seemed to be blessed (or was it cursed?) with.

He hoped Emerson was enjoying her Hallowe'en at Hogwarts. Those were some of the best events of
his life so although he and Hermione had debated Em's coming home for the weekend, they'd
changed their minds. Let her make some wonderful Hogwarts Hallowe'en memories, just like they
had.

"Daddy?"

"Hmm?" he said, looking down into Luke's upturned face.

The green eyes were impish. "What is the difference between a running man and a running
dog?"

Harry smiled - riddle time. "Ah. Let's see... the dog has four legs?"

Luke laughed. "Nooo!"

"The man runs faster?" supplied Mr. Weasley, his eyes twinkling for more than one reason
as he looked up from examining Ben's lightsaber.

"Nope!"

Harry gave a big sigh. "We give up, Budget. What's the difference between a running man
and a running dog?"

"The man wears trousers and the dog pants!" cried Luke triumphantly and Harry squeezed
his son while everybody chuckled.

"I know one," said Bill and Fleur's ten-year-old, Amélie. She was the startling
physical clone of her mother, with the exception that she had a long, straight sheet of vivid
Weasley hair. "What did the fly say when he fell into melted butter?"

"Oh no, I'm dead!" shouted Matthew, making the other little boys - and a few of the
big ones - crack up.

Amélie scowled. "No, you dolt! It said, 'Now I'm a butterfly!'"

"Merlin," Matthew whined, rolling his eyes at his cousin. "What a stupid,
*girly* answer!"

Amélie's blue eyes widened and it was clear to everyone that one of the infamous Weasley rages
was about to explode from within her. George's wife, Nina, moved quickly to head it off.

"What's yellow, smooth and dangerous?"

And in the clamor that was the kids loudly trying to guess the answer, Amélie seemed to change her
mind about being mad and by the time her aunt declared, "Shark-infested custard!", she
was laughing right along with Matthew.

'Yep, that's the trick. Nifty diversionary tactics. Too bad it loses its effectiveness the
older we get,' Harry thought to himself as he tried and failed to stop ogling Hermione. She was
sitting on the other side of the crowded room, laughing with Ginny and Luna and bloody hell, he
wanted to kiss her so badly!

"Dad, listen to this one," Ben said loudly. "Tell him, Arnie."

And with that, Harry discovered that there were, in fact, effective distractions from wife-ogling.
His children were his world and as he laughed along with everybody else about Arnie's riddle
(What did the carpet say to the floor? Don't move - I've got you covered!) he realized that
the old saying was true: there was a time for everything.

There would be a time to bid the Burrow and its wonderful, warm inhabitants goodbye and head for
his own home, effectively escaping Mr. Weasley and all his enthusiastic *Star Wars*-related
questions.

There would be a time to tuck in his two youngest children, as well as little Arnie Shriver. To
chuckle at the way Budget's thumb automatically found its way to his mouth; at the way Davina
slept as if kneeling in Muslim prayer.

There would be a time to sit with Ben and watch him fight to stay awake past his bedtime, just so
he could have his Dad all to himself. There would be a time to kiss the small forehead that was
exactly like his own - with the merciful exception that it was unmarked by any scar, lightning
bolt-shaped or otherwise - and feel his heart swell at the sleepily mumbled words of his son,
"I love you, Dad."

"I love you, too. And I'm so proud of you." Words he could not recall ever hearing
before his eleventh birthday.

There would be a time to smile at fond thoughts of his daughter away at Hogwarts and to hope that
her sleep was deep and peaceful this night. And only six more weeks till Christmas and she would be
home! Hopefully in a better temperament than her last visit had found her in...

There would be a time tonight to kiss Hermione, to make love to her. To tell her how much he adored
her and hear those sentiments breathlessly expressed back to him.

And when, sated and exhausted, their eyes closed at last, there would be a time to sleep, perchance
to dream of many more times like those.

Time to laugh, time to love. Time to live.




15. Mountain High, Valley Low
-----------------------------

**Disclaimer:** "*Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret*" is a book by
Judy Blume and belongs to her and whomever else. It ain't mine.
**
A/N:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I was a bit surprised by the response to
it... funnily enough, I considered that chapter to be one of my so-so ones, but y'all liked it
so that's all that matters, eh? :)

glitterfairyxoxo - Hallowe'en is spelled that way in my story cause that's what my beta
recommended and I liked it :)

shawnpickett - I promise you'll find out what the deal is with Arnie's family. Keyword
there is "family", because it's not actually Arnie himself (or Will) who is
integral.

danielerin - No promises on being gentle, though I'll try not to be too brutal? Arnie's
family will play a role in the resolution of the plot, so your curiosity will be satisfied by the
end :)

RickyElRey - You got your Em in this chapter! :)

romulus lupin - That was one of the most poignant reviews I've ever received! Thank you so
much. And you hit the nail on the head, in regards to "the wonderful and engaging scenes of
her family are, I fear, going to be the contrasting colors against which the darkness surrounding
Em will play against." You said it, and beautifully too.

Thanks y'all for reviewing. I appreciate it very much!

Many thanks, as always, to the awesome **Lissanne** for the beta!

**

Chapter Fourteen - Mountain High, Valley Low**


Emerson sat on the cold stone floor of the Astronomy Tower, leaning her throbbing head against the
windowsill. The waters of the lake, far below, glittered in the weak winter sun and she thought she
saw something cause a ripple over on the left bank. Probably the Giant Squid.

It was the first week of November and the weather was beginning to turn. Actually, it had begun
turning just before Hallowe'en, when they would frequently wake up to find the whole school and
grounds covered in frost like an enormous iced gingerbread village.

Hallowe'en had been all right; nothing really special or anything. It definitely sounded like
her brothers and sister had had a better one than she had, and she didn't know whether to be
relieved or envious. These days, it was almost as if she was losing track of who she herself was.
Most days she couldn't tell if she was coming or going and was that up or down? She found
herself snapping at people and red-facedly apologizing later, not unlike what had happened with her
father on Mum's birthday weekend. She had wanted to tell him so badly but something had held
her back and she'd been both relieved and disappointed that he hadn't forced her to confess
what was bothering her.

She had been expecting her parents to badger her about her decision, like almost everyone at school
had, but when they didn't, she'd somehow not been surprised.

'They think too highly of me,' she thought. 'It would never occur to them what I'm
going through or what I've done.'

Em sighed and closed her eyes. One thing they didn't know was that she'd begun skipping
classes, neglecting homework. Right now, she was supposed to be in History of Magic. She'd told
Lyna that she would meet her there but halfway to the classroom had suddenly realized that there
was no way she could bear to sit through another droning hour about centuries-old goblin
rebellions.

In fact, there was no way she could stand to be around people, period.

Lyna was the exception, of course, but she didn't want her friend to get into trouble if they
were to be caught outside of class during lessons. Emerson found that she didn't care if
*she* got into trouble, but it wouldn't be fair to bring Lyna down too. Her friend
deserved better than that. Her friend who now kept throwing her concerned glances, who Em knew
fervently wished she would listen and tell someone about the letters.

In fact, Lyna had twice attempted to approach a teacher, and had gone so far as to start a letter
to Em's parents. Only Emerson's hysterical tears and frantic pleading had made her friend
back off, but she didn't know how much longer Lyna would keep quiet.

Em was alternately blindingly furious at and overcome with gratitude for her friend but, obviously,
Carolyna didn't understand, not really. Among other things, it wasn't her brothers and
sister hanging in the balance, depending on her keeping quiet.

Knowing that when she next saw her friend she would doubtless receive a scolding about missing the
lesson, Emerson sighed again. Her eyes were drawn to the waving banners surrounding the Quidditch
pitch, and with them came the reminder of why this day sucked so much more than most days now
usually did.

It was the day before the first Quidditch match of the term - Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw - and Em
was miserable. She'd been looking forward to it so much! Her whole life, really, ever since her
Dad and Uncle Ron had told her about playing Quidditch for Gryffindor, with Mum rolling her eyes in
the background.

And her dream had been hatched. She would be a Chaser for Gryffindor as soon as she could try out,
which meant second year. Which was this year. She was a good flyer, even Uncle Draco admitted that;
getting on the team was almost a given.

Until-

She wiped the tears from her cheeks, feeling the horror welling up inside her again. As much as it
hurt, she deserved this. She had no right to want to be a Chaser when it was because of her that
another person, and an excellent Chaser too at that, had lost her life. She knew she deserved this
but oh, the disappointment was so bitter she could almost taste it on the back of her tongue.

Em shifted on the cold floor, biting her bottom lip hard to keep from sobbing. She took a deep
breath and started to sniffle but froze as she heard someone walking past. She held her breath,
praying that whomever it was would just keep going but, as usual these days, her prayers were
ignored. The footsteps paused and came back towards her and Emerson hastily wiped her eyes and
nose. If she was going to be in trouble, the least she could do was face it with dignity.

The door creaked open but she didn't move, sitting tensely, the Quidditch banners fluttering
mockingly in her field of vision.

"Hey, what're you doing out of class?" a male voice asked sharply.

She recognized the voice and turned around. "Hi, Etienne."

The Head Boy looked surprised. "Emerson? Why aren't you in class?"

Em shrugged shamefacedly. "Didn't feel like going. You gonna report me?"

She saw a flash of mirth in his intense blue eyes and was awed again by how gorgeous he was. But
she was so miserable that she couldn't even muster up her customary blush.

"Not this time. But don't let it happen again or I'll have to come down harshly. And I
expect you to be in your next class, understand?" Etienne was saying.

She nodded. "I am much obliged to you."

He grinned but it faded when she didn't smile back. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine!" she replied with false brightness. "Absolutely
fabulous."

He frowned, obviously seeing through her and Em turned away, suddenly wanting to cry again.
*Wonderful. Now even my crush knows I'm in some sort of excrement.*

She could feel him staring at her back for a second before he spoke. "I have to go but
remember what I said. And Emerson?" She rapidly blinked back her tears and looked up. His eyes
were earnest. "If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here."

She managed a weak but genuine smile, even as she knew she could never talk to him, not about this.
"Thanks, Etienne."

He nodded once, closed the door and she listened to his footsteps fade away. Em took a deep,
shuddering breath and laid her head back against the windowsill. Not wanting to think anymore, she
let herself be quickly hypnotized by the sunlight dancing across the surface of the lake and only
got up when the bell, signaling the end of that period, finally rang.


*******

Gryffindor won the match and the celebrations lasted late into the night so that the next day,
Sunday, most of them were drowsy and slow. Emerson was in a bad mood because not only had she
gotten a letter that day, but Brandon Wood, being the exception to the "drowsy and slow"
rule, kept harassing her in his jubilation about his successful Keeping.

"I mean, with reflexes like these, you would never fall, Em. I'd catch you every
time," he said grinning, as he walked alongside the two girls who were returning to Gryffindor
Tower to work on a Transfiguration assignment. Marissa Weasley had also walked with them a short
way, which had seemed to cause Brandon to really turn on the charm. Or what he considered to be
charm, anyway.

Emerson rolled her eyes. "That's what you wish, Brandon."

"What! Don't tell me you don't wish for that too!" he exclaimed, pretending to be
offended and Lyna giggled.

Em glared at her. "Take his side, why don't you?"

"Come on, admit it! He's funny," Lyna said with a laugh and Emerson huffed and
marched away down the corridor, leaving her friend and Brandon grinning after her.

Yes, he was funny, but right now she didn't want to be smiling, laughing or anything resembling
those things. She was too miserable for that and she wanted to *remain* miserable. Didn't
she deserve to be miserable?

"Congratulations, Smiley. Your efforts to fuck with my life are succeeding," she muttered
crossly, starting down the hallway to Gryffindor Tower.

"Hey, Emerson!" came a shout from behind her and she turned to see Will Shriver jogging
towards her, with two other first years in tow. Somehow the sight made her unable to resist
cracking a wan smile. From being alone and near tears in the Hogwarts Express corridor, Will had
inevitably made friends in his year but he hadn't forgotten the first two people to befriend
him.

"Hey, Will," she said when they reached her. "What's up?"

He shrugged, grinning. "Nothing much. Mitch, Zach and I were just talking about
yesterday's game. Was it bloody awesome or what?"

She smiled at his enthusiasm; it reminded her of Ben. "It was that. Your first match ever,
wasn't it?"

Will nodded, his blue eyes alight. "I wish my little brothers could've seen that! Mum said
they might've tried to come down but the twins were sick again. As usual."

"Sounds like they're always sick. How old are they?" Em asked, frowning.

Will's brow furrowed as he pondered the question. "They'll be two in
January."

Em nodded and turned to the other boys, who were silently taking in the conversation. "How
about you, Mitch? Zach? Was it your first Quidditch match too?"

The younger boys went crimson and although they mouthed, no words came out. Em glanced quizzically
at Will, who was looking delighted. "They fancy you," he said in a loud whisper and the
other two boys went even redder.

"Oh," Em blurted, completely nonplussed. What on earth was there to fancy about her? Sure
there was Brandon, but he just acted like that to annoy her. He didn't really fancy *her*.
She smiled sympathetically at the two first years, as if they had just been terribly hoodwinked
about something. "Trust me, there's absolutely no reason to fancy me."

"Right," the one named Zach muttered dubiously, his brown eyes wide.

Emerson exchanged an amused look with Will just as Carolyna came running up, brown hair swinging
about her shoulders. Not wanting her friend to know about the first years' behavior towards
her, Em quickly hooked elbows with Lyna and led her away. "See you around, fellas!"

She couldn't help feeling a little better. How could she, even if those poor little boys were
clearly misguided? A slight smile tugged at her lips but the fledging upturn of her mouth collapsed
when she and Lyna entered Gryffindor Tower to see Jerrianne and the Fakers huddled together, deep
in conversation. Or rather, Jerrianne was jabbering away while Janie and Maria hung onto her every
word as if they would be quizzed about them later. Which Em wouldn't be at all surprised if
they were. Jerrianne honestly was *that* arrogant.

Janie glanced around and her light blue eyes narrowed when she saw Em and Lyna. "Oh," she
said, the single word coated with so much disdain that Em almost expected to see some splattering
onto the floor.

The other two girls looked up and Jerrianne stopped talking abruptly. She gave Em and Lyna a
haughty once-over and stood up. "Come on. Let's finish this upstairs."

Janie and Maria jumped up too and the three of them pranced across the room towards Em and Lyna,
whom they would have to pass to get upstairs.

Emerson scowled. "Thank God for small mercies, eh?" she said loudly as they approached.
"Cause now we won't have to listen to your drivel." She held and returned the glares
that the three girls gave her, her eyes following them all the way up the stairs.

Once they had disappeared, Em walked over to a chair and flopped down, her bad mood returning full
force.

Lyna sat down across from her and curled her legs under her. "What do you think they talk
about, anyway?"

"Who cares?" Em said irritably, glaring at the stairs to the dorms. "Maybe they sit
around going, 'We must, we must, we must increase our bust!' like the girls in *Are You
There, God? It's Me, Margaret*."

Lyna burst out laughing so hard that she drooled, which made Em crack up in spite of herself. She
did love making her friend laugh and she leaned back in her chair, grinning as she listened to
Carolyna's sounds of merriment.

"That was a good book," Lyna said after awhile, wiping her eyes . "Do you think
that'd work, though?"

It was Em's turn to laugh but then it died when she glanced at her friend. "What?
You're serious?"

"I guess."

"Come on! That's just fiction, you know that. And not only that, but it's Muggle
fiction."

Lyna frowned. "I don't know. I mean, when Annamaria was our age, she was already on her
second bra size."

Em shrugged. "So? Everybody grows at different rates. Heck, at least you have stuff enough to
justify a bra in the first place. My chest is even flatter than yours." She paused and looked
over at Lyna with a smirk. "If that's at all possible."

"Hey!" Lyna said loudly, grabbing a cushion and whomping Em with it.

Em grabbed another cushion and the fight was on, while the other people in the room smiled over at
them. They were both laughing too much to keep it up for long, though, and Em sighed and collapsed
back in her chair.

"I'm really glad we're friends, Em," Lyna said softly, grinning over at
her.

Em smiled back. "Pukka gen," she replied, using that old RAF term that she'd picked
up from Grandpa Granger, making Lyna giggle again. "Me too, luv."

And as they gathered their Transfiguration books and parchments around them to tackle the
assignment, Emerson couldn't help thinking that maybe her life wasn't as fucked up as
she'd previously thought.

At any rate, not yet.


*******

She was in the London area now, at her ultra-posh flat in Notting Hill. Her asshole boss had just
passed out on her pull-out couch after the dinner party she'd "graciously" thrown for
him and a few clients. He'd told the departing guests that he was staying to help clean up but
she had seen that certain gleam in his eye and knew that cleaning up was the last thing on his
mind.

Not that he would ever deign to do something as ordinary as "cleaning up" in the first
place.

But she'd found herself not in the mood for any such activity so she'd sneakily put some
Sleeping Draught in his red wine - the fact that he'd brought a bottle of that stuff into her
house after she specifically told him that she didn't touch red wine was another strike against
him.

And anyway, she had work to do.

A friend of a friend of a friend who worked at Hogwarts had inadvertently passed on an interesting
piece of information about Emerson Potter. Apparently, Emerson was rarely away from the company of
a girl named Carolyna Lupin. In fact, Cristella vaguely recalled meeting the Lupin girl in Dallas,
but she'd been too shaken by the presence of Emerson to really register her. From what her
friend told her, the two girls had been best friends since they were five years old or
thereabouts.

"Déjà vu or what?" she wondered aloud to her reflection in the bathroom mirror.
"This is Julia and Merry all over again, bosom buddies since the age of six."

Splitting up those two girls had been, without a doubt, one of the sweetest rewards of her secret
war against Julia Thomas. Could she do it again with Julia's reincarnation? Probably. This pair
of girls was even younger than Julia and Merry had been during their falling out. It shouldn't
be that hard.

The problem was that she didn't have access to these two in the way she had had with the first
pair. It was purely by chance that the Transfiguration Professor had been fondly discussing her
students to a friend. That friend had then innocently brought it up to *her* friend and the
information had come out when Cristella had skillfully brought the conversation around to the
discussion of Harry Potter and his family.

Her friend disliked Potter and his wife tremendously. Apparently, they'd all been at school
together, though in different houses and no love and been lost between them. Her friend never ran
out of nasty things to say about the Potters, but Cristella honestly could care less about that.
She was interested in *Emerson*.

She probably wouldn't be able to touch Carolyna, from any angle, though she'd recently
learned that the girl's father was a werewolf. But if she could get Emerson to start changing
her mind about the friendship...

Julia had been devastated to the point of almost requiring hospitalization over her falling out
with Merry Reynolds. As far as she was concerned, Emerson was Julia all over again, so why would
the reaction be any different over a splitting from this Carolyna Lupin?

Hmm.. something new to undertake. Something else to tackle. If it would hasten the demise of this
thorn in her flesh, who was she to ignore what fate had generously offered her: an additional
tactic?

She would put it to use. As soon as possible.




16. All I Have to Dream Of
--------------------------

**Disclaimer:** *The Velveteen Rabbit* is by Margery Williams and is property of her and
its other owners, if there are any. Not mine. *Tom and Pippo: Pippo Gets Lost* is property of
Helen Oxenbury and whomever else owns it. Once again, not mine.
**
A/N:** Muchas gracias to my reviewers of the last chapter! I know that it seems to be high time
that an adult were involved on Em's behalf, but remember this is the daughter of the kid who
would rather suffer Umbridge's diabolical detentions in secrecy than "give her the
victory" of making him tell someone. And Em does have an added incentive to keep quiet: Smiley
has her convinced that the safety and well-being of her siblings rests on her keeping her mouth
shut. So bear that in mind. But it's coming, I promise. She will not carry the burden alone
forever. So here's another chapter.

Many, many thanks to **Liss** for the beta! You rock, girl!

**Dedication:** This chapter is for **DragoonKain3** who, way back in Chapter three,
requested that I write the scene where Em discovers something about her biological relation to
Hermione. At the time, I hadn't even thought about writing such a scene. Hope you like and that
it lives up to your expectation. If you see this, I'd love to hear what you think.

**
Chapter Fifteen - All I Have to Dream Of**


"Are you sure that's what the letter said?" Hermione Potter asked her husband with a
frown, watching through the kitchen window as the snow wafted down outside. It was early afternoon
in early December and Harry had just come home with disturbing news.

She heard him sit on a chair in the breakfast nook and turned to look at him. He had taken his
glasses off and was rubbing his eyes. "I'm sure, Hermione. She doesn't want to come
home for Christmas."

He sounded more hurt than anything else, as if their daughter's letter, asking for permission
to remain at Hogwarts over the holidays, had been a personal insult to him. Hermione knew how much
Harry treasured his family, especially with how he had grown up. He was a wonderful father, always
showering his children with affection and praise, yet providing firm and loving discipline when
needed. Their home was full of love and warmth, which was no wonder their kids always had friends
over. Everybody just felt so comfortable at Ballynore.

And yet, Emerson didn't want to come home. Why? If there was something spectacular happening at
Hogwarts this year, for instance a Yule Ball or something, Hermione could understand Em's
wanting to stay there. But there wasn't anything special planned. In fact, very few children
would be remaining. It wasn't as if Carolyna would be staying either, so why would Emerson want
to be there without her family and friends?

The last time Em had been home, she'd had that uncharacteristic outburst and had become
increasingly moody and secretive. Classic signs of adolescence, but to the point of not wanting to
celebrate the most traditional of holidays with her family?

'Well, be honest,' Hermione thought to herself. 'At some point, every child goes
through a period where they're embarrassed by their parents. Even if those parents are Harry
Potter and Hermione Granger Potter.'

She walked over and sat down across from him, reaching for his hand. "The answer to her
request is no, of course, right?"

"Of course," he said, looking up and his green eyes were bewildered. "She *has*
to come home for Christmas, Hermione. Can you imagine Ballynore without Em at Christmas? It's
unthinkable." He squeezed and dropped her hand, stood up and began fishing for his car keys.
"But I'm going to go get the boys. Anything you'd like me to pick up on the way
home?"

"I want to go with you, Daddy," a little voice piped up before Hermione could answer and
both of them turned to smile over at little Davina, who had practically gotten a facial with her
applesauce.

Harry chuckled. "Are you done eating?"

"Uh-uh," Vina replied, nodding her applesauce-smeared russet head. "See? It's
all gone."

"Yep, I can see that it's all gone over your face and your chair," he replied,
sounding amused as he cleaned her up with a wave of his wand and set her on the floor. "Go get
your shoes, then."

Vina ran off to hunt for her shoes and Hermione smiled up at Harry, who held out his arms to her.
She stood up and went to him and he pulled her close, holding her tight.

"I love you, Hermione."

She kissed him softly. "I love you too. So much. It will be all right. We'll figure this
out."

He nodded, dipped his head and kissed her back, gently at first and then harder and Hermione sighed
softly and pressed herself closer to him, wishing they would never stop because this was
exquisite-

"I'm ready to go so you can stop kissing now!"

They broke apart, laughing, at the words of their two-year-old daughter. Harry let go of Hermione
and stepped back. He turned to salute the little girl who was gazing up at them with impatience
shining in her hazel eyes and her shoes on the wrong feet. "Yes, ma'am."

He stooped to rearrange her shoes and then picked her up, still chuckling. "Bye, Mummy!"
Davina said, blowing a kiss.

"Bye, sweetie. Love you," she replied, blowing a kiss back.

Harry grinned over at her. "Bossy," he mouthed before continuing aloud. "Like
mother, like daughter, eh?"

"Oh, shoo!" Hermione laughed. She listened to the front door close and sat down again,
still smiling. Davina *was* a lot like her, in looks, mannerisms and temperament, and she
adored her little girl beyond belief.

Just as she adored her other daughter, the child of her heart, the catalyst for her and Harry's
finally confessing their love for each other and embarking on this wonderful journey. If it
wasn't for Emerson, would there even be a Ben, Luke and Davina? Wouldn't she and Harry have
gone on infinitely, clinging to the stubborn fear of being completely honest with each other, of
taking a risk?

Emerson was not her biological daughter but Hermione knew that Em, who she had grown up to be thus
far, was a product of the love her parents had for each other and that which they showered on her
and her siblings. Emerson had never been treated differently and Hermione remembered what a shock
it had been to the little girl when she'd discovered that Hermione wasn't her birth
mother.

She was five years old and one day, during recess at the Woodlands nursery school, apparently the
children had been "discussing" babies:

*"My little brother Ben came from Mummy's tummy," Em declared wisely. "Her
tummy got really big before he came out."

"Annamaria said I came from my Mum's tummy too!" piped up little Carolyna Lupin, her
honey-colored eyes wide in wonder.

For a few seconds, all the children were silent, marveling at such awesome information.

Emerson's green eyes shone. "Isn't that ace? We all came from our Mummies!"

"Yeah, we all did. But you didn't," another voice said from behind her. She turned to
see Peter McPherson grinning meanly down at her. Peter was seven years old but he often came over
to the nursery school to visit his little brother, Paddy, who was such a crybaby.

Em shot him a look of disdain that would have alarmed her parents if they'd seen it.
"Excuse me, but I think I know what I'm talking about since she's* my
*Mummy."

"But you weren't in her tummy," sneered Peter. "Everybody knows that. Except
you, obviously. How sad."

She glared at the older boy defiantly, but a seed of doubt was taking hold in the
five-year-old's mind. The light dimmed in her eyes and even her two long ponytails seemed to
deflate as she looked around in confusion at her classmates. They were beginning to twitter in that
fickle way children have, while shooting her strange glances.

"Emerson didn't come from her Mummy's tummy!"

"That is awful! Maybe she dropped from the sky."

"No, I bet it was the bird! Y'know, the owl."

"No, you idiot - it's a stork!"

Em tried to fight them but the tears welled up in her eyes anyway and spilled over onto her cheeks.
She* had *too come from her Mummy, just like Ben. Hadn't she?

"I believe you, Em," said a little voice and she turned to smile through her tears at
little Carolyna Lupin.

"Believe whatever you want, Lupin, but that doesn't change anything. That is not her real
Mum. Face facts and deal with it," said Peter with a mean little laugh, turning to walk out
the door.

There was a sudden swell of fury inside Emerson, one of her rare tempers raising its head, and her
eyes seemed to flash. "YOU LIAR!" she screamed and some kind of surge seemed to come from
her and propel Peter forward so that his head whacked loudly against the doorjamb.

He fell to the ground and, predictably, began to howl but when the teacher got there, she was
hard-pressed to discover who had really been hurt. Because Emerson was crying just as hysterically
and it took her a long time to calm down, even after her Mum came to pick her up early.

That night after she'd been tucked in, she'd finally mentioned what had gotten her so upset
at school.

"Mummy, is it true that I didn't come from your tummy like Ben?"

Hermione's hand froze in the act of smoothing Em's ebony mane. "Where did you hear
that, sweetie?" she asked gently, feeling dismay swirling within her. This was not how
they'd wanted her to find out.

"From Peter McPherson," the little girl replied, tears spilling out of her eyes again.
"He said you're not my real Mummy!"

Hermione helped her climb out of the covers and sat her on her lap, cradling her and kissing her
sweaty forehead until she stopped crying. Hermione's heart ached at what she had to do, that
she had to confirm the news that had so distressed her daughter.

"I am your Mummy, Emerson. Don't ever doubt that," she said softly, gazing into the
green eyes that seemed even more vivid behind their sheen of salt water. "But it's true
that you didn't come from my tummy. You came from my heart."

The little girl frowned. "But whose tummy did I come from?"

"Her name was Julia Thomas. She loved you very much, but she died. That's why I became
your Mummy. That's why you came from my heart."

Emerson's little face crumbled and she burst into tears again. "But w-why did I h-have to
c-come from Julia T-thomas?" she sobbed. "I want to come from you! Like B-Ben
did!"

Hermione was on the verge of tears herself and had to swallow hard a few times before she could
speak without alerting her daughter to her own distress. "You came from my heart, Emerson, and
that makes you very special. Do you understand? And no matter what, I am your Mummy. Forever and
ever."

"Promise?" Em asked in a tiny voice, her cheeks tear-stained.

Hermione smiled and kissed her nose, her forehead, both cheeks. "I promise."*


Harry had cried from guilt when she'd shared the story with him later that night and she knew
they would always regret that they'd waited too long to tell Em the truth. They'd thought
they had some time, but obviously they'd underestimated the resourcefulness of children.

After that episode, Emerson had periodically asked questions and they'd been as honest as it
was kid-friendly possible to be. Their daughter had adapted surprisingly quickly to the
information, actually. For instance, she had been delighted to discover that Herb and Enigi Thomas
were more than just really nice people who sent her and Ben birthday and Christmas presents in the
post - they were her grandparents. She'd had a great time telling her now-awestruck classmates
about her Maman and Papi who lived in America and who had really big cows.

And Hermione's worries had been laid to rest. At least until she discovered that she was
pregnant with who turned out to be Davina.

That pregnancy had been a surprise because she and Harry had agreed (he rather reluctantly) not to
have any more children after Luke. Hermione had just felt that their family was complete and had
managed to persuade Harry into that way of thinking. With the typical narcissism of a man, he'd
wanted "as many as nature deigned to give them". But of course he wasn't the one
lugging them around for nine months and then pushing them out, was he?

But then, in spite of all their precautions, Hermione began experiencing the classic symptoms of
pregnancy - the missed periods, the morning sickness (though thankfully mild), the mood swings
(also relatively mild). She'd tried to deny it to herself but there came a point when she just
had to know for sure and of course the pregnancy test was positive.

Hermione remembered sitting in the bathroom and crying for almost an hour before she accepted the
verdict. How were they going to handle another child? Luke was already a handful and Ben needed a
lot of nurturing, he was so brilliant. And Emerson was almost ten years old. Soon she would be
going away to Hogwarts; soon she would be a teenager, with all the trials that came with being
one.

But once she began thinking rudimentally, focusing on the miracle that had happened as a result of
her and Harry's love, Hermione chided herself for worrying. Didn't she have Harry?
Weren't her children wonderful beyond description? Wouldn't one more only add so much more
joy to the mix?

The answer was, of course, a resounding "Yes!" And with it came that old excitement, that
same "Oh my God! I'm pregnant! There's a little life growing inside me!" It all
came back and strangely, this time she found herself pondering names before she had even shared the
news with Harry.

And thrillingly and alarmingly all at the same time, it was all and only girl names.

This had distressed Hermione quite a bit and led to many hours of soul-searching. How did she
really feel about the young girl that she thought of as her daughter? Was this sudden yearning for
her unborn child to be female an unconscious signal that perhaps she wasn't as embracing of
Emerson as she'd always thought she was?

Invariably, she always came back to the same, deeply honest conclusion: no, it wasn't. Because
Hermione knew that she couldn't possibly love Emerson any more if she had birthed her herself.
It was just that, at the same time, she wanted a daughter that was both her and Harry.

But how would Em feel when she discovered that her Mum was hoping for a girl? Would that make her
feel inadequate in some way?

These questions had plagued Hermione for the first few weeks of the pregnancy and worse, she had to
bear them alone. Because she decided to wait until Valentine's Day to share the news with
Harry. What a gift to give on the day of love, the gift of a child or rather, the news that one was
pending! Was there anything better to give a man who had wanted as many children as the Powers That
Be could give?

"The man who, if he had his way, would probably have enough to furnish a Quidditch team,
reserve players and all," Hermione muttered to herself with a smile, as she charmed the dishes
in the sink to wash themselves.

That had been a great day. Her father had kept the kids overnight and she and Harry had taken a
Portkey to a ridiculously fancy resort in the south of France.

*An elaborate feast had been set up in their suite and after dinner was over, their uniformed
waiter presented them with chocolate-dipped strawberries and rich, whipped cream as well as a
chilled bottle of champagne in a bucket. Then, with their thanks, he bowed himself from the
room.

"Let's eat these in bed," Harry suggested, that certain glint coming into his
eyes.

Hermione blushed. "I'm going to change out of these first. I'll meet you back
there."

"Don't take too long," he whispered, before capturing her lips deeply and she had to
will herself to pull away from him when he began nipping at her neck. The man was magnetic!

"I'll be right back."

She had a little surprise planned and it was imperative that she get into a bathrobe because she
would need the big pockets to hide the surprise until it was time to present it to him.

In the bathroom, she quickly changed and dropped the small package into a pocket. Checking to see
that she looked all right and deciding that she did - her eyes were bright, her lips swollen from
his kisses, her skin aglow with love and the secret she carried within her body - she headed
out.

He was lounging on the bed, looking utterly gorgeous, the plate of strawberries and whipped cream
resting on the small tray beside him. The bucket of champagne was sitting on the nightstand, two
chilled glasses awaiting the bubbly drink.

'That I won't be having any of,' Hermione thought and it took all she had not to squeal
as she remembered why that was so. Really, one would think this was her first child. But hey, every
child, whether it was the first or the tenth, deserved to be squealed over and happily
anticipated.

He smiled as he took her hand, helping her climb onto the bed before pulling her in for another
kiss. The kiss seemed to go on for decades, his hands wandering through her hair and Hermione
melted against him, expressing her love as fervently as he was.

He broke the kiss, breathing deeply and looked into her eyes. "I love you so much."

And she was suddenly emotional. "I love you, too," she choked, tears spilling over onto
her cheeks, to be gently kissed away. "Harry."

He kissed her again for the umpteenth time, and when they pulled apart, reached for one of the
strawberries and she found that she didn't want to wait another second to tell him.

"Wait. I have something for you." Fishing around in the pocket of her bathrobe, she
pulled out the small package and handed it to him. "Happy Valentine's Day," she said,
smiling.

He took it, looking puzzled but his eyes were smiling back. "Now what could this possibly
be?" He held it up to his ear and shook it slightly.

Hermione just smiled. "Open it."

She watched as he eagerly tore off the wrapping paper, looking so much like Ben on Christmas
morning that she couldn't help but grin. He opened the box and picked up the little white
booties and stared at them.

"Well, er, thanks," he said finally, looking utterly bewildered. "They're..
well, they're lovely but I think they're a little too small for me."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's because they're not for you, silly."

"Who are they for, then?"

She just kept smiling at him, waiting for him to figure it out. He looked repeatedly from her to
the tiny shoes and slowly comprehension dawned on his face as his eyes widened.

"You're... you're pregnant?"

Hermione beamed and nodded and Harry gaped. "What- how?"

"Well, the usual mode is when the man puts-"

"Smartarse," he interrupted before leaning over to reclaim her lips yet again and it was
a long time before they pulled apart, breathing raggedly. "Oh my God. A baby," he
whispered, kissing her all over her face, his green eyes alive with wonder and delight.

"A baby," she repeated, the joy swelling and washing over her as she reveled in his
ecstatic response.

"Well, this kid must be really needed on Earth if it managed to be conceived in spite of all
the precautions we were taking," Harry quipped, grinning at her.

She laughed softly and nodded. "Who knows? Maybe she'll be the next Morgana or Gloria
Steinem."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "She?"

Hermione felt the heat creep up her neck; she hadn't even realized that she'd spoken the
thought out loud.

"You're hoping for a girl?" Harry asked softly. She nodded, avoiding his eyes until
he raised her chin gently. "There's nothing wrong with that. I'd like to have a
daughter with you too."

"It's silly, I know. But a part of me feels guilty. Like I'm betraying Emerson or
something."

Harry gazed at her tenderly. "Because you didn't give birth to her?"

Hermione nodded, wiping her suddenly streaming eyes. Damn hormones. "It was different with Ben
and Luke because they're boys. But wanting another girl... and Emerson... I just love her so
much! I don't want to hurt her."

"And Emerson knows you love her. You're the only mother she's ever really known and
that won't ever change," he said gently. "She'd be gaining a little sister, not
losing her Mum. Because I know you and you would never let something like that happen.
Okay?"

She nodded again, thoroughly loving this man and how far he had come from the emotionally-stunted
eleven-year-old she had met that first time aboard the Hogwarts Express. They held each other for a
long time, Hermione snuggled against him as he stroked her hair, both of them lost in thought about
how the dynamics of their family would be changing once more.

"How far along are you?" he whispered after an inordinate amount of time.

"About eight weeks," she whispered back.

He was silent for a few seconds. "So sometime in September." She nodded and he pulled
away and rubbed her still flat stomach. "Just in time for your birthday."

She smiled shyly and watched the way his eyes darkened in that way that never failed to make her
blood quicken.

"Thank you for the wonderful gift," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "Happy
Valentine's Day, Hermione."

She raised her head to receive his kiss. "Happy Valentine's Day, Harry."*

Seated now behind the desk in her office at Ballynore, Hermione blushed as she recalled just how
happy of a Valentine's Day that had been. Suffice it to say, the strawberries and company had
ended up being thoroughly ignored - to the chagrin of their waiter the next day, most likely. And
Harry had been right about the baby arriving near her birthday too. Davina had been born the day
after Hermione's birthday, a belated but ecstatically welcome gift.

And she was a girl.

Hermione quickly discovered that she needn't have worried at all about her eldest daughter.
Emerson had been smitten from the very second she laid eyes on Davina and even now, there was a
special bond between the two girls, despite the ten years of age difference between them.

Ben had welcomed his new sister with open arms as well but Luke, on the other hand, had been an
entirely different matter.

"Which was somewhat unexpected," Hermione said aloud to herself, as she picked up a
picture of herself helping Luke cradle a six-month-old Davina. That picture had been one of the
first times Luke would even touch Davina long enough for a snapshot to be taken.

His reaction had been distressing because as soon as Hermione had gotten big enough to show,
they'd begun explaining repeatedly to Luke that there was a baby in Mummy's tummy. That the
baby was going to grow bigger, then come out and live with them. Luke would stare from his mother
to her swollen belly, say "Okay!" and run outside to frolic.

They'd thought everything was fine and when they'd first introduced him to Davina, Luke had
seemed excited. But then they took the baby home and after a day or two, Luke began eyeing her
malevolently and telling his Mum and Dad that they could 'take her back now'.

"What do you mean?" Harry had asked.

Luke pointed at the baby. "Give her back to the 'ospital!"

His parents had explained gently that they couldn't; that Davina belonged to them and
didn't Luke want her to live here?

"NO!" he sobbed. "I don't like her and I don't want her to stay
here!"

His behavior had gone downhill from there. In particular, he would get mad if he saw his Mum
holding Davina. He stopped feeding himself and demanded that they spoon-feed him instead. He
refused to go to sleep at night unless both his parents were there - and without Davina, thank you
very much.

Before too long, everybody's nerves were shot and tempers were flaring easily all around.
Hermione had taken it rather hard, blaming herself for not preparing Luke better. After all,
Emerson had been ecstatic at all her siblings' arrivals and Ben had been more curious than
anything else when Luke was born. He'd asked a plethora of questions and had shown only minor
twinges of jealousy.

Certainly nothing to the extent of Luke's behavior. So why was Luke acting out like that? The
question had tormented them for weeks.

Until the other mothers, particularly Molly Weasley, assured her that Luke's reaction was
actually quite normal.

"Remember, he's only three years old. He's just feeling threatened by Davina,"
the older woman said, patting Hermione's hand soothingly.

Hermione had wiped her eyes; she'd cried a lot those days. "But why? We don't treat
him any differently than before."

"I know you don't. But Luke is feeling territorial; you and Harry were *his* parents
first. He thinks you both won't love him anymore because you have a new baby to love.
You'll just have to *show* him that it isn't so."

So Hermione and Harry had gone out of their way to shower Luke with extra love and attention. The
two older children were wonderful helpers too, keeping an eye on the baby so their parents could
cuddle with Luke and his favorite book.

Gradually, things got better, though sometimes Luke would all of a sudden want to sit in his
mother's lap if he saw her holding Davina there. If the baby wasn't nursing and seemed
content, Hermione would put her down and cradle Luke instead. He always got bored and bounded away
within minutes, of course.

Finally Luke had seemed to accept his little sister and Hermione knew they would be all right when,
upon viewing the picture of himself holding the baby, Luke had declared to his mother that if he
couldn't marry her or Emerson, he would marry Davina.

Smiling to herself, Hermione set the picture down and her eyes drifted to another. It was a copy of
the one Harry had on his desk at work, of all six of them, the kids laughing, jumping, giving each
other bunny ears. Her eyes lingered on Emerson, whose green eyes were aglow with life and light and
Hermione felt a vague sense of unease.

But of what? From what? She honestly didn't know.

"One thing I do know though, Em," Hermione said softly, her fingers tracing the outline
of the young girl. "You're coming home for Christmas, whether you like it or not. Because
we're not quite a family without you."

She only hoped that in this confusing time of growth, hormones and everything else, Emerson would
never forget, would always treasure her place in her family. And beginning with Christmas, Hermione
intended to help her remember.


*******

Later that night after dinner, they were all lounging about the Family Room. Ben was flipping
through the newest edition of *Quidditch Through The Ages*, which had both Harry and Ron
mentioned more than a few times, as well as Oliver Wood.

Frankly, Harry thought that a lot of information in that new edition was rather unnecessary. Was
there really a need to inform civilization of his obsession with vintage brooms? The last thing he
needed was people trying to break into Ballynore to steal his priceless collection.

Thank goodness the place was Unplottable, anyway.

"Andy owes me two Sickles," Ben was saying gleefully. "He said Puddlemere has been
number one five times in the past ten years and I said six. I was right."

"You're much too young to be placing bets, Ben," Hermione said, frowning over at
Harry as if their son's perceived gambling was somehow his fault.

Ben sighed. "It wasn't a *bet*, Mum. It was a contest of information, in which the
one with the correct answer gets rewarded."

Harry laughed. His son was brilliant, there was no denying it. Just like his mother, was Ben. Next
week, he would be nine years old, but sometimes Harry honestly thought Ben was much older than his
years.

Hermione tutted, turning back to the letter she was writing to Emerson. They'd decided that she
should be the one to respond to Em's request to stay at Hogwarts. Hermione was the more
articulate of the two of them anyway and besides, Harry was feeling a bit too annoyed by the letter
to not set their daughter off even more with his response. Why on earth would Emerson not want to
come home for Christmas? What could possibly be more appealing about staying at a deserted Hogwarts
than being with her family? Granted, he himself had much rather stayed at Hogwarts than go back to
Privet Drive, but it wasn't as if *her* family was like the Dursleys. So why-

Harry closed his eyes briefly and sighed. The thoughts were beginning to make his head pound so he
turned his attention instead to his youngest son, who was lying on his stomach on the carpet
engrossed by a set of magic markers. These were real magic markers, which made drawings that
flashed in different colors, wiggled, zig-zagged or streaked across the page, depending on what the
artist made them do.

Luke's feet were swinging up and down, colliding with the carpet with soft thuds and Harry
found himself grinning. Even lying down, the kid was unable to be still. In the other corner,
Davina was sitting by herself surrounded by a pile of books. Harry watched her pick out one, toddle
over to Luke and squat beside him.

"Luke, read to me."

"I can't," Luke replied absentmindedly.

"Read the book."

Her brother finally looked up and glanced at the book. "I can't, Vina. Ask Ben." He
turned his attention back to his drawings only to have Davina shove the book under his nose.

"Luke, read to me!"

"I *can't* cause I don't know how to read that one yet!" Luke said loudly.
He jumped up, grabbed his paper and markers in irritation and stalked out of the room,
muttering.

Harry was sure he heard Budget say something about 'tarnation' and 'pets'. He
caught Hermione's eye and she seemed to be trying as hard as he was not to laugh. Instead, he
turned to little Davina who sat frowning upon the floor, clutching her unread book.

Holding back his chuckles, Harry gestured. "Come, Vina. Let Daddy read to you."

He sat his little girl on his lap and opened *The Velveteen Rabbit* while Hermione went to
check on Luke.

"*There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splen-*"
Harry began but was interrupted.

"Ol' Bob!" Davina squealed, pointing at the page, her eyes wide with delight.

Harry smiled. "Ol' Bob is upstairs. This is a rabbit."

"This is not Ol' Bob?"

"No, this is a rabbit. Ol' Bob is upstairs."

Davina frowned but didn't speak and he continued reading. He'd just gotten to the part
about the Skin Horse when-

"Daddy, Ol' Bob is a rabbit, right?"

He smiled and nodded. "Yep, he is."

"This is not Ol' Bob. This is a rabbit. But Ol' Bob is a rabbit too," Davina
said, effectively summarizing their conversation.

Harry gaped. 'Is this kid really only two years old?' he wondered, as he kissed her curly
head. 'But why am I surprised? Her mother is the most genius witch to come out of Hogwarts in
generations. Surely Hermione's brilliance negates the doofus genes I contributed.'

When he repeated those sentiments to his wife in bed later, she blushed. "Honestly, Harry!
Don't sell yourself short."

"I'm not," he replied honestly. "Our children's intelligence is all
you."

"What of Emerson, then? And *don't* say it's Julia's! I'm sure she was
intelligent too, but you're not as stupid as you act sometimes."

Harry pretended to clutch his chest. "Ouch, I think. How was Budget, though? Trust a son of
yours to manage such a word as 'tarnation'."

"Trust a son of yours to mess up a word like 'pests'," Hermione giggled.

Harry laughed. "He said 'pets', didn't he?"

The two of them held each other and chuckled in happy pride. "Did you notice he said he
doesn't know how to read 'that one yet'?"

"Yeah. The only book he knows how to 'read' is *Tom and Pippo*. The one where
Pippo gets lost," Hermione said, smiling. "And he doesn't really know how to read it
yet. He's just memorized it."

Harry grinned. "Remember how he used to cry at the part where it says-"

"*Tom gets really worried about Pippo and thinks he might never see him again*,"
Hermione recited with him and they smiled at each other. They'd read that book to Luke so many
times, they could probably repeat it in their sleep now.

Luke still loved that book but shortly after he'd turned three, he'd wondered aloud why
Tom's Mummy and Daddy didn't just summon Pippo. And that had been the opportunity for Harry
and Hermione to explain about Muggles and how they can't do magic.

Hermione giggled. "Remember how appalled he looked upon hearing that? His eyes got so
huge." She affected a solemn little boy voice: "Are they sick, Mummy?"

"And we told him that no, they're not sick. They're just like Grandpa Granger and Aunt
Nina, who are Muggles and are just fine."

"I guess so," Luke had mumbled sleepily, then yawned. "Aunt Nina makes yummy
toad-in-the-hole." As if having that ability was akin to getting a clean bill of health.

Harry and Hermione had laughed then, just as they did now at the memory. Harry sobered first as he
stroked Hermione's cheek. "They're wonderful, aren't they?"

"Beyond words." She was silent for a moment, just staring into his eyes and Harry could
feel his heartbeat accelerating at the look of utter adoration in hers. " I love you,
Harry."

He smiled. "I love you too." Then his brow furrowed as a thought occurred to him.
"What're we going to do about Emerson, though?"

"I don't know," she said with a sigh. "We'll just have to talk to her.
She's entering puberty and that automatically makes us Enemy Number One, the source of all
embarrassment on the planet, and who must be avoided whenever possible."

Harry frowned. "Isn't that a bit of a stereotype? Em has never quite conformed to any
generic categorizations. Why would she all of a sudden start now?"

His wife didn't answer and after a minute, Harry lay back down beside her, seeing the unease he
felt being clearly reflected in her eyes. But there wasn't anything they could do, not until
their daughter came home. For now, Harry snuggled up to the warm body of the woman he loved and
tried to let slumber claim him.

It was a long time, though, before he fell asleep.



17. Potter Christmas (aka Unless You Sing)
------------------------------------------

**A/N:** Many, many thanks to all my reviewers of the last chapter! I'm so glad that
y'all liked it :) **danielerin**, you completely made my day with your comment that I'll
make a good mom *sniffles* Thank you muchly for that! Hope y'all enjoy this looooong chapter
and reviews would be tremendously appreciated!
**

Chapter Sixteen - Potter Christmas (aka Unless You Sing)**


It was the evening before the Hogwarts Express would be carting the vast majority of Hogwarts'
students home for the Christmas holidays and the Yuletide spirit was definitely in the air. Almost
everywhere around the school, and the Great Hall in particular, had been festooned for the season
and the excitement that only Christmas can bring was definitely swelling every heart.

Well, almost every heart.

From the scowl adorning Emerson Potter's face, one wouldn't know that she would be going
home to celebrate the rapturous phenomenon. It wasn't that she didn't want to go home. She
was just trying to think selflessly here. It was for the greater good, wasn't it?

'But no, Mum and Dad just had to take it the wrong way when I asked to stay here,' she
thought darkly, dumping clothes and shoes into her trunk without looking to see where they landed.
'Do they think I'd rather be here than with them? Don't they know that only something
very serious could make me even think about not being with them?'

Em sat down on her bed and sighed, leaning over the trunk, her long hair framing her face and
hiding it from view. She closed her eyes tightly, trying not to cry. She was so confused! She
missed them so much, she couldn't wait to be with them, to see them again, Mum and Dad, Ben,
Budget and Vina.

And yet...

Smiley was so persistent, so consistent, so convincing. Emerson didn't know when it was that
she'd begun believing the mysterious letter writer, but somehow she did. Somehow, she'd
begun to think that maybe, just maybe, Smiley was right. Weren't they better off without her?
Weren't they safer?

*Weren't they purer?*

The thought sent a stab of agony through her being, making her gasp aloud. She squeezed her eyes
tighter, clenching her teeth, grateful for the screen of privacy that her thick hair provided. She
wanted nothing more than to yank her hangings closed and cry into her pillow (like she'd been
doing almost daily now), but that would certainly delight Jerrianne and the Fakers, who were
sitting perkily on Jerrianne's bed, jabbering away.

Annamaria had wanted to talk to Lyna about something, probably about the joint Christmas present
they were getting their Dad, so Em was without an ally at the moment. She'd wanted to go with
Lyna but since she'd ignored her packing until the last minute, this really was the only time
she had left to get it done.

Unfortunately, that meant she had to be alone in the same room with Jerrianne, Janie and Maria. Too
bad her hair couldn't block out their voices like it did their faces. But at least they offered
her a distraction from her agonizing thoughts.

"-but Papa wore her down. He can never refuse me, you know, so I'm going to the Christmas
Ball at Sandringham House!" Jerrianne was haughtily bleating, causing Janie and Maria to
squeal in unison.

"Omi*gawd*! I'm sooo jealous, Jerri! Maybe you'll meet the Queen!"

Jerrianne scoffed. "Maybe? Don't be stupid, Maria, of course I will. It's her private
residence! At least until February of next year and since this December comes before next February,
that means she'll be there. The whole Royal family, actually. Anyway, Papa promised to
introduce me to as many of them as he can."

Emerson knew that Jerrianne's father was some kind of politician, who doted excessively on his
only child. From what she'd heard, Jerrianne's mother seemed to have almost no say in her
daughter's life; Jerrianne would simply go to her father and he would override whatever it was
her mother said. No wonder she had such an attitude of entitlement; she'd been getting her way
since the day she was born.

"I bet certain people wish they could be rubbing shoulders with real Royals," Jerrianne
said loudly. "Not wannabe-royalty, famous just cause they defeated some kinda ugly old
warlock."

Janie and Maria giggled appreciatively and Emerson rolled her eyes and pulled her hair back to
resume packing. Oh, for an Earclogging Charm!

"D'you already have your dress picked out?" That was Janie.

"Oh my gosh! It's amazing!" Jerrianne breathed, and then launched into a breathless
description of her ball gown which, frankly, Em thought sounded hideous. Of course, Janie and Maria
went into raptures.

"You'll be the most beautiful girl there, Jerrianne, I just know it! I bet the Prince
won't be able to keep his eyes-"

"-maybe he'll ask you to dance! I bet-"

"-and your hair! I still wish I had hair like yours, Jerrianne. It's so silky
and-"

"-you must show off your feet. They're so *dainty*, like a Princess!"

They were actually interrupting each other in their haste to glorify the other girl and, finally,
Emerson shot them a look of deep disgust. "Honestly! If you two kissed Jerrianne's arse
any harder, you'd be drawing blood."

That very effectively and satisfyingly shut them up. For a few minutes anyway, and then they were
back in fawning and cooing mode. They were now far more annoying than distracting and, unable to
stand it anymore, Emerson jumped up and let the lid of her trunk slam shut. She grabbed her wand
and stalked towards the door.

Jerrianne heaved a great fake sigh. "I guess some people are unable to bear the fact that
other people have more and better fun."

"Oh, get stuffed and die, you miserable cow," Em said wearily, letting the door mimic her
trunk's lid and slam shut behind her.

Which was too bad, because had she stayed, perhaps her spirits might have gotten even the tiniest
bit of a boost from the rather impressive shade of magenta that the other girl achieved.

As it was, though, Em knew she was really the miserable one. Once she was seated in one of the
overstuffed old armchairs in the farthest corner of the common room, the tears she'd been
holding in began cascading down her cheeks and she didn't bother trying to keep them in check.
She wanted to go home. She wanted to be with her family.

But she was scared. Terrified. What if Smiley wrote to her while she was home? Her parents would
want to know who it was from, and then they'd probably get it out of her. And then Smiley would
somehow know she'd told someone and would try to hurt Ben, Budget and Vina.

And it would be her fault. Just like Julia's death was her fault, just like-

*Stop it!*

Emerson took a deep, shuddering breath and covered her face with her hands, wiping her cheeks. She
was not going to cry anymore! Her parents were making her go home, there was nothing she could do
about it. All she could do was try not to tip them off, try to keep her mouth shut about Smiley,
and pray like heck that they wouldn't harass her too much in trying to find out what was going
on.

She wanted some happiness. Oh God, she *needed* some happiness! And was there a happier time
than Christmas, with those you loved more than anything else in the world?

Even if you weren't worthy of them?

"*Happiness is being home for Christmas. Home to hear the sweet old carols sung. Home to
smell the sugar cookies baking*-" Em recited, almost defiantly, under her breath but broke
off abruptly, the lump in her throat having mushroomed too much for her to continue.

"*Home, where all the stockings have been hung*," someone said from her left,
completing the little poem that her Grandpa Granger had taught her and a few of her friends when
she was younger.

She turned to look into Brandon Wood's smiling face, watching the smile fade as he took in the
fact that her eyes were red from crying.

"Are you okay?" he asked, sounding concerned.

She nodded. "Yeah."

He looked unconvinced. "What's wrong?"

Em shrugged. "Nothing really."

He stared at her for a second, then frowned. "It's that Youngleer girl and her two
remoras, isn't it?"

Em couldn't hold back a wry grin. "Don't insult remoras, Brandon. They, at least,
perform a valuable service."

"I guess so," he said, with a chuckle. He stared at her for a few more seconds.
"Don't let them get to you. Y'know?"

She nodded, glad that he seemed convinced that that was really what was bothering her. Actually,
she was feeling a little better. Imagine that, Brandon Wood, of all people making her feel
better!

But then she heard him sigh wistfully and, looking up, saw that the trademark mischievous gleam was
back in his eyes.

"I'm looking forward to Boxing Day. You're going to dance with me, right?"

He was talking about the tradition the Potter and Wood families had of the Potters spending the
evening of Boxing Day at the Wood estate, which was called (rather unimaginatively, Em thought)
Woodhaven.

"Dammit, Brandon, we were actually having a civilized conversation for once. You just had to
go and ruin it, didn't you?"

"But it's not ruined," he said, looking perplexed. "This is a natural
progression..."

Emerson sighed and leaned back in her chair, listening to him carry on with what he did best:
exasperating her. As she waited for Carolyna to get back, she watched the snow falling down outside
the window, heard faint snatches of conversation from around the common room, punctuated by the
crackles of the logs in the fireplace.

And in spite of herself, she couldn't suppress a twinge of excitement.

Carols, sugar cookies and stockings. The things of Christmas. The things of home.

**********

Within the first few days of being home, however, Emerson was beginning to wonder if she
shouldn't have fought harder to stay at school. Sure, it was wonderful being with her brothers
and sister again and she'd quickly slipped back into the daily routine. It was awesome being
able to jabber with Ben about completely breezy stuff, like his upcoming birthday party, and his
non-gambling win over Andy Wood.

Budget, it went without saying, invigorated her by his sheer presence and he was so funny!
She'd found herself laughing repeatedly for the first time in weeks. And Vina, that little
snuggle bunny, who liked nothing better than to sit in Em's lap and periodically touch her big
sister's face as if to reassure herself that yes, Em really was here.

Crazy snowball fights in the backyard and afterwards, mugs of hot apple cider and plates of the
long-dreamed-about sugar cookies, fresh from the oven. Teaching Vina to catch snowflakes on her
tongue and making snow angels, whose wings Mum Charmed to really flutter. Yep, in most ways, it was
good to be home.

Her first day back, her parents had been all hugs and good vibes and she'd begun to think that
maybe they wouldn't ask about her letter. She quickly discovered that she'd relaxed far too
soon. That same evening, her mum had casually brought the conversation around to Em's request
and it quickly became clear to her that repeated non-answers just weren't going to cut
it.

Already her parents had raised the subject a few times, sometimes the both of them together,
sometimes just her Mum or Dad. Emerson found that she particularly hated it when it was her Dad who
questioned her. She just felt so incredibly guilty and there was always this strong sense of some
kind of uncomfortable tug-of-war being waged inside her. She wanted to tell him so badly and yet..
yet.. something was holding her back, that dual-edged fear.

At the moment, she was lying on the big suede couch in the family room, watching the fairy lights
play across the walls without really seeing them. Budget and Vina were asleep, Ben was somewhere in
the house and Mum was probably in her office.

And Dad-

Em sniffled and wiped her eyes. Dad was probably with Mum, and was likely ranting. She'd
honestly never seen him look at her like that before, it'd been almost frightening. She
hadn't meant to be rude to him, the words had just popped out of her mouth before she could
stop them. She'd essentially told him to get a life and stop harassing her and he'd looked
at her like-

Emerson flushed with shame, shuddering at the memory. "But why can't he just leave me
alone?" she said in a strained whisper. "I can't tell them. I can't!"

The sound of footsteps made her look up and she didn't try to hide her tears. It was Ben, his
brow furrowed as he looked about the room as if searching for something. "Hey, have you
seen-" he began, but then he got close enough to see her face and stopped. "Are you
crying about something?"

*Brilliant deduction, Sherlock*. Emerson shot him a look of irritation. "Gee, whatever
tipped you off?"

Her brother stopped and looked at her for a minute, a scowl slowly creeping across his face.
"Fine, be like that!" he snapped back. "You think you're the only one with
problems?"

He turned and began storming out of the room, and Em suddenly didn't want him to go.

"Ben, wait."

He stopped and looked stonily back at her, not speaking.

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm just really miserable right now."

She watched him walk over again and perch on the couch near her feet, the fairy lights glinting off
his glasses and somehow seeming to make light of the heaviness in the air.

"Why are you miserable?" he asked.

*That's the 64,000 Galleon question, eh?* "I can't tell you."

He looked annoyed for a second before shrugging. "Okay. But I can tell you about mine. I'm
this close-" he held up his thumb and forefinger with a minuscule space between them "-
to being suspended from Woodlands."

This startling admission was enough to completely distract Emerson from her misery. "What!
Why?"

"Well, you remember Paddy McPherson?"

Emerson scowled. "How could I forget such an arsehole?" Paddy, and especially his older
brother Peter, used to try to bully her quite a bit when she went to Woodlands. The only thing
tainting her satisfaction that he was still at what was essentially a kiddie school, while she was
now at Hogwarts, was the fact that Ben was still at Woodlands too and hence, fodder for
Paddy.

Ben grinned at her statement, before sobering. "Well, he and I got into a fight and
Headmistress Esson-"

"Whoa, wait, wait!" Em interrupted, her eyes wide. "You got into a fight with
Paddy?"

"Yeah. And Headmis-"

"Slow down, for God's sake!" she cried. "Why'd you get into a fight? Was he
picking on you?"

Ben scowled again. "No, on one of my friends. I couldn't just stand by and let
him."

"My hero," Emerson said softly, gazing at him in honest admiration. "Taking on Big
Bad Paddy McPherson! I bet you kicked his bullying backside too."

Ben blushed scarlet. "Well, you'd have done the same thing if it was your
friend."

"Was it Andy?"

"No. He's a new kid in Rajiv's class. Arnie Shriver."

Em sat up straighter. "Arnie *Shriver*?"

"Yeah. Why? You know him?"

"No. I know a Gryffindor first year named Will Shriver, though."

"Arnie has a brother named Will, who just started at Hogwarts!" Ben exclaimed excitedly.
"He's always going on about him."

"How about other brothers and sisters?" Em asked, leaning forward. This was
interesting.

He bit his lip, thinking, then brightened. "Yeah, he has twin little brothers. They're
always sick."

Em slumped back against the couch, looking incredulous. "Will has twin little brothers who are
always sick too! What're the odds, you and me befriending two brothers without even knowing
it?"

"Mum actually knew Arnie's Mum from Hogwarts. She was in that club that Mum started. You
know, the one Uncle Ron still teases her about?"

"S.P.E.W." Em said, nodding. "Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. And
Mum's actually gotten the last laugh on that one. Didn't she get the Ministry to change
some of the laws about house-elves and other magi-"

She broke off when she caught sight of her father looking in the room, but by the time Ben had
whipped around to see what had halted her speech, Dad had already continued on.

And in a rush, Emerson remembered that she was miserable and why. It was no use pretending that
things were otherwise. This was all her fault and she just didn't know what to do about
it.

Feeling suddenly deflated, she leaned back on the couch and tried her very best to keep up the
conversation with her brother, without tipping him off to the fact that her heart was
breaking.

And, she thought sadly to herself, that this was definitely not how the lead-up to Christmas should
be.


*********

"Remind me again why we didn't just let Emerson stay at Hogwarts like she wanted to, would
you, Hermione? Because I think we might've made a mistake," Harry had said irritably as he
stalked into his office earlier that evening, where his wife was looking over some parchments. He
had just had the exact same conversation with Em as they'd had every time since she came home,
and Harry was frustrated.

Hermione looked up from the parchment with a frown, her eyes troubled. "She wouldn't tell
you?"

"Of course not. And this time she got all snarky with me, saying I'm making a big deal out
of nothing and 'suggesting' that I find something else to obsess about because there
wasn't anything from her angle worth being obsessed with."

His wife gasped. "She said that?"

"It was more the way she said it than what she said. I wanted to hit her, Hermione,"
Harry half-moaned, feeling and looking horrified. "I actually felt like smacking my daughter.
She has a mouth on her, we've always known that, but it's never affected me like
this." He tore his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. "Oh God, I'm too young for these
things."

"Don't you mean 'too old'?" she asked softly.

Harry's head snapped up. "No, I mean 'too young'! Shouldn't I get to be at
least forty before I have to deal with teenage temper tantrums?"

"And she's not even a teenager yet," Hermione mused, turning back to her parchments
and for some reason, that really annoyed Harry.

"Whose side are you on, anyway?" he asked sharply.

She looked at him, bewilderment suffusing her features. "I'm on your side, of
course."

"Well, how about acting like it?"

The bewilderment slowly morphed into a cold look as she stared at him. "I'm on your side,
Harry, you know that. I want to know about these changes in our daughter as much as you do. But it
doesn't help the situation at all if you get snippy too." She stood up and gathered her
parchments. "I'll be in my office when you've had a chance to cool down."

The door closed noiselessly behind her, and it was more the absence of sound than anything else
that calmed him. If she'd slammed the door, he could at least sit there and stew for a few more
minutes. But her dignified exit alerted him to the fact that he was taking out his frustration on
the one person who truly was always on his side.

Harry sighed and laid his head on the cool wooden surface of his desk. He just wanted to know why
Emerson had asked to stay at Hogwarts. Was that too much to ask for? Why did she keep saying that
she'd just wanted to? There had to be more to it than that, there just had to be.

He didn't like to acknowledge it, but a part of Harry thought he knew why: Emerson was
asserting her independence. She was pulling away from them, establishing herself separately from
her family. It made sense - for one, she'd abruptly decided against trying out for the
Quidditch team. He liked to tell himself that it'd been her dream ever since she was a little
girl, but really, how much of it was what Emerson really wanted as opposed to what he (and by
extension, Ron) wanted? Hadn't he and Ron filled her head with glory tales about playing for
Gryffindor, both secretly exulting in the light that erupted in her eyes?

Perhaps, on the day of the tryouts, Em had really examined herself and discovered that her desire
to play on the Gryffindor team was really that of her father and uncle. Perhaps that was why she
hadn't told them anything else, she wanted to spare their feelings.

"I don't know," Harry said aloud, sighing again. He and Hermione had always raised
their children to be independent. But honestly, to this extreme?

And Hermione was right; it wouldn't help the situation any for him to get snippy too. Merlin
knew, Emerson already had that one down to an art.

Feeling sufficiently "cooled down", though by no means enlightened, he left the room and
made his way to the stairs. He had to pass the family room to get to them and looking in, he saw
Emerson and Ben deep in conversation. Harry had the fleeting thought of eavesdropping, but quickly
changed his mind and continued on his way up the stairs. It would never do to have them mistrusting
him as well.

Upon reaching Hermione's closed door, he took a breath and knocked.

"Come in."

He opened the door and saw her sitting at her desk, her back to him. From the set of her shoulders,
he knew that she knew it was him. He could also tell that she was still irritated.

"I'm sorry," he said, softly.

She didn't turn around. "For what?"

"I'm sorry for snapping at you. I was just frustrated about Em and I guess I took it out
on you."

She glanced at him over her shoulder. "You guess?"

She wasn't going to let him off easy, Harry realized, and he felt a grin tugging at the sides
of his mouth. Crossing over to her, he laid his hands on her shoulders. "Okay, I *know* I
took it out on you. Forgive me?" He punctuated his words with a slow knead of her neck muscles
and smiled at her sharp intake of breath.

"Well.."

"What do I need to do to make you forgive me?"

She gave a little moan. "Well, for one, you could shut up and keep doing what you're
doing."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, dipping his head to kiss her neck and for the next few
minutes, the only sounds were the little contented noises Hermione made as Harry massaged her. He
could get caught up in doing this; she smelled and felt so good. But once all the knots had been
gently done away with, he perched on the edge of her desk and looked down at her.

She smiled up at him. "You're forgiven. And Harry, you should know that Em was exactly the
same way with me when I spoke to her. Maybe a bit more with you, actually, because you are both so
much alike."

"Me and Em?" he asked, frowning.

"Yeah. And that's always a recipe for conflict, because you're both stubborn and
independent and the harder someone pressures you, the more determined you are not to give in. We
have to be careful, go gentle with her or we might end up alienating her and that's the last
thing we want."

Harry nodded. That made sense. Hell, he could recall feeling like that at Hogwarts, back when he
and Snape were the bitterest of enemies. The thought of being like Snape was vaguely frightening
and his face must have shown it because Hermione's brow furrowed in a silent inquiry.

"I was just thinking, I don't want to be to Em like Snape was to me at
Hogwarts."

She smiled and reached up to touch his cheek. "Don't worry, it's not possible for you
to be. Because there was no love lost between you and Snape at the time. Whereas with Em... you
would kill for her, Harry."

Her simple, matter-of-fact statement chilled him to the bone because he knew it was true. He would
kill for Emerson, for Ben, Luke or Davina. He would kill for Hermione and in her case, it
wouldn't be for the first time. But he didn't like to think about it, that the same hands
he'd just used to massage his wife, the hands that had trembled upon holding his children for
the first time, these hands had also ended the lives of more than one person. Murderous and evil
Death Eater scum, sure, but people nonetheless.

Who wants to dwell on something like that? Harry found that he certainly didn't, and when his
eyes landed on her parchments, he reached out to pick one up. "What're you working on,
anyway? What's this, some kind of membership list?"

"Yeah, from Hogwarts," she answered, reaching inside her desk for a fresh bottle of ink.
"Remember, I wanted to find out more about Arnie Shriver's family, that kid Ben got into a
fight for?"

Harry nodded. He remembered Arnie. He was a thin, introverted boy who reminded Harry of himself at
that age. Though, thankfully, Arnie at least had a mother, father and three brothers who loved him.
He'd been over to Ballynore a few more times since Hallowe'en and he, Ben and Andy were
apparently thick as thieves when at school.

"Well, I knew Arnie's mother was at Hogwarts with us but I couldn't remember her
and-"

"It was driving you insane, right?" Harry interrupted with a grin. "Because you
absolutely have to know everything there is to know and- OW!"

"-and somehow I just felt sure that I'd known her, if only as an acquaintance,"
Hermione continued resolutely, as if she wasn't blushing and there hadn't been the
slightest interruption. "I was right. She was one of the few people who voluntarily joined
S.P.E.W. back in fourth year. Her name was Margaret Lovejoy at the time."

Harry gazed at his wife adoringly. She never ceased to amaze him. Even now when her life was so
full and busy, she still made time to find out more about other people, to try to effect some
positive change for them. He knew the Shrivers were going through some financial difficulties and
knowing Hermione, assisting them was the driving force behind her research.

"You are just like Ben, you know that?" he said, sounding almost awed. "Or
shouldn't I say, Ben is just like you? Going out of your way for someone else, without even
being asked."

She was definitely blushing now as she tried to shush him, but he slid off her desk, pulled her
into his arms and shushed her attempts to shush him. She kissed him back and then they held each
other tight, she rubbing his arm soothingly where she'd playfully pinched him before. Harry
sighed and rested his cheek against her hair, closing his eyes as he inhaled the scent of her
shampoo. Merlin, how he loved this woman!

They stood like that for a long minute until the sound of the door creaking open made them pull
apart. It was Luke, pyjama-clad and wild-haired, and Harry noted, dismayingly bright-eyed.
Hadn't they put him to bed less than half an hour ago?

"What're you doing up, mister?" Hermione was asking.

Luke's green eyes widened. "Is it Christmas yet, Mummy? Cause I *swear*, I heard
Father Christmas landing on the roof just now!"

Hermione affected a great sigh, but Harry could tell she was trying not to laugh. "No,
it's not Christmas yet, Luke. It won't be Christmas for a whole week yet. That was probably
just your imagination."

"But I heard it!" Luke whined. "I heard it, Daddy. It wasn't my
'magination!"

Harry chuckled and picked him up and Budget laid his head on his father's shoulder, wrapping
his arms around his neck. He pouted and grumbled as Harry carried him back to bed but didn't
resist being tucked in.

"You know what, Budget, it could've been Father Christmas," Harry said, his eyes
twinkling as he watched his son blinking sleepily.

Luke's eyes lit up. "It could've?"

"Yep. He was probably stashing some of the gifts early so that on Christmas Eve, he won't
have to lug so much around." He grinned over at Hermione, who rolled her eyes while the
corners of her mouth twitched.

The little boy looked at his mother. "D'you think so, Mum?"

Hermione leaned over to kiss his forehead. "That's one explanation, yes. But it's time
for you to go to sleep now, okay?"

"I already did that," Luke mumbled. "So you mean it's time for me to go
*back* to sleep."

'You know a child is the offspring of Hermione Granger when he starts arguing semantics,'
Harry thought to himself later, with amusement, as he prepared hot chocolate for himself, Hermione,
Emerson and Ben.

He carried the tray with the steaming mugs to the family room and they all sat around, sipping and
chattering. Or at least, Hermione and Ben were. Emerson was very quiet, looking miserable and Harry
noticed she kept glancing at him. Hermione must have noticed too because as soon as Ben was done,
she stood up.

"Time for bed, Ben."

Ben frowned but didn't protest and after goodnights and hugs, he followed his mother out of the
room. Harry stared into his mug, waiting to see if his daughter would make the first move.

It took a minute of awkward silence but she did. "Dad?"

Harry let out the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. "Yeah,
Em?"

She exhaled loudly. "I'm prob- This probably makes me sound like a broken record by now,
but I'm sorry I was rude to you earlier."

"Okay," Harry said, looking at her. He watched her green eyes fill up and tears spill
over onto her cheeks. Feeling alarmed, he reached out and she rushed into his arms. "Emerson,
what's wrong?"

He could feel her shaking but then she pulled away and looked pleadingly into his eyes.
"Isn't it enough that I came home, Daddy? That I'm here?"

*Daddy*.

She hadn't called him that in... how long was it? There was something searching in her voice,
in her eyes, and it took him a full minute to figure out what it was - validation. She wasn't
just asking him a question; she honestly *feared* that he would answer that no, it wasn't
enough.

A wave of prickly unease swept over Harry but she was still staring at him, mutely begging, her
cheeks wet with tears, and he pushed his questions aside and hugged her fiercely. His daughter; his
firstborn.

"It's enough, Emerson. How can you even ask? Of course it's enough."

She seemed to sag with relief and somehow, Harry found himself resolving to just enjoy this time
with her, this time of his whole family being together. Before he knew it, she would be returning
to Hogwarts, hundreds of miles away from home.

He was by no means shelving his worries, his questions or concerns; he and Hermione would
definitely be analyzing this new development. But let them just enjoy the holidays together.

It wasn't too much to ask for, was it? Just Christmas with the centers of his world?


********

Christmas morning dawned bright and cold, with a weak winter sun daring to make an appearance in a
sky that resolutely promised snow. Dawn's light shone upon a landscape that was heavily coated
with the pure white substance, which was at the moment more or less unmolested because all the
human inhabitants of Ballynore Estate were as snug as bugs in rugs.

Or in their beds, as the case was. Emerson, for her part, was feeling warm and safe, curled up in a
ball on her bed. She didn't know what had awoken her, but her eyes cracked open the slightest
half-inch and she smiled drowsily.

It was Christmas, one of her favorite times of the year. She was home with her family and she was
so happy to be! She was so happy that her parents hadn't allowed her to stay at Hogwarts, and
even though the holidays had gotten off to a bit of a rough start, things had improved. Her parents
had decided to lay the subject of her letter aside for the time being, and with that looming threat
of discovery and its consequences now put on the shelf, she'd been able to relax somewhat. She
knew that the matter wasn't resolved; she knew that they would ask her again eventually, but at
least she didn't have to worry about it in the immediate present.

Frankly, Em rued the day she'd decided to write that letter. If she'd known what hassles it
would result in her being subjected to, she surely never would've written it. It seemed like
her intention of remaining separate from her family for the sake of them not discovering her
painful secret had had the opposite effect and made them get alarmingly close to eureka.

'At least Smiley has had the good sense not to write to me here,' she thought, staring at
the ticking hand of her clock, which was displaying that it was just after six o'clock.
'Probably stockpiling the junk mail for when I go back to school.'

Em sighed at that thought, then gave her head a small shake. She didn't want to think about
that stuff anymore. It was Christmas, for Pete's sake, peace on Earth and goodwill to men and
all that. No room for the bad stuff, there shouldn't be, right? With a small smile, she rolled
over and closed her eyes again, intending to drift back into sleep.

Unfortunately, that was not to be.

Because barely a minute later, her door flew open and a little someone with a curly brown head
scampered across the room and landed on her with a laugh.

"Happy Christmas, Emerson! Wake up!"

Emerson groaned and rolled over, reaching for her covers to pull them over her head. Her grasping
hands discovered that, as usual, she'd kicked them to the floor some time during the
night.

"Shit," she muttered sleepily and heard her little brother gasp.

*Crap. I mean, uh-oh.*

"You said a bad word!" Budget said, sounding awed.

Em opened her eyes to look into their mirror images, which were widely staring at her. "No, I
didn't, Budget," she lied. "I said 'sheet', like my blanket. Get my sheet, my
blanket. It's on the floor over there."

Her brother frowned, his small brow furrowed exactly like Mum's, and Em could feel a grin
coming on. He was so cute!

"Okay," he said finally, scrambling off the bed and grabbing the comforter.

"Lie down," Em told him and he did so, reluctantly, as she threw the blanket over the
both of them. He snuggled up to her and Em almost began to think she might actually get back to
sleep.

Almost.

Because, of course, it wasn't long before Luke began fidgeting, twitching, stretching,
scratching himself, rolling over, tugging at her hair, kicking his legs.

"Budget," she whined. "Go back to sleep."

"I can't, Em," he whispered. "It's Christmas and my eyes are already
unconscious."

Em smiled, her eyes still closed. "You mean your eyes are conscious."

"That's what I said."

"No, you didn't. You said *unconscious*."

Her eyes opened to see Luke frowning at her. "Did not."

She grinned. "Did too."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did not."

"Did too!"

"Ah-ha, gotcha!" Em giggled, tickling him and he giggled with her.

They lay quietly for another minute. Then-

"Em?"

"Hmm?"

"Can we go open presents now?"

*Merlin, does this kid have a one-track mind or what?* "We can't, Lukas. We have to
wait for Mum and Dad, Ben and Vina to wake up too."

Barely ten seconds later, she heard her door open and close and her eyes squeezed shut in defeat as
Ben, toting Davina, walked over to the bed and plopped down too.

"Happy Christmas!"

Davina laughed and jumped onto her sister, who couldn't help smiling as she hugged the wiggling
little bundle. "Happy Christmas, you insane lot. And you win. Let me just brush my teeth then
we'll go wake Mum and Dad."

By the time she, Ben, Luke and Davina were standing outside Ballynore's Master bedroom, though,
Em couldn't deny that she was just as excited as her siblings. As they knocked on the door and
heard the cheerful "Come in!", her troubles retreated further into the distance in the
happiness and good cheer that Christmas brings to all who believe in its own unique magic.

"Happy Christmas!" the four Potter children chorused, and then they were all on the huge
bed, hugging and kissing and being hugged and kissed. Her parents beamed at her and she felt like
she would never be able to stop smiling. Oh, she loved them so much, all of them!

"Daddy, I want to open presents now!" Luke said loudly, literally writhing with
anticipation.

Dad laughed. "You mean you don't want some Stiticky Buns?"

"Oh," Luke said, momentarily distracted and everybody laughed. Because Luke loved
Mum's sticky cinnamon buns, and they always had some on Christmas morning before anything else.
When he was first learning to talk, he'd mispronounced sticky as 'stiticky' and now
they all called it that.

Mum chuckled, leaning over to ruffle Luke's already ruffled hair. "How about this, Luke -
we'll have some Stiticky Buns with hot chocolate and then we'll go straight to opening
gifts. How does that sound?"

"I think that sounds very good," Luke proclaimed solemnly, making everyone laugh again.
"Let's go then!"

Em gave Vina a piggyback ride from the room as they all headed downstairs to the breakfast nook.
Mum had kept the buns magically warm overnight in the oven, so they had that 'fresh from the
oven' taste, without any impatient mouths having to wait too long.

The buns and hot chocolate vanished in short order and they all eagerly trooped to the family room,
where the large Christmas tree was standing proudly, its skirt piled with brightly wrapped
gifts.

They sat on the carpet facing it and Em sighed happily as she gazed at the tree. They'd all
decorated it, and this year, Vina had been the one (with Dad holding her up) to position the large,
serene angel on the top of the tree. It was kind of lopsided, but somehow it looked perfect and Em
couldn't imagine it being placed any other-

"Emerson!"

She looked up, to see her whole family gazing at her expectantly. "Um, sorry?"

"I said, you get to go first," Dad said, smiling at her.

"Oh, okay."

And they were off and running. For the next hour or so, the room was punctuated by the crinkling
and tearing of paper, the fumbling to get things open, the loud shouts of delight and
"Whoa!", "Thank you so much! I love it!" as the wrapped pile under the tree
dwindled.

Finally, it appeared that everything had been opened and Em beamed at the gifts she'd received.
There were quite a bit of stuff, from both close and extended family, but her favorite was
definitely the brand-new racing broom that her parents had gotten her. It was the very latest model
and she held it gently on her lap, her fingers caressing the smooth polished handle reverently.
She'd wanted this so much!

"Man, I'm so jealous," Ben moaned, staring at her broom. But he was grinning.
He'd gotten almost everything he'd asked for, as well. Ben really had it good, anyway, what
with his birthday being the week before Christmas. So this was his second time opening presents in
as many weeks.

"Oh, I forgot the gifts from America!" Mum exclaimed suddenly, tearing her eyes away from
the gorgeous black leather coat Dad had gotten her. She carefully folded the coat and put it back
in its box, then hurried from the room. "I'll be right back!"

"Yay, more presents!" Luke exclaimed, his green eyes shining.

Ben and Vina expressed similar sentiments but Emerson was suddenly overwhelmed with anxiety.
She'd forgotten that her grandparents in Dallas always sent Christmas presents for everyone,
and she'd always anticipated and appreciated their gifts.

But this year... and Smiley... Em didn't like to think about her grandparents these days,
knowing that it was because of her that they didn't have their daughter anymore. And they were
obviously too good-hearted to hold a grudge.

No, they'd sent her a gift (and upon their arrivals, gifts to her siblings as well) every year
without fail. Emerson found that this was one year that she wished that tradition had been
broken.

But Mum was coming back into the room, levitating a large box ahead of her. She was opening the
box, reaching inside and handing out cheerfully wrapped packages and things. She was placing a
narrow, lightweight box into Em's hand, and what could Em do but smile and accept it?

Emerson was aware of everyone watching her, so she tried not to let her hands shake too much as she
unwrapped the box and opened it. She gasped when she saw what it was and for a moment she
couldn't move or blink or anything resembling those actions.

"What is it, Em?" Mum asked, coming over to look.

"I-It's a.. a necklace. Actually, a locket," she managed at last, reaching out to
touch it. The locket was heart-shaped and both chain and locket were made of white gold. The left
side of the front cover was inset with a pure round diamond. There were three parallel lines
curving from top to bottom on the rest of the locket and each line was inset with, alternately,
tiny diamonds and emeralds. It was beautiful.

Em reached out trembling hands to pick it up, managing to open it after fumbling for a few seconds.
"It has a small heart-shaped emerald in one side and a picture frame in the other."

"Where's the picture?" Ben asked, frowning as he leaned over to look closer.

Emerson turned the box over and a small card fell out. Upon opening it, she read:


*Dearest Emerson,*

*Merry Christmas! We hope you like this locket. Actually, we didn't pick it out; Julia did.
She bought it for you herself, a few days after you were born. I don't know how she knew that
the emerald would become so appropriate for you. Maybe because of your father, but somehow, she
decided to get the emerald and it suits you so beautifully.*

*I know she would've loved to have been able to give it to you herself, but since she
can't, this is for you, with the deepest of love. We love you, our little brown girl! Have a
wonderful day and all the very best for the New Year.*

*Love,*
*Herb and Enigi (Your Papi and Maman)*

*P.S. Of course you can put any picture you like inside it, but we thought we'd send this one
along, just in case. Love you!*


Frowning slightly, Em looked around her lap. She hadn't seen a picture when she got the letter
out. "Where's-"

"Oh, here it is!" Ben exclaimed, holding up a snapshot. "It's a Muggle one;
it's not moving."

He handed it over to Em and she felt her heart begin to pound and a lump swell in her throat as she
stared at it. The picture showed an exhausted-looking young woman, who was nevertheless sporting a
beaming smile. She was holding in her arms a swaddled infant, of whom only a dark head was
visible.

'She looks so happy,' Em thought, blinking rapidly. 'I wonder if she knew then that no
matter what she did, she was going to die. I wonder if she regretted not fighting, not competing
with me for her life? I wonder if she knew that the one she kept alive would turn around and cause
her death.'

The picture fell from her hands as horror filled her being. She felt sick to her stomach, the
delicious sticky buns and hot chocolate that she'd happily consumed earlier now revolting
against her, churning around in her gut as if in revulsion.

*Oh God, I'm so sorry.. Oh God, I'm so sorry..*

"Emerson? Moppet, what's wrong? What are you sorry about?" her Dad asked, looking
almost frightened and only then did Em realize that she'd been saying the words aloud, while
tears poured down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed over and over again. "I'm so sorry!"

She felt her Mum's arms wrap around her and she buried her face in the sweet-smelling embrace
and cried until she couldn't anymore. Her Mum rocked her gently, rubbing her back and Em
finally calmed down, her tears abating. Knowing that an interrogation was inevitable, she pulled
away and took a deep breath, bracing herself.

Glancing around through swollen eyes, she was momentarily surprised to see that she and Mum were
alone. Obviously, Dad had taken Ben, Budget and Vina out of the room; it was the right thing to do.
For one, almost anyone's tears could upset Vina too because she was so sensitive, and Em
didn't want her baby sister to be upset on Christmas.

"Did I upset Vina?" she asked, glancing at Mum, who was watching her shrewdly.

Her mother shook her head. "No, she's fine. They all are. But you're obviously
not."

Em didn't answer, just stared at the lopsided angel on the Christmas tree, wishing she was
feeling whatever that angel was feeling that caused it to be smiling like that. Because surely it
would be better than this heavy burden of guilt which she couldn't even dream of sharing.

"I know that if I were to ask what made you so upset just now, what you're sorry about,
you wouldn't tell me," Mum continued, her voice soft and gentle. "But you have to
know, you *must* know, Emerson, that we're here for you. I'm sure you know that there
are ways of making you tell us, of forcing you to. But we love you and respect you too much to do
that. We trust you, Emerson. And it would mean so much if you would trust us, too."

Em wiped at the fresh tears that threatened to spill over, swallowing hard. "I do trust you,
Mum. And Dad too, of course. But really, I'm fine. I was just overwhelmed, that's
all."

"But why were you saying you're sorry? And for what?" Mum asked, earnestly. She
reached out and grasped Em's hands in her own. "Tell me."

Emerson stared into the brown eyes of the woman she considered her mother, the woman who had always
been there for her, whom she could tell anything and she *wanted* to tell her.. she was going
to tell her.. she was opening her mouth, to blurt out the truth, to share this burden, to lay down
this load..

And the Ballynore Arrival chimes began to ring.

The sound startled her and she jerked. It was as if she'd snapped to her senses, out of the
hypnosis that her mother's anxious brown eyes had induced her into. Her mouth snapped shut and
she yanked her hands away, her heart pounding, prickly sweat erupting on her forehead, under her
armpits.

*What're you doing? What are you doing? No. You can't.. Vina..*

Emerson shut her eyes, listening to the sound of her little sister's laughter, the sound of her
brothers clamoring for the attention of their grandfather, whose arrival the chimes had
heralded.

"Emerson?"

She looked over at her Mum and forced herself to smile. "Don't worry about me, okay?
I'm fine. I'm just being weird." She untangled her legs and stood up. "But
Grandpa's here!"

And not waiting for an answer, she hurried from the room, into the happy excitement, still keeping
that smile on her face. For a while, her brothers kept shooting her wary glances but once they
realized that she wasn't going to burst into tears again, they relaxed and things pretty much
went back to normal.

But not for Emerson. Not really. Her happiness had been polluted, and although her face and
demeanor gave no indication (except perhaps to her parents, who kept watching her, looking
worried), inside her heart cracked a little more every time she heard her brothers and her sister
laugh.


********

The crackle of logs in the fireplace and the happy murmur of voices filled the large living room of
the Burrow, and Harry Potter sighed. It was an ambivalent sigh, part happiness, part
disquietude.

'It shouldn't be this way,' he couldn't help thinking, as he took in the
predominantly cheerful atmosphere. 'I shouldn't be having mixed feelings. It's
Christmas.'

And this Christmas had started off wonderfully enough. He'd been awoken that morning by the
incredible sensation of Hermione doing unspeakable things to him with her mouth, under the covers.
He'd pulled her up and for close to three-quarters of an hour afterwards, they'd been busy
expressing their love to each other in that age-old dance from the dawn of humanity. Fulfilled at
last, they'd showered together and gone back to their room. They'd put on fresh pyjamas and
changed all the bedclothes. Then they'd cuddled, talking quietly, as they waited for their
children to come and "wake them up".

Harry's heart had felt like it would explode with joy as he'd gazed at his children,
smiling and chattering, enjoying each other's company. Little Davina's giggles.. his
sons' laughter.. Emerson had looked the happiest he'd seen her since she'd been home
for the holidays and he couldn't help beaming at her. She was so beautiful when she smiled and
she'd been doing a lot of that this morning.

And then.. the presents from America.. and Em had burst into heartbreaking tears. Fervently, almost
desperately, apologizing. For what? Why? Hermione had told him that she was sure Em had been about
to confess whatever it was. But she'd managed to stop herself, and now, even though she tried
to act like nothing was different, Harry knew, he could tell, that the girl from this morning was
gone.

Harry shook his head in frustration. Something was troubling his daughter and he didn't know
what it was. He wished he could-

"Daddy, look what I got!" Budget exclaimed, shoving a large box full of brand-new magic
markers under his father's nose.

Harry laid his troubled thoughts aside for the time being and smiled down at his son.
"That's great, Budget! Did you remember to thank the person who gave you the
gift?"

"Thanks, Etienne!" Luke yelled. "This is *humongously* ace!"

Everybody laughed at such a huge word coming out of the small boy's mouth. Ron elbowed Harry
with a grin. "See what your wife is doing to your sprogs?"

Raising his hands in mock-defeat, Harry gave a great sigh. "What can I do? You know how she
is, bossy and-" He broke off with a yelp, while Hermione leaned back, looking innocent. He
bent over to rub his shin where she'd kicked him and pretended to glare at her. "Wicked
woman."

Ron laughed. "Luckily for me, I'm just the best mate, so she can't-OW!"

"Wrong answer, Ron. Cause I sure can," Hermione said, smiling sweetly before turning her
attention to Davina, who was being frustrated by efforts to open her present. "Let me open
this for you, baby."

"I can do it!" Davina exclaimed, moving the gift out of her mother's reach.

Hermione looked abashed while Harry and Ron snorted.

"Speaking of 'bossy'," Ron whispered, obviously trying to spare his legs from
another lethal kick from his female best friend.

Harry laughed and leaned back in his chair, taking in the noisy chaos that was more than a dozen
kids happily opening presents. The adults sat around nursing mugs of apple cider and occasionally
exclaiming over the gifts that their offspring would shove in their faces.

This was another tradition that the Hogwarts friends had instigated upon starting their own
families. It was a Christmas tradition for the children of the Trio that was Harry Potter, Hermione
Granger and Ron Weasley: to get together with the other Weasley grandchildren at the Burrow and
exchange gifts. It did Harry's heart good to see his children being so showered, because
he'd certainly never had that growing up. Not until Hogwarts.

At the same time, he knew that they really appreciated the gifts that they were receiving. Harry
had always been wealthy (though one wouldn't know it from the first decade of his life, of
course) and that had only increased once he survived to adulthood. Hermione was pretty well-off in
her own right and the combined fortune of the Potters was such that none of the general public was
quite sure what that total was.

But Harry and Hermione did not live lavishly. They lived in a very nice home, for sure, and drove a
nice car, but nothing was done in excess. Their car, for instance, while it was a Jaguar, was nine
years old and they intended to keep it for as long as it could provide efficient service.

Likewise, while their children never wanted for anything worthwhile, Harry and Hermione were
determined that they learn to appreciate the value of hard work. Emerson and Ben both got
allowances and if ever they wanted more than their allowance, they would have to earn it. Gifts
were restricted to birthdays and Christmas, or for particularly momentous occasions. Because while
Harry's children would never go to bed hungry, he would be damned if they would grow up to be
spoiled brats with misguided senses of entitlement.

'Like Malfoy was at Hogwarts,' Harry mused silently, gazing at the blond-haired man who was
cradling the baby doll that Theresa had placed in his arms. What a long way he had come, though.
There was almost nothing in the character of the man with the doll to make one believe that he had
once been the haughty, pointy-faced boy who had tried to make Harry's life hell at
school.

"Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes," Hermione sang softly into his ear, and he turned to smile at her,
marveling again at how mentally in tune with him she was.

"Yeah. He's come a long way, hasn't he?"

She nodded, gazing at Malfoy too. "He has. And we're all better for it."

"I don't know," Ron said, frowning slightly. "He can still be a git at times.
And he will always be 'Ferret' to me."

The three of them glanced at each other and burst out laughing. After a few moments, they sighed
and leaned back in companionable silence to take in the dying down of the gift openings. Once all
the kids were lounging around happily with their new possessions and the ripped up wrapping papers
had been Banished to the rubbish bin, Molly Weasley went around levitating a tray of sweet apple
cider for the kids.

"How about some singing then?" she asked, once everyone had a drink in hand.

"Yeah!" the kids chorused.

"Jingle Bells!" cried Luke, sporting the grey-and-green knitted cap that had been
Olivia's gift to him.

Harry and Hermione grinned at each other, knowing that Luke loved that one, particularly for the
"Laughing all the way" part, which he would contribute to heartily.

After a raucous round of group singing, Ginny smiled and said, "How about you,
Rory?"

Rory Weasley blushed. He was small and shy for his thirteen years, astonishing descriptors for any
Weasley, much less for the son of the still-rambunctious George. But when he opened his mouth! When
he opened his mouth, you were pinned to the spot, mesmerized, awed and touched by his resounding
baritone.

"Go on, darling," Nina urged her vivid-haired son.

Upon taking a deep breath, Rory sang and, as usual, everyone was spellbound and speechless for a
full minute after he ended. The applause and cheers made him blush so much that his whole head
seemed to be ablaze. George could be seen wiping his eyes, beaming with pride at his only
son.

Once they'd calmed down, Malfoy put down his mug and settled Abigail on his lap. "I'm
rather particular to Em's voice, myself. How about a song for us, love?"

Harry looked over at Emerson and that sense of unease from earlier came flooding back to him.
He'd been watching her during the gift openings and she'd been very subdued. Sure,
she'd smiled and politely thanked everyone for her presents when she opened them. But the spark
was missing and Harry knew he wasn't the only one who'd noticed. Perhaps Malfoy was trying
to cheer her up, knowing how happy singing usually made her.

Emerson gave a small smile. She turned her head away and stared into the fire for so long that
Harry thought she wasn't going to grant Malfoy's request. But at last, she began to sing in
the clear, sweet soprano with which she'd been blessed. Her voice was suffused with such
melancholy that Harry felt himself begin to choke up.

*What Child is this who, laid to rest
On Mary’s lap is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?

This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing;
Haste, haste, to bring Him laud,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.*

Harry hadn't realized that his daughter was crying until he heard her sniffle. Everybody sat
still, even the youngest children, watching the firelight dance on her hair as she paused,
composing herself.

*Why lies He in such mean estate,
Where ox and horse are feeding?
Good Christians, fear, for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.*

The whole time she had stared into the fire but on that last line, she suddenly looked up and
straight into Harry's eyes. He just *knew* she was trying to tell him something. But
what?

"That was beautiful, Emerson," Molly said, wiping her eyes when Em had concluded the
sweet, traditional Christmas hymn.

Others echoed the sentiments; Emerson wiped her eyes too and smiled weakly.

"I need to go potty," declared Davina and most everybody chuckled. The slightly somber
mood was broken and from the way everyone was chattering again, Harry knew they didn't think
much of Em's crying. They probably figured she'd been touched by the song, like they
were.

But upon seeing the slight frown on Hermione's face as she stood up to take their youngest
child to the bathroom, Harry knew he was not the only one who was aware that there was more to it
than that.

Turning his attention back to his firstborn, Harry watched her trying to furtively wipe her eyes.
His heart heavy, he went and sat down beside her and put his arm around her shoulder. She let him
hug her for a second before pulling away.

"What's wrong, Moppet?" he asked, trying to see her eyes.

She raised her head and looked at him. "I don't know."

And she sounded so lost and confused that Harry believed her.


*********

By the time the New Year rolled around, Emerson seemed to be doing a little better, though she
never regained the level of gaiety that she had had on Christmas morning. And to Harry and
Hermione's great frustration, they were still no closer to discovering what was bothering their
daughter. Emerson resisted every and all efforts to make her open up, and Hermione was beginning to
wonder whether her husband was really only joking when he talked about spiking Em's drink with
Veritaserum.

Granted, they did have a little more information to go on. It wasn't hard for them to deduce
that perhaps, it wouldn't be remiss for them to look into an American angle to Emerson's
troubles. Judging from Em's response to her grandparents' gift, it would have been folly
not to do so. Maybe something had happened in Dallas? But why would it wait until now to manifest
itself and what could *it* possibly be? It didn't make any sense, but in their 'Thank
You' letter to Herb and Enigi, they'd carefully inquired. Hopefully, the Thomases would be
able to offer some insight.

Additionally, after the end of the Christmas evening gathering at the Burrow, Hermione had had a
chance to talk to the eldest Weasley grandkids, the ones who were at Hogwarts with Em. Etienne told
her that Em had cut classes at least once, and that he knew for a fact that she wasn't
bothering with homework in a few subjects. Marc and Marissa spoke about how temperamental Emerson
had become, prone to flying off the handle and red-facedly apologizing later.

And all of them spoke of her tears. That she cried a lot lately, giving weak excuses but never
really answering their questions. On Boxing Day, at Woodhaven, Brandon Wood told Hermione that Em
had been crying in the Gryffindor common room the night before she came home for the holidays.
He'd assumed that it was problems with her dorm mate, Jerrianne Youngleer, that had made her
upset but he couldn't be sure.

But all of those were products, all effects of whatever it was, and none of them had any idea what
the cause was. At their aunt and uncle's request, the teenagers all racked their brains trying
to think of anything unusual that had happened to Emerson at school. Anything at all that
could've caused her to be changing so much in such a short period of time, and in such a
negative way.

But there wasn't anything out of the ordinary, not that they could think of.

Marissa had vocalized what all of them were thinking. "You know who you should talk to?
Carolyna Lupin. If anybody could know, she would. The two of them are as inseparable as
ever."

"Yeah," Harry said, when Hermione mentioned it to him. "Carolyna. That's who we
need to talk to."

Hermione sighed. "But the whole Lupin family is still in Wiesbaden, Germany, remember? Tonks
told me that they planned to be back by January second, which was yesterday. But apparently, her
father's relatives managed to convince them to stay another week. So now, we'll be lucky if
we manage to talk to Carolyna for five minutes before they board the Hogwarts Express to school
next week. Since, of course, it's unthinkable for us to interrupt the poor girl's holiday
with stuff like this. Besides, I don't know if she would be honest with us. Remember her
response to that letter I sent?"

"Yeah."

Hermione sighed. Before the beginning of the Christmas holiday, she had sent a letter to Carolyna,
asking her if she knew of anything negative that had happened to Emerson at school. Lyna had
written back that no, there wasn't anything, unless one counted struggles with their dormmates.
Somehow, Hermione knew that Carolyna wasn't being truthful, but she hadn't had a chance to
talk to her in person.

Harry made a sound of frustration, rubbing the back of his unruly head. "But why does Emerson
have to be so stubborn? What does she think will happen if she talked to us? Why is she so
stubborn, Hermione?"

*Because she is your daughter, and you're exactly the same way.*

But Hermione didn't say the thought out loud. He didn't need to hear something like that
right now, not when he was already so vexed. Instead, she reached up to rub his neck muscles, which
were hard with tension. He groaned softly, his eyes drifting shut, but they flew open again when
they heard Emerson's voice drifting in from the other room.

She was singing something, wordlessly, but it wasn't humming. Rather, she was vocalizing long,
wavering notes in what seemed like no discernible pattern. Hermione's hand dropped away from
Harry's neck as he leaned back, listening. Perhaps Em wasn't aware that they could hear her
because there was a completely unguarded quality, a vulnerability, about her voice when she finally
broke into words.

*Your eyes seek conclusion in all this confusion of mine
Though you and I both know,
It's only the warm glow of wine*

Hermione felt Harry glance over at her and turned to look back at him. He was eyeing her
quizzically and she shrugged.

*That's got you to feeling this way
But I don't care; I want you to stay
Just hold me and tell me
You'll be here to love me today*

Harry's look had changed from puzzlement to alarm as he stared in the direction of their
daughter's voice. His head whipped around to frown at Hermione, his eyes wide. "Isn't
she rather young to be singing something like that?"

Strangely, Hermione felt a strong urge to giggle but she could see that her husband was genuinely
disturbed. His little girl was growing up and perhaps, before, he hadn't really gotten what
that meant. But it was as if he'd suddenly had an epiphany that he didn't like very
much.

"Don't worry about it," she said gently, reaching out to pat his hand.
"She's just singing. I'm sure she doesn't mean it like that."

Harry didn't look convinced and it didn't help that right then, their daughter was
passionately warbling that:

*Who cares what the night watchmen say?
The stage has been set for the play.
Just hold me and tell me
You'll be here to love me today.*

Harry seemed suddenly agitated, no doubt visions racing through his head of all the
one-track-minded males of the world lining up to pursue his newly-adolescent daughter. Hermione
could practically see him formulating ways of protecting her, ticking off the checklist: *house
arrest, Impedimenta barrier, boarding school- shit, scratch that, she's already at boarding
school!*

"We need to talk to her about that stuff," he burst out suddenly, looking positively
terrified at the thought.

She tried really hard not to smile. "It's okay. I already did. And you don't need to
worry about her in that regard, at all. She's very mentally mature for her age even though,
physically, she's not a woman yet."

His brow furrowed, then cleared. "You mean-"

"Yeah. It hasn't happened yet. But I've already talked to her about all those
things."

The look of relief that crossed his face was swiftly followed by one of anxiety. "But maybe
she needs a male perspective. You know.. I mean.. it's blokes who will be after her, so she
should hear from a man..."

"You don't have to do that," she repeated gently. "She understands."

"Yes, but still-" he broke off, staring in what could only be described as terror in the
direction of the room where his twelve year old daughter was now singing about poets demanding
their pay and being left with nothing to say:

*'Cept hold me and tell me
You'll be here to love me today.*

And somehow Hermione knew that Harry would, in spite of all her assurances, overcome his anxiety
and talk to Em about "those things". The man was stubborn, just like his daughter, who
had now, through no fault of her own, given him one more thing to worry about.

Even as she resolutely resisted easing their minds about the biggest thing of all.


**********

Later that same night, Emerson was sitting on the porch swing, watching the snow drifting down
before her eyes. Everything sounded muffled to her ears, even though she could see the bare
branches of the trees whipping around in the wind. Neither could she feel even a puff of said
doubtless chilly wind. The entire porch was Charmed so that rain, heat or snow, it was nevertheless
a safe and comfortable place to lounge.

Em tucked her legs under her and sighed. She wished she could talk to Lyna. The one source of
comfort she had in this whole mess was that she had her best friend. Sometimes she did wish that
Lyna didn't know about the letters, because that way Em would be free of one more person
pressuring her to own up. And there was, of course, the added threat of Lyna spilling the beans to
some adult. Although, owing to Emerson's tearful begging, Lyna had feigned ignorance in
response to Mum's sleuthing letter. Quite frankly, Em was sure she would have buckled long ago
if she didn't have Carolyna to talk to.

'Even though, lately, you aren't being completely honest with her,' a little voice said
in her head.

Frowning, she shook her head, not wanting to think about that. Her friend wouldn't be home
until the day before their journey back to school, so she was stuck with the burden, all by
herself. Not that that was any different than usual, anyway. This was her mess and she had no idea
how to clean it up, or even if it was *possible* for it to be cleaned up.

The sliding doors opened and she turned to see her father walking towards her. Emerson closed her
eyes and suppressed a sigh. Oh Circé, couldn't she ever get a break? Couldn't she even have
one day free from harassment?

The swing dipped as her father sat down on the other end and Em opened her eyes to glance at him.
Maybe it was her imagination but he seemed somewhat nervous. The next second, she mentally scoffed.
Since when did her Dad get nervous?

"Lovely night, isn't it?" he said, gesturing at nothing in particular. The swirling
snow, she presumed.

"Um, yeah," she said, shooting him a puzzled glance.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes and he kept glancing at her and repeatedly cleaning his
glasses. Em felt steadily more uneasy. Had he, somehow, found out something? Had he-

"What's your opinion on boys?" her Dad asked suddenly, as if the words had simply
leapt from his throat.

*My opinion on- oh! That's why he seems nervous!* She hid a grin as relief washed over
her. For a minute there, she'd thought he'd found out her secret. And he couldn't. He
mustn't. "They're okay, I guess," she said, shrugging. "Why?"

Her Dad fidgeted. "Well- you're.. well, you're at the, er, age when.. um, certain
feelings.. er-"

And all of a sudden, Em felt a rush of love for her father. He was so uncomfortable and yet, he was
still trying to do it. "Dad, are you trying to talk to me about sex?"

She knew he was probably red-faced and was glad that it was night, because she was blushing too. As
much as she loved her Dad, there were just some things that were simply unfathomable to discuss
with him. And this was one of them.

"It's okay. Mum already did," she said softly, her insides writhing with
mortification.

She felt rather than heard him sigh, from relief most likely, and for the next few minutes, they
sat in silence.

"Emerson?"

She turned. He was looking at her with an odd expression. "If you ever have any questions,
about *anything*, you know you don't have to hesitate to ask. You know that,
right?"

She nodded, even as she knew there were some questions she would never ask him; questions that were
plaguing her right this moment, that had to do with her very existence. But no need to make him
worry. "I know. Thanks, Dad."

Again, they sat in now comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

"By the way, who's Jerrianne Youngleer?" Dad said, looking over at her.

Emerson sighed. "Oh, just a girl in my class who has her nose stuck so far up in the air,
it's a wonder she doesn't drown when it rains."

Her father laughed out loud for a good minute and Em felt a warm glow spread through her whole
being. "She's in Gryffindor?" he asked, chuckling.

"Yeah, and that blows. She hates me. Which doesn't exactly break my heart, cause I
can't stand her either." Em shrugged and tried to hold back a yawn. She should probably go
to bed soon, even though that surely meant terrorism by nightmares. But she didn't really want
to go. For the first time since September, she seemed to be having a smooth conversation with her
father and she didn't want it to break up yet.

"Well, Malfoy and I used to be that way and look at us now," Dad was saying.

"This is different," Em replied dubiously. "At least you two were in different
houses. You didn't have to be around each other the majority of the time. No, I don't think
this one is destined to change and that's perfectly fine with me. Just what kind of friend
could she possibly be? God knows, I already-" Her words died abruptly, as her heart suddenly
began to pound, an odd ringing erupting in her ears.

*She'd almost mentioned Smiley*. She'd almost placed her brothers and sister,
innocently sleeping in the house at her back, into the hands of someone who hated them. Because of
her. What was wrong with her, anyway?

"You already what?" her father asked and she could feel him watching her intently.

Striving hard to hide how shaken she was, Emerson shrugged. "Nothing. But I think I'll go
to bed now. I'm rather tired." Jumping up, she pecked him quickly on the cheek.
"Night, Dad."

And not waiting for a response, before he could question her further, she had crossed the porch and
slipped inside the comfortable house. She headed straight for her room, locked the door and
collapsed weakly on her bed.

She didn't move for a long time, as the tears rolled sideways across her face to plop
annoyingly into her ears. And the thought that was taking precedence in her mind was that even
though she was in a house full of warm and loving people, she had never ever felt more alone.


**********

"Are you sure you have everything?" Hermione asked Em on the morning that the young girl
would be returning to school aboard the Hogwarts Express. Hermione was concerned about her
daughter, who was looking like she hadn't had a wink of sleep all night. Her eyes were red and
there were dark circles under them.

Em smiled tightly. "Yeah, I'm sure. But I need to use the loo first, before we
go."

"Okay, we'll wait for you in the car," Hermione said.

After five minutes, though, when Em still hadn't come out, Hermione went back inside. Upon
reaching the bathroom door, she raised her hand to knock but paused when she heard what sounded
like muffled sobs coming from within. Alarmed, she quickly rapped on the door. "Emerson? Are
you alright?"

The sobs ceased abruptly, and Hermione heard water begin to run. Checking the doorknob, she
realized that it was unlocked and opened the door. Her daughter was leaning over the sink,
splashing water onto her face. She closed the door behind her and walked over. "Are you okay?
What's wrong?"

Em looked up at her, her eyes puffy and suddenly launched herself into her mother's arms.
Startled, Hermione hugged her, feeling the young girl shaking. What was going on? Oh please, God,
what was wrong? What was happening to her daughter?

"I don't w-want to go back to s-school," Emerson sobbed, clinging to her and Hermione
wanted to cry at the utter misery permeating her daughter's voice.

"Why not, sweetheart? Please tell me. Let me help," she pleaded, desperately.

She felt Em stiffen slightly and pull away. She watched her daughter wipe her eyes with shaking
hands and gather her hair back from her face. And Hermione knew that Em wasn't going to tell
her. Even with all the anguish she seemed to be enduring, the girl still refused to share it, still
refused to trust them with whatever it was that was hurting her.

The ride to King's Cross was tense and strained, Harry and Hermione both having strong senses
of foreboding. But they hugged her good-bye, watched Em crying into Vina's hair, grinning
through her tears at Budget, whispering something into Ben's ear that made him grin too.

They didn't get a chance to talk to Carolyna Lupin, since she arrived late with barely two
minutes to spare. So that part was a bust. Now they could only hope that their request to the
Hogwarts Professors (and the Weasley grandkids) to please keep an eye on their daughter and report
any unusual activity to them immediately would provide some answers.

Before it was too late.

"I love you guys," Em said with a watery smile, just as the huge scarlet engine began to
move. The train picked up speed, moving away and Hermione had a sudden irrational urge to jump
forward and grab Emerson away from it. To keep her at home, where she would be safe.

But safe from what? Or was it, from whom? And why?


******

**End Notes:**

Angsty, eh? :)

1. The line "If you two kissed Jerrianne's arse any harder, you'd be drawing
blood" is adapted from one uttered on a recent "Saturday Night Live" episode.

2. The little poem that Em and Brandon recite ("Happiness is being home for Christmas")
is something I memorized from a Christmas card when I was a very little girl. I know, I'm
weird.

3. The locket that Em receives from her grandparents is inspired by this one:
http://www.classic-charms.com/14kheartlocket19.html

4. "*What Child Is This?*" is a traditional Christmas hymn.

5. The other song that Em sings is "*Be Here To Love Me*" by Norah Jones. Actually,
whenever I imagine Emerson singing, it's Norah Jones's voice that I hear in my head :)
She's awesome!

6. Finally, please review!





18. Underneath
--------------

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone for those lovely reviews of chapter 16. I really appreciate it
very, very much! And I promise that it won't be very long before Harry and Hermione find out, I
promise! Stay with me, y'all - and expect the angst meter to inch deep into the red, before
that moment arrives. There will be, of course, bouts of humor and/or.. ahem.. heat, while y'all
wait :)

The title of this chapter (as well as the lyrics at the end) are from the song
"*Underneath*" by the band, Hanson (and yes, they're the reason for my author
name, if anyone wonders.)

And, as always, many, many thanks to **Liss** for the wonderful beta. Your help and suggestions
are invaluable. Thank you kindly.
**

Chapter Seventeen - Underneath**


*Dear Merry,*

*Hey! How're you doing? I hope this finds you well. Did you have a good Christmas? Mine went
well; it was great being home again and I won't deny that I got some very nice presents! And
Happy New Year, of course.*

*How's Blake? I swear, he's one of the cutest babies I've ever seen and he was so
sweet too! He must be so big now, right? Give him a kiss and a cuddle for me and say hi to Dave as
well. Oh, and Lyna says hello! We had so much fun with you guys in Dallas. Hopefully one day, we
can visit again. Maybe I'll get another piercing. Haha, just kidding! Or maybe you and Dave and
Blake could come visit us here.*

*I'm back at school now, and I'm sure you know how that is. Makes me wonder, did you and
Julia ever have any enemies at school? If so, how did you deal with them? I don't think me and
this particular classmate will ever be friends. Did Julia ever know anybody like that, that she
never became friends with, even after becoming adults? Honestly, some people. The concept of even
having occasional civilized conversations with them is just unfathomable.*

*Gotta go. I'm writing this in History of Magic and I'm supposed to be taking notes...
booorrrinng. Hope to hear from you soon!*

*Love,*
*Emerson*
*

********
* *Smiley,*

*Hope you don't mind my calling you that, especially since I don't even know your name.
Seeing as how you never bothered to share that basic piece of information. But then again, you
never use my name in your letters.*

*I've read every single thing you sent me, even when I didn't want to, and I haven't
told anyone about the letters. In other words, I've been good. Since you're supposed to be
my "teacher", doesn't that count for something? Don't I get credit or a sticker
or something?*

*I would like to know who you are. Why are you writing to me? If you knew Julia, you must have
known about me from the very beginning. Why did you choose to start writing to me now? Have I done
something to you that I'm not aware of? Your letters haven't exactly been nice to me, and
it's very unfair that I don't even know who seems to hate me so much and what I did to make
you hate me in the first place.*

*I don't think this is asking too much. I promise I won't tell anyone your name. I'm
sorry for whatever it was that I did to upset you, which is a very wide statement, isn't it?
Cause I don't even know you! Or do I?*

*I hope you'll answer my request. Thank you.*

*Emerson Potter*

******

"I hope this works," Emerson said worriedly to Lyna, as they watched the small grey owl
soar away.

It was their second day back at school and the girls were in the Owlery. The plan had popped into
Emerson's head fully-formed at dinner last night. There hadn't been a letter from Smiley on
the first day, contrary to her fears, but she knew it wouldn't be long before one would
arrive.

After the ordeal that was Christmas, with fighting her parents' efforts to make her open up,
Emerson was extremely angry at Smiley. And that wasn't even the fucker's real name, was it?
She deserved to, at the very least, know who was writing to her. If she was going to go through all
this shit, didn't she have that basic right?

But how to go about contacting the letter writer? Every single one of the owls always took off
within a minute of dropping their post. With no return address nor - it went back to that issue! -
a friggin' *name* to send a letter to, there seemed to be no way at all.

Strangely, it was Marc Weasley who gave her the idea.

The sixth year had been attempting to discreetly hex another of Marissa's potential suitors but
had instead caught a wayward moth that had the misfortune of getting in the spell's line of
fire. The results were intriguing, if not a little gross, to say the least, but Em had jumped up
and grabbed Carolyna's hand to steer her somewhere private.

"What if I could Petrify the next owl that delivers a letter from Smiley?" Em had blurted
as soon as they were alone.

Lyna gaped at her as if she'd spoken gibberish. "Um.. what?"

"The owl, Lyna! What if I could Petrify the owl? If I then tied a letter to the owl,
wouldn't it go back to the person who sent it?"

Her friend frowned. "I don't know. Couldn't that hurt the owl?"

"Frankly, I'm not really concerned about that right now," Emerson said, somewhat
irritably. "I need to get a letter back to this person, Lyna. I have to know who this
is."

Carolyna looked at her with that expression that Em knew signaled another spinning of the record
entitled: "No, Baby, You Got to Tell an Adult!"

"Don't say it, Carolyna, please," Em said pleadingly, before her friend could open
her mouth. "I can't deal with it right now, okay? Just tell me, do you think it would
work?"

She watched her friend walk over to the window ledge and perch on the edge. For a minute, Em
thought Lyna wasn't going to say anything at all but then she nodded. "It could. But
wouldn't everyone want to know what you're doing, Petrifying an owl at the breakfast
table?"

Relief washed over Em as she hurried over to stand in front of the other girl. "Yeah, they
would. But I figured, I would skip breakfast and the owl will have to come find me wherever I
happen to be. I was thinking the Owlery, cause then it wouldn't be suspicious for an owl to be
entering there. Will you help me?"

"Of course I will, Em. How can you even ask?" her friend said softly and Emerson smiled
at her.

They put the plan into action immediately after dinner. Emerson wrote the letter and put it in her
bag. The next day at breakfast time, she and Lyna parted ways; Em went to the Owlery to wait for
Smiley's letter and Lyna went to the Great Hall to grab some toast and fruit.

Waiting in the Owlery, at first Emerson had felt mildly exhilarated. At last, she was doing
something! Instead of just sitting back and taking it, she was being proactive. She was trying to
get to the bottom of this painful mess, the first step of which involved finding out this
person's identity.

She'd already tried another tack in that quest, with her letter to Merry. Since Smiley went on
and on so negatively about Julia, Em figured that they'd known each other at school. And if
Smiley had known Julia, she had to have known Merry too. So maybe Merry would know. Of course she
couldn't just come out and ask Merry if there was anybody at school with them who could
possibly have hated Julia enough to be so mean to Julia's daughter, who hadn't ever done
anything to him/her.

But after almost fifteen minutes of sitting on the floor beside one of the open windows, watching
various owls come and go, she'd begun to worry about her plan. She'd cleared the ground of
owl droppings and animal bones before she sat, and had made sure to sit out of the line of fire of
any fresh deposits, but how long could she stay there? What if she missed the owl when trying to
cast the spell? What if an owl didn't come at all?

The sack of despair which weighed worlds was beginning to overwhelm her already bruised and
battered psyche when her best friend arrived, and Em had honestly never been so glad to see her
before. They sat in tense silence for another ten minutes before another rush of wings made them
look up.

"There's another one coming in," Lyna had said, peering at the bird that was coming
steadily closer from the other side of the room. "And- does it- yes! It has a letter tied to
its leg!" She turned around to look back at Em. "Get ready."

Emerson nodded, wiping her suddenly sweaty hands on her robes and gripping her wand tighter. The
owl, a small grey one, swooped over the overhanging beam in a rush, Emerson raised her wand,
pointed it and shouted, "*Petrificus Totalus!*"

The bird froze in mid-flight and began to fall, but Lyna caught it before it could hit the ground.
The two girls crowded around it, Emerson's heart pounding from both nerves and the thrill of
success. With trembling hands, she untied the letter from the owl's leg and opened it to check
that it really was from the mysterious letter writer.

It was and she heaved a sigh of relief. "Keep holding him, Lyna, just in case the charm wears
off or something," she said hurriedly, as she fumbled inside her bag for the letter she'd
written.

She tied her letter to the bird's leg, trying to ignore the way the big, shocked eyes regarded
her; as if she was violating it or something. But then again, owls always have big, shocked eyes,
she told herself.

After tucking a Sickle into the bird's purse, she looked it straight in its huge eyes and said,
"Take this letter back to the person who sent you. And sorry about this, okay?" She
quickly removed the *Petrificus* Charm, the bird sprang to life with an indigant squawk, gave
them both a cuff with its wings and hightailed it out of the Owlery.

Em sighed. "I hope this works," she repeated, and her friend smiled sympathetically and
draped a hand over her shoulder.

"I'm sure it will, don't worry. C'mon, though, let's get out of here. I
don't fancy eating breakfast with owl poop all over the place," Lyna said softly, and
Emerson allowed herself to be led from the room, silently praying that her plan would work. For the
better, because she was tired. She was so tired of fighting. Tired of her sadness, of her emotions.
She was so tired of being tired.

And she wanted to be free. Again.

"Eat up," Lyna urged her, shoving a piece of buttered toast into Em's hand. "We
only have fifteen minutes till class, and remember we have to climb a ridiculous number of stairs
to get there."

Emerson took a bite of her toast and tried not to think about the grey owl winging its way to the
evil bastard (or was it bitch?) who was harassing her. What kind of satisfaction could this person
possibly be getting out of this, anyway? How could someone have such an empty existence that they
felt the need to torment a twelve year old girl? Really, the nerve of some people!

"-but then we went to the town of Bremen," Lyna was saying in an overly-cheerful voice.
Em knew her friend was trying to distract her from her morose thoughts. "Remember the story?
The one with the animals who made music to scare off robbers?"

"Yeah," Em answered.

Lyna smiled. "They have this statue up of the animals, holding their instruments and
everything. It was actually kind of creepy, to tell the truth."

"Why?"

Her friend didn't answer and after a few seconds, Em looked over at her. Lyna was frozen in the
act of taking a bite out of a shiny green pear, her eyes wide. Following her gaze, Em saw what had
so arrested her friend, and couldn't resist cracking a wide grin. Ravenclaw fourth year Davis
Chapman was striding towards them, obviously on his way to class.

Em thought Davis looked rather bland, with his porcelain skin, pale eyebrows and eyelashes, ash
blond hair. But he had incredibly dark eyes, made all the more startling because of his light
features. So she could sort of see why her best friend thought he was cute.

The older boy drew abreast of them and Lyna gave a tiny squeak. It was clear to Em that her friend
wouldn't be able to muster the nerve to speak to him, and she knew Lyna would kick herself for
it later.

Coming quickly to a decision, she took matters into her own hands. "Hey. You're Davis
Chapman, right?"

Davis looked surprised, his eyes landing first on Emerson then sliding over to Carolyna. And
lingering. "Yeah, I am. You're Anna Lupin's sister, aren't you?" he said,
addressing the stupefied brunette.

Lyna nodded mutely and blushed crimson, the pear clutched tightly in her hand.

Emerson suppressed a surprised snicker at Davis's complete dismissal of her, so captivated by
Carolyna was he!

"Cool," he said, looking at Lyna and they probably would've continued staring at each
other indefinitely, if Em hadn't cleared her throat.

"Erm.. we have.. y'know.. class?"

Davis seemed to come to himself with a jerk, and he looked at Em as if only just realizing that she
was there. "Oh, yeah. Well, I guess I'll see you around, Carolyna. Emerson."

He turned and half-walked, half-jogged away and with a smirk, Em watched her friend watch his
retreating back.

"Damn, girl! You have it bad!" she said with a laugh.

Lyna groaned. "Oh, kill me now, Em, please!"

"What on earth for?"

"I couldn't even say one word to him! He must think I'm a complete retard!"

Em laughed and threw a hand over her shoulder. "Are you kidding me? Words weren't needed,
Lyna! Your eyes were doing the talking. And from the way he was staring, I do believe he got the
message loud and clear, and didn't mind what he heard either."

Her friend looked at her, her face a mixture of embarrassment and hope. "You think
so?"

"Of course I think so, Carolyna Lupin! The bloke didn't even notice I was there. If he
doesn't like you back, I'll kiss Moaning Myrtle and you know I can't stand her. Always
crooning on about how I could've been her and Dad's love child. And it's not
funny!"

Her best friend's slightly giddy laughter propelled Emerson all the way to the Transfiguration
classroom. And for a while, for a brief, blessed while, she forgot the sack that weighed worlds
which she carried woefully upon her young shoulders.


******

Cristella could not believe her eyes when, upon hearing a *tap, tap* on her window, she looked
up to see the small grey owl that she'd sent that morning hovering outside the glass. Glancing
around to make sure that she was alone, she grabbed her wand and locked and soundproofed her
office. Her boss wasn't in yet, and none of the young interns would dare barge into the room
without her verbal consent.

Letting the owl in, she untied the letter from its leg and the bird rapidly took off, as if afraid
that it would be forced into service again if it lingered.

But the woman didn't notice. Her blue eyes were glued to the piece of parchment that she held
in her hand, and as she read the words written in the fat, looping cursive of Emerson Potter, she
had to sit down. She had to sit down because if she remained standing, surely the vast tidal surge
of emotion that consumed her would have knocked her swiftly to the floor.

She laid the letter on her desk and gaped, open-mouthed. For the first few seconds, surprise, fear,
shock and disbelief warred for dominance inside her head, but in the end, the victor wasn't any
of them. In the end, the emotion which consumed her was rage.

Pure, undulated rage.

How dare- that little brat- that- Cristella's hands shook in her fury. Never had she imagined
that Emerson Potter would find a way to contact her! She had deliberately done things this way,
never sharing her name; instructing the owls to leave immediately after their deliveries. This
closed system of logic allowed no input or criticism from her target, no defense, hence ensuring
the development of feelings of powerlessness, fear and dependency.

And now this-

Infuriated, the woman grabbed the large crystal paperweight on her desk and flung it with all her
might. It collided with the framed picture of London's skyline that hung on the opposite wall,
and the sound of glass connecting fatally with glass yanked her back to her senses.

No, she couldn't lose it like this. Not now. She'd come too far. "Get a hold of
yourself, Cristella. Calm down."

She leaned back and closed her eyes, taking deep, cleansing breaths, willing the blood to stop its
frantic pounding in her ears, the sweat to evaporate from her brow. Slowly, her manic attack
subsided and her hands stopped shaking.

She opened her eyes again and picked up the parchment. Forcing herself to continue breathing
deeply, she reread the short missive, noting the wording, the slight belligerence of the young girl
with such nerve.

Oh, she had known it! She'd known it all along that Emerson Potter was exactly like the woman
who had given her birth. That same haughtiness, that same superiority that shone through any
medium-

*I would like to know who you are.*

"As if just because she would like that, I'm just going to scramble to satisfy her, to
indulge her, to cater to her," Cristella muttered darkly, her features twisted into a
murderous scowl. Her eyes scanned the parchment, rereading certain lines repeatedly. "*I
haven't told anyone... I won't tell anyone your name.* Really? Anyone?"

If someone had been present to witness it, they would've been chilled to the marrow by how
swiftly the look of murder on the woman's face morphed into a sickening smile. Because
she'd just realized something. That pompous little girl had just given her a reason to use
something hard-earned that she'd been sitting on. She hadn't intended to use it yet, had
been saving it as some kind of future pièce de résistance.

But the time seemed to be ripe for it. The girl clearly wasn't learning her lesson. So, time
for harsher measures. Time for the brutal, unvarnished truth.

Beginning tomorrow.


******

To Emerson's surprise, Merry's response came the very next day. It was a very pleasant
letter, full of news about Merry's infant son, Blake, but completely devoid of anything useful
towards Em's quest. Merry had simply said not to worry herself with such things, or with people
who made one feel down.

'Fat lot of help that was,' Em thought dejectedly, folding the letter. Although she
couldn't help but smile as she gazed at the image of the chubby, blond baby that laughed and
kicked in the picture Merry had sent.

She was feeling tense and anxious because this was her third day back at school, which definitely
meant it was a Bashing Day. Smiley would surely have gotten her letter by now. Would the letter
writer grant her request? Would she finally find out the identity of her tormentor? She
couldn't help hoping, even as she told herself not to do that very thing.

Emerson could barely eat her breakfast, so big was the lump of dread in her throat as she awaited
the inevitable owl. Perhaps it was her imagination, but it seemed that almost all her Weasley
"cousins" were watching her more or less intently, and she tried hard not to seem
abnormal in any way. She didn't think she could deal with another interrogation right
now.

Breakfast passed without any owl arriving, but that didn't put Em at ease at all. In fact, it
made her even more apprehensive, because didn't that mean Smiley was being extra careful with
what he or she sent? Em tried her hardest to get through her day, even as she kept straining her
ears for the sound of wings headed her way.

It wasn't until classes had ended and she was in her room changing out of her school robes that
she noticed the bird hovering at her window. Her heart suddenly went into overdrive and her hands
shook madly as she opened the latch to let the owl in. She unfastened the envelope, which felt
thicker than usual, and the bird sped away so fast, it was almost a blur.

"You have been warned, eh?" Emerson murmured sardonically, watching the speck disappear
behind the tree line of the Forbidden Forest.

With a sigh, she climbed onto her bed and closed the hangings. Carolyna had gone to a meeting of
her Gobstones club immediately after their last class and likely wouldn't be back for another
hour, at least.

'If I were on the Quidditch team, I'd likely be in practice right now,' Em thought
sadly, as she stared at the as yet unopened envelope. She tried to see how long she could go
without opening it and found that she couldn't even last five minutes before she was tearing
the seal.

*Pathetic. It's as if I'm addicted to this shit. Like Olivia and her fags.*

The thought upset her so much that angry tears rolled down her cheeks before she had even unfolded
the letter. She wiped them away but as she began to read, they began coming faster and
furiously.


*Kiddo,

I got your letter. And first, I must commend you on discovering a way to get in touch with me. I
have never intended for you to be able to do that, and rest assured that you will never succeed
again.

With that said, who do you think you are? That little stunt you pulled is exactly the reason for my
efforts to educate you, which sadly, seem to have been in vain thus far. Because, had my lessons
been effective, you would never have thought yourself so lofty as to make the request of me that
you made. You had no right to ask me such a thing. I am your elder, your superior. I decide what
you will learn, and when. I decide if you will be rewarded, how and how much.

And while, perhaps, I might've been considering such an action, your pomposity just cost you
any such thing. For a long time, if ever.

Now, I must address something you said in your letter. You said that you haven't told anyone
about my correspondence to you. See, I knew you had a problem with elevating yourself, which is
sad, considering that you have nothing to elevate. You are an impure product, contaminating the
very people who have erroneously embraced you as family. I have tried and tried to impart that to
you, but I'm still not sure if you have deigned to grasp it.

But, from your letter, I've deduced that you also are a liar. Though why I was surprised by
that discovery, I do not know. Perhaps I was trying to think something good of you? But you said
you haven't told anyone about my letters. Really? Do you think I'm a fool? Is that what you
think? Do you think I don't know about one Carolyna Lupin? Or, oh! Could it possibly be that
you don't consider Carolyna to be important enough to be counted as "anyone"?

Have you really not told anyone about the letters? Because I know for sure that you've told
Carolyna Lupin. So which is it? Are you a bold-faced liar - or are you so arrogant that you
don't consider the girl who sticks with you despite your impurity as "anyone"?

Do you see what I have to deal with? Is it fair to the Lupin girl, to be devoting so much of
herself, her time and energy to someone so ungrateful? Think about it.

Now, enclosed is something that I sincerely hadn't wanted to ever send you. But your
transgressions merit it being sent. It is for your own good. Read it and learn from it, to quote my
first letter.

You will be hearing from me sooner than you think. Oh, and I saw your brothers at school the other
day. "Budget" is very cute, isn't he? It would be very sad if that had to
change.*


"Oh my God, oh my God," Emerson sobbed repeatedly, curling into a ball on her bed,
clutching her stomach.

She was numb, she was in pain, she was weightless, suffocating, drowning, all at the same time,
weighed down by the sack. Which had swelled beyond the weight of worlds, fast approaching the
weight of universes, galaxies, infinity.

*Smiley knew*. Smiley knew about Lyna. Smiley knew about Budget. Only closest family and
friends knew the nickname and called him that. How had Smiley found out? How had this monster
gotten so close to her family?

'You know how,' a cold voice hissed inside her head. 'It's because of
you.'

*No! It- I won't think it!*

Blindly trying to distract herself, Emerson fumbled with the other document that had been enclosed
by the letter writer. In her distress, she tore a long corner of the paper but not before she saw
that it appeared to be some sort of medical chart.

The horror swelled within her as she took in the barely legible words that Julia's doctor had
scrawled. About how his patient was being supremely difficult, "*letting her emotions rule
her head with ideas that are neither practical nor feasible*". About how his patient was
ignoring his instructions, convinced that the life she carried within her deserved to live.
"*Patient doesn't seem to realize that the life she carries doesn't have much of a
chance if she herself loses her life. Which seems more and more the likely outcome*."

Emerson was crying harder than she ever had before, but her eyes refused to leave the paper,
refused to stop the influx of horrific information that was so bluntly scribbled on the parchment
before her. She could do nothing but keep reading, to the very end.

"*Patient delivered a surprisingly healthy infant, but the battle is almost surely lost for
the patient herself. We waited too long. Patient would've had a dramatically better chance if
she had followed my first suggestion: abortion.*"

"*Time of Death: 22:38. 09/28/06. File Closed.*"

Abruptly, her tears stopped and she just lay there, numbly. She couldn't move, couldn't
blink, couldn't do anything but breathe, exist. Unlike the woman who was lost forever, because
her ideas had been neither practical nor feasible.

*I am neither practical nor feasible.*

With that thought, her tears resumed, geyser-like, but she didn't bother trying to staunch
them. She didn't even bother to blow her nose, choosing instead to sniffle fruitlessly and
miserably. She didn't want to move ever again.

How long she lay like that, she didn't know. It might've been hours, it might've been
months. The room darkened around her and only when the door of her room opened did she so much as
twitch. She listened as someone entered and paused by her bed, and the sobs welled up within her
again and threatened to overwhelm.

Carolyna. Her wonderful, loyal friend; whom Smiley now appeared to have set sights on.

"Emerson?"

Em squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for what she had to do, what she needed to do.

Her hangings were pulled apart. "Emerson? What's happened now? What's wrong,
Em?"

How could she not know what was wrong? How could she *ask* what was wrong? Something snapped
inside Emerson and she was suddenly furious. She looked up and glared at her friend, her best
friend since they were five years old. "What's wrong, Carolyna, is that you are getting on
my fucking nerves. So why don't you just buzz off and leave me alone?!"

A shocked and profoundly hurt look settled on Lyna's face and Emerson turned away, unable to
bear it, feeling the misery already swirling within her now being intermingled with deep disgust at
herself. But wasn't this the only way to keep her safe? She had to do this. She must.

"I know what you're doing, Emerson. You're trying to push me away because you're
starting to believe the lies in those letters, aren't you?" Lyna's voice was strained
and Em heard her sniffle. Her own tears started up again; apparently, her well of salt water
hadn't yet run dry.

"You can shut everyone else out, but not me. I won't let you. You're my best friend,
Emerson, and if I don't stand beside you, who will? Who will hold your hand? And I won't
leave you alone because I can be as stubborn as you are, Em. So you can either accept it or be even
more miserable. Your choice. Cause I'm not going anywhere."

A flood of relief swept through Emerson's whole being as she spun around. "Oh, Lyna!"
she cried as she threw her arms around her friend. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean that!
I'm sorry, Lyna!"

"I know you didn't," Lyna choked, and she seemed to be crying as hard as Em
was.

"Oh God, I can't do this anymore," Emerson sobbed. "But I have to!"

Her friend pulled away, her cheeks tear-stained. "What are you talking about? We've waited
too long, Em! We have to, right now, go to-"

"NO!" Em shrieked, hysterically. "Smiley knows, Lyna! Smiley knows about
Budget!"

"Budget? What about him?"

Emerson wiped her nose on her sleeve, trying to calm herself down, to make her friend understand.
Her voice cracked with the intensity of her misery. "Only our families and friends know
Luke's nickname, right? We're the only ones who call him 'Budget'. But in her
letter, Smiley called him "Budget". Can't you see? I c-can't tell anyone! She
would hurt him! And it would be m-my fault!"

"Oh, Merlin," Lyna sobbed. "This is too much, Emerson. This is b-bigger than us now.
If you d-don't do it, I w-will, I swear to God!"

"Please, Lyna. Just give me two days, please? Please don't tell anyone. Two days?" Em
pleaded desperately, tears streaming down her cheeks. She grasped her best friend's hands.
"Promise me. Promise me, Lyna, that you won't tell anyone yet. Just give me two days to
figure something out. Please."

It seemed to take forever but finally, Carolyna nodded. "Two days. And that's
it."

The two girls hugged each other and cried some more, neither of them wanting to leave the other,
not even to go down to dinner. They only parted when it was time for bed and Emerson lay under her
covers, terrified and overwhelmed by the horrendous shadow that loomed over her.

Two days.


*******

*Is there resolution for this pain that I'm in?
Sitting all alone in this place
Even though we're here face to face
There is nothing gone but there's something wrong

Can't you see that I'm stuck here
Underneath*





19. Losing Yourself (Day One)
-----------------------------

**A/N:** Thanks for the gorgeous reviews of the last chapter! Much appreciated! And
**matildabear**, yes, Will's mother is someone I invented but she's only been mentioned
by name once in the whole fic, and not in a way that anyone would make an immediate connection. So
don't worry about not recalling her; it's intentional on my part :) As for your other
questions, I can't answer any of them yet except for the Dumbledore one, which is: yes, he died
in the 2nd war.

Enormous thanks to **Liss** for the beta.
**

Chapter Eighteen - Losing Yourself (Day One)**


"Okay, here you go. One for Budget, one for Vina," Harry Potter said, as he handed each
of his two youngest children a chocolate chip cookie. "Go on, then. And remember what I said
about eating on the carpet."

His children nodded happily before pivoting around and racing for the family room, where glasses of
cold milk were already awaiting them. Harry smiled to himself and headed back into the kitchen,
with the intention of starting dinner.

He had taken the day off from work to stay home with the kids, since Hermione had had to go to St.
Mungo's early that morning for some kind of all-day seminar. He'd taken the boys to school,
before returning home to devote his undivided attention to a delighted Davina, which resulted in
him drinking countless gallons of imaginary tea from tiny flower-patterned teacups.

Then he'd had to pick up Budget from school and after lunch, the youngsters had taken a nap.
Harry had used the downtime to obsess over the notes that he and Hermione had compiled about
Emerson's recent behavior, from what little they'd been able to gleam. But it had been a
lesson in futility and frustration, and to unwind, he'd mixed up a huge batch of chocolate chip
cookies. His children would surely put a good-sized dent in the goodies, but there would still be
enough to take to the Burrow, most likely.

Deciding that perhaps a nice roast would be good for their evening meal, Harry headed for the
enormous, brushed steel refrigerator, intending to check their supplies. Just as he reached it,
however, a loud wail drifted in from the room where his children had trotted off to.

Frowning, Harry spun around and hurried in the direction of the sound. Upon reaching the family
room, he paused in the doorway and took in the scene before him. He only needed a few seconds'
observation to deduce exactly what had happened.

Davina was sitting on the floor, wailing, and Luke was beside her, patting her back. There was
something incredibly guilty about his stance and Harry sighed as he walked over.

The small girl looked up, her little face awash with tears, and scrambled immediately into her
father's arms. Cradling her, Harry lowered himself to the floor beside Luke, who hadn't
moved.

"Do you know what's wrong with your sister, Luke?" Harry asked gently, smoothing
Davina's wild russet-tinged ringlets.

Luke nodded slowly without raising his head.

"What's wrong with her?"

The little boy mumbled something and Harry leaned forward. "I'm sorry, I didn't
understand you."

"She wants her cookie, but it's in my throat," Budget replied mournfully, finally
looking up, his green eyes wide and miserable.

Harry seriously had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from bursting out laughing at his
son's phrasing. That would never do, and after a few seconds of struggle, he managed somehow to
force a sigh. "How did Vina's cookie get into your throat, Budget?"

"I put it there," Luke lamented woefully. "I ate my cookie too fast, Daddy, and my
mouth wanted more. So I took Vina's."

Harry dropped a kiss on his daughter's head, looking grave. "Was that the right thing to
do?"

His son shook his head morosely.

"So what do you need to do now?"

Without a second's hesitation, Luke sprang up and threw his arms around his little sister.
"I'm really sorry that I took your cookie, Vina. It didn't taste very good, anyway,
cause it was wrong that I took it so it got 'ffected. I'll give you my dessert at dinner
tonight, okay?"

Davina touched her brother's face with one little hand, silently letting him know that she
forgave him, and Luke beamed. Feeling suddenly conflicted with the urge to both laugh and cry,
Harry gathered Luke onto his lap too, his heart swelling with love as he held them. He knew he
probably should get up and give Vina another cookie; he had made a huge batch after all. But the
little boy and girl snuggled against him and he wouldn't have dislodged them for all the gold
in Gringotts.

Merlin, they were growing up so fast! Too fast, to be completely honest. Who would think that with
all the unconventional things that had happened in his life - including, but not limited to,
surviving Voldemort as an infant, saving the Sorcerer's Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, the
final defeat of Voldemort, owning a progressively successful Quidditch franchise - that Harry
Potter would consider his children to be his greatest achievement? All those things, all the
accomplishments of his life and career paled in comparison to these wonderful beings that he and
Hermione had created.

And he loved them more than life. There was nothing he wouldn't do for them, to keep them safe
and happy.

Harry could feel himself beginning to choke up as he realized that at least one of his children was
not very happy at all, despite all his efforts, despite all the heart-aching love he had for her.
Why? What had happened, what was happening to his daughter? Oh God, why hadn't he learned
Leglimency in addition to Occulumency? The irony galled him, that he could be *the* Harry
Potter, with all that that represented and its accompanying hyperbole, and yet be so fucking
helpless with his own child.

"Come, Vina! Let's go draw some pictures," Luke said suddenly, wiggling out of his
father's embrace and grabbing his sister's hand.

Davina giggled and scrambled up, toddling away behind her brother without a backward glance. Harry
watched them go with a smile and suddenly the laughter he'd been holding in burst forth. He
laughed until tears ran down his cheeks, but a part of him knew that some of his tears weren't
from laughter.

He laughed from joy, amusement and pride. And he cried. From fear, from confusion, worry and
frustration. He cried, for what, he didn't know.


********

With the coming of morning, Emerson was no closer to a solution than the night before. Why had she
asked for two days, of all amounts? Did she possibly believe that she could, in two days, do what
she hadn't been able to do in months?

The one solution that her best friend had been woodpecking her with from the very beginning was now
starting to hammer out its own cadence inside her head. But could she do it? Could she tell her
parents about this? What about Smiley's threats? What about Smiley knowing Luke's nickname?
*"Budget" is very cute, isn't he?* She couldn't stand it, she couldn't
*bear* it if anything happened to any of them because of her.

Feeling tears prickling at her eyelids, as usual, Emerson took a deep breath and laid her head on
her desk. She was in Potions class, and could vaguely recall Professor Snape saying something about
Swelling Solutions. But her mind was occupied with other things, and she was so tired. She
hadn't been able to sleep very much at all last night.

Professor Snape had gone into his office for something, which was why Em could chance ignoring her
potion for a few minutes. Unfortunately, that meant others could also do the same.

"Look at her," sneered a familiar voice behind her. "You'd think it would be
obvious that nighttime is for sleeping, daytime is bustling about, hello? But she's trying to
sleep now. What a weirdo."

Emerson rolled her eyes but didn't raise her head. "Yeah, yeah. I'm a freak. I
actually wipe my own arse, imagine that." She gave a great gasp. "I put milk in before
the cereal!"

The rest of the class snorted but before Jerrianne could think up some inane comeback, the Potions
Master ambled back into the room and the class settled down again. For which, Em was grateful; as
far as she was concerned, the less thought spent on Jerrianne Youngleer and her sheep, the better.
She didn't have time for such triviality anymore.

Determined to at least try to make her potion, she began chopping ingredients, casting Lyna a weak
smile, who had been eyeing her worriedly. Her friend smiled back just as weakly, and for the next
few minutes, they concentrated on their Swelling Solutions. Which meant that neither of them
noticed that Jerrianne and the Fakers were whispering together and casting them noxious
glances.

Em thought her potion was rather runny, but at least she'd tried to do it. Which was more
effort than she'd put forward in any one subject lately. She honestly kept expecting to be
called to the Heamistress's office to answer for the dramatic drop in the quality of her
schoolwork, but so far, that hadn't happened.

'Yet,' she thought sardonically, as she carried her cauldron and other instruments into the
storage cupboard.

Other students were milling around, putting their stuff away, and just as Em reached her assigned
shelf, she was suddenly jostled hard on both sides. She tried, but her hands couldn't maintain
their grip on her cauldron, and the heavy container fell to the stone floor with a loud crash. The
implements inside were flung out and the cauldron rolled and settled in such a way that she knew
there was now a large dent in it.

*Merlin's bloody teeth!* Irritated, she looked around to see who had bumped her and her
ire surged when she saw Janie and Maria smirking at her.

"Oops," said Maria, lightly slapping her forehead and Janie giggled.

Em glared at them. "You did it on purpose."

"No, it was an accident, fool," retorted Janie as she and Maria flounced back into the
classroom.

*An accident, my foot.* Knowing that she couldn't prove that it wasn't, Emerson
seethed as she started to pick up her instruments. Just as she reached her battered cauldron, she
happened to glance into the classroom, just in time to see Jerrianne give Janie and Maria what was
an unmistakable "two thumbs up".

And the tenuous hold she'd had on her temper snapped.

Before she'd even thought about it, she had drawn her wand and stalked into the classroom, her
ears ringing with fury. It was exactly this kind of passive-aggressiveness they'd used against
her and Lyna last year, and she'd more or less let it go. Well, things were different now. Her
life was already going to hell but if they thought she would just sit back and let them hasten her
arrival there, they were sorely mistaken.

The Fakers had turned to grin at each other, no doubt with pride at their mistress's non-verbal
praise, when Em raised her wand.

"Miss Potter, what do you-" began Professor Snape but Em had already shouted the first
incantation that came to her mind.

"*Confligere Petulcum*!"

The two girls' heads instantly jerked back then crashed together, as if each had suddenly
decided to head-butt the other. Every single person, with the exception of Emerson, winced at the
impact, as Janie and Maria cried out in unison, clutching their foreheads.

"Hopefully that will have knocked some self-respect into you. Though I highly doubt it!"
Em snapped, aware of the whole class gaping at her open-mouthed. Strangely, this only served to
piss her off even more.

"Emerson Potter, into my office, *right now*!"

Em turned and marched to Snape's office without another word. Flinging herself into the chair
across from his desk, she fumed, the blood pounding in her ears, her hands shaking.

Those bitches! Those *bitches*. She could hear Snape instructing Jerrianne to herd her sheep
to the hospital wing, though of course the Professor didn't phrase it like that. From the sound
of it, Maria had gotten a nosebleed, which served her damn right, as far as Em was concerned.

"Did I say you could sit, Miss Potter?"

Emerson's head whipped around at the cold hiss that came from the doorway. As she began to jump
up, the Potions Professor contradictorily barked, "Sit!" and she slumped back down. She
watched him storm behind his desk and take a seat, and suddenly saw how the stories her Uncle Ron
told her about Snape might've been true. She had known Snape her entire life, and he had always
treated her, if not affectionately, then fairly. She'd never been on the receiving end of such
a look from him as the one he was leveling at her now.

"Explain to me exactly what kind of behavior that was," the Professor said tightly, his
black eyes boring into hers in a way that made Em uncomfortable.

She dropped her eyes. "I was getting back at them, Sir."

"Getting back at them? For what?"

And with that, she suddenly remembered what the Fakers had done. The fury that had been knocked
aside by shock swiftly reclaimed its rightful spot and she looked up, glaring right back at her
teacher. "They busted my cauldron, and probably a few of my other instruments too."

Snape frowned. "When? And why didn't you come to me?"

"I didn't think it would've done any good," Em snapped. Then aware that she was
coming across ruder than was necessary, quickly added, "Sir."

Her teacher was quiet for a minute, still staring at her. "That was unacceptable, Emerson.
Fifty points from Gryffindor. You could have seriously injured those girls. So you will either
apologize to Miss Ingalls and Miss Crestmore or serve detention."

"I'll take the detention, thank you," Em answered without hesitation.

"Are you sure?" Snape blurted, looking alarmed. Clearly, that wasn't the response
he'd been expecting. "Wouldn't you rather apologize?"

She shook her head stubbornly. "No, Sir. Because, with all due respect, Professor Snape,
it'll be a cold day in he- the underworld when I apologize to those *girls*. Besides,
I'd be lying if I did. They deserved what they got and I'm not at all sorry about what
happened."

Snape stared at her for a long moment, looking puzzled and dismayed. When at last he spoke, his
voice was sad. "What has happened to you?"

And Emerson found that she couldn't meet his eyes, so afraid was she that, somehow, he would
know exactly what had happened to her.

That she was losing herself.

********

Later that same night, having returned from her detention (scrubbing the bedpans in the Hospital
Wing, without magic), Emerson was tired and upset. She was trying to do homework, but she
couldn't keep her mind on her task. She couldn't stop thinking about the fact that
she'd lost one day and was no closer to any sort of favorable resolution.

One day left, and she would have to tell an adult, and thus deliver her innocent brothers and
sister to a madman. One more day and she would have something else to feel guilty about.

Trying to distract herself, she focused again on her notes, trying to ignore the fact that she
couldn't even remember what subject she was working on. The common room was noisy and warm, not
exactly the best place to be attempting to study, but Em found it oddly comforting. She didn't
want to go upstairs because then, not even homework would be able to keep her mind off her misery.
Not in the stillness. The craziness of the common room was being both a hindrance and a help, but
it was better than the alternative.

She sighed and put down her quill, squeezing her eyes shut. She was so tired. After a minute, upon
opening her eyes, she decided to swallow the measly clumps of her remaining pride and ask Lyna for
help with this unnamed homework. She could tell that her friend was trying not to seem too upbeat,
out of sensitivity for Em's bad circumstances. But Lyna hadn't been able to hide the light
in her eyes as she'd told Em about how Davis Chapman and herself had had a long, engaging chat
while Em was in detention. Something else for Emerson to feel bad about, that her best friend felt
the need to tone down her own happiness in deference to Em's tripe.

Just as she opened her mouth to call to Lyna, though, someone plopped down right beside her. Em
sighed again when she saw who it was. This was exactly what she needed right now.

"Emerson! You're looking as lovely as ever," Brandon murmured in what he seemed to
think was an alluring voice.

As usual, he was just yammering on about nonsense and Em rolled her eyes. "Whatever,
Brandon."

He grinned and scooted even closer. "What're you working on?"

"What does it look like?"

"Why so glum, darling? Surely, my presence would have cheered you up by now?"

Emerson shot him an exasperated look. "Listen, Brandon, I really don't have time for
this."

"How can that possibly be?" he asked, looking convincingly affronted. "One can
always find time for love." And he actually threw an arm over her shoulder, while glancing
over at where a gaggle of his Quidditch teammates were sitting.

That was the thing about Brandon - he never knew when to stop. Emerson felt a surge of irritation
and shrugged off his arm. "Do you mind? I'm trying to do something here."

"Actually, I do mind. Why don't you put this aside for a minute?" He made as if to
close her book and, for the second time that day, Emerson's temper snapped.

Jumping up suddenly, she shoved him away from her. "Look, *fuck off*, will
ya!"

The entire common room fell immediately silent and, as in Potions, knowing that every eye was
trained on her made Emerson even angrier.

Brandon stood up, gazing at her as if he honestly had no idea why she was so upset.
"What's your problem?"

"YOU ARE, YOU BLITHERING ODIE!" she shouted. His innocent act was making her feel
childish, which made her blood boil. "Or are you too retarded, in addition to everything else,
to grasp that?"

She spun around and grabbed her books and papers so hard that some of the parchments tore, bringing
tears of frustration to her eyes. She stormed past her shocked housemates and up the stairs, her
ponytail swinging wildly behind her. The door to her dormitory flew open before she could even
touch it and slammed shut mightily behind her.

Leaving her upset and alone, exactly the two things she'd been trying so hard not to be.


******

It was a few minutes before anyone moved in the Gryffindor common room after the girls'
dormitory door had slammed shut. But even when they did, nobody spoke until Brandon Wood
unfroze.

Everyone was now staring at him and his shocked expression morphed into a red-faced scowl.
"What the hell's her problem?" he asked the room at large. "She used to be so
cool but she's been such a bitch lately."

"Shut up, Brandon!" chorused Germ Forrester and Takeshi, two of Emerson's classmates,
who immediately cast each other startled looks. Normally, the two boys were always at odds with
each other, but now had not only actually agreed on something, but had even spoken in unison!

Brandon glared at them. "What, now I can't state a fact? Is there anybody here who
hasn't thought that at least once these past weeks?"

Everybody avoided everybody else's eyes at that, though Jerrianne Youngleer was smirking
hugely. For a change, the Fakers were too subdued to respond fast enough and Jerrianne's smirk
turned into a scowl directed at them.

Lyna, who had been sitting as stunned as everyone else, suddenly jumped up and grabbed her books,
glaring at him. "This is all your fault, Brandon! You just had to keep pushing her, didn't
you? Why can't you get a *clue*?" She stomped up the stairs and once again, the doors
slammed.

"I don't know what it is, but something's going on with her!" the Gryffindor
Keeper continued adamantly, as if addressing the Wizengamot.

"No shit, Sherlock," Will Shriver muttered loudly and Brandon flushed.

"Keep your mouth shut, you little twerp, or I'll shut it for you!"

"That's enough, Brandon," Etienne Weasley said sharply. "And if it's this
kind of atmosphere that's going to be in here for the rest of the night, everybody might as
well go to bed right now!"

Brandon shot him a look of death but sat down. Slowly, conversation returned to the room, in hushed
whispers at first. But it wasn't long before it was as noisy as ever, as if there hadn't
been even the slightest glitch or interruption in the madness. After all, human beings are nothing
if not adaptable.

But at least three Weasleys and one Wood sat subdued, knowing that a letter or letters would be
leaving their hands in the morning, bound for the home of two of the most powerful wizard folk in
recent history.

****

Carolyna Lupin lay awake in her bed for a long time that night, long after she was sure her best
friend had stopped crying and succumbed to restless sleep. Lyna herself sniffled quietly, feeling
horrified at herself. For her inaction, for her silence. She should have told Uncle Harry and Aunt
Hermione ages ago. She should have told *someone* a long time ago.

Because now, she feared that Emerson, her friend whom she considered even more of a sister than her
own sister, had been hopelessly, irreversibly broken. This could have been stopped a long time ago,
but she hadn't wanted to go against Em. She'd wanted to be supportive, thinking that Em
needed someone on her side.

Now she realized that she had been supportive in the wrong way. She had even *lied* to Aunt
Hermione when Emerson's mother had asked if she knew anything. If Aunt Hermione had asked her
the question in person, Lyna knew she probably would've told the truth. But it had just been so
much easier to give in to Em and write a letter of lies back to Ballynore. She should've been
brave enough to do what she'd known she needed to do. Because she'd also known that Em
would never do it on her own, not with the knowledge of possible harm coming to her family if she
did.

But tomorrow, the silence would be broken. She would go to the Headmistress and she would tell her
everything. Emerson would likely be mad at first, but she would come around.

"It's for the best," Carolyna whispered, as the tears rolled across her cheeks.
"It's for the best."


*****

**End Notes:**

1. The Latin in this chapter: *Confligere* is "to strike or throw together; to
collide"; *Petulcum* is "butting with the head". That's just a working
translation, of course, as I'm no Latin whiz so pardon me if it's all or partially
wrong.

2. If anyone is wondering what a "blithering Odie" is that Em called Brandon - I promise
to explain in a later chapter :) A Chocolate Frog for anyone who can guess, though.

3. Please review!





20. Things Fall Apart (Day Two)
-------------------------------

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed!! Much, much appreciated :) In the second chapter
after this, the crap hits the propeller, promise. Thank you.
**

Chapter Nineteen - Things Fall Apart (Day Two)**


If there was one thing Emerson hated about being a Potter, it was that everyone seemed to know who
she was.

Most of the time, that didn't really bother her. But then there were the times, like today,
when she couldn't turn around without hearing her name mentioned in hushed whispers. If somehow
they had forgotten, her little meltdown the night before had apparently reminded her Gryffindor
housemates of who exactly she was, that she was the daughter of the legendary Harry Potter.

And it irritated her.

"As if Harry Potter's daughter isn't allowed to lose it sometimes," Em muttered
bitterly to herself as she climbed the stairs back into Gryffindor Tower. As if she didn't have
ample reason to lose it. Let's just see any of them lug around the sack she was carrying and
not go ballistic at least once.

It was lunchtime and her best friend had disappeared right after their last class. Em had gone to
the Great Hall to wait for her, but after a good quarter hour and no sign of Lyna, she had gone
looking. This time she was sure that she wasn't imagining a half-dozen pairs of Weasley eyes
following her out of the Hall, as well as a lone pair of Wood ones. She had huffily ignored his
attempts to get her attention, because as far as she was concerned, her now-embarrassing blowup was
entirely his fault. She had enough to deal with, she was obviously overwhelmed, but oh no, it was
beyond Brandon Wood's realm of capabilities to pick up on that.

"Pisshead," she grumbled, pushing open the door of her room.

Immediately, she got the sense that something wasn't quite right. All the beds had their
hangings open, except one. And the one that was closed was emitting tiny, furtive sniffles, as if
its occupant was trying not to give herself away.

Em frowned as she approached her best friend's bed. "Lyna? Are you all right?"

Her friend didn't answer, and Em felt a wave of panic. Had something happened? Had
Smiley-

"Lyna?" Emerson pulled open the hangings slowly and scrambled onto the bed. "Lyna,
what's wrong? Why are you crying? Is it Smiley? Are you hurt?"

Her friend tried to smile as she wiped her eyes, which were very red. "No, I'm okay. Of
course, it's not Smiley."

Em let out the breath she'd been fearfully holding in. "Then what is it? You weren't
at lunch so I came to look for you. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, really," Lyna said, turning red. "I'm just being silly."

"Carolyna, you're a terrible liar," Em said softly. "Tell me what
happened."

Her friend was silent for a few moments, plucking at her blanket. "It's really nothing. I
just- I was in the loo on the fourth floor and I heard, y'know, some people
talking."

"About what?"

"About me and Davis."

Emerson's brow furrowed. "What were they saying? Who was it, anyway?" She noted the
quick darting of Lyna's eyes to the bed across the room and felt a rush of hatred. Jerrianne.
That was who had made Lyna cry. "Why do you care what that cow says, Lyna?"

"It wasn't really what she said. It's what she said Davis said," Lyna muttered,
flushing deeply. "One of them, I think it was Maria, said she'd seen me and Davis talking
and that it looked like we were both having a blast. Jerrianne told her to shut up, that Maria
didn't know what she was talking about. She said she'd talked to Davis and asked him if he
liked me, and he'd said that no, he didn't. He just kind of pitied me so he was just being
nice." Lyna took a deep breath but her voice wobbled when next she spoke. "She said he
said I was a bit too mousy-looking for his taste. That she was more like it."

A now-familiar ringing began in Emerson's ears as she watched her friend swipe at the fresh
tears that were leaking from her eyes. How dare- Lyna was not- Lyna was beautiful! Lyna had the
softest hair Emerson had ever touched, the most amazing eyes the color of honey that were always
full of laughter and kindness and concern. Lyna was a wonderful friend and Em was livid.

Perhaps her features showed her fury because when Lyna looked up, a startled expression appeared on
her face. "I'm fine, Em, really. It just took me by surprise, that's all. I don't
think they even knew I was there. Okay? You're not gonna do anything, are you?
Please?"

She seemed to be on the verge of tears again so Em took a deep breath and forced a smile. Which
flickered and died as she recalled something the other girl had said. "Why were you in a
bathroom on the fourth floor, anyway? We had DADA and that's on the second floor, which has
bathrooms too, of course."

Carolyna blushed again, but the worry had gone from her eyes now, to be replaced by a steely
defiance. "I was coming from Headmistress McGonagall's office."

A sinking feeling began in Em's stomach as she stared at her friend in horror. "Oh, Lyna,
you didn't."

"She wasn't there," Lyna snapped. "I'd gone to talk to her this morning
after breakfast, but she was just leaving for London. So she said I should come to her office
around lunchtime. But when I got there, she hadn't returned yet."

Emerson closed her eyes as panic swirled through her being. McGonagall was back now; she'd been
in the Great Hall when Em was there. "You said you'd give me two da- oh, *screw* it.
I'm going back to lunch. You coming?"

"Don't be mad, Emerson. This is for the best, you know it," Lyna said softly, tears
shining in her eyes again.

"Are you coming to lunch?" Em repeated as if she hadn't heard her, but she wasn't
angry. At least, not at Carolyna.

Because she found that Lyna's tears reminded her of why her friend had been crying in the first
place. And this provided Em with a handy respite from the dizzying fear and panic she was
experiencing. The red haze of fury proved to be quite an effective buffer, indeed, and Em was
raring to go.

"I don't feel like eating," Lyna muttered, her face pinking up again.

"Okay," Emerson answered, climbing off the bed and heading for the door. When she reached
it, she turned back to look at her friend. "Lyna?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not mad at you."

She closed the door behind her before her friend could respond, or maybe talk her out of what she
was going to do. Because this was one thing that was long overdue. Somebody should have put that
Youngleer parasite in her place a long time ago.

Her anger propelled her all the way to the Great Hall, so that later, she couldn't recall the
actual journey. But suddenly, she was standing outside the great oak doors and pushing them open.
As she reached for her wand, however, she quickly changed her mind and headed for the Ravenclaw
table instead. Best to get her facts straight before charging into action.

Davis Chapman looked up from his steak and kidney pie when she tapped him on the shoulder. He
smiled when he saw her. "Hey, Emer-"

"I'd like a word outside," Em interrupted, and watched the smile drown in the
confusion that flooded his face.

"Er, okay."

He followed her out of the Hall and she leaned back against the rough stone, staring up at him.
"Sorry to interrupt your lunch. But I need to know what's going on between you and
Jerrianne Youngleer."

He looked flabbergasted. "Um, who?"

"Jerrianne Youngleer. Stupid, yellow-haired cow who thinks she's all that and then
some?" Em said irritably, feeling the anger lapping at the edges of her voice.

"I don't know who you're talking about," Davis said slowly, frowning at her.
"Is she in your year? Wait, that snooty blonde girl with the two tag-alongs?"

Em nodded once and raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean, what's going on between me and her? I doubt I've ever said two
complete sentences to her in all-" he broke off and stared through narrowed eyes. "Did
she say something is going on between me and her? First off, I don't know her from Helga
Hufflepuff and second, I already-" There, he broke off again and his eyes widened. "Did
she say something to Lyna?"

Emerson didn't answer but she knew from the outrage filling his dark eyes that he'd figured
it out. The bloke was in Ravenclaw, after all; it would've been highly disappointing if he
hadn't been able to deduce such a simple puzzle.

Davis's mouth opened and closed without any words for a minute before he managed to speak.
"What the- she's a lying *hag* if she said anything like that. Emerson, I really like
Carolyna." His pale features flooded scarlet, but he didn't break eye contact. "I
would never do something like that."

"I believe you," Em said softly, managing a slight smile. "Sorry to bother
you."

He let out a deep breath, and glanced around as if looking for someone, before looking back at her
inquiringly.

"She's up in Gryffindor Tower. She said she didn't feel like lunch. I think she'll
be fine if you talk to her," Em said, answering his silent question and feeling the blood
resuming its pounding in her ears. Pushing back from the wall, she pulled out her wand and turned
to re-enter the Great Hall.

"Wait," Davis called. "You're not going to do anything, are you?"

Em almost smiled at his, unbeknownst to him, exact echoing of Lyna. Perhaps the two of them really
did belong together. "Don't worry about it, Davis. Oh, and if you ever hurt Lyna,
you'll have me to answer to, and that's a promise."

Deciding that she had tarried too long, she strode over to the Gryffindor table and stopped short
across from her nemesis, ignoring the curious looks that her housemates were throwing her. She
found that, in her anger, she didn't even need to speak the incantation; the nearly-full
pitcher of pumpkin juice simply floated up from the table as if it had suddenly decided that
sitting was overrated. She levitated it to directly above Jerrianne's head, pausing until the
blonde looked up at her.

"Was there something you wanted, Potter?" Jerrianne said haughtily, glaring at Em.

Emerson smiled genially. "Actually, there was. I thought you were long overdue for a
shower." The slightest twitch of her wand, and the pitcher overturned, sending the chilly,
orange beverage cascading down onto the shrieking girl.

"Argh! You *bitch*!" Jerrianne shrieked, flapping her hands uselessly, as if that
could turn off the golden fountain.

It was as if everybody, be they student, ghost or professor, all of whom had been stunned into
paralysis by the spectacle they were witnessing, had ceased to exist to Emerson. She saw no one but
the female across from her who had caused her so much hardship, who had hurt her sweet, loyal
friend. Her anger was all-consuming, and yet, she felt a strange calm settle over her.

"As usual, there you go assigning other people what you know are your own attributes," Em
sighed wearily. Her voice was so mild and conversational that, were not for the dangerous inferno
in her emerald eyes, one would think she was merely discussing the weather. "But I'm not
surprised. You are such a sad-arsed liar to other people, why would you be any different to
yourself? I honestly can't be bothered to ponder it, though."

The pitcher had run out of juice, but Em kept it hovering above her shocked and soaked classmate,
loathing her. When she spoke, her voice, though still mild and quiet, held such menace that more
than one person felt uncomfortable. "But here's a little warning, Jerrianne, and I
don't mean that just your perfect hair might get ruined: fuck with my friends again and
you'll regret it. Have yourself a really special day now."

Upon giving the other girl a rapid, hard once-over, she spun on her heel and strode calmly away,
not pausing to observe that the heavy pitcher, now removed from the spell holding it up, had
succumbed to gravity and was headed for what appeared to be a dead-on collision with the sticky,
blonde head below it. She didn't see Professor Flitwick's split-second wrist movement that
made the jug swerve slightly, missing Jerrianne's head but glancing off her shoulder and
smashing against the table. She heard, but didn't acknowledge, the shocked gasps that echoed
through the Hall.

And only when the voice of her Headmistress reached her ("Emerson Potter! Stay right where you
are!") did she stop, that strange calm still swirling around her.

"I have never- such a display-" McGonagall sputtered, looking rather frightening in her
apoplexy. "You will go to my office! You will wait for me there! And while you wait, you will
think about what you have just done! Password is *Felis catus*. Go!"

Aware of all eyes on her, Emerson let her feet carry her from the Hall, up and down empty, echoing
corridors and stairs and into McGonagall's office. Upon entering, she sat in one of the chairs
across from the vast desk and took a deep breath. The calm that had cradled her before was now
dissipating, leaving her filled with a maelstrom of emotions: shock, anger, confusion, worry.

Fear.

She had wasted the second day that she'd begged Lyna for, not that Lyna had intended to let her
have it, apparently. And she was still no closer to any other resolution than to tell her
parents.

Feeling tears prickling at her eyes, Em was startled when someone spoke. She'd thought the room
was empty.

"Well, hello there."

Her head whipped around and she stared at the portrait. It was of a man wearing a long, purple
cloak, who was reclining in a chair parked in what appeared to be a bowling alley. He was very old,
with long silver hair and an equally long and silver beard. His eyes were a bright blue that
sparkled behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked. Perched on the back of
his chair was what appeared to be a phoenix.

"Um, hi," Em replied, offering a weak smile.

"Hmm, tell me, are you a Potter?" the portrait asked, smiling gently down at her.

Em nodded. "Yeah. I'm Emerson."

"Emerson Potter. Ah yes, I've heard of you."

*You don't say.* Em took a deep breath and suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, but
looked up in surprise when the portrait chuckled.

"I'm guessing you've heard that a few too many times, yes?" the man said, his
blue eyes twinkling. "Your father was exactly the same way with fame. I'm Professor
Dumbledore."

Em gave another weak smile and nodded. "I've heard of you, too. My parents told us all
about you."

Dumbledore chuckled again. "Did they now?"

"Yeah. They even named my brother, Ben, after you. His middle name is Albus."

The former Headmaster beamed for a second. "I am very honored. But about the fame thing, do
not worry about it too much. Your father had to deal with it too."

"At least he was famous for something good," Em muttered to her hands, hating herself for
sounding so pathetic.

Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "And yours is not a good reason?"

She chewed her bottom lip for a minute before answering. There was something about this blue-eyed
man in the portrait that made her want to share some of her burdens. She'd never told anyone,
not even Lyna, what next she blurted. "Well, seeing as how I'm famous for being
somebody's bastard child, I'll have to say 'no'. I mean, where's the good in
that?"

The portrait was silent for a few moments, but she could feel him watching her. His voice was
almost sad when he spoke. "I'm certain your parents don't feel that way."

She made an impatient sound, staring across the room at Headmistress McGonagall's huge shelf of
bulky textbooks. "Well, they wouldn't, would they? Being biased and all that." She
sighed. "But, unfortunately, no amount of bias has ever been able to change the
truth."

"How old are you, Emerson?"

The strangeness of the question - what did her age have to do with anything? - startled Em and she
looked up. "I'm twelve."

*So young, yet so cynical. What could have caused that?* Dumbledore thought, gazing into the
third incarnation of confused green eyes that fate had allowed him to encounter.

Before he could comment, however, the office door swung open and Professor McGonagall strode in.
"Thank you for waiting, Miss Potter." She sat down behind her desk and gazed across
sternly at Em. "So, is there anything you would like to tell me?"

Em frowned in what she hoped appeared to be confusion. "Like what, Professor?"

"Miss Potter, your behavior since returning to school has been steadily more alarming, not to
mention appalling! We are in only the first week of the term and already your Professors are
expressing concern. And now that little tantrum in the Great Hall at lunch! What is going on with
you?"

Emerson bristled. *A tantrum? Is that what you think that was? You don't have a friggin'
clue*. "Nothing, Professor."

"Nothing?!" McGonagall exclaimed, looking outraged, her brows dipping severely.
"Your behavior at lunch was certainly not nothing! Miss Youngleer could have been
*seriously* injured by that little stunt you pulled! And such language- fifty points from
Gryffindor and a week's worth of detentions!"

Em stared down at her feet, fury blazing through her whole being. It was so unfair! Why was she the
one being lectured and punished when that *witch* Jerrianne had been the one saying such lies,
making Lyna cry? She didn't regret what she'd done. Hell, she would do it all over again,
if it meant that that cow would pay.

"- and you realize I'll be notifying your parents about this," McGonagall was
saying.

Her head snapped up, her ears ringing. "I don't care," she blurted. "Tell them
whatever you want."

"Miss Potter, what on earth are you crying for?" the Headmistress said, looking concerned
and only then did Emerson realize that tears were streaming down her cheeks. She wiped at them
angrily but they kept tumbling down, running under her chin and down her neck.

"Emerson?"

"I can't talk about it!" Em sobbed, standing up so abruptly that her chair clattered
backwards to the floor. "Please, Professor, may I be excused?"

The teacher was looking alarmed. "Of course. Go straight to the Hospital Wing, do you hear
me?"

"Thank you," Em sniffled, stumbling to the door and out into the corridor. Closing the
door behind her, she leaned back against it for a second, trying to compose herself. Of course she
had no intention of going to the hospital wing. That would require being around people and she
wanted- oh God, she *needed* to be alone!

Instead, she made a beeline for the secluded Astronomy Tower and slammed the door. She felt so
helpless, so powerless, so weak. It was all falling apart and she couldn't do anything to stop
it. She couldn't carry it alone anymore, and her weakness surely meant that Budget, Vina, Ben
would pay the consequences.

*The innocent need not suffer after all...*

Smiley had said that in her very first letter, and now it looked as if, despite all Emerson's
efforts, the needless suffering of the innocent was nevertheless going to come to pass.

*I'm sorry, Ben. I'm sorry, Budget. I'm so sorry, Vina! I tried so hard, I really
did... but I couldn't do it... I was too weak... I'm so sorry...*

She slid down onto the floor of the deserted Astronomy Tower and cried bitterly, her tears
splashing onto the cold, stone floor and spreading fluidly away.


*******

Back in the Headmistress's office, McGonagall and Dumbledore spoke in concerned tones.

"I think it's something to do with the circumstances surrounding her birth,"
Dumbledore supplied seriously.

McGonagall frowned. "Do you think so?" She shook her head gravely. "I remember when
Potter had that meeting and introduced her to us. I was shocked, to put it mildly. It wasn't
just that he had a child, but the situation with the mother, you know?"

Dumbledore nodded. He had, of course, been told the whole story more than once. "Best be
informing Harry and Hermione, then."

The Headmistress nodded earnestly. "Right away, Albus. Right away."


****
**End Notes:**

*Felis catus* is the Latin name for "cat", natch!

**Next chapter:** Some H/Hr quality time... and the summons.




21. The Summons
---------------

**A/N:** Many thanks to all my reviewers of the previous chapter! I appreciate it muchly,
because feedback is always needed for encouragement as well as red flags for missing plot points
and/or elements. So thanks to you all! Please keep reviewing!

**
Chapter Twenty - The Summons**


Hermione sank with a contented sigh into the hot, sudsy water in the huge tub of her bathroom. Her
eyes drifted closed and her body relaxed for what felt like the first time in days, as her senses
were caressed by her environment. She had lighted almost a dozen lavender and vanilla candles and
their fragrance wafted delicately to her nostrils, adding to her enjoyment.

This was a rare moment of respite that she had for herself and she intended to make the most of it.
The house was silent; an anomaly, indeed, and she knew it was only a matter of time before it would
return to its hustle and bustle. Ben was at school, Luke had a play date at Ron and Luna's and
Davina was down for a nap. Hopefully, the toddler would sleep for at least an hour so Hermione had
that long. She had put an Indicator Alarm spell on Vina's room so she would know when her
daughter woke up; the little girl tended to get upset if she awoke to find herself alone for too
long.

Hermione sighed again as she settled further under the rich suds. If only the soft white foam could
penetrate her brain and stop its frantic ruminations about her eldest daughter. She had been
startled by the stream of owls that had arrived that morning, from Marc, Marissa and Etienne
Weasley, as well as one from Brandon Wood. All their contents had been essentially the same, that
Emerson had shouted at Brandon the night before in the Gryffindor common room, before storming to
her dormitory in tears. That they still didn't know what was causing her to be so
short-tempered.

Oh, and let's not forget the one from Snape detailing how Em had more or less attacked two
other girls in his class, and when given the option to apologize or take detention had chosen the
detention.

Shifting restlessly in the hot water, Hermione felt her brow furrow in worry and concentration.
Maybe she should use this time to try to figure out-

*Wait a second. Did you or didn't you come in here to relax?,* a huffy voice chided inside
her head. *Don't think about that... for twenty minutes, can you not think... you deserve a
break... free your mind... get recharged... give peace a chance... yada, yada...*

A smile tugged at her lips on that last one. "Yeah, yeah," she murmured, before focusing
on her breathing, letting her thoughts wander as her body relaxed. Not surprisingly, they drifted
to Harry and she felt a tingle race down her spine.

Harry. Her unlikely best friend, unlikely if anyone had told her that at the beginning of her first
Hogwarts year. Never had she dreamed that they would come so far, though eventually, she had, of
course, longed for it. And now he was not only her best friend, he was her lover. He was the father
of her children. He was the man who knew her so well, body and soul.

'Especially your body,' she thought and blushed. Almost of their own accord, her hands
wandered to her breasts, to cup them the way Harry loved to. She closed her eyes as the jolts of
electricity snaked through her being, charging her heartbeat. One hand drifted downwards and her
mind skillfully transformed her fingers into his.

"Harry," she moaned, her touches light and teasing. Her senses must have been more
stimulated that she'd realized, because much too soon for her liking, she was poised and tensed
on the edge. But quickly deciding that delayed gratification was always so much more satisfying,
she went back to caressing her breasts. She had some time, anyway; no reason not to make this
last.

So absorbed was she in what she was doing that she nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt
something touch her down there.

Her eyes flew open and she yelled in alarm. "Harry! Oh my- you scared the living daylights out
of me!"

He grinned down at her from his perch on the side of the tub. "Sorry. Just wanted to
help."

Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot. "What are you-" she began innocently, but it trailed
off in a moan as Harry began to skillfully manipulate her. Zeus, he was almost as good at it as she
was. In a ridiculously short amount of time, she was crying out and bucking against his hand as her
release washed over her.

Well, so much for delayed gratification; apparently the instant variety worked just as well
sometimes. Gasping, she sank back into the water and when she opened her eyes, it was to the sight
of Harry smiling smugly down at her.

"Better?"

"Much," she sighed, brushing aside a lock of hair that had gotten loose from where
she'd pinned it atop her head. "What're you doing home, though? Not that I'm
complaining or anything."

He shrugged. "Wasn't anything I needed to do so I thought I'd come home. Being the
boss has its perks." He paused for a second. "So, where are the kids?"

Something in his voice made her look up and a tingle seared its way down her spine.
"Davina's taking a nap; Ben's at school and Luke is over at Ron's."

Hermione thought she heard him say "Excellent." under his breath, but maybe she'd
imagined it. She wiggled her toes under the water, feeling his gaze on her but avoiding his eyes
for some reason.

"So this is what you're up to when I'm not here," he said, his voice striving for
stern. But his eyes gave him away; they were hot with lust.

She colored fiercely. "Scandalous or what?"

"I love it," he whispered, leaning down to kiss her. She raised her face to his, and when
his lips met hers, it was as if her every nerve ending had been plugged into an electrical outlet.
His hands dipped into the suds again, this time to slowly caress her breasts with the soapy water,
making her burn. The kiss seemed to go on for ages, his tongue delicious in her mouth, and Hermione
wanted him.

Feeling suddenly devilish, she grabbed his shirt and yanked him forward. He fell into the tub with
a loud splash and came up sputtering, his hair plastered to his head.

"Whoops," she said, grinning naughtily. "Oh dear, looks like your clothes are all
wet. You're going to have to take them off, I'm afraid."

"Wench," Harry grumbled, shaking his hair out of his eyes, but he was already undoing his
shirt. It seemed to be taking too long because, finally, he got impatient and just snapped his
fingers. His clothes and glasses vanished and reappeared on the floor beside the tub.
"That's better."

"Show-off," Hermione murmured, her fingers running up and down his back under the
water.

She felt him hard against her thigh and shifted so he could settle on his knees between her legs.
She gasped when he entered her and, for a moment, they were still, just savoring the feeling of
being one.

The marble bathtub was enormous so they had plenty of room to maneuver. Harry floated her around so
that her back was against one corner and began driving into her with slow, steady strokes. Her
hands reached down through the suds to grasp his buttocks, feeling the muscles clench and unclench
with his motions, while she met his every thrust. His lips found hers again and he kissed her
softly and tantalizingly, in direct contrast with the faster activity occurring below water.

Floating on the heady sensations that swirled through her being, Hermione moaned and closed her
eyes. Harry held her hips and raised her to a slight angle and the next time he surged into her, he
nudged that sweet spot inside. An amazed cry was torn from her lips as her hands raced up his back
to cling to his shoulders. He picked up the pace and she could actually feel her toes curling with
every impact as he hit the spot again and again.

"Harry!" she cried, clinging helplessly to him, aware of the threshold speeding towards
her.

He nuzzled her neck, his breathing harsh in her ear. "What, Hermione?"

She couldn't speak, she couldn't think, she could only moan and cry out wordlessly as he
bumped the spot yet again, causing the tension within her body to reach an unbearable pinnacle and
explode from within.

As if from a distance, drowning in the glorious ecstasy, she heard him groan deeply, felt him
shudder in her embrace as he flooded her. The water splashed over the edges of the bathtub in waves
as its occupants lost themselves in the delirious frenzy of peaked pleasure. Nothing mattered...
nothing existed but him, and this, and them.

When at last she regained herself, Hermione was stunned. She couldn't move, couldn't even
open her eyes. All she could do was struggle desperately for her breath, the blood resounding in
her ears, her every nerve tingling. After a while, she felt Harry leave her body and only then
could she muster the energy to lift her eyelids.

He was watching her, his green eyes bright and beautiful. "You all right?"

Dazed, she nodded. "What the hell did you do to me?" Her voice sounded strange to her own
ears.

He just smiled, knowing that, of course, she knew what he'd just done to her. It wasn't as
if this was the first time he'd pleasured her so astoundingly well. "Am I to assume you
would welcome an encore?" he asked in a voice so self-satisfied, it should've been
banned.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head weakly against his shoulder. "God, yes. But not for a
while today, unless you want to end up as the sole caretaker of our children. Another one of those
too soon might leave me with permanent and irreparable brain damage."

Harry beamed, the swelling of his ego becoming practically visible. Hermione suppressed the urge to
smile and looked instead at the floor of the bathroom. It was flooded with sudsy water and only
then did she realize that they were barely covered in the tub.

She giggled. "We are pathetic."

"But a good kind of pathetic, right?" He lightly nibbled at her neck.

"Definitely," she replied as she began to get up. Except- "Harry! I can't feel
my legs!"

He frowned, shifting away from her slightly. "I'm not crushing them, am I?"

"No," she said, fighting a twinge of panic. She tried to move her feet again and felt her
toes unclench as feeling returned to them. "Oh, there they are."

Harry's eyes were dancing and when she glanced up at him, he burst out laughing.

Hermione glared at him. "It's not funny!"

Which only made him laugh harder. In a huff, she climbed out of the bathtub and into the adjoining
shower stall. She turned the water on to rinse off and didn't acknowledge him when he opened
the door and slipped inside.

His arms encircled her from behind. "I'm sorry. But you are just so funny!"

Damn him, but she was now the one fighting laughter as the image of what had just transpired
coursed through her mind. Imagine being so engulfed by the furies of passion that you have to
consciously unclench your toes!

He turned her around to face him. His eyes were still full of humor. "You mad at
me?"

She tried, but she couldn't hold out for long before she was throwing her arms around his neck.
"Oh, Harry! After the heaven you just took me to, how can I ever be mad at you
again?"

He chuckled. "Can I hold you to that statement?"

"Don't push your luck, Potter." She pulled away to look adoringly into his eyes.
"I love you."

"I love you, too," he whispered. "Brain damage and all."

They lingered in the shower for a while, washing each other and kissing tenderly. Harry dried the
bathroom floor with a twitch of his wand, before they returned to their room, got dressed and
headed downstairs. Hermione was feeling refreshed and sated, but as they entered the kitchen, she
felt her troubles resuming their cadence inside her head. She almost hated to disrupt Harry's
post-coital good mood but he needed to know about the Weasley, Wood and Snape letters about
Em.

Before she could speak, however, he had gathered her into his arms and was grinning cheekily down
at her. "So, how was that for an afternoon delight?"

She couldn't resist grinning back, even as she felt her face heating up. How could he make her
blush so much? She was a grown woman, for goodness' sake! "Order of Merlin-worthy, I say.
But, listen, Harry-"

"Got anything to eat around here?" he interrupted. "All of a sudden, I find myself
famished."

"I'm sure we can find something," she replied quickly, but was again interrupted,
this time by the Indicator Charm on Davina's room.

"Mummy." There was a brief pause. Then- "MUMMY!"

Harry snorted derisively, but his eyes glowed. "Seriously, is she bossy or what? I'll go
get her."

Shaking her head, Hermione strolled into the huge kitchen and began looking for something for their
lunch. She had just decided that maybe a quick minestrone soup, with crusty French bread on the
side, would be good, when there was a *tap, tap* on the paneled glass window.

"Not another one?" she muttered disbelievingly as she went to let the owl in. The bird
perched on the window ledge and remained sitting after she'd removed the letter, so she knew it
was expecting to deliver a response.

After giving the feathered messenger some Owl Treats and water, she turned the envelope over. The
fact that the sight of the Hogwarts crest didn't startle her at all saddened Hermione. Because
that surely meant she'd been expecting something like this.

Upon unsealing the envelope, she unfolded the letter:


*Dear Mr. and Mrs. Potter,*

*Your presence is kindly requested for a meeting with the Headmistress at your earliest
convenience. This is to discuss the recent behavior of your daughter, Emerson, which we feel must
be brought to your attention.*

*Please respond urgently via owl.*

*Sincerely,*

*M. McGonagall*

*Headmistress*


Hermione's heart pounded as she scanned the letter again and again. *The recent behavior of
your daughter... respond urgently...* That sounded so ominous. Was this regarding what Snape had
written about or had something *else* happened?

She turned around as Harry came into the room, carrying a bright-eyed Davina, who was jabbering
away to her father. He was smiling but it faded when he saw Hermione's anxious face.

He glanced at the letter in her hand. "What's that?"

"It's from Hogwarts," she said, holding it out to him.

He took the letter, handing Davina over to her as he did so. Hermione watched his face cloud as he
read the brief missive and he closed his eyes for a second before looking up.

"This might sound terrible but, do you know, I've actually been kind of expecting
this?"

She nodded uneasily. "Additionally, Etienne, the Weasley twins and Brandon all wrote this
morning. Apparently, Em had some kind of meltdown last night where she yelled at Brandon and ran to
her room in tears. And Snape wrote saying he had to give her a detention yesterday."

A pained look stole across his face as he looked at her from across the table. "We never
should have sent her back to school, Hermione. We should have kept her here until we got to the
bottom of whatever it is that's bothering her."

The guilt in his voice resonated in Hermione's head because she was feeling exactly the same
way. But she shook her head against the tears that prickled at her eyelids. Now was not the time.
"What do you want to do?"

Harry sat down and stared at the table. "Well, I don't have to go back to work and
it's only-" he consulted his watch, "- one-thirty. I could Apparate into Hogsmeade
and be there in ten, fifteen minutes."

"I'll go with you," she said, setting Davina down. The toddler wandered off into the
kitchen but Hermione could still see her.

"What about Vina?"

But Hermione was already grabbing a quill and some parchment. "I'll send Fleet to Ron and
Luna. I'm sure they can watch Vina as well, since Luke's already over there. They could
pick up Ben at school too. We should be back before dinnertime, do you think?"

Harry nodded, his brow furrowed but she knew that, mentally, he was already at Hogwarts, trying to
figure out what was happening with their daughter.

She hastily scribbled a note and tied it to Fleet, her stealth owl. Fleet had been a gift to her
from St. Mungo's, since Hermione sent and received so much post from them. His full name was
Fleet-of-Flight, and he was every bit as efficient as his name suggested. She carried him to the
window and sent him on his way to Ron's.

"I want some food," declared Davina, coming back into the room.

"Remember to say 'please', Vina," Hermione replied, bending over to pick her
up.

"I want some food, please," Davina amended and her mother, in a rush of love and pride,
hugged her close and kissed her rosy cheeks.

"Okay, let's see what we have in here. D'you still want to eat, Harry?" she
asked, turning back to look at him.

He raised his eyes to hers and it seemed to take him a full minute to process what she'd said.
"Um... sure. If you're going to."

Putting the minestrone soup on hold, Hermione quickly slapped together some sandwiches and sat
watching him absentmindedly inhale them. She felt as anxious as Harry looked, but a small part of
her was also relieved. Maybe they would finally start getting some answers. Maybe they could
finally get through to their daughter.

Maybe she could finally not feel so helpless anymore.

A rush of wings made her look up. Barely twenty minutes after he'd been sent out, Fleet was
back. She untied the note and gave him an Owl treat, with a fond pat on his smoky head.

"Okay, Luna said she can Portkey here in ten minutes," Hermione said, scanning the
note.

Harry was already scribbling a response for the school owl. "We'll probably get there
before this owl does, anyway."

Their eyes met across the table and no words were needed to convey what they were both feeling.
Harry reached over to squeeze her hand but she stood up and went to his arms instead. They held
each other desperately, fearfully, of what they would soon be discovering, whatever that might be.
Which surely had to be profound to make their beautiful, incredible daughter change so much.

"Uh-oh," Vina said, making her parents look up. She was peering over the side of her
chair at the spoon she had just dropped.

Still holding each other, Hermione and Harry watched as their little girl leaned over, arm
outstretched, and magically induced the spoon to leap into her hand. Her hazel eyes now wide with
wonder and delight, Davina looked around at her Mum and Dad, who beamed at her through the tears in
their eyes.

For the rest of that time, as they waited for Luna, they lavished attention on their youngest
daughter, still so innocent and carefree, even as they steeled themselves for the troubles of their
eldest one. As soon as Luna arrived, Hermione gave her some quick instructions regarding Ben, she
and Harry grabbed their cloaks, kissed a bewildered Davina and were gone.


*********

Emerson would never know how she'd managed to get herself under control enough to go to her
next class. After her crying jag in the Astronomy Tower, she had somehow been able to drag herself
down to the Potions dungeon, where she'd encountered a frantic Carolyna.

Of course Lyna had heard the whole story about what had happened at lunch - the Hogwarts gossip
mill was still alive and kicking - and she had hugged Em, blinking back tears.

"Didn't I ask you not to do anything, Emerson?" Lyna moaned. "You are so
stubborn! You are so stubborn!"

Lyna had wanted to know what McGonagall had said, but Em didn't want to talk about it. In fact,
she didn't want to do anything at all. She just wanted to sit there for infinity, and stare at
the glittering beetle eyes that she was supposed to be bashing.

The sounds and smells of the Potions dungeon buffeted her from every angle and she was suddenly
annoyed. Really, whose genius idea had it been to assign her class Potions two days in a row?
Apparently, that would help them all "better retain their knowledge." What a load of
bull. Because Em was sure she couldn't have mentioned what she'd learned the day before if
her life depended on it.

There was a knock on the ugly dungeon door.

"Come in," Professor Snape called.

The door creaked open and obviously people came in, because the class went suddenly silent. Still,
Em didn't look up, not until someone nudged her hard.

"What?" she hissed, turning to glare at the offender, who turned out to be Takeshi.

The bespectacled boy seemed taken aback by her hostility. "Sorry. It's just your Mum and
Dad are here."

Em's head whipped around and sure enough, there standing near the door, conversing with
Professors Snape and McGonagall, were her parents . Both of them looked confused and worried and
Snape kept glancing over at her.

There was no doubt in Emerson's mind what they were talking about. McGonagall had apparently
made good on her statement about notifying her parents, because why would they be here,
otherwise?

The fact that these grown-ups were just standing there talking about her both embarrassed and
infuriated Emerson. They were just discussing her in plain view, as if they didn't care how
that might make her feel. Angry tears prickled at her eyelids but she blinked them away and began
bashing her beetle eyes with a vengeance.

With the attention of their teacher safely diverted away from them, the formerly silent class
slowly began to break into excited whispers and murmurs. Emerson caught "Harry Potter!",
"scar," "Hermione Granger", "Head Girl", "green eyes",
interjected with her name quite a few times, and she became increasingly irascible. What was she,
what was her family - some kind of circus freaks to be stared at and whispered about?

"Miss Potter."

She looked up at her Potions teacher. "Your parents are here to take you home. Gather your
things and you may leave."

She was going home. Boy, that must be some kind of record: suspended within the first week of a
school term. Em stood up and began dumping things into her cauldron, aware of all the curious eyes
fixed on her, darting back and forth between her famous parents.

Whom she still couldn't bear to acknowledge. Even though she'd been trying to do this for
months, to push them away so they would, in turn, push *her* away, and thus be safe. But now
that it had surely happened, she couldn't bear to see it confirmed in their eyes.

So she didn't look at them, not that they were wanting for observers. Not that they would ever
want for observers.

And with that thought, her wonderful refuge of anger was back. That warm and adept blanket of heat,
shielding her from the icy gusts of her fear, guilt and despair. Whatever would she do without
it?

It had never yet failed her, and as she haphazardly tossed her instruments into her cauldron, she
wrapped that blanket around herself, praying that it would help her hold out a little bit longer.
For the sakes of her poor, innocent siblings, let her hold out.

Just a little bit longer.

Please?


****
****


Please review!

**Next chapter:** What y'all have been howling for since chapter four!




22. Breakdown
-------------

**A/N:** Thanks so much to all the reviewers of the last chapter! Finally, this one is here.
I meant to post it before now, but went out of town for Thanksgiving. Hope everybody who celebrates
it had a good one! And here y'all go... please, please, please review!

Many thanks to **Liss** for the beta. You rock, girl!


**
Chapter Twenty-One - Breakdown**


Hermione had been right about them getting back to Ballynore before dinnertime. Barely an hour
after they'd arrived at Hogwarts, Harry and Hermione, now with Emerson, Portkeyed into the
elegant foyer of their home.

Without a word to them, Emerson picked up her bag and headed for the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked.

She stopped and turned to look at him insolently. "To my room. Where did you think I was
going?"

Not for the first time that day, Harry felt a surge of irritation, but before he could speak,
Hermione had laid a hand on his arm. "Go ahead," she said softly. "We'll call
you down when dinner is ready."

Emerson turned away and continued towards the stairs without another word. As soon as she
disappeared from sight, Harry spun around and glared at his wife. "What was that?"

She sighed. "Harry, this is going to be hard enough without the two of you getting into a
power contest. What does it matter if she goes to her room now? We won't be talking to her
until after dinner, right?"

She was right, but of course he wasn't going to tell her that. So instead, he shrugged out of
his cloak and headed to his office. Closing the door behind him, he leaned his head back against
it, feeling lost and overwhelmed.

Nothing he had ever done, nothing he had ever endured had prepared him for this feeling of
helplessness, of despair. At Hogwarts, he and Hermione had had a long talk with Professor
McGonagall and Dumbledore's portrait. For some reason, Dumbledore thought that all this had
something to do with the circumstances of Emerson's birth.

Which made absolutely no sense to Harry. Why on earth would that be changing their daughter so
drastically? They had always been honest with her about those things and they'd never treated
her any differently from their other kids. Emerson was their beloved firstborn, always had been,
always would be. Besides, Emerson knew she could talk to them about anything, didn't she?
Hadn't they always been open and communicative with her? Why had she shut them out so
effectively?

Her teachers had reiterated the concerns of Professor McGonagall. Snape, in particular, told of
Em's open hostility these days. Apparently, he'd had to give her detention just yesterday
because of that, and Harry had gotten the chance to witness for himself what Snape was talking
about.

As they had expected, the students had stared and whispered non-stop when he and Hermione had
entered their classroom, which made it easy to note that Emerson hadn't so much as glanced at
them once. Harry had just begun to ponder that when he'd looked over at his daughter, just in
time to see her features twist in fury.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" he'd distinctly heard Emerson snap at a
dark-haired classmate, who flushed and quickly looked away.

Harry had been, at first, shocked, then angry. What kind of language was that to be using in a
roomful of people? Hadn't he, hadn't Hermione, raised her better than that? He'd stared
in disbelief and perhaps his annoyance had been clearly displayed as well, because Em had quickly
dropped her eyes when she'd seen him looking.

And she hadn't said a word to them until that snarkiness in the foyer just now.

Still leaning against his door, Harry took his glasses off and laid his hand over his eyes.
Emerson's behavior was beginning to really irritate him, while Hermione tried to play
devil's advocate and remind him that they still didn't know why Em was acting the way she
was.

One thing he did know, however, was that they had waited too long to get to the bottom of this. But
tonight, the buck stopped here. He just hoped it wasn't too late.

"God help us," he murmured quietly.


*****

Hermione set down the pan of steaming lasagna with a flick of her wand, to the cheers of the boys
at the table (and yes, that included Harry). She smiled as she took her seat but the smile died
when she saw her eldest daughter's face.

Emerson didn't so much as bat an eye when Harry placed a good-sized chunk of the aromatic pasta
on her plate. Which was very strange, because Em was usually rabid about lasagna and any other time
would be reaching for seconds before most of them had finished their first servings.

Hermione sighed. Em's love for this food had been part of the reason why she'd decided to
make lasagna for dinner. She'd thought this might cheer her daughter up even a little, but
apparently not. She caught Harry's eye and saw his mouth tighten. She knew he was as anxious as
she felt.

Something wasn't right with Em and hadn't been for a long time. At first, Hermione had
thought it was just normal, just part of growing up, of entering puberty. Mood swings and
irritability were normal for young girls, and at first, that was what it had looked like with Em.
Hermione had been almost sure it would pass without too much incident.

But she had always gotten that vague, underlying sense of unease whenever she'd thought about
it, Hermione realized. And now, there was no doubt that whatever it was that was affecting Em was
much more profound than mere hormonal upsurges. Emerson wasn't so much having mood swings as
personality restructuring. This angry, violent girl was not the Emerson they'd always known and
adored.

But both she and Harry were fiercely proud of their daughter's independence and maturity, even
as they knew that their relationship was strong enough that Em could and would come to them if she
needed help. Or so they'd thought. Because even though whatever she was going through seemed to
be more than she could handle now, Emerson still showed not the slightest inclination to seek their
assistance.

Hermione glanced at Em again. She was playing with her food, moving it around her plate and only
taking tiny bites.

"Emerson, isn't this good!" Luke somehow managed to say with his mouth full.

"Chew first and swallow before you talk, Luke," Hermione reminded him, her eyes not
leaving Emerson's face. The young girl had looked over at her brother when he spoke, stared at
him for a few seconds as if she'd never seen him before, then turned back to her plate.

Luke frowned, clearly puzzled by her lack of response. He had, along with Ben and Vina, been
ecstatic upon discovering that Em was home, but his happiness had been met with a cold indifference
from his big sister. "Em, isn't this good?" he repeated, gazing expectantly at her,
waiting for her to whip out the fake Italian accent that she always used to answer that
question.

It was their own little lasagna ritual and she was supposed to say, "Seemplee deeleecious,
Budgeet! Seemplee deeleecious!" And they would all laugh. So why wasn't she answering? Why
wasn't she even eating?

Luke seemed to sense the tension creeping around the table but he didn't understand what it
was. All he knew was that his sister- "Why aren't you eating, Emerson? Isn't the
'sagna good?" he asked, a note of pleading in his voice now.

At last, Em looked up and her green eyes were blazing. "Shut up, Budget!" she snapped.
"God, you can be such a pain in the arse!"

Stunned, Luke's green eyes, identical to hers, widened and his bottom lip trembled. His head
drooped to his chest and Hermione heard him begin to cry. Nobody moved for a few seconds, then
Davina burst into tears too, unable to bear the negativity looming over their gathering.

More worried than angry, Hermione glanced over at Harry and knew at once, that he was feeling the
other way around. If he were to open his mouth-

"Emerson, go to your room. Right now!" she said sharply, before her husband could
combust.

Their daughter stood up and stormed away. Ben was staring at his plate, his fork frozen in the act
of spearing a bite of pasta. His hair stuck out in the back exactly as Harry's did, as her
husband stood and picked up Davina.

"It's okay," she heard him telling the little girl, even as she hurried to comfort
Luke.

Poor Budget clung to his mother, stung more by his sister's harsh tone than by her words.
"Why is Em mad at me, Mummy? Why doesn't she love me anymore? I still love her," he
sobbed.

Hermione's heart ached. "Of course she still loves you, Luke. She's just upset about
something. It's not you she's mad at."

Luke raised his head to look at her. "Who is she mad at?"

She kissed his sweaty forehead and wiped his cheeks. "I don't know. But I know it's
not you. Come on, let's finish dinner, okay?"

Luke shook his head. "I don't feel like eating 'sagna anymore," he whispered,
tears spilling out of his eyes again.

Neither did she, Hermione realized. Instead, she and Harry made hot chocolate and once all the kids
had solemnly finished their mugs, they all went upstairs. They performed their nightly rituals, she
and Harry tucking them in, kissing them good night, telling them they loved them. But Hermione knew
that tonight, at least one of them would cry himself to sleep, nursing a wounded heart.


*****

About half an hour later, Harry and Hermione sat together on the couch in his office. Emerson's
behavior at dinner had brought something home to them that they had both somewhat been denying to
themselves: this was not just between the three of them anymore. Now everyone in the household had
been affected and quite frankly, Harry knew this had gone on far too long.

The achingly familiar dredges of guilt were beginning to creep up on him when the door of the
office creaked open and he looked up.

"You wanted to see me?" Em asked. Her expression was stony but Harry caught the slight
tremor in her voice, so he knew she wasn't feeling as sassy as she appeared. Her eyes seemed to
be slightly red around the rims, as well, as if she'd been crying.

"Yes. Come in, close the door and have a seat," he said softly.

She did the first two things but leaned back against the door.

"Have a seat," he repeated.

His daughter crossed her arms defiantly against her chest. "No, thanks. I'd
rath-"

"*Sit down, Emerson!*" Harry said sharply, his patience stretched thin.

She finally obeyed and sat across from them, glaring daggers at him. Hermione squeezed his hand,
then rubbed it, non-verbally telling him to calm down. Closing his eyes, Harry took a few deep
breaths, trying to get himself under control.

Upon opening his eyes, he looked into their mirror images that were, at the moment, filled with so
much anger and loathing that it took all he had not to turn away. Sending up a small prayer for
guidance, he leaned forward slightly. "I don't need to tell you how appalling your
behavior tonight was. It is obvious that something is going on with you, but that gives you no
right to take it out on your brothers and sister like you did. I am expecting you to have
apologized to each of them by this time tomorrow. Is that clear?"

Emerson nodded to her knees and Harry let out a breath. Now for the hard part...

"Now, Emerson-" he paused until she looked up. "What is going on?"

She didn't answer but neither did she look away, even as her eyes filled up and
overflowed.

"Emerson, talk to us! We want to help you," Hermione pleaded, leaning forward too
now.

Their daughter squirmed and flicked her hair agitatedly from her face. "I don't need your
help. Why can't you lot give me a chance to do this on my own?"

"To do what?" Harry asked.

"And we have," Hermione added. "We *have* given you a chance, Em. But things
have been deteriorating, not improving. Your grades, your behavior at school, here! This has gone
on long enough!"

"And we're not leaving this room until you tell us what's wrong," Harry said
firmly. He hated that they had to be strong-arming her like this and he hoped to God that it
didn't backfire on them. But in the end, if they managed to get to the bottom of this- in that
case, the ends wholly justified the means.

Emerson's fists were clenched and she was perched rigidly on the edge of her chair, biting her
bottom lip as if trying to hold herself together. As if she were facing an onslaught of something
and her very survival hinged on how white with tension her knuckles could be. "I
can't," she choked out, sounding as if each of those two words had cost her chunks of
herself.

Hermione slipped off the couch to kneel beside their daughter's chair. "Can't or
won't?"

Em broke into heart wrenching sobs. "I c-can't, Mum! I want to tell you so badly
but-"

"But what?" Harry asked, kneeling beside her too. "Why not? We are your parents. We
need to know. We *want* to know."

She was trembling now, as if from either fear or extreme cold. Since the room was pleasantly warm,
that only left- But what could possibly have frightened his brave, independent daughter so much as
to have her quaking like this?

"I feel so guilty already! I couldn't bear it if anything else- if anybody else-" she
broke off. "Please, just leave me alone!"

Tears were streaming down Hermione's cheeks now. "We can't, Em. We love you too
much."

And that was the straw that broke the camel's back and Emerson was suddenly sobbing so hard,
Harry thought she would choke.

"Mum! Oh, Daddy!" she cried, launching herself at them and they held her, crouching in a
heap on his office floor, terrified and bewildered.

It took him awhile to realize that his cheeks were wet too, but whose tears were they? His heart
was writhing from his daughter's pain and fear, even as his head flooded with the whys and
wherefores. What was she guilty about? What had caused all this?

But Emerson was still crying uncontrollably and whatever sounds she made were incoherent. Harry and
Hermione could only hold her and whisper that they loved her so much, no matter what, as their
tears watered the long tresses of her tortured head.

After close to ten minutes, she seemed to have calmed down enough to shakily wipe her eyes. Harry
and Hermione helped her up and they sat on the couch with her between them, holding her hands as if
she were a little girl again and they were all about to cross the street.

"Okay?" Hermione asked gently, reaching up with her free hand to move Em's hair out
of her face.

Em nodded, although fresh tears leaked from her eyes. She seemed not to notice them. "I'm
so sorry for how I've been acting," she choked. "I know I've been a world-class
bit- brat for a while now. I'm so sorry! But it was the only way I could think of to do
it!"

Harry's brow furrowed. "To do what?"

"To make you lot hate me," Emerson cried, beginning to sob again.

Harry and Hermione exchanged perplexed looks over her head. What the- whatever he'd been
expecting her to say, that certainly had not been it.

"Why would you want to make us hate you?" his wife asked, sounding as confounded as Harry
felt.

Emerson gripped their hands tighter. "It was the only way I could think of to keep you safe.
If I could make you hate me, maybe you wouldn't want to question me anymore. Cause I
couldn't answer your questions honestly without putting you all in danger."

Harry's heart pounded in alarm. This seemed to be gearing up to be worse than anything his
doomsday imagination had conjured up. Surely if, for instance, she had been assaulted somehow, God
forbid, she would want to be with her family, not cut off from them?

"Why did you feel you had to protect us? Has somebody been threatening you?" Hermione was
asking.

Their daughter shuddered. "No, but they were threatening to hurt Ben, Budget and Vina. They
said if I told you, they would hurt them!"

Harry's mind went numb with fury. "Who are they?"

"I don't know," she replied, shaking her head. "They only send letters and
clippings but I've never recognized the handwriting and they've never even signed with a
name. Just a smiley face. I don't even know if it's a man or a woman. For some reason,
I've always thought it was a woman, though."

No name but a smiley face? Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance. Both of them had had their own
run-ins with minor celebrity hounds, received the few odd letters, but neither of them recognized
this modus operandi.

"It was stupid of me not to tell you, now that I really think about it. Because if anyone
could relate to how it feels, it'd be you," Emerson continued, glancing at them through
swollen eyes.

"How what feels?"

Em's bottom lip trembled and when she spoke, her voice was so tiny, Harry had to strain to hear
her. "How it feels to have killed someone."

"What?!" Hermione yelped. "Emerson, why would you think something like that? Of
course you haven't killed anyone!"

"Yes, I have!" Em cried, bursting into tears again. "I killed Julia! It's my
fault that she's dead!"

Oh, Merlin, no. This was what she was guilty about? Oh, God, no wonder she was so messed up! *Oh,
God.* But-

"Emerson, why would you think that?" Harry begged desperately, his heart clenching within
him. "We've always been honest with you about Julia and what happened with her. She was
ill. Everybody has told you the truth, us, her parents, her friends. You've read the letter
that Julia *herself* wrote for you. Why would you all of a sudden believe such a horrible and
untrue thing about yourself?"

Emerson was sobbing again and Hermione held her hand, looking horrified.

"They sent- they s-sent a copy of J-Julia's medical p-papers," Em sobbed, barely able
to speak in her distress. "-and her doc-ct-tor wrote in it that he'd re-recommended that
she- she terminate the- that she terminate m-me. He said he was quite p-positive she would have
lived if she'd taken his advice."

Harry's stomach heaved with anger and he felt sick. What kind of foul, evil- Now was not the
time, however, to get angry. There would be a time for it later. His daughter needed him - oh, why
had they waited so long- and he still had so many questions.

"Oh, baby," he said, hugging her to him. "Julia *chose* to keep you alive. It
was her choice to make and she made it. It was the cancer that caused her death, not you. You know
that; you know that, Emerson."

He felt her tears soaking his shirt and suddenly had the odd thought to make sure she drank lots of
fluids tomorrow. All this crying...

"If she hadn't been pregnant with me, she wouldn't have had to choose," Em
whispered, her voice heavy with pain. "Then she would've been free to take her medicine
and she wouldn't have died."

"We don't know that," Hermione said gently, her voice breaking with emotion.
"You didn't ask for her to be pregnant with you."

And although he knew Hermione would never have meant that last statement to have such a result,
Harry felt a stab of guilt. This was at least partially his fault. He should have been more
careful. He should have cast a charm every single time.

*But if you had, then there likely wouldn't be an Emerson. Would you have been better off
without her in your life?*

No, he wouldn't. He had once come upon a quote that summed it up perfectly: *The decision to
have a child is to accept that your heart will forever walk outside of your body.*

And while he hadn't "decided" to have Emerson - she had been a surprise, she had been
a gift - he knew that from the moment he'd known that she was his, that quote was true for him.
Harry closed his eyes at that thought, tears squeezing from under the lids as he held his daughter.
When he and Hermione had first married, he'd given the two women in his life matching
diamond-and-emerald bracelets. On his wife's, the note read, "To Hermione: the best thing
that ever happened to me." On his daughter's, he'd written, "To Emerson: the best
thing I ever accomplished."

And she was. At that time, she'd been the best. Now she was one of the four best things, and he
loved them all equally. But who would he be today if he had not been blessed with that little baby,
abandoned at his doorstep? Where would he be without this beautiful and now-wounded young girl that
he had tried so hard to protect, but whose innocence was forever shattered in at least one
way?

"I love you so much," he whispered, smoothing her tangled hair.

Hermione put her arms around the both of them and for a long moment, they cried together again.
When they finally broke apart, both of them looked as drained as Harry felt. Emerson's eyes
were swollen and her face was blotchy and tear-stained.

His wife sniffled. "When did you start getting these letters?"

"I got the first one the day after we got back to school last September. I thought it was a
note from you, but once I opened it-" her voice trailed off.

A wave of nauseous grief washed over Harry. September. It was now the first week of January, so his
daughter had been carrying around this burden, all alone, for four months. No wonder her behavior
had changed so drastically!

And yet, she had lasted this long; she was strong, this girl, his Moppet...

"I'm sorry we waited so long to do this," he said softly, feeling sorrow and guilt
warring for dominance inside him. "You never should have had to deal with this
alone."

Hermione nodded, her eyes filling up again. "I'm so sorry, Em."

Their daughter sniffled and nodded too, giving them a tiny, watery smile. "It's
okay."

*No, it's not okay. I am her father and I left her alone to deal with that all by herself?
No, it's certainly not okay.* "You said something about a clipping? In the first
letter," he said wearily, trying to focus on something other than his burgeoning guilt.

She nodded again. "Newspaper and magazine clippings, but sometimes other things, like the
medical chart."

Hermione closed her eyes briefly as if gathering herself then opened them. "Where are they
now?"

"Upstairs. I kept all of them. I'm not sure why, but I just couldn't throw them
away."

"I'm glad you didn't. Because they'll be useful in finding the scum who's been
doing this." Harry's hand trembled as he laid it gently on her cheek. "I promise you,
I will find them. Even if it takes a hundred years, we will find them and make them pay for hurting
you. For these lies, for everything."

She nodded, tears shining in her eyes and they all hugged again for a long moment.

Hermione stood up slowly. "I'm going to get you some Sleeping Draught. Go on up to bed and
I'll be right there, okay?"

"Okay," Em said, then she and Harry left the office and climbed the stairs slowly to her
room. Emerson went to her trunk and came back with what looked like an ordinary, girly shoebox and
handed it to her father. "They're all here. To open it, use *Alohomora*, then
*Colloportus* and *Alohomora* again, in that order. I didn't want anyone to find it,
but if they did, I figured they wouldn't think to use a locking charm to open it," she
explained with the faintest ghost of a smile that vanished almost as soon as it appeared.

His clever girl. Harry hugged her fiercely again. "I'll wait here while you get
changed."

She nodded, grabbed her pyjamas and went into her bathroom. He heard the water running, just as
Hermione came in carrying a tall glass of Sleeping Draught. The two of them sat without a word,
numb from what they'd just learned, as they waited. When Em came out, they tucked her in,
hugged her tight, told her they loved her, so much, and gave her the potion.

Harry felt tears rolling down his cheeks again as he watched his daughter fall into what was
probably the most peaceful sleep in months, and from the sniffle beside him, he knew Hermione was
thinking the same thing.

Clutching the shoebox, he took his wife's hand and led her from the room. By tacit agreement,
they returned to the rooms of their other children, in turn, tearfully kissing each one.
Harry's heart ached at the thought that somebody out there could want to hurt these innocent,
rosy-cheeked children, just because of who they were a part of.

When they at last reached their room, they undressed and climbed into bed, still without a word.
Harry held Hermione while she cried, his own emotions simmering within him and rendering him
dry-eyed, for the time being.

Finally, physically, emotionally and mentally exhausted, they clung together and fell into restless
sleep, preparing for the war that had been brought to their doorstep.



23. One Step At A Time
----------------------

**A/N:** Thanks very much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I hear y'all.. the
unanimous sentiment is "Can't wait to see H/Hr give the bitch what she deserves!" I
hear ya, and I agree.. but it's not gonna happen immediately, is it? But hey, this is chapter
22 and there will be approx. five more. So not that long, see. Hope y'all will stay with me and
please keep reviewing! It means a lot. Thanks.

Muchas gracias to the lovely **Lissanne** for the beta. Get well soon, luv!

**

Chapter Twenty-Two - One Step At A Time**


She had known this day would arrive and to be honest, she'd been expecting it to come sooner
than today.

But the girl had finally cracked, unless she was mistaken; she didn't think she was. After all,
she'd been extra careful to magically link her copies with the ones she sent to Emerson Potter,
so she would know almost immediately when the girl broke down.

"And she has," Cristella said to herself, feeling strangely calm as she waved her wand
around her Notting Hill flat, packing up. "Guess that medical chart was too much for her,
eh?"

Even as she smirked with delight, imagining the horror her last letter must have caused her
nemesis, she couldn't help but acknowledge that perhaps, just perhaps, the Potter girl was
tougher than she'd anticipated. Honestly, she'd expected the girl to have spilled the beans
to her parents long before now.

"She must love her siblings more than I thought," Stella muttered, gathering her papers
and stuffing them into their box.

But now, the girl had confessed and Cristella knew she couldn't stay where she was. Not
anymore. Harry Potter was extremely powerful in the wizarding world and his wife wasn't
anything to be sneezed at, either. Not that Cristella was scared of them or anything. But it was
just wiser to be prepared, to not be a sitting duck, waiting in the open for them to stumble upon
her.

She didn't think they would find her easily, anyway. She had taken care never to include her
name in those letters, had taken care to never use the same owl more than once. And since she
traveled as part of her job, she got an added bonus in that her owls left from all over the
continent. They would have a hard time tracing her, of that she was smugly certain. Needle in a
haystack, didn't the saying go?

And, anyway, she was raring to move on. Her boss was getting on her last nerve, and she had decided
to discreetly poison him before she left. Really, she would be doing the whole company a favor; the
man was such a lecher. How long would it be before he brought the business into disgrace, through
one form or another? No, she would be doing them all a massive favor and they would be thanking her
for it.

Not that they would know it was her doing.

Besides, it wasn't as if she really needed to work. She was the heir to a large fortune, old
Yankee money and, if things progressed the way they seemed to be, it would all be hers. The probate
lawyer in charge of the Montgomery estate still hadn't located the only other heir and,
happily, Stella didn't foresee that changing any time soon.

She knew where she was going. Her friend has long been urging her to feel free to use their summer
home up in a remote corner of Scotland.

"Really, Stella," her friend had said more than once, "You should take a break. Go
on up to St. Combs for a weekend, at least. It's gorgeous up there.. sunsets like you
wouldn't believe. You could go by yourself sometimes, if you'd rather be alone. Marcus and
I don't mind."

Stella smirked to herself at the thought. Of course, Marcus didn't mind. He was getting to shag
her, wasn't he? Really, men were all the same. Her friend was a fool to think that just because
she was married, she was somehow secure. That was why Stella had never let herself get attached to
any one man enough to even contemplate something as silly as matrimony. Because men couldn't
help themselves; anything in a skirt was fair game and so what if they were married?

Did Stella feel bad about sleeping with her friend's husband? Goodness, no! Whatever for? It
wasn't her fault that her friend couldn't keep the man satisfied. It wasn't her fault
that the man couldn't keep his hands off her, so much so than once they'd almost been
caught. Actually, the thought of being caught was rather exciting. Sometimes, she had purposefully
held off his advances until she knew her friend was about to return home. Then she would let him do
what he wanted, and more than once, had exploded with release at the sound of her friend Apparating
into the foyer.

"I'm a daredevil, I am," Stella murmured contemptuously, surveying her more or less
bare living room. Deciding that she had everything she wanted to take, she clapped her hands.
"Okay, let's go."

It was off to St. Combs, after a little detour into Muggle London to take care of her arsehole
boss, of course. And once settled into the quaint little fishing village on the edge of the
Aberdeenshire coast, she would decide how to ultimately punish Emerson Potter for daring to disobey
her.

She had warned the girl, hadn't she? She had said there would be consequences if the daughter
of Julia Thomas didn't listen and keep her pretty little mouth shut. Wasn't her fault, was
it, if the little brat caved under the burden of the truth?

Rules were rules and, contrary to popular belief, this one was not meant to be broken.

"So it's not over, Julia," she whispered, her blue eyes glinting maniacally.
"Not by a long shot."


**********

A weak winter sun was already high in the sky when Emerson woke up late the next morning. For a
moment, she lay still and wondered why her head was pounding as it was while, yet, her heart felt
lighter than it had in months. She had been miserable for so long that the absence of that sense of
misery made her uneasy.

Then, like a gust of fresh mountain air, she remembered.

Last night, she had poured out the whole painful sorry story to her parents. It had felt so good to
unload that burden! Why had she kept it to herself for so long? Because she'd wanted to solve
it herself? Because of the threats?

Well, now that she thought about it, how could she have forgotten who her parents were? Perhaps
because they were just that, her parents, and that was the only thing she saw them as. But that
didn't change the fact that they were Harry Potter and Hermione Granger Potter, two people
whose names were renowned the wizarding world over. Two people who had, as mere teenagers,
contributed to the vanquishing of the most evil Dark Wizard in generations. Heck, her father had
been the one to deal the final, fatal blow.

With power like that in her corner, how could she have been so afraid? If her parents could get rid
of scum like Voldemort, surely they could more than ably protect their family?

Em rolled over and sighed at that thought, a wave of blessed relief washing over her. She snuggled
deeper into her pillow, feeling supremely safe and warm for the first time in many weeks as she
wrapped her comforter tighter around herself. For once she hadn't kicked it off the bed during
the night, apparently.

Something uneasy still nagged at her but she couldn't figure out what it was. Yawning, she let
her eyes roam about her room, taking in its familiar features - the twirling ballerina music box
that Grandpa Granger had given her, the framed Cherokee headdress from her Maman, Enigi Thomas. Her
gaze landed on a picture of herself and her brothers, carousing at the Burrow. Davina hadn't
been born yet, so it had been just her, Ben and Budget. Em smiled as she watched Ben leap frog over
her younger self, only to get jumped on by Budget and they all tumbled over laughing, Budget's
hair tousled and-

*Budget.*

The nagging in the back of her head burst into full-on realization that had Emerson bounding out of
bed in horror.

She had made Budget cry last night, her sweet, rambunctious little brother. She had to find him and
apologize! Em hurried out of her room and down the hallway to the one her brothers shared, her
heart hammering within her chest. Nobody answered her knock and the room was empty when she opened
the door.

Frowning, she stared at the unmade twin beds for a full minute before she remembered. 'Of
course,' she thought, screwing up her face. 'It's Friday, so he and Ben are at
school.'

Realizing that she would have to wait until later, Em sighed heavily, closed the door and headed
back to her room. She'd almost reached it when her Mum and Davina came up the stairs.

Mum was levitating a tray ahead of her. "Oh, good morning! You're up."

Em nodded. "Yeah. Is that for me?"

"Yes," Davina answered, holding out her arms to her sister, who picked her up and buried
her face in the toddler's soft, russet curls.

"Oh, Vina, I'm so sorry," Em whispered, hugging her tight. "I love you so
much."

"Love you so much," Davina echoed, her little arms clasped around her big sister's
neck.

Mum opened the door and the three of them settled on Em's bed, the tray between them. On the
tray was a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs, bacon and buttered toast. A bowl of plump, juicy-looking
strawberries sat beside it, as well as a large mug of hot cocoa. Em suddenly realized that she was
starving. She hadn't eaten very much at dinner last night and she blushed as she recalled what
a bitch she had been.

"Where's Dad?" she asked, trying to take her mind off the disgust she felt at
herself.

Mum reached for a strawberry. "He had to go into work. Then he'll be having a meeting with
Uncle Draco about- you know."

Em nodded, feeling a rush of hope. Uncle Draco was an Auror and if he was going to be on the case
with her parents, whomever had been writing to her didn't stand a chance. "Did Budget go
to school?"

"Yeah. We'll go pick him up in about two hours. He only goes half days, remember? Which
gives me some time to gather the shreds of my sanity before he gets back to rip it up again,"
Mum said, but she was smiling. Her soft brown eyes gazed into Em's. "He knows you
didn't mean to snap at him."

Emerson found herself suddenly on the verge of tears. "I didn't mean to," she
whispered, her voice tight with remorse.

"He knows you didn't," Hermione repeated gently, rubbing her hand. "And
he'll be here in a little bit and you can tell him yourself. Okay?"

Nodding again, Em took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. "Thanks, Mum."

"Thank me too," piped up Davina.

Em smiled through her tears at her baby sister. "Thank you, Vina."

"You're welcome," replied Vina primly, causing Em to grab her and shower her little
face with kisses, while she wiggled and squealed.

Mum was watching them with a smile on her face, but there were tears in her eyes too, and Em knew
her mother was still thinking about last night. The knowledge that she was the cause of Mum's
tears sent a wave of guilt washing over Em that had her blinking rapidly so as not to burst out
bawling. Once she decided that she could swallow without choking on the lump in her throat, she set
to eating her breakfast, smiling and chattering with her little sister, who seemed to have a lot to
say.

"Do you want a hug from Ol' Bob?" Vina asked suddenly, gazing seriously up at Em with
her big, hazel eyes.

Em smiled at her. "I would like that, yes."

"I'll go get him," Vina said, scrambling off the bed. She toddled away, then paused
at the door and looked back. "You wait right there, okay?"

"Yes, Vina," Em answered with a little chuckle. Davina was just so cute.

As soon as her sister left the room though, her Mum spoke. "How are you feeling?"

Emerson looked up at her. Mum's face bore a worried frown, and her brown eyes were anxious.
"I'm all right."

Mum looked skeptical. "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, I-I feel kind of stupid, but other than that- I just can't believe I kept
it to myself for so long."

"It's not your fault, Em," her mother said gently. "In fact-"

"You don't understand," Em interrupted, shaking her head, feeling the still painful
remnants of her misery welling up within her. "Lyna kept urging me to tell you, to tell
*someone*. But I couldn't. I was so s-scared, Mum! In the last letter, they said something
like 'Budget is very cute, isn't he? It would be a shame if that had to change.' How
did they find out his nickname? Only our family and our friends know it. I couldn't do it- I
even made Lyna lie to you about that letter you sent! I'm so stupid!" All her emotions
came rushing back and she began sobbing, even as her Mum's arms wrapped around her.

"You're not stupid, don't ever think that," Mum whispered, stroking Em's
hair. "You did what you thought you needed to do, which was to keep your siblings safe, even
if it meant you had to carry the burden alone. And that was very brave, Emerson, though I wish with
all my heart that you had told us the instant you received that first letter. But what I was about
to say is that I understand why you couldn't, because there was something else too."

Em raised her head. "What?"

"Whomever had been writing to you had put Suppression and Compulsion Hexes on the
letters," Mum said, and for a moment such fury flashed in her eyes that she looked almost
frightening.

"What?" Em repeated numbly.

"Compulsion, so that even if you tried not to, you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from
reading them. And Suppression, so that as much as you wanted to, you couldn't tell someone.
I'm guessing that the emotional strain on you last night was so strong that it broke the
Suppression Hex."

Tears streamed unchecked down Emerson's cheeks as she realized that Smiley hated her that much,
hated her enough to force her to endure the horror for as long as she had. "Why? What d-did I
ever do to m-m-make somebody-"

"You didn't do anything," Mum said fiercely. "Do you understand me? This was not
your fault. This is a seriously imbalanced person who has done this, and it was in no way your
fault."

Emerson clung to her mother and cried in her embrace, her heart heavy with pain. She couldn't
bear to tell her Mum what was really bothering her, about how unclean she felt, how unworthy. She
didn't deserve them, any of them.

But, somehow, as if hearing the excruciating thought, her Mum pulled away and gazed into her eyes.
"That's not all, though, is it?"

"W-What d'you mean?" Em asked shakily, wiping her eyes with a trembling hand.

Hermione's cheeks were wet with tears. "The things that person said about you in those
letters, all those lies. You didn't believe them, did you?"

Oh Merlin help her, but she had! She did believe them. But Em couldn't bear to voice that,
couldn't bear to make her mother look any more anguished than she already did. "I
don't want to talk about it," she whispered. "I-I mean, not with you."

A second later, she glanced up, horrified to see Hermione looking slightly hurt. "I didn't
mean it like that, Mum! I do want to talk about it... it's just- it- it's kind of
embarrassing and..." Her voice trailed off miserably.

"I understand. I do," Mum said softly, squeezing her hand. "You want to talk about
it, but with someone outside of it all. Right?"

Em nodded, feeling relief washing over her. "Exactly. And then, maybe later... I mean, that
might help me share it with you... and Dad..."

"Yeah," Mum said, nodding as well. "I'm sure we can find someone. A
professional, someone we can trust, who has the experience and knows how best to help with these
matters." She seemed to be lost in thought for a few seconds before gazing seriously at Em,
her eyes earnest. "But you do know that no matter what, *no matter what*, you can talk to
me, to Dad? We love you so much, Emerson."

"I love you, too, Mum," Em choked, throwing her arms around her mother again, hope
swelling within her that maybe, just maybe, she might be able to rise up from the dark abyss of
despair that Smiley's brutal words had shoved her into. "I love you, too."

The two Potter women clung to each other for a long moment, until the voice of the third little
Potter female reached their ears, happily proclaiming the arrival of a battered, stuffed bunny. Em
pulled away from her Mum and hastily wiped her eyes, before turning to her baby sister and sweeping
her back onto the bed. She obligingly gave Ol' Bob a big hug and a kiss on his faded pink nose,
while Davina laughed with delight and Mum beamed tearily over at them.

One step at a time. That was how she would do it, that was how she would recover. With the love of
her family, the laughter of her sister, the desperately anticipated forgiveness of her precious
little brother who would be home in an hour's time... she would get there.

She would make it.


*********

Dropping a stack of Quidditch plays on his desk, Harry sank wearily into the chair in his office at
Ballynore. His head ached from forcing himself to remain composed all day, to keep a hold of
himself, and he closed his eyes as he remembered why that was so.

Last night, his daughter had finally confessed what had been burdening her and it had been greater
and more terrible than anything he had imagined. The farthest his mind had speculated was that
perhaps Emerson had been assaulted somehow and her drastic personality shift was a result of shame
and guilt. It was a terrible thing to think about his twelve year old daughter, but the changes
lately had made them not quite so far fetched.

Although he couldn't bear to voice them to anyone, not even Hermione.

Thank God he was wrong about that angle, but wasn't what had actually happened worse, in a way?
Emerson had been psychologically abused, in a manner of speaking. The very essence of who she was
had been attacked, to the extent that she had tried so hard to alienate them, to push them
away.

What kind of sick fuck had done this? What was their motivation? Why had they been so dedicated to
hurting his daughter? Why?

He had opened the shoebox and the sheer number and variety of clippings shocked him. Emerson had
arranged them by the date of their receipt and the letters were in their own compartment, similarly
arranged.

Harry blinked back tears as he imagined his daughter huddled on her bed, categorizing those foul
items that were poisoning her mind against herself and her family. His blood began to boil as he
recalled some of the letters. How dare- when he found them, him, her, *whomever*, when he got
his hands on them- those fu-

CRASH!

He was jerked back to himself by the sound of the small paperweight on his desk suddenly imploding
on itself. Only then did he become aware of the fact that his fists were clenched so hard his
fingernails had literally cut into his palms and his breathing was ragged.

"Calm down," he told himself, taking deep gulps of air. "Calm down. You'll be of
no use to anyone if you give yourself a coronary."

Ignoring the stinging in his palms, Harry grabbed his wand and *Reparo*ed the paperweight.
From slightly behind him and to his right, he heard what was unmistakably the glass doors to the
back porch sliding shut with a slam. Merlin, if he'd told those kids once, he'd told them a
couple hundred times not to slam those doors. And no, it didn't matter that the doors had
built-in Unbreakable Charms!

Sighing, he got up to gaze out the large window of his office. A timid winter sun was poking its
head out of iron-gray clouds that resolutely promised snow. The storm was rolling in from the east
but probably wouldn't be here for at least another hour.

Looking to his left, Harry saw Luke sitting cross-legged on the floor of the porch, scribbling onto
a piece of parchment with his magic markers. If there was one thing he was particularly proud of
about his estate, it was that the huge back porch was a safe and comfortable place to laze about in
any sort of weather, be it rain, snow or sun. He and Hermione had had Professor Flitwick himself
come down and install the charms, and it couldn't get any better than that.

A flicker of movement from the doorway caught his eye and he saw Emerson watching Luke, as if
hesitating about whether or not to approach him. Harry knew why Em looked so apprehensive; she was
obviously about to apologize for snapping at her brother so venomously the night before.

After a few seconds, Em walked over to Luke and squatted beside him. She appeared to say something,
probably asking for permission to sit because Luke nodded and she sat.

Curious, Harry tapped the glass with his wand. "*Sonorus*."

Instantly, he could hear his children as clearly as if they were actually in the room with
him.

"Budget, I'm really sorry about last night," Emerson was saying, and she did sound
grievously contrite. "I know I hurt your feelings and I'm so very sorry. Can you forgive
me?"

The little boy seemed to think hard for a full minute before he looked up at his sister. "Yes.
I forgive you."

Em threw her arms around him and repeatedly kissed his rich chocolate head. "Thank you. I love
you so much, Lukas."

"I love you, too," Luke answered before wiggling out of her embrace. "Mummy said you
were just upset about something."

Em nodded. "Yeah. But I feel better now cause I told Mum and Dad about it."

"You told Daddy?"

"Yeah, I did."

Luke looked up at her. "Well, that's good then," he said seriously. "Everything
will be all right now cause Daddy is a badass and he'll make it all better."

Harry stepped back so fast that he whacked his head on the side of the window. What did Luke just
say?!

Emerson's eyes were huge. "Budget! Where did you hear that word?"

"From Tristan," Luke replied matter-of-factly. "Is it true, Em? Is Daddy a
badass?"

Harry's daughter burst out laughing, but he was still too shocked to have the same reaction as
he gaped out the window at his children.

"Oh, Budget," Em giggled. "Don't say that word anymore, okay? It's not a
good word."

Luke nodded and Em put her arms around him again, dropping another kiss on his small forehead that
was exactly like Hermione's. "But to answer your question: yes, he is. He's the best,
most powerful one and it was stupid of me to keep my problems to myself for so long. I know
we'll be fine now."

"*Quietus*."

Harry stepped numbly away from the window and sat back down behind his desk. Rubbing his head where
he'd bumped it, he felt myriad emotions. Happiness at the faith his son and daughter had just
shown in him, anger that she'd even had to worry at all, fear that he might let her down, that
he might never find who had been terrorizing her.

How did he even begin to search for someone like that? Someone who had not only sent those foul
writings, but had used Dark magic on the letters so that Emerson could neither resist reading them
nor tell someone, even if she wanted to? He'd made copies of everything in the shoebox and
given it to Malfoy this afternoon. Malfoy, Ron and Remus had been almost as shocked and outraged as
Harry had been upon hearing about what had been happening to Emerson.

Harry had told them the whole story, beginning with Emerson's not trying out for the Quidditch
team, all the way to her breakdown last night. He hadn't been able to sit still at all, had
needed to pace, to dart all over the room as he talked, as if afraid that his rage would overtake
and incinerate him if he stayed still for too long.

And the almost frightened glances that the other men exchanged hadn't escaped his notice.

There was a knock on his door and the next second, Hermione poked her head in. "Everything all
right?"

Harry blinked at her. "Er, sure. Why?"

"Thought I heard a crash in here," she said, coming into the room and closing the door.
"Though, come to think of it, that was probably Luke."

"No, it was me. I accidentally broke this," he said, holding up the paperweight.
"It's good as new again. Speaking of Luke, though, he's learned a new
word."

Hermione's eyes lit up as she sat down across from him. Luke had a rather extensive vocabulary
for a five-year-old and Harry knew that that was a not-so-secret source of pride for his wife.
"Really? What word?"

He fought to keep a straight face, his initial shock having given way to amusement.
"Badass."

"What? Harry, don't make jokes like that!" Hermione exclaimed, looking
chagrined.

Harry laughed. "I'm not joking. Your son just now said that word to Emerson."

Hermione gaped for a few seconds, then took a deep breath. "What was the context of the
sentence that *your* son used the word in?"

"If I recall correctly, it was 'Daddy is a badass and he'll make it all better.'
He then went on to ask Em if I really am one," Harry recited, chuckling now at the conflicted
look on Hermione's face. He knew she found it as funny as he did but that she largely
disapproved of such language - even though, when she was hopping mad (or in the throes of ecstasy),
she had quite the repertoire herself. Of course Harry enjoyed being alive too much to ever take the
mickey out of her about that.

"Hmph," Hermione said with her brow furrowed and her eyes downcast.

Harry grinned. "Come on, admit it. It's funny." He adopted a little boy voice.
"Is it true, Em? Is Daddy a badass?"

Hermione broke into a fit of silent giggles before she started laughing outright. He joined her and
for a moment, it seemed that the atmosphere in the Potter household was completely normal and not
tinged with any sort of anger and unease.

After a few moments, his wife wiped her eyes as she shook her head. "Where do they learn that
stuff?"

Harry arched his eyebrows. "You're asking me?" He dodged the quill she threw at him.
"In this particular case, though, it was from Tristan Malfoy."

"Ah, I should have known." She was quiet for a moment, staring at him, and Harry knew she
was reading him like a book. The times were rare when he felt like this, but sometimes Harry wished
she didn't know him quite so well. She always respected his privacy when he needed it, letting
him pretend that she didn't know what he was thinking but the fact remained that she
knew.

Her voice was gentle when next she spoke. "What was Em's answer?"

And to his horror, Harry found himself blinking back tears. He kept his eyes trained on the
paperweight that had shattered earlier, trying to regroup his anger, to beat back the fear, the
guilt that was threatening to overwhelm him. What right did he have to dwell on those emotions when
someone out there was walking around unpunished, having hurt his child? And not only that, but
someone out there was threatening the very source and sustenance of his existence - his
family.

His voice was hard when he finally responded. "She answered in the affirmative. And I'm
going to have to be, Hermione." He looked up into her eyes, which were shining with tears.
"Things had been going too well. I should have known something would happen, that we'd be
attacked sooner or later. But I kept telling myself that I'm the one they would go after.
*I'm* Harry Potter. Am I arrogant or what?"

She shook her head, opening her mouth to speak, but he hurried on before she could. He didn't
want to be diverted from this liberating line of thought. "But they went after my daughter. My
daughter who can't help how or with whom she was created any more than she can reduce how much
we love her."

The rage was rampaging freely through his veins once more, effectively obliterating any other
emotion. Which was exactly what Harry wanted right now because he feared that if he fell victim to
his own fear and guilt, he would never get up again.

Besides, the madder he got, the better because somebody had hurt his baby and somebody would pay.
And the madder he got, the harder that somebody would hurt when he got to them, him, her,
*whomever*.

"They can say whatever they want about me. They can *do* whatever they want to me. But
nobody fucks with my family. Nobody."




24. This Present Darkness
-------------------------

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone for reviewing the last chapter! Bad-ass!Harry was quite a hit,
eh? :) Only four more chapters left to go (three more and an epilogue). They will be long, because
I still have a few loose ends to tie up, don't I? But everything will be addressed (I hope).
Thanks for sticking with me and please keep reviewing!


**
Chapter Twenty-Three - This Present Darkness**


As the weekend rolled around, Hermione found herself frequently assailed by bouts of anxiety that
had her bustling about in a near-panic. Now that they knew what had been happening to Emerson, it
was up to them to get to the bottom of this, to find the person who had dared assault their
family.

Not since the days of Voldemort had Hermione felt such rage and hatred towards any one person. With
Voldemort, it was primarily her love for Harry that had made her loathe the Dark Lord with such a
degree of severity. Most people had hated him, for sure, and he was definitely feared by the
majority. But Hermione found that her feelings had gone beyond mere hatred, simply because she had
lived daily with what Voldemort's existence caused Harry to endure. And she had loved Harry so
much, more than she had thought it possible to love someone.

With becoming a mother, however, she'd discovered that there was another type of love, which
ran, if not deeper, then purer than the love she had for her husband. There was nothing she
wouldn't do for her children, and the thought of any of them hurt or in danger caused her
physical pain. She had tried so hard to keep them safe, to ensure that their lives were as normal
and carefree as possible.

But she had failed.

And her daughter, although slowly regaining herself, was still prone to fits of tears and
surliness. More than once this weekend, she had seen Luke or Davina casting their big sister
confused glances, clearly wondering why their Em was acting so differently.

Hermione sighed, reaching up to rub her eyes. It would take time for Emerson to get back to normal.
For four months, she had been absorbing the painful lies of the mysterious letter writer...
recovery would not occur overnight, not from this.

"Hey, Hermione, where'd you say the marshmallows were?" called a voice from behind
her.

She took a deep breath and fastened a smile onto her face before turning around. "On the
kitchen counter, beside the plates."

Nina Weasley smiled. "Okay. The junkies are clamoring for their sugar fix."

"As if they need any more sugar," Hermione said derisively as they headed to
Ballynore's huge kitchen. "I've already had to order Luke out of the orchard twice.
It's too wet and cold in there for them, but do you notice how they would rather go where
they're not supposed to?"

Nina laughed. "That's the whole life's mission of kids, didn't you know? To
exasperate their parents to no end."

"You don't say. Here you go, then. I'll be right out with the other stuff," she
said, handing Nina the bag of fluffy sweets.

The sounds of the children drifted in from outside when Nina opened the sliding doors to the back
porch and Hermione caught a glimpse of Emerson laughing with Carolyna Lupin. Lyna had asked to come
home for the weekend too, to keep Em company, and had tearfully apologized to Hermione and Harry
for keeping the secret for so long, as well as for lying to them by letter.

She and Harry had, of course, reassured Carolyna that they forgave her, that at least they knew the
truth now and could all work together to help Em back to normal. This gathering of families was one
way to help Em, though the children didn't know that that was what they were here for. They
just thought it was a day to have fun at Ballynore with their "ultra-cool" (as Matthew
had phrased it) Uncle Harry and Aunt Hermione.

The grown-ups were doing their part as well. Hermione's father had passed along the name of a
Muggle psychologist whom he felt was excellent and could be trusted. Apparently, this doctor had
years of experience working with traumatized children and had known Mr. Granger for years.
Conveniently enough, this doctor was married to a wizard, so the news of letters being delivered by
owl, for instance, wouldn't come across as abnormal. She had already expressed interest in
perhaps counseling Emerson; Harry and Hermione had a meeting scheduled with her for the beginning
of the next week.

All the adults in their immediate circle of friends had now been informed of what had happened to
Em, and the support had been instantaneous and unanimous. Ginny Malfoy, in particular, who had had
a slightly similar poison-quill experience in her first year at Hogwarts, had been especially
furious.

"When you find the scum, be sure to let me know where you've buried him, Hermione, so I
can dig him up and murder him slowly and painfully all over again," the red-haired woman had
said vociferously, her brown eyes flashing.

"That is assuming there's anything left of him to bury," Angelina murmured, her
features twisted in outrage.

Luna nodded, her arms folded almost protectively across her pregnant belly. "That's true.
Cause wouldn't Harry incinerate him with a single glance?"

The women had fallen silent at that, because all of them had witnessed Harry Potter in a towering,
murderous rage once before. And needless to say, the sparse remnants of his opponent had now been
pushing up dandelions for more than two decades.

The fact that Dark magic was involved made the situation that much more volatile, because the very
trajectory of Harry's life had been altered by the darkness of the human nature. All the pain
and heartache that the Dark had caused him had made him violently abhorrent of anything to do with
it, and now it had somehow accessed one of his children?

Her heart thumping almost painfully within her, Hermione looked across the wide porch at her
husband, who was deep in conversation with Ron and Malfoy. His anger last night had been almost
frightening to behold. In fact, unless she was mistaken, his emotions had inadvertently caused the
paperweight on his desk to explode.

And it wasn't often or easily that Harry Potter lost control like that.

'It's funny, though, how everybody is referring to the letter writer as him', Hermione
mused to herself. Because she was almost certain they were dealing with a woman. The tone of the
letters had an unmistakable feminine aura, and the jibes and grievances being aired came across as
rather schoolgirlish - all that railing against Julia Thomas, a woman who had been dead for a dozen
years now.

The very first thing Hermione had done yesterday, the morning after Emerson's breakdown, had
been to write letters to America, to Julia's parents and Merry Reynolds. She had detailed what
had been happening to Em and had included snippets of the letters, to give them a feel of the type
of person they were up against. She had sent Fleet, her trusty stealth owl, and even though
he'd been gone only a day, Hermione was expecting him back any minute. He was honestly that
efficient, and this was definitely one time when he needed to be performing at the peak of his
capability.

Besides, of course the Thomases and Merry wouldn't hesitate to respond as soon as humanly
possible. Hermione knew they adored Emerson as much as she did and the faster things got underway,
the better.

Suppressing another sigh of anxiety, she turned her attention onto the children running and
shouting on the wide lawn covered with a light sprinkling of soft grayish snow. All of them were
rosy-cheeked from the cold, but none of them seemed to mind. Here and there, the adults had
conjured little multi-colored fires for the kids to roast their marshmallows. This brand of
marshmallows always toasted just right, depending on the toaster's preferences and unbreakable
Anti-burn charms had been placed around each fire for the children's safety.

His unruly hair hidden under a knitted Puddlemere United cap, Ben was holding a stick over a vivid
blue flame while elbowing Andy Wood, who said something that made Ben laugh. Luke was huddled a
short distance away with Tristan Malfoy, as well as Ron and Luna's flame-haired Alex. Probably
up to nothing remotely resembling good, so Hermione watched them for a few minutes. Luke had a
monkey-like tendency to scramble up trees and she didn't like for him to do it at all, let
alone when everything was so icy and frozen.

But would he listen? Twice now she'd already ordered him away from the orchard, and Hermione
kept a beady eye on him in case he got any more ideas. When it appeared that they were just hanging
around squabbling over their marshmallows, however, she allowed her gaze to wander back to
Emerson.

The young girl was holding Davina on her lap and listening, with a delighted expression, to a
red-faced Carolyna. Em beamed at her friend then, as if sensing her mother's gaze, looked up
and smiled over at her. Hermione smiled back, feeling tears prickling at her eyelids. Em was so
beautiful when she smiled and oh Merlin, let them find this woman who had somehow managed to dim
the light in those lovely eyes, so like those of the man she loved. Let them find her, and may God
have mercy on-

A sudden sickening *crack* rent the cold afternoon air, followed almost immediately by an
anguished scream. Every head whipped around in the direction of the grove of trees that waved naked
branches to the overcast sky. Her eyes rapidly scanning the grounds, Hermione quickly realized that
Luke, Tristan and Alex were no longer on the lawn.

*Oh, no.*

Harry, his wand in hand, was already bounding down the steps and sprinting through the snow, Malfoy
and Ron following closely behind him. Her heart in her throat, Hermione ran forward too, but she
had barely reached the edge of the porch than they were coming back, their faces white with fear.
Harry was carrying a screaming Luke while Ron and Malfoy each had a horrified-looking son by the
arm.

"Oh my God, what happened?" Hermione cried, running out to meet them.
"Luke!"

"He fell," Harry said grimly, over their son's anguished yells. "He climbed a
tree in the orchard but the branch was frozen and brittle and it broke."

How many times had she told Luke not to climb the trees? How many times today had she told him to
stay out- why had she looked away from him? Why hadn't she been watching-

Now was not the time for self-recrimination. Luke's left arm hung at an impossible angle and
his face was white and tinged with green. "Hold him still so I can numb his arm," she
said shakily, fighting not to burst into tears at the obvious pain that her little boy was
in.

The charm seemed to help because slowly color returned to Luke's face and his screams lost that
agonizing quality. He curled into his father's chest, sobbing, and Harry seemed not too far
from breaking down himself.

In spite of the chill, Hermione was sweating, blood and adrenaline pounding in her ears. The whole
thing had transpired in the matter of a scant few minutes, yet she felt suddenly fatigued. As if
from a great distance, she heard Davina crying and turning towards her daughter, felt her blood run
cold. But not because of Vina.

It was Emerson. The young girl was as still as a statue, her face frozen, her green eyes wide with
terror. She was still holding Davina, but it was as if she'd forgotten about her sister, even
though the toddler was screaming right into her face.

Without even thinking about it, Hermione had crossed over to her and touched her cheek, peering
urgently into her eyes. "It's okay, Em. He's fine."

"Smiley," Emerson muttered in a terrified whisper, her body rigid. "Smiley hurt him-
it's my fault-"

*Oh, God*. Hermione tried very hard not to weep as she reached up and held Emerson's face
in both hands. "No, it's not Smiley. He climbed a tree and he fell, that's all. Okay?
*It's not you*."

Emerson took a deep, sobbing breath and began to hyperventilate, her eyes squeezed shut. Davina, as
if somehow sensing her sister's need, suddenly stopped crying and wrapped her little arms
around Em's neck. At that, Em's eyes flew open and she shuddered. "He climbed a tree
and he fell," she parroted woodenly, as if scarcely daring to believe it.

"Yes," Hermione managed and watched her daughter's arms tighten around Davina in
relief.

"Go to him, Mum. He needs you," Emerson said softly, tears shining in her eyes.
"I'll take care of Vina for you."

Nodding through her own tears, Hermione hugged her two girls, then turned to go, nearly colliding
with Ben, who was coming over anxiously. After briefly crushing her eldest son to her, she hurried
back to Harry and took Luke from him. "I'll take him upstairs."

Harry nodded, his features twisted with pain, and she knew there was more than one source. The
other children were all subdued, obviously confused by what had just so rapidly transpired and as
Hermione headed inside, tenderly cradling her son, she heard Nina, in a determinedly jovial voice,
calling them all towards her for "s'mores lessons!"

Angelina, who had trained as a nurse during the Second War, helped Hermione settle the
still-sniffling Luke on his bed. They quickly deduced that he had broken his arm in two places, as
well as sustained a hairline fracture of his wrist. Each wound was healed with a gentle tap from
her wand, but they knew he would still be sore for at least a few days. After helping Luke sip from
a cup of mild Sleeping Draught laced with pain reliever, they watched him lay back, rubbing his
eyes and yawning.

"Thanks, Angelina," Hermione said softly, glancing up at the other woman, who nodded
once.

"No thanks needed. We're all family here." She stood up. "I'm going to go
back downstairs, okay? Holler if you need me."

The door closed quietly behind her and Hermione stared at her green-eyed son, who looked up at her
and drowsily smiled Harry's smile. "Hi, Mum."

She reached out and smoothed his hair back from his cool forehead, sighing with relief and
weariness. "Lukas James, how many times have I told you not to climb those trees?"

"I'm sorry. But Tristan dared me, Mum," Budget mumbled sleepily, his eyelids drooping
heavily. "And- and you can't back down from a dare, you know, cuz-"

But why she couldn't back down from a dare Hermione never discovered, because Luke's eyes
slid shut and he sighed. Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head slowly. This
child would be the death of her.

She had known he would keep them on their toes from the very beginning. The first twelve weeks of
her pregnancy with Luke had been characterized by such violent morning sickness that Hermione had
had to practically take up residence in the loo. That had given way to an extremely active baby,
who sometimes kicked her so hard she would involuntarily yelp out loud.

Hermione had gone into the delivery room mentally unprepared. Ben had had a fever the night before
and a part of her was still at Ballynore with him, worrying about whether he'd gotten enough
sleep, enough fluids. And had the Fever-Reducing Potion worked? Was his temperature down?

The news that the baby had twisted around at the last minute and was now in a rare kneeling breech
position did not help matters at all. By the last quarter of her labor, Hermione was hysterical
enough with anxiety to scream at the Healers that she didn't care what they did, to "just
get this bloody kid out of me!"

The Healers had managed to delicately move Luke around into the proper position, no mean feat
considering they were working in a such confined space. After administering her some medication,
they'd checked her again and informed her and Harry that it would be at least another half hour
before she could push.

Barely five minutes later, Harry was yelling for the Healers, who got there just in time to catch
the furious infant.

The Senior Healer had turned to his partner in bewilderment. "Didn't we just examine her?
How did this kid get out so quickly?"

"I dunno," the other man replied, his eyes wide but amused. "Maybe he heard you say
'another half hour' and went 'Oh, hell no!'"

Neither their exchange nor the subsequent chuckles were noticed by the young parents, who were too
busy sobbing happily over the tiny, ruddy-faced boy. Hermione and Harry had taken home the
temporarily blond infant, where he was quickly assigned the apt nickname of "The Fuss
Budget". He demanded to be fed every two hours on the hour and would only go to sleep if
rocked in a certain way. And sometimes he would scream seemingly just for the heck of it, because
nothing at all that she did would help, and Hermione would hold him and cry right along with him
out of utter helplessness.

Strangely, when he got like that, one of the only things that could calm him was a seven-year-old
Emerson's lisping rendition of "Morning Has Broken", of all things.

But once his needs had been met to the most accurate of extents, Luke was a wonderful baby. He
showered his parents and siblings with laughter and coos, babbling in response whenever they spoke
to him, as if agreeing that yes, he did know that he was the cutest kid in the history of
civilization.

Thankfully, the "fuss" part of his personality reduced dramatically by the time he turned
four and for their perseverance, they were awarded the astute and rambunctious daredevil who had
now managed to break his arm in two places.

Hermione sat beside Luke's bed for a long time, watching him slumber peacefully. Other than a
bit of soreness over the next few days, he would be perfectly fine again, and in time would
probably not even recall what had happened today.

"If only that were true for Emerson as well," she whispered sadly, recalling the look of
terror on her daughter's face. Hermione shook her head suddenly and stood up. There was no need
to be wondering anymore, not now that they knew which way was up. It was time to get to work, to
get busy, to get revenge.

Upon dropping a kiss on Luke's smooth brow, she left the room and headed back downstairs,
determined to roll up her sleeves and get this ball going once and for all. Her daughter was
counting on her, on them all.

"So come on home, Fleet. Come on back."


********

Emerson woke up the next morning feeling strangely bewildered. She had had the most bizarre dream
that Julia's old friend, Merry Reynolds, had been in her room and had been hugging her as she
slept, weeping into her tangled ebony hair.

Of course Merry hadn't really been in her room, Em knew, but it had just felt so real. The
human brain was definitely a weird mechanism, she decided as she got ready for her day. Carolyna
had already gone downstairs, and Em's stomach rumbled as the aroma of bangers and mash drifted
up to her room.

"Morning," Lyna said with a smile when Em entered the kitchen.

Emerson smiled back. "Hey." She walked over to the table and sat down across from her
best friend. "Man, that looks good!"

"It *is* good," Lyna managed, her cheeks bulging, and conversation quickly perished
as the girls broke their nightly fast.

Finally, Em put down her knife and fork and sighed contentedly. "Ah, that's the
ticket." She looked around the otherwise deserted kitchen for what was probably the first time
since she'd entered it and frowned. "Where's everybody?"

"Oh, Uncle Ron came and took your brothers and sister over to his house," Lyna said
carefully.

Em's frown deepened. "Why?"

"Well, your Mum and Dad said that when we're done eating, we're to go to your
Mum's office," her friend answered, looking slightly anxious. "Your Mum's owl
came back last night."

Emerson's heart was suddenly pounding and her mouth went dry. She knew that Mum had sent Fleet
to Papi and Maman, as well as Merry, looking for answers about Smiley. Maybe that was why she'd
had that weird dream? Maybe they'd gotten some answers?

Only one way to find out. Em forced herself to smile as she pushed her chair back. "Well, I
guess we should go now, then?"

Lyna nodded and the two girls left the kitchen and climbed the gleaming marble stairs to
Hermione's office. Taking a deep breath, Em knocked and a few seconds later, the door was
opened. It was her Dad and he smiled when he saw her.

"Hey," he said, pulling her into a hug, and for once, Em didn't mind and hugged him
back.

"Hi, Dad."

Her father hugged Carolyna as well and they went into the office, where Mum was sitting behind her
desk, which was covered in papers and parchments. Mum hugged the both of them too and then they all
sat. Em's palms were sweating at the prospect of finally having a name, maybe even a face, to
put to the person who had been tormenting her for so many weeks.

She opened her mouth to ask but what came out was: "How's Budget?"

Her mother smiled. "He's perfectly fine. You know how he is. By this time tomorrow,
he'll be trying to sneak back into the orchard to scramble up the trees again." Mum's
smile faded after a few seconds, though, and she sighed. "But I'm guessing you want to
know if we know anything new?"

Not trusting her voice not to betray her jumble of emotions, Em simply nodded. It was her Dad who
spoke, his voice held carefully level. "Smiley is a woman. Her name is Cristella
Montgomery."

*Cristella Montgomery. Cristella Montgomery.* The name echoed in Emerson's head like a
clanging gong and she resisted the impulse to shudder. So this was who had been terrorizing her?
This was who hated her so much? But- "I don't think I've ever heard of her. Who is
she?"

Her parents exchanged a glance. "Actually, you have. In fact, you met her last summer in
Dallas, were introduced and everything."

"I was?" Em asked numbly, her eyes wide before turning to her friend. "Do you
remember her, Lyna?"

Carolyna was frowning, her forehead creased in concentration as she thought hard and then her eyes
widened. "Yeah, I do! Remember, Em, the day we went to that Muggle mall and got your ears
pierced? That woman who was talking to Merry when we came back from the loo?"

Emerson blinked, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, trying to conjure up an image. And then,
she remembered.


*She and Lyna had spent the night at Merry's house, having a kind of girls' night in.
Though as Merry pointed out, it wasn't a pure girls' night since there was a male present,
her six-month-old son, Blake. But since Blake was fast asleep and Merry's husband, Dave, was
out with his friends, it'd been essentially just the three of them.

They'd stayed up late talking and laughing, eating ice cream and painting their nails. Merry
had taught them the charm for shaving their legs and then the discussion had gotten around to
piercings. Merry had had one in her belly-button before she'd gotten pregnant with Blake and
she'd declared that once was enough, thank you very much.

"I'm perfectly content with just my ears now," she said, dipping her spoon into the
container of hot fudge sundae.

"I wanna get my ears pierced," Em decided suddenly. "Can we do that at the mall
you're taking us to, Merry?"

"Well, I can, but we should probably ask your parents first," Merry answered, smiling
over at her. "I'll send them an express owl before we turn in."

Em beamed. "Wicked! How 'bout you, Lyna? Wanna get one too?"

"Nope," Lyna said, looking a little squeamish. "No perforations for me, thanks. What
if your parents say no?"

Em shrugged. "I don't think they will. It's just the one piercing in each
ear."

"Which is all I would allow you to get anyway," Merry said, getting up and stretching.
"I really enjoy having you here but your folks might never let you come back if I send you
home hairless and full of holes."

Em and Lyna had dissolved into helpless laughter and soon afterwards went to bed, giggling and
whispering to each other for a long time before falling asleep. Late the next morning, Fleet
arrived with the okay from Harry and Hermione. So, true to her word, Merry took Em and Lyna to the
Grapevine Mills Mall, where Emerson got a tiny diamond stud inserted into each earlobe. While Merry
lingered behind with the merchant, discussing jewelry, the two girls hurried into the nearest
bathroom to squeal over and admire the recent additions to Emerson's person.

On their way back to Merry, their nostrils were ensnared by the most delicious aroma and they
glanced at each other.

"Let's check it out," Em said, hooking elbows with Lyna and they quickly headed in
the direction of the smell, which turned out to be a pretzel shop called Auntie Anne's.

The girls dawdled, trying to decide which scrumptious flavor they would each get; if they had any
money, that is. They hadn't had any of their wizard money changed into the Muggle version, so
until they got back to Merry, all they could do was salivate longingly.

"Hey, are you from Hawaii?" a voice asked from her right and Em looked up. The speaker
was a tall, dark-haired boy with gray eyes behind the Auntie Anne's counter, sporting a name
tag which read "Troy".

"Me? No. Why?"

Troy grinned. "Well, you have that exotic look. The skin, the hair. Though maybe not the eyes;
yours are unique."

Emerson grinned back. He was cute. "No. I'm from Britain."

"Ah, now that you speak, I can tell," Troy said. "So what brings you ladies to balmy
Dallas? Y'all tourists?"

"Well, in a manner of speaking. I was born here actually, but I've lived in England since
I was a few months old. We're here visiting my grandparents. I'm Emerson and this is
Carolyna," Em said, smiling over at her friend.

Troy smiled at Lyna. "Ah, Carolyna," he said in his throaty Texas drawl and Lyna colored
slightly. "By the way, who are your grandparents?"

"Herb and Enigi T-" Em began but was interrupted.

"Mr. and Mrs. Thomas!" Troy exclaimed, looking excited. "I mow their lawn every now
and then, and it's a pretty big one too. So you're their granddaughter? Now that I think
about it, you do look like their daughter who died. They have her pictures all over the house. I
didn't know she had a kid."

Em spread her arms grimly. "Ta-da."

Troy chuckled. "Well, if you ever need someone to show you the sights, tell your folks
I'll be glad to. Troy Saunders. They should know who I am. Would y'all like some
pretzels?"

The girls declared that they sure would, but would have to come back since they didn't have any
cash on them. They left Troy and headed back towards the jewelry place where they had left Merry,
both of them giggling and blushing as they rated Troy on various scales.

As Merry came into view, they saw that she was conversing with a tall, dark-haired woman. Something
about the set of Merry's shoulders caused Emerson and Lyna to slow down and they approached the
two women cautiously.

"Meredith, dear! You're broader than Broadway!" the brunette was exclaiming with a
laugh and Emerson frowned. Merry didn't like being called "Meredith", she'd told
Em so the very first time they'd met. And Em knew that Merry was a little sensitive about the
weight she had gained from her pregnancy, since Merry had always been extremely petite, with a
dancer's physique. Why was this woman highlighting both of those things, yet trying to make it
seem like a joke?

A glance at Merry's face confirmed for Em that the blonde woman was not at all pleased. So she
was surprised when Merry smiled. "Tell me about it. How are you, Stella?"

The brunette, who was quite attractive, laughed again, revealing perfect white teeth. "I'm
great. My job is such that I'm jet-setting all over the place, which suits me perfectly.
I've never been one for sticking close to home, marrying the boy next door, keeping house, that
kinda thing. Some can settle for that, but me? Nah."

Em found that she was rapidly disliking this woman called Stella. All of those things that Stella
had just snidely put down were true of Merry's life and Em knew that Merry was extremely happy.
Merry and Dave were clearly in love and Blake was the happiest, sweetest baby in the world. Yet
this woman was trying to make it all sound inferior in some way.

Merry was still smiling, though Em noticed that her gray-green eyes were hard. "To each their
own, eh, Stella? But what brings you back to Dallas? I haven't seen you in these parts in quite
a while."

"Oh, just business," Stella said, waving one perfectly-manicured hand breezily. "My
boss-"

But then she caught sight of Em and Lyna and her mouth fell open rather unattractively. As Emerson
neared, she realized that Stella was staring unabashedly at her, her eyes wide. Perplexed, Em
glanced at Lyna, who shrugged, and they both looked to Merry for guidance. The short blonde woman
had an almost smug expression on her face as she observed the brunette's sudden
discomfit.

Stella shook her head slightly, as if trying to clear her head. "It can't be," she
muttered in disbelief and Em wondered if the woman was feeling all right.

"Oh, it certainly can be," Merry said with a dangerous cheerfulness. "This is
Carolyna Lupin. And this is Emerson. You remember Emerson, right?"

Em wondered at the challenging note in Merry's voice, as if Merry was daring Stella to say that
no, she didn't remember Em.

Perhaps Stella caught the tone as well, because she flushed slightly. "Of course I remember
her. How are you, Emerson?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Em said. "Do I know you?"

"No, you don't," Merry said, still smiling, but her eyes were flashing.

Not looking at Merry, Stella seemed to gather herself and smiled down at Em. "How's
everything going? I bet you miss your mom?"

Er, weird question, much? "Sometimes, yeah."

"I imagine it's hard. Sometimes, I'm sure you wish you could talk to her, that you
could see her in person and all," the brunette said, smiling in what she seemed to think was a
caring fashion.

But something about the smile grated at Emerson and she felt suddenly annoyed. "Actually, I do
talk to her all the time, and I do see her in person when I'm at home."

Stella laughed patronizingly. "Good sense of humor you have there. But of course you can't
"talk" to your mother or "see her in person" unless she's a ghost. Seeing
as how Julia is dead and all."

"Actually, my mother is Hermione Potter," Em returned coolly, her irritation mounting.
"Julia gave birth to me, but Hermione is my mother and I do talk to her daily." The smile
flickered briefly on the woman's face before firming, but suddenly tired of her, Em turned away
and addressed Merry. "Could Lyna and I have some money, please? There're some really
tasty-looking pretzels with our names written all over them."

"I'll go with you," Merry said swiftly. "Well, good to see you, Stella. Enjoy
your visit to Dallas."

Stella still sported that same smile, though Em noticed that it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Oh, I will."

Emerson, Lyna and Merry turned and strode away, and although she didn't look back to verify it,
somehow Em knew that the brunette's haughty blue eyes followed them all the way out of
sight.*


Em and Lyna had asked Merry about the woman, but all Merry had said was that Stella had been a
schoolmate of hers and Julia's and lookie here, cinnamon raisin pretzels! She'd wondered a
few times, but the memory of the tall, dark-haired woman with the cold blue eyes had quickly been
driven completely from Emerson's mind for the rest of her visit.

And never had she dreamed that this woman could be Smiley.

But it still didn't make any sense! They'd spoken to each other for a minuscule five
minutes, if that. How could this woman have gotten so much from that conversation to decide to
terrorize Em so much? What could she possibly have said to make this woman hate her to such an
extent?

Her confusion must have shown on her face, because her Mum reached over the desk and took her hand.
"It wasn't anything you did or said, Em. This woman, Cristella, apparently she had it in
for Julia when they were at school and somehow, in her twisted mind, she can't let go of that
enmity even though Julia is gone."

"I don't understand," Em said, frowning, her head beginning to ache as she tried to
recall, to dredge up some reason, any reason for what she'd been forced to endure.
"*I'm* not Julia. She knows that, right? How could this possibly-"

"She's not right in the head," Dad said softly. "But it doesn't excuse or
justify what she's done to you-"

But Em was shaking her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "She was trying to mock me in
Dallas. Remember, Lyna? Asking me if I missed my mother. I remember thinking that that was a very
weird question. Why would she bring up my mother, of all things? Of course I thought she was
talking about you, Mum." She sniffled, then looked up wildly. "B-But maybe Julia did
something to her, something that she can't let go of? Maybe I-I did the same thing?
Maybe-"

"Stop it, Emerson," Mum said sharply, her dark eyes flashing with love, anger and fervor.
"You did absolutely nothing wrong. Do you understand me? This is not your fault and Cristella
knows that! That's why she's tried so hard to convince you in those letters that you are
somehow to blame for her actions, because she is unable and unwilling to take responsibility for
herself! She is a grown woman, and mental illness or not, she is without excuse in what she has
done and she will pay for this."

Em bit her lip hard, trying to halt her sobs as the words warred inside her head- *This is not
your fault... But your transgressions merit it... You did absolutely nothing wrong... But you are
not like them, they are pure...*

"Don't let her win, Em," Lyna said softly from beside her, grasping Em's hands
tightly as if that would help stave off the bad thoughts. "Don't let her."

*... Kiddo, you aren't anything special, so it would-*

"We love you, Emerson, no matter what," Mum said, wrapping her arms around her and Em
burst into tears and clung to her mother, recalling the multitudes of times that she'd been
told that, those sweet words spoken like a melody, like a deliciously quivering note of phoenix
song, fortifying, cocooning, uplifting... Budget's voice.. *I'm really glad you're
home, Em. I missed you*... Ben... *You'd have done the same thing if it was your
friend*... Vina squealing *"Emma!"* and running to fetch Ol' Bob for her to
hug and kiss... *Love you so much*...

Dad calling her "*Moppet*"...

"I won't let her win!" Em sobbed suddenly, looking up and into her best friend's
honey eyes. "I won't let her win, Lyna. I promise."

Lyna was crying too; actually, all of them were and for a few minutes, they let the cathartic tears
flow, washing away some of the pain, the fear, the self-doubt. Only some, sure, but it was a
start.

Finally, Em wiped her eyes and glanced up at her parents. "It's no wonder I'm losing
my mind. This woman-" she paused and forced herself to say the name- "*Cristella*
fu-, I'm sorry, *messing* with my head, so now I'm thinking people were here who are
actually thousands of miles away. She obviously wants me to be as deranged as she is."

"Who did you think was here?" Dad asked, squinting at her as he cleaned his glasses on
his shirt, his eyes red.

"Merry," she replied. "I dreamed that she was crying over me while I slept, but for
a few minutes there, I thought it was real."

Mum smiled. "That's because it *was* real. Merry really did cry over you last
night."

Em goggled. "She was here?"

"Yes. She was so upset when she found out what had been happening to you, because Cristella
had done almost the same thing to Julia at school. Merry was kind of blaming herself for not
knowing that something would happen, after you all met Cristella in Dallas. She said she should
have at least been on her guard, because of the way Cristella had reacted when she first saw
you."

"She couldn't have known what Cristella would do," Em said sadly.

Dad nodded. "That's what we tried to tell her. But she kept saying that she could have
helped, that you'd written to her asking about Cristella, although you didn't know that was
who you were asking about. And she'd just dismissed it, telling you not to worry about people
like that."

"She wanted to stay until you woke up and tell you in person, but Blake is teething," Mum
continued, looking weary all of a sudden. "She'll be back this weekend, and your
grandparents are coming over too. But anyway, Merry went to kiss you good-bye and just lost it. You
must have woken up a little bit."

Emerson sighed, as she fingered one of her diamond studs. She would've loved to have seen
Merry. "I guess."

They were all quiet for a few minutes before Hermione spoke again. "Merry did leave us with a
wealth of information, though, seeing as how she knew Cristella personally. So we don't foresee
this taking very long. We're quite certain that she is the culprit and we know a lot about her,
where she lives, works, everything. We'll find her, Em."

Em nodded, then blurted, "When you find her, what'll you do?"

Her parents exchanged a look that sent a sliver of terror-tinged awe down her spine and upon
glancing at her best friend, Em knew that Lyna had felt it too. And although she hadn't ever
really thought about what might happen to Smiley- no, Cristella, -- when she was located, Emerson
knew that it would be no less than the woman deserved.

She didn't need to worry anymore; her parents would take care of it, just as they had been
capable of doing all along. She could lay down at last, secure in the arms of her family and those
who loved her - and she knew they did; she *believed* they did - and rest in the eye of the
storm.


********

Harry couldn't understand why things weren't happening faster in their quest to locate
Cristella Montgomery. They knew most everything there was to know about this woman. They knew where
she was born, where she was raised, where she went to school. They knew where she lived, where she
worked, although she apparently didn't have to, what with herself appearing to be the sole heir
to an old wizarding fortune.

He and Hermione had a team of four Aurors working on this although, granted, it was in an
unofficial capacity. He didn't want word getting out to the media about what had been happening
to Em and luckily for them, Kingsley Shacklebolt was a family friend as well as Head Auror. So it
hadn't been hard to get approval for Malfoy, Remus and Tonks, and Kingsley himself, to work on
the matter while feeling secure that the news wouldn't leak out. And of course it went without
saying that they were among the elite of the elite.

Well, it had now been fourteen days since they'd discovered Smiley's identity, so why
didn't they have her in hand?

With that question nagging at him as usual, Harry dropped his briefcase on his desk and managed,
with difficulty, not to slam the door of his office. He was so frustrated! How was this hag
managing to elude them? This should have been over by now. They had the best of wizarding law
enforcement on the case, as well as himself and Hermione, not to mention assorted civilian
Weasleys. They were the same people who had greased Voldemort and his Death Eaters; one rich bitch
with issues should be a walk in the park, right?

Instead, after a promising and rapid beginning, the investigation seemed to have stalled while they
ran around in circles like rats chasing their tails.

The London firm that Cristella worked at had been one of their first stops. There, they had
discovered that she'd abruptly resigned the day after Emerson had broken down and confessed.
And the person who perhaps knew her best, and could offer them some insights as to where to find
her, was currently an inch from death in a London hospital. Not even Hermione had been able to
figure out exactly what was wrong with him, but she was almost certain that his illness was magical
in nature.

"So she's not above resorting to murder," Harry muttered, flipping through his notes
for the thousandth time. "What did her boss know that she didn't want found out?
Especially as she hasn't bothered to hide very much about herself."

Only the knowledge of where to find her, obviously. They had all this information on this woman,
just not a fucking clue as to her current physical location. Where could she possibly be?
They'd visited every single one of her flats, all over the continent, but in not one had she
left a single hint as to her whereabouts.

Meanwhile, the letters came every three days, addressed to them now rather than Emerson, taunting
them, mocking their increasingly desperate efforts to find this dangerous and unbalanced woman who
was yet somehow capable of Dark magic that not even Hermione Potter could decode:


*My, my, I'm in great demand, aren't I? I must say it's quite amusing to imagine you
all running around like those visually-challenged rodents of legend, trying to locate yours
truly.*

*...see how they run*
*They all run after the farmer's wife*
*Who cut off their tails with carving knife...*

*Hmm, a carving knife. Now that's an idea. See, I'm still debating what to do to Little
Miss Potter, who dared disobey my instructions. I told her to keep her mouth shut, that something
bad would happen if she didn't. But you know kids, they don't listen and, alas. It's
too bad my letters don't have a chance of reaching her hands or eyes anymore. But then again,
neither do you all of reaching me, ha!*


Every time a letter arrived, Harry would shut himself up and read it alone, hands trembling with
rage. And the effects were lingering. Lately, he'd found himself snapping at Hermione, skipping
dinner, staying late at work, obsessing. He was taking this very personally, this failure. He had
failed to protect his daughter and now he was failing to bring about her final redemption, to
locate this monster, to halt the spread of this present darkness.

There was a little knock on his door and suppressing a twinge of irritation, he looked up.
"Come in."

The door creaked open and his youngest son scampered into the room. "Daddy, look what I
made!"

Harry managed a small smile as he glanced at the parchment that Luke had covered with a mass of
writhing vibrantly colored snakes. "That's great, Budget."

Luke beamed. "Want me to make another one?"

"Sure."

"What color would you like?"

Reaching for the papers on his desk again, Harry shrugged. "I don't know.
Blue?"

"Okay. How many snakes? Like a gazillion?"

"Why not."

For a minute, there was only the sound of magic markers scratching on parchment as Luke drew one of
his "gazillion" snakes, and Harry frowned as he reread one of the documents they'd
received from the London firm, a list of all the company-furnished flats that Cristella had around
Europe. They'd definitely been to the Notting Hill one. What about the Inverness flat? Yeah,
they had. Sunderland? Yep. Wait, what about Groningen? Had that one been-

"Whoa, Dad, look at this!"

Annoyed at the distraction, Harry looked around. "Budget, go play in the family room. I'm
trying to work here."

Luke nodded. "Yeah, but-"

"*Now*, Lukas," Harry said firmly and tried not to notice the way the smile slid off
his son's face.

"Okay."

The door closed softly behind Luke and Harry stared unseeingly for a full minute at the paper he
held in his hand, trying not to acknowledge that the feeling spreading darkly throughout his whole
being was guilt. It wasn't as if he was trying to be mean; he really did need to work on
this.

But upon refocusing on the paper and recalling that they had, indeed, visited Cristella's
Groningen apartment, Harry couldn't deny that he really had been apathetic to his son's
presence.

And he knew that it wasn't just Luke.

Because with every day that went by, Harry found himself staying later and later at the Puddlemere
offices, although rarely was it Quidditch that occupied him. And when he did come home, he would
head to his office to pore over his documents even more, emerging only to kiss the kids good night,
trying to convince himself that he wasn't avoiding them, that he didn't see Ben's frown
of confusion over why he didn't stay to chat for a few minutes like he usually did.

He could tell that Hermione was getting worried; she kept trying to raise the subject. But he
always headed her off, just as he did later that night when they went to bed.

"Luke was kind of withdrawn tonight," she said carefully, pulling the covers back and
climbing in.

Harry grunted to show that he'd heard as he undressed. "Well, you know how he
is."

"Yes, I do. Which is why-"

"Hermione, I'm really tired, all right? And I want to go in early tomorrow to analyze
those papers again, so I'd like to get some sleep."

She was frowning slightly. "I was hoping we could do that together? I thought-"

"Look, can we talk about this tomorrow?" he said standoffishly, looking her straight in
the eyes.

She arched her eyebrows. "Sure, I was just-"

"Good," Harry interrupted, before rolling over and drawing the covers over himself.

For a moment, neither of them moved and then Harry felt her lay down too. She was barely three
inches away from him and yet he felt like a great yawning gulf had suddenly erupted between them.
He wanted... oh, how he wanted to touch her! His every muscle and nerve and sinew was screaming at
him to roll over again, to take her in his arms and hold her. To kiss her and say he was sorry, to
whisper that he loved her. To show her how much.

To confess how scared he was.

But he didn't, and for a long time he lay awake, fighting back the fear and shame and guilt
that threatened to overwhelm him as his family lay in the sleeping house, depending on him for
protection that it seemed he - the powerful, legendary Harry Potter - couldn't give.


*****

**End Notes:**

Quite a difference from the ending of the previous chapter, isn't it? What a difference two
weeks can make! I know, I know, y'all wanna see some ass-whooping, and I promise it is on its
way... but I couldn't have everything be resolved whoosh, just like that, in one fell swoop,
could I? Hang in there.

1. Grapevine Mills Mall is a real mall, as is Auntie Anne's Pretzels (as I'm sure most of
you know. Yum!)

2. The "dream" that Em had where she thought that Merry was hugging her and crying is
based on something that happened to me when I was a little girl. I was eight years old and going
away to boarding school for the first time and "Debbie", who was the big sister I never
had and likewise was rather fond of me, did the sobbing and hugging thing while I was asleep. When
I mentioned it to my mom, she told me that it hadn't been a dream :)

3. And please review?




25. An Iron Bridge
------------------

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

**
Chapter Twenty-Four - An Iron Bridge**


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was lucky. She was so incredibly lucky.

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

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

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

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

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

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


*"Hi, Emerson."

Em stiffened slightly. Honestly, he was the last person she wanted to talk to. "Hi,
Brandon."

He must have picked up on the definite coolness in her tone because he hesitated before speaking
again. "Um, can I sit down?"

"Last I was aware, I had no control over your motor capabilities and neither do I own the
chairs. So why're you asking me for permission?"

She felt him sit down on her right but didn't look at him. For a moment, they sat in tense
silence.

"Where's Carolyna?"

Em's head whipped around. "She went to get something. But listen, Brandon, I'm really
not in the mood for small talk so if that's what you're here for, you can just-"

"I'm sorry," he said, interrupting her tirade. "Okay? I'm really sorry
about... what happened. I shouldn't have kept bothering you like that when it was obvious that
you were already overwhelmed with something."

Emerson looked at him, trying to gauge whether or not he was serious. Sometimes you never knew with
Brandon. But his brown eyes were earnest and after a minute, she sighed. "Okay. But if you
thought I was such a bitch, why couldn't you say it to my face? Why'd you have to wait
until I was gone to announce that to the whole of Gryffindor Tower?"

He flushed to the roots of his hair and looked down at the table. "I'm sorry about that,
too. I just got caught up in the moment and I was kind of embarrassed. Y'know, everybody
staring and all that."

"Yeah, I can certainly relate!" Em snapped, turning away to look across the room.

He didn't respond and after another minute of irritation, Emerson took a deep breath and closed
her eyes. There was no need to still be so offended. It was all in the past now, and wasn't she
trying to get over the huge mistake that she'd made? It wasn't as if she enjoyed being mad
at him.

"But the thing I don't understand, Brandon, is why you keep badgering me when I'm not
even the one you really like," she said wearily.

The startled look that crossed his face let her know she'd hit a nerve. "Wh-what? What are
you talking about?"

Em rolled her eyes. "Oh come on! Marissa Weasley is who you like, isn't it?"

Brandon's face was so red now she could practically feel the heat coming from him. "How
did you- Am I that obvious?"

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

"Because you're safe," he mumbled, staring at his hands.

Em's brow furrowed in confusion. "I'm safe? How?"

"Cause I know you don't like me that way, and you know I just like taking the mickey out
of you. So there's really no risk of my getting hurt. Does that make any sense?"

"Um, no. Not really," she replied honestly.

Brandon sighed, running a hand through his thick brown hair. "I mean, look at Marissa.
She's gorgeous and funny and popular. And all these other blokes like her too. I just- Then
there's her brother, always on the warpath on her behalf. I don't- I don't stand a
chance."

"How do you know if you haven't even tried?" Em asked softly. "You never know,
Brandon. She could like you back. Stranger things have happened."

"Yeah." He smiled bashfully for a second before sobering. "I really am sorry about
all this. And it's not that I don't think you're stunning and funny and all that. I do.
I just don't-"

"- like me that way," Em finished, smiling back. "Don't worry; the feeling is
mutual. And I guess I should apologize too. I didn't mean those things I said."

Brandon grinned impishly. "Does that mean I'm not really a 'blithering Odie',
whatever that is?"

Emerson laughed. "Did I really say that? No. No, you're not."

"Who's that, anyway?"

"Odie? Well, there's this Muggle comic strip called "Garfield" about this really
fat, lazy ginger cat. Anyway, his owner also has a dog named 'Odie', who is really stupid
and always drooling and Garfield is really mean to him at times. I don't know why that, of all
things, came out when I was yelling at you. Rest assured, you're nothing like that."

They smiled at each other and strangely, Em found herself noticing how the light accentuated the
freckles on his nose and the fact that he had a dimple in his left cheek. She'd never noticed
it before.

'He's too cute to be an 'Odie',' she thought and froze. Now where on Earth had
that thought come from? Brandon was just the annoying gnat in her ear and anyway, she liked Etienne
Weasley. Brandon liked his particular Weasley. Everything was right; everything was great.

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


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

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

"Oh."

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

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

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

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

Emerson grinned. "Nah! Ask Rory!"

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

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

"What?"

"Sing a really silly one."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"To our room. Right?" Maria said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


*******


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Harry, we need to talk."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Harry, wait!"

But he'd already Disapparated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luke nodded, blinking sleepily. "I understand."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Join the club!"

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

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

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

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

That bitch thought she could do that, did she?

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hermione."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


*****

**End Notes:**

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

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

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

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




26. Long Day's Journey Into Night
---------------------------------

**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?




27. The End of The Road
-----------------------

**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.

But you've put so much of your time and energy these past weeks into telling me who you think I
am, which is completely bewildering because you don't know me either. You based your knowledge
of me on someone you thought you knew. I will never forget those horrible words you wrote to me,
but the memories won't have the effect you were aiming for.

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.

That is so messed up, and I wonder what happened to make you think that was the only choice you
had. Why did you choose Julia, and not some other random person, to be the object of your hatred?
What was it about her that you wished so badly that you had, that the only way to cope with it was
to loathe her the way you did? To abhor her so much that the feelings couldn't die with her? Do
you know?

Maybe you do; maybe you don't. If you do, I think that once again, for some reason, you
couldn't bear to deal with it. One thing I've learned from this whole experience is that it
is absolutely necessary to be honest with oneself. It is essential to be able to confront the
negative, painful or ugly things, because otherwise those things will take over and ruin every area
of one's life. My psychologist, Dr. Frasier, was the one who told me those wise words and I
completely agree with her. She's been such a help to me in dealing with what you put me
through. I'd highly recommend her.

My family and friends have been absolutely invaluable to my recovery, and I could never have gotten
this far without their love and support. But ultimately, it is because I can face my fears and the
uglier aspects of my personality that your words will never have the effect that you wanted them to
have. I am not perfect, but neither are you, so why don't you remove the boulder from your own
eye before attacking me so venomously about the pebble in mine?

Everything you did these past months -- all the nasty things you wrote, the threats against my
little brothers and sister, the attempts to break up my best friend and I -- was truly despicable;
your methods were even more so. You never gave me a chance to defend myself. And then the one time
I managed to contact you resulted in your upping the cruelty factor. Everything you did was truly
horrible.

But the absolute worst were your attempts to convince me that Julia's death was my fault. With
the other people that you tried to use against me, I had all of them here, even though I tried to
push them away. They were available to me in every way that I could have needed.

But Julia wasn't. She isn't, because she's dead. Because of me, you insisted and Julia
couldn't tell me that your claims were false, either. Sure, my families on both sides of the
Atlantic have always told me how much she loved me, how happy she was when I was born, even as her
own life was ending. But it wasn't the same. I think I really needed Julia herself to tell me
that, no, her death was not my fault.

She is dead, though. So of course there is no way for that to ever happen.

I might have gone on thinking that way if the love of my family hadn't broken through the magic
that you forced on me. They reminded me of the letter that Julia had written to me before she died.
My parents gave it to me when I was ten years old, having decided at that time that I was mature
enough to handle it.

How could I have forgotten that letter? It had been written by her own hand, in her own words, to
me. How could I have forgotten it?

Want to know what she wrote?

She called me her miracle baby. She said that she had never known she could love so much until she
saw me that first time. She said that she didn't regret, not for a single second, any part of
the decision she had made. She said that if she could live her life all over again, she
would've made the exact same choices that she did concerning me.

Who should I believe, then: you, someone who hates me so much without even knowing me at all? Or
the woman who gave life to me, who sacrificed her future so I could have one?

I think it's a no-brainer.

The rest of my family that Julia had left letters for all shared their letters with me - her
parents, Merry Reynolds, my Dad. Even her old boyfriend, Logan Brunswick shared excerpts! All the
letters expressed how happy she was to know that she'd had a healthy child; that although she
would miss seeing me grow up, she knew they would all take care of me and raise me into somebody
that she would have been proud of.

And you know what? I want her to be proud of me. I would want her to look at me and say "This
is my daughter" and see the pride in her eyes, and hear it in her voice.

So, Cristella, with that in mind: I forgive you for everything you did, or tried to do to me, and
to my family, all these past months. I forgive you, not only because it's the right thing to
do, but because Julia would have wanted me to. She never stopped believing in you, even to the very
end. She believed in you to the point of trusting you with the very thing that she'd sacrificed
herself for. You see, I know that you were the one who delivered me to my father, and I know of the
manner in which you did it, too. If she had known the loathing you held in your heart towards her
all that time, would she still have made the same choices?

We will never know.

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?

I may be young, I may be only twelve, but I think I know who I am. I know who I'm becoming. I
know I am useful and worthy of being happy. I know I am a good daughter and sister and friend. I
know how to laugh and love and live. I know that I have people in the world who will cry for me
when I'm gone, who will cherish the memories we made together, who will laugh through their
tears while they remember. That knowledge is something you can never take away from me.

I am Emerson Potter, and I am loved.

I hope that one day you will honestly be able to feel that you are, too.


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?




28. Epilogue
------------

**A/N:** Well, this is it. The end. I just want to say thanks to all who have read and
reviewed over the course of this story. It was a challenge to write and I'm very pleased with
myself that I was able to see it through to completion with a degree of acceptability. I am, at the
moment, working on the future fic. Please note, that will not be a sequel. It's just a one-shot
update, if you will, on what's up in lives Emerson and company. It's called "Writing
To Reach You", and if you've left your email address in a review, you'll be notified
when the story is available for your perusal. Thank you all very much, and see y'all
around!

**romulus lupin:** Your review was beautiful, thank you so much. I understand where you're
coming from with not wanting to reread the parts about Em's pain.. I tend to skip them myself!
I hope this epilogue answers your questions, especially the one dealing with the Fakers. And the
future fic will address what becomes of Em. Thank you; it means very much to have a fellow fanfic
author give such high praise!

**Liv:** I assure you that "Above It All" was entirely from my bizarre imagination.
That stuff has never, ever happened to me, and thank God. And yes, I do love the show "Law and
Order", but which scene were you referring to? The "interrogation" one? If so, I can
see where you could see "L&O" in it -- Briscoe and Green two-teaming some scumbag :)
However, the show wasn't on my mind at any point during the writing of this fic. Thanks for
reviewing!

Many, many thanks to the awesome **Lissanne** for the beta. *HUGS*


**Epilogue**


Six months later*


August 25

Dear Diary,

I'm writing this back home at Ballynore. We all returned the day before yesterday, but I was
just too tired to write. Don't worry, though, I have lots of stuff stored up to scribble
down!

Oh my gosh, Jamaica was such a blast! It was definitely one of the best holidays we've taken so
far, and it was made even better by the fact that some of our extended family went with us. Uncle
Ron and Aunt Luna, Uncle Draco and Aunt Ginny, Uncle Remus and Aunt Tonks. And all their collated
offspring, of course. It was a whole bunch of us, and as was to be expected, the only time it was
really quiet was when the younger kids were asleep.

We were there for more than a month, and we stayed in a town called Runaway Bay on the north coast
of the island. It's a bit outside of the whole tourist mecca thing, while still being a rather
upscale town. It was so absolutely gorgeous there! The weather was perfect, all those sea breezes,
white sand beaches, gorgeous blue water. If you needed to be told that you were in paradise while
breathing the rich scent of the sea as the waves lapped at your feet and the sun caressed your
skin, you would have to be the most utterly daft person in the history of civilization.

Mum and Dad decided not to rent lodgings at any of the big, posh chain resorts, opting instead for
a small family-owned bed and breakfast-type inn. It was just the owner, his wife and son, as well
as the people that they employed. Which made for a much more personal environment and I think we
all had a better experience for it. The younger kids, for example, became good friends with the
children of the employees -- which is something that would never have happened if we'd stayed
at one of the uber-swanky hotels. And the Jordmundts (that's the name of the owners of the inn)
didn't suffer any either, since my parents, aunts and uncles rented the entire property for the
whole of our visit.

But we didn't stay confined to Runaway Bay. Mum and Dad (but especially Mum) have always
insisted that whenever we go to another country, we must always go a bit off the beaten path, so to
speak. This time was no different, and they insisted that we get to really experience Jamaica and
not just the neat and pretty packages that tourists are offered. All the other adults, except for
Uncle Ron and Aunt Luna, begged to differ. I heard Aunt Ginny say she just wanted to laze about in
the sun all day and sip rum punches, thank you very much. And then Aunt Luna, though she'd
wanted to come, ended up staying behind at the inn too because of baby April; it would've been
rather difficult to be traipsing all over a strange country with a four-month-old infant,
anyway.

So the "Off the Beaten Path" expedition consisted of Mum and Dad, Uncle Ron, me and my
brothers and sister, Uncle Draco's kids, Uncle Ron's two boys, Lyna (her sister, Annamaria,
disdainfully stayed behind at the inn with the "other" grown-ups) and the Shriver boys.
Yes, Will and Arnie were with us in Jamaica, but more about them later. Oh, and Mrs. Jordmundt and
her son. She was our island guide, and she was pretty knowledgeable about her subject. They're
Muggles so it was kinda hard to remember not to talk about wands and Quidditch and all that stuff,
and Mum and Dad had to keep casting Obscuring charms when they needed to do magic. For that reason,
it was probably for the best that Aunt Luna didn't come with us, in hindsight.

I won't be writing about absolutely everything we did in Jamaica but, among other things, we
went hiking in the Blue Mountains - the highest mountains on the island - and in the Cockpit
Country. The Cockpit Country was so weird, all that illusion of rolling hills, but it's
actually a really extensive system of limestone caves. It would be very scary, not to mention
dangerous, to get lost in them if you don't know your way around.

We went to the Blue Lagoon, a gorgeous, sheltered white sand beach with waters that are perfect for
swimming. I think the people who named the spot just threw their hands up in defeat and randomly
picked the color "blue" to describe the lagoon. There are so many adjectives you could
use to describe the water: azure, jade green, bottle green, sky blue; it just depends on how you
look at it. The water had a cool top layer with the warmer water beneath and was absolutely heaven
to swim in. According to the locals, it has aphrodisiacal powers, though I wouldn't know
anything about that, of course. And as to whether or not my parents might know, I am so not going
there. Though I can't see why they would need it. They can barely keep their hands off each
other as it is. It's quite mortifying really.

We went rafting on the Rio Grande river, which cuts through the countryside, and it was so
relaxing. The rafts were made up of ten or so bamboo logs bound together, and most of them were
decorated with flowers and things. The guides used the currents of the river to move the rafts and
a long pole for pushing off the bottom and for steering. Our guide was very knowledgeable; he just
kept up a running narrative about the area and the history. According to him, the whole rafting
thing became an attraction because of Errol Flynn, who was some famous Muggle movie star.

He also taught us kids a little ditty, which Budget still yells out sometimes, and frankly,
it's starting to drive me a little nuts. ("I was rafting on the Rio Grande, oh, oh, oh,
ho! Me and my Uncle Benjy, oh, oh, oh, ho! Bumped into a big rock stone and the raft turned over,
oh, oh, oh, ho!"). Thankfully, nobody's raft turned over, though we all swam in the water
and afterwards, had a picnic lunch on the riverbank.

But I think my favorite place was definitely the Dunn's River Falls and Dolphin Cove. Oh my
gosh. It was beautiful, awe-inspiring and loud. All that white water thundering down the 600-foot
rocks, fringed on either side by lush vegetation and tropical flowers. I'd have been content to
never leave. Lyna and I climbed the Falls at least three times each and it was just awesome -- the
water was so clear and powerful. And oh, did I mention that it was loud?

And Dolphin Cove, you actually swim with dolphins, who were so cute and friendly. Vina was in
heaven; she cried when we had to leave.

On a more personal note, I think the most emotional part of my visit to Jamaica was meeting my
extended family on Julia's side. Her father, my grandfather, Herb Thomas, is Jamaican and
before we left on the trip, Dad asked him for information on where they lived and if it would be
all right if we visited them. My parents thought that, especially after what had happened with
Cristella, I needed to meet them and I agreed. So we went to the town of Mandeville, in the center
of the island, where most of them live. For a change, it's not very near any bodies of water;
just a cool, vaguely British town. The dirt there is the color of dried blood, and rich with
something called bauxite. That's what Ben said anyway, and I'm pretty sure he knows what
he's talking about.

But we met some of my blood relatives, and it was such an emotional experience. They were so nice
and warm. I cried and they all took turns hugging me, telling me I was so pretty and exclaiming
over my eyes with their gorgeous accents. At their insistence, we stayed with them for a few days
and it was truly one of the best experiences of my life. I learned a lot about myself and my
heritage. And oh boy, did I get a lot of vocal practice - they kept asking me to sing. When we
left, everybody was in tears and they said that all of us are welcome to return at any time.

Of course, with all that traveling, we got to see Jamaica as it really is -- all its glorious and
not so glorious aspects. It was truly a learning experience and even more so because I was with my
family.

I love them so much. If I've learned anything this year, it's that I'm incredibly lucky
to have them, to have such amazing parents and siblings. I've learned that we're stronger
together than apart and that I never need to carry such a burden alone again.

Thank God that particular burden is gone. Cristella Montgomery is in an American equivalent of St.
Mungo's, in the Psychiatric Ward, and I don't think she will ever be let out. Before they
moved her back to the States, my parents finally allowed me to see her, and it's amazing how
different she is now from the woman I met in Dallas. She's just completely broken, and not just
in appearance. It was like she couldn't even lift her head to look at me. I felt so sorry for
her. She obviously never had the type of love that Julia and I received from our families and it
has warped her for life. Maybe it's because I've forgiven her, as I told her in my letter,
that I can feel sympathy towards her now. I don't know what will become of her, but at least
she can never hurt me or my family again.

But, argh! Enough of the depressive stuff! I'm not quite done with Jamaica. So, anyway, after
our long excursion through the island, we returned to Runaway Bay to enjoy the rest of our holiday.
That meant lazing about on the beach for hours, and all manner of water-related activities.
Needless to say, I'm currently as brown as an acorn and even Lyna managed to tan a bit, after
the first few sunburns. It pays to be the daughter of Harry Potter, because we had the entire beach
property to ourselves. Mr. Jordmundt took us out on a glass-bottomed boat a few times. We went
snorkeling many times and once, Lyna got stung by a jellyfish. Mum healed it with a tap of her wand
within seconds, though.

Speaking of Lyna... I am so happy that we're friends. I'd have been lost without her this
year; she is such a wonderful friend and person. I'd probably have gone further into Hell this
year if she had not been beside me holding me back. I'm so lucky to have been the one to snatch
her up for my best friend, cause I know if it hadn't been me, somebody else would have. Then I
might've ended up like poor Maria Ingalls and be stuck with hags like Jerrianne and
Janie.

At least Maria will probably be doing a little better next year. I don't know if I already
wrote about it, but I'd gone up to her late last term and tried to talk to her. I just felt
like I should reach out, because it was totally appalling the way she was letting Jerrianne and
Janie treat her! Like she were some kind of second-class citizen or something. It made me so mad,
at all three of them. Now that I think about it, it probably wasn't the best idea to approach
her while she was standing with the Ice Bitches because she adopted this totally disdainful
attitude with me. It pissed me off and in my mind, I decided, to hell with her. But then later that
same day, when I was out on the Quidditch pitch watching the Gryffindor team practice, lo and
behold, Maria came up to me by herself and asked if she could talk to me.

I think I said something like, "Really? Are you sure having a civil conversation with me
won't lower your bride price or something?" I was immediately sorry because of the way
Maria flushed and she looked on the verge of tears all of a sudden. She said something like
"Fine" and turned around to go, but I called out to her and said I was sorry. She said
she was the one who should apologize, that she didn't mean to act that way, but Jerrianne and
Janie were so blah, blah, blah. I was getting mad again cause I hate when people can't take
responsibility for themselves. I asked her if Jerrianne and Janie had been forcing her to act the
way she did and she blushed again and said that no, of course they hadn't.

Anyway, we talked for a bit and she said that she was not going to hang around with Jerrianne and
Janie anymore and that she hoped we could be friends. I told her that I would like that, but that
she would have to really be herself cause I don't want some brainless ewe just following me
around. She laughed, which I hadn't been expecting, and said that she must have looked pretty
stupid, hadn't she? And I confirmed that yes, she had. She's actually pretty funny, which I
never would have guessed before.

So we'll see what happens there when we all go back to school. In a week's time, Lyna and I
will be third years at Hogwarts. Imagine that! I'm just hoping it will be better than last year
was. But I imagine anything is better than being psychologically terrorized into hating yourself.
Cause at the end of the day, you still are stuck with yourself while whatever outside problems you
might have will and do go away.

Don't worry, I don't hate myself. I was just so confused and guilty about something that
wasn't even my fault. I'm happy to be alive and I'll be forever grateful to Julia
Thomas for the choice and sacrifice that she made. She wanted me to live, and didn't resent me
that that meant she would die. And together with what I learned about myself through my family in
Jamaica... I could never hate myself, not with all these people loving me the way they do. Julia
wanted me to live and I am going to. To do anything less is to make a mockery and a waste of her
sacrifice.

Speaking of living, though, guess what? While in Jamaica, I got my first kiss! And no, it
wasn't with Etienne. While I do still think he's gorgeous enough to be illegal, a part of
me would be going "Eww!" if something like that were to happen between me and him.
He's been so much like a big brother to me. Besides, he wasn't in Jamaica with us. He and
his sister, Amelié, were in France visiting their Mum's Veela relatives.

Anyway, the boy who kissed me is named Taylor Jordmundt. He's the son of Mr. and Mrs.
Jordmundt, who owned the inn we stayed at. The family is from New Hampshire in America, but
they've been living in Jamaica since Taylor was six, so he speaks with a Jamaican accent and
everything. He's fourteen and so cute! He has sun-bleached blond hair, a permanent tan and
gorgeous blue eyes -- utterly dreamy-looking! And so nice. He took me, Lyna, Will, Ben, Andy Wood
and Arnie to a little waterfall he discovered in the forest bordering their property. He said he
hadn't shown it to anybody but his parents before. It was very pretty too.

But Taylor was just really nice to me. Lyna said she thought he liked me, but I didn't know
what to think. The only bloke near my age that I've been around much is Brandon Wood, and he
got on my nerves for the longest time until this year when we had that conversation. Now I know
where we stand and I might've asked him what he thought. But he and his Dad had gone on some
kind of bonding trip (which probably involved a lot of Quidditch, I'm sure) and didn't come
with us to Jamaica. Only Andy did.

All I knew was that Taylor and I talked a lot and he made me laugh. He'd gone with us on that
"Off The Beaten Path" excursion and was almost as full of information as his Mum was. A
few days before we left, we were just sitting outside on the beach around twilight. I don't
know how it came to be that nobody else was around but it was just the two of us out there. For
some reason, I don't know why I did it, but I just leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. And
then I was mortified! It was a good thing it was getting dark cause I'm sure my face was
flaming. Luckily, for my pride anyway, after a few seconds in which he just stared at me in shock,
Taylor leaned over and returned the gesture. He didn't pull all the way back so our faces were
really close and I could feel his breath warm against my cheek. We just moved forward and our lips
met. It was very nice; there were no fireworks or tingles down my spine or anything like some books
are always going on about. It was just really nice. His lips were so soft and he tasted like
peppermint sweets.

We said good night and I ran inside. My heart was pounding and I told Lyna as soon as I could get
her alone. We squealed and giggled about it for hours, just as we had when Davis Chapman in
Ravenclaw had kissed Lyna just before last term ended. I'd been a little jealous that Lyna got
her first kiss before I did, but she'd been so excited that I couldn't help but be ecstatic
too. I know Lyna has liked Davis since the first time she saw him aboard the Hogwarts Express in
our first year.

I was a little worried that things would be weird between me and Taylor the next day. But other
than that we both blushed when we first saw each other, everything was fine. He kissed me on a few
more occasions before we left Jamaica and he said he would miss me, and that I should write to him.
I said I would, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe once or twice, that's all. He probably meets
loads of girls every summer and if he's half as nice to them as he was to me, they'll want
to kiss him too. Of course, those blue eyes don't hurt his chances any.

Oh, yes. Another first happened in Jamaica - my first period. Mum got all teary-eyed, hugging me
and talking about how I was now a "physically mature woman". I'm not so sure about
that. I mean, how can I be a physically mature woman when I don't have any boobs? Okay, maybe I
do have a little but they barely deserve the title and I honestly despair of ever having anything
worthy of being called cleavage. But I guess there's really no point in obsessing about them,
is there? You know what they say about watched pots... maybe the same goes for breasts.

Anyway, in that same "physically mature woman" conversation, Mum told me that she knew
about me and Taylor! No, I didn't tell her; I was going to eventually. But she said she saw us
that first time. I was so embarrassed! But on the bright side, at least it wasn't Dad. He
doesn't know and Mum promised that she won't tell him until I'm ready to. Which will
likely be never, because he'll probably get mad or something. Dad was always watching the boys
who talked to me in Jamaica, looking all suspicious, and if they stood too close to me (like less
than ten feet, for God's sake) he would clear his throat loudly and scare them with his eyes. I
don't think he likes that boys like me, which I guess is normal father behavior where daughters
are concerned. It just gets a bit annoying after a while.

He needn't worry, though. Mum and I had a long, frank talk about that stuff and I don't
think I'm ready for a boyfriend or anything like that yet. I won't deny that a part of me
can't help but be flattered but I already know who I am. I don't need anybody else to
define me, least of all a bloke. I just want to surround myself with my friends, be a good student
and hopefully land a reserve spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team next term. And I won't let
anything deter me this time!

My brother, Ben, just yelled up the stairs that Dad says if I don't come eat breakfast in the
very near future, he's going to chuck it in the rubbish bin. But I can't stop writing now;
the words are just flowing. And speaking of Ben, he is so awesome. I know it's weird for a big
sister to say that about her little brother. I'm supposed to be griping about what a royal pain
in the arse he is and stuff like that. And of course there are the times when I want to strangle
him. But overall, he's a great kid and I'm glad he's my brother.

It used to be him and Andy Wood together like a Permanent Sticking Charm had been placed on them,
but now little Arnie Shriver is always with them, too. Isn't it strange how the same year Lyna
and I befriended Will Shriver, Ben and Andy befriended Arnie? It seems rather unreal how everything
worked out, with Will and Arnie's Mum turning out to be the long-lost cousin of Cristella
Montgomery, who was the woman harassing me. The Shrivers were under a lot of financial strain, but
now they'll likely never have to worry again. That's another good thing that's come out
of this whole mess, for which I'm glad.

But back to Ben - he made me proud this year. Ben doesn't like confrontation. He's an
observer by nature, content to sit back and watch, in most cases, and let others be the
participants or contestants or whatever. But the other kids have always gravitated towards him. And
when he gets up to do something, they just let him lead. He's a natural leader, which I guess
is not surprising, seeing as to who his parents are. Little girls adore him for some reason, to
Ben's eternal irritation. I tease him about it sometimes; he doesn't like it now but wait
till he starts noticing them back. Then he'll probably be basking in the attention. He's
going to be a good-looking one, but you're not gonna hear me saying that to his face or
anything.

But this year, Ben saw something wrong going on and he didn't care if he got hurt by getting
involved. And he did get hurt, but he kicked arse a lot more than his arse was kicked, from what I
hear. Go, Ben!

The three boys were inseparable in Jamaica and they had fun. They gave Mum quite a fright once by
swimming more than a mile out to sea. She made them stay inside for the remainder of that day while
the rest of us went into town. Budget kept raving about what we'd seen and done until Ben
finally snapped at him to shut his trap. Budget asked what a trap was, and everybody laughed, even
Ben.

Today is Budget's sixth birthday, and he's as rambunctious as ever. I predict that
it'll be another month or less before he breaks another bone. In Jamaica, he climbed the
Dunn's River Falls even though Mum told him not to. He was too young and could have fallen and
hurt himself; those Falls aren't for little kids. But he scrambled up them like a monkey
anyway, only to meet Mum at the top. Suffice it to say, Luke was not the happiest little boy in the
bunch for the rest of that day. Let me just say that it is a mistake to get on Mum's bad side.
I hear she slapped the shit out of Uncle Draco once, back when they were at Hogwarts and before
they befriended him. And let's not forget how she handled Cristella, shall we?

Blimey, this is a long entry! My hand is beginning to cramp up, so I think I'll stop writing
now. Plus, I don't want Dad to chuck my breakfast; I'm famished. I'll try not to go too
long without another update.

~* Emerson *~*


Upon reading over what she'd written, Em placed the journal in the drawer of her nightstand and
slid the drawer shut. She stretched luxuriously, combing her fingers through her long hair and then
climbed out of bed. After grabbing a quick shower, she dressed and bounded down the stairs to the
kitchen, where her father looked up from gathering dishes.

"Finally," he said, sighing. "I mean, really. How much sleep does a teenager
need?"

Em smiled. "I wasn't sleeping." She reached for a plate and helped herself to
chipolatas, toast and marmalade, as well as a bowl of steaming porridge. She carried them to the
table where Ben was sitting, his glasses slipping down his nose, which was buried in yet another
book. "What're you reading?"

"*To Kill A Mockingbird*," her brother answered without looking up.

Em stirred some treacle syrup into her porridge. "Didn't you already read that
one?"

"Yep. But if ever there was a book that deserved multiple readings, it's this
one."

"Too right," she agreed, and that was the last thing she spoke for a long time as she
devoted her attention to her meal and ate ravenously. At last, she put down her fork and sighed.
"That's better. Now, where's Budget? I need to kiss him 'Happy
Birthday'."

"Mum took him and Vina to Diagon Alley to pick out party favors for later," Ben said.
"She figured since it's his birthday party, he should get to choose."

Em nodded. "Has that stubborn tooth of his come out yet?"

Her brother grinned. "Not yet. It'll probably happen today, though, since there will be
all kinds of sweets and Uncles Fred and George said they'll be bringing something new to try
out on all of us."

"Cool." Em took a sip of her pumpkin juice and sighed. "I can't stop thinking
about Jamaica. It was so awesome, wasn't it? All that beauty, and the people and the
food.." her voice trailed off in another sigh. Her brother snorted and she looked up, arching
an eyebrow quizzically.

Ben was smirking. "Whatever. You just liked snogging that Taylor bloke."

Emerson froze, her eyes wide. Why did he have to say it so loudly? Why? Their father was in the
next room, doing something with the dishes, but almost immediately after Ben had spoken, the sounds
in the next room stopped. Footsteps, and Em scrambled to rearrange her face. The next second, their
father stuck his head into the room, drying his hand on a towel.

"What's this I hear about snogging?" he asked, a frown creasing his forehead.

Em rolled her eyes in what she fervently hoped appeared to be exasperation. "That one's
just goofing around," she said, jerking her thumb at Ben, whose smile was wide and innocent.
The little shit.

Her father eyed her suspiciously for a few seconds, his eyes darting back and forth between her and
Ben before he retreated again to the other room. Em waited another beat before rounding on her
brother.

"Oh, you are so dead," she hissed, jumping up and gathering her dishes.

Ben chuckled, then began to sing quietly. "Emerson and Taylor sitting in a tree,
K-I-S-S-I-OW!"

"I don't think that's how it's spelled, Ben," Em said cheerily, picking up
her dirty dishes and strolling out of the room, leaving her brother glaring after her while he
rubbed the back of his head where she'd smacked him.

She deposited the dishes in the sudsy sink, where her father was washing dishes the Muggle way. He
did that sometimes. Feeling his eyes on her, she looked up at him and smiled. "Thanks,
Daddy."

He'd been opening his mouth to say something, no doubt to grill her more dedicatedly, but upon
her words, he appeared to change his mind and smiled instead. "You're welcome. What're
you up to now?"

Em shrugged. "Nothing much. I thought I'd read a little more of that Arithmancy book while
I wait for Lyna to get here."

"Just like Hermione," her father chuckled. "She always used to read her school
textbooks long before arrival at Hogwarts."

"But it's kind of interesting, isn't it?" Em said, taking the dish he'd just
washed and turning on the water to rinse it. "With the title it has - *The New Theory of
Numerology* - it sounds like it should be thoroughly boring but it reads as easily as a
novel."

Her father smiled down at her. "Did I ever tell you that I gave your Mum that book one
Christmas?"

Emerson shook her head. "No. What happened?"

As she listened to her father tell the story of his long ago Christmas present to her mother, Em
found herself thinking again about how lucky she was, how normal her life truly was. She was just a
thirteen-year-old girl, standing in the kitchen with her father, washing dishes, secure in the love
of her family. She was just a girl - no, a young woman - with all the hopes, dreams and fears of
just about any other young woman, anywhere in the world.

She was simply Emerson, and she found that that was more than fine.


******

Harry set down his bottle of butterbeer and leaned back in his chair, breathing deeply. Dusk was
beginning to fall as Budget's sixth birthday party drew to a close and Harry knew everyone had
had a good time. The afternoon had been filled with lots of shouts and laughter as the children
chased each other around Ballynore's expansive lawn in the ageless, unorganized play of
childhood.

Right now, most of the children were scattered all over the back porch, enraptured with the party
favors that Hermione, Luke and Davina had picked out in Diagon Alley. And, of course, the latest
treats from those two vessels of perennial childhood, Fred and George Weasley, had been a huge hit.
The Hoppy Poppy Gumballs, as they were called, had had all the kids bouncing and somersaulting as
if their shoes had been turned into miniature trampolines. Doubtless all that motion was the reason
for the currently knackered youngsters.

Harry's gaze wandered to where his oldest daughter was sitting with Carolyna Lupin and Brandon
Wood. Observing Emerson now, one would be hard-pressed to guess upon the ordeal that she'd so
recently endured. She had survived. She was so strong, that girl, his Moppet.

'Though I probably won't get away with calling her that much longer,' he mused
silently.

She was growing up so fast, something that scared Harry witless. When Hermione had told him that
Emerson had become a woman, he'd nearly gone into shock. How could she be a woman? She was just
his little girl, who still called him 'Daddy' sometimes.

Harry frowned suddenly at that thought, watching as Em laughed at something Brandon Wood had said.
Now that he thought about it, he was sure she'd only called him 'Daddy' to distract him
from what he'd been about to do. He'd been about to question her about what he'd
overheard, which hadn't been much. The water had been running in the sink and he'd just
happened to catch the words 'snogging' and 'bloke'. What bloke? And what did
Emerson (or Ben, for that matter) know about snogging?

"I'm starving; haven't eaten much of anything, really," Brandon was saying,
holding up his empty plate.

Emerson shoved him playfully. "You liar. I saw you stuffing your face just now as if food was
going out of style."

"How do you know it isn't?" Brandon countered. The two girls exchanged exasperated
looks and jumped up; Brandon stood up too and hurried after them. "No, really. How do you
know..."

Watching the three teenagers, Harry found himself marveling at the easy camaraderie between them.
Why, they reminded him of himself, Ron and Hermione. With the one obvious difference being that now
it was two girls and one boy instead of two boys and one girl.

'And I ended up with Hermione,' he thought, his heart rate automatically speeding up as his
eyes located his wife. 'Will Brandon end up with one of them? I'm not sure if I want him
with Em; surely, it will be Lyna.'

"Harry, get your lazy bum over here!"

Startled from his thoughts, Harry jumped up and strode over to where Hermione was struggling to fit
yet another wrapped present onto a table that was already practically groaning with gifts. Let
nobody say Lukas was unpopular.

"Honestly," Hermione was muttering. "He does *not* need so many things. And who
brought him a *broomstick*, for God's sake! He's only five years old!"

"I think he's six today, actually," Harry murmured quietly and was startled when
Hermione burst into tears. Taking the present from her and setting it on top of the table (which,
thankfully, didn't collapse), he gathered her into his arms and held her, rubbing her
back.

"How can he be six?" Hermione sobbed into his chest. "It was just *yesterday*
he was in my belly kicking me so hard that I'd yelp."

Harry chuckled, holding her until she quieted. After a few minutes, she pulled away to give him a
slightly sheepish smile. "Sorry."

He reached out and wiped her eyes and cheeks with his thumb, then leaned forward and kissed her
forehead, her nose, and finally her lips. They pulled apart slowly and she sighed, her eyes still
closed.

"Don't forget Vina. And besides, we could always make another one," he whispered and
she snorted.

"Only if you carry it those nine months and then deliver it."

He hugged her to him again. "Well, in that case." They were quiet for a time, just
watching and listening to their children and friends. "I was thinking about it too,
earlier."

"About what?"

He sighed, reaching up to rub his eyes. "About our children growing up so quickly. There's
only so much we can do, isn't there, to protect them. As much as we want to, we can't stop
them from ever getting hurt. And that scares me."

"It scares me too," she said softly, leaning her head against his chest. "But we can
always be here for them to come home to, to lean on and be comforted by. We can always be here to
love them."

And love them he did, Harry knew. He loved them more than his own life, more than anything. Ever.
His daughter, the initiator of his final maturity - Emerson, the unexpected one, the ultimate
surprise who made him clear that final hurdle into true adulthood and gave him purpose again.

Ben, the boy who looked like him, the boy whose brain awed him, the boy whose goodness Harry hoped
would never be tarnished.

There was little Davina, that beautiful bundle of laughter, auburn hair and butterfly kisses, tiny
white teeth and freckles. His baby girl.

And Budget... Lukas... Luke... the kid with the many names. The daredevil, tree-climbing waif with
the big, green eyes and the even bigger heart. The kid who right now was staring at his open right
hand in disbelief, and who all of a sudden burst into tears.

Everybody looked up in alarm and Harry and Hermione hurried over.

"What's wrong, Luke? What happened?" Hermione asked anxiously, kneeling before the
little boy, who was holding his right hand cupped, while wailing at the top of his lungs.

Luke thrust his hand at her. "Ith my tooth!"

Harry sighed with relief. Luke had had a loose tooth for the past two weeks, and while he
constantly worried it with his tongue, the tooth had stubbornly refused to relinquish its spot.
Apparently, it had finally surrendered. But-

"Budget, you wanted this to happen, right?" Harry asked, kneeling before him too and
rubbing his back. "You knew this would happen."

"I know," Luke wailed. "But ith my b-birthday and I have c-cake. What if thith was
m-my thweet tooth?"

For a second there was only the sound of Luke's cries, and then there was a sudden outbreak of
frantic coughing among the grown-ups and stifled giggles from Emerson and Carolyna.

Hermione, her face working furiously, hugged Luke to her. "Oh, Lukas. I'm sure it's
not your sweet tooth. I'm sure you'll be able to have your birthday cake, maybe even two
helpings!"

Luke calmed down somewhat at her words. "Promith?"

"I promise," Hermione said. She looked up at Harry, her eyes twinkling. "Don't
we, Harry?"

Harry was having a hard time holding back his laughter, but he managed to solemnly
"promith" that Luke could have two helpings of birthday cake. Luke was all of a sudden
much more cheerful and allowed his mother to wipe his face.

"I'm expecting big buckth with thith," he told them, pocketing the tiny, white tooth.
Leaning forward, he whispered conspiratorially. "Grandpa told me about the Tooth
Fairy."

Hermione seemed to be suppressing the urge to roll her eyes but Harry laughed and hugged his son
again. "Yep. I would hold onto that tooth if I were you, Budget."

Luke scampered off to show the tooth to Tristan and Alex, and still chuckling, Harry straightened
up and gathered Hermione into his arms again.

"I wish my father wouldn't tell them nonsense like that," she huffed. "I mean,
the Tooth Fairy! Honestly! That just makes one more hoax we'll have to explain away
later."

Laughing again, he held her tightly and she wrapped her arms around him and held him back. Standing
there on his wide back porch, as his family and friends lounged about in happy comfort, Harry
Potter found that a time had come in which he had no need to worry. It might not last but at the
very least, in this particular moment, he could let everything go, all his anxieties, all his
fears.

He had friends, who had proved their loyalty over and over again, who had truly gone above and
beyond. The most recent threat to his family was gone, and nothing was to be gained by fretting
about if or when something else would arise, and what it might be.

He had his children, his wife, a family all of his very own, that long ago dream of a little boy in
a cupboard now actualized. He had that and, above it all, he had love.

And frankly, Harry knew, it didn't get any better than this.




******
**End Notes:**

1. All the places described in Jamaica really do exist (though I haven't actually been to all
of them).

2. The ditty that the raft man taught the kids is something I memorized when I was a child. I
didn't create it.

3. To the best of my knowledge, there is no such thing as the Tooth Fairy (sorry, just had to put
that in!)

4. Please review?