The Lost Worlds

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's note: This is the third of three planned stories, it is highly recommended you read the first two The Lost Wizard and The Lost Witch for this to make sense.

Hermione Jane Potter lay on the slab under the harsh light of the examination room; only a flimsy paper shroud covered her body. Harry waited beyond the doors as the doctor worked on her. Through the doors he heard various discussions between the medical personal, and at one point he heard a light groan and a whimper as the doctor continued his examination. Since their wedding, they had been together constantly, never further away from each other for more than a few minutes. This was the longest they’ve been apart since well before the wedding, since their days at school when they had separate classes. He tried to imagine what they were doing to her in there; his thoughts ran wild. What could make a woman that faced Voldemort whimper?

After a brief eternity, the doors opened and he was allowed to see his young wife. She lay curled up on the table clutching her knees with a look that he’d never be able to erase, at the end chrome rods protruded from the examination table with stirrups at the ends, on the table next to her, a tray loosely covered with a towel showed the outline of objects he had never seen, nor could he imagine their use. His first thoughts were these resembled medieval torture devices. He closed the distance to her and took her hand, to give her any comfort he could.

“What did they do? I thought I heard…” He asked, but was cut off quickly.

“Sod off Potter,” she hissed in Parseltongue. “Next time we have to face an evil megalomaniac, YOU tell him you’re the one pregnant and I’ll watch them shove one of those ‘things’ where the sun don’t shine.”

“I… really don’t know what to say, Mione.”

“I’ve never felt so humiliated in my life,” she finally spat out. “They made me put my heels in those things,” she pointed to the end of the table, “and they… they put, it was so cold and uncomfortable. He said all I’d feel is a slight pressure but it felt like I was being ripped open.”

“At least it’s over, you shouldn’t have to go through that again, right?”

“I hope not. I thought I knew what to expect, I read about the procedure, but it sounded so clinical. That was so… invasive.”

“It’s only been a few months; I think we should keep trying.”

“Let’s just see what these doctors say, alright Harry?” She sat there, unsure whether to dress or not. He stayed there and pulled his arm around her waist. Her free hand reached to her scar on her chest and lightly rubbed it through the paper gown as if she were working on a knotted muscle.

---

“The doctor will see you both now, please follow me.” The nurse instructed the young couple as they made their way through the clinic’s hallways. They were led to an examination room, and instructed to wait for the doctor’s results.

The young man held his wife’s hand gently with a compassion that radiated from them both. The nurse noticed his complete devotion to her, and sighed, wondering why she couldn’t find a guy that attentive to her and her needs. Most men that came into this clinic were more terrified then accepting of the reason for being there. These two were more comfortable with each other than couples, the nurse noted, unusual given their young age of twenty-two. She deposited the growing medical history in the pocket on the door and left them alone.

No words were passed between the couple in the sterile room; they were not needed. A firm squeeze of his hand told him she was nervous, and she felt an icy cold in her palm, a signal from their shared past that he too was nervous. The clock on the wall behind then gave a distinctive tick, tick; tick, as time passed slowly. She pulled a heart shaped locket from beneath her blouse, clutched it in her hand, and held it tightly.

She slipped it back inside her blouse, and her hand lingered on a scar on her chest. She lightly traced it a finger; it was still tender after all these years. He noticed as it had become a nervous habit for her, like twisting a strand of hair in her fingers. It had started a few years ago when they waited for the doctor in the first clinic they visited. He knew what it reminded her of. He knew what they had lost that day. He knew what he’d failed to do. He knew what she longed for every time she saw their dear friend’s young children playing. They were waiting for the doctor to tell them there was still hope.

They heard a soft knock on the stark white door as it silently opened. The man standing before them was concentrating on the details in a thick folder, as he walked into the room. He laid the folder on the counter and pulled a chair from the corner to sit with them.

“Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter, I have reviewed all the tests and I’ve had the lab re-run them twice. Mr. Potter, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. But, Mrs. Potter, on the physical exam and the vaginal ultrasound, we found evidence of a viral infection that seems to have caused scarring on certain key areas within your reproductive structures, namely, your fallopian tubes. The condition is called Tubal infertility.”

“Is it treatable?” she asked tentatively, this was the first time any abnormalities had been identified.

“If we had caught the infection in the early stages, I would have said it would be completely treatable, but this is the most advanced case I’ve seen. What I find disturbing, this is typically caused by sexually transmitted infections like chlamydeous or gonorrhoea. But there are no other symptoms of you ever having either infection.”

She squeezed Harry’s hand tighter with the disturbing news. He returned a comforting squeeze, letting her know he would support her.

“Is there anything that can be done?” Harry asked for them.

“As I said, if we caught this earlier, but from the pathology reports, you would have had to been infected at a very young age, we estimate the scars are at least ten and possibly fifteen years old. By all calculations, that would have you between seven and twelve years old. What I’m about to ask is extremely personal, and I understand if you can’t or won’t discuss it. Mrs. Potter, were you ever abused as a child?”

They both stared in disbelief at the question posed, they both knew this happened only four years ago, and she had never been molested or abused as the doctor implied.

“No, nothing of that nature ever occurred and I resent the implications. My father and I had a healthy relationship.” Her tone became defensive when she began to refer to talk about her father. “Further, your prognosis is in error, I have never contracted any infection. If I had, wouldn’t my husband also be infected? But he is not. Harry, I can’t believe we came here for answers and this… doctor is making accusations and implication against my father and you.”

“Please, Mrs. Potter, I never meant to offend you, but the data clearly shows…”

“That your testing or your procedures are flawed, I won’t stand for this.” She stood to leave, but Harry remained.

“Mione, wait, doctor, I can assure you that the possible causes you have implied are incorrect. We have been together for half of our lives and nothing you implied has ever happened.”

“Please. Mrs. Potter, I never meant to offend, but I am required by law to investigate possible child molestation, and the evidence is there. I hope you understand I will have to contact the authorities to investigate any family members that…”

“My father was murdered four years ago.” She hissed. “And I can assure you that any other man that was in my life then is beyond reproach.”

“I’m terribly sorry, I had no idea. Please accept my apologies. But still, the cause of that form of scaring has never been documented at that stage in someone your age. It is typically found in woman twice your age. I hope you can understand why I had believed other causes.”

“Doctor, given the fact that there is evidence of this scaring, is there anything that can be done?” Harry stood and put his hands on Hermione’s shoulders to calm her, and he guided her back to their seats.

“Normally we wouldn’t attempt to clear the tissue when it’s at this stage, since it usually occurs in woman over forty and the preferred treatment is a hysterectomy. That is not what I would recommend in your case. We do have extreme measures that can be attempted, but the costs are also extreme and as I see you have no insurance to cover it I would recommend against such procedures.”

“Cost is irrelevant. My family left us with means to deal with these expenses. What is our course of action?” Harry asked.

“First, we could try to remove as much of the scaring as possible using a high power laser to remove the damage. But since the chance of severing the tubes is great, we will only attempt that procedure on one side at a time. We will have to wait for at least three months before the next stage. This process could take in excess of a year and I have little hope of success, the damage is extensive.”

“Then thank you doctor,” she coldly replied, “If you have no hope of success, then we must find a doctor that is more optimistic. Come Harry, I can’t listen to this.”

He too stood to shake the doctor’s hand and politely thanked him for his time then guided his wife from the clinic. They remained speechless until they found their way to the rented car in the parking lot. He opened the right side passenger door for her, as was his habit, and waited until she sat before he closed the door. He walked to the other side, entered and started the engine. Still in silence he left the car where it was, slipped across the front seat to her side, knowing she was as frustrated as he was. He knew she wanted a child, his child; she wanted to give him the only thing he never had, a proper family. He lifted her chin and turned her to face him, her eyes pooling, but she held her emotions in check.

“That was unnecessary; I don’t understand why they think every one in this country was abused as a child. Why did we come here?” She exploded.

“We were told this was one of the best facilities for this form of treatment. There is another clinic, we can try them tomorrow.”

“Harry, I feel like such a failure, why didn’t I listen to you. If we waited then…”

He pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair. His touch was soothing to her when she became agitated, and since she had become obsessed with this failure, her moods had become sharper.

“Shhh… if we had waited then what? He might have waited for another time and place. I’m happy with you as my family. I am, really.”

“Harry, I know you mean it, but why?” she pushed herself from him.

“Why what?”

“I know you want a family, and I can’t give you that. Why do you stay?” she said softly, a note of distress in her voice.

“If you haven’t figured that out, then maybe you aren’t the brightest witch of the age. I love you Hermione, I always have, and you know that.”

“I do, but still, Ginny and Draco just had twins, and Luna just had a son. I feel useless.”

“If we hadn’t worked together, then we would never have defeated him, I never could have done it without you. I never want to be without you, with or without children. You’re all that’s important to me, the only thing that’s ever been important to me. If you want a child, then we’ll find a way. I told you once that we always managed to beat the odds, and we will here too. If you’re up to it, then we’ll try this procedure.”

“Do you think it would help?”

“All we can do is try. Now, shall we find another clinic? The muggle doctors have given us more hope then those in our world.”

“No. I’m willing to try again with this one.” She returned his embrace punctuated with a loving kiss and opened her door.

Together they returned to the reception area and requested another conference with the doctor. The nurse at the reception desk replied with a smile, “Most certainly, you’re not the first ones to leave when the doctor couldn’t give you the news you wanted to hear. I’m sure I can have him come back to see you. Please follow me.”

She stood and led them back to the examination room they left only a few minutes ago. Harry sat in the spot he occupied earlier, while Hermione continued to pace in the small room, until a light knock was heard.

“Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter, have you reconsidered the procedure? I believe I may have an alternative procedure that could have a better chance at bring positive results; namely a viable pregnancy.”

“What are these options?” she demanded.

“The first as I mentioned is the laser procedure, the draw backs to that is we will only attempt to clear one side at a time and the recover time is lengthy, and there’s no guarantees of success. The concept of the next procedure is quite simple, we collect samples for you both and in the lab, and we cultivate these samples to produce a viable embryo to re-implant in the uterus.”

“What ‘samples’ are you referring to?” she asked.

“From you, we induce ovulation augmenting your own hormonal production to stimulate increased follicular production. Then we collect living egg cells just before your cycle and from your husband we also collect…”

“I think we get the picture, isn’t that somewhat extreme?” Harry interjected.

“It is a major step, but from the scaring, this may be the best if not the only possibility for the end result.”

“You make it sound so, cold. We want a family, not some ‘product’ made from ‘samples’.”

“Mrs. Potter, I apologize if that’s how it appears, but you must understand this is not fool proof. There is a 35 to 45% success rate in couples over 30, but we have very little data on couples under 25 with this procedure.”

“So you really can’t say if this will work.”

“We’ll know more after we complete the first cycle, but I will warn you that we can’t risk more than three full cycles, the risks to her health and the risk of causing further injuries is great. If we are lucky, we may produce an average yield of viable embryos. Any we don’t use can be stored cryogenically for use later. Also there is a possibility of surrogacy if there are complications.”

“And what is that?” he asked, all these procedures had never been considered or suggested.

“A surrogate is another woman that is willing to carry the embryo to full term and delivery. The main complication in the past had been the reluctance of the surrogate to relinquish the child. You best chance is a family member that would be willing to act as a substitute that has already had a successful live birth. In one rare case, the woman’s mother served to deliver her own grandchild.”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other and each gave a squeeze of their hands, still intertwined, the both gave the same name. “Ginny.”

“But,” the doctor continued, “This procedure is costly, at a minimum of $10,000 per cycle and an additional $5,000 to $7,500 for medication. The storage fee for any unused embryos is roughly $1000 per year. I can’t begin unless our accounting office has approval from your insurance carriers or a personal guarantee…”

Harry reached into his jacket pocket, produced a chequebook, and proceeded to write a draft for $50,000. “Have this deposited and if more is required, I will provide what is needed.”

“Are you certain? This is a large amount…”

“As I mentioned, my family left us the means and this is not an issue. We both have several weeks left of school and if this doesn’t interfere we can start right away. We will be waiting for you to let us know when we can proceed.” He stood and held his hand to Hermione and left the office.

“It’s more up to your schedule and of course hers. The initial procedure shouldn’t conflict with school but you should stay locally during the procedure, it is, of course, time sensitive. Once you start, timing will be critical.”

Hermione accepted the stack of literature offered and planned to mentally prepare for every aspect before that start. She made a quick mental check and determined they would be able to return near the end of June.

They went back to the hotel room they leased as a temporary base while they pursued this endeavour. They planned to return home that afternoon; to meet with Ron for a final training session for the last class they shared. Hermione taken the daunting task of both Healer Training and Auror Training, but her plans to continue as a healer outweighed any thoughts of law enforcement. Both her two closest friends expected to continue to keep their world safe. After the war, the Auror ranks dwindled, many had been injured or killed, and many that had been injured chose to leave the ranks.

---

“Bugger that hurt. Why do they still use these brutal methods of administering medications?” She commented as she pulled her pants back around her bottom. She carefully placed a hand on the spot of her most recent injury. Her husband carefully placed the implement in a special container for disposal according to muggle laws.

“That was the last dose, and this is our last try. Mione, this time we let Ginny try to help, right? It may be our last chance." He finally said what they both though, as he applied an iced pouch on the recent injection site. Her skin had bruised severely with each new injection, a total of four in the morning and four more in the afternoon. Tomorrow they would repeat the ‘harvest’ and then begin the weeklong wait for results. They had talked to Draco and Ginny about this procedure and before being asked she offered her body to them.

The cool November air blew through the apartment balcony; they had stayed in the same apartment they lived in their first summer together, they returned here because they loved the view. The Clinic was a short hop by portkey, so staying in Ponce Inlet was not a problem, and they had become as familiar as Jake and Eileen. The older couple stayed there in the summer months but now they were both back in England teaching. The small town had long since been deserted by the summer residents and now the town was quite empty. Draco and Ginny stayed in the second room, and they too waited as she showed signs of extreme nervousness. They left their year old children in the care of family at home, as they only expected to be here for a fortnight at best.

The retrieval went as smoothly as the first two attempts, and Hermione cursed the doctor each time he probed in a new site, she wanted to become a mother, but now she felt like a pincushion. She lost count of the injections and probes and other more invasive measures she endured, while Harry’s contribution had him leave for a private room for a half hour.

This yield had been less than their last attempt, only 6 viable embryos, since they now needed Ginny’s body to catch up to accept the gifts, the six remained in a cryogenic tank, to be retrieved in only a couple weeks. Ginny knew the procedure she faced, she had been with her step-sister-in-law for every earlier procedure; Hermione needed the family support. Less then two weeks later, and three weeks into their stay at the beach apartment Ginny finally was ready, the clinic had been notified and prepared the embryos for re-implantation but the thawing process had not been as successful, two failed the process leaving four. Ginny suggested using them all, the possibility a multiple pregnancy didn’t frighten her she had just survived twins. The procedure lasted only forty-five minutes, and she was required to remain bed-ridden for at least a week. And since the clinic needed her to remain in town, the four stayed in a local muggle hotel.

If Harry was merely nervous, Hermione was a complete physiological wreck. Ginny was getting Hermione’s wish to carry Harry’s child, even though it was hers as well. Ginny, too, was fulfilling a childhood dream shared by all young witches her age had at one time or another, to have The-Boy-Who-Lived’s child. The surprise to them all was unlike Hermione’s failures; this one was different. After an extended bed rest of nearly three weeks, Ginny carried a child.

The first weeks proceeded normally. Ginny had the first indications that this time it would work when she kicked Draco out of bed that first morning as she rushed for the toilet. She faced several weeks of nausea and then the bloating, mood swings and cravings. Draco had sufficient experience from their own children to know her mood swings during pregnancy meant he was in for a rough time, only this time there were two others there to help.

Harry and Hermione left their home in Godric Hollow to stay at Malfoy Manor, to be there with Ginny. Draco argued that having them stay in Malfoy Manor was unnecessary, since they could arrive in a moment’s notice should any problems arise. Ginny too, argued that this was her second time and was quite used to the coming events. Harry had agreed on a private level, but in support of Hermione’s needs, he convinced Draco they wouldn’t be a burden, but would be available to help. On an unspoken level, Draco’s reluctance was more to have peace and tranquillity for Ginny and their two children, but he also posted little protest at the house guests, to atone for his father’s role that caused this problem in the first place.

Draco never admitted to any one, including Ginny that he felt some degree of guilt for Hermione loosing their first child. If only he had reached them sooner, if only he hadn’t stopped to keep Ginny from rushing to her parents. If only.

Ginny’s mounting condition worsened daily, when she carried her two, her bouts of morning sickness didn’t seem as harsh as this time. She pondered if the fact it was Harry and Hermione’s child, the fact that together they formed an alliance of power no other wizard could match. Maybe that’s why this round of morning sickness began almost from the morning following conception and seemed to be amplified. The force of her daily nausea kept Hermione busy; making sure Ginny had ample nourishment and fluids. The surprise of their lifetimes came when the first check-up revealed that this was not going to be a normal pregnancy, that she carried two.

---

It was a beautiful spring day in late May when a young blond woman entered the telephone booth, and dialed the number she had dialed dozens of times before, 6-2-4-4-2, and waited.

“Name.” the receiver demanded.

“Luna Weasley, Healer.”

“Purpose?”

“Medical escort for Ginerva Malfoy.”

A badge dropped into the slot identifying her and her purpose for entering the Ministry of Magic. She placed the badge on her jacket, excited that Ginny was passed the six-month mark. She passed through the entranceway to find her sister-in-law, knowing she would be finishing last minute details in her office. Harry and Ron both had been detained elsewhere and Hermione was already at St. Mungo’s, unable to leave her own patients. Luna had on more then one occasion escorted Ginny for them.

She met Ginny in her office in the Department of Mysteries, she had recently advanced to a deputy position in this office; her duties were to catalog and safeguard the prophecies from the past 100 years in the storage chamber. She had finished her daily inventories of the new orbs recently delivered, and was waiting calmly at her desk.

Luna’s clinical façade vanished when she entered the office and saw the fiery red-head witch, barely able to sit in her own chair. She looked ready to burst at six months, the children she carried just as eager to meet their parents.

“You ready, Gin?” she asked as she retrieved Ginny’s cover from the peg on the door.

Ginny reluctantly accepted Luna’s assistance, when she held both hands out to her to help her to her feet. As strong willed and as independent as Ginny was, she also knew from her own children’s births there are times help was needed.

“Why did it have to be twins again? And they’re not even mine this time.” Ginny complained laughingly , but despite the obvious discomfort, she was more then happy to fill this role for Harry and Hermione.

Luna helped Ginny to her feet, and put an arm around her back for support. She was just six months along, but unlike her own twins, these two were big. She had been told that her last three months may require bed rest and, despite her immediate superior’s complaints, she had chosen to take maternity leave from this day. She left her desk clear of parchment and quills, assured by the highest of levels her position would be there when she returned.

“Come on then, let’s get this over with,” she wheezed as she lumbered to her feet. This had been a more difficult pregnancy, neither child cared to remain docile; she swore she had more bruises inside from the kicking than she ever received in her three years on the house Quidditch team.

Together the two young women left the office and the building, to a waiting car provided by the Minister himself. The car was a typical sedan, parked just around the corner on Henrietta Street, in accordance with local muggle law. The narrow phone booth elevator would have normally allowed the two women to fit, but with Ginny’s condition, Luna made the trip first and waited for her sister-in-law to join her.

Several blocks away, two men were evading the local authorities, they were wanted in connection to the growing world threats of terrorism; both were foreign nationals illegally smuggled into the country. Their task was to attempt to rebuild the ranks and structure new groups in the city, but undercover agents had discovered them during their recruitments.

The chase raced through downtown London during the peak of the day, two marked and one unidentified car in deadly pursuit. The parade of cars ran down Maiden Lane, passing others as if they had stopped, turning left to avoid a head-on collision with oncoming traffic from Covent Garden.

As the second for the two women left the phone booth exit, the lead car in the chase again swerved away from traffic. Leaving the safety of the street, it ran up on the pavement, hoping to cause confusion and aide their escape, but instead hit the telephone booth as a young woman began walking away.

The shell of the phone booth exploded on impact, striking the woman as she turned to the sound of the commotion. Shards of glass and steel struck her, the force of the impact pushed her out of the direct path of the car, but it still struck her as it passed. Her broken form was tossed to the side of the building she had just left. Images of her youth swam past as the intense pain forced her body to shut down and slip into unconsciousness.

Luna watched in horror as Ginny lay in the debris, covered in blood. She rushed to her side, hoping it was a dream, but once she felt Ginny’s warm thick blood in her hands, time seemed to stop. A shard of metal pierced her enlarged stomach, and was the primary flow of blood. Smaller cuts on her face and arms made the vision more disturbing and reminiscent of the explosion they both lived through as children. Ginny was still breathing, but each breath was shallow, telling Luna there wasn’t much time.

People gathered around the scene, some helped the two from the car, and they pushed through the crowd into obscurity. A local constable rushed to Luna’s side, offering help for Ginny. He radioed for an ambulance while Luna did what she could without using her wand. ‘If I could just use it for one minute, she would be safe, and maybe the children would have a chance,’ she thought. She cautiously pulled her wand from a pocket in her cloak, only to feel a hand push it back. She glanced to the owner and it was the guard from the Ministry, he had strict orders to prevent any public display, even at the cost of life.

“What are you doing? I’m a Healer.” She commanded as she tried to draw her wand again.

“You can’t, not here. There are too many of them,” he whispered hoarsely to her, again pushing her wand hand back out of sight as a crowd began to gather. “I’ve called for a pickup from St Mungos’, they should be here in a moment.”

Luna managed to control the bleeding, hoping Ginny could hold on, but she slipped in and out of consciousness from the pain and shock. In those brief moments of consciousness she couldn’t feet her legs, as if they were gone. She was aware of Luna’s presence, but that’s all. The look of pain on her face was not for herself, but as a mother, it was for the two she carried. It was an unspoken concern between two women, two sisters, and two mothers. All Luna could do in those moments was give Ginny what comfort she could.

In those longer moments of unconsciousness, Ginny imagined being in a calm park, as she sat on a bench watching two young children play with a much older couple; the man had extremely messy black hair with distinguished grey streaks along the sides. The woman had graying red hair and a familiar feel to her that made Ginny wonder who she was. The boy and girl ran to the woman, and jumped into her arms. Ginny could distinctly hear them call the woman ‘Gram’ as they continued their play.

The peacefulness of the moment was jarred when the man called his wife by name, “Lily.”

‘James and Lily Potter?’ she thought in a daze. ‘But... they are long dead!’ And suddenly, the realization of exactly where she was and why she was looking at that scene came to her. ‘No, it couldn't be,’ she screamed, but there was no one to hear her. Not even the four playing in the park heard her scream. She instinctively reached for her stomach, to see for herself, and there were no wounds, and no babies inside.

“Ginny, hold on, stay, please stay with me.” Luna pleaded with her. She tried everything she could while still in view of the public to keep her alive. Thankfully an ambulance finally arrived on the scene.

“We’ll take her from here, miss.” The paramedic instructed as they tried to pull her away.

“I’m her private physician. Her condition is grave and she won’t last to the public hospital, we must take her to my hospital now, it’s a few blocks away.” Luna demanded.

“I’m afraid we can’t just drop her anywhere without proper identification, we have orders to take her to The Royal London Hospital.”

“Bloody hell, that’s clear over in Whitechapel, she’ll be dead by then; the babies will be dead. No. I insist you take us were I can help her.” She followed the paramedics as they placed Ginny on the stretcher and began administering aid. The paramedics began to wheel the stretcher to their ambulance, with Luna close behind.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t ride with us, you’re not allowed.” He held up a hand to block her entrance to the vehicle, and received more then a verbal protest.

“DAMN IT, you’re wasting time, I can help her if you’d only let me. She’s family.” The paramedic considered this last comment, and having briefly watched her care for the woman, nodded and waved her follow to the vehicle. She stayed at Ginny’s side, still holding a bandage over the worst of the wounds, slowing the bleeding as best she could until they were safely out of public view.

Safely inside and with only one medic in the rear with her, she waited until he was preoccupied contacting the hospital for further instructions. She whipped out her wand and pointed it to the wound she tended; a yellow haze covered Ginny’s abdomen stopping the flow of blood then she hid the wand back in its hiding place before the medic noticed. Luna placed a knowing hand over an uninjured area, and searched for any movement or any activity. One faint thump was enough to bark her orders to rush them as fast as the vehicle could manage.

“Hold on, Ginny, please.” She almost pleaded hoping her sister-in-law could hear her. She knew there was something wrong, but refused to believe her fears. “Please… Ginny.” She was on the verge of giving in to her emotions as the vehicle arrived at its destination. The driver turned a corner, to where the rear of the hospital. The driver scarcely slowed as he drove the vehicle directly to the emergency room doors.

The ambulance screeched to a halt, and the rear door burst open. The flow of people, all strangers and all muggles exploded from the doors, waiting to rush Ginny into the emergency surgery. The remote hope was to save her and the babies.

Luna remained sitting on the bench of the ambulance, and only after Ginny was taken did she allow her hands to shake. She sat there, staring at her hands, still covered with Ginny’s warm thick blood. In near shock herself, having gone in a matter of only a few minutes from chatting pleasantly with Ginny looking forward to a checkup, to watching all hopes for one couple disappear and a young mother of two near death. She hardly felt each streak form down her cheek, and she didn’t notice a man approach her and lift her from the bench.

The news of the accident was quickly relayed to everyone that had been waiting, and a group of four had arrived at the hospital nearly at the same instant as the ambulance, they appeared in the alley just around the corner from the ambulance bay where the now empty vehicle remained. Harry and Hermione never stopped, and with Draco close behind, they rushed to find Ginny. Ron had helped Luna out of the ambulance, to support her to a waiting row of seats. As the passed a laundry trolley Ron grabbed a couple clean white towels and covered his wife’s hands, to hide the stains; Luna had been unable to tear her eyes from the crimson still dripping from her hands.

“Where is she?” Harry demanded.

“Where’s my wife?” Draco screamed at the reception nurse.

“Please, you will have to just wait. She’s with the doctors and they’re doing everything they can to help her.”

“Her? The babies? How are the babies?” Hermione choked out. She knew that Ginny’s gift was possibly the last hope they had for a family. She resigned to never being able to have them herself and for the last six months she felt every sensation Ginny experienced.

“Miss, I’m sorry but I can’t give you that information, since he’s the father,” the nurse pointed to Draco, “I can only allow him back with her. Please follow me, sir.”

“But…” Hermione tried to explain these where her babies, these were her hopes and dreams. Her single obsession for the past five years now lay in an unknown state.

“Please they need to come in too.” Draco began but was cut off quickly.

“If you want to see her before the end, you must follow me now.” The nurse commanded as she grabbed his arm, pulling him down the corridor following a fresh trail of red drops and occasional splatter.

Harry pulled Hermione close to him and guided her to a row of seats along the wall, a mere fifteen meters away from where the trail turned into a side room. Ron sat with Luna, on a similar row of chairs, closer to the outside doors; he had his hands full with Luna, who wouldn’t stop rubbing the red from her hands and clothes.

The emotional rollercoaster Harry and Hermione rode for most of their time together paled compared to this one event. All their shared struggles and shared triumphs with Ron and without him had no bearing; this was a moment in time neither could forget, a moment in both their lives that only added painful memories. Harry’s thoughts drifted to those moments that helped him become the man he is today, the moment he held Hermione’s lifeless body in his arms, and wished to join her. He held her close to his body again, one hand gently running through her hair, the other around her waist holding her upright.

Hermione gently pulled back to look at him. She knew his feelings from the sharp cold pain in her palm. Their connection from that one moment they shared before they realized they were destined to be together still raged when his emotions ran strong. He was angry and scared, he was there for her, and put his feelings for this additional wound aside.

“Mione, they’ll do everything they can. I’m certain they will all be fine.” She laid her face into him and he felt a familiar moistness through his shirt.

“If you only had your father’s cloak, I would go in there and I know I could save them all. But we can’t interfere, not here; if they only brought her to St Mungo’s.” She whimpered into his shoulder. She knew she had a power to heal, she had done once what had never been witnessed and returned from death. She knew she held that power, but never before considered searching within herself to use that power since then, until this moment.

He pulled her to face him. “We still have each other. I still have you here. But Draco may lose Ginny. I know how he feels right now; I know what it feels like to lose the one you love. We still have each, I’m grateful for that. Maybe there’s something they can do, we have to wait.”

The hitching from her chest told him her feelings, and as much as he said, it was said to try and convince himself that this would work out, that something good would happen.

She managed to pull away but sat with her head leaned into his chest. They sat there in silence; the noise of life around them disappeared as they waited for any movement from that room. Time froze as all movement in that corridor slowed to match. Life seemed to want this moment to remain forever. Simple actions around them took on new meaning and a life of their own, mocking the witch and her selfish desires. An orderly wielding a mop began to erase the trails and evidence of the morning, each stroke of the mop lasted an eternity. Hermione watched and recorded every action that day, sensing this was all she would have, memories.

A nurse pushed a roughly kept gurney from the adjacent room, apparently to prepare the room for another patient needing urgent care. The gurney was left against the wall opposite them. The rumpled sheets and blanket seemed out of place for a hospital that took care to quickly clean or reorganize used or soiled property, the towels Luna used had been taken by another orderly, and she was given clean ones, which she used to continue to wipe her clothes. The soiled marks that trailed the injured that arrived since Ginny had been taken had been cleaned as quickly.

Hermione stared at the gurney, the only new object in this small world they entered a half hour before. She knew each passing moment without word meant the news was grim, and she found herself praying not for the unborn, but for the other innocent life that hung in the balance. She cursed herself for putting Ginny in this danger. She wished for a sign or news. She knew as bad as losing the babies would be, losing Ginny would cut deeper into more lives. Ron and his brothers would lose a sister, two young babies would lose a mother, and a former adversary would lose his life’s mate. She would lose a friend as close to her as a sister.

A similar gurney, down the hall also sat with a pile of soiled bed linens. An orderly stood there, quietly stripped the coverings and pulled them into a tight bundle. Hermione watched as he casually tossed the bundle into a small opening in the wall, to disappear from view. The attendant then wheeled the gurney down to the other end of the corridor, leaving one gurney left on the wall.

She returned her stare to the disheveled pile on the gurney in front of them, the activity of life that passed went unnoticed; Nurses escorting other patients from one examination room to another, Doctors discussing the intricacies of their new cases, and elderly gentleman limping away from the row of benches, an orderly pushing a man in a wheelchair as he bumped the gurney ever so slightly. That collision sent a wave through the covered table that seemed to alter reality as the sheets fluttered lightly on the two piles. That minor insignificant alteration to her new world split her soul in half.

A tiny blood stained arm fell from under the sheet.

Hermione screamed. Her outburst drew the attention of all around, Harry had also seen the arm, and he also knew what it meant. She threw her arms around his neck, now her emotions ran unchecked. She asked for a sign and it was there. It was the worst possible thing for her to see, she knew what lay under the now obvious matching piles on the gurney. He held her close to his chest, he felt the same pain, but swallowed it deep in his heart, she needed him to be the strong one; he will grieve later.

“Shh… they’re gone. It’s going to be ok.” He held his mask firmly in place; the deep emotions he felt were buried safely out of view.

“Harry,” she swallowed hard, “this couldn’t be happening, not now. Harry, please… don’t...” the image of the attendant casually discarding the soiled sheets raped her thoughts. “Harry, don’t let them throw my babies away.”

“That’s nonsense. They can’t, they won’t. I promise” He tried to reassure her, her self confidence; her inner strength that defined her was gone. All that remained was this empty shell of the woman he loved. She needed him to bring her back. “We’ll give them their birthright. We’ll take them home.” His reassurance of who these two were and their importance to not only her but to them as a family helped boost her back to the woman that faced the greatest evil of the age, back to the woman known in their world as The Lost Witch, back to his Hermione.

She pushed away from his supportive embrace and stood. He could feel her quiver without touching her, as she turned to the gurney where their unborn children lay. She hesitated as she reached to touch the tiny exposed arm, equally afraid of what she would find under the sheet. Dark red blotches outlined the two infants; she lifted a corner to see a leg with a name tag. Without moving touching them or moving the sheet, she could see the hospital’s error. ‘Baby Jane Malfoy’.

“Harry,” she cried out. “They think they’re Ginny’s.” She pulled the sheet back to see her daughter. The blood was from Ginny, the only trauma the baby’s mother could see was bruising on her tiny chest, the point of impact from the car.

Harry stood by her side, one hand on her shoulder as she looked at the tiny form. She picked up a small towel and gently cleaned her daughter, wiping all trace of Ginny from the body. She then gently pulled the sheet from her son’s body to give him the same attention but he had not been killed by the car’s impact. The sight she saw forced Harry to pull the sheet back over his son, covering the gaping wound that ran through the tiny form.

Hermione pulled away, turning her back. She held a hand over her mouth from the shock of the sight. Although she had seen worse, although she had experienced wounds herself, the sight she has seen was worse, to see an innocent baby, her baby, with a mortal wound before he could draw a breath.

She doubled over and heaved once, emptying her stomach into a nearby trash bin. Harry held her; one hand supported her head over the bin, his other on her back. When she heaved a second time, the sounds from her were mixed with deep sobs of grief and gagging from the bile. She dropped to her knees, unable to stand the moment anymore. Ron and Luna both equally experiencing the gravity of the day, finally managed to come to their side, Ron pulled Harry into a hug; he knew his friend was hurting as well and needed what their friendship could provide, while Luna took over Harry’s spot helping Hermione with her nausea.

Luna handed Hermione a fresh towel so she could wipe her face free of the bile and she rose, shakily, to her feet, supported by both Harry and Ron. Hermione turned to her daughter, and lifted the tiny body in her arms, and cradled her. She now had a bittersweet sensation of holding her daughter in her arms. The tiny body barely fit in the crock of her arm; she held the tiny head in her palm.

The two men supported her, as she was led back to the chairs on the other side of the corridor. Together they all managed to sit, with Hermione holding her daughter. Luna watched the look of tenderness on her face and the awe on Harry’s face at his wife’s complete attachment to the baby, at Hermione’s undeniable love for this child. But Luna also noticed one thing was missing, she returned to the gurney, wrapped the tiny body tightly in a towel, to mask his wound and handed Harry his son. Harry held his son, and kept the towel in place as he held the tiny hands in his, he noticed certain details, the tiny feet and hands, perfect, with all five fingers, and even the nails looked as if they had just been trimmed. He felt the incredible miracle of life there in his hands and felt how fragile that life was. Harry bent his head down to rest on the form in his folded arms and began to weep openly showing his grief for the first time that day.

This was the time they desperately needed to bond and say goodbye all in the same moment. Every other attempt they made for a family failed with no visible evidence. Now they had that evidence, and they also had to say goodbye.

A lone physician watched the event unfold; Draco told them of the error in the name tag, that Ginny was only a vessel to carry the babies. The physician stood silently and watched the true parents grieve, giving all the time he could, but life must progress, the hospital had its rules. Those rules didn’t allow for the human factor.

“Please, excuse me, but we need them for a final examination before we can release them. A councilor will be with you shortly, to help with the arrangements.”

Harry looked to the voice, shook his head once and held his son. Ron standing by their side needed more.

“How’s Ginny? How is my sister?” He inquired, trying not to add to the emotional stress that flowed in this corridor.

“Mrs. Malfoy’s condition is grave, but she is stable for now. We’ll know more shortly. If she survives, we won’t know the full extent of the damage for several days. What is truly amazing is she would have bled to death in the ambulance, but the major arteries seemed to close themselves.”

The doctor stood in front of Harry, and placed a hand to his shoulder. “Mr. Potter, please. We’ll see to them for you.” And he lifted the tiny boy from his hands and gently placed him back on the gurney. He looked at Hermione and approached her, but the look she gave made him pause.

“Please, Mrs. Potter, it’s time.”

She leaned in and gave her daughter the first and last kiss she would ever receive.

---

A small group had assembled in a small well kept plot near the edge of a small clearing overlooking a stream and fields past the stand of trees. There were two sets of graves bordered an empty spot that appeared to be waiting for its occupants, to the side of the newest sets of graves a pair of tiny, freshly excavated holes in the Earth remained ready for their intended occupants. The mood of the planet that day matched the mood of these friends and family members. A covering over the group shielded them from a light drizzle that fell over the landscape, but not the biting cold of the day, an unusual chill cut through the air this late May morning.

One couple dressed entirely in black sat in two chairs at the head of the two openings, with the others on either side of the matching graves. One couple stood while on the other side, the young woman remained sitting in a wheel chair, she still needed time to recover her strength from the shared ordeal. Two matching tiny caskets hovered above the wounds in the Earth, waiting to be laid to rest, and in honor of the paternal Grandmother, a snow white lily rested on each. The parents of the two sat quietly, as the others remained stone silent.

“Thank you all for being here.” Harry finally broke the wall of silence. “These two innocent lives that we lost because of a freak unfortunate accident can never be returned to us, we will never know who they would have been, but we do know who they were. Jason and Janet never lived outside of the womb that carried them but they did know the love that wanted them. I…”

Hermione reached to his hand, and held it close, ignoring her blurred vision. “Its ok love, we all know.”

“I… wanted to…” he stopped and caught the tightness in his chest. He swallowed hard to move past the grief. “I wanted to have my children grow up, as Hermione had, not the way I did. I wanted them to know they were wanted. I wanted them to live in the love we both need to share. I love this woman by my side. I always have, but I also know she needs something we can’t have. For that…” he reached to her chin and looked into her eyes, the sorrow and grief they shared was for more then the occupants of the two tiny coffins. “For that, I know we will never stop trying. Hermione, I love you too much to see you in this much pain. If I only…” He looked away, he wished he could erase all this, wipe out all they had to go through only to end burying two babies that never drew a breath.

“Harry, please, it’s happened. He did this to us, not you and not me. They were cursed to suffer because of him. It’s not your fault. Please, let us bury our children.” Her tone was cold and level; she didn’t blame Harry, or herself anymore, but Lucius who now bore the full brunt of her anger. Pity he was already dead.

She stood, still holding his hand and gently pulled him to his feet.

“Please, Harry it’s time to let them go.”

“Good bye my loves, I hope you know how much we will miss you.” He waved his hand and the two caskets slowly lowered into the ground, forever. Hermione walked to the foot of each and picked up a hand full of Earth, tossing the soil into the graves. Harry reached into a pocked in his cloak and retrieved a small pouch. He tossed small bits of dry soil over each grave, and replaced the pouch in his pocket.

“Sleep safely forever.” He whispered, waved his hand as if scooping the dirt on the neat piles along side and filled the graves. A single stone grew from the head of the site, next to the one marking their grandparents’ last home.

As the Earth filled the two graves, Harry kept her hand in his, but could feel her shaking; she did blame herself, and felt responsible for the deaths, and for Ginny. Ginny’s injury had nearly ended in three funerals, but two events did more for her that day than any other in her life. Luna’s training and quick thinking in the ambulance to stop the blood loss had unquestionably saved her life. And her brief encounter in the park somehow told her it wasn’t her time. The doctors at the muggle hospital had done as much with their skills as any healer could have done, and she now needed time to heal and recover. She had some remaining pain and stiffness when she tried to walk, and so on her husband’s orders; she remained in a wheel chair.

Harry supported Hermione to their home; he could feel her knees wobble from the stress of the morning and the past few days. It had been some time since either had rested or nourished their own bodies; the task just fulfilled had consumed them both. He half carried her back to the cottage, followed by the others to help pass the time and morn the loss. Dobby had left a simple luncheon out for their return, but respectfully did not stay, as he knew this was a very private moment for the family.

The small group entered the main lounge of their home, and remained silent, except for the occasional whimper and sob from not only the woman, but the wizards too, who also felt and shared the grief. Although they all had known each other for many years, and had experienced death before, this was the first time any of them buried a child. Today they buried two infants.

Hermione walked past the congregation and felt compelled to visit a room in the small wizard house no one besides Harry had seen. She cautiously walked up the flight of stairs, past their bedroom, to a smaller room freshly painted in alternating shades of light blue and pink. Two matching cribs sat forever empty along the wall, each filled with a menagerie of stuffed animals. She stopped at the one crib with a light pink ruffle, and stared at the worn teddy bear that sat on the pillow. It was her favorite as a child and wanted to pass it to her daughter. She had thought of leaving it in the casket, but the bear was larger than the child, leaving little room for the fallen angel. She reached in to the crib and held it as she would have held Janet.

All she felt was the emotions pull at her, ripping deep into her soul. Her heart began pounding furiously. She felt her chest rise and fall, but no air seemed to pass into her lungs. She felt the wet streaks on her face, but couldn’t raise her hands to clear them. The dull thump-thump of her heart quickened and became so intense she felt her chest pound in pain. The sharp squeeze in her chest radiated into her arms, the numbing cold from the morning spent at the graves broke into an icy sweat. The room tilted to one side, leaving her disoriented. Blackness engulfed her as the side of her face screamed from the pain of the impact with the floor. The jolt of the fall sent flowers of color and light bursting in her vision, they continued flashing in her vision until all that remained was the blackness as she felt herself fall into an abyss. There was no light to see, no sound met her ears, a silent whoosh that she felt on her cheeks as she fell. A single star burst of color flashed, and she drifted toward it. The first ray of light that escaped cut into her vision, she could see several distinct figures, two adults playing with two young children. The four were oddly familiar, when she saw two other adults in the distance. The little girl ran to the man in the second couple, and all she heard was ‘Poppy’. She passed the vision catching enough of a view of the second couple to know instantly who they were. That vision caused the rift in her heart to tear deeper.

Darkness engulfed her; she still had the vision of her mother and father with another couple playing with two small children. The force of the wind rushing past prevented her from shedding a tear for that vision. She knew it was her own children with their grandparents.

She closed her eyes, but it did no good in the virtual black within the abyss. She thought back. She held only one regret, Harry wasn’t there to hold her, to wake her from this dream she knew she was having. She rationalized it must be a dream; she must have collapsed from the stress. This was only a bout of stress, neither she nor Harry had slept since the accident, and it had been days since she remembered eating, and that last meal had been left in a rubbish bin. Whether she had been falling for minutes, hours or days, she couldn’t tell, there was nothing except the wind rush past as she fell.

A new point of light broke through in the distance; she forced her mind to focus on that point. It grew into a ray, a beacon calling her to a destination. She imagined she’d wake up, shake off the stress, have a bite to eat and Harry would put her to bed for some rest and she’d wake in his arms in the morning. She had blacked out only a few times before, once when she touched his scar and it transferred itself to her palm and that incident lasted a couple days. Another time she blacked out was when she fell out of her bed one night from a dream, but she woke the next morning; and the last time was when she died, if death could be thought of as blacking out.

She would wake soon. She had to. This was only stress she kept telling herself. She forced her eyes open, fully expecting to see Harry with his worried look on his face standing over her, stroking her hair.

“Harry?” she called out, finally able to hear her own voice. Her vision was still blurred, but she wasn’t lying on the floor of her nursery or in her bed. She was lying in a field of thick grass, still moist with dew. Her body felt numb with pain, as if she landed hard in this field.

A lone figure approached as her vision returning to normal. He was a tall man, taller then her Harry. This man looked to be a full 2 meters tall, dressed in a dark brown hooded cloak over light colored tunic tucked into matching leggings. He wore thick boots laced up the front that reached almost to the knee. A wide strap of a belt cinched his tunic closed, with a number of objects draped to the side. One such object appeared to be a torch. To the other side of his belt, a heavy pouch that she assumed contained those objects most men would normally store in their pockets. His gait brought him swiftly to her side, as he bent to assist her to her feet. His hands were rough and callused from years of labor. As toughened as his hands were, his touch was gentle and kind.

“Greetings to thee, have you lost your escort?” He inquired as he helped her to her feet.

“Excuse me, sir, but I have no idea what you mean.” She replied. Without knowing who he was or where she was, the safest course of action was to be evasive in her answer.

“Thou art by thy self in an unsafe pasture. If you have no escort, then art thou a witch? Thou art dressed as one, in the purest of black, and veiled to cover your face. But you are few in years. I cannot believe you could have the skills to practice the dark arts.”

Quickly she felt her cloak; she always carried her wand, ever on the shortest of trips to the gardens of her own home. Her pocket was empty.

“Black? I…” she took a quick assessment and realized she still wore her funeral robes. “I buried my children this morning, if you must know.” The tone she used nearly surprised her, that she could be so callous to a stranger asking a simple question. “And since we are on the issue of dress, may I inquire the nature of your attire?”

“Aye, I am your humble servant, mum. My deepest apologies for your loss. I am a knight of the realm safeguarding this towns’ people from harm. There have been tales and reports of evil lurking within these grounds outside the village.”

Knight of the realm? This is shear madness. She thought. “May I inquire you name, good knight?”

“Aye, I am called Sir James of Caerleon.” He replied with a graceful bow. At which she could see to his side a broad sword hung beneath his cloak.

“ Caerleon? I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with that town. My name is Hermione Potter, my husband and I live in Godric’s Hollow.”

“Godric’s Hollow? Mum, I beg your forgiveness, but there is no place in this parish by that name.”

Puzzled they stared at each other. Hermione looked at her new companion, and at the surrounding grounds. Not a single trace of modern technology was evident. The path that wound past the patch of grass she had found herself appeared to be the only road in the vicinity, if that could even be classified as a road. This man, or knight seemed pleasant enough, and she was grateful that he at lease was friendly.

“One other question, sir knight, I seem to have lost track of time, can you tell be the day?”

“It is the twenty-third of May, in the year of our Lord 1479.”

Stunned with the date, she looked as if he dealt her a blow from his sword. “What parish are we in? Are we near London?”

“Nay, we are a weeks hard march to London, as for the parish, this is on the outer boundaries of East Barnet, under his grace, Earl and Bishop Clement Augustus Rebus.” He spoke the name politely, but not with respect one would expect.

“Rebus?” she exclaimed. “He’s here?”

“Aye, mum, ye have heard of his grace?” His interest in this woman changed. She admitted to knowing the Earl. But he needed to know how she knew him.

“Yes.” She whispered. The interrogation, however brief was draining her of the little strength she had, and felt her knees wobble; Sir James also noticed her lack of balance and offered his hand to her so she could steady herself.

“If I may ask, is your husband here?”

“No. I think I fainted after the… when…”

“The funeral?”

“Yes. He was with me, but I seem to have been taken away from him.”

“Abducted and abandoned here? You must return with me, my own wife will see to your needs.”

She took a single step and swooned, nearly falling to the ground, had it not been for the knight that rescued her.

---

“Harry…” she mumbled his name over and over. She felt a gentle hand wiping the sweat from her brow with a cold cloth. Her last recollection was a dream of talking to a man that claimed to be a knight. She could feel Harry’s presence nearby, holding her hand. She knew he would be there; ready to be her knight in shining armor, her protector. She called his name again as she managed to open her eyes, to see a girl dressed in an old time peasant’s frock. She sat on the edge of the bed she laid on, covered with thick warm quilts.

“Good morn, milady. Please don’t try to sit; my lord fetched you from a field on the outskirts of our village yesterday past noon.”

“Who… are you?” she asked from within her daze.

“I am but a servant in the employ of Sir James. I have been instructed to aid you to health, mum.”

“Then it wasn’t a dream?”

“No mum. I’ll take my leave and fetch you proper clothing, are you still to morn?” The girl remained on the edge of the bed; she had a deep look of concern and sympathy at the questions of Hermione’s loss.

“Pardon?”

“Sir James said you had a loss that you were in morning. I will fetch proper attire should you require it. How long has it been, if I may ask?”

She pulled on her brain to work through the question. How long? It was only this morning they had the funeral, and only 4 days since the accident. “A few days.” She replied unsure how long she was asleep.

“Then you should still remain to morn, who do you morn, a husband? Or is it too soon to talk of it?”

“My children. They were killed in an accident a few days ago.”

“I grieve with thee, milady, my mother had such a loss of a child when I was a wee lass, she and the child were taken at birth. Please rest until I return with your gowns.”

“Please, tell me your name?”

“Hermia, milady.” And with that she left Hermione to ponder these new events. Everything seemed familiar, that man’s features and this girl’s name, but her mind was still fogged. She closed her eyes, and willed the fog away, ‘Think Hermione, use your brain.’ She ordered herself.

‘Ok, Hermione, review the facts. First off, this is a dream, it must be. It’s more then 500 years ago, and that girl…’ She sat up sharply, when it finally dawned on her.

“HERMIA!” she screamed.

Within seconds the girl returned. She hardly left the outer room when her name was so sharply called out.

“Did you need something, milady?”

“Please, tell me, are you Hermia Madison? You have a brother, Haimon?”

Puzzled, she closed the door and returned to the spot on the bed.

“Aye to both, how do you know of this? How do you know of him?”

Without hesitation, Hermione threw her arms around the maid and began to feel her grief return, this time for the pain this girl will endure.

“Mum? This is hardly appropriate. I am but a servant and you obviously of noble birth.”

Through swelling eyes, she looked at her kin; this slight girl was a focal point in her destiny. She was sitting with the witch that led her to her life with Harry.

“I’m sorry, I know this doesn’t seem right, but I know of you and your family, I had wished I could have helped when… I heard.”

“Heard? What madness is this?” she stood and looked at Hermione unsure what to say or think. No one knew her brother; he was safe in another part of the country.

“Please,” she whispered, “come sit. I know who you are.”

“No, this is madness. How could you know of me, and of my family?”

“I know you attended a school, a special school in Scotland. Were you a Gryffindor?”

Now stunned, she sat on the end of the bed, barely able to respond. “No, Ravenclaw. But how?”

“I am a Gryffindor, as is my husband. But you, you’re so young, you couldn’t have finished.”

“No, milady, I have one more year left, this year ended but a week past, and I returned to the employ of Sir James, he has no knowledge of this, I pray he never knows. The Earl has been cruel to our kind. You must not speak of this; there are those that spy to learn of us.” She whispered softly, so only Hermione could hear.

Hermione forgot herself and threw the coverings off and tried to stand, only to realize how weak she let herself become.

“Please, stay; I will fetch food and your gown.”

Weakly she complied and her kin left, more puzzled then Hermione. The thought that she was in a point in her own past made her think of the possibilities. She could easily remove this Earl and thereby possibly remove Riddle from her past, or future, she couldn’t think clearly. Had she kept her wits, her outburst and these revelations would still be secret. She knew most of the details of the coming events, but that was several months away, she had no idea how long this dream would last.

She slumped back into the bed, and curled up, the way she used to curl up in Harry’s arms when she felt unsure, when she needed him. How long she lay there she didn’t know, time seemed lost, without a clock, time simply existed. She tried to remember any other details.

“Come on Hermione remember.” She commanded herself. ‘Remember how to remember’, “My pensieve!” she muttered to herself. She reached under the nightgown for the locket and the pensieve Harry gave her, they were her two most cherished gifts from him, she cherished her locket as much as her wedding ring, maybe more, but she never admitted that to herself. That locket was the first thing he gave her out of pure love. Her rings were still on her hand; the diamond still sparkled as the day he gave it to her.

“Bollocks,” she said, they were both missing. She was about to search the room when the door re-opened. Her great-great-great-grandmother returned carrying a tray filled with food and a black frock over her arm.

“Hermia, I had some personal objects, where are they?” she asked quietly.

“Milady, I kept them. Without my lord seeing them. I knew them to be charmed but thought you were unaware of their powers. I have tried to determine the spells, before you told me you are like me. Here.” She reached into her pocket and handed the two objects that shared a silver chain to Hermione.

“Sit.” She commanded. “Do you have a wand?”

“Please, any witchcraft would have us both imprisoned.”

“I want you to believe who I am.” Hermia handed Hermione her wand, shorter than her own. “Maple? What’s the core?”

“Yes, maple with dragon’s heartstring.”

Hermione smiled and took the wand giving it a wave over her pensive and repeated her spell, “ Aperire Cogito Sospito Parseltongue .” The iris opened and Harry’s image appeared giving Hermia a start.

“Who is this boy?” she asked.

“Harry,” Hermione replied with a smile. “My husband, we married shortly after…” she stopped herself from talking about the war. That was long over, or in the distant future, or something. “We married after we finished school.”

An image appeared of Hermione covered in fur, causing Hermia to giggle at the image.

“I did not believe you before, but from this you must be a powerful witch. But your manor of dress is strange to me, you say you were a Gryffindor, but I myself have been there for the past six years. When did you leave?”

“We finished five years ago. And we have been married since then. I met him in our first year. It was strange for both of us, I was muggle born, and a dark wizard murdered his parents. He had to live as a muggle with no idea who he was. He’s the most powerful wizard alive.”

“Merlin is your husband? But he must be near a thousand years old now.”

“No. Not Merlin, He’s long dead, Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard until Harry came into his birthright.”

“Nay, these truths you speak are unfounded, Merlin still lives, he is believed to live in London, and I have never heard of this other you speak of. Surely you must be confused, maybe the lack of sustenance.” She placed the forgotten tray of food on the table next to the bed.

Hermione suddenly remembered her forgotten hunger and started with a large portion of roasted chicken. Between mouthfuls, she tried to explain. “Please, Hermia, I don’t think I can really explain, but all this to me isn’t real. But if it is real then I can’t explain more. I know I must sound mad, but please believe me that I only want to help you.” She tapped the pensieve and it returned to its original state, and she also noticed the time piece still functioned.

“Hermia, I need to find Harry. I need a wand. Can you get us to London? I can get what I need in Diagon Alley.”

“I’m afraid I can’t. I’m only good with flying and charms. I have a broom, it can get you there, but I would advise traveling only after nightfall.”

“No, I’m not much for flying, it terrifies me. Do you know where Ottery St Catchpole is? I may have friends there.”

“Aye, it is but one day’s ride on horse back, two by carriage. I know Sir James will escort you there if asked, he is a good man, and he has not love for the Earl, but he is loyal to the King but the King was tricked into appointed that man as the Earl to this parish, so he is forced to obey him. I fear the Earl is an evil man.”

“Hermia, promise me, hide your talents, don’t tell anyone you are a witch. And pray that you brother remains safe. These are horrible times, and I’m afraid they will last several hundred years. Please promise me that.”

“Yes, mum, I vow that to thee.”

“Thank you.” She sighed.

“Now, eat and I shall return within the hour you help you dress.”

“I really don’t need help getting dressed, I can manage.”

“Nay, how will you secure the backings? I will return. My lord will wish to speak with thee further.” She stood and left Hermione alone.

The platter of food was simply prepared, either roasted over an open fire or baked on stone. There was also an abundance of fruits, and noticeably few vegetables; only simple livestock that was easily slaughtered or baked or picked from a tree. This showed her that most agriculture focused on grain for bread; quite appropriate for the era. The contents of the tray had been consumed quickly.

She finally had the strength to stand, and picked up the gown Hermia delivered, it wasn’t the same one she had worn at the funeral but closer to the dress of the period, and proved difficult to don properly. Even her knickers had been removed and replaced with period appropriate dress.

A different handmaiden arrived to assist Hermione with the dress, seeing the complexity of the lacing in the back, it was a wonder she ever squeezed into it. The girl silently performed her duties swiftly, leading Hermione from the sleeping quarters down to the main sitting area, closely resembling the Great Hall, but on a smaller, subdued scale. Her host, although a true knight of the King, and sworn to a modest life, had married well. His marriage of eighteen years had been prearranged for his valor on the battlefield. His wife, at first meeting felt honor bound to marry him, and in short time, learned this hardened warrior was a truly gentle man under the armor of steel and mail. The estate where they lived had been part of the dowry, and they had made it into a warm home. Hermione felt unusually at ease as she met her benefactor again, as if he were an old and trusted friend.

“Sir James, thank you for your hospitality and help. I would have been much worse I fear has I been found by any one else. I do understand a woman unaccompanied in these times is at risk.”

The kindly man stood as she entered and ushered her to a large leather covered chair.

“Aye, and I would like to understand how you came to be without your escort. I suspect you to be of noble birth, given the fine quality of your garments and your manor.”

“I wish I knew. The last I do remember was leaving Harry and our friends to visit…” she stopped for a moment, the events that led her to this meeting still fresh in her mind. “I needed to see their room once more. I still haven’t been able to understand why they had to die.”

“Please, if it is too much, we can discuss this at a later time.”

“Thank you, but I need to understand myself why it had to happen.”

“How did it happen? If I may ask.”

She thought this out as she waited in her chambers for Hermia to return. “They were six months and died when they were struck as my husband’s step-sister cared for them.”

“Then this woman neglected them and they died. Tragic.”

“No, she nearly died trying to protect them. A carriage struck them and the driver fled from the scene leaving them to die. We buried them that day you found me, but that was in the early morning, so it must have been the day before. I believe I succumbed to the stress and fell unconscious, that’s the last I remembered until I saw you.”

“Then it may be possible you had been abducted. Could there be a reason for this?” His questioning continued in a vein to determine what he could. Not one question had been malicious.

“My husband is an important man; we have powerful enemies at home and abroad. Anything is possible, I’m afraid. Your servant Hermia Madison was most helpful and friendly, I needed a kind word, and I appreciate her presence. Is she about?”

“Aye, she is tending our small ones; I’ll fetch her if you wish.”

“Thank you, I would like to thank her personally.” With a nod of his head the lord and master of the home dispatched another servant to complete that task.

“Sir James, I would like to repay your hospitality, but as you can see, I don’t have the means. If I could get to London, we have holdings there and I might be able to get word to Harry.”

“This ‘Harry’ is your lord?”

“My husband, yes. I have some distant relatives only a day’s ride. If you could escort me to Ottery St Catchpole, I could get word to my family.”

“Yes, I can arrange for your escort, it would be my honor to accompany you on this mission.”

“Thank you kind sir.” At that moment Hermia was ushered into the chamber.

“Hermia, I want to personally thank you for your help and kind words, I have been distraught. And please, I would like you to join me on my journey. I feel a kindred spirit between us.”

“Then she shall be your hand maiden as long as you require her services. But as the hour has drawn late, and I have business with the Earl this evening, I shall beg your forgiveness, as I must leave. Good day Madam Potter.”

Hermione stood and left the chamber, her distant kinsman close behind.

“Come, Hermia, walk with me.” She held her hand to the younger girl, who refused due to her perceived position.

“I cannot, it isn’t proper milady.”

“Then walk with me so I don’t faint again,” she commanded with a knowing wink.

Arm-in-arm they walked from the main building for a tour of the grounds.

By her best guess, she had been in this temporal reality only one day, she began to wonder if Harry knew where she was or if he was trying to find her as hard as she was trying to find a way home.

---

They all sat in the main lounge of the cottage waiting for Hermione to re-join them; every person there knew she needed their support to get through this time of grief. Ginny was the first to ask about her whereabouts. Since she wasn’t allowed to expend her strength to even climb the flight of stairs, Harry left his friends and extended family to find her.

He reached the top of the stairs knowing she was in the nursery, and called out for her. “Moine, everyone’s still downstairs, they’re here for you, I know how you…” he stopped in mid sentence as he turned the corned. There she laid with her eyes wide open and a blank expression on her face. He fell to her side as quickly as he could, and began to shake her.

“Love, WAKE UP. Please don’t leave me too.” He screamed.

He pulled her to his lap hoping she simply fainted from the stress of the day. He looked deep into her eyes, and knew she was no longer there. All he held was an empty shell of the woman that he vowed to spend his life with. His outburst brought his friends and companions of the day, save one, bursting into the room to find him holding her in his lap gently rocking her in his arms, nearly repeating the events of five years past.

Ron was the first there, dropped to their side, and grabbed Harry’s arm. “Harry, is she…” he couldn’t finish the thought.

Harry shook his head, “No, her body’s alive, but it’s like that day when she was… no, this is different.” The stress of the morning and now to find her gone bore heavily on his shoulders, and he let his emotions flow.

Ron reached to his friend and touched her face lightly, looking for any reflex to his touch. He gently closed her eyes and looked in her face.

“Harry, she’ll be fine, she’s got to be. There’s got to be a reason.” He mumbled, the bond he shared for most of his life with these two showed at times of stress. Whenever any of the three were in difficulty, the other two always managed to help. This was one of the few times Harry needed Ron’s comfort, Luna was too aware of the close ties between them, at times it was a point of jealousy that told her she was still number four of three. Jealous or not, there was a person in distress of unknown origin, and another with a history of extreme protectiveness over her.

“Ron, help him get her to her bed. She’ll be more comfortable.” Luna instructed; the caring healer within ever present. Harry gently held her in his arms as Ron helped them both; no one noticed the teddy bear as it slipped from her hands.

The bedchamber was darkened to allow for sleeping well into daylight. A maid quietly entered the room and placed a tray on the washstand containing an empty bowl and large vessel of water. She walked to the windows and pulled the heavy curtains back exposing the brilliant sunlight. A groggy young woman raised her head from the pillow and out of reflex called out his name.

“Harry?” she called out from the twilight of sleep.

“No, milady it is only I. Sir James has asked to fetch you, as he would like to fulfill his pledge.”

She sighed heavily. “Can’t we just Apparate there? No, I guess not.” She pulled her covers full over her head, as if to hide from the day.

Hermia harrumphed once more to tell Hermione she needed to continue with her life, and reluctantly Hermione pulled the covers off and stood to dress. The bedclothes laid out for her the night before were heavier then her normal daily dress and she simply refused to sleep in them, instead she wore a simple nightshirt that was more to her favor.

Hermione stretched lazily and smiled at Hermia’s diligence in her work. Here was a girl, more of a young woman that had the power to live as a queen in this land, but chose to live as a peasant. She could live with her own kind with her brother, but for some unknown reasons this girl wanted to live with normal people, as one of them. Hermione walked to the washbasin and frowned.

“No showers? I could really use one.”

“Pardon? The skies are clear with no rain in sight.” She replied slightly puzzled.

“Oh, a bath of sorts, you stand under a… oh never mind.”

“I could draw you a bath if you desire it.”

“No, I’ll manage with this,” she pointed to the basin. She dropped the nightgown and stood there wearing just a thin smile, causing Hermia to blush deeply.

“Please, you cannot stand there unclothed. It isn’t proper.” She walked to her, picked up the discarded shirt, and when Hermione turned, she saw the evidence of her battles that now ran from her chest down her side, scars she had become use to and Harry had worked to make her feel they were unimportant. She had accepted them as part of what defined her.

“Oh, Hermione!” she exclaimed and dropped the shirt. “Those wounds, how?” Startled by the scars, Hermia dropped all servant pretenses and called her name as a close friend would.

Hermione, for the first time since she married Harry, for the first time since he had seen her this way felt uncomfortable when Hermia saw the scars. She replaced the nightshirt on her body and pulled Hermia to the bed’s edge where they both sat.

“I told you I fought at Harry’s side; twice I was wounded, both times protecting him. The last was this,” she held a hand to the jagged scar on her chest. “I nearly died from that blow,” she lied, “and he took his revenge on the assailant, it was the same ‘scum’ that betrayed his parents. I didn’t see him do it, but Harry crushed the attacker into dust with a thought.”

“He did not use a wand?”

“He’s grown past the need for a wand, his powers flow through him; I did say he was quite powerful. I’m the only one that isn’t afraid of him. I know his gentle nature, and he was forced to fight, he’s always unsure of himself still like the little boy I first met.” She found herself talking about Harry in a longing state, just now realizing how much she missed him. The loss of the past week seemed to fade when she thought of him, and how much she missed him.

“How is it I have never heard tale of his exploits? It would seem his name should be well known in our world.”

“I can’t explain that, not now. In our world, he’s known as a great champion, but he’s also afraid of his power. It’s difficult to explain.”

Every question Hermione answered seemed to spawn three more in Hermia’s mind, and Hermione could see the turmoil in her companion with each answer. Then the solution dawned on her. “Actually, Hermia, I live in a different land with Harry, although we both attended Hogwarts, it was by luck that the schools were we are from were unable to take us. So I can understand why things seem out of place.”

“Oh. And where is this land?”

Thinking quickly, knowing the era, she said the first thing that popped in her head. “Florida, the school I should have attended was in a village called Orlando, but we were chosen to attend Hogwarts instead.”

Satisfied with her solution, knowing now that any additional references could easily be explained, Hermione felt a wave of relief. No time rules had been violated, since everything she said was still obscured and vague. Hermia nodded her understanding and stood to resume the morning rituals; she walked to the basin and poured some fresh water from the pitcher. A large soft cloth sat to the side of the basin. Hermione followed her kin and quietly washed herself as best she could from a small basin. Hermia then held a similar gown as yesterday, traditional black to indicate Hermione was still in mourning.

Hermia had other, more personal questions she needed to know, “Please, milady, would you tell me how you were to know of me and my brother? As I know, he is unknown to this world.”

“Unknown, yes, but I am also of the wizarding world. I know he has watched for your safety. I also know he and his family will always watch over you and yours. I can promise you that, but nothing more. He loves you; that much I know. I have a cousin I had never seen or known until a few years ago. She and her family watched for my safety as I grew up. I never understood why until I met Harry.”

“Milady, this Harry of yours, when you speak his name, I sense a deep feeling between you and he. You truly must love him.”

“Yes. I do. We have shared a lifetime together already, we’ve been closest friend since we were children; we were only eleven when we first met. It took us almost seven years to admit to each other that we loved one another. And that was five years ago.”

“And then you married?” she asked while lacing the ties through the back of Hermione’s dress.

“Yes.”

“And Harry was your only love, then?

“No. We have a very close friend that at one time I believed myself to be in love with. Ronald also had feelings for me.”

“Pray, tell me what happened with this other, Ronald?”

“We came to realize our feelings were more as brother/sister. We were oftentimes called "The Trio" for we were seldom far from each others' sides. Our fear that our feelings for each other would cause our friendship to dissolve were unfounded. We came to know that, powerful as we each are alone, our power tripled as a team. I think at some level deep down I used Ronald and his feelings for me to make Harry notice me. Harry had problems that he felt wouldn't allow for a romantic attachment or for love of any nature. As both Ronald and I came to know our mutual feelings were not ‘true love’ Harry became the focus of my deepest commitment. It took much work, but he came to know that we were meant to be together.”

“They both have been my dearest and closet friends. Ron saved my life more then once, and at risk of his, but Harry and I shared something special that can’t be un-done, not that I would ever want to. I know him better then anyone else.” She gently rubbed her palm. “And he knows me better then anyone, as if we were destined to be together.”

“It sounds so terribly wonderfully romantic. I often wonder if I will find such a life.”

“I believe that you too will find someone as perfectly suited to you as my Harry is to me. I can tell you I believe when you find him he will sacrifice more then you can imagine for your happiness. Tell me more about you and your family. I only know little bits.”

“There’s little to tell, your exploits are so much more interesting. You have shared his battles and have won, while I live this simple life. Haimon is nearly eight years my senior, so I would think you had known him in school, as he too was a Gryffindor. He must have been two years advanced of you and your husband.”

“I never met him, since we were in different years and Harry, Ronald, and I stayed mostly to ourselves.”

“Well, Haimon is a tall man, strong and very skilled at flying and the dark arts. Not that he practices or is a dark wizard, but he’s taken arms as a protector. I hope to see him in a fortnight; I would love for you to meet him.”

“So you both like to fly? It terrifies me to this day. Harry has always been a skilled flyer, as was his father. What about your parents?”

“I do not remember much of them; they were both taken when I was a child. Haimon has been my brother and father.”

“How were they taken? Are they still alive? Have you tried looking for them?”

“They say the Plague claimed my father, but I never believed it. My mum died in childbirth. We may have special powers, but we are still but human. Your wounds alone are proof. None of us can escape death when our time comes.” Her tone dulled, she had lost her family at a young age, just as Harry, she was an orphan too, another shared detail. She did the only thing possible, and reached to this servant girl and embraced her.

“Hermia, I’m sorry. I didn’t know; there wasn’t anything about that. I know how you feel, but let’s not talk about it any more.”

“Aye, the master said he would like to leave before mid-morning. Please I’ll pack your things, you go to breakfast.” And with that, Hermione was quickly ushered out of the chamber.

At the dinning table, a simple plate of fruits and breads waited, her prayer for a decent cup of tea or even coffee would go unanswered. She sat at the heavy oak table, and picked at a defenseless apple.

Her thoughts went back to Harry; she wondered if he missed her or knew where she was. She had convinced herself this wasn’t a dream last night, but still didn’t know why she was here. Once the apple had succumbed to the repeated blows from her fork, she noticed a figure standing in the door.

Sir James had been standing in the doorway watching her. He requested permission to travel to from the Earl, who quickly inquired why this trip was suddenly necessary. His only reply was to answer a call of chivalry. The Earl had learned this man’s dedication to the old ways and his dedication to the King and the King’s outdated ‘Council of Twelve’ had been a barrier and at times a nuisance. This trip was unwarranted and conflicted with his personal plans, but had been approved. The Earl knew how stubbornly Sir James held to his beliefs.

He had watched this young woman he rescued and was about to join her, more for her company when he failed to observe the threat that was a few feet away. Two young assailants had snuck up from behind and viciously attacked him, grabbing both legs in an effort to bring this towering man of war to his knees. He feigned submission at the attack and fell to his knees while screaming his surprise. The attackers sensing victory flanked his sides, and as they approached their prey for the final blow, the tide turned. The war-hardened warrior surrounded the attackers, one to each arm, pulling the two children into a firm fatherly hug.

Hermione watched the play between father and his two youngest children and imagined watching such play between Harry and their children, but also knowing her inability to provide him this one gift. She sat at that massive table in a building most would say resembled a fortress, but this one scene made this a home. Here was a man who fought battles, as did her husband, and here is a man that took just a few moments to be a father.

Sir James stood with both small children in each arm and bid his eldest daughter to fetch her siblings for the day. As she took each from her father, he left a loving kiss on each child’s head. He released a sigh, knowing it would be nearly a week before he returned to his family. He continued his journey to join his houseguest to find her at the table, still moist cheeks evident from the puffy eyes. The warm smile he remembered from last night’s conversation, gone.

She sat there and realized he knew she was still silently weeping. Hermione turned her head; not wanting him to see this vulnerable and frail state, she tried to maintain her mask, hiding her emotions, but the loss was still lurking in her mind.

He walked to her seat and kneeled at her side. And gently took her hand in his leathered grip. “Milady, may I ask what has you distressed so suddenly?”

“It’s nothing. I’m sorry.” She turned away as she felt her chest catch from a swallowed cry. She could still see two elderly couples in a park playing happily with two children close to the age of these two. Her parents were gone and her babies were gone. Harry was not with her and she still had no idea where ‘here’ was, or why she was here.

Being a man of war did not mean he was without sensitive thoughts; he reflected for a moment and realized she must have seen his play with his children and this struck a sensitive memory. “Milady, my deepest apologies, I tend to over indulge my youngest. They have the fullest of spirit and they keep me young.”

“No, please, it’s fine. I simply pictured my husband playing like that with our two, had they been allowed to grow. But that can never be. They are gone. I put it from my mind since I arrived, more concerned about finding my way home. You have a lovely family and you must be proud of them.”

“Aye, they are all strong and upstanding, the eldest are fair in their beliefs and honest. My wife has done a remarkable job in their upbringing.”

“I’m certain you must have had a roll to play there.”

“Nay, I spent most of their youth away from home at the King’s bidding. That is the reason my three eldest and those two have a gap in years. Near ten years since their birth and the next, my daughter. Next oldest is a squire training with a fellow member of the Order; he is but a few years behind his brother, who is an apprentice for a fellow knight I have trusted his life too. He shall earn his spurs within a year’s time, should there be no reason to accelerate his training.”

She dried her eyes and wiped the streaks form her cheeks; he was proud of his family, and of his personal achievements, but did not boast of either. And yet he held sympathy for her loss and felt a certain amount of shame at the display.

“Sir, tell me of your Order, please something to distract my mind.”

“Our Order is quite ancient; we have direct links back to the age of Arthur and his table round. We are an O rder of protectors unified to serve as guardians of peace and justice. At our core is a Council of Twelve with the King as the mediator. We serve him, but should his ruling be unjust, the Council has the power to supersede him. He is our Lord and King, but he too serves a higher purpose and has never unjustly ruled. I am but a knight of that order, only a knight that has achieved the highest levels is allowed to sit on the council, but there can only be twelve, and the King sits to cast his decision should the twelve be deadlocked.”

“So it’s this Council of Twelve that rules Britain?”

“Nay this is England, and the Council doesn’t rule, they merely judge and correct unjust rulings. My duty is to mediate over this parish and report any unjust actions of the Earl. To say he has kept me active in that roll would not do justice to my service here. I fear he seeks power from unholy sources. I believe he has servants of evil attending him.”

“It seems life isn’t any different here than at home. I understand you requested permission for us to find my relatives in Ottery St Catchpole, and we can leave today. I’m indebted to you for your kindness.”

“Aye, I have permission to escort you, but I fear the Earl has curiosity of you and how you came to be here. I took the liberty of selecting an alternate destination, for your safety, I feel something about you compel me to ensure your safety. The Earl believes us to travel to the opposite direction to Bristol. We should be unmolested in our travels.”

He stood and lightly bowed to her, “I must take my leave to prepare a carriage for the journey. Even though we may be safe from the Earl’s henchmen, there are bandits about, eager to take advantage of travelers. I shall send Hermia to you when all is ready.”

“Thank you,” she answered.

He turned and left to his task, while Hermione resumed her attack on the helpless apple.

---

The beginning of the journey was uneventful and downright boring to a woman that experienced first hand the events she shared with Harry. Hermia acted as if she had never been outside the parish, a fact that was wholly untrue. Hermione had asked for a simple rucksack for personal items, it was a request Sir James found mildly unusual. She packed a bottle of ink, several quills, a fair amount of parchment, and a change of clothes. She acquired some of Sir James’ elder son’s clothes, for the foray she expected should this trip be successful. These medieval dresses were too cumbersome to defend herself, if the final destination she planned came to fruition.

The role of guide and protector suited Sir James, his head held high with the pride of knowing he fought for truth and honest values. That night had been spent in a modest inn nearly halfway to their destination. Hermione now faced certain problems she failed to plan for. First, how could she convince her guide and protector the dwelling they sought was as normal as his own, she hoped that the minor additions to the Burrow occurred in later years, that this version of the house was more normal as was her home at Godric Hollow. Her second hurdle was how to approach the occupants, were they ancestors of the Weasleys? And a third problem was what if the Burrow didn’t exist in this time.

She pondered these questions during the slow ride through the countryside. Of course the Burrow existed; she had been in the dusty attic with Molly in her early years, that summer she nearly lost Harry. They wandered in the attic for a new wardrobe for Ron--he had outgrown his clothes yet again--and again only a few years ago when they began to put some of the elder Weasleys’ things in storage. One item stood out in her mind, an old trunk, as ancient as the house itself. A long told story said that it was placed there a long time ago, as safekeeping awaiting the return of a lost family member. That trunk had been sealed for centuries and no one could find a way to open it or move it.

Explaining herself wouldn’t be a huge issue, if she could spend a few minutes alone with the occupants. Sir James was the biggest problem. He was a Muggle, and quite possibly might not even see the dwelling. Her mind raced along at its usual pace unaware of the surroundings. Her thoughts broke when she realized an arm worked its way around her waist.

“Milady, why the furrowed brow? We will soon be with your kin and they will help.”

“Hermia, they are really Ronald’s kin, but in a way mine by marriage.”

“You confuse me again, how can this be, are you not married to this Harry?”

“Harry was adopted by Ronald’s family the Christmas when I first realized I loved him. I told you we were close, we did spend every waking and many private moments together. Ronald’s only sister, Ginevra, was the sister I never had. And after my parents were murdered, Ronald’s parents and a brother were also killed. The three of us then had one more thing in common, we were all orphans.”

“I’m sorry for your losses, I didn’t mean to pry.”

She smiled, and looked to the younger woman, barely seventeen and as experienced in life as she was at twenty-three. “You, more then anyone else, deserve to know the truth. I care about you because you’re…”

“HOLD THERE!” A voice from the tree line shouted. A couple of men sprang from behind to cut off an escape, while several more bordered the carriage on the sides, and two mounted on horseback block the front.

“Good friends we are but poor folk in these woods, and from the looks of your carriage, you have ample to share.”

Sir James, in the same dress as Hermione first saw him, slipped to the side of the carriage, “Stay fast, those are bandits seeking a way to lighten our purses,” he whispered to the women.

“Brave man ye must be to attack a carriage of two women and but one escort. And with as many as you have to your company. We have nothing of value, as we are but poor pilgrims on a journey to a sacred ground.”

“Pilgrims do not carry broadswords on their person. No, rethink your reply, sir.”

“As I stated, we have little of value, and this is our only defense and means to catch supper.”

“Aye, a broadsword against a rabbit is truly sporting.”

“Aye, rabbit, you’d best start to run.” A glimmer passed the warrior’s eye, as his hand slid to the hilt. In a single, fluid motion he drew his weapon from its scabbard and dispatched the two highwaymen closest to the women. His duty was clear, defend these two helpless women with his life if necessary.

His horse reared to its hind legs, and a single blow from the hooves sent a third to join the first two. Hermione watched in horror as three men fell dead, visions of the battle with Voldemort flooded her memory, blades flashed as the remaining assailants stormed the lone defender. He turned his steed back to the rear, drawing the two mounted men toward him and away from the women. He ran his horse headlong into the two men as the three to the far side rushed the carriage after having watched nearly half their number fall in the first seconds. The two mounted bandits closed the gap to Sir James, but he was ready.

One man leaped to the carriage, to gain control of the horse. Hermia had expected such an attack and leveled a stout tree-limb she had hidden square into the bandit’s mid-section. The other two paused when they saw that the girl wasn’t the helpless victim they had expected.

Sir James fought valiantly against the mounted pair, felling one with a well-aimed blow from the face of his sword across the man’s back. Not a fatal blow, but enough to force the wind from his lungs and fall from his mount.

Hermione, still stunned at the speed of the assault, watched as the last two on foot and last mounted rider struck in unison. Sir James was struck in the side from a well aimed blow from the mounted bandit, and fell from his horse. As a death blow was aimed at his head, she stood and in reflex raised her arms at the three remaining men, “Stupefy! ” she shouted and red bolts of energy shot from her fingers striking the three attackers unconscious. She raised her hands again, pointing at those newly stunned and the others rendered unconscious during the thick of the fight, and uttered the binding spell, causing thick ropes to prevent any of their escape. Another wave and the bound assailants were swept into the tree line.

Hermia stood in the carriage stunned, as Hermione leapt to the ground to Sir James’s aid. She never registered her actions, she merely reacted the way she had been trained to do with Harry and Ron. At his side, she removed the broad leather belt and tore his tunic open. The extent of his wound was clear; a clean through and through of a sword just below his ribs into his side.

She closed her eyes and held her hands on either side of the wound as they glowed with the familiar yellow healing glow while she concentrated on the injuries. Equally stunned, Sir James watched as this helpless woman he rescued two days earlier, who wept openly for the loss of her infants as he played with his children, knelt at his side, the familiar sting of a wound vanish at the touch of her hand.

“Dear God in heaven, what are you?” he managed at long last. The pure terror at a vision he heard in tales while away in distant lands, all fanciful tales meant to strike terror in the invading forces. Tales of supernatural beings with powers unimagined; beings that indiscriminately took life as if it were of little value; tales of these beings consuming the living bodies of the fallen. He imagined she stunned him to better peal his flesh from his bones. That was how it was done, according to the stories.

Hermione remained at his side as he looked at her, now differently, his blood still on her hands. He reached for the fresh wound, expecting this blood thirsty thing at his side to begin consuming him as he heard from the tales; he expected this creature would soon finish her evil work.

Instead, all he saw was a woman kneeling at his side, as she began to weep at his pain. He sat up, dazed at the sight of a single woman felling three with a word, and securing the rest with a hand wave. He was dazed still at his wound healed with a touch and even more amazed that her concern was not for escape, but for his life.

“What are you?” he repeated.

“Please, let me try to explain,” she began, but how to explain who and what she is. Better to Obliviate his memory of the last part of the fight. But still she couldn’t explain how she managed without a wand.

“Why didn’t you kill me? Isn’t that what your type does?” he spit. Hermia remained in the carriage, her hand seemed permanently fixed to her mouth, she had heard of those that could perform wandless magic, and Hermione even admitted that Harry did not use a wand, but she had never witnessed the feat before.

“Please, let me explain. Yes, I am a witch. But apart from having these powers, I’m just like you.”

“I let you into my home, and you supped with my family. How dare you betray me like this? You are the devil’s spawn, be gone evil witch.”

“Please, Sir James! I’m not evil, I help fight evil. I’m a healer, not a killer. That’s how I mended your wound. It’s a natural gift.”

“You killed those men, with but a word. And you claim you’re a healer?”

“They’re just stunned. Hopefully they won’t remember anything. How’s your side, can you stand?”

“Aye, I’ll stand and dispatch you back to hell,” he said as he picked up his sword. He raised it to strike a blow that would part her from her head, his eyes locked into hers. They stood facing each other, the weapon of death poised to fulfill its designed purpose. He could still see the salty streaks on her face. He held the sword ready to strike, and with his full might, the sword sung through the air, passing inches from her. It stopped past her head, and the sword fell, harmlessly by his side.

“You could have struck me down as you did to them, why didn’t you?” he asked.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” she asked.

They stood facing each other, the third still watched for the final outcome.

The knight and witch remained stone still; the only movement was when the knight lowered his hand to his side, his clothes still moist in his own blood.

“So you’re a witch? And you’re not here to kill us all in our sleep?”

“Please don’t be ridiculous. I’m just as human as you; I only have certain abilities that you don’t possess.” She held her hand to him to welcome a handshake; he looked at her hand, still stained crimson from his blood. He reached and grasped her hand, and fell to his knees.

“I beg your forgiveness. You saved my wretched life and I treated thee disrespectfully.” He had his head bowed to her hands, as he realized after he worked past his shock and misconceptions that this woman was not a threat, but was there to help.

“Please, stand. I’m just a woman; I’m just like you. I breathe, I laugh, I cry, I love, I can bleed, and I can die. I’m just as human as you, except I have a special gift.” She dropped to her knees to be again at his level. “All I want is to return to my life and my husband, and I need your help, to return home.”

“As you have saved my life, I am honor bound to do thy bidding. My only request is you spare my wife and children from your retribution.”

“I haven’t and I will never cast a spell on you or your families unless it is for their health or safety, trust that I mean no harm. The truth is I seldom use this ability unless there is a dire need. And as for being the devil’s spawn, both my parents were as normal as you and your wife, they had no magical abilities at all.” She knew she was finally getting him to understand. “Please Sir James; help me as you are my only hope.”

He looked to her once more and nodded. She released a sigh of relief as he stood, assisting her to her feet.

He retrieved his sword and knelt in front of Hermione, holding his weapon at her feet, one hand in the hilt, the other holding the blade.

“Hermione Potter, I, James Tharton Evans of Caerleon swear to you this day to be thy servant in the services of good, to be your champion in your fight with evil and tyranny and to defend and support you in the face of adversity , as this will be my life’s quest.”

She looked down at him and put a hand to his shoulder, “Please. Sir James, I need an alley, not a servant. Such a vow is unnecessary.”

“I do believe you, and I do trust you. Come, we have lost precious time.” He said as he stood.

---

“Harry, please, you must eat something. She’s healthy and I’m certain she’ll be back.”

“Leave us alone.” He barked at Luna, forcing her to retreat for the moment, this had been the cautious dance she and Harry engaged in, he was protective of his wife, and she only wanted to care for her friend until a treatment was discovered. He sat on the edge of their bed, where she remained since she collapsed after the funerals.

Ron moved his family into Godric’s Hollow a few hours after Hermione’s condition began, so he could remain at Harry’s side to support them both and Luna was needed because of her skills as a healer in case Hermione’s condition worsened. That was more then two weeks ago, Luna’s job was to keep the body healthy, and to keep an eye on her other patient, Harry.

Ron had also arranged a leave from the Auror’s enforcement ranks for himself and Harry. Even though it was the only job either wanted, helping Hermione recover was more important.

Harry had stopped eating and sleeping regularly, his mood had worsened since she slipped into this coma-like state. Her body was alive, but there wasn’t any sign she was there. He constantly held her, brushed her hair every day and began to read to her. He effectively shut out the world and every person in that world, except for Ron. Ron’s presence was the only thing that kept Harry from losing his mind. Ron was the only anchor Harry had left.

Ron put his hand on his wife’s shoulder, more to let her know he will get something in Harry, she turned away and left. She couldn’t watch him self-destruct like this, Hermione wouldn’t want it. She would have forced Harry to keep on living, to remember good times. Now that task was left to Ron.

“Harry, I’ll sit with her, you need to eat, and at least shower, it’s been days since you’ve slept.”

He looked at Ron, his eyes sunken in his face, he had spent days first weeping, then screaming, and then he lost his temper. The gaping hole in the wall and missing door were testimony to Harry’s anger. He was still angry, but he was growing weak from not keeping himself.

“Bugger off, Ron, she’s my wife. I’m staying here. I won’t leave her.”

Ron sat on the bed next to Harry, and pulled him into a hug, only two old friends had a right to share. Ron felt Harry soften and his shoulders went limp. Ron knew his friend’s grief but he couldn’t grieve for Hermione, since she technically wasn’t dead. There hasn’t been any movement in more then two weeks, not even an eye twitch. The only bodily functions left were the rise of her chest with each breath and the constant beating of her heart.

Ron laid him down next to her, once his felt his breathing slow to a steady pace. He placed a loving kiss on both his longtime friends, relived that Harry was finally getting some rest. Luna watched from the doorway, not wanting to disturb them. When Ron finally left them, Harry shifted to with his head on her chest listening to her heart.

Ron stayed like this with them most days, for hours on end. Some days Harry would be holding her in his arms, rocking her, stroking her hair. ‘I need to keep her limbs from locking up’ he would rationalize, but no one would argue with him. Today it was his turn to be comforted.

Sir James had left the highwaymen that had only been stunned to the side of the road, still bound. A fitting punishment as another group of travellers would pass this way before the sun set. Hermione replayed the scene in her mind and pondered how she managed to do what she had never been successful with in the past or future when she attempted wandless magic with Harry. She also though about how Sir James had said he seemed to find her familiar and how they formed the bond of trust almost since they first met. She also understood his shock and anger at her revelations, witches in this era were being hunted and generally though as evil and devil worshiping vermin.

She also pushed one other key fact deep in the back of her mind.

“…attempted such a feat?” Hermia asked again.

“Pardon, I was lost in thought.”

”I asked if that was the first time you attempted such a feat, the look on your face when you defeated those men and saved my lord was unmistakable for surprise.”

“Harry and I have, shared, more with each other at one time. I have some of his natural abilities, but not to his level.”

“How did you share your powers, if I may be so bold to ask?”

“Ask me another time, and I’ll tell you.” She smiled as she let her mind drift again.

They crested a familiar hill just outside the town, more of a tiny village today, no more than a dozen houses along the main road. If this could be called a road, she thought, the ruts and bumps bounced her on the carriage seat, and although it was padded, it could have used another few layers for comfort. The field in the distance brought memories back, she spotted a familiar knoll but the old oak she knew was a mere sapling. Off past the knoll would be a pond, and there was a trail from there to the house.

“There, past that knoll is the path to the house.” She instructed her guardian, as he turned off the more travelled path to the one she directed.

“Milady, there’s nothing there, no path or trail. Are you certain this is the way?” he asked as they approached the small tree.

Hermia could see the trail and was slightly confused as why he did not. “It’s charmed so muggles cannot see the trail or the house.” She whispered to Hermia, who took the hint as to also believe the path and house she could plainly see did not exist.

“Sir James, stop a moment.” She requested as they came to the knoll. She left the carriage and was followed by her kin; she held a hand to both and whispered to herself, allowing the charms to be lifted for her guide.

As the path and house appeared, he stared in that direction, speechless. “By all that’s holy.” He whispered.

“Now you can see their home, I’m certain they’re about. Come on.” She instructed.

She bounded down the trail to the house she had spent many nights as a girl with loving friends. She hoped this was still the home to some distant Weasley clan, and they would believe her story.

Everything was so familiar, yet different. She passed a spot where there was a table made from an old stump she and Ginny sat and had girl time. A massive tree stood there today. The old stonewall that had been in disrepair for many years was new; it bordered the gardens where fresh vegetables were growing. She glanced over her shoulder; the grin she sported brightened her face as she spotted her companions a short distance back. They were taking all the sights, James in total wonderment, and Hermia at the new wizard family she was to meet.

Hermione reached the door first, her stomach a-quiver with expectations and some apprehension that these people would reject her and her claims. They were wizards, that much she was certain, but who were they in this time. That was her question, and would they help, that was her quest.

She tentatively knocked and waited for half a moment before a sight that nearly shocked her greeted her. Standing in the door was Ron. Only it wasn’t her Ron, this boy was closer to the Ron she knew as a girl, he had the same flowing red hair and freckles across his face. He was the right height to be the Ron from their second year, twelve or thirteen she assumed.

“May I help you Ma'am?” she heard the likeness of her closest friend ask.

“May I speak to your parents; I am in need of your help. Please, I have come a long way and…”

She stopped short to find not a copy of Molly standing behind the boy, but another woman. Her face was unmistakable, her expression well known. She did not have the Weasley red hair, of the brightly coloured hair of the woman her resembled, but long dark hair. She also had dark twinkling eyes set in a pale, heart-shaped face. Hermione could only guess her age to be late thirties, old for this era, but still younger than Molly would have been with a son Ron’s age. Hermione fought the urge to throw her arms around these familiar faces, and simply began her plea.

“I’m looking for some old family friends, and I knew they lived here. My name is Hermione Potter and I have found myself here through some accident. I need your help.”

“And exactly how can we help? We have no knowledge of you, Miss Potter.”

“Mrs. Potter.” She corrected. “Please I’m looking for the Weasley family, this had been their home for many generations and I was hoping to find…”

“Aye, we are the Weasley family, my husband Patrick is tending the fields, and he should be back shortly. And if I may ask, how did you find us?”

Her brief conversation allowed her companions to catch up, and waited just off the porch, allowing Hermione the space she needed to reacquaint herself. “I think you know, I’m part of this world.” She pointed to Sir James and Hermia, “He is a muggle and believes she is too, she’s also like us, please help me. I need to get to the school or Diagon alley, I need transportation.”

“We are not a family of great means, Mrs. Potter, but pray tell us how we can help. Please come in, my name is Tilly Weasley. Roland, please offer her companions a drink from the well.” Hermione thought quickly, ‘Tilly, must be short for Matilda, need to ask her later.’

“Thank you.” She turned to her two friends and motioned for them to wait, and she entered the familiar dwelling. Leading the way the woman ushered Hermione into the lounge, Hermione knew the way quite well but followed the woman.

“First, does your floo connect to Diagon Alley?”

“Before I answer any questions, you had best explain yourself, and you’d best convince me what you say is the truth.”

With that, Hermione disclosed as much of the story as she could, leaving out the minor detail of being from the future. She added that she wanted desperately to return home, and that was her main objective. The revelations required several cups of the most wonderful tea Hermione had since she arrived, Hermia was a splendid handmaiden and wonderful companion, but she really needed to learn to cook, a skill she admitted to herself she never learned either.

“Well, Mrs. Potter, that truly was a fanciful tale. I should expect you to give certain playwrights a time should you decide to author one of your own. I don’t see how any of this is the truth, strange as it all is, but I can hardly believe much of it without some validation.”

“How long have you lived here? Your son,” she turned to look at him again. “He looks so much like Ronald, but you want proof. Does the third step from the fourth floor landing still squeak? Whenever Ginny and I tried to sneak out at night Molly would always catch us. Not even a silencing spell would work.”

“Aye it reminds me of the time I was caught by Patrick's mum.” She replied without thinking. Her brow furrowed in thought and shook her head. “’Tis but a coincidence.”

She thought long and hard, she had told Tilly every detail possible, all she could do was tell her the missing details. “The truth is, I’m not from this time, and I want to return home, to my Weasleys, Ron and Ginny, and to my husband. Surly you can understand how it would feel to be torn from your family with out a reason. All I’m asking, begging, is for your help to return to my time. I need a wand, and there’s a task I must perform at Hogwarts. I think that is why I’m here.”

“What is this task at Hogwarts School?”

“There is a Chamber that may contain certain secrets that I need to destroy. They are the cause of my Harry’s pain and problems. If…”

“And where is this Chamber?”

“It should have been hidden since the founding; I know how to get in.”

“Salazar Slytherin’s Secret Chamber? That is a myth. It does not exist.”

“It does, Harry rescued Ginny from death in our second year, and in our sixth, he almost died there. There’s an object that had hurt us both, if I could find it and destroy it.” Her hand went to her scar, remembering the dagger used on her, on Professor Snape and on Molly. If I could destroy it, maybe what happened to me would not have distracted him.

“There’s a dagger that was used to kill Molly, I want to destroy it.”

“This Molly, who is she?”

“Ronald’s mother, Molly Weasley. Her husband, Arthur and son Bill were also murdered in that battle. I hope to change that, I miss them all so.” She felt her eyes thicken, but fought the urge. She’s shed too many tears for too many friends. This was her moment to fix things.

“So you want to help not only yourself, but members of my future family. I know I shouldn’t believe you,” she stopped and pondered the issues, gently rubbed her temples to help facilitate her thoughts. “But I sense something good within you. Please understand my reluctance, these are difficult times, and many of us are being murdered in the name of religion.”

“I know.” She looked at Hermia, who was chatting pleasantly with Roland, “she’s my distant relative. And she’s going to be persecuted and I can’t change that. Not without help. Will you help me?”

“Aye. You can get to the Cauldron and from there to the square. Do you need directions to Ollivander’s?”

“No, I know the area well.” Hermione replied politely.

Tilly stood, walked to a cabinet on the wall, one Hermione remembers from her days in this house as a girl. “Here, it’s not much, but it should get you what you need.”

Hermione held a small bag of wizard gold, and put it in her skirt pocket. “Thank you, I'll be certain to repay you if all goes well. We’ll leave immediately.”

Hermione stood and embraced Tilly as if she were Molly, and desperately wanted to hang on longer, but she had to leave. “Hermia, Sir James. It’s time.” The two witches left the front room and joined the others. Hermia had seen Roland in school, but they were in different houses and never really talked. They promised to remain friends when school resumed in September.

Hermione took Sir James by the hand and ushered him away from the others, “Sir James, please stay here, where I need to go may be too dangerous for you. If I’m successful I’ll be back by dusk. These are my people, they are good people; I would trust any of them with my life. I need Hermia to come with me to help, as she wouldn’t raise suspicion; she could pass easily as my apprentice and would be safe. The people I need to see and places I need to go would know you for who you are, but she could pass as one of us.”

“Nay, I have vowed to protect and defend you, let me join you and I’ll remain silent, no one would suspect.”

“I can’t risk putting you in that danger. Where I’m planning on going, there’s a risk anyone else would be killed, I’ve been there once before, and I think I can handle the creature that guards it. Please wait here. If we’re not back by morning, return to your family and protect them, times will soon be dangerous not only for people like me, but for you.” She reached up and left a kiss on his cheek, an action not common in these times. The man of war turned a deep shade of red at the touch from her lips.

“Aye, I’ll wait until dawn. And I’ll do as you bid me. Go, be safe and God speed you on your quest.” He bowed to her and remained on bended knee until she and Hermia left.

As Hermione passed the boy wizard, she turned to him and smiled as she looked to his familiar face. “You look so much like him, it’s uncanny.” She said without thinking as she stroked his cheek.

Hermione left with Hermia close behind her into the fireplace in a green flash.

The Diagon Alley excursion was a brief one. One stop at Ollivander’s and she found the one object she needed to hasten her reunion with Harry, her wand remained in the store. Since it’s the wand that chooses the wizard or witch, there’s no surprise her wand was still there. She remembered back to when she bought it in the days after learning she was a witch. The simple off-hand comment that the wand had been previously used for short time, but not owned, now seemed quite clear. Everything that seemed insignificant was falling into place. Her discovery of the Lost Witch legend during class sparked an interest, which led her to discover a trial transcript bearing Hermia’s name. It also left clues to the reasons and others involved in her trial. The insignificant comment of her own wand now seemed so clear, and somehow it would be returned for her to purchase again.

Since apparating directly into Hogwarts was impossible, even in this day, they left the shops for the village of Hogsmeade . It was shortly after noon , and the village had settled into its post lunch mood, shops were active with the local year round residents, with the occasional teacher. Hermia was instrumental here to point out the staff hoping to avoid raising further questions during this task. Hermione briefed Hermia about the existence of the Chamber of Secrets and assured her that there was no danger to her, but Hermia could be affected by the creature that lived in the Chamber. She explained how Harry was a Parselmouth, and had inadvertently passed that ability to her one fateful day. She would not disclose any other details on how the exchange occurred; simply that it gave her the ability to enter the sealed rooms.

She had the route from the shrieking shack memorized, except for two details, the Whomping Willow wouldn’t be planted for another 480 years and the shack wasn’t there either. Hermia looked puzzled as she watched Hermione retrace her steps for one of the other hidden passageways. She had studied the Marauder’s Map intently with Ron and Harry to help plan the defences of Hogwarts.

The shop that would become Honeyduke’s proved to be the easiest entry, as that building was currently vacant for the summer months. Once inside, she shed her clothes and pulled on the young man’s leggings and a peasant shirt, she tucked the shirt inside the leggings and slipped on a pair of shoes more fitting for sneaking around. Hermia began to protest the change of garb, but was quickly shushed by Hermione.

“I can’t do what I must in those things, but I don’t expect you to have to wear these either, just let me deal with this task.” Hermia nodded and sighed with relief at not having to dress like her brother.

They quietly traversed the underground passage into the school, to the one-eyed witch. Hermia was taking every new revelation of Hermione’s knowledge of the school into her brain with some level of awe. Once inside, both felt like they were home.

They slipped through the shadows to remain concealed, into the second floor girl’s loo. The room itself hadn’t changed except there wasn’t any plumbing in the room, a large basin that hid the entrance way was full of water, fed to the sinks through crude pipes.

She stood near one specific faucet; one she had seen reset itself that day she searched for Harry. She pulled a small rucksack and removed matching hand mirrors. She waved her wand over them and uttered the incantation, they were engulfed in a clear haze for a moment and she handed one to her companion.

“Here, call my name in this and I’ll be able to see and hear you. Don’t follow me; I can’t keep you safe from the creature. PROMISE ME you’ll wait here.”

“Yes mum, I’ll wait here and let you know should anyone come by. Please keep yourself safe, I’ve truly come to enjoy your company.” She said with a curt smile. Hermione replied with a more than friendly embrace.

“You have no idea how much you mean to me. I’ll be back soon.” She turned to the sink and issued her command, hoping she could still speak the language.

“Harrashhet sith, Sharthhh harrash…” she hissed to the sink, and it obeyed, opening for the first time in 500 years. Wide-eyed and amazed, Hermia took a couple steps back, as the massive top to the basin raised to the ceiling and the outlaying fixtures expanded creating the opening.

She leapt into the gaping hole, as she did once before, sliding down the pipes to the outer chamber. Her first action was to illuminate the chamber with a Lumos , her wand glow lighting the room. This time she was apprehensive of finding a live Basilisk waiting in the chamber. She remembered Harry telling her that it lived inside the statue’s head in the main chamber. Her first task was to convince the creature she was its new master and tell it to remain in its home.

She opened the massive door to the inner chamber much as she had the basin gateway. She hid to the side, half expecting the snake-like creature to appear, She called out to it, in it’s native tongue to stand fast to wait for it’s new mistress. She was slightly shocked at the reply indicating it had been waiting these long years for someone to arrive.

“I am here seeking certain items.” She called out, and crossed the threshold into the main chamber. “Stay within your home, and do not look upon me. I am your new mistress.” She repeated.

“I hear and will obey mistresssss.”

“I am seeking certain objects promised to me by Salazar, do you know where I can find a jewel encrusted dagger, as long as a man’s forearm?” she asked.

“No. I have never seen such an object. I have been in this room since the door was sealed. How long have I been here?”

“500 years, or so. Is there another chamber? A bed chamber here?”

“Yessss. Follow the trail to the right. There is a doorway past the likeness of the first master.”

“I have a companion waiting, you are not to harm her, understood?” she commanded.

“Why should I lissssten to such a command?”

“Ssssilence, I am the only one you will obey and I ORDER you to remain and not harm her, she is… family.”

“Understand.”

Releasing a sigh of relief, she entered the bedchamber where she found Harry bleeding to death. She hoped to find that damned knife but was disappointed in that search. She scanned the shelves that lined the room hoping to find some way to return to her time, maybe a time-turner or a book of temporal spells. Her wand continued to flood the room with light as she searched the volumes hoping for some divinely inspired idea. She looked through the many titles and none appeared to be of use until she spied one in particular.

She suddenly cracked a grin and realized exactly what to do. She couldn’t destroy the dagger, and knew it would still inflict its pain. But she could save Harry’s life.

She picked up the familiar manuscript, and flipped to a well-known page. She noticed that there were only two of the three sections written and knew there was one more author to come. She pulled a quill and ink from her rucksack, and made a minor alteration to one passage before replacing the book.

“That’s for you Tom, enjoy.” She grinned. She knew it would be found in another 450 years, her little contribution to the future. It was a minor change she had read once and just like when Harry conjured the Patronus to save himself and Sirius, she instinctively knew what to change.

“Milady,” the mirror whispered, “There are footsteps about, I suggest you hasten your search.”

She looked at the mirror, and frowned, having come all this way and the two things she hoped to achieve were fruitless. Her one successful task was worth the trouble, as long the invasion into the chamber was undetected.

“I’m coming out, stay hidden.” She whispered and turned to the doorway in time to see a figure slide by. “I told you to remain.”

“Yesss. You told me to sssstay in my home and thissss is my home.”

She knew she had to leave, and she thought about helping poor Myrtle, when an idea sparked.

“I must return, you will remain here, there will be a false ssspeaker in many yearssss time, he will not be the true ssspeaker. Do not obey him, understand?”

“I will lissssten to his wordsss and if he isss false, I will dine on hisss flesh.”

“Now, return to your home and I will leave. Do not ssspeak of my visit.”

She sucked up a chest of air and with her head held high with the arrogance of a Slytherin, she left the chamber, resealing the door to the inner chamber, and climbing up through the gateway. There she sealed the outer gateway, and charmed it to appear untouched.

“Come, let’s get out, Hermia, I think I found what I needed to do.”

“Milady, there was someone outside the room a few moments ago, but I haven’t heard a sound since. When you were in that chamber I heard a fair amount of hissing, prey tell, what happened?”

“Nothing that will concern you or anyone for a long time, I hope.” The two made their way back to the one-eyed witch and returned through the passageway back to Honeyduke’s. She changed back into her other clothes and they returned to the safety of the Weasley home well before dinner.

The two witches were met with hugs and well wishes from their new friends. Sir James had spent a tenuous afternoon in the company of people he had been conditioned to fear, this short time spent in their company altered his views, as he now had first hand experiences with these people. They were kind and friendly, and very open about their abilities. Because of his pledge to Hermione, to be her champion, this Weasley family softened their own views about muggles, accepting him into their circle.

With the exception that many of the faces were new, and there were fewer Weasleys surrounding her, Hermione felt at home. She still had a very open wound that could only be healed by one person, and he was 500 years away. She managed to do one thing today that would have a lasting impact on the future, but all she did was make a change that she knew had been made, so in that sense, she didn’t alter time. Everything now seemed to have a purpose in this life, except the one thing that put her in this spot, she was still unable to bear Harry’s child.

The three newcomers sat at the dinner table, moved to the outside to accommodate the additional guests, all enjoyed a feast that would have rivalled any of Molly’s impromptu meals. The evening wore on, with the youngest of the Weasleys monopolizing the knight, who realized these children were no different than his own. Hermia also felt at ease having found another small community of her people, friendly and warm. Of the group, only Hermione wore a false smile, she wasn’t any closer to home.

One by one the group retired, the youngest first, were ushered to bed by Tilly, leaving the adults alone to continue their fellowship. Rooms had been arranged for the three guests and what meagre possessions they had were neatly laid out for them. Sir James stayed behind sampling a bottle of Firewhisky and sharing assorted tales of heroism and valour with Patrick. Hermione watched the exchange from the porch, as she sipped from a cup of tea, imagining the exchange she watched was between Jake and Arthur. They were so much like her expanded family, and so different. She quietly slipped away into her room.

Tilly must have sensed Hermione’s anxiety and gave her a familiar room, the one she mentioned at the top of the stairs near a squeaky step. It was Ginny’s room and the girls spent many fond days and nights in that room. It was now just an empty chamber with a single bed and nightstand. She welcomed the surroundings and quietly slipped into the bed. She had been here now for four days and decided to resume an old habit. She pulled out a scroll of parchment and her quill from the rucksack she carried, and began to record her exploits, a labour that lasted a few hours. When she was satisfied with the work, she charmed them as was her habit and carefully put them on the nightstand.

That night she had an amazing dream.

“Harry, three weeks is long enough, you need to at least get some fresh air and some sleep, don’t force us to give you a sleep potion.” Ron was tired of Harry’s stubbornness; he steadfastly refused to leave the room. Harry was also beginning to tire of Ron’s ‘mothering’, ‘she’ll get better, I know it.’ He kept telling himself.

But the need for sleep was satisfied in short bursts, no more than an hour a night was all he’s allow, but his last ‘nap’ was three nights ago and his body was telling him to relinquish control for at least a little while.

He looked at Ron and nodded once. “I’ll just take a short nap here, with her.” He replied. It was better than a fight, and Ron agreed. Harry lay next to his wife, draped an arm over her chest, to feel her breath and in case she woke up while he napped.

He closed his eyes and before Ron could pull a quilt over his lifelong friends, Harry was asleep. He tried to keep his dreams away, to not remember the good times, in case that was all he had left, he didn’t want them spoiled with the memory of this time. Tonight he had a dream unlike any he ever had in his youth.

Tonight she lay there under a palm tree on a familiar beach. She wore a full swimsuit, which suited her better than a two piece. She lay with one hand on his chest, the other stroking his hair. She leaned over and gently kissed his forehead, and his cheeks. She pulled his face to hers and looked him in the eyes, and said the words he longed to hear. “I’ll be back soon, I love you.” She kissed him deeply on the lips and vanished.

Hermione woke the next morning, the images of lying on the beach with Harry still implanted in her mind and a thought of soon they would be together. She could smell his musky scent and feel his hair between her fingers and the warmth of his lips on hers. She wished this was over and could take him by force if need be, but she knew he would gladly give himself to her.

She stretched in her bed, cat-like and slowly rose for the day. Her clothes were still on the small bench at the foot of her bed. The basin on the far side of the room had recently been filled while she slept. She sat up and thought over the plan for the day, she had nothing planned. She packed her rucksack with all her personal things and placed her want on top, the crossed the room to the wash basin. She washed as she had every morning and dressed in the fresh gown that was laid out, and prepared for another day.

She picked up her bay, and stood at the doorway. She heard familiar voices down the stairs and smiled as she descended to join them in a good meal. Her dream of Harry had her in a relaxed mood, and she failed to notice her first steps on the stairs, the third one that always squeaked. It vanished taking with it the surrounding building, only to be replaced with the void.

She fell, again into the abyss. The same sensations as she had four days earlier. But where to now? She rationalized she must be going somewhere or sometime other than the fifteenth century, otherwise she could have remained. The fall through the blackness wasn’t marred with streaks or blossoms of light like the last time. This time there was nothing, no light and no sound. The fall seemed to last an eternity; she held that rucksack as if it were her last link to Harry. She thought of it’s contents, a change of clothes, her new journal, some pictures Roland sketched of her and Sir James, and a few bits of fruit, in case she had a pang of hunger.

She held tight to her rucksack and reached into it for her wand, hoping to shed some light, but it was not there. She remembered packing her bag and laid her wand on top of the bag, but when she picked up her bag and left, her wand fell and was left on the bed, forgotten. She never expected to see it again; it was her wand and now it was lost.

She held her eyes shut for what seemed like hours or days, to the point of losing all conscious thought. When she managed to open her eyes, she lay in a grassy field much like the one where Sir James found here, this time the field was surrounded with trees and a brook that meandered into the distance. She couldn’t see anyone else, as she cautiously looked the area over before sitting up.

She blew out a breath through her teeth, and wondered what now. She slowly stood in that field of green as a gentle breeze warmed her. In the distance she could make out a solitary figure, he looked so familiar. He sat on a chair carved from a stump of a tree, a table sat next to the tree chair; it was carved from a single slab of granite. He held a delicate cup in his hand as he sipped his tea. She watched him from the distance, being careful not to make a sound.

“Please Hermione, come join an old man. Come, sit.” He motioned to her, and a second chair appeared opposite his from the table. A second cup appeared, steam still escaping the cup into the air, filling the clearing with its aroma. Next to the cup sat a plate of biscuits, and other treats she loved as a girl.

“I’m certain you have questions, and I think you deserve some answers. Come and sit.”

She walked through the trees into the small clearing. He came into view, and he seemed so familiar. His hair and beard were snow white, both extended half the length of his body, He wore an ancient smile, and his blue eyes twinkled in the rising sun’s rays. He looked almost exactly like Albus Dumbledore, except his nose wasn’t long and crooked, and he wasn’t as thin as she remembered. He was wearing long robes, and a periwinkle blue cloak that swept the ground, and high-backed boots, with laces up the top. The very top of his boots folded down over the laces looking like socks that wanted to slip to his ankles. She also noted this man was not wearing glasses, nor did he appear to be as old as Albus.

“Who am I? That would be your first question. And why did I bring you here, which would be your second. Is that about the size of our introductions?”

“No, first if you meant harm you could have done so many times. And since you haven’t I would believe you are some benevolent deity that is amusing himself with my life. No, my first question is not for me. Is Harry okay?”

“Yes he is, although I expected that to be your third question. You have continued to amaze me, but then if everything happened the way one thinks it should then where’s the surprise? Please sit, we have much to discuss.”

She cautiously sat, eyed the items on the table but pushed her grumbling stomach to the back of her mind. He knew her, and she assumed he was the cause of all this confusion and trauma.

“Please, eat, I know you are hungry, I believe it’s been,” he shut his eyes and started counting, running out of fingers quickly, “around eight or nine hundred of your years since you eat last.”

Stunned she looked slack-jawed, and pondered his statement. “Did you say eight or nine hundred years?”

“I believe so, but to you that was last night.”

“Is that forward or back?” she still tried to feel out his intentions with simple questions.

“Back, I think. Yes, back. I think this is the era of Arthur and his knights. He’s been off on another of his quests for some time now, but he’s completely forgotten all I’ve taught him.”

“Merlin?”

“Some call me that, yes, but my name is actually Myrddin .” He chuckled.

She sat there, thinking nothing could surprise her after her last trip, but here she sat having tea with Merlin. Her body language spoke volumes to the elderly figure. He smiled at her and continued.

“When you were first told that you were a witch, you were not shocked or surprised as most are…”

“I was relieved. Everything that happened made sense.”

“Yes, and now you’ll see how it all fits.” He stopped for a moment to collect his thoughts and another sip of his tea. “Please have some tea, I believe you’ll find it delightful, I’ve grown a soft spot for Twinings Lady Grey since my last visit to London, the deep gold colour gives the delicate citrus scent a refreshing Character. I find it refreshing for an export of China. Or you can have any other blend you wish. As for an explanation, I must start at the beginning. Your instructions for your abilities began at Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry under the guidance of Albus Dumbledore…”

Hermione opened her mouth to pose the first interruption when he raised his hand to stop the inevitable questions.

“Please, let me get through this in a relatively ordered fashion, should I skip around too much, it may befuddle my thoughts.”

She closed her mouth, nodded slightly and picked up the cup of tea and a biscuit from the plate. She was slightly impressed that although the cup had been sitting unattended for a while, it was the perfect temperature and the plate refilled itself. She took a cautious first sip, and then remembered why she shied away from this particular flavour. She managed to force that sip down and tried to erase the memory of the tea with the biscuit.

“I arrived here with three companions; they have all long since passed into the spirit. We came here from a distant land to observe and learn, but instead found ourselves teaching. We had intended to remain here a short while, but when our transportation had to return, we were effectively marooned here. We discovered later that a war began at home that destroyed any record of our journey here. It was many years after the Battle of Ruusan that we learned of the war, and with the depletion of resources, there was no way to send a ship to retrieve us.”

“I’ve never heard of Ruusan, where is it?”

“You don’t need to worry about it; it is long gone, completely destroyed by Lord Kaan and his Brotherhood of Darkness. There, Lord Kaan came into conflict with a member of the Brotherhood called Bane who was opposed to Kaan's basic battle tactics, causing an internal rift that was used by the Army of Light. Lord Hoth’s forces attacked and were on the verge of victory when Bane and Kaan re-joined forces to strike a blow that nearly defeated us. It was the result of a tactical error on Kaan’s part that caused his downfall, and only Bane survived. The remaining members of our order reformed and resumed their role as guardians and protectors, the resulting Reformed Republic eventually lost track of us.”

“We agreed to stay here and live and learn your ways. We also began to share with a few of your people our knowledge and abilities. Our code did not allow us to form attachments, but my three companions all became involved with the local folk after a few hundred of your years had passed. One, a likable fellow from Falleen was the newest of our group to have completed the trials. He kept a journal of his training and his journeys, recording all he could. Studious fellow, but I think you know the type.” He winked and she caught his meaning.

“He discovered shortly after we arrived that he had the uncanny ability to talk to certain reptilian residents. Snakes mostly, but he also understood certain Dragon dialects. Over the years he found another person here that could also speak to snakes, but nothing else. That formed an attachment and Sorcath took it upon himself to train him in out ways.”

“Salazar Slytherin?” she asked, obviously missing one point.

“Actually his grand father. He passed this knowledge down to his son and his son’s son with Sorcath’s help, the man you know as Salazar Slytherin.”

“So this Sorcath gave Slytherin his ability to speak to snakes?”

“No, I may have confused you, he, or actually his grand-father was trained by Sorcath because they could speak a common language.”

“And what of the other two?”

“Wolfgar and Aurellia were two of the best friends I had, we were as close as you, Harry, and Ron are. I truly miss them. Wolfgar and I began our training together and Aurellia a short time later. She was exquisite to watch in a duel, poetry in motion. She was quite beautiful and sparked many a jealous squabble. We all had taken vows to remain celibate, as part of our code. And because of that vow we can control our aging slowing it to near immortality, using a… well, a force that allows us to control our surroundings, what you call magic. But should we break that vow, we age at the rate of our chosen mate. So, we generally treat a commitment of that nature very seriously. Wolfgar and Aurellia both succumbed to the simplest and most complex of human emotions and fell in love with two people they met here.”

“But what does that have to do with Hogwarts? And I still don’t see where this helps my problems.”

“In time, it will be clear. More tea? Or maybe something a bit more substantial?” A plate of sandwiches appeared on the table, with an ice cold Butterbeer.

“Aurellia met this man, a tall fellow, quite a powerful man in his own right. He was what was you would call in that era, a Knight. He had set his goals on becoming a member of Arthur’s Round Table, but then he and Aurellia settled down to live a quiet and peaceful life. They had a strong son that, in time, learned the ways of his mother and joined came to me to further his training. I taught him well, and he gladly took his mother’s place in our circle of four. Sorcath’s pupils began to excel and they, sought an easier path, one where power can be gained quickly, but at a price. When Salazar discovered the source of his knowledge, he sought out Sorcath and after a struggle, murdered him, and covered up the evidence.”

“So, let me work this out, you said this Sorcath was murdered by Slytherin, I assume before he helped found Hogwarts. That was in 993AD, and you said that I travelled back to Arthurian time, or around 600AD.”

“Yes, you are quite sharp, when we started our chat that was four hundred years ago. I need to bring you back slowly to a certain point.”

“Hermia’s trial?”

“Cleaver. Yes, you have some unfinished business then. And before you ask, I sent your wand back to Ollivander’s to wait for you to buy it when you were eleven, you won’t need it to finish your tasks. As you’ve noticed, you have shared, to some degree, Harry’s skills without a wand. Now, Aurellia’s son and Salazar, along with two others joined together and built Hogwarts. I don’t have to detail all those facts now, do I?”

“No. I know that history quite well. But you said Aurellia’s son helped build Hogwarts? There were two wizards and two witches that began the school, one was Slytherin, so was the other Godric Griffindor?”

“Yes, Godric was Aurellia’s son and I was as fond of that boy as if he were my own son. I loved him as much as Arthur, but you know how both ended. Arthur died on the battlefield, and his sword was returned to Avalon. Godric died in his bed, after a long and fruitful life. And as to his wish, I buried him in a grave known only to myself. The one everyone believes to be his is actually empty, but there is a great flat stone near the lake that contains a slit in the centre. Do you know it?”

“Yes, it was one of Harry’s favourite spots to relax and think when we were students.”

“That stone marks his grave and it was the very stone that held Excalibur for Arthur.”

She sat back at this revelation. One of Harry’s favourite spots was an unmarked grave.

“So where does any of this tie into Harry and me?”

“Harry always wanted to know his family history, and as you may have noticed, he has very strong ties with his family, even those that have rejected him. You met one ancestor, a knight that came to your aid, who, I’m afraid to say will have been killed before we return to his time.”

“Sir James? Harry’s ancestor? But he isn’t a wizard. His name was…” she sucked in a breath at that realization. “Evans. He was Lily’s ancestor.”

“Yes. And your help forced him to view wizards differently. He tried to defend one of us shortly after you left and a dark wizard slew him. There was nothing you could have done, but followed his fate, that is one reason I summoned you here now. He died trying to protect a wizard family he met through the Weasleys, and that sacrifice was not ignored by his son. You set into motion his son’s life long quest to covertly help our kind.”

“And that quest will be passed down each generation, so that’s where Harry gets his ‘people saving thing’.”

“Apparently so.” He paused, and sat looking thoughtful. His next topic would be difficult to discuss. “Mrs. Potter, Hermione. First, and foremost I’m terribly sorry, but I can’t interfere with people’s lives. I’m still not allowed even after the Order’s demise. I have to apologize profoundly for your recent loss, and what had happened with Malfoy’s curse. I never expected you to sacrifice your youth to motherhood so soon and never anticipated that repercussion. There were certain events I knew all too well, and planed for them. You have something I gave you on your birth, a teddy bear.”

“What about the bear?” She asked sharply, the mood shift in both obvious to the other.

“That was a time-portkey. It was set for you to return when you held it the day you buried two close family members. I knew your parents’ fate and unfortunately planned for that inevitable event, and I have spent many a pleasant chat with them since they passed. Please don’t be upset or angry. I had no way to foresee their funeral would be held off until much later by Harry. And the fact he held it in Godric’s Hollow was in of itself a gesture of his love for you. And I had not anticipated the efforts you took to have Harry’s children. That accident… I grieved with you, and felt the loss for two innocent lives too. But they did not die in vain, when you held that object, you came back to the point you were needed.”

“So you KNEW all this and let it happen anyway?”

“Please understand I cannot change what is to be, nor can I change the past. I can leave clues and hints so others like yourself can change your own future, but I can’t. Except in your case, I had to do something, since your family’s fate was a direct result of other’s like me meddling. I only expected you to help save Hermia, but going into the Chamber on your own, and altering the manuscript was sheer genius. That worked better for Harry than my plan to have Albus intervene when he was attacked in Godric’s Hollow, since that would have alerted Riddle we knew what he planned. So, as it were, your two unborn children gave their lives to help save you and Harry. If you had returned here as I planned, there is a very strong possibility Harry would not have defeated Riddle and would have been killed, and possibly yourself too.”

She sat back and tried to understand how every detail in her life seemed to be planned and designed, and how she altered her and Harry’s destiny, possibly for the better, but at a cost that would remain her secret until she lay to rest with Harry for the last time.

“All I considered was that if Riddle found the real spell, then what Harry did to him would have happened to Harry as a baby instead.”

“Possibly, Riddle was smart and clever, but he might not have been able to see that spell for the power it truly held, or had the skill to perform it. I do know he was inpatient and would not have spent the effort to practice it until it was as easy as breathing. And there was one more piece of the puzzle he lacked, the undying love you have given and continue to give Harry. As cliché as it sounds, the love you share with him is ultimately far more powerful than any force on this or any other world.”

She sat in silence as she tried to fully understand the circular pattern, if she had come back to this time sooner, the manuscript would have been unaltered. Riddle may have killed Harry and they never would have shared this life. Also Jason and Janet would not have been conceived, nor would they have died. She might not have swayed Sir James to befriend wizards and offer himself as he had. And his family may never have lingered in the fringe of the wizarding world to have Lily meet James, and ultimately have Harry.

“I think I am beginning to understand. My children died for us. And had they not died, I wouldn’t have returned to alter the manuscript and Harry might have died and they might not have been conceived, and everything I know would have changed.”

“Essentially, yes. You and your life have become a focal point to the future, as you can see, there was more to this ‘lost witch’ legend then you expected. You and Harry have been successful in defeating the dark forces of your world, but there is no guarantee it will remain so forever. There must be a balance between good and evil, but for now the evil here is dormant in your world. With that thought, also remember that evil can never truly die in all worlds.”

“You understand, now I’m certain, the true power of Divination? The lessons they tried to teach were quite inadequate.”

“I’ve begun to understand, Harry’s prophecy was spot on, it told us what had to be done, but not how.”

“Yes, exactly. A good prophecy can be a clue what has to happen; your help showed him how to fulfil his. And to that point, there’s one of your own. I don’t believe you’ve discussed it with him yet.”

“No.” she paused and looked away. “After I realized that one part meant people would be hurt, I didn’t want to tell him.”

“But, most of it was not bad, it showed you your future with him.”

“Can you answer a question? The last part, it foretold Malfoy’s curse. Will we ever have a family?”

He leaned back and pondered the question. “Yes,” he finally stated. “Yes, I can answer that question.”

“And?” she asked impatiently.

“And, that is not for me to answer, if you are to have his children then you and you alone have to find that solution. It’s there for you; all you have to do is work it out. I will not say that it is impossible, but it is entirely up to you.”

He watched her carefully as she tried to understand the ramifications of all she had been told. And that the possibility of a family still existed, somehow.

“One last thing,” he reached into his pocket and retrieved a sheet of weathered parchment. “I would like you to have this. Keep it with you; it will reveal any such prophecies that may exist for the holder. You may find it will come in handy.”

“But, it’s blank?”

“We, yes. That simply means there are no prophecies here for or about you. But, should you hand it to, say Hermia, one that was raised about her before she was born will appear. That will lead to the events you are well aware of. Keep it safe, it’s the only one of its kind.”

She held it and it remained blank, since Hermia has not been put on trial, the ‘Lost Witch’ prophecy has not been made. She sat and sipped the still cold butterbeer, and pondered his revelations. But there were many unanswered questions.

“You mentioned an order, and that you and the others were left here, are there others in your order or are you the last?”

“There are others in your existence that are descended from Wolfgar and Aurellia, and beyond that, I am the last of my order. There is another that had studied under the last greatest master of his time, and he has become the master in turn teaching others; he will send one of his own to come and request your help one day.”

“Now, I think it is time for you to gather yourself, we are almost at the correct point in time for you to help Hermia one more time. You know what you must do; Hermia has already been arrested, and has been on trial. You know who is involved and what may happen if you tamper with the past any more. After you have rescued her and she is safe, you will be sent home to Harry, but you will not remember any of these events nor will you remember our meeting. You will simply know that all you have done and sacrificed was worth the pain and you will not dwell on it anymore, I want you to continue with your life with Harry. Make him happy and loved until it is time for him to join those that have gone before him.”

“How will I get back? Are you at least going to give me a warning so I can prepare?”

“When you’re ready to return, you’ll know. Just click your heals three times and repeat ‘There’s no place like home.’ And you’ll be whisked back.”

“Are you serious?” she asked sceptical at the absurd humour in it.

“I couldn’t resist the opening, I was only joking, when you’ve completed your last task, and you’ll know what that is, you’ll simply wake up in your own bed with no memory of this little adventure. Now I suggest you pick up your pack, and a change of clothing would be appropriate.” He waved his hand over her and her morning dress changed to the robes worn by the inquisitors of the time. She looked at him with mild confusion and some suspicion.

“Yes, we do not need a wand to use our skills, just as Harry does not require one.”

“Merlin, will we meet again?”

“Yes, we will, but you won’t know or remember me, for who I am, in your time I’ve taken a more sedate role, I will remember you, most fondly, now, take my hand.”

Merlin reached for her hand and she reluctantly took his. She stood to face him, and he gave his final instructions, “To everyone there, you will be an inquisitor sent to replace one that has suddenly taken ill. Hermia has kept to her promise to you to deny the truth of who she is. You need to convince her to confess, before it is too late to save her. Your skills as a healer will be needed more now then ever and will be taken to the fringe of your abilities to save her, good luck.” He kissed her hand once and she found herself standing in an empty room, her rucksack now taken to form of a satchel one would expect an inquisitor to carry, and on the top, many sheets of parchment, ink and a quill.

She looked through the parchment, and realized she was the scribe for the proceedings, and would be allowed in the torture chambers only when the questioning began. She thanked Merlin that she would not have to witness the actual suffering, and mentally prepared herself for her tasks at hand. She quickly read the notes of the prior scribe and waited to be summoned. That wait was short, but she put the time to good use.

She had been writing feverously when she had been summoned to the chamber. She followed the second inquisitor out the room where she had been waiting, through a series of corridors into a crude tunnel. This she assumed was to the dungeons of this prison. The air was stale and thick; she had to quash her reactions to the stench of bile and human wastes, and that of rotting flesh. She was led to a small table with a chair, tucked off to the side of the examination arena. She had a clear view of the table, still glistening from the blood of the last victim. She wondered if that blood was from Hermia, and what had been done this time. She remembered the tortures inflicted and they were also clearly documented in the parchments she carried.

Her curiosity was soon satisfied, when a figure was dragged in from a side door, that figure was barely recognizable as a young girl, her face was swollen from the beatings, both legs were obviously broken in several places, and had gaping wounds from the thigh to the knee. Her arms had not fared any better, her petit hands were horribly mutilated. It would take all Hermione’s expertise for Hermia to be able to use her hands again, but only if she could have her released soon.

Hermione had her parchment and ink ready to begin recording anything said, and her only job was to remain silent. She watched and swallowed a gasp as Hermia’s body was lashed to the table, she was allowed very little in the way of modest coverings. Most of her clothes had been stripped away to enable better application of the tools that lay on the smaller table to her side.

The guards left the room, and closed the side door behind them to wait for the grand inquisitor and Judge to arrive. Hermione took this as her only chance. She quietly rose and walked to the table under the pretence of inspecting the bindings one last time.

“Hermia,” she whispered to the side of her head. “Please, if you can hear me, give me a sign. It’s Hermione, I’ve returned as soon as I could. I’m here to help you.” Hermione held back her emotions; this girl needed strength to simply survive.

She turned her head to the side, and managed to open one eye, the other swollen shut and caked over with blood and grim. Hermione couldn’t tell if it still remained in its socket. Her face was pale from loss of blood and her delicate features broken and bruised. Most of her hair has been burned from her head; leaving singed marks where Hermione remembered the plaits she wore.

She opened her mouth to try and speak, but the extent of the torture was more the evident, she had many teeth snapped, leaving exposed nerves, her tongue, although it still remained, had deep cuts into the meat and marks from the tongs used to grasp it. She tried to smile, but her face was too badly swollen. All she managed was a horse whisper.

“I didn’t tell.” She managed to mumble.

“Please, Hermia, only you can stop this insanity, and I can help. Please tell them what they want to hear and it will be over, I can’t stand to see you like this.”

“Why… do… you care now?”

“You must trust me; I can’t let this continue I’ll stop it even if I have to expose myself.”

“Why? You… left. James is dead.” Each word was laboured; Hermione could tell she was near death.

“I know, I was detained by… someone of power. I can help but you must believe me. We didn’t meet by accident, you are my distant relative; I am your descendant from more then 500 years in the future. I came here from my time to save you. I’m telling you because you must hang on.”

“Nothing… can help… dying…” her one eye started to close.

Hermione rubbed her hands together, causing friction and a spark. She placed her hands, one over Hermia’s heart the other over her head. A warming glow began to radiate from the surroundings and that glow was focused through her body into her hands and passed into Hermia. The effect was immediate, her breathing eased and the bleeding from the many deep wounds stopped, Hermione sealed the worst from within but left the illusions of the wounds. Hermia managed to open her one good eye, and knew something happened. Hermione smiled and placed a gentle kiss on Hermia’s forehead.

“I have a confession ready, there’s a runescape that will protect you from further harm, but only if you sign it. Now listen carefully, their confessions force you to renounce your heritage, I can guarantee your safety only after it is signed.” She looked over her shoulder; there was movement outside the torture chambers.

“It’s important. You will no longer have your powers, and all your descendants will also lose any power, until I am born. I am that fulfilment of your destiny.”

“Why? You… are doing… this… for yourself…” she wheezed.

“No. For my husband, without me he will die at Voldemorte’s hand. I won’t allow that, Merlin was the one who called me back to this time, but I wanted to help you when I first discovered your story, before I knew who you were to me. You must believe me; they’re coming now, please do it.” Hermione rushed back to her seat and picked up the quill. She started to jot down the specifics of the day when the door burst open.

“Here ye, all within this hollowed chamber of repentance. His Excellency the Earl and Bishop Clement Augustus Rebus is now presiding here on this, the 19th of September in the Year of Our Lord 1479. The accused, one Hermia Madison, having been brought before this inquisition on the grounds of Witchcraft, has been duly and justly interrogated and having refused to confess…”

“Confess… please stop… I… confess.” She mumbled rolling her head from side to side.

“Your Excellency, how shall this be? Judgment has been rendered and she is to be found guilty.”

“The sentence is…”

“Mercy.” Hermione spoke from her seat.

“Stay thy tongue, wench, or join this miserable beast of the Devil.”

“My lord, the Malleus Maleficarum, of which these proceedings are governed, has many passages showing mercy to the confessed, Part I, Question II clearly states:

Therefore if the devil works by means of a witch he is merely employing an instrument; and since an instrument depends upon the will of the person who employs it and does not act of its own free will, therefore the guilt of the action ought not to be laid to the charge of the witch, and in consequence she should not be punished.

“Witch, speak the truth now, have you enacted any form of sorcery of your own free will?” Hermione asked the victim.

“Nay…please have pity; I confess the devil acted in me without my consent.”

“My lord, she has confessed she was not in control of herself, how can she then be punished, as the Malleus Maleficarum calls for mercy.”

“Can you show this passage, scribe?”

“Yes my lord.” She produced that passage and three other marked passages from Part II Question 2 section 4 and 7, and another from an unrelated body of research, dictating mercy to the confessed witch. She handed them to the judge, who, unfortunately, was unable to read the original German text.

He pretended to study the text intensely, and to cover his illiteracy nodded as he read the passages. He placed the sheets down and crossed his hands in thought. An under-judge leaned in to his side and whispered his thoughts. A few nods and after a few tense moments of shuffling paper, he gave his decision, handing the pages back to the scribe.

“Then, allow the witch to endorse her confession and remove her from this sacred place. Scribe, I applaud you for your knowledge of these proceedings, however, should you argue a judgment again, I shall have you in these chambers for your confession.”

“Yes, my lord, I shall prepare these notes and release them forthwith.”

“Now leave, and someone remove this wench, she has a stench of death about her.”

Hermione collected her notes and skimmed the trial transcription before handing them over to the presiding judge, and without thinking she realized she had written the exact passage she discovered in her research. She also read the date, and remembered a minor detail; the Malleus Maleficarum was originally published by Catholic inquisition authorities in 1485 to 1486, six years from now. She grinned at the coincidence and left the chamber.

Hermia was handed a quill that an inquisitor pushed deep into the gash in her leg, drawing a fresh flow of blood. She managed to scribble her name over the hidden runescape Hermione added to the document, that runscape then merged with her name to become her legal mark. She was then dragged from the interrogation chamber, through the stone corridors and unceremoniously tossed to the street, her broken limbs screamed in pain with each jolt. Although Hermione managed to stabilize her for the moment, in her current condition she would die without help soon. Hermione stood in a darkened alley a few dozen meters from her ancestor and waited for the moment to act. No one stopped to help Hermia, and some spat on her as they passed.

Hermione raised the hood of her cloak and pulled it tight around her, hiding her face in the shadows it created. She stepped into the street and to the motionless body before her. In one swift movement, she passed her hand over the form, and uttered Mobilicorpus allowing her to easily move Hermia to the safety of the nearby alley, the stares of the people watching her were wholly ignored. Once in the safety of the alley, she held her hand on Hermia and together they vanished to the Burrow.

In the days following her rescue, Hermia’s injuries began to heal under Hermione’s direct care. Tilly had brewed several potions that helped the various cuts and the swelling from the bruises. She also was skilled enough to brew some Skele-Gro to help with her bones and teeth and a Blood-Replenishing Potion. The worst of the damage was to her legs and hands, but her face showed the visible scars of the torture. The Skele-Gro helped her bones knit together, but the flesh surrounding them remained tender and required more care. With each treatment beyond the potions, Hermione needed to rest between each session; she felt more of her own strength drain every day. She was afraid to tap into the surrounding energy, for fear it could affect the other magicals in the house. Hermia’s face was still in need of healing, but Hermione focused her powers on the internal problems she still faced.

The many internal injuries Hermia had would have been undetected by the ‘physicians’ of this era, one of her kidneys had ruptured and she had an aortic tear. She also had been stabbed many in her abdomen, with hair fine needles leaving tiny punctures meant to inflict pain, but not death. Hermione also had concern for the many other points of discomfort Hermia needed to contend with nearly every minute of every day, from her shattered teeth to her now stiff but healing joints.

These were Hemione’s major concerns. At one point she considered taking Hermia to an isolated part of the forest and pulling all the energy she could from the surroundings and filter them into Hermia. It would heal many of her injuries quickly, but might also leave them both unprotected and weak, but after consultation with Tilly and Patrick that plan was put aside. Modern medicine and wizard medicine was the only viable solution and with the exception to the time for her recovery, it was effective.

The only moment of relief was after the swelling and bruising in her face subsided the question of her vision was resolved, her eye, was intact although her vision through it was still blurry. In all, she still needed another week of rest but just a few more days to heal.

During one of the many times the two were alone, Hermione spent as much time reassuring Hermia her life was worth saving. It was something she needed to hear, and that Hermione was proof that her life was of value to others was reinforced every time the two women spent time alone. Hermione detailed her experiences from the time she received her letter to her wedding. She talked about Harry and his life, accomplishments and mostly, how he makes her feel whole. She left out the fact that she would not be able to bear children and the funeral that sent her here.

Hermia grew to love her descendant knowing her family’s traits of caring would last through the generations. She had one memento to give Hermione, one object she had brought with her on their first journey to Ottery St Catchpole several months earlier. She left it in Tilly’s care, feeling that was the only place it belonged. She handed Hermione a small painting she had been given of her mother before she died. It was the only object she had from her past. Hermione held her emotions in check, knowing Hermia needed to see joy, and not sorrow. Hermione smiled and gave her ancestor one of the last embraces they would share.

With her strength returning, and since Hermione no longer needed to use her gifts to continue to bring Hermia back to full health, she knew her task here was nearly complete. She knew she could be spirited away at any moment, and her memories would also be spirited away.

On what would be her last night Hermione finished writing in her journal and had taken the precaution to write it in a way only she or Harry could read, and held a hand drawn image of a friend, now gone. She put these and a copy of Hermia’s trial in a leather pouch along with a blank sheet of parchment and the remains of Hermia’s broken wand. ‘Merlin must have recovered it, a memento’, she thought.

Sir James had been killed only a week before Hermia’s trial began, by a dark wizard that had been harming people under the knight’s protection. Sir James met and drew his sword against the wizard, only to fall to the power of his wand. His eldest son Alden had, in the weeks that passed, seen fit to bury the man in the glen near their home. Alden had in the weeks since his father’s murder earned his spurs to full knighthood. He was now ready to take his father’s place as protector for the parish.

Sir James had left full instructions with Patrick and Tilly to acquaint Alden with their world on his death to continue his pledge of protection to any that needs it. He had not expected this request to be fulfilled this soon. When Hermione had returned with Hermia, Patrick left to fetch Alden to her side, to fill a final request from Sir James. Alden had his father’s cloak and tunic and presented these to Hermione for her friendship to the man. These additional objects were important to her, for a reason she would not tell anyone, but these too were added to her collection. She wanted to give these to Harry one day, but also knew Merlin said she would not remember these events.

Hermione stole to the attic in silence, with her possessions and writings. She thought of Harry’s secret trove under the loose board in his room. This home would still exist in her day, it could hold her treasures. She considered hiding them under a board too, even behind some loose bricks in the chimney. Her solution presented itself more by accident, as she put her pouch down, a special piece of jewellery slipped from under her blouse.

That sparked an idea, there was an open trunk filled with a small number of old robes, books, documents, and similar unused items. She removed the contents of her pouch and carefully looked through them one last time. She wrapped her diary pages in a rough bundle, along with all the pictures and Hermia’s painting and replaced them inside the pouch. James’ tunic was added before she placed the pouch in the trunk. Before she closed the lid, she scribbled a note and wrapped the broken wand in the note, placing it on the pouch. She sealed the trunk with a charm, and to maintain that charm, she opened her locket and removed two strands of hair, one a dark raven black, the other a more familiar brown, and laid them across the latches. A brief wave of her hand and her treasures were safe.

---

“Harry, how is she?” Luna knew the answer; he was the only one that hadn’t given up. Even Ron was ready to let her go.

“What do you think? There’s been no change in over four weeks. She’s been like this and I can’t understand why?” He never looked up from her bed; her muscles had begun shrinking from atrophy. She had lost a good amount of her body weight even though they had been forcing nutritional fluids in her. Her eyes still wouldn’t remain closed. Besides her breathing and heart beat, her eyes opening of their own accord was the only physical movement from her in more then a month.

“I had another dream, she was sitting at a desk, it was in a dungeon, and she looked tired, and afraid. I kept calling her but she didn’t hear me.”

Luna sat on the edge of the bed, and put her arm on his shoulder. “Harry, you have to decide if this is a worthwhile life for her. She’s not here. You may have to make a decision to let her go.”

“NO. She said she’d be back soon; I won’t just let her die. How could you even suggest a thing?”

“Please, you have to face the fact is was just a dream. You can’t wish her back.”

“She’ll come back, I know she will. She knows how much I need her. She came back once, she’ll come back again.”

“She was dead for only a moment, Harry, please accept her fate.”

“But she’s not dead; she left her body alive so she could return. You don’t believe in her, you NEVER did... GET OUT OF MY HOME!” He shoved her away, and put his head on her chest. He ran out of tears a long time ago and lost track of his pain with the lost time.

He closed his eyes, and felt sleep claim him. When he sleep, he had dreams of when they were together, but only one dream where she said she’d return. He wanted to her to say it again. He wanted to hear her voice call him again.

Harry had fallen asleep with his head lying on her chest, with her hand wrapped in his, Ron and Luna did not leave as he ordered, and they knew it was his stress that made him lash out. He had also begun losing weight, looking as malnourished as when he lived with the Dursleys. He kept his dreams alive in her and never abandoned her. He remained at her side in a constant vigil.

The room remained silent.

“Harry…”

Nothing.

“Harry… are you awake?”

“Mm hmm…”

“Harry…” she sat up feeling stiff and sore as his head slipped to her lap. She looked around and noticed the sun was beginning to rise for the new day. She gently stroked his hair and lowered her hand to his cheek, and his hand met hers with a soft touch. His hand tightened on hers, as he opened his eyes expecting to find Luna trying to wake him. Instead he found himself staring into the warmth he missed these past weeks as their eyes met.

“Moine?” he croaked out, blinking his eyes, thinking this was an illusion.

She let out a smile, as she always had when they woke; it was that smile, the image of what he had missed for weeks that made him react. He pulled his arms around her frail form, she was thinner then he remembered, and kissed her feverously. He wouldn’t stop holding her and kissing her even as she started to push away. She could feel him catch his emotions, but they gave him away. His broken and repressed weeping in this shared embrace confused Hermione and her own body continued to feed misinformation.

“Harry, please stop, what’s wrong? What happened?”

“You…you were... After the funerals you collapsed and slipped in a coma. Everyone thought you had died, but your body forgot to stop.” He finally managed to get out.

“I remembered the crib and Janet’s teddy and I vaguely remember fainting, I guess from what happened. And now I’m here. And I feel strange, stiff and sore, as if I’ve been tossed down several sets of stairs. Was that yesterday?”

“You’ve been here for nearly five weeks. You haven’t moved and I was beginning to think…”

“That I was gone? No, I won’t ever leave. But five weeks? I don’t even remember a single dream.”

“Moine, I’m certain there was a reason, maybe one day we’ll understand, but now, we’re together and I’m not letting you go.” He resumed his amorous attacks, this time she responded, somehow feeling like she’s missed his touch for weeks.

A mid May afternoon several years later near the Burrow found a familiar group of friends having a quiet picnic. Two of the couples were actively trying to keep their close friends’ thoughts from the dark anniversary of the day; it was ten years to the day everyone concerned had their lives altered forever, and five years to the day two innocent lives were lost. The two sitting with them, laughing and sharing the pleasant day had lost the most; they lost her heart’s greatest desire. They had spent most of their lives since that dark event trying to overcome their loss, and had only met with failure.

The three young men had recently finished playing a friendly game of Quidditch and two had returned from the makeshift field to a small clearing under an ancient oak tree while the third ran off to chase his children in the field. Under the oak, the three women had been busy with other endeavours. The three couples were, through unusual turns of fate, all family.

Harry and Hermione were the only ones that married straight from Hogwarts, Ginny and Draco married next, a year after Ginny completed her schooling. Ron and Luna followed soon after them. Even after Draco’s role in the last battle, Ron waited nearly a year after Draco and Ginny had been married before he was able to completely trust his past foe. Ginny and Draco were the first of the group to help repopulate their world with a set of twins, a boy and a girl. Ron and his wife quickly followed his sister with a son. No one ever mentioned that accident.

Ron and Luna had a strong son, with flaming red ‘Weasley’ hair. They fought for many days over his name, and settled on Arthur William Harry Weasley. Since Ginny produced a set of twins on the first try, Ron wouldn’t be satisfied until Luna produced another.

The three women had set up a picnic under the ancient oak near the Weasley family home where Ron and Luna now lived. The ancient oak tree was special to all; it is the very tree where Harry erected a memorial to his Godfather, Sirius Black, who died in Harry's 5 th year. It is the place Draco watched Ginny from a distance and first fell in love her. Ron and his sister spent many childhood days playing on this very tree and this was where they laid members of their family to rest.

Since that day ten years earlier when Harry defeated Voldemort, life was quite and peaceful. The three pairs of now close friends found their niche in life and settled down to live in the hard fought peace. One still taught, two became healers; two became warriors and one became a government employee. Today was one of those peaceful days.

“Hurry up with the meat pies… I’m starved!” Ron called to the three women.

“Ronald Weasley, you’ll have to wait like everyone else.” His little sister scolded him. She had her mother’s fire and her brothers respected and feared that fire, as did her husband.

“Hey Harry, there’s nothing out there, come on over and let’s eat.” Ron quietly said to his closest friend, for some reason Harry had been staring in the sky most of the day. As if he was waiting for a sign. He still had his visions and dreams from time to time, but only in those rare times Hermione wasn’t with him. She was his shield from his visions since they declared their feelings for each other, and since that moment they were rarely apart.

After the Great Wizard War of ’98, Ron, Harry and Hermione had completed Auror training, but only Harry and Ron continued to become members of that organization, the training and activities reminded Hermione too much of their last year in school and their loss, she continued her training as a healer.

Draco had replaced the potions master after he completed his last year and his transformation from the spoiled obstinate child of his first five years at Hogwarts to the man he became was complete with the birth of his children. He vowed to never become the man his father was. He spent the brief time they had before lunch was ready playing by the pond with his children. His misfortune at that moment came from his own children conspiring against him, and in one fell swoop, the pair of six-year-old children managed to push him into the pond.

Ginny rolled out a deep laugh at the sight of her husband’s state as he stood in the pond, with an equally wet child under each arm. She gave a light flick of her wand and draped a towel over Draco’s golden locks, laughing with the moment. She left the food to help rescue either her husband or her children; she was unsure which was in most peril at that moment. She stood at the edge and reached her hand to help them out.

At that, Draco pulled her into the cool water.

“Looks like they’re going to be busy for a while, let’s eat. Hey! We’ll save you two some crumbs!” Ron called out.

Ron and Hermione watched the antics of his sister and brother-in-law and she noticed a twinkle in his eye that reminded her of Fred and George’s tricks from days past, before another second lapsed, Ron closed his eyes and a look of deep concentration spread over his face. A small rain cloud suddenly hit his oldest friend, soaking him to the bone.

“Funny, very funny” Harry grumbled and shot a glare to Hermione to let her know the mischief in store when they get home later for not stopping the soaking…

“Ron! I TOLD you to stop trying wandless magic; you know you can’t control it like Harry!” his wife chided him.

“Honey, I really can, it’s not that hard…” he pleaded his case, but Luna had learned his weakness, actually his two weaknesses, food and her.

“Sorry, Harry, I should have stopped him when I saw that look…” Hermione finally managed to say between the laughing.

“Well, he’ll learn what he can do with practice, Luna, don’t be too rough on him.” With a wave of his hand the sky above Harry cleared and his clothes dried instantly. Since the day he defeated Voldemort, he never held a wand, he no longer need a wand to focus his power. And even though he chose a profession that required magical abilities, he seldom showed those powers. He had tried to teach that skill to his closest friends, but no one could focus their magic without a wand. Not even Dumbledore can match Harry’s power. Hermione alone had managed better than any of the others, but she preferred a wand, it wasn’t as taxing.

Harry turned to the small group and plopped down on the blanket laid out by his wife and friends, abandoning his aerial search; Ron rolled over to join his love on their blanket leaving Draco and Ginny to continue their intimate family swim.

Hermione gazed under the tree to a small group of grave markers, and sub-consciously traced a familiar scar with a finger; it was still tender after these years. There were similar markers in a well-manicured patch just past a glen near their home in Godric Hollow; where a gap between two sets of the monuments had been planned and waited for two more. That small patch of hallowed ground shared a stream with the glen, a stream that ran into a patch of trees reminiscent of another forest. She was remembering the events ten years ago that cost her dearly; it was the day she died in his arms but returned to him. To this day neither could explain who was responsible. She continued to trace her scar.

Harry noticed, as he always had; it had become a nervous habit for her, when she remembered that day. He knew what it reminded her. He knew what they lost that day. He knew what he failed to do. In the years that followed they had never been able to replace the loss. He knew what she longed for every time she saw their dear friends’ young children playing. He silently watched as another lost tear trickled down her cheek.

Hermione continued daydreaming of their last year at school and the events of the life she shared with Harry. Several years ago, she had resigned herself to living alone with her husband without ever knowing motherhood; content and happy with the life they shared. Their closest friends had helped compensate for the loss by sharing every precious moment of the lives of their children with the couple. She and Harry were godparents to Ginny and Draco’s twins, a boy as mischievous as his father was, and a girl as sweet and loving as her mother, but equally mischievous. The twins were soon to celebrate their sixth birthday and Hermione always made sure there was something extra special from her and Harry. Alex and Alycia was the centre of Ginny and Draco’s life together and they were proud to be able to share that with Harry and Hermione. Hermione loved the children as if they were her own, and she was treated as more than Aunt Hermione.

They enjoyed a peaceful life together.

Harry never forgot his promise he made to her so many years ago, the night he was viciously stabbed in the back by a big toe. His work within the Ministry allowed him access to records no ordinary wizard could see, there were details to the story Dumbledore relayed to Hermione those many years ago that even Albus was unaware of. Harry was determined to fill all the gaps and gain all the proof he could. And then there was the matter of his heritage. He hadn’t stopped thinking about that since that day.

He dreamed of finding a lost relation, like Eileen. She still taught Defence Against the Dark Arts at the school with her husband, Jake who still managed as the Muggle Studies Professor. When Dumbledore left the school, Hagrid left also, to also work for the ministry in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, that position was offered to Charlie Weasley, but he traded in his dragons to take over Hagrid's position on Care of Magical Creatures and to spend his days at the school.

Harry’s heritage weighed heavily on his mind; will he ever discover why he, of all wizardom, had the power to defeat the greatest dark wizard that ever lived? He searched for answers to those questions and others that troubled him and his wife. They had discovered clues to her family’s past and she was content with that knowledge. They found traces of his heritage, but every clue lead to a dead end, as if no one had heard of the Potters before his father was born. These thoughts were but a few of the many that wracked his mind, but right now, his wife was still tracing her scar, like she was trying to wear it off.

“Is it still bothering you?” as he gently stroked her cheek. “We’ll have one, I know we will.”

“My sweet Harry, I can’t help but think I failed you then. You were right, they saw right through me. That was our weakness. I love you so much; all I wanted was your child to remind me of you in case…” she pulled him closer and nuzzled her head into his shoulder.

“In case he won, I know. I had my doubts that I’d be victorious. You gave me the faith and love to succeed. I never would have if you hadn’t been at my side.” He gently touched her chin with his hand and raised her chin slightly. His lips greeted hers in a light kiss, a light probe from his tongue allowed entry through her lips. They are so right for each other, so compatible, still so much in love.

Ron noticed his two closest friends otherwise engaged and pulled Luna close and whispered. “She’s got that look again.”

Harry also knew her look quite well. She had been haunted by the curse since Draco’s father murdered their unborn child. As much as it hurt him to see her like this, he knew there was nothing they could do but hold and comfort her. They’ve exhausted all options in both the wizarding world and the muggle world, and still managed to keep the incident secret, only the closest of friends knew.

“Harry, I went to see those muggle doctors again.” She said tentatively.

“And? What did they say this time?” He asked. He knew they wouldn’t have any new hope and had resigned to watching his adopted family’s children grow. She was the one that wouldn’t give up, but no one dared try to persuade her to stop trying.

“There’s a new clinic in the United States that the doctors here think could help. I’ve called them to set up an appointment. We both need to be there for tests. They’ve got a brilliant record of success.”

“Another clinic? And what can they do? We’ve tried everything, haven’t we?” He tried to remain optimistic, but the string of failures over the years was lengthy. The last attempt almost cost Ginny her life.

“They’ve made significant new break-through recently, but they want a full examination to find out if they could help.”

“I was thinking, Hermione, we could always adopt, that is if this new clinic can’t help. There are children that need the love you want to share.”

“Harry, are you sure? I know how important family is to you and for me too. Yes, I would love to adopt. Let’s look into it first thing next week. I don’t care if there’s a lick of magic; I think that is a fantastic idea.” She curled up in his arms, he pulled her closer, and they shared another deep kiss.

Ron had arranged the outing, in hopes it would cheer Hermione’s spirits. Now she and Harry were quietly engaged, while his little sister and her family were anything but quiet, the play in the pond was a truly warming vision. Ron had in these last years fully understood how much Hermione hurt. They never talked about what happened and they didn’t have to. There was a time he fancied the witch, but her rejection turned his eye elsewhere, and that lead him to the life he now enjoys.

The group enjoyed the mid-day fun, and one couple’s spirits did mellow through the day. They played with the children and each other, until the mid day sun began to set; another gathering was planned with others, this one at the Potter’s home. Albus Dumbledore, the Lupins, and the Stevens were all joining the group of six, as they had every year on this day. Hermione always loved seeing her cousin and Jake, they were the perfect image of what they wanted to become, except they too had a son, he was now close to six and had his mother’s abilities and his father’s daring. The lad managed more mischief than the original Marauders some thirty-five years ago. Remus loved to watch his godson, as he remembered his life before he was afflicted. Jason Stevens was a joy to the werewolf as he was to his parents, since Remus and Tonks decided not to risk passing his condition to a child.

---

The celebration had been scheduled for 7:30 that evening; Dobby had remained with the Potters even though Hermione had tried to release him numerous times. The elf simply refused to leave the first wizard who was kind to him. He had prepared a feast for his master, and had again enlisted others to help create the perfect affair for the evening. All the guests had two motives for the evening, both were carried to success, first to help one of their own forget the past and continue to live for the hope of tomorrow, and also to enjoy the company of old friends. The small size of the cottage was deceptive to the casual observer, but the closeness of all made the small house seem as if it were a grand ballroom.

Friends and family arrived starting just before six o’clock; the Malfoys and Weasleys were the first to arrive, with offers to help with arrangements and preparations. The Lupins and Stevens arrived exactly on time, followed shortly by the Minister and a several other guests. The group had been kept to a manageable size.

The rule for the evening was dancing and merriment, the feast arranged included liquid refreshments intended to add to the light-hearted fun. The dance floor had been set up outside, under a flood of soft lights designed to induce romantic moods. The intended results were successful with nearly all couples; each had during the evening seemed to disappear for short periods to the dance floor and other parts of the estate.

While Harry and Hermione were otherwise occupied during an intimate dance, Ginny gave Draco’s hand a squeeze and stepped away toward an old friend, her boss.

Albus Dumbledore was busy catching up on the events at the old school, in a conversation with the new deputy headmaster. Life at the school since the last battle of the last war had been as quiet and uneventful as could be imagined, if it wasn’t for the occasional school pranks levied with a near lethal dose of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes merchandise, life would have been reduced to a catatonic state.

“Jake, can I have a moment with the Minister? I have a problem that he might be able to solve.”

“Of course, Eileen, care to join those two in a dance?” He and Eileen left for a shared moment on the dance floor with her younger cousin.

“Sir, I found something today at my post.” Ginny had only recently been given the post of Director of Mysteries. She was the youngest person to hold this title, a detail that in of itself showed the Minister’s faith in her abilities. The post of Director of Mysteries is one only a wizard of ancient heritage can hold and must have the full trust of the Minister himself. Minister Dumbledore gave her this post personally, another measure of his confidence in the young woman.

“I had been completing an inventory of the archives today, and I stumbled across a prophecy that had been hidden.”

“I’m certain you know the procedures for a misplaced prophecy, have you notified those involved?”

“No, this was in that same corner we had that fight twelve years ago, I’ll never forget that day. I think that’s when it was misplaced.”

“Then I think your duty is perfectly clear, who is it about?”

Her face turned as white as her husband’s hair as she recalled the details. “It has the name of Hermione Potter and a date of 1469 AD followed by the initials PM and Myrddin.”

“It would seem that one of Harry’s ancestors had the same first name as his wife, quite a coincidence.”

“Sir, I think you’re wrong, her name is most unique. And look at the date, exactly 500 years before she was born.” Ginny had known Dumbledore way too long not to be able to recognize when he was hiding something that she would never pry from him. That old wizard had a habit of giving just enough information to satisfy the immediate questions, and no more.

“Sir, why is that prophecy still there? Don’t all unfilled prophecies dissolve on the death of anyone involved in the prophecy? Surely since this woman lived a long time ago, she must be long since dead. Unless the person this prophecy isn’t de--- Could this be about Hermione?”

“That I cannot say, you know that only the people directly involved can know the contents. Only Hermione, the person that made the prophecy and those present at the time can know the exact contents. So, as you have pointed out, there should be only one person that can hear this prophecy. I suggest you bring this to her attention.”

“But, sir, what if this is important to—“

“If it is important, she would already know the contents, now wouldn’t she?”

“When I found it, I checked it in the in the Book of Prophecies, this one is unregistered.”

“Then that would explain how it came to disappear. I suggest you have a chat with her when she is first available, although I believe she may already know the contents.” With that last comment, he gave her a trademark smile and a knowing squeeze to her shoulder before turning to mingle with others enjoying the festive night.

---

The merriment lasted through the evening and soon after the last guest had left, Harry reached his hand to Hermione, and pulled her from the chair she collapsed into after the last song ended, his other arm pulled around her waist as he still held her hand.

“May I have this last dance, my love?”

“Harry? What has gotten into you? There’s no music. I’m knackered anyway.” She tried to pull from his hold. But he resisted.

“There’s always music, if you just listen hard enough.” With that he pulled her into a twirl and caught her in a close, slow dance hold. She looked at him and began to melt in his arms as they swayed to the music that played in his mind. The longer he held her, and continued his dance, the louder she imagined the music until she too was engulfed in the same mood he felt. All thoughts of that date in time were lost, until the next anniversary.

“I thought you said you were ‘knackered’.” He whispered.

“Stupid git. This is your doing.” She said as he continued an impromptu attack on an ear lob.

“Of course.” He spun her one more time and continued the turns around the room, manoeuvring them through the door. They stood in the partial moonlight, letting their lips meet. He re-explored the curves of her waist and hips with his hands, leading them up her back to find their way to her hair. He let his hands twist in her long locks, caressing her neck as he went. She too began to lose herself to the moment, renewing her own knowledge of his body.

The truly magical part of the night was yet to come, as he lifted her from her feet without breaking the kiss, they vanished from the front porch to reappear under a crudely build thatched hut on a secluded island. The moonlight danced in the ocean’s reflection, reminiscent of another night they spent on a beach. He knew this was her favourite place to disappear to when she needed a romantic interlude away from their life. Some evenings they stayed in a canvas tent, or lazily in a large hammock, the more isolated and primitive their accommodations, the more she enjoyed making love to him.

Tonight the hut’s roof appeared to have been crudely built to let the moon’s rays bask over their now bare forms as they lay on a woven mat laid on the sand. She loved him more than her own life, a fact she proved once. Tonight she felt so different, and tonight at a spectacular moment, she actually thought she saw fireworks in the distant sky, bright flashes and spectacular flares in the distance that appeared to blend in with the stars in the sky.

She pushed him over and straddled him, never letting go of him, and she restarted her rhythmic dance, bringing him back to life. He looked deep into her eyes and a familiar warming glow engulfed the couple. She continued with him for as long as he was able to last, finally collapsing into a shared embrace, she fell into a warm comfortable sleep first, while he stared to the sky, seeing the same fireworks in the night sky.

The morning after the dark anniversary found two lovers still entwined in each other's arms on a deserted beach, when she shifted to find a more comfortable spot he woke. He looked at her chestnut hair sprawled across his chest, and smiled at his good fortune to have her in his life. That first morning he woke to find her in his arms in the astronomy tower at school he had no idea how to wake a girl sleeping in his arms, now that same girl lay sleeping in his arms wearing only a smile and a light sheet draped across them.

"Love, wake up, the sun's been up a while. We need to head back."

"Mmm… why do we have to? It's so peaceful here. You amaze me every time you find a spot like this, each is better than the last." She stretched out like a cat waking for the first time after a long sleep; she was always like this after an active night, content to bask in the arms of the man she loved.

"You didn't forget we promised Ron and Luna we'd help clean the attic at the Burrow, he's finally ready to let go of them."

"No," she muttered, "I haven't forgotten. I really don't want to find anything they left."

"I'm sure you can imagine how Ron feels, it's still his home. He still hasn't been able to go in their bedroom since that day."

"Can we just owl him and say something's come up? Someone from out of town arrived? Maybe a distant relation can to visit?"

"We both know that's not true, outside of Eileen, neither of us has any living family."

"You're right, but can't we just go tomorrow? It's so warm here, and so chilly at home." She pleaded as she nuzzled deeper into his chest, deliberately brushing her hair by his face, a little trick she learned that drives him wild. He lost himself in her long flowing hair, but this time he tried to resist.

"Love, we have to go."

She began tracing imaginary figures on his skin."

"We promised… umm…"

She lightly caressed his legs with hers.

"Ron that… oh bloody hell." He rolled her over to her back and passionately attacked her neck.

"We'll owl him when we get back." She whispered.

The following day Luna wanted to begin cleaning one of the older portions of the attic in the Burrow, but had to wait until the promised help arrived, their absence yesterday was understood. The Weasleys were as close to the Potters as if they were truly related. They always seemed to vanish the day after, and they had never told anyone where they went. It remained a secret that no one tried to solve, because Hermione always returned cheerful with the memories safely hidden for another year. She decided to get what she could accomplish on her own, and expected the others to arrive shortly.

She was anxious to exorcize the home she shared with her husband of the last sad memories still locked in the attic, to make this their home, instead of his parent's home. She began alone at dawn, before Ron woke, knowing Harry and Hermione also would be there later. The possibility of raising old forgotten memories was not as biting to her, since these were family ghosts that needed to be put to rest. These spirits and old painful memories needed to be resurrected for Ron or their close friends to close old chapters in the lives they shared.

Ron's family had lived in this home for as many generations as they could remember. 'It may be as old as Hogwarts itself, it certainly hasn't been cleaned in as long.' Luna thought to herself. She started to cleanse the home of those memories, beginning with generations' worth of artifacts in the attic. Luna's need to re-build this into their home came from a deeply rooted need, a common bond shared by magical and non-magical women to build a perfect home when expecting, news that she kept to herself, until she was certain. She felt the need to clean the entire house. This was the last place that had not been attacked. She single handedly dealt with the lower floors with their first, and she was certain another was on the way.

In the farthest corner, she spotted a group of ancient trunks she was told one could not be opened by any magic or keys they possessed. And that one in particular had rooted itself to the house, never to be opened or moved. Molly was told when she became the mistress of the home by Arthur's great-grand-mother that this trunk came from a distant relative and that it had been locked for many years. Luna made her way to it, thinking she'll try again to move it to another less cluttered area. Every attempt to levitate it or simply drag it to another area failed.

She had struggled stubbornly for a few minutes to either open or move the trunk, and had all but abandoned that effort when she was startled by a number of voices. Ron led Harry and Hermione to the back of the attic where she had been concentrating her efforts.

"Ron, lend a hand with this beast." She called out.

He dutifully obeyed and took position on the opposite side, grasped the handle and together they pulled up.

"Ohfff." He wheezed as he finally released the handle. His fingers bent and locked into the shape of the leather strap meant to lift and carry the storage chest.

"Loosing your grip, old man?" Harry teased from the stairwell. "Why not just levitate the bloody thing."

"Sod off, Potter, it's just a trunk." He looked to his wife on the over end and in a softer voice, "You did try levitating it, right?"

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, do you really think I wouldn't try that? This bloody think is rooted to the floor. I've tried everything, and it won't budge."

"Hey, mate, lend a hand, this beast isn't cooperating."

Harry managed to stop chuckling at his friend long enough to pull Hermione in after him. She deposited the rucksack with a few possessions neither felt comfortable without at the landing and followed him. He held her hand as they made their collective way to the trunk in question. It was extremely old and had all appearances of being permanently fixed to the floor. One distinguishing feature was the missing lock, nothing seemed to prevent the large case from opening except a pair of simple latches, but it had remained sealed for as long as any living member of the family could remember.

With Hermione and Ron on one end, Luna and Harry and took a position on the other side.

"On three, two, one… and LIFT." And, on the count of three, the beast moved. It jerked up with a force unexpected by any of those present, jerking Ron and Luna's hands free of the handles. Harry and Hermione stood there, holding the trunk as if it weighed less them a pillow. As difficult as it was to move the trunk, it now seemed to be an impossibility that it now moved with relative ease. They carried the trunk to another area previously set up by Luna as a staging area to sort the contents of the other trunks and boxes in the space.

The instant they set the trunk down on the floor, the sealed latches fell open to the mutual surprise of the small group. They cautiously opened the chest, unsure as to the contents. Once inside, objects unseen for 528 years were now revealed.

Harry backed away from the trunk, to let Ron inspect the contents, since this was his family home. Hermione, however, stood fast and stared into the open chest, as if hypnotized by the contents.

"Hermione, let Ron see what's inside, it is his chest."

"NO. This isn't meant for him, there's something special about this, but. It's as if…"

Harry pulled her to one side, allowing Ron the chance to peer inside, and knelt in front of the trunk, the first object he spotted was a sheet of parchment lying on top. He picked it up and a broken, burnt wand fell from the folds. The silent thump startled the group, as Ron read simple message on the parchment, "For Hermia."

Those two words caused a startled gasp from Hermia's descendant. Ron picked up the wand fragment and handed it, gently, to Hermione. As it touched her fingers, certain memories began to return. The inevitable flood began with a trickle.

"It was hers. Merlin gave it back to me before I left." She said absent-mindedly as she stood in front of the chest, Harry closed the gap to her side as she stared at the object in her hand.

The others turned and stared at her, Harry was the first to ask. "How?"

"How what? What are you talking about?" Her head snapped back as she replied, as if the trance disappeared and with it the fleeting memories.

"You just said Merlin returned this to you." Ron answered.

"Don't be daft, how could I have gotten this from anyone, let alone Merlin when I just now saw it for the first time?"

They all looked into the chest again, and a leather pouch sat on a stack of older parchments and books. A number of faded and tattered robes sat under the few volumes, obviously not prepared for long term storage. Ron reached inside to remove the pouch, and was greeted with a mild shock, knocking the pouch from his grasp.

"Damn, who put that in here?" he cursed under his breath.

As if she knew the answer, The Lost Witch reached inside and lifted the pouch, sat on the floor and set it on her lap. Harry followed suit, sitting at her side, with the others watching her every move. She gently opened the flap to reveal the contents as her family watched. She removed a tunic with a familiar crest; it was dark tan and appeared to be a waist length garment. She held it out as it unfolded to its full size.

Instinctively she held it out to Harry. "Here, he wanted you to have this."

"Who? How…"

"I… don't remember, all I know is this was meant for you."

Harry took the garment from his wife and stood to put the tunic on. It draped on his frame as it was obviously owned by a man with broader shoulders. He ignored the larger size and pulled the sides around him.

"Who did this belong to? He must have been a huge bloke, its a few sizes too big."

"James. It was his before he died; Alden gave it to me for you." She replied as if in her trance again.

"James? My father?" he asked shocked.

"Who's Alden?" Ron asked. Each new object added to a new mystery.

"Alden? James? Really, what are you two babbling about?" Her confusion to her own comments added to the mystery.

The next object she removed, this time with a noticeably shaky hand, was a drawing of a young girl with bushy hair standing next to a hooded figure. She dropped the picture as if it were aflame, burning her fingers, and let a gasp that brought all attention to that painting.

"That's you!" Ron exclaimed.

Harry picked it up from the floor, and examined the painting, the girl defiantly resembled his wife, but the picture wasn't right, the crest on the robe of the other figure wasn't that of Hogwarts, it was the same emblem on the tunic he now wore. The girl also wore a brown cloak with tan robes, drawn together with a broad leather belt. He turned the picture over and on the back it had a name and a date scratched into it. 'Petrel Madison' 1460 and what looked like an elongated "Z," or maybe a lightning bolt.

"Madison. That was Eileen's name." Harry commented. The others were too dumbfounded to comment. These artifacts were an obvious plant in the Burrow for her to find one day.

"And Hermia's last name, this must be a relative." Hermione added

"This must be the artist's mark and date maybe." Ron began to remember the details of the story Hermione told them about her family's history so many years ago. This was the obvious link between her and EIieen.

From the pouch, a handful of hand drawn sheets fell, and fluttered to the floor. Various crude depictions of a man wearing the same tunic Harry had draped over his frame, and a woman, older then the girl in the painting, but with the same family resemblances. A number was written on one of the sheets, 6-01-79.

The remaining pages in the pouch were bundled together, crudely bound into a book. Hermione held the pages and read the first lines, and the rest watched her face pale to sheet white. Numbed, she handed the top sheets to Harry. His first reaction was surprise, as they were written in Parseltongue, just like the manuscript they studied years ago, except this had her unmistakable handwriting style. Even in the cryptic language, it was obviously in her hand. He read the letter, to himself as the others watched in confusion. Hermione stared at the floor, shaking.

(my date Sept 25, 1479)

To me and to Harry

This journal details my experiences after Jason and Janet's funeral. I cannot give any other accounting except the one I have been given. I was taken by a time-portkey to the past, to aid Hermia.

Please forgive me, I may have changed the past, I don't know if any of this was real or simply a dream. I have prayed for this to be an elaborate dream, the reality of what I had to do still frightens me.

I want you, Harry, to know I always thought of you, your memory kept me focused on what was important, us. Having children isn't as important anymore as being with you. I love you terribly; I hope that I will soon be with you.

All my love,

Hermione

Harry reread the message again, in disbelief. Hermione stood next to him with the message still fresh in her mind; the memories of that time were slowly returning, but fragmented as if they were from a forgotten dream. Flashes of her attacking the bandits without a wand, and leaning over a bloody man seemed more real then their last night of intimacy. Ron and Luna watched the exchange without a clue to the contents; only knowing it contained a disturbing message for them both.

Hermione remained standing there, still shaking while he looked at the second sheet, one she hadn't noticed and he watched the words crawl across the page randomly; the occasional phrase would stop as if they were searching for the rest. He watched as certain phrases glowed and then blended into the sheet.

Dark Lord marked… his spirit… their blood…
Their kin… sixth of seven… one whose star shines brighter… she is lost…
As the Dark Star rises… spirit lost… chains of passion… hate and turmoil… each destroying the other…

He thought about the phrases as they danced on the page, 'Dark Star, I wonder who…' he never finished that thought as he watched her continue to shake in fear. She still held the last bundle of papers clutched to her chest, also written so only she and Harry could read them and ran from the attic, with Harry close in pursuit. An image of a young girl, bloody and mutilated burned in her mind, wondering if that was her doing. She needed to read these sheets to find out what happened to her, she needed to get as far from this place as she could. She needed to be alone. She also wanted him with her, to hold her and re-assure her. She hadn't felt insecure like his since just before the funeral. At the bottom of the stairs, he caught up to her just as she pulled out her wand. She had raised her arm and before she could vanish, he threw his arms around her waist and they vanished together.

Ron had been seconds behind, still in a daze over the mysterious shared note, still ignorant of the contents. Luna alone remained staring at the open trunk. The pictures and a few documents lay scattered on the floor around it. Being the fourth of the three, she knew there was nothing she could do to help. Ron would return soon with either an explanation or more questions.

She released a sigh at the revelations already exposed expecting them to return once she clamed down. It wasn't her place to chase after them she was still the fourth of three. She peered into the trunk at the rest of the artifacts. Inside were old robes with the Hogwarts and the Gryffindor crests. 'Hmmm, I knew they all belonged in Gryffindor, this shows the Weasleys have always been in that house.' Under the robes, she found a pile of old scrolls drawings and more paintings.

The first of several drawings were landscapes, a painting of a scene of farmers tending their fields and one of an old oak tree near a pond. The next piece she picked up made her scream and drop the painting when she first saw the image. It was a much older looking Harry Potter. The man looked to be in his forties hair black as night down to his shoulders, deep blue eyes and a scar, but not the same as Harry's scar this was on his chin, and he was standing next to Godric Gryffindor in front of a half built castle. 'So, he's maybe he IS related to Godric Gryffindor after all. That would make his family one of the oldest wizard families in England.' On the back of that painting are the letters AD, but no year.

The first scroll she picked up was a dry read - an old landowner's deed for a large tract of land in the northern region. The signature was torn, but all she can make out was 'Ma---' and the Gryffindor Seal.

She picked up another scroll. It too was a land deed. The name on this one is clear, "Potter." 'I always knew his was an old family.' It's for the area in Gothic Hollow. 'That's where Harry was born.' The only date she could read said "In the year of our Lord 642 AD." 'WOW… this is more then 1300 years old. And it's 800 years older then the picture of that girl. That's 300 years before Hogwarts was founded.' The seal on this parchment was the same as the crest on that picture with the girl, it isn't like a normal crest; it was a round shield, with the image of a flaming sword. 'Quite unusual for a witch or wizard, more fitting for a warrior family.'

The last item was an ancient book. The cover had the title printed in gold leaf lettering, "The Family history of the Most Noble Families of Wizards." She fanned through the pages, without a clue what she was looking for; it appeared to be a family registry of all wizard families through the ages, and it also seemed to maintain itself as those named live, marry bare children and die. She found the Bagman family, the Bane Clan, the Black Family, then through the "D's", "E's", "F's", "G's"… the pages were faded, but many of the names are clear.

"I wonder… 'Potter'. 'M', there's a 'Madison' listed, a seer named Petrel Madison born no dates, a brother and sister Hermia Madison born 1462 AD died 1592 AD and Haimon Madison, 1460 AD to 1653 AD. Could that be Hermione's family? Here's 'P', 'Potter'. He's in here - and my God, there's Harry's family. The first entry is… Alycia Potter, No birth date, Died 518 AD. No husband, three surviving children Francis born 425 AD died 602 AD, Stephan Born 423 AD Died 598 AD, and Annikyn Born 430 AD, Died… no date…"

She thumbed through the rest of the Potters, to find Harry's name and his birth date. Under the Madison listing she also found a branch that had the names obscured until she found Hermione's name with a direct link to Harry. Curious she then looked for Weasley, and found an entry that also dated back hundreds of years, and noticed the entry for Matilda and Patrick with a date the same as Hermia.

Ron startled her as she read these notations, with an announcement that the Potters had left, obviously upset and pained. She felt his concern for them, and felt that twinge of jealousy that accompanied these moments that pulled him from her, even for a few moments.

Very few things have had this deep an affect on the witch, her parents' murder, her own death, even the death of her children. This was deeper. This was proof that she had not always been in control of her life. Some one or some thing caused her to forget what is in the pages she clutched. She wanted to burn them and not know what things she had done. She wanted to read them and understand what she had done. She wanted to hunt down and destroy those that did this to her. They manipulated her to do the unthinkable, she altered the past.

She tried to get away from him, she was afraid she had done was against all they fought for and all he stood for. She was afraid to face a possible truth that she failed him. She wanted to read this bundle of pages alone. The images of unknown people bleeding and broken screamed through her mind, reaching deep in her own thoughts. Who were these bodies and why did they affect her? She wanted to be alone to face her own fears.

He wouldn't let her.

"What's wrong?" Were his first words to her, even though he never let go of her when she disapparated from the Burrow; he never took his eyes from her. Slung over one arm was a familiar satchel, he grabbed it absent mindedly as he chased her.

"Go away, Harry I need to be alone. I can't… remember…"

"You can't remember what's in those pages. All I needed to know was in that first page. Everything else doesn't matter. What happened is done. What ever you did I'm certain you didn't initiate. I know you better."

"But…"

"What? That I'd be ashamed? That I'd discover some deep dark secret that even you can't remember? Have you forgotten what we promised each other? That you would always stand with me, and I would always support you, no matter what."

"But what if…"

"What if… What if Voldemort didn't kill my parents? What if I never found out I was a wizard? What if Dumbledore pulled me away from you that day? What if a thousand different things in OUR lives had been different? Not my life, and not your life, OUR lives. You always use to try and keep me from blaming myself for things I couldn't control. Now, take your own advice. Let's decide here and now to either read that or destroy it forever."

"But then we'd…"

"We'd know no more and no less then what we know right now. I love you, and that won't ever change."

"But…"

"No. It's your decision to read those pages. We can do what's right or what's easy. I for one would like to know what adventure you had. You wrote to me that you had no control. You also said you had to help Hermia, that is the girl from your family's past, the one that started this lost witch thing. I say we read this and put it behind us."

She clutched the papers tighter and thought about everything he just said. About everything that had happened to them and to her. About the pain and the suffering she'd endured. She began to realize the magnitude of suffering she'd endured. Every fear every painful moment flooded her mind in that instant and clouded her judgment. Every moment of joy she had was overshadowed just long enough to doubt herself. She finally turned in his arms to face him. She made her decision.

She kissed him, and as he loosened his grip she stared into his eyes.

"Forgive me," she said as she allowed herself to fall backward. Only then did he realize where they were standing. He watched in horror, unable to do a thing as she slipped beyond the veil.

He watched as the cloth that covered the opening continued to flutter where she passed through. For the second time in this generation a scream broke the silence, that scream shook the magical world to its core once again. He stood at the opening, unable to move, unable to think, unable to understand.

'Not again,' he thought, 'I can't lose you again.' He felt his body sway, he felt his knees buckle, and the disorientation of the fall scrambled his remaining thoughts as he fell forward unchecked.

The room stood empty as the cloth that covered the opening continued to flutter one last time.

“Ron?” Luna asked as he came to the top of the stairs, “Are they okay? She seemed quite distraught.”

He had watched his two best friends leave. Not a word was spoken, they just vanished. “I’m certain they’ll be fine, this trunk must have brought some deep memories. They’ll let us know when they’ll ready.

“You mean when she’s ready. I swear she has him wrapped around her finger.”

He stared at her for that last comment, he knew what they had shared and lost together and was certain what she said wasn’t true. He was about to say something in reply when a startling alarm sounded.

“Damn, there’s an emergency, sweetie, I have to go to the Ministry, something’s happened.” He pulled her to his chest in a trademark Weasley hug, gave her a deep good-bye-and-I’ll-be-home-soon kiss, and left for his office in the Ministry. The Floo was the quickest way there and he soon found himself walking crisply down the corridor to his desk.

He and Harry had always shared a wall that divided their cubicles; his desk had the perpetual clutter that plagued him as far back as their time at school. Harry’s desk was equally cluttered, but somehow it always seemed like an organized clutter. Hermione’s picture from their last anniversary sat next to the name plate on Harry’s desk. Ron had a picture of Luna and their son on his desk, next to an old forth year picture of the three of them that was taken just after Harry rescued them all from the lake.

He sat as Amelia Bones rounded the corner and from the state of her solemn features and also since his sister and the Minister himself was close behind, he knew this wasn’t good.

“Oy, Gin, what’s happened? Minister? Director?”

“Ron,” Ginny started as they reached his desk, there’s been a break-in in the ministry, someone apparated directly inside.”

“Who’d be stupid enough to do that? And where’s Harry? He should be here to work this case.”

“That is the problem, Auror Weasly,” Minister Dumbledore answered. He never addressed him by title unless the situation was grave. “The magical signature was from one of our most prominent citizens, and it was directly in the Death Chamber itself. That signature vanished before anyone could arrive there.”

“Who would be crazy enough to go there, unless they didn’t intend to leave?” Ron asked. “And who’s signature was detected?”

“Mrs. Potter, and we suspect he was with her.”

“But, they left the Burrow only a short while ago; we found a trunk that contained some items that seemed to give her a start. There was an old wand and cloak, and a bundle of papers she took with her.”

“Is that all? Did she say anything?” Amelia asked.

“She said something strange that Merlin gave her a wand, and James’ son gave her some cloak. But that would be Harry?”

“I’m afraid this adds to the mystery, of why she would end her life this way.”

Ron stood there silent. He just said ‘end her life’, he was talking about Hermione. He shook his head in disbelief and frustration. “No. that’s not possible, she’d…”

“Never do such a thing? She did. The wards in the veil that warn us if someone goes through were triggered, twice.”

“Twice? But who…” he asked nearing full shock.

“Harry’s missing too. He must have followed her.”

“Director Malfoy is correct in her assessment; they both seem to have wanted to end their lives.”

Ron slumped into his chair in a state of shock.

Gone.

They were both gone. He lost the two people he loved above all others, as much as he loved Luna and was happy with her, he was closer to Harry and Hermione. He put his face in his hands and began to morn them.

“We will search for them, of course, but with the evidence as clear as it is, that search may be short. We will plan a memorial for them once the findings have been confirmed, and I know they would want you to deliver it.”

“Yes… sir. I c-can’t think about that, not now.”

“Of course, Ronald, we’ll give them a week to appear somewhere, he was famous for taking her off when he knew she was depressed. Maybe this is another occurrence.”

Ginny ignored protocol and knelt at her brother’s seat, and pulled him into a needed embrace. She felt his tears on her shoulder.

---

Darkness.

Silence.

Nothing.

He screamed her name. He knew she was near, he imagined he could still smell the fragrance in her hair, the same strawberry and chocolate that she knew drove him mad with passion. It was just in front of him. She was nearby.

There was no floor, no walls, nothing but emptiness. This was what Sirius experienced. This is what she is experiencing. He reached out in front of him, hoping for any sensation, any tactile response.

Nothing.

There was nothing there.

It was as if death was simply a void.

Nothing.

He imagined his heart pound inside his chest, but if this was death, that was impossible. The fragrance grew stronger; it was all he had. The void was complete, no light escaped no sound was heard.

Nothing.

Time.

Time passed.

Still nothing.

He wanted to touch her hand, just a touch.

He longed to hold her again. They promised to love each other ‘ in life and beyond, where we shall meet, remember, and love again.’ Here was the beyond, and he was alone.

He still loves her.

He covered his face, wanting to just cry. He had no tears.

When he removed his hands, he could feel the flapping of cloth, the veil fluttered in his face. He opened his eyes to find himself just on the other side of the gateway, as if he stepped through a door. Sitting on the floor in front of him was Hermione, as if she had fallen on her bottom. She had the tears he couldn’t find. She apparently never heard him. In her lap she still held the pages she held when she fell.

“Mione?”

She looked up, startled; she never expected to see him again. She let a smile escape. It was his special smile, the one she had when she was glad to see him, whether it was when they woke in the morning or if he had been away on a mission with Ron for days or weeks. It was his smile.

“Harry? You followed me?”

“I had to.” He knelt before her. “You have something of mine.” With that took her hand and placed it to his chest. “See, it’s gone.”

She smiled sadly this time, and her other hand found its way to caress his cheek.

“I’m so sorry, please forgive me.” She laced her hands around him and held him fast; as long as she held him none of this was real.

“We’re still in the Department of Mysteries. I thought we would be dead.”

“Harry, if we did just go to the other side of the gateway, why didn’t we see Sirius pass through? Why hasn’t he tried to find us?”

“First thing’s first. I want you to promise me, now and forever to never be afraid to talk to me again. Ok?”

She nodded her head. She finally relaxed her hold, slipped back to a sitting position while he picked up the sheets and sat next to her, and together they read about her adventure. They remained in the pit with the crumbling stone archway before them. They sat there in a room that held death and read about her adventures saving life. Every word sparked memories, and as the memories mounted, she told him the missing bits from the journal. By the time they finished reading, she had nearly full recollection of those few days she spend in time, those memories erased the five weeks he spent at her side caring for her while others mourned for her.

He still had the two sheets she handed him and tucked them in the folds of the crude book she held. One sheet she had not noticed contained a series of cryptic lines began to fad in and out, and they held it together, as if a message had been lost.

The tunic he still wore now had a fresh meaning to him; vague comments from the past now had new meaning for them both. They marveled at the full extent of her actions, from protecting her own family, no matter how distant to triggering another family to become part of their world and ultimately become part of her family. Her quick thinking in a fight saved a life and a memory of a mistake saved his life and helped defeat their greatest foe.

They wondered at the fact she had tea with the greatest wizard that ever lived. Her last thoughts that she wouldn’t share were of the paradox she created. If she had not gone to the past, she never would have existed. Harry never would have existed. Tom Riddle may have gained the power he lusted for and may well have ruled the wizarding world. All the people they knew and loved may never have existed, since her trip was back far enough in history. They both let a shudder at the though and with a shared look, each knew they were safe as long as they were together. They survived the Veil because they were together. They survived because he loved her enough to follow her.

He pulled out his Auror ID since they were in the Ministry and affixed it to the tunic he still wore; he was seldom with out his badge, as he had been called in at most unusual times in the past.

“Mione, let’s get out of here, I want to go home and forget about all this.” He stood and helped his wife to her feet, and while still holding her hand turned with her toward the door. They could have apparated home, but they were both tired and he decided a quick portkey home would be better. He maintained a couple prearranged portkeys in his desk for times when he was too tired for other means of transportation.

They walked up the steps of the pit that held the archway, and passed through the door to the room. For the first time in their lives, everything seemed normal. Everything had, with the disclosure of the document she still held, finally made sense and everything seemed to have a purpose.

They left the room, hoping to never return, and passed the Hall of Prophecies. The chain wrapped around the doorknobs at first seemed overkill when he noticed that detail, but assumed Ginny had a reason to secure the room. They passed the other rooms on the floor, and entered the lift in the hallway to go to the second level. The Auror’s offices on that floor had not changed over the years, with the exception of the engraved names on the desks.

The next thing he noticed, was the lack of clutter on Ron’s desk, which was on the opposite cubicle wall from his desk. They turned the corner and he plopped in his chair, obviously tired. Last night’s beach experience, although pleasant, had not been a restful night; it was a night of shared passion. Helping in the attic also was not that straining, but the fall through the veil did seem to drain all energy from them.

He pulled the drawer open to retrieve one of his pre-arranged portkeys home, but it was locked. After a few tugs, Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed him aside and pulled her wand.

“Alohomora.” She said, as the drawer slid open.

He peered inside to retrieve one of his portkeys, but the drawer only held rows of files, packed tight.

“Don’t even know which desk is yours?” she teased.

He smirked at her cheek, and pointed to the desk itself. “I should know my own desk, there’s your picture.” He commented as he pointed to a picture on the desk. Instead of her, there was a picture of an obviously plump Pansy Parkensen, next to the name ‘Victor Crabbe”.

“Funny, Potter, real funny.” She slapped his shoulder expecting him to smirk back.

Instead, his face became stone-like and his body stiffened, as if he expected some trouble.

“Come on, we need to get out of here, NOW.” He commanded as he pulled her by the arm toward the exit.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Crabbe was murdered eleven years ago. This can only be some kind of cryptic message. We need to find Ron.”

“But I thought he…”

“Yeah, everyone did. The rumor was he and Goyle went into hiding and after Voldemort was defeated they disappeared to the darker regions to avoid paying for Cho’s murder.”

She stopped still in her tracks, “why did you keep this a secret from me?” She demanded.

“It was Ministry business, labeled highly confidential, her murder was the first thing I researched, on my own since it was a dead case. They found most of Crabbe and Goyle’s bodies much the same way they found that diver friend of Jake’s, their flesh was stripped from them and major organs were missing. Goyle’s entire rib cage was also gone.”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the exit, now she couldn’t wait to escape from this building. Her face showed more then a passing anxiety at that news. “They had two cases in healer training, to show what a dark wizard is capable of. They hid their faces, but the bodies appeared to be surgically dissected while they were alive. Harry, I think it was them.”

They stopped at the lift doors, and the dial overhead slowly rotated from one level to the next, and then the next, approaching the second level.

“They must know we’re here, we must have tripped a ward.” He muttered. Harry quickly pulled her by her arms, more frantic now, and looked deep into her eyes, “Ready?” he said more then asked as he waved his hand. They vanished just as the lift doors opened with four burly men, wands drawn and pointed to the door. They held the spells when they could see the hallway was now empty.

When Harry and Hermione reappeared, they were standing in a familiar glen, where they spent a quiet picnic with several close friends only two days ago. The oak tree was still there, but it was missing the memorial to Sirius. It looked un-kept and overgrown with weeds. The cool and soothing stream that ran nearby was dry and dead.

They crouched low, in a defensive position as they approached the ancient home of the Weasleys. Hermione kept looking of a friendly sign; she waited to see Luna run out chasing their son.

That never happened.

They rounded the corner of the field adjacent to the building, and the sight was more devastating then any they’ve seen. The building stood in ruins, mostly from an explosion, but a major portion had been burned, used as a bonfire. They stood in silence, at this view. He saw it before she did, but wasn’t quick enough to prevent her from seeing the scorched patch in the front of the ruins, several piles of bones lay as silent tribute to the irreverence paid to this family. The ruins and remains were far from new, it was mostly overgrown with scrub brush, vines and weeds. The spot that had been the funeral pyre refused any growth, reminiscent of a patch near the Whomping Willow.

She turned into his shoulder and he could feel her grief, he vowed to return one day and give his friends a proper burial. First they had to find out how all this happened in a matter of an hour. It was only an hour ago she rushed from the attic at finding that trunk. It was only an hour ago she discovered she had altered history.

“Harry, I need to see our home, I must know.” She sobbed into his shoulder.

He nodded and held her tight as he repeated the spell that whisked them home. Again, they stayed just out of view. They were on the far side of the field where a familiar well manicured patch no longed stood, the three sets of graves were not there, the fence around the cemetery was gone. This lack of vision drove her hand under her blouse, she needed to know she was still who she thought she was, the scar was still there. Harry always noticed this sub-conscious action, and knew its meaning. He too reached his hand to his forehead and found his scar, too, still existed.

In a cautious whisper, he begged her to remain calm, to let him deal with this until they could find a safe refuge. They again crouched toward their home, to the small cottage hoping beyond hope something in this twisted world would welcome them. Hermione knew deep down that if there was as major a change here, it would affect Harry more. Loosing his family home was almost more then either wanted to imagine.

“Love, please wait here, I need to see if it’s clear first. After the Burrow…” he couldn’t finish the thought,

“No. I’ll be at your side, where I belong. I’ll be fine.”

A reassuring squeeze of his hand by hers was all he needed to know his strength was there with him, and not lost in self-doubt.

Harry smiled and hand in hand they came to where the cottage should have been. Instead, the remains of a plowed field lay before them; it was overgrown with weeds and had not been cultivated in many years. A rough built shack stood in the tree line some distance from where their home should have been.

After the sight of at the Burrow, this wasn’t unexpected. They cautiously crossed the field, noticing only a small patch was still maintained, a small vegetable patch. They walked closer to the shack, and the light from inside was quickly extinguished, evidence they were seen.

“Hermione, they must know we’re here. Please be careful.”

Before they took another step, the ground at their feet exploded, he had just managed to push her aside as he rolled away from the blast. He raised a hand, and she could tell he hurled a series of stunning spells at the shack. The first struck the door, shattering it from the hinges, the next found a mark as they heard a muffled groan.

Before she regained her feet, Harry glanced to his side to see a familiar figure in an unfamiliar stance, a fairly large black shaggy dog had its teeth bared and was about to rip into her as she laid on the ground.

“SIRIUS, NO!” He lunged at his Godfather in his canine form, ignoring the flashing teeth, and with a glow from his hands; the dog fell stunned to the ground. Harry fell to her side, relieved she was unhurt, just in shock at the source of the attack. Sirius had morphed back into his human form once he was unconscious.

With one stunned inside and one outside, the remaining defender cautiously looked out the glassless window and watched as the two attackers carried his unconscious compatriot back to the house, as they approached, he could see neither held a wand.

“Just put’em down and back away.” The stranger barked.

“Look, friend, we don’t mean harm, we seem to be confused, this was our home.”

The man pointed his wand at the fallen man and from inside they heard him say “ Ennervate” and Sirius stood and stepped back.

“Who are you?” He demanded. “How did you know who I was?”

“Sirius, how could I forget you, I’ve missed you these past twelve years.” Harry blurted out. “Ever since Bellatrix hit you and you fell beyond the veil…”

“Bella? Veil? Look, mister, you’d better make up a better story.” He backed up to the shack while looking at the younger man in front of him, and blinked hard.

“Sirius? Have you forgotten us?” Hermione asked, her pleading drew his attention for a moment.

“Padfoot, leave them.” The man inside shouted, “Get off my land you two.”

“Please, sir. We seem to be lost. May we come in?”

“Prongs, watch them, this one’s tricky, and he’s hidden his wand.”

“P-P-Prongs?” Harry stammered.

“James? James Potter?” Hermione asked.

“Who wants to know?”

“My name’s Hermione Potter and this is my husband, Harry, your son.”

“I have no son.” He shouted.

“Dad? Is mum there?”

“Go away, or are you playing me for a fool?”

“Please. Give us a few minutes.” She pleaded again.

“James, give ‘em a chance. Let’s hear them out.” Another voice inside added.

“Remus? Remus Lupin? Moony?” Harry shouted enthusiastically.

Cautiously the group outside walked to the small shack, and the sight inside was almost more then either of the two could handle. The inside was as barren as a barracks, un-kept and disorganized. Instead of beds, a group of crude mats and worn blankets cluttered the far side of the cabin. A table built without much benefit of modern tools sat in the center with chairs made more from sections of trees then lumber. There was a counter and shelves with supplies near the opposite side, and for all appearances this cabin could have been a hunter’s cabin used for short periods instead of a main home for three men.

For the first time, Sirius Black got a good look at the couple that attacked him. The woman was unfamiliar, but he could tell she had a power no one had seen before, but the man, he was a nearly exact duplicate of James, all but his eyes, and a scar on his forehead.

“Dad!” he exclaimed as he tried to embrace the elder Potter.

“Keep back, who ever you are.” A battered wand pointed at Harry’s throat.

“Prongs, he’s you, twenty years ago. It’s uncanny.”

“Moony, you’ve gone nutters. You know I never had a son.”

“Harry, wait, Mr. Potter, do you know a Lily Evans?” Hermione interrupted.

“No. I’ve never met anyone by that name.”

"What d'you mean 'No'? hang on dad... you must know Lily, you must..."

“Harry, Harry listen, it's useless." She said as she pulled on his arm.

“But, it’s him, he’s alive.” He began to scream.

"Harry stop, are you listening to me? Your desk and Ron's desk at the Ministry, the Burrow... the field outside, the cemetery, they’re all gone. This is another reality Harry!”

He shook his head in refusal, “No, it’s not, it’s real!” He began to ramble; the suddenness took him by surprise that they didn’t belong here. She could feel her palm sting from the icy cold when he was scared; her early warning to his emotions had been dormant since their last shared funeral. She pulled his face to hers and forced him to listen.

“Stop it! Listen to me Harry! It IS real; this is another reality, but not ours. This man might be James Potter, but he's no more your dad more than my father was, or Albus. He's NOT your father Harry. We're not home."

"What d'you mean another reality?" Sirius asked.

"Yes, I'm afraid so... it scares me to death thinking about it, but that's what it must be. We went through the Veil in the Ministry, actually I went in it, he followed me.” She paused in reflection. “The Veil is not death. The veil is a portal to another reality. It’s an easy way to pass off the Ministry’s problems."

Dumbfounded, all four wizards stood and listened to her, none of them believed her explanation, and one refused to believe he had a grown son.

“Sirius, Remus, please believe me we’re not mad. James, in another reality you met Lily Evans and had a son, Harry. Pettigrew betrayed you and Voldemort killed you two, but couldn’t kill Harry. Remus, Albus brought you back to Hogwarts in our third year as our Professor, but when people found out you are a werewolf you left.”

“Hogwarts was destroyed by Ministry orders thirty years ago. None of that could have happened.” James commented. “And how could Pettigrew betray us? That little rat was part of Snape’s gang. We were lucky just to make it through those first years.”

“And what’s this about a werewolf?” Moony asked slightly confused.

“Dad, um, James, what happened to the Weasleys?”

“Anyone that stood in the Dark Lord’s way were killed, their families erased from existence. Any mixed blood wizards were killed, to purify the natural order.”

Hermione and Harry listened to this complication to this reality; anyone that wasn’t a pureblood was dead.

“The muggles, what happened to them?” she asked with a shaky voice. She was afraid her parents were killed here because they bore a witch.

“During the last great war in ’43, the Germans defeated Britain when Grindelwald joined with that madman. Hitler ruled all of Europe and left it in ruins; the United Stated sat out and was cut off. That was the last place of pure freedom, until the Germans perfected a weapon that destroyed their culture. That was back around ’50 or ’51. Voldmort’s power began to grow about that time, and came into the confidence of the two dictators until he finally had them killed. That was in ’57. He’s ruled both wizards and muggles with a bloody hand since. He has a power no one can match.”

After James’ brief history lesson, the stress of the reality showed clearly in her face, it would have been clearer to the older three, had she not buried her face in Harry’s shoulder.

“Now, exactly where did you two come from? You say you’re my son, ok. I can see the family resemblances, except for you eyes. What about her?”

“Her story is a little more complicated. Her parents lived as muggles, her father came from a pureblood line, but because of the Lost Witch curse and legend, they lost that power. Dad, you said all none-pure bloods were killed? We’re both technically half bloods.”

That comment raised a level of concern. “Harry, you both have to leave, they’ll find you. There’s a series of detection wards to look for half bloods. I’m surprised they haven’t come after you yet.”

“This ‘Lost Witch’ thing,” Remus asked, “you said that like it concerned her.” He added as he pointed to Hermione.

“She is the legendary Lost Witch; it dates back 500 years ago.” He pulled the sheets of her diary and placed them on the crude table they sat at. The three older wizards stared at the pages; confused until it dawned on Harry they were unable to read them. He picked then up and began to translate the story. He continued to fill them in on the details of the world they lived in, explicit details of their life together, and also shared the pain of the losses they shared. James listened more intently then the others, and felt more then a passing thought of how things could have been.

The three Marauders looked at each other, the years of depending on one another evident. A simple glance or change of expression between them spoke volumes, but just as the sheets in front of them were legible to only two people, so were these cryptic signals. The shared body language mirrored the same actions Harry and Hermione shared with Ron, even after ten years, it was something Luna still couldn’t mimic.

Remus was the first to stand. He left the group, shaking his head in disbelief. “Such a tale was meant for bedtime fiction.” He muttered on the way out. Sirius also sat shaking his head in disbelief, only James sat motionless.

“So we’re in the presence of wizard royalty.” Sirius laughed and he too stood. “All hail the King and Queen!” His laughter could still be heard outside the shack as he left to assist Moony in whatever task he had begun.

“Sirius doesn’t mean it; you both must understand how grim life here has been. And now you two show up with this ‘story’ as if your first claims of being my son weren’t enough.” He stood and began to pace the room, his hands pulled through his hair, as tangled and wild as Harry’s.

“Dad, I know this is truly unbelievable, but every word is the truth. This transcript is identical to the ones we found eleven years ago. And the manuscript change, there’s no other explanation how that was changed before Voldemort got it. If she didn’t change it, I would be dead right now and he would have killed you and mum too.”

“I want to believe you, I really do, but so far there’s nothing to prove any of this. Hell, you two might even be clever plants to smoke us out, or to see if there are any others in hiding. Although, I almost believe you two, but Remus and Sirius I’m afraid don’t see any of it.”

“Dad, I can prove this, there are things I can do, things that no one else can do easily.” He held his hands together over the table, as if forming a snowball. When he opened them, a blue sphere appeared, exactly as when he and Hermione first began to practice that spell. It hovered over the table.

“Try and destroy it.” Hermione prompted.

Prongs produced his wand and waved it over the sphere. He tried a couple simple ones first, with no effect. Each spell he tried seemed to feed it more energy, making it grow larger. A smug grin grew over a younger wizard as he watched his own father try and fail.
”Added something to it I see,” she commented. The last time the spells bounce off, and now they are absorbed to add more power.

He gave a smug grin and watched the sphere glow and grow with each attempt to destroy it.

“Have the others try, go on, dad. Call them back.”

“MOONY, PADFOOT Get your scrawny arses back in here. Look at what the kid can do!” James shouted.

Remus and Sirius hurried back, carrying parcels from a hidden supply shed. Sirius carried a large jug, and Remus had another bundle. They were quickly deposited on a counter on the far side of the one room shack, and watched the growing orb.

“Go ahead, try and break it. You can’t.”

They all tried in turn and collectively to destroy Harry’s practice orb until he had to stop them before it grew too large for the room. He gave a wave and slammed his hands together, more for effect, and the orb collapsed upon itself until it vanished in a brilliant point of energy.

“Is that proof enough? That’s how I killed Voldemort in my world. Hermione tried that spell once and it knocked her cold for three days.”

Awestruck, the Marauders gave each other a silent message between each other, leaving James to deliver that message.

“Looks like the Marauders now number five,” he paused thoughtfully then grinned. "We'll have to think up suitable names for our 'Royal Guests'gentlemen."

“I believe Sirius has already answered that, I give you ‘Prince’ and ‘Queenie’, welcome to the club.” Remus bowed deeply as if announcing the royal couple.

“Just to keep it clear is she ‘Prince’ or ‘Queenie’?” Harry joked.

“Queenie? Are you daft? That’s the most ridiculous name I’ve heard. No, try again.” She huffed.

“Beauty?” Harry offered sweetly.

“Ugg… I liked ‘Queenie’ better.” She winced in disgust.

“She’s a live one, Harry; she’s got a helluva spirit.” Sirius commented.

“Spirit, it fits her.” Remus said.

"Umm... not Prince... I'm no Snape.” Harry rejected his name after he thought it over.

“Besides, Prince doesn’t fit Harry,” Hermione added, “Sorry, love, but I’ve never held that much respect for the royals, ever since," she paused momentarily, "oh, it’s not important.”

“Hmm, you’re not an animagus, are you?”

“No, but…”

“What's your patronus? You can perform the charm, I hope.” James asked.

"You... er, prongs... er... a stag" Harry stammered.

“Stag, I like that.” Hermione thought out loud.

“Stag and Spirit, so be it.” James announced.

The details of the lives of these two and the exhibition of Harry’s power moved the three to forge a plan, the tyranny must end, and it seems, Harry was the one to stop the madness.

The initial meeting between the two realities left all involved tired, confused and embittered at the state of the world in which they currently resided. The three original residents had lived this reality all their lives and had no concept that any other path had been possible. Harry and Hermione both knew from the past that a minor change to a minor event could significantly alter the course of events to follow.

This world was the reality of the Veil. It was the same world, with the same basic laws of nature, but different. The Marauders, with one exception, were all here. The evil defeated in one reality had flourished here, and had shown far more suffering then the couple thought possible. They remembered the hate and anger in Tom Riddle, but that seemed so long ago.

That evening they enjoyed a hearty meal proving that even a wizard could stalk and kill game. The venison steaks were cooked over a raw flame on an iron grate. Hermione had enjoyed a similar meal as a girl, when a close family friend returned from a hunt. This meal was just the raw flesh grilled without the seasonings that brought out the natural flavors of the meat. The outside garden provided fresh vegetables, and from wild vines the wizards had learned to produce their own wines in small batches. That wine was, as the main dinner fare had been, devoid of the sophisticated methods employed in the other realities, and held a natural and unaltered flavor.

Sitting around the fire in the cabin, Hermione sat tucked in Harry’s lap . The air of contentment they held showed through the troubled times, and the mutual feelings they had radiated to the three Marauders. James watched them closely, he longed for a woman that he could love that deeply and Harry was proof that he had at some other point in some other reality.

Hermione needed to know for herself what had become of her family. “I want to go to London and find my parents.” She said this softly so only Harry would hear her, but the Marauders knew she would try to find her family, and two of them had very acute hearing owing to their animagi forms.

“London’s not a safe place; they have wards in place to track anyone that apparates in. That bastard is paranoid someone will try to kill him. Many had tried once, a long time ago.” Moony commented offhandedly.

Startled she looked up to the man that had been their professor. She gave him a puzzled look and he simply smiled and pointed to his ears.

“I need to find them, see if they’re alive. I need to know.” Hermione stated plainly. “If either of my parents are alive I will find them.”

“Moony’s right,” James added. “If you go there, you’ll be picked up in minutes. There are wards detecting portkeys and apparations. If you only had a broom, you might have a chance. But you’ll have to wait; tonight’s the full moon.

“It’s a good night for a hunt, but I’d steer clear of populated areas.” Lupin added.

“Uhhh, Harry, if it’s a full moon, shouldn’t he be restrained?” She asked nervously. As much as she liked and respected him, this was the most dangerous time to be around him.

“You’re right. Remus, are you going to be okay tonight?”

“What’s this obsession with me all of a sudden? And while we’re discussing it, what makes you think I’m a werewolf?”

“Well, you were bitten and that’s how you all became animagi, to keep him safe, isn’t it?” She offered this information openly and with concern for him as their friend, but she still sounded shaky.

“Maybe in your world I was bitten, but I can assure you I’m not a werewolf.”

“Then why do they still call you ‘Moony’? It was always because…” Harry tried to defend her comments, but was quickly cut off.

“You want to tell the story or shall we?” James dug at his friend’s obvious discomfort and decided to push on. “Ok, then I’ll tell it. You see, we became friends as children; Sirius was thrown out of his home for his refusal to attend the academy Voldemort established after shutting down Hogwarts after our second year. My parents were assassinated for refusing to send me there as well. And one afternoon in Diagon Alley, we encountered this strange old gent, half moon glasses, long hair and beard. He approached us to offer to help us learn in an underground school. That’s where we met Moony. We shared a room with him right from the start, and we have been fast friends since.”

“That must have been Dumbledore. I was hoping he was still around.” Harry chipped in.

“Yes his name was Albus Dumbledore, a great man, but he was murdered eleven years ago by one of Voldemort’s lackeys, Severus Snape, I think it was. Anyway, when we were-” he leaned into Sirius for a moment for a quick consultation, “sixteen he snuck out of the rooms. We had to follow him, of course. And we found him down by the stream past the pitch dancing with some girl. What was her name? Vicky something, she was a year younger. He was dancing with her under the moonlight in that glen on the other side of the stream, and his eyes were as huge as the moon.”

“Ever since, he’s been Moony.”

“What happened to the girl? Did you see her again?” Hermione asked.

“She died a few years later, both her parents were muggles. She was caught in the ‘Purification’. Moony almost died with her, but a freak incident stopped him from catching her.”

“Oh. Remus, I’m so sorry. If it’s any comfort, you’ve been like family to us.”

“Forget it. That was a lifetime ago.” He turned from the group to refill his beverage, but stayed away for several minutes.

Hermione stood and walked to his side, to find him remembering his lost passion, and his feelings for that girl in the moonlight. “If it’s any consolation, you’ve lived a happy life with us, and have found someone that’s been crazy about you for years.” She said softly, soothingly.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

She smiled slyly, winked and lowered her voice to continue their conversation privately, “Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius’cousin and an Auror in our world, she and Kingsley Shacklebolt were assigned to hunt Sirius after he escaped. They were both members of the Order and helped keep him safe.

“Remus, that freak incident James mentioned, what was it?” Hermione asked, she had been playing the events in her mind, and that was one of many unanswered questions.

“It was during the summer, I was on my way to get Vicky and I ran into some red-haired girl with the brightest green eyes, she was being chased during the ‘Purifications.’ I think she was a muggle-born.”

Excited at this news, Hermione pressed for more information. “What happened to her?”

He sighed deeply and thought about the events, thoughts he had fought to suppress for thirty-five years. “I was alone in London, trying to avoid confrontation and trying to make my way to Vicky’s home, when I saw that other girl. She was being attacked by the patrols looking for anyone of mixed lineage. I stopped short in the alley and watched those animals. She begged for mercy time and time again. I transformed to my wolf form to get closer, thinking I could help. There was nothing I could do, there were too many of them. The leader was a wizard I remember seeing before, he had long white hair, and an attitude that made me want to retch when I had to deal with him, Malfoy, I think was his name. They held her and repeatedly raped her. I heard she was then raped and murdered by Voldemort himself. She was never seen again.”

In near tears, Hermione willed her eyes to stop their swelling, by blinking furiously. She tried to take this news in and decided not to tell Harry, the shock might be more then even he could take. She decided, however, that she would steer him away from seeking her, knowing her fate.

“By the time I got to Vicky’s home,” Remus continued, “she was taken and killed. Although I could never prove it, I believe it was Snape and his henchmen; he had grown close to Voldemort, and held his confidence. If we can kill that bastard, I’ll feel we’ve accomplished some good.”

The pair remained to the side in their private conversation while another discussion also continued.

“When would you suggest we go to London? Can we get to Diagon Alley for supplies?” Harry asked, noticing the other two engaged in their private conversation.

“I wouldn’t recommend it for either of you; if it’s not safe for us you wouldn't stand a chance. We all have a bounty on us for refusing to kneel before that madman.” Sirius answered, hoping that would be the end of the discussion.

The younger wizard grinned and looked at his wife; they had the combined ability needed, her intellect and his power. ‘Tomorrow I’ ll show dad what we’ re capable of.’ He thought.

“I suggest we all get a good night’s sleep, I’m sorry the accommodations are a bit rough.” James longed to spend the night talking to this young man and his wife; he could feel the pull from his heart that only comes from a close tie.

Harry stood as looked at the arranged mats on the floor in the corner, and since there wasn’t room for them all in this small shack; he quietly excused himself and left the single room cabin. On the way out he picked up the rucksack he managed to grab back at the Burrow, and gave Hermione's arm a light squeeze, to which she simply nodded a reply. Outside he looked at his choices, sleep in a crowded cabin or under the stars, or create other shelter for them. He pulled a small piece of cloth from the backpack and placed it on the ground. These actions drew the interest of the Marauders, as Hermione bid them goodnight and left to join him outside.

He stood motionless and passed his hand over the piece of cloth. A flash from his outstretched hands struck the cloth and it expanded before him. From that small scrap a large comfortable tent appeared, inside the comforts of a sleeping bag large enough for two. Three wizards watched at his ability to transfigure a scrap of cloth into decent accommodation, a feat not easily accomplished.

“Tricky kid that one, Prongs. Too bad that conjured tent won’t last the night.”

Hermione waved a good-night as she slipped into the tent after Harry, a cool blue glow from inside revealed a couple that sought each other as soon as they were alone. The only other trace that the Marauders were not alone was the occasional giggle from the tent.

---

Morning found them all anxious to prove this world was worthy of saving. It had been several months since any of them had ventured into London, or even away from this sanctuary. The tent outside the shack was still there, much to the surprise of the elder wizards. A conjured item never lasted that long.

Harry and Hermione greeted the morning and their new companions with the unmistakable aroma of sausages and tea from the shack. They had obviously been up for a while. In that twilight period between putting one’s head on the pillow and actual sleep, she conceived a plan. They would split up as best they could, the Marauders would transform into their animagi forms, thereby being undetectable to the wards while she and Harry would fly in as close as possible and then sneak in as muggles.

Before they packed their little encampment to leave, Harry sat with her in the privacy of the tent. They both knew the possible dangers involved, and the potential discoveries. “I know you want to find your family, but I want to find my mum too, I need to know what happened.” Harry told her.

The revelations from Remus tore into her thoughts, Lily was most likely dead. The possibility her parents were also dead loomed heavily over her heart. This world was the bleakest existence possible. She was unable to divine a common thread through any of these changes, but she did have her theories. Since Grindelwald had joined forces with the Nazi party, that meant Dumbledore didn’t defeat him, but since her history showed that conflict in 1945 and in this world Grindelwald came to power in 1943, there had to be another thread. The Burrow had existed at that time, but was destroyed recently, within the past fifteen years. Their home in Godric's Hollow never seemed to exist; there were no ruins evident. That house was relatively new, only a couple of hundred years old. Hogwarts had existed, that much was certain.

The trip to London began easily enough, they apparated within a few miles of the border. The Marauders were well acquainted with the boundaries and guided them to a safe point. The three Marauders would transform into their animal forms and enter the city that way; Harry and Hermione would enter from a different direction. Harry produced two items from the rucksack, the first for concealment, his father’s old cloak, and the only possession from his Godfather from so many years ago. The Firebolt was shrunk to a convenient size and when he expanded it, his father’s eyes widened at the sight of such a broom. As wide as James’eyes grew, her eyes narrowed.

Hermione sighed at the sight of his Firebolt, and although she had explicit confidence in his ability, she still detested this means of transportation. “Can’t we walk? Or, James, can you let me ride on your back?”

“Just get on, you’ll be safe. We’ll stay close to the ground anyway and skirt around the buildings. That should hide us for the most part.”

“I know, but I hate those things. I wish I knew when that changed, Hermia said she loved to fly.”

“Just hold on, you’ll be fine. I’ll never drop you.” With that, she slid up on the shaft and nuzzled into his lap. She felt his arms surround her in the familiar embrace on his broom. There were moments she truly was afraid, but she knew when he held her tight, she always felt safe.

He flipped the cloak around them and noticed she shivered slightly; he still had that oversize tunic, which he now wore as an overcoat, and pulled the extra length of the sides around her. The wolf, stag and large dog watched them disappear, and Harry imagined double takes by the three animals. He kicked off and they soared overhead, he stayed as close to the ground as possible, unless there were people out and about.

The first stop would be to the outskirts of London, where her parents had lived and died. They hoped there would be some evidence of the Grangers. The house she expected did not exist. The neighbourhood itself was desolate and mostly abandoned, with only a few dwellings occupied. House after house of all the children she knew in her early life either didn’t exist or were strangely different.

In the shadows, they noticed a large wolf and stag hiding while the black dog scouted forward. A sharp bark brought the three together in another place of concealment. Harry landed in one of the spots of concealment to review the next step, as the home she sought was no longer there, or possible never was.

“Okay, so now we know you parents' home isn’t here, but it’s still possible that may be elsewhere, there’s a payphone in that restaurant. Mione, you go and check the phone book, I’ll keep the bloke at the bar busy.”

This improvised plan was quickly executed. She had remembered her covert training from the days the trio had been in Auror training. They folded the cloak and he shrunk his broom back to a size for the rucksack. She slung it over her shoulders, and wrapped a spare jumper around her waist for the appearance of a traveller through the countryside. He pulled the belt from his trousers and used it to hold the tunic closed.

She entered the establishment first with Harry close behind. The others remained outside under cover, since they were known by sight.

“Excuse me, do you have a public telephone?” she asked the teenager working behind the bar. He pointed to a small cupboard with an old-fashioned pull door at the end of the room. Hermione casually walked to the phone, picked up the receiver and pretended to put a coin in the slot. She then opened the directory and quickly scanned the pages until she found a single listing that interested her, he maternal grandmother was still alive, or more correctly, she was still alive at the time that book was printed. She memorized the listing and hung up the receiver. Before she exited, she scanned the main room of the restaurant, and noted only one man had entered since she had.

The man stood at the counter and seemed to be in a heated discussion with the waiter, she looked carefully and noticed Harry stood outside the building, leaning against a tree. The man arguing with the waiter seemed to believe there was a discrepancy in the bill, and wanted the value adjusted. She took this opportunity to slip out of the booth and out the restaurant before being questioned.

She walked past Harry and noticed his lips moving as he watched the heated discussion. She appeared to ignore him and kept walking until she came to a secluded spot, where three others waited. James no longed maintained his stag form, while Sirius and Remus both remained in animagi form.

After a few moments, Harry joined them. She gave him a sight puzzled look, he shrugged his shoulders and casually replied. “All I said was I was going to distract the bloke at the counter, I never said how I was going to do it. I figured I could make that fellow think he was done and his bill was off by a quid.”

“Mind control?” His father asked.

“I learned the basics in the fifth and sixth years, and found it comes in handy.”

“But I never saw a wand.”

“He hasn’t held one since he…”

“Since I killed Voldemort in our world. I vowed to never use one again.” He finished her thoughts, as he always seemed to do.

“I found my mum’s mum, she’s nearby, about two or three miles from here.” She sounded excited and could hardly contain her news. Harry tried to support her enthusiasm, but from what they had already seen, this may not hold much hope.

---

Her grandmother’s home was still in the outskirts of Victoria Park, on the far side of London. The trip across London lasted nearly the entire day, both Harry and Hermione had a major advantage over the three Marauders, they were formally trained in their craft, while the Marauders had been self taught after leaving Dumbledore’s underground school. As skilled and powerful as they were, the three were not even near Hermione’s level. And Harry was that much more powerful and advanced. Harry was trained for combat; she had basic combat training, but advanced as a healer.

A single wave of his hand transformed the appearances of the Marauders from the hard and rough look of those hiding in the forest for months at a time to clean cut muggles heading about their daily business.

They made best use of muggle transportation, buses and the underground to traverse the city. They were delayed due to errors in which bus or which train to take. They arrived at Hermione’s grandmother’s home near dinnertime, and the younger couple finished the journey. The Marauders remained a few blocks away, having stopped for take-away to satisfy their hunger, complements of some sleight of hand by Harry, changing a scrap of paper into a five-pound note.

She walked to the front door with her husband at her side. He had never met her grandmother, as in his world she had passed away that summer they spent abroad. She knocked on the door to be greeted by a matron in her fifties, the same age as the Marauders but also too young to be Hermione’s grandmother.

When Hermione saw the woman she bit her lip to prevent jumping into her arms, Harry, too had to restrain himself. “Excuse the interruption, we’re looking for a distant relative, is this the Locks residence?”

“Yes, it is, and whom may I ask are you?”

Harry spoke first, “My name is Herman Grattor, and this is my wife Harriet.”

She dug her nails into his palm, to show her recognition to the alias he used.

“I have a distant cousin I was told lives here, we’re visiting from Little Whinging, where my husband’s family lives. I was told by my mum before she passed away about this side of the family and we wanted to finally meet you.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Grattor, but I know there are no relations unknown. Good day.” She began to close the door to these strangers.

“Please, Alycia, wait.” Harry blurted.

“How did you know my name?” she hissed.

“May we come in? This may take some explaining.”

She hesitated, and after a few minutes of staring at the woman standing before her, agreed and opened the door. From a vantage point across the street, three men watched the couple enter the house.

Once inside, Harry took charge, knowing Hermione was choked up at the sight of her dead mother. Alycia had offered them a seat in the front room, and excused herself for a minute to provide refreshments. Hermione looked the room over and visually examined the objects that adorned the walls. This was the home of her grandmother; she remembered it from her childhood. She remembered the porcelain figurines that filled the shelves; one in particular caught her attention.

She stood and walked to a delicate figure of a witch on a broom, she held it in her hands examining the object intently. “Harry, I remember this one, it was one of my favorites and I remember when I was six I dropped it. I was terrified Gran would be angry. I willed it back together. But there was one piece missing.” She held the figure in her hands, and at that moment Alycia dropped the tray, startled by the revelations Hermione just made.

Before the tray hit the floor, Harry froze the teapot and cups in mid-air with a wave of his hand. He quickly stood and closed the distance to his mother-in-law. Before any of this registered, he again waved a hand and uttered ‘Sliencio’ preventing the inevitable scream.

“Please, Alycia, wait. Please sit.” He held her by the shoulders and motioned the tray to the table. He then motioned to her again, allowing her to speak. “Let me explain …”

“You’re one of ‘them’, aren’t you, and you,” she pointed to Hermione, “You’re one too.”

Hermione couldn’t contain herself, she rushed to her mother and grabbed for her hands, which were quickly pulled away. With full eyes, ready to burst, she looked at her mother, and produced her wand. Without a sound, she called to a box in a cupboard. That box flew into the room and a single picture was extracted. She held that picture next to her.

“Mum, please look at me.” She begged.

“I am not you mother; I would have drowned your kind given the chance.” She hissed.

“Please, listen to her; we’re not from this world.”

“Mum, please, I’ve missed you.” Hermione forgot herself and tried again to embrace her mother and again she was pushed off.

“GET OUT, you, and your kind are vermin; you’ve cheapened life and killed for fun. There’s nothing you can say that I want to hear.”

“Mum, please. I think we’re here to fix all this, but I needed to see you.” She tried to hold the hand that held her as a baby in her world. All she received was a slap across the face.

The imprint on her cheek grew red in contrast to her pale complexion. Hermione’s palm began to sting, and she glared at Harry. His anger at the fruitless attack was more then he could stand.

“Enough, Alycia, she’s your daughter, Hermione Jane Granger. This is the first time in more than ten years that she’s been able to see you. You have NO idea how much she’s been hurt because of what’s happened. PLEASE listen with an open mind.” Harry ranted at his mother-in-law.

The woman knew wizards had the power to kill, she also knew her actions sealed her fate. Hermione knelt at her mother’s feet, hoping to convince her. She held the picture one more time to her face and this time her mother looked. She looked at a woman’s tear streaked face next to a picture of herself, half a lifetime ago. Hermione knew her grandmother kept family pictures in a box in a certain place. She hoped this would at least allow her the chance to plead her case.

“Mum, please. We’re from a world like this one, but different. It’s difficult to explain.”

As she started to explain, three men entered the house, the look of sheer horror spread across Alycia’s face. The men stood in the hall of the house, each held a thin rod of wood pointed at the people in the front room. Harry stood and approached the three strangers.

“Harry, we need to leave, they may know you’re here.”

He turned to the two women, still at odds with each other. “Love, we need to go. Alycia, I can help only if you want my help. If we wanted to hurt you, would we have asked to come in? No. We would have barged in and taken over.”

“Mum, please. I have to go, I just …”

“So you claim I’m your mother. Then tell me, who’s your father?”

“His name was Alex Granger, you both shared a dentistry practice and were very much in love. I remember you both so well.”

“I don’t know anyone named Alex Granger.”

“That’s what we’re trying to understand. Mum, this is Harry Potter, my husband. We’ve been married ten years, these three are as close to family that he has. This is Sirius, his godfather, Remus and that is James Potter, Harry’s father.”

She spent the next half hour explaining all she knew, her world and the events that led them to this world. She explained about Eileen being the only living family she has. When she finished, a nervous group of wizards watched the street for any signs of disturbance. After all her explanations she was unsure of her mother’s reaction.

“Mum, please, I need to try and find Eileen, she may have some insight to what’s happened. There’s a special connection between us and I know she has the answers.”

“You’re a witch, why don’t you just ‘pop’ over where she is and leave me out of it. Your ‘friends’ keep such a close watch on each other, I’m sure you can ask them. And if this ‘Eileen’ is a relative as you say, then why don’t I know her?”

“I told you, she’s from daddy’s side, but I haven’t been able to find any trace of him. Just you through Gran’s phone.”

“Then, I suggest you try the same approach, or are you too dense to work it out?”

“Alycia, I appreciate you being upset, however, I am beginning to tire of your attitude. We have come here to find answers and help. You’ve done nothing but despise us; we haven’t done anything to you. Now are you going to help?”

“Or what? You left out your threat, that’s what you people do. Go ahead, I’ve nothing to lose.”

“Then I have no choice, Hermione, this is for the best.” He held his hand level to her head, his hand began to glow slightly, and he placed his hand on her forehead. Alycia’s body stiffened, and the three Marauders watched stricken with terror that he was doing something to this woman. He held her head for a moment and reached his hand to Hermione, who took his outstretched hand in hers.

After a moment the three separated, Hermione felt her knees wobble. Her mother fell back into a chair and stared at the wizard.

“I- I understand. I didn’t know how. Hermione please. I thought you and Harry were here to hurt us.” She held her arms out and Hermione’s wish was granted, she felt her mother’s love once more, even if this was in a different reality.

“Where did you learn that?” James asked.

“From Albus,” was his reply, mother and daughter sat together, it was the least Harry could do. “Alycia, I’m afraid you can’t remember any of this when we leave. If they find you they will tear these thoughts from your mind. You do understand?”

“Yes, Harry, yes.” She never stopped holding or looking at Hermione. “The telephone directory is in the hall, but if you’re looking for a remote number in the States, use the computer.”

Hermione gave her mother another hug and kiss, before pulling away, this was her realm. And within a few minutes she had the information she needed.

“Harry, she’s still in Ponce Inlet. Should we try to go there directly? Mum, we can take you and Gran with us there; you’ll be safe, I’m certain.”

“You never asked me, your grandmother passed away last year and I’ve lived here since. I had nowhere else to go. There’s nothing here I value, so, yes. I would only if she wants me there.”

With that, Harry nodded to the Marauders in an inquiring way, and each nodded in agreement. He picked up the photo Hermione had used, and laid it on the table. She then produced her wand and gave it a wave while uttering the incantation. Harry instructed the woman to simply touch the photo and when all six people had at least a finger on the photo, the room emptied.

Alycia Locks opened her eyes again, and fought to suppress the nausea she felt from the portkey. She looked around and found herself standing on a sandy beach; the sun had set when they left Victoria Park, now it hung just over the horizon, maybe an hour from setting. The five others were standing there with her, unfazed by the sudden trip.

“I felt this was a safer place to arrive than at her door. James, you and the others stay here with Alycia, there’s a spot through that clump of trees that’s nicely shaded and you may find an old thatched hut.” He reached into his pack and pulled a small object that had been carefully wrapped, and handed it to Sirius. “Here, take this and I’ll let you know what happens.”

Before he took Hermione by the hand, he picked up an old boot that had been discarded on the beach, held it as it glowed lightly. “Here’s a portkey to get everyone to her flat.” And with a wave and a familiar pop they vanished.

He planned to arrive near her flat; the others were safe on the uncharted island. Together the couple climbed the stairs to a familiar flat on the third floor. After a few moments they stood in front of the door to the flat they knew from their youth. Before she raised her hand to knock lightly on the door, she looked to her strength.

“Harry, what if this is a dead end? What then?”

“We’ll at least have your family together and safe. Now let’s talk to your cousin.”

She knocked on the door and was greeted by a face they knew so well, but with a look of terror, as if she expected ill from these two visitors.

“Eileen Madison?” she asked.

“Who wants to know?”

‘Crikey, here we go again’ Hermione thought. “You don’t know us, but…” the door began to close, “please wait,” she pleaded.

“Eileen, stop. We’re here to talk.” Harry insisted as he held the door open. “Listen, we know who you are. More importantly, we need some information we think you have.”

“I said go away, if you know who I am then you should be worried. Now LEAVE!”

Harry had had enough, first the Marauders, then Hermione’s mother, now Eileen. He struck the door with his hand and it exploded off the hinges, sending Eileen to the floor like a rag doll. She raised a wand she had hidden and with a grabbing wave, Harry held it in his hand.

“Now listen to us. I’m getting tired of this shit.” He stormed into her flat, his eyes burned with a passion and ruthlessness that took Hermione by surprise, he grabbed at the air and held her fast pinning her to the floor. She tried to stand and fight him off, but he held her down with a downward wave. Hermione could see anger in him she hadn’t seen in years. Her palm burned with that anger, and she knew he was close to losing control. She stepped to his side and grabbed his free hand, giving it a hard squeeze. To Eileen it appeared as though she stood by him not to calm, but to motivate him. She held his hand until he began to relax his grip on the woman splayed on the floor.

After a few brief moments his anger subsided enough to address her in his Auror voice of authority. “My name’s Harry Potter and this is Hermione. You’re the descendent of a wizard named… what was his name?”

“Haimon Madison, born 1460 AD and died in 1653 AD.” Hermione added as if she were reading from a book.

“He had a sister, Hermia, who was put on trial in 1479 for witchcraft. Hermione is her descendant. We found ourselves here through a strange twist of fate and we’re looking for answers. We believe you have those answers.”

“You’re both fucking crazy; that is the most far fetched story I ever heard. Why should I believe either of you?” She struggled in an attempt to stand, but he still held her down.

Hermione released his hand and stepped forward, “Eileen, listen to us, you and your family have watched over my side for five hundred years. You can’t deny that.”

“Look, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, you both are insane.”

Hermione knelt at her cousin’s side and continued her pleading. “We know things had changed as far back as the 1940’s but there’s no reasonable explanation for it. I can’t find anything about my father; he was a direct link to Hermia. And there’s no trace of any of his side. I believe you may have some insight.”

“Haiman Madison didn’t have a sister, at least not one anyone knew about. If you don’t believe me, I have a family history documenting all births and deaths. Would that satisfy you?”

“Yes, that should shine some light on this.” Harry agreed for them both.

He allowed Eileen to stand, and let her go to the bedroom. She walked down a hallway to the main bedroom, just as they remembered. Across the hall was the smaller second bedroom; the toilet was located between them. When she returned, she had a large book under her arm and a spare wand hidden in her pocket. She lugged the large book into the kitchen area, leading the two intruders to the table. She maneuvered herself to one side with Hermione in the middle, assuming she was the weakest of the pair. She would wait for a moment and use this witch as a shield against the man, hopefully negotiate with these people for her life.

Hermione began and opened the massive tome to the listings for the mid fifteenth century; she stopped at Haimon’s entry and noted he had a broad and long life in the wizarding world. There was one footnote attached to him, that of a sister who died from the tortures of the witch hunts. The very brief listing for Hermia consisted of brief statistical information. Hermia’s death was listed as September 19, 1479, the same day Hermione found her and rescued her.

Eileen began to slide her hidden wand from her back pocket of the shorts she wore. She was a bit surprised that she had got this far, but didn’t fool herself, she knew that the wizard was very powerful. She thought if she could just get the upper hand, she could get out of this mess. She stood to the side as Hermione began to read the notations out loud.

The obvious truth unfolded. When Hermione reached the sentence talking of Hermia’s fate, Harry had to continue as she began to choke on the bile that tried to force its way into her throat. “Hermia had died just as the trial resumed on September 19th, but her death did not end the proceedings. The one paragraph dedicated to her detailed how she had been desecrated in death. She was beheaded, disemboweled and then drawn and quartered. As was the custom, her head was displayed on a pike on the infamous London Bridge, her arms and legs also put on display before unceremoniously being discarded across the city. Her entrails were draped along the bridge as if they were Christmas garlands,” he paraphrased from the book.

This was a notation Eileen never read, as she had never given her family heritage much thought. It pained Hermione to know that because she was not there to help and protect her, this brutal sacrilege awaited. Harry stood rubbing her back in a comforting manner, the details were now clear.

Hermione had never stopped the bleeding while they waited for the trial to continue. Hermia had died because Hermione was not there to save her.

“We’re sorry for barging in, please forgive us.” Harry spoke softly, “Come Mione, there’s nothing she can do.”

Dumbfounded, Eileen stood as they turned to leave, her wand still in her hand; it was obvious he had seen it and had done nothing. Harry motioned to the fragmented door to return to its hinges and it complied. The past was now clear to Hermione, she had never saved Hermia. Hermia had died in the torture chamber and never married, the bloodline ended there, Hermione’s father was never born. She was never born. She wouldn’t be able to return and save her own ancestor.

Hermione had never met and befriended Sir James, who never met and befriended the Weasleys of his time. He did not pass that knowledge and friendship to his children. They had not maintained a relationship with the wizarding world. Harry’s mother Lily Evans would never have known her role.

The bandits that should have died lived on; possibly one of them had a descendant that helped change the course of history, helping the Nazis win the war against England, and preventing the United States from entering. With their superior U-Boat force and V2 rockets, Germany was able to force the world to kneel at Hitler’s feet. Hitler in turn bowed to Grindelwald, who both had in turn been killed by Voldemort.

She never returned to the Chamber of Secrets and made a simple change to a handwritten book, giving Voldemort a power that he had obviously used to bend the world to his will.

Harry stood with her; again holding her as she suddenly turned and retched into a rubbish bin.

Eileen still had nothing to say, she had read the same notations, but they didn’t have the same impact. “Would someone please explain what this was all about?”

Neither Harry nor Hermione could explain, not now. “Eileen, can I ask one last indulgence? Her mum is waiting with some friends; if I can get them here maybe Alycia can explain it.”

Compassion overcame the woman and nodded, stepping into the role she savoured in another reality. She took Harry’s place helping Hermione to suppress the nausea brought on by this new information to give him the opportunity to gather his friends.

Harry left the kitchen to retrieve his rucksack from the lounge when it was deposited when they arrived. He pulled a package similar to the one he handed to Sirius from his pack. He carefully unwrapped it and produced a mirror fragment, about an inch square. Eileen watched him carefully and before she asked he explained.

“I had received this as a boy, but the other half was lost. I shattered it in a rage and was left with two good sized fragments.”

Without further delay, he called to the mirror and an image appeared in it. “It’s clear here; make sure you all hold the boot.”

“Right, we’ll be there shortly,” Sirius replied from the mirror.

The others had taken his advice and were sitting inside the thatched hut, quietly talking and elaborating on their world to Alycia. The brief time she spent with the Marauders helped her understand this world was not where it should have been,

“Moony, Prongs, we have to go. Stag and Spirit called for us.” Sirius called to his friends.

They all left the hut and stopped on the beach ready to go to Eileen’s house via the new portkey. They all held an old boot Remus found and momentarily found them selves around the corner from Eileen’s flat.

“Stag,” Sirius called into the mirror, “We’ve arrived. Which way to her flat?”

“Go into the front of the three floor building, and to the top floor. First door on the right side as you leave the lift,” Harry replied. Within moments the now enlarged group found seats in and around the flat.

While Harry began to brief everyone in the room about the new events, Hermione had been left to collect herself in the bedroom and tried to calm her nerves. James sent Harry off to be with his wife, since the Marauders now knew the story, as told from the diary pages, and were capable of filling in the blanks for Eileen. She in turn, related the new details to the Marauders.

---

What was done, or in this case, not done, is now history and unchangeable. In his own reality, Harry alone had the power to defeat Voldemort; in this reality, Voldemort has that same power.

The Marauders and Eileen compared stories and filled in the gaps in each other’s side. They used the tale described in Hermione’s notes to map possible deviations and possible routes to correct those changes. Remus had spent a portion of the previous night writing as much of Hermione’s tale as he could remember to avoid forgetting any key facts.

The stress Hermione felt stemmed from the fact that she was the focal point in this reality’s troubles. That stress weighed heavily on her, only with the compassion and care from Harry was she able to simply survive that night. What was unclear was how this paradox began. If she didn’t save Hermia, she wouldn’t be born to go back and save her. A classic ‘chicken and egg’ syndrome.

The night grew old and the younger couple seemed to be gone for the evening, leaving the remaining five people in the main lounge to strategize. Each had a thought, each thought had merit, but none of them seemed to be a solution. Each plan had one requirement; the monster in power had to be eliminated. Harry had done that once in his world, but the burning question was could he do it again in this world. Compounding the problem was the minor fact that Voldemort had the manuscript, and that version had the spell unaltered as detailed in Hermione’s documents.

As the night progressed, new friendships were forged between wizards from the new and the old worlds, and in one case, two people that had never met caught each other’s eye. Alycia had in this life become unwilling to appear more then a lump of flesh moving from one day to the next, afraid to draw attention to herself. She, like her daughter, had an inner beauty that radiated out when either was with their husband, but Alex Granger was not part of this world and Alycia never allowed herself the luxury of falling in love.

While they spent the evening attempting to form a battle plan, James had found himself on the same sofa as Hermione’s mother. He had, at the first meeting, noticed her innermost self, not the cliché inner beauty or her soul, but her suppressed warmth and caring nature. He noticed this in her home when Harry and Hermione tried to explain their predicament, and again when she was left in the care of the Marauders at the beach. At one point that afternoon, Remus and Sirius abandoned the pair in search of a fresh water source, leaving James and Alycia alone in case the ‘children’ returned ‘home’. They were left alone whether by design or by accident the end result was the same; James noticed and felt something stir inside.

Neither would notice nor admit any such magnetism toward each other. The irony of Harry’s father and Hermione’s mother being attracted to each other was seen that afternoon by a wolf and a dog hiding in the brush near the hut. The search for water wasn’t as interesting as watching this obvious dance of denial.

That was a lifetime ago, at least four or five hours ago. Now providence, or maybe Merlin himself, positioned them together on the sofa. The spark was further kindled during the discussion when Eileen returned with a tray of beverages designed for adult consumption; it was the last few bottles of her hidden stores. Two hands reached for the same glass and instead found the spark grew to a warm ember at the simple touch; the only response he received was a light, half hidden smile.

“Remus, you missed the point completely, don’t you agree, Prongs?”

“Pardon? My mind drifted for a minute.”

A few well placed ‘hrumps’ and a muffled faux cough from the scheming pair of Marauders against one of their own earned a round of well deserved “Sod-off’s”.

Eileen had missed the connection with the snickering and simply corrected the statement. “Remus thinks that Harry’s here to fix our mistakes. Or at least find a solution we haven’t.”

“I don’t understand how after all the years he’s ruled the planet, that one man could stop this insanity.” Alycia finally broke her silence. She had listened and watched the group of wizards in this heated discussion, and had points of ignorance that she needed correcting. She leaned over to the table as she spoke to refill to her glass, and when she sat back she nudged her way just a little closer to James. A subtle shift he did not miss.

“Alycia, there are different levels of wizard power, some never fully develop their abilities, we call them squibs, most have a fair ability to channel the forces we call magic, and they can accomplish small tasks such as manipulating an object’s mass to rearrange it into whatever is needed. But that is temporary and that object will eventually revert back.” Remus began his lesson, only to be interrupted by another teacher.

“Most people think we have a limitless power to alter objects and even affect the elements, we can’t. Anything we change magically will, in time, revert back to its original state with certain exceptions. For instance, our wands have objects inside that have magical properties of their own, and we learn to channel the surrounding magic through our bodies through the wands to perform whatever spell or charm we intend, using an appropriate incantation.” Eileen added as she handed Alycia her wand. All outward appearances displayed nothing more then a thin rod of wood with highly detailed carvings.

“My wand is made from spruce, it’s a softer wood, but has a dragon’s heartstring as its core. Most magic is done using a wand, although it is possible to cast spells without using a wand. But for most wizards results are unfocused and dangerous. Harry is one of the rare cases of a wizard able to perform wandless magic.” Eileen continued in her lesson.

“There have been wizards in our history that exhibited the abilities that Harry has, but they are rare. Lord Voldemort has a power that no one else had been able to match.”

“The inherent problem with a wand is it takes time to conjure the spell and if the movements aren’t precise, the spell either won’t work or won’t have the power needed. That’s Harry’s advantage. Without the wand, he can perform the spells faster with more raw energy, in theory, of course.”

The magical theory banter between Eileen and Remus appeared to the others as a tennis match, one picking up where the other left off. James and Sirius watched in mild amusement at Moony’s enjoyment at teaching magical theory to a muggle.

“The point is,” Sirius jumped into the fray, “that all of this hinges on what Harry’s willing to do. The truth is none of us really knows him or Hermione. All we have is their word and very little proof.”

“I know you don’t believe me. I understand that.” Harry commented while leaning on the doorframe to the bedroom. “She’s finally asleep, so I thought I’d come out to help figure this mess out, it looks like I was just in time.”

“Look, kid, it’s not that we don’t believe you, so far everything you’ve said and done is true, from Alycia and Eileen down to that pile of scribble you claim is Parseltongue. I never knew it had a written language, and since you two seem to be the only ones that can read the bloody thing, you have to understand our, or at least my, skepticism.” Remus verbalised. “And you’ve been creative in your side, what with me being a werewolf in your world. There’s no doubting you look like James, but that’s too convenient.”

“So this is to be another interrogation, I thought we had that behind us.”

“I think what Moony’s point is, if we’re to follow you blindly, we need some concrete proof.” Sirius added.

Calmly, he walked into the room and joined the discussion. “The only proof I can give is my word. If that’s not sufficient, then all I can say is when Hermione wakes we’ll leave. We wanted to find answers to why we are here, not turn friends against us. I know I speak for her on this, I won’t put any of you in harm’s way.”

“Then maybe this is all a waste of time. You built up our hopes to crush them. Thanks a lot.” James ranted at Harry.

“We had to live like animals then out of nowhere you and that witch just happens to pop in…”

“We didn’t just happen to pop in.” They heard from the bedroom doorway. “There’s something guiding us, I’m certain of it.”

Harry stood and quickly went to her aid, only moments before he managed to calm her so she could rest. “Love, please try to rest, we’ll figure this out somehow.” He cooed to her softly.

She looked at him and rolled her eyes in frustration, “Really, Harry. How many times do I have to remind you, or have you forgotten who you are and who your parents’ were?” She handed him his rucksack as if to settle a point.

Remus leaned to Sirius and whispered with a smirk “Guess that proves they really are married.”

Unfortunately, she did hear that comment and shot him a look of death that made him cringe under her glare.

Harry held the sack in his hands with a confused look, causing her to sigh loudly as she grabbed the bag from his hands. She rummaged through one of the side pockets until she produced a very old and worn wizard photo of a wizard and witch playing with a baby. She handed this first to James who looked puzzled ant his picture with these two strangers.

“That’s me? But who’s the woman?”

“That’s mum and me. Her name was Lily. You both died about a month after that was taken. Sirius took it shortly after he became my Godfather.”

“And if you want more proof,” she added, “I have a pensieve Harry gave me a long time ago, there are special memories…”

“No, this one will do.” Harry produced his on the table, at which she sucked in a mouthful of air. She knew the specific memory he had thought about, it was still the most difficult one for him, even after twelve years.

“Harry, are you sure? I don’t think you should.”

“Yes, this will prove it. Sirius, since you’ve got the most doubt, there’s one memory I have about you. I’ll let you see it, if you want.”

Hermione knew the outcome, and before he could open it, she grabbed Sirius’ arm, “Please, don’t. It’s his memory of when you died.” He could see the look in her eyes and saw the expression on Remus’ face as he looked at Harry’s picture; he recognized the girl.

“Sirius, this is that girl I told you about, when I tried to save Vicky.” He said after watching for a few moments.

“What girl?” Harry demanded. Hermione pulled him aside, hoping the revelations wouldn’t hurt as much from her.

“Darling,” she began while holding his hands gently. “Remus witnessed a girl being taken by Voldemort’s thugs. The girl he described had to have been Lily, but I wasn’t certain, so I didn’t tell you. That’s why James never met her.” Harry looked at her as she spoke to read any hidden information, in all the years they’ve been together; there were very few things she managed to hide from him. All he could read from her expression was this was the truth as she believed it.

She expected him to react differently, but he simply nodded and turned to Remus, “She was killed, wasn’t she?” The Marauder simply nodded. Harry balled his fist and re-forged his resolve to deal with this vermin personally. Any doubts they still held vanished as they witnessed the personal interaction between the couple.

Hermione released his hands while muttering to herself about how she wished Ron were here to plan this out, and turned to the others. “We need a plan and I may have an idea.”

“Break into the Ministry itself? Spirit, are you daft?” Moony asked.

“Moony, we have no other choice. We know where they are and there’s only one solution.”

“No, Stag, we can ride it out here, no one knows us and we can blend in.” Remus continued his thoughts. Sirius and James both nodded, letting one member of their group speak for them all. Eileen sat quietly and listened, still unfamiliar with these new names being fired about.

“Remus, Harry’s right, there’s no other choice. And we have one advantage; Harry and I aren’t known here.” Hermione continued to defend her plan.

The Marauders all listened and considered every option. The team began creating and rejecting possible plans to correct the atrocities of this world; atrocities created because of a series of events that never happened. Everyone here knew the details of those events, and not a soul blamed her for this reality. After all, if she was never born to save her ancestor, how could she be blamed for this world? During the first few days the group locked themselves away to build a master plan. That plan seemed simple enough, but each step needed details, each step was fraught with danger.

Get into the Ministry; isolate Voldemort from any guards while Eileen and Hermione stand watch to prevent his supporters from helping. James, Remus and Sirius will attack from three angles, to divert his attention. And Finally Harry will use his spell to again destroy Voldemort.

These few steps seemed straightforward, and the decision to implement the attack would not be made until after each step had been mapped out, with all contingencies defined. This would require time to think out each possible scenario. Sirius had been the driving force behind spending as much time as possible creating a foolproof plan of action, although not because he was afraid to jump in to the fire, or that this was too dangerous. Time was needed for this group to meld into an effective team; they all came from diverse backgrounds, they had skills that needed to be shared and internal wounds to be healed. He also noticed that now there were two couples that needed some personal time, one to heal and the other to grow. James and Alycia’s smoldering ember had found fuel to grow, and Sirius could see Hermione’s distress at this world’s plight.

Harry knew this area well, as did Hermione. In that first week, they spent every evening alone, they left the haven of Ponce Inlet for an undisclosed location. They went to that same beach on the isolated island where they left Alycia in the care of the Marauders. It was that same beach they visited in their magical summer together when she offered herself to him on his birthday; the same spot he whisked her to just a few nights ago. It was a spot of refuge. It was a spot they always felt close and intimate even when they simply watched the moon in the distance, as they did on these nights. This was the spot where they fully shared their deepest feelings with each other.

No one asked or attempted to follow them when they left each night. In the morning when they returned, her outlook was a little brighter. After a short while, she put aside her guilt for this world’s problems and the confidence and emotional stability returned to her, all with Harry’s understanding and love. She was making peace with herself, and he was giving her the tranquility to make that peace.

While James and Alycia found comfort in each other from the ruins of this world, Hermione was the only one that didn’t notice the attraction. Her mind had been preoccupied. Harry liked and approved of the idea of his father and her mother, although it did seem strange at first. Harry considered the possible outcomes, and one such possibility seemed too remote. Since she was nearly fifty, and a muggle, she was probably past her time to raise a family.

James offered to retrieve any personal belongings from the house in Victoria Park, and the few things Alycia wanted only required a single trip; a few family items and a single bag of clothes. Alycia began to exit her cocoon under James’ attentiveness by raiding Eileen’s wardrobe for a different type of attire. She began dressing as a woman, instead of a nondescript lump. Her transformation began gradually, first by adding light breezy skirts to her ensemble; then the bulky jumpers were replaced with light cotton blouses that began to reduce in coverage over time.

The youngest woman in the group had been too self-consumed with her conscience over this world, and how to rectify the problem, to notice. It caused her to miss the evolution of two members in the group. It took a startling discovery on her part to finally notice the budding romance. One evening while they stayed in Ponce Inlet, Hermione stood on their balcony looking out to the ocean. She had resumed her nervous habit, as she rubbed her scar through the thin blouse she wore. She was returning to her self imposed prison, when she sensed the presence of another. She continued to look from their vantage point out to the beach, and noticed a couple walking along the edge, ignoring the waves as they lapped at their feet. The couple stopped frequently, holding each other in a tight embrace. Their faces were obscured by the hiding moonlight, rays danced through the clouds keeping the couple in the shadows. Hermione watched the two, who were obviously involved with each other, when she felt a pair of hands on her waist.

A smile crept on her face; the moon seemed to be enticing others into liaisons. The couple on the beach became a distant thought, as she felt those same hands find their way tighter around her waist. She tilted her head slightly as she felt his cheek brush past her hair, her eyes closed. He lightly kissed the side of her neck, lingering at an exposed ear. She was grateful his arms were around her, she was certain her knees had melted. One hand remained on her hip as the other slipped under her loose blouse, lightly caressing her stomach. His hand lingered, she could feel the warmth of his touch.

They stood on the balcony, in more than just a simple embrace. She could feel the Earth moving beneath her feet as it continued on its endless journey. She lingered in the peaceful moment of two lovers simply standing in the moonlight.

“They look so good together, don’t they?” He broke the silence, but not the moment.

“Yes, they look so much in love; I hope we still have that feeling when we’ve been together that long.” She sighed.

“No, we’ve got a head start on them; it took us seven years to get to that point. It’s only taken them a couple of weeks.”

“Don’t be silly, they…” she finally got a good look at them as the clouds released a ray of moonlight on them. “MOTHER?”

Her sudden exclamation at the revelation wasn’t loud enough to be heard on the beach, with the sound of the ocean licking at the edge of the land with its mild waves. Hermione watched in surprise, as father and son seemed to be of the same mind with mother and daughter.

She stood in mild shock as she again watched the couple on the beach share what should have been a private and intimate moment. Harry chuckled at her sudden discovery, and did his best to prevent another outburst. She pushed him away, having lost the moment.

“Where’s the harm? In this world, neither had married nor ever been attached. I think it’s brilliant. Creepy, but brilliant.”

She turned to face him, but angled the conversation so they could still watch the couple on the beach. “But that’s your father with my MOTHER! Harry that’s too… too…”

“Weird? Yeah, I thought about it when I saw them at first, but seriously, I think they deserve some happiness. Just look at them.”

“But…”

“They’re actually happy. Haven’t you noticed your mum open up more? She’s really quite attractive, you know.”

“HARRY!”

“Well, I have been sleeping with her daughter for ten years.” He grinned. “So I may be somewhat partial.”

She was still stunned and simply watched as her mother continued doing what most would expect from a pair of teenagers, not middle-aged adults.

“Besides, I’ve only seen that look on his face in pictures, when he was with mum; I want to remember him like that. And your mum has that glow you have. They are quite taken with each other.”

“But…” The thought that this world was somehow playing a vicious joke on her wasn’t lost, but Harry was right, James and Alycia were as happy together as she and Harry were. They deserved it too, she rationalised. In truth, she wasn’t shocked, but more surprised they had found an attraction.

Harry resumed his advances, mirroring the actions on the distant sand. Hermione was still in mild shock at the scene below, but there was a definite magic from his lips that made her forget, or at the very least, begin to accept.

The following day, Hermione spent most of the morning actually watching her mum and his dad as they interacted with each other. She could tell that Harry was right, they were good together. As if nature conceded that these two families had to be together. She watched them at breakfast and noticed an obvious glow in her mother when the couple was close. She also began to really notice her mother’s appearance becoming more like that which she remembered, not the nondescript lump she met in this world.

James, for all his years living as a recluse with two other men, seemed to know how to treat a woman. He gave her just enough attention to let her know she was special, but not too much to blatantly display his affections. Remus and Sirius seemed to ignore the change in their trio’s dynamics, as if there was an unspoken rule about accepting another’s mate into the fold, should it happen.

Harry leaned in closer to Hermione at the table, and whispered “That must have been the way they were with mum, open and accepting.”

“It makes me a bit upset, actually.” She replied.

“Why? I thought you liked the thought of them last night.”

“I was thinking of Luna, how we never really made her feel like she was one of us. Just look at how Remus and Sirius have taken to her, as if she’s been a part of them all along.”

Their whispered conversation at the table raised a couple of eyebrows, and a few loud coughs.

“What?” He asked to no one in particular. “Can’t a bloke whisper his intentions to his wife in peace?”

That remark earned him a slap on the shoulder and a few smirks around the table.

“Oh let him be, Spirit,” Remus piped in.

“It wouldn’t be an issue if you carried out your intentions once in a while.” She teased as she stood and left the table amid murmurs from the others.

“And there goes Stag in a glorious blaze.” Sirius joked.

Harry stood and followed his wife from the table. She headed for their bedroom, but stopped at the door when she noticed he had started to follow her. She motioned to him to meet on the balcony as she slipped into the bedroom.

With a slight change in stride, he altered his course, crossing the main room of the apartment to the balcony. He sat at wrought-iron table to wait for her to join him. He gave a gentle wave of his hand, and a tray appeared with a pair of cups and a matching tea pot. He poured the steaming contents into the cups and gently set the pot on the table. His wait would end sooner than expected.

The moment the teapot lighted on the table, his hand tightened on the handle. His hand began to shake and he lost all feeling in his body, the edges of his vision blurred and darkened. The soundless void was returning; he felt a nauseating pull from his abdomen. His eyes rolled back into his head and all colour disappeared.

“Harry, I wanted to go over these pages again, there’s bound to be some…” Hermione had stepped onto the balcony chatting away, when she heard a distinctive crunching sound. He had snapped the teapot’s handle and was grinding it in his hand. She cut short her thoughts, dropping the papers and instinctively fell to his side.

“Harry! What happened?” she held his cheeks in her hands and pulled his face to hers. She was not frightened nor was she worried, this was an all too familiar occurrence, but one nearly forgotten with time.

His eyes opened and locked onto hers, but they were cold and empty, as if he was looking through her into another reality. His mouth opened to speak, but it wasn’t his voice. The voice she heard spoke in a monotonous, detached way that was so unlike him.

The one the dark lord marked will come with his spirit
They shall join with their blood to stand against the tide;
Their kin will complete what the witch lost began.

His head fell back, eyes shut, into her arms, as if he had collapsed from exhaustion. She could tell it was over; the nightmare passed when the rigidity of his body faded, and he slowly began to revive.

The others had crowded the balcony door when Sirius noticed she had apparently slipped and was on her knees, the chair Harry occupied was not visible from the kitchen. The sight of Harry just recovering and the fresh blood from the gouges in his hand sent a chilling message to the rest. They waited patiently for her explanation.

“His mum was a seer,” she said, never taking her eyes from him, “and he used to have visions in his sleep, but they haven’t happened since we’ve been together, I thought they were gone.” He moaned as he regained consciousness, shaking off the feeling he’d missed something.

“What happened? I felt as if I were falling.”

“You had a vision and…” Hermione paused before continuing, not knowing if the others had heard him. “You said something of a riddle.”

His eyes snapped open at the mention of the word. He looked at her expression, hoping to divine some additional meaning from those words. But she held a mask to block anyone from discovering what may have been an ominous prediction.

She remembered a familiar bundle of papers recently discarded on the floor as they began to rustle and threatened to blow off the balcony. Eileen also noticed the wind picking up and retrieved the documents before they were lost. She looked them over and the writing hadn’t changed. All the sheets contained were undecipherable squiggles and lines. All except one page, it remained blank.

“Bring him inside, he’ll be more comfortable.” James offered, but Harry waved him off.

“No, I’m fine.” Harry replied, as he began to wrap his hand in a napkin.

“Well at least let us take care of that, that looks deep, it must hurt.” Eileen reached for his wounded hand, but Hermione stopped her.

“He’s my responsibility,” she smiled and took his hand in hers. She pressed her other hand on top, and a warming glow began to radiate through her hands into his open wound. She had done this many times before, and a few times before she even realized her power.

Eileen watched, as did the others. A true healer was rare, most used spells and potions, and had some ability to heal a wound, but not with the ease she demonstrated without a wand. Eileen reached for his hand after Hermione released him and removed the blood soaked napkin to reveal a flawless palm with no sign of damage.

“It’s a natural gift.” She shrugged it off as she put her hand out for her papers. Eileen still held them tightly, still trying to absorb the scene she just witnessed. In truth, all the others were impressed, except Alycia.

“So, isn’t that normal? I always thought you people could do things of that sort?”

James placed a hand on her shoulder and whispered, “I’ll explain it later, love. She really is extraordinary.” Alycia nodded her acceptance.

Hermione helped Harry to the table, and motioned to the Marauders for some privacy. She picked up his hand again as if to further examine it, “He’ll be fine, there’s no harm done. Can I have a few minutes alone?” She asked looking to James.

James slapped his two old friends on the shoulder and put his arm around Alycia. Eileen looked to Hermione, then back to the others, who appeared to have lost all interest in the events of the past five minutes.

“Hermione, I…” she put a finger to his lips and then placed her lips to his. At this, they were left alone.

“I don’t want them to know what you said, not yet.” She whispered as she put her head to his shoulder, imitating a hug. “This is something else to decipher, you said something that sounded ominous, and then I remembered this sheet.” She whispered as she sat back in her chair pointing to the blank sheet.

He picked up the single sheet from the table and held it, examining the sheet as words raced across the page.

“Merlin gave this to me and I forgot about it, it fell from the diary I had, and that’s when I remembered about it. He said it would reveal any prophecies to the holder. I only saw a jumble of words when I held it earlier.”

“That’s all I saw, too. I read this the day we came here.”

“You saw this before? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was that important, nothing made sense then. But there were more phrases on it before, now all it says is ‘Dark Lord marked… his spirit… their blood…’”

“Strange, all I can see is ‘The one… shall join… witch lost…’ and what you said last night seemed to almost make sense.”

He looked at the sheet again, thinking what she had said, but the words remained unchanged. She sat closer and reached for the sheet, to take look and see the words he saw, but when they both held it the entire verse he recited earlier appeared.

The one the dark lord marked will come with his spirit
They shall join with their blood to stand against the tide;
Their kin will complete what the witch lost began.

“Let it go for a moment,” she said, and the phrases shifted to those few she had read earlier. “That is the exact phrase you said moments ago.”

“This must be meant for the both of us, since it only appeared when we both touched it.” Harry offered. “But what could it mean?”

They spent the remainder of the morning trying to understand the meaning.

---

It was nearing the end of June; a month had passed since Harry and Hermione Potter came to this world. The time passed comfortably for the Marauders as they grew accustomed to the relaxed Florida lifestyle. The years and struggles spent in the shack in Godric’s Hollow were all but forgotten. Life was peaceful. The two remaining ‘bachelors’ discovered the wonders and inherent relaxation of fishing; they spent many hours of their days sitting on one of the bay’s many docks with a pole and a can of bait. The plan to help remove the evil now seemed forgotten. The news from abroad via the propaganda networks remained unchanged; the news never reported the continuing abuses to the non-wizarding world.

The identities of the group staying with Eileen Madison remained a mystery to nearly all the local residents of Ponce Inlet; Eileen had taken a couple of close friends in the local wizard community, Chrissy and Steve Linter, into her confidence about her house guests and they were introduced only to Harry and Hermione. These contacts helped Hermione and Harry to remain focused on the tasks before them, even if the three older wizards were content to stay where they were. The news from Britain wasn’t the only information the newcomers provided; detailed but encrypted information on the day to day activities of certain members of the elite filtered from the underground networks overseas to the network in Florida through them.

Hermione had asked Eileen about the loyalties of these two, and the answer Eileen gave was easier to believe than to question. In the fifty years Voldemort had oppressed the planet, support for a rebellion had been difficult to build, but not impossible. Each new leader of the opposition found they had a shortened life expectancy once they were discovered. To this end, the opposition leadership appeared to be nearly invisible.

The underground alliances had been growing over the years in small networks isolated from each other so one could not reveal another. These resistance networks cooperated with each other through covert methods; using clandestine message drops and cryptic ciphers in their messages. Some messages were carefully planted using local media coverage of seemingly mundane events. Messages delivered by news reporters with local stories of human interest or ‘feel-good’ events such as neighborhood celebrations. The actual messages usually revolved around combining key facts from several stories and rearranging these facts to form messages, either of an upcoming meeting, or planned event.

Each network consisted of a number of cells, with only a couple members in each cell. Each cell had only one leader and none of the leaders knew any other leaders of any other cells. This way if a member of a cell had been caught, the damage to the network was minimized. Each cell leader received instructions from a source that remained hidden, the head of the network, through the cryptic media announcements. Most of the underground networks operated in the ‘old world’ of Europe, although a few operated in the other countries, and in the former United States, a number of larger networks operated throughout the land.

Eileen had introduced Harry and Hermione to members of one such cell in the Eastern Resistance Network; they were a brother and sister team that was a part of a cell that had been a particular annoyance to the ruling factions. Chrissy and Steve Linter had grown up in this world, to them, trust had to be earned on a daily basis, they trusted each other, and no one else. The rest of the wizards in this world were treated with extreme caution. Even other members of their own cell were not trusted completely. Their suspicions of Eileen abated every day when they rendezvoused with her on their terms and she satisfied the daily scrutiny, however nervous she appeared. On the day she introduced the Potters, the limits of that caution and safeguards had been put to the test. Eileen was a member of their cell, but her role was to remain behind and function as a coordinator. This cell had lost their leader nearly a year earlier in a raid that was designed to capture all the members, only Eileen and the Linters escaped, the others were executed without a trial. This was the reason for their caution, and why Eileen was trusted as much as she was, since she was the last member of that original cell.

Chrissy and Steve were not as powerful as the Potters; they drew that fact from the lack of information on them. Only those of power could effectively hide for as long as they obviously have. Steve knew most cell leaders achieved that rank either by attrition, namely the deaths of their predecessor or by exhibiting greater powers or skills then the others. It was also common knowledge that network leaders had the same quality of power over cell leaders. They also had the advantage of anonymity within their own commands. Steve instinctively felt the power of this new wizard and that of his wife at their first meeting, even though neither of the pair performed so much as a lumos.

In that first meeting, Eileen did the majority of the talking, introducing both couples and giving Chrissy and Steve as much information as she dared about the Potters. Hermione’s only comments were in the form of an initial request, that of information. Harry remained quiet, letting Hermione and Eileen drive the meeting. Both Chrissy and Steve had dealt with this situation, having the strength to lay in the background. Neither of the couples underestimated the other; and neither pair had noticed a soft scraping sound near the site of that first meeting.

Their second meeting was again on the Linters’ terms, in a location a bit too remote for Harry and Hermione’s taste. But this was the beginning of the information feed to complete the first step of their plan, entry into the Ministry back home, and another step, to identify a pattern they could exploit.

Their third meeting had been arranged for more detailed daily activities of the ‘ruling class’ but there were specific people they were interested in. This time, Harry opened the meeting.

“Steve, all this lurking around is overkill.” he stated. “Look, I understand you being cautious, but this is too much. If you want our help, then drop the ‘cloak and dagger’ mystery.”

“If that’s the way you feel, Mr. Potter, then I believe our business is done. Don’t try to contact us again, and Eileen, don’t expect us to contact you either. For all we know you’ve turned to ‘them’.”

“She’s not part of ‘them’, as you put it.” Harry came to her defence, “I’m tired of this waiting. The longer we wait, the longer this is going to take to get rid of him, again.”

“Again? Like you’ve done this before?” Steve remarked skeptically. “No one’s survived facing his personal guards, let alone facing him.”

“That’s where you are mistaken. Harry and I both faced them all, but in a different reality. We’re not from this world.”

Before another word was spoken, Steve’s wand had been drawn, pointed directly at Harry, while Chrissy had hers trained on Hermione.

Harry stared at the couple and passed his hand in front of them, “Put those down, we are not your enemies.” He said passively.

Chrissy lowered her wand, Steve’s arm began to move, and he shook his head, as if waking from a dream. “I said our business is through.” He again raised his wand at Harry.

“Steve, lower your wand, I have no intention of harming you.” Harry raised his hand again, palm out as if to stop Steve’s actions.

A red stunner erupted from Steve’s wand, striking Harry, or more precisely, his hand. His hand began to glow from the spell as it engulfed his hand and arm. Harry smiled, as the spell was absorbed by his own magic. He still stood with his arm outstretched, but his hand gesture changed, and his arm lowered to waist level. He left his hand in a handshake gesture and waited. In the background a sixth pair of eyes watched the exchange and they scurried to safety.

“We are here to help. If I thought either of you would or could harm us, do you think I’d allow you to keep your wands?”

“If you two ‘boys’ are quite through flexing your ‘oh so powerful muscles’, can we deal with the problem at hand?” Hermione interjected. Chrissy’s arm hadn’t moved, and she stared blankly as Harry’s display truly shocked her. She and Steve had power and skill, and to have survived this long in the resistance was proof of that. But here stood a wizard that could not be stunned.

Steve shared his sister’s blank look, “H-how?” he managed to stammer. He noticed for the first time neither had displayed a wand since their first meeting. He had simply assumed they were concealed.

“He has no need of a wand, and I have some of that ability, but I still need to use mine for stronger spells.” Hermione commented, as her wand was now free of its concealment and in a defensive posture directed at the girl opposite her. She knew without a glance that Harry had a knowing grin on his face, or at least he would have had one if this wasn’t a dire position.

Steve and Chrissy both dropped their wands, but they flew into Harry’s free hand before they could hit the floor. His other hand was still outstretched waiting to take Steve’s. But Steve stood stone still as he remained proud and defiant in defeat. Harry raised his other hand to return the wands to their owners. That gesture, and Hermione lowering her wand to her side, was all that was needed. Steve took the hand in a new friendship, unsure where this would end.

“Now that we have an understanding, can we please resume our endeavors? We need detailed movements of these people.” Hermione handed a sheet of paper to Chrissy, as she returned her wand to her cloak pocket. The list of names had been compiled from the intelligence gathered to date; the name at the top was unmistakable. The others were new and some unknown to Steve and Chrissy, but they assured the Potters that they would now deepen their contacts and gain what new information they could.

On the top of the list were names familiar to the Potters, people they had battled against, the second on the list was that of Lucious Malfoy, with a notation to identify his family. Bellatrix Black was the third name, Peter Pettigrew followed and in order of remembered importance to Voldemort, other well known Death Eaters.

“And you want detailed movements of all of these people? That would be difficult, with the first names on this list, the Dark Lord rarely keeps a predefined schedule. Malfoy would be an easier target since he keeps regular hours at his business. And this one, Bellatrix Black isn’t her name; I assume you mean the Dark One’s consort, Bella.” One by one Steve and Chrissy read the list and detailed issues and potential problems tracking each one.

“We can get most of this for you, but it will take some time for it to be reliable, several weeks at least.” Chrissy added.

Hermione frowned, spending a few more weeks in this twisted reality would be unpleasant, but knowing they would soon leave Florida did give her hope for their future. “We’ll expect reports on these wizards soon.” She said finally, nodding to Harry that it was time for them to leave. “And enough with the clandestine meetings, it’s uncalled for.”

Steve shook his head, “No, it’s not safe to meet in the open. We’ll contact you when we have more information.” They stood together and the brother and sister raised their wands and vanished.

The remaining three left for the apartment building back in Ponce Inlet, Eileen had witnessed the entire confrontation; the display of sheer power from Harry, as effortless as breathing, both awed her and frightened her. She was still, fortunately for her, on their side.

---

That night they went to bed early since their companions all seemed to be otherwise occupied. Hermione conceded to the fact that her mother was deeply involved with a man that wasn’t her father, the fact it was James did lessen the shock, lately, some of their late moonlight walks lasted until morning. Remus had discovered a local library with a section for wizards, and asked Eileen for a number of volumes to read, some for entertainment, and others to further his knowledge. That night he adjourned to the privacy of his room with one of these books. Sirius remained in the main lounge, mesmerised by the muggle device Eileen kept, a television. He had soon fallen asleep in front of the set. Hermione stayed in Harry’s arms but in a light sleep.

Only Eileen remained up leaving the other rooms in the apartment empty, waiting for James and Alycia to return. She had curled up with a book in a large overstuffed chair opposite from where Sirius snored in front of the television. Hermione heard a loud raspy sound from the outer rooms and woke from her sleep. She slipped out of their bed and left Harry in a deep sleep, not wanting to disturb him. She walked silently down the darkened hall into the room were Eileen was reading and sat in a chair next to her cousin. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. The look on her face spoke more to Eileen then the book in her lap.

“What’s the matter? You two have a fight?”

“No, it’s nothing like that, I was thinking about Chrissy and Steve, how many more like them will we have to convince and win over? I’m beginning to see the fruitlessness of this endeavor.” She said as she sat with her face half covered by her knees.

“Don’t worry about them, they’re good at what they do, and they may be just as scared, this life is all they know. If it all goes away maybe they won’t know how to deal with things.”

She sat there with her face still in her knees as she started to gently rock back and forth. Harry turned over in bed as a cold sweat began to break on his brow.

“Is there something else bothering you? I find it difficult to believe worrying about Chrissy and Steve has you this worked up.” She put her book on the table next to them. The silence that followed was sharply interrupted by a loud snore from the chair in front of the television.

“I guess I miss home, our home. It’s not here in this world, you know. All that exists is a crude shack they’ve been living in for years.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“There’s got to be more to it.”

“It’s just that…”

“You think somehow this is your fault. It’s not. This is just the way it is.”

“But it’s not. This isn’t how it is in my world with Harry.”

Harry began to thrash about while still in a deep sleep; the sheets became heavy with sweat. He began to feel himself fall.

“Did you cause any of this?”

“Well, no, but…”

“Did you plan for any of this to happen?”

“No, but…”

“Then there’s nothing to worry over, this isn’t your fault, if anything I’d say it’s the fault of whoever it was that caused you to make that trip back.”

“But that’s just it; I never made that trip in this reality. That’s why Hermia died. That’s why Harry never existed.”

Harry’s thrashing suddenly stopped as he continued to fall through the abyss; she wasn’t there and he was alone. There was nothing, the void was endless. Harry felt something he hadn’t felt in years, his scar began to burn.

The images came into focus in his mind. The sensation was so real; he could smell the staleness of the darkened hall. The stone walls and floor seemed to have grown that way, each seam between the rocks was tight, not so much as a strand of hair could fit. He looked down, his feet glided well above the floor; he looked up to the ceiling. It was less than an arm’s length distance.

That’s when he saw her huddled in the fringe of light cast in the hall as she strained to listen. In the dark chamber at the end of hall, the black night sky was pouring in through the slits that formed the windows to the outside world. Inside the chamber a dark hooded figure and an armour clad soldier shared a conversation.

Harry watched the figure as he spoke, his features were clear. He wore dark armour, and held a helmet obviously used to hide his face. He could see the scars on the warrior; a slash from brow to chin left one eye empty, covered with a patch, riveted to his flesh. His hair pulled into tight plaits that trailed down his back. The chest plate glistened in the dull glow of the room, dark chain mail evident beneath. To his side, he could see a weapon, unlike any he had ever seen, and the hilt of a sword peeked from the cloak, but no indication of the end protruded from the back.

“My master, my spy has been monitoring the brother and sister and informed me that they have been recruiting others to build their ranks for an attack. We must crush them before they strike first.”

He spoke to the mysterious figure, a face withered from age hidden behind the dark hood of a cloak, but only a leathered chin and nose could be seen. He sat on his throne, a regale figure unafraid to show his air of authority. By his hand, a metallic cylinder rested within easy grasp.

“No, my loyal servant. We will wait until the time is right. We have the luxury of time. They suspect nothing of my plans. Return to your post and wait for the signal.”

“As you wish.”

The soldier stood, bowed deeply and exited the chamber, leaving the seated figure alone. He could sense a smile form on the withered face before the dream faded.

“Think about it, if you didn’t exist you couldn’t go back. But if you did exist, then somehow Hermia survived in your time without your help. Maybe in your reality she wasn’t as bad off as you think she was.” Eileen continued her conversation. Hermione continued sitting there holding her legs as if she wanted to curl into a ball.

“You didn’t see her, you didn’t…”

A sharp crash broke the cycle of self-pity and self doubt as they saw Harry stagger in the room and collapse, pulling a small table to the floor. They both jumped from their seats, as Harry managed to pull himself to his knees. He looked at Hermione with a look of fright that had been absent for more then ten years. The paleness of his face told her that he’d had another dream, and she silently cursed herself for leaving him to sleep alone; it was something she hadn’t done since their summer alone here in this reality.

“H-he’s coming. H-he knows…” he said as he fell to his side.

“Harry!” She screamed, as she knelt at his side and pulled his head to her lap. She remembered his dreams and she remembered how real they were. This was the second time this month he'd had a vision, and for that matter, the second in the past ten years.

“Hermione? What’s wrong? Is he ok?” Eileen asked sharply as they both stayed at his side.

She ignored Eileen’s inquiries and pulled his face to hers to look deep into his eyes, hoping this was not the beginning of another of his visions of death. “Harry! Wake up, it’s me…” she screamed at him.

His eyes opened and locked onto hers, but they were cold and full of the same fear he had abandoned in his childhood. His mouth moved to speak, but nothing passed his lips. He slumped into her arms and she slipped to the floor, supporting his larger frame as best she could. Instinctively he held onto her the way a drowning man would hold a life belt thrown to him in the dark.

The crash and screaming woke Sirius from his television-induced trance and also brought Remus from his room, still holding his book from the wizards' library. She held him, his head in her lap, his arms wrapped around her arm. His eyes began moving rapidly under their lids and she felt his body tense. Before she could react, he pushed himself up, rolled off and began to retch. Instinctively she stayed with him until his nausea passed and he rolled over to rest on his back.

“Mione?” he mumbled, his eyes shut stiff.

“I’m right here.” She reassured him. She passed a hand over the bile that began to soak into the rug and ran down his neck, cleansing him and the area. She scooted closer so she could let him rest his head in her lap as she began to stroke his sweat-matted hair. “It’s ok, love, let it go.”

His eyes snapped open, but his head remained in her lap.

“I saw him, Voldemort. He knows we’re here. He knows about Chrissy and Steve. They’re in danger. It’s our fault.”

“Shhhh… we’ll get to the bottom of this in a moment. Just give yourself some time.” she cooed, trying to soothe him.

“I had… a vision,” he mumbled, “like before.”

“Hermione, let’s get him on the sofa.” Remus said, as he reached down to grab an arm. She nodded and rose to her knees, picking him up by his other arm while Sirius grabbed him by the feet to help carry him to the sofa. She resumed her spot at his side, refusing to let his hand go.

Eileen returned with a small vial of green fluid. “Here, this will help calm him.”

Hermione sniffed at it and inhaled the minty fragrance. She put it to his lips and let him drink it. “What is it?” she asked as he started to cough and gag.

“Mint Liquor, it helps calm my nerves and stomach when I feel ill.”

She gave Eileen an annoyed look, and returned her attention to her husband. “Harry, you’re fine, it was another dream. Just don’t think about it. It’s over.” She tried to calm him and soothe his mind, she remembered how the visions in his past nearly fractured his mind, and sent him to the brink of suicide.

“NO! Let him remember!” Remus interrupted, “If he’s a true seer, then he can help. Did he say anything?”

“Leave us alone, Lupin!” Hermione snapped, “They’ll kill him.”

“Not if we help him understand. We need to know what he saw.”

She lifted her arm instinctively and stretched her fingers in his direction; crackles of red bolts began to snap from her fingertips. “He’s MY husband.” She hissed.

Harry began to stir on the sofa, her other hand still lay tensely in his; he reached his free hand up to her outstretched arm and held it, breaking her concentration. “No. I’m alright,” he said, as he started to sit up. “I’m a big boy now.”

“What did you mean ‘They’ll kill him’? Who’s going to…”

“That was a long time ago,” he began, giving Hermione a knowing look. She glared back, not giving her approval, but still supporting him. “I started having visions in my fifth year; Voldemort was trying to get into my head. Dumbledore and Snape taught me how to block them, but they worsened in the following summer.”

“He pushed us all away and the visions nearly led him to kill himself.” She added.

“They went away when she and I were together, as if she shields my mind from them. I’ve only had them if I’m alone while I sleep.”

“Do you remember the ones you just had? Can you describe them?” Remus asked, he produced a quill and parchment and started to jot down notes.

“Yes, but they almost always came true. I had…” he paused to think of those memories, and she sighed and nodded. “I saw Hermione die, and everything happened just as I saw it.”

“He started to document them before he…” She remembered every detail; the one time he said the one thing that nearly broke her heart, even before she would give it to him.

“Just before I had an argument with a friend. It was only a few weeks after I lost one of the most important people that came into my life. I had recurring dreams of the day of the battle with Voldemort, and they all involved Hermione. Some actually went from disturbing to calming; I had these visions of a man I’d never seen.”

Shock and surprise hit him, and he suddenly lurched from the sofa where he sat and ran into their bedroom. In a moment, he returned carrying an old worn tunic. “This tunic, that man in my dream always wore it or one like it anyway. Hermione, do you think that was Sir James? Do you think he was trying to reach across the centuries?”

“You always described him as an older man, with a short-cropped beard. It might be.” She replied. This exchange startled the others; they were concerned when he seemed to connect the tunic to his visions.

“This dream, Harry, describe it.” Moony insisted.

“It was as if I were watching from a distance. I could see Hermione huddled in a dark chamber; there was a slit of a window in the walls. I saw a dark, hooded figure and an armoured soldier talking. The soldier had dark armour and a helmet hid his face, but I could tell he was deeply scared.”

“He had a slash from his forehead to his chin, through his left eye…” Hermione added, with a tremble in her voice.

“Yes, but how?”

“He said he found a brother and sister that had been recruiting others. Harry, I had that same dream a long time ago, on the night before we were married. But there was another part, a meeting, I think.”

“I only saw the two you mentioned, talking about a brother and sister. It had to be about Chrissy and Steve. He knows, and I put them in danger.”

“Harry, you didn’t do a thing, they were already involved long before we got here. But if he knows, then we have to act quickly.” Eileen jumped in. “We need to at least warn them.”

The hour was past midnight , late, but not unreasonable. Eileen left the group and returned with a cloak and her wand. They were, after all, part of her cell, so it was her responsibility to try and warn them.

“Wait, you can’t go out there, alone.” Harry tried to stop her, but she frowned and walked toward the door. With a grabbing motion, he held her arm to stop her, and at that moment a familiar cloak floated into the hallway in front of her. “Take this, you may need it.”

“What?”

”My invisibility cloak, it might help, but I do expect it back.” He said with a slight grin as he let her leave.

---

Eileen stopped at a restaurant a block away from the apartment building, and sat at one of the tables. Within moments a tall, dark, cloaked man sat at the table opposite her. His features were concealed from view; all she could see was his long, crooked nose and the dark, slicked hair around his collar. The rest of his features were obscured behind the shadows. He spoke in a slow monotonous tone, choosing each word carefully.

“The master is aware of your activities; do you have anything else to report?”

“They know every detail, as if they have been inside. The man in question seems to have a mental connection with ‘him’ and sees events in the future.”

“Go on.”

“I, I shouldn’t be telling you this, they trust me.” She mumbled into her folded hands.

“Need I remind you of your sworn duties? And need I remind you what will happen should you fail?”

“No.” She said softly and sighed.

“Then finish your report.” He demanded.

“They are still tracking the Dark Lord’s movements and are planning a strike; they have also tracked Lord Malfoy and have expressed an interest in the Dark Lord’s consort. He has tried to teach his powers to the others, but so far he is alone in that skill. They have sent me to contact the others in my group, to warn them that the Dark Lord knows of them.”

“Good. This is as expected. Now go and warn the Linters, or they might suspect.” He stood and swept past her, she could sense the foreboding in him as he left.

She knew she had no other options but tell him what she knew, truthfully, as if he could read her mind. The internal conflicts of betrayal twisted her mind as the knot in her stomach grew and twisted. Being a spy was one matter, but being forced to be a spy was another. This was more then her conscience could bear. Once outside, she rounded the corner into an alley, the stress was taking its toll. She doubled over a dustbin and vomited what little she had in her stomach. No doubt others had seen this meeting. She knew if she were discovered she would die.

She picked herself up, and stole to the private owlery that held the only means to contact the Linters. She handed the sole owl a note and without having to explain further, the bird took flight.

---

The next meeting with the Linters had been arranged for later that week, but last night’s developments prompted them to make contact the next day. Against Harry’s insistence, another clandestine meeting was made. Steve insisted on continuing meeting this way, if they wanted to continue using their resources. Eileen led Harry and Hermione into the meeting at a location prearranged by Eileen. A basement room at the end of a dead end alley had been selected; the room had only one exit and only one window. Inside they found a simple wooden table with six chairs near a makeshift worktop with a single burner hotplate, a desk against the far wall next to a single bed, and an old chair next to a side table with a lamp. This was obviously someone’s apartment, someone willing to allow this kind of meeting in spite of the obvious dangers. The room was nearly void of life, only an unseen rodent waited.

The three were the first to arrive; Eileen entered the room first while Harry and Hermione waited at the door. She crossed the room to check if it was secure, and stopped at a small table against the wall and silently tipped a picture over. She motioned for the others to come in and they sat at the table, facing the door. Harry and Hermione sat next to each other while Eileen sat to the side. She was feeling more nervous then usual with the events of last night still fresh in her mind. Harry’s revelation of Voldemort mentioning a ‘brother and sister recruiting others’ and that this information was delivered through a spy kept playing in her head. She knew this was a safe place, unknown to all, except a very few people.

Hermione spoke softly to Harry, “Be alert, I don’t like this one bit. There’s only one door and this is too isolated.”

“I think its safe, Eileen arranged it. You do trust her, don’t you?” he whispered back, being careful so only she could hear him.

“I guess, I mean she’s the same as back home, but…” she snapped her head sharply as a single rat scurried across the room.

Before she could register the noise, the door opened and a man and a woman arrived and silently sat opposite the others. The man pulled a large envelope from a pocket and placed it on the table. He placed his hands on top as if to maintain control of the meeting.

“Are you both ok?” Harry asked, breaking the tension.

“Yes, we got your warning, but we’re not concerned, they’ve been after us for years. Eileen’s been there since we started and she’s safe.”

“But you’ve lost others, haven’t you?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, and Eileen’s the only one we deal with on a consistent basis. The others are there if we need them, but we really haven’t worked with them long enough to know them. Here’s the information on the individuals you need. There’s an event coming up where the Heads will be at the ministry in the next week. I think that would be an ideal time, if you’re planning what I expect you are planning.”

“Thanks Steve. We will look this over and let you know if there’s anything else we need.” They all stood to leave, and Eileen was the first to the door. Harry noticed her back was soaked through with sweat from the few minutes in the small apartment.

Hermione remained behind with Harry, as Chrissy and Steve began to follow Eileen to the door, but Chrissy turned and looked over her shoulder. Harry only noticed her eyes widen, and instinctively, snapped his fingers, sealing the door before anyone could leave or enter, and spun around to see what had startled her.

“Watch them, something’s wrong.” He snapped to Hermione, as she already had her wand pointed at the three near the door. “WORMTAIL!” he shouted, and crackles of energy flew from his fingers, striking the rat. In a single fluid motion, he snared the rodent before it hit the ground.

“So, you’re the spy,” he said with his back to them. Eileen’s shoulders slumped as she bit her lower lip.

“Is it him? I thought I heard a rat in here.” Hermione said over her shoulder.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Steve demanded, as he stared down Hermione’s wand.

“A spy, I would expect a trap is waiting outside. Chrissy looked like she expected it.” Harry stated as he drew the rat to his hand. He began to squeeze the animal, not showing mercy. He tossed the animal onto the table and cast a shield charm around it to prevent it from leaving.

“You think it’s him? Harry it looks different, it has all its toes.” Hermione commented as she glanced at the table.

“Kill the nasty beast.” Chrissy blurted as she shuddered. “I hate the filthy little things.”

“She’s been afraid of rats ever since she was a kid; she was locked in a dark room full of them by one of that bastard’s friends.” Steve added; the venom in his voice when he mentioned the Dark Lord was unmistakable.

Harry looked up and then back at the rat. “It’s not him, Mione. It’s just a rat.”

Hermione lowered her wand and the tension level in the room dropped as well. “This seems like a perfect place for a trap. We can’t be too careful.” She said, still keeping her wand in her hand.

Harry motioned to the door and it creaked open, “I’ll look over this and we’ll call you…”

“Forget it, we’ll call you. Stay away from us,” Steve snapped, as he and Chrissy turned and left the room. They vanished the moment they cleared the top of the steps.

“Hermione, this is an old friend’s apartment, he’s been away for his work. I have a key and come here often when I need to be alone.” Eileen admitted. “This is as safe a place to hide or meet as you can get.”

"Who lives here?" Harry demanded.

"An old friend, I doubt you know him."

"I wish it were Jake," he muttered.

A slight, but sharp intake of air was the only recognition she gave, but was enough for Hermione to notice. She stepped next to Harry and put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to look at her facial gestures. He nodded and let it go.

Hermione still had her wand in her hand and as they left the cramped apartment, flicked it at the rat, breaking the charm. They left and sealed the door, leaving the rat on the table, forgotten. An unnoticed grin emerged on a rodent’s face deep in the shadows.

---

When they returned home from the meeting, the apartment was empty. Remus and Sirius had plans to examine a new fishing spot, James and Alycia were also out, but they didn’t have any firm plans. They walked through the front door; Eileen entered first and deposited her keys on the small table near the entrance. The daily mail sat in a neat stack, obviously the others left after the mail arrived, around 10:30 . It was close to noon , Eileen walked directly into the kitchen for lunch; she had skipped breakfast earlier because she'd still been queasy after last night's meeting. Harry and Hermione turned into the lounge. She went to their room to retrieve the diary and assorted notes they had compiled; while he sat on the sofa to examine the parcel of timetables they were given. Harry was the first to notice as he sat, the cushions on the sofa were different, fluffier as if they had the stuffing removed and replaced.

She returned a moment later carrying a bundle of notes, and deposited them on the coffee table. “Darling, did you move my book?” she asked, noticing the bookmark from a novel she was reading was missing.

“No, I haven’t touched it.” He replied, as he placed his parcel on the table next to her papers. They both looked at the piles as if it were a puzzle that held the answer to their problems.

“Harry, the parcel, go on and open it,” she insisted, eager to find the solution as well.

A large number of sheets fell from the envelope; each had a name at the top and a daily time schedule. Together they started to examine each sheet, attempting to deduce a pattern and predict future activities.

“They’ve been watching Voldemort for a while; his daily and weekly activities are listed in quite detail.” Hermione commented first.

“Yes, but it also looks like they didn’t care about the others. The have no idea how dangerous they all are.” They continued to read each sheet, jotting notes looking for the patterns; both realised this may take some time.

She blew out through her teeth, and began an analysis of the notes. “Something here doesn’t make sense, if he’s been in power all this time, then he’s getting on in years. And why hasn’t he been seen out in the open?”

“Assassins, most likely; you remember how paranoid he was in our world. He kept himself surrounded with those he could sacrifice without thinking twice.”

“Mmmm, maybe, but according to this he rarely stays in one spot more then a couple days, although he has left a pattern.”

She laid out several sheets on the table and began pointing out the consistent patterns. “Here, and here, it seems he always spends a few days at these spots in this order, but he does vary the time.”

“So all we’ll have to do is wait until he returns to,” he moved a couple sheets around, “here, and then he’ll return to Malfoy Manor, then he’ll go to Little Hangleton, that’s only thirty-five miles and then the Ministry.”

“Yes, although he has been seen in Leeds occasionally, between the time he leaves Sussex and arrives in London .”

Eileen sat at the table in the kitchen while Harry and Hermione worked on the documents, the pangs of hunger gnawed at her stomach, but all she could manage to keep down was a diet soft drink and a small slab of cheese. She pushed the table back to its correct spot; it was off by a few inches and quietly ate her small meal, while she contemplated her predicament. Should she tell them or keep it a secret. After all the contact never explicitly told her to keep it a secret, but her reason for the actions was clear and critical. She decided to let it sit; ‘after all,’ she reasoned ‘no one’s going to be hurt.’ She thought to herself. She reached into her pocket and drew out a picture, stared at it for several minutes and replaced it back in her pocket.

‘No, there’s too much to lose.’ She decided. She stood to join the others just as Harry stood and walked into the kitchen. They also felt the need for a bite of lunch.

She reached over to drop the empty can in the rubbish bin, and it clanked on the floor, missing by inches.

“Who moved the bin in here?” she asked to no one in particular while she bent over to pick the can off the floor.

He opened the refrigerator and removed a package of sliced meats and some cheese. He also removed a couple of drinks and turned to carry the supplies into the front room, where he had left Hermione. As soon as he passed Eileen, who had repositioned the bin, he froze in his tracks.

“Hermione, come here, look at this.” He called. She placed the stack of papers on the coffee table in front of the sofa, and noticed an object glimmering on the floor.

“Harry? Here’s mother’s bracelet, the one Granny left her.” She picked up the bracelet and carried it into the kitchen.

“Look out there, into the other rooms, and tell me what you see.” He instructed when she entered the kitchen. She turned and looked through the doorway, and dropped the bracelet.

“Someone’s been in here. There, and over there too, everything’s off centre.”

Quickly Eileen stood next to them and looked through the same opening; she had arranged the furniture to be as symmetrical as possible, to give the room a balanced look.

“What happened?” she asked. “Who moved everything?”

“I’d like to know why everything was moved,” Harry added. He then looked at the floor, picked up the bracelet, and examined it.

“She didn’t drop this; it was pulled off her wrist. The catch is broken,” he said after turning it over in his fingers.

From that vantage point, the evidence was clear.

“There was some kind of struggle here, look, the furniture is rearranged.” She deduced.

“In here too,” Eileen added, “The table and rubbish bin were moved.” Frantically, Hermione ran into the other bedroom while Harry searched the main room for other clues.

“Mione, there’s nothing else here. No trace of the guys. I doubt they’d leave without her.” He walked into the smaller bedroom to finish his conversation; and there, lying unconscious, tied and gagged on the bed, was James Potter. Blood had pooled from a gash in his head onto the bed and caked in his hair.

“FATHER!” Harry screamed.

“Move over, Harry,” Hermione’s intense training took over. Most healers required a wand to cast the spells needed, but she preferred using her hands, as it gave her a better feel for the injury and how much she would need to treat it. She had controlled the bleeding from the gash in the back of his head and closed the wound in only a few moments, a task she had performed on the younger Potter more times then she cared to remember. He was groggy but alive. The blood on the linen indicated a simple scalp wound, the kind that is quite messy, but hardly life threatening, very much the same kind of injury Ginny had received from the King’s Cross attack. It was still tender, but better.

“What do you remember? Think, Prongs, it’s important,” Hermione grilled the senior Potter after she helped him to a sitting position. She remained calmer than Harry expected.

“We had just finished breakfast,” he paused and shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. “Remus and Sirius had left. You three had been gone a while and Alycia wanted another stroll on the beach,” James held his head in his hands and tried to collect his thoughts, still disoriented.

James sighed deeply, knowing Alycia wasn’t really this young woman’s mother in this world, but the resemblances and the connections were too strong to ignore.

“Then what happened?” Harry continued the questioning.

Without looking up, he simply asked, “She’s gone isn’t she? We were beginning to really love each other,” He felt a lump form in his throat; it wasn’t the type any doctor or healer could remove. He rubbed his right eye as if there were a speck of something in it.

“We don’t know, we’d been back about a half hour when we realized something had happened and searched the flat,” Harry told James.

“She wanted to walk on the beach,” he turned to Hermione and held her hands, “You know she'd never seen the ocean until you brought her here? She never got to see the English Channel.”

Hermione felt his pain, and gently kissed his hand. “She loved the sea and the beach when I was a girl. We spent summers in Nice. What happened next?”

“We were about to leave when someone pushed the door open, blew it off the hinges. I fought them, there were four of them, one was a tall man with long black hair and a crooked nose, about my age; and a younger bloke, I guess about your age, Stag; and there were two large heavy set thugs. I hit the younger guy in the face, broke his nose by the look of it. He didn't half bleed! He fell into the coffee table, shattered the bloody thing. The older bloke aimed his wand, but I knocked his aim with a well placed book. His stunner hit one of the thugs in the arm, I think he severed it just past his elbow. The young guy hit me over the head with a leg from the table while I was dealing with that black-haired git; the next thing I remember was you shaking me.”

“That explains the apartment,” Eileen said. “They put everything back the way they thought it was, and fixed the broken furniture, except the kitchen was out of place too.”

“I believe she put up a fight, she’s a feisty one,” James said with a sad half-grin, he could picture her laying into one of them and the others manhandling her to the floor. The thought drained the colour from his face, and he sat there silently. Harry noticed his father’s shaking hands had steadied and balled into fists, as if he were about to strike.

“So there was a struggle; whoever it was must have taken Alycia,” Eileen said, with a noticeable quiver in her voice.

Harry and Hermione helped James into the front room and made him comfortable; while Eileen remained in the bedroom. She tried to clean the bloodstains from the bed linens using a cleaner and rags, but her hands were shaking too badly. The thought of simply using her wand failed to cross her mind. As the younger Potters helped James to the sofa, Harry could feel the older man shake, whether from fear or anger, he wasn't sure.

“Did … did they leave a message?” he asked tentatively.

“No, James, you know it's a death sentence when those bastards find a muggle that’s involved with one of us. I’m surprised they let you live.” Eileen spoke in as comforting a tone as she could manage.

The front door had just slammed open, drawing offensive postures from the three. It took only a fraction of a second for Harry to focus, and he realised Sirius and Remus had returned. He stepped in front of Eileen and Hermione’s line of fire.

“What’s this about a death sentence?” Sirius barked.

“Alycia’s been taken,” Harry informed the others. The details he related were sketchy, but the message was clear. They were known. Any attempt at a covert action to remove Voldemort from power was doomed.

The only hope would be if they could find Alycia and escape to build a new plan, but they had no idea where she was taken. Harry considered asking Steve, but their last meeting left them weary of each other.

“Prongs, describe them again, try to remember any detail, no matter how trivial,” Harry asked.

“The leader was a tall man with long, greasy, black hair. He looked familiar, but his face was hidden with a white mask.”

“Snape,” Hermione muttered, writing the name and description as James remembered.

“The next bloke had light blonde hair, down to his shoulders. His face as covered, but I got the impression he was about your age. Even though I couldn’t see his face I could see his hands, smooth as a baby’s bottom, like he’s never had a hard day’s labour in his life.”

“Hmm, are you certain? Was he so tall?” She raised her hand a few inches above Harry's head.

“Nah, he was a bit shorter, about this high,” He repositioned her hand a bit lower.

“Draco, it has to be,” Harry offered, as Hermione continued to transcribe the event.

“He seemed eager to please the first man, as if he was a mentor.”

“These are people we know. Draco was someone we trusted,” Hermione explained.

“The last two were large blokes and thick as two short planks, or they seemed to be.”

“What do the Timetables have listed for Snape and Malfoy? Maybe there’s an opportune time to corner them and find out what they know. It’s that last two, could be Crabbe and Goyle,” Hermione confided, thinking of the possibilities.

“Lucius Malfoy is Voldemort’s second, but Draco and the other two are not on this list,” Harry said, as he thumbed through the pages.

Eileen had sat in a chair across the room, and had remained silent the entire time. She thought maybe Steve and Chrissy would have some information in a day or two. “I can contact Steve, he’ll make some inquiries and …”

“No, he had us drawn away when this happened; he’s in on it as far as I can tell,” Hermione hissed.

“She’s right,” Harry agreed. “If there’s any hope, we need to raid them tonight, the timetable has meetings every Monday and Thursday at Malfoy Manor. Tonight’s Thursday, so we start there.”

The council of war had been interrupted by a knock on the door, drawing an array of wands. Harry held his arm up, “They wouldn’t knock,” He walked to the door and carefully opened it.

Steve and Chrissy stood outside; she held her wand in a defensive posture with her back to her brother facing the hall.

“Harry, they had been at our last safe house. We came to warn you that …”

“You’re too late,” Hermione cut in. “They took my mother, and I intend to rescue her.”

“That wouldn’t be advisable, not without more information, she’ll be safe as long as she’s not perceived as a threat. My guess is she was taken as a bargaining chip.”

“In any case, we are going to rescue her tonight, are you with us?” Harry demanded.

“I would suggest extreme caution; we have no floor plans of that location.”

“Really? Shall we draw one?” Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow. “So far every building we’ve been in has had the same floor plan as back home, and we had spent six months living at Malfoy Manor when Ginny was …” she paused, unable to finish. She still found it difficult to think about Ginny carrying, and losing their children.

“We’re very familiar with the mansion,” Harry finished.

Hermione handed Chrissy an old book of matches she found in the desk, and pointed her wand at it, “Here, you both need to hold this at exactly 6:15 tonight if you plan to help us. That will bring you to a rendezvous location we’ve set up. We’ll have copies of a floor plan then. We’ll leave at exactly 6:25 PM with or without you.”

The witch took the matches and slipped them into the back pocket of her shorts.

The afternoon had been spent preparing for the raid; Hermione suggested they leave Ponce Inlet permanently since they had been found. Harry endorsed the idea, and the Marauders all reluctantly agreed. Eileen was less willing to leave, this was her home, and she had ties there she couldn’t break.

Harry carefully packed their rucksack; his Firebolt was still in its reduced form. His tunic from his mother’s ancestor had been carefully folded and placed in the bag. It was an ancient garment that might not hold up to the rigors of combat. His invisibility cloak was left close to the top, in case it was needed.

“Darling, please put these in there as well and make sure they’re safe.” She handed him all the documentation they’d accumulated to date and he carefully put it in the bag, near the bottom to keep them safe. Although most was written in Parseltongue, Voldemort would able to read it, and then he might have insights that could be dangerous if they were to attempt some action in the future. Ha also added a number of sandwiches, just in case.

The afternoon dragged endlessly for one Marauder, each passing minute hung heavy in his heart. The others attempted to bolster his spirits by keeping him busy until it was time to leave. The timetable listed the normal meeting times as dusk. They planned to raid the mansion at 8:45 that evening.

At 4:51 PM, they left the apartment, watched for any onlookers, and as a group used a single portkey to return to a familiar beach.

At 4:57 PM, the door to the apartment was shattered, as a team of assassin wizards stormed inside.

At 6:15 PM, the group was joined by Steve and Chrissy, and the exact moment they arrived Harry placed a hand on each, apparating from the beachfront, ten full minutes earlier then they said they would. They arrived at the same destination as the others. A moment after arriving on the beach, another portkey was used to bring the Marauders home to wait.

The journey lasted only a twinkle in time, short enough to be untraceable. Chrissy and Steve found themselves in the ruins of an old rundown shack; the roof was blown off, one wall was gone and a pile of refuse littered the floor. The remains of the furniture and the stockpile of food had been scattered on the ground outside.

“They’ve been here, good,” Harry said.

“Good? GOOD? They destroyed our home. They ruined what little we had.”

“That means they won’t return. Its one of the oldest tricks in the book, ransack the hideout and they and whoever you’re looking for will move on to the next safe house. A fugitive will almost never return to a hideout that’s been discovered. We should be safe here for a while.”

“And what makes you such an expert on fugitive hunts, Mr. Potter?” Steve asked, in an extremely hash tone.

“Steve, it’s what he does, he’s a Senior Auror. We both trained for that line of work, but I followed a different calling,” Hermione began to inform the new guests with the details that have been omitted for their own safety. Now they all were committed to this mission.

“If he’s an Auror, how can we trust him, they all work under Lord Malfoy’s direct supervision.”

“That bastard is first on my list,” Hermione said coldly. The meaning was lost on the others, but Harry knew the real reason she was seeking vengeance. He pulled her to the side, so the others couldn’t listen.

“He’s going to get what he deserves, but this is not a personal vendetta. We both have suffered because of that scum. If this is a way for you to take personal revenge, I won’t allow you to come. Do you understand?” His tone was that of a commander dressing down a subordinate.

“Harry, I WON’T be treated like a first-year that’s stepped out of line. He’s going to get justice for what he’s done in this world. I want to find my mother and if he’s in the way, I’ll personally slice him in half. Now, this is not because what he did to US, this is what he’s doing to the people in this world.” Her reply was as cold and telling as his was demeaning.

“Ooo, Stag just stepped in it now,” Sirius whispered to James and Remus, to which they both nodded.

“Then, if possible, we’ll let the people here pass judgment. We will do only what we have to, no more and no less. Voldemort needs to be removed and his key supporters also need to be removed. Personally, I would love to rip his head from his shoulders and crap down his neck.”

“Fine. We’ll try to take him alive, but no assurances past that. Now, can get this going and find my mother?”

“Good, now more important, watch yourself; I’ll not let them harm you,” He reached to hold her hands, and she realised from her palm he was quite scared.

“I’ll be right at your side, where I belong. And Harry?” She pulled his hands around her, to let him know she understood.

“I know, you love me, right?” He said as he bent to kiss her cheek.

“Actually, I forgive you for your tone,” She replied as she pulled her cheek away at the last moment and slipped from his hands.

“You forg …” he began, and started to reach for her.

“Forget it, Potter, when they get like that, best leave them alone or sleep on the sofa for a week,” Steve said as he held Harry back. In a soft whisper, so only Harry could hear, he revealed a secret, “Chrissy’s not really my sister.”

Harry turned to him, puzzled and a light of recognition flooded his thought. “Your wife?” he asked, and Steve nodded once in reply and with a wink, turned to leave Harry standing alone.

Harry grabbed his arm, “Why the deception?”

Steve halted his exodus to answer the question. “We grew up together, close friends for years before we became involved. Her family had been killed when she was young, she was left an orphan to fend for herself. You see, she’s a muggle born witch, and my family are pure-bloods, so we pretended she was one of us.” He looked away in thought, and stared out the window. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand what it must have been like for her. She had a difficult childhood.”

“Steve, I can understand better then you, I see why you still pretend she’s your sister, for her protection.”

“Yes, if they discover her real past, her life could be forfeit. I’ve been in love with her almost since I’ve known her.”

Harry nodded his compliance as he thought it sounded strangely familiar, and patted Steve on the shoulder. “I do understand how you feel.”

Steve gave Harry a half smile, and left to prepare for the assault with Chrissy. Harry also retreated to also prepare. Harry watched Hermione prepare herself as well. She pulled her hair back and tied it into a ponytail. She repositioned her wand and tied her cloak to conceal her form. Harry was always mesmerised by her fluid movements at these practiced actions. His attention was captured for the moment, and he never noticed Chrissy slip out into the brush.

He walked back to her and put his hand on her shoulder, “I’m sorry, love. I don’t want to see you get hurt, I keep remembering that day.”

“Harry, I’ve have a significant amount of combat training since then, I can handle this.”

He kissed her cheek, and this time she didn’t pull away. “I know you can. Just keep yourself safe.”

Remus, Sirius and James began to mentally prepare themselves for this attack, to find Alycia. James and Remus had their wands, chipped and battered though they were. Sirius’was taken when he was attacked in the Florida apartment. It was now 6:35, nearly two hours before the attack.

Hermione noticed his missing wand, and knew he was nearly defenceless without one. Harry was still standing with her and also noticed. She turned to him and before a word was passed, he removed the rucksack from his shoulder, pulled out his invisibility cloak and spied the ancient tunic.

“Go on, wear it, I’m sure he’d be proud of you,” She said.

He dropped his wizard cloak and pulled the tan tunic over his frame. He picked up the other cloak and his Firebolt, “I’ll be back in half an hour. Wait here,” and snapping his fingers, he disappeared with a familiar pop.

“Where did he think he was going? Sirius asked.

“We’ll wait here. He’s got an errand to complete,” she said, as she put his cloak in the rucksack. She walked over to the pile of broken furniture, waved her wand over the pile and the broken chairs emerged, knitting themselves back together. She picked one from the lot and sat down to wait. She opened the bag and pulled an older book from a side pocket, and began to read from it.

“What’s that Spirit?” James asked, it was one he’d seen before and from looking over her shoulder could tell it was in that same language and her diary. He grabbed one of the repaired chairs and sat next to his daughter-in-law from another world. The others followed suit and tried to relax.

“Just an old diary I thought might have something useful,” she replied.

Remus felt a nip in the air and thought of a fire for warmth, except this was the middle of July and unseasonably warm. “You feel that?” he asked.

“What was it, Moony?”

“A chill, but it passed. Nerves I guess.”

Chrissy had just slipped back, unnoticed. She walked as cautiously as she could to Steve’s side and whispered to him. The both carefully drew their wands and were about to apparate out.

“It won’t work, you know. This land has been charmed to only allow certain people to apparate in or out,” Hermione said without raising her head. Steve and Chrissy looked at her and were about to point their wands in offence, when they flew from their hands to Hermione.

Under the manuscript she had been reading the tip of her wand was now exposed.

The Marauders watched and listened as the confrontation escalated to a distinct advantage for Hermione. Eileen sat to the side, nervously waiting; she kept a hand in a pocket, tightly griping a photograph.

“Spirit, how did you know of the charms here? Only family members by blood or marriage can apparate out.” James stood and walked to her, and she stood still holding the other two wands.

“Or those specifically allowed by one of us. Prongs, that should prove to you who Harry really is,” With that, there was a distinctive pop as he appeared next to her.

“Did I miss something?” He gave her a welcoming kiss and saw the extra wands in her hand. “So they tried something already?”

“Yes, Darling, just like you assumed they would,” she said as she handed Harry the two wands.

“Wait, we had been warned to leave, there’s an attack scheduled in the next few minutes by the militia. The commander of our network has been in contact with the resistance here.”

“Try again, and make it believable,” Harry scowled.

“When you found that rat and thought it was a spy, we found another in our home; that one was a spy. We alerted our command that you may have tried to leak out our information.”

“Stop, Harry’s not the spy.” Eileen broke down, collapsed to the ground and began sobbing. “I … am.”

“Why? Eileen?” Hermione asked in amazement, and stood to cross the clearing.

“They have my son. They took him a week before you showed up at my door,” she mumbled as Hermione fell to her knees next to her. No matter what she may have done, she was still family.

“We can discuss this later, the hit wizards are going to be here in a moment. I for one don’t want to be around when they get here,” Steve said.

“Where will they strike?” Harry demanded, as he pointed a single finger at Chrissy. “Tell me or she’ll be the first to fall.”

“They’re going to apparate here, focused on the shack,” she replied.

A smile crept onto the three Potters' faces, knowing the land as they all did. “They’ll find that a tad more trouble then they’ll expect.”

Harry took the two wands Hermione handed him and walked to the three original Marauders. “Here, I made a stop at Ollivander’s for a few things, I’m sure he won’t notice them gone for a while. And I tripped as many wards as I could,” He handed over each of the three new wands, and they noticed an extra tucked in his belt. He then handed Steve and Chrissy their wands.

“Now, are you going to help or shall I deal with your friends on my own?”

“Harry, I may have misjudged you, but she needs to be dealt with,” he said, as he pointed to Eileen. “Spies here are traditionally put to death.”

“No, I won’t allow that without an explanation, but I need to know how many we can expect, and any names you have.”

“Hermione, you have to believe me I had no choice. They took my husband and child.” Eileen quietly told Hermione, while trying to hold back her expected emotions.

“Who is he?” she asked.

“I thought you knew, Harry mentioned him before. He’s a man I met here years ago. We married in secret and he’s been raising our son. We were in their apartment the other day.”

“Jake? Jake Stevens?” Harry asked unexpectedly.

“Y-yes. How did you know him?”

“You and Jake have been close friends in our world. So now we have three to rescue? Then we had best leave before your friends arrive.”

“Wrong, Mr. Potter, I have her family,” they heard from the bushes where Chrissy had been. “They are safe and secure. Now, I believe we have to revise your planned rescue. Malfoy has the woman and they have planned the usual ‘ entertainment’for tonight’s meeting.”

“Show yourself!” Harry demanded.

A tall man, with his face hidden behind his cloak emerged, with two others behind him. The three had their wands visibly holstered, to reduce the possibility of a confrontation they surely would lose. The leader lowered the hood of his cloak, and his revelation did not have the effect on Harry or Hermione that he had expected. A noticeable gasp from several others indicated his deception was successful.

“Severus Snape, I half expected to see you,” Harry said. He stood his ground to see exactly what Snape’s motives were.

“I also had the muggle woman under my protection too, however Lucius discovered her. He has plans to use her in one of his pathetic ceremonies tonight, to ‘ honour’the Dark Lord.”

“He’s one of them. He’s taken my son! KILL HIM,” Eileen ranted; Remus had held her back, restraining her.

“Yes, I have them safe. I attempted to help them, before they were found out. You do know the laws against that type of behaviour, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked the elder Potter.

“That ‘ woman’is my mother. And unless you intend to help us, you had best get out of my way, I never liked you much in my world, and you’ve given me no reason to feel otherwise,” Hermione expressed her anger with gritted teeth. She was a hair’s breadth from dealing with him personally.

“I can offer a safe route into the Manor, and I can offer my knowledge of the building,” He now spoke to Harry, noting he had the air of authority over the group.

“We …” Hermione began, but Harry stopped her from finishing.

“We would appreciate the help, Professor,” Harry finished the thought for his wife.

“Sarcasm is unnecessary. I have never taught.”

“You had in our world. And it’s refreshing to see your personality has not been affected,” He said calmly. “According to my information we have forty-seven minutes before the meeting.”

“You seem to forget I am the source of your information, and yes, there is not much time.”

“Before we take one step, why are you helping us?” Hermione insisted.

“If you have not figured this out by now, then I can only assume you don’t posses the intelligence to fully comprehend the situation. But to satisfy your curiosity, life has become worthless. With only a handful of people in the ruling class and no ability for those outside to excel, the ‘ common’people have been reduced to cattle. Knowledge has stagnated in both the wizard and muggle worlds and with the imposed blood line purities, the wizard population will become too interrelated. This is not a healthy society.”

“Why, Professor, I never would have thought of you as a revolutionary. These ideas are thoughtful and insightful. This is quite out of line for you.” Hermione began to build new respect for the old bane of their existence in school.

“Thank you for your wonderful endorsement,” the sarcasm in his voice from years past swiftly returned. “And exactly what is your plan?”

“First, where is my mother being held?” she demanded.

“The dungeons are the most likely place. She was being processed when I left. So, yes, she would be in the dungeons until called he calls for her for the ceremony.”

“And what is her role in this ceremony?” Harry asked.

“Simple, she simply has to provide one ingredient for the youth potion he requires. He has aged most ungracefully. His dark magics have drained his physical body leaving him physically altered. He requires periodic youth potions simply to survive. That is my portion of this endeavour. The one fresh ingredient required is the still beating heart of a muggle.”

Visibly shaken, but still determined, she pressed for more information. “When is this to occur?”

“The ‘ meetings’begin at dusk; I am to prepare the potion near the end, usually two hours later, and he prefers to be in the Ministry when he takes the potion, it is a ‘ safe’place in his twisted mind. There is a five minute window after the last ingredient is added before the potion becomes useless. For this reason alone, the last ingredient is harvested and added there. Your best hope would be to delay the beginning of the meeting and remove the woman.”

“What are Voldemort’s weaknesses? He must have one we can exploit,” Harry inquired.

“He derives pleasure from watching others suffer and die. No, there is nothing that can help. Unlike Malfoy’s taste in women and other physical pleasures, Voldemort has none.”

She turned to Harry and pulled him aside, she had an idea. She whispered her ideas and after head shaking and violent hand gestures, and a firm ‘ No’from Harry she turned from him and began to walk away. He grabbed her arm and they continued their discussions.

“She’s giving him a rough time, Prongs; do you really want to get involved with her mum?”

“Take my word for it, that passion goes both ways, it’s truly worth it.”

They tried not to watch what seemed to be a personal confrontation between spouses, but the obvious fact that she had the upper hand showed through. The discussion lasted only a few more moments, and the obvious victory was evident with Harry starting to nod an approval. The end of the discussion came when the two held each other as one would hold a loved one about to go into battle.

She passed the others, but the look on her face wasn’t that of a victor. She looked scared. Harry opened his pack and pulled a single object from it to be prepared.

“If you would follow me, it appears you have an anti-apparation ward on this property.” With that, each member of the assault group gathered what little they had and fell into step following Snape.

“I would suggest extreme caution, everyone, have your wands ready,” Harry instructed.

They left the area, most of the group was able to leave directly, Snape, his two people and the Linters would not be able to leave. They kept the information to themselves for the moment. After they walked to the nearest border of the property, Hermione fell into step next to Harry, and slipped her hand into his.

“This appears to be the spot where we arrived. Please, if you can remain silent we should be at a reasonable location.” He picked up a large tree branch, long enough that all parties could comfortably grab a spot. The entire team vanished silently from the field outside Godric’s Hollow to appear a comparable distance from Malfoy Manor.

They quietly made their way to a hidden tunnel under the grounds, but it was far from forgotten. “Please follow this tunnel, there will be a sealed door at the end, I trust you can open it quietly. I have to return and report that the ‘ attack’was successful.”

Hermione stopped Snape and had a brief conversation, he also shook his head and after her insistence, he finally conceded and left the others in the tunnel with Hermione close behind him.

James watched with Sirius about to argue, but thought better of it, after having witnessed both Harry and Snape conceding to her demands. “Hey Stag, are you go ….” He turned to Harry, but he too was not there.

“So this is their great plan, to leave us here?” Remus asked.

“No, we were instructed to the end of this tunnel, and then to that door. I’m certain Harry’s going inside to help clear the path,” Eileen stated.

“And this from the spy? And why are you here?” James asked.

“I have as much to lose, and I’m just as involved, now are we going?”

“Yes, but I want you in front, to take the first shot.”

“Fine. Just stay close.”

The tunnel was fairly long; obviously they had to traverse under a large portion of the grounds. The first obstacle to overcome was a barred gate, it was not locked, nor could they detect any wards. It simply seemed to be ornamental or designed to keep muggles out. The door at the end was quite solid.

First to the door, Eileen waited before pointing to the lock with her wand. As she was about to speak the incantation, James grabbed her arm. “How do we know it’s clear on the other side?”

“Do we really have a choice? We’d best be ready either way,” she replied. She cautiously cast the spell, and the latch clicked. She pulled the door open, and released her breath when they could see the adjacent hall was empty.

Once inside they consulted the maps Harry drew, the dungeons were to the left, but the meeting hall was to the right and up.

“She’s got to still be in the dungeon, that bloke said she was being ‘ prepared’. If we can get to her before the meeting starts, Harry and Hermione will find out as soon as the alarm is sounded,” Steve commented.

“And what of them? Are we going to leave them?” Remus asked.

“They can handle themselves, if he’s truly a Senior Auror, that shouldn’t be an issue,” James answered, he had faith in them, the faith of a father in his son.

They continued through the twisting passageway, and began to hear voices down the hall, evidence they were on the right track.

“So you want to have a go at the bitch?” they heard one guard say to another.

“Won’t that disturb the charms they gave ‘ er?”

“Nah, that was to keep ‘ er quiet. Her screamin’damn near woke the dead. If you don’t want a go, then I’ll be the first.”

They heard the sound of cloth tearing, followed by other muffled noises. James had heard enough; he charged the room with his wand shooting spell after spell; not all were stunners. The other Marauders followed immediately behind, with Steve, Chrissy and Eileen watching for others that may try to aid the guards.

Remus and Sirius turned the corner to see a man lying in a pool of blood, naked from the waist down. His middle had received more then a stunner, a gaping wound that nearly bisected him proved to be the source of the blood. His companion stood nearby, his wand still tucked in his belt. James had pointed his wand, ready to deal a second spell that would prove just as fatal at this range.

“Prongs, no, he’s not done anything,” Sirius tried to halt the next spell from his friend, but the fire in James’eyes had begun to consume him. All he could see was an unconscious woman, half naked and chained to the wall.

“These animals don’t deserve to live,” he screamed, as he pointed his wand at the man’s throat. “I’ll give you one chance to live. What have you done to her?”

“Look, mate, we ‘ aven’t touched ‘ er. The wards have left her out cold and Bobbie there thought to have a bit’o fun before they slit ‘ er up. Personally, she ain’t me type, too bloody old.”

“ STUPEFY!” Remus shot the stunner and left the man stunned. “Get her down and let’s get out of here.”

“This seems far too easy, two guards? And what of the other two?" Steve asked as he and Chrissy came to the scene.

“They’ll be fine, I’m certain they have a plan worked out."

The hall was surprisingly clear of personnel; no visible guards were in the outer halls of Malfoy Manor. Snape walked through the main entrance with a brunette at his side. She wearing a skintight satin halter-top covered by a thin lace shawl, and a shear white skirt that revealed the outline of more then just her legs. The skirt was opaque enough to draw attention from her face, as most men would be more interested in attributes other then her face, which, had they noticed, was equally appealing.

The walls of the mansion’s upper floors were decorated in the original velvet coverings Draco had stripped, long before he had proposed to Ginny. This was still his father’s home and dripped of his father’s taste. Snape led the woman up a winding staircase, opulent and ornate. She allowed the skirt to swoosh lightly behind her, with a distinctive flip of her hips as she walked. She was enticing, Snape could feel his own arousal as he walked beside her, but she was for Lord Malfoy’s pleasure.

“The gathering will begin in one half hour, if you are to delay that, event, you know what to do. I shall not be able to assist. Do you understand?” he whispered as they climbed the stairs.

“Don’t worry, I have this under control. Just introduce me and leave us alone,” she whispered back.

They arrived at the top of the landing, and continued down the hall, the master suite was decorated with the same opulent style as the hallways, a style reminiscent of a brothel, the woman thought.

“Yes, it is,” Snape said as he gave the woman a glare to remind her of her place.

She felt a hand press her back, near her shoulder, as an additional warning.

He opened the French doors, and with a seductive flair she sashayed inside, very much the seductress. The woman had far more experience in this role to allow this one to escape.

“Snape, I see you have a friend, are you going to introduce us?” they heard from inside the chambers.

“Lord Malfoy, it has been brought to my attention that this woman has special talents that may appeal to your tastes. I suspect you will have sufficient time before we have to assemble?”

“Bring the bitch in, and let me have a look,” he barked from the bed chamber.

They entered the outer room of the master suite, to find another set of doors open, and Lucius Malfoy lying on the bed in a thin silk robe, obviously fresh from a shower. Fresh trousers, shirt and robes were laid across the dressing chairs to the side, near an ornate dressing table more fitting for a woman; it was obvious he had been interrupted before having dressed.

Snape gave the woman a push, “don’t be bashful, tend to your new master.” He bowed ever so slightly and addressed Lord Malfoy, “I must see to the donor of the... ingredients, to make sure your minions haven’t damage the packaging.”

“Good, now leave us.” The doors to the outer chamber closed leaving her at the door way to his bedroom. “Don’t stand there, bitch, close the doors and show me why I should be interested.”

“Of course. Shall we start with introductions?”

“Silence, slut, you’ll speak if I allow it, now show me why I would be interested in such an old bitch like you?”

She smiled at the candor, suppressing her thoughts. She closed the doors, and flipped the latch as quietly as possible, he never saw the ward cast to seal the door from intrusion. She walked to his bed, and could tell she aroused him. She pulled a thin string from her waist and allowed the skirt to flutter to the floor. The thin lace undergarment that was revealed was still enough to allow the male mind to wonder what lay beneath, his excitement and his erection now evident as his silk bathrobe slipped open.

A muffled sound caught her ear from behind, but he never heard it.

“Come service me, bitch.”

“Most certainly, I can promise an experience you’ve never imagined possible, just lay back and tell me your secret desires,” she whispered in a seductive tone.

He obliged and lay on the bed, allowing the robe to fall completely open. His erection stood waiting. She closed her eyes and put her hands together as if saying a silent prayer, she smiled and nodded. From the opposite side of the bed, Lucius felt a hand on his chest, and a tightness squeeze into his chest. The sudden and abrupt surge passed through his form, left him unable to move.

A breeze whiffed past him, he could just move his eyes to see a man emerge from an invisibility cloak. The woman on the other side was now in a black cloak, her appearance suddenly different, the glint in her eyes flashed daggers through his soul.

“Darling,” she began, “is the room ready?”

“Yes, no sound can escape. Now,” the man started. “Now that you’ve had an eyeful of my wife, I have some questions.”

His eyes glared at him, ‘the insolence of someone invading my home’ he thought. Lord Malfoy sat there unable to speak.

“Darling, you really shouldn’t have snickered at him like that,” she said, stifling a laugh of her own, “Some men are fortunate while others obviously have reason to overcompensate.”

“Yes, Love, I always imagined him... taller. Now, Malfoy, yes I’m insolent enough to walk through the front doors of this ‘home’ as you put it. Where is the woman you took?”

He continued to glare, his eyes fixed at the green eyes that stared back. ‘How dare he threaten me.’

“Threaten you? You’re the one responsible for taking my wife’s mother for your 'science project'. You and that madman are responsible for murdering thousands of people. Now, where is she?” He waved a hand over the magically bound man on the bed, his voice now restored.

“You are a dead man, when my Lord finds you, he’s…”

“Going to meet his fate too, now,” he repeated with teeth gritted and venom in his eyes. He leaned closer and made a grabbing motion with his hand, squeezing Malfoy's throat. “Where is she?” he growled.

“That bitch you seem so interesting about is in my dungeon. With luck, by now you won’t want her back.” he choked out.

The invader closed his eyes momentarily as if in a trance, releaseing his grip. “Mmmm… no, she’s free now. They have her safe, my love.” He said to the woman, ignoring the man struggling to free himself on the bed.

“Release me and I promise a quick, painless death,” he ordered.

“I’m afraid you have nothing to bargain with. Now, where is Tom?”

“Who?” he asked startled.

“Riddle, the madman you call Voldemort or the dark lord,” he replied.

“Insolent worm, you shall pay once he learns of you.”

The invader smiled and held he hand out to the woman, “I think not, he’s the one that will pay for his crimes to all of humanity. As for you and your role, shall I let my wife deal with you now or will you answer my questions? Either way you're life is forfeit”

“Forget it Harry, let me kill the bastard he doesn’t deserve to breath.” She stepped to the bed with glowing hands. He felt a strange sensation as she approached.

“Now, Hermione, we agreed not to kill him, yet.”

“Who are you to walk into my home and attempt to scare me?”

The man smiled and leaned into Lord Malfoy’s face, a glint of satisfaction in his green eyes sent a chill through into the magically bound man’s spine. “My name won’t mean anything to you, neither will my lovely wife’s name. You see, we’re both half-bloods and technically we don’t exist. You have personally caused pain and suffering in this world to people like us, in the name of blood purity. Well I have a secret; Tom is a half-blood just like we are.” He gave a knowing glance to the woman he’s referred to as his wife and continued, now whispering into Lord Malfoy’s ear. “You raped and murdered my mother. And you have tried to murder my wife’s mother, if it was left to me, I would take you to death’s door and bring you back, over and over until you begged me to kill you.”

He straightened up and the look that passed his face could not be mistaken for anything other then a deep satisfaction. “And you see, there’s this little matter of what you did to our child. For that I will have a discussion with Draco.”

“Leave him out of this,” he shouted.

“Oh? And leave him to take your place?” she asked.

“He may be worthless to the Dark Lord, but he’s my only son.” he admitted.

‘Draco was not lost to the cause, he must have rebelled here too,’ Harry thought, “Good, he’s not part of your organization, that’s refreshing. Now, Malfoy, would you like to know what she is going to do to you? First she will place one of her lovely hands on your forehead and the other on your chest. You may feel a little discomfort, well, actually the pain will be intense and quite exquisite. That alone would be enough to kill you. You will feel as if every cell in you body is going to explode as she draws your soul from your body.”

His eyes widened. And a gurgle escaped from his chest.

“Excellent, you do understand, now where is Riddle?”

“Lord Voldemort will avenge me, but if you are foolish enough to seek him, then he’ll be waiting for you in the main library, but you’ll need me to show you the way.” Malfoy rationalized that since they needed Snape to get this far, if he could devise a way to force them to take him along he could escape.

“That won’t be necessary, we are quite familiar with this building. We’ve spent many months here in the past as guests,” the woman replied, sensing his imagined plan.

“Now, love, I think it’s in poor taste to crush his one hope of escape.”

She let a grin creep over her face as she continued. “I have a very special gift. I have used it only once before, and there are some documented cases of others with this power. Historically, most on the receiving side of this spell do not survive, but I think I can leave enough of your life’s essence in your body, and simply draw out your soul. Much like a dementor’s kiss, except I have learned through my studies that if I leave your soul intact, unlike what a dementor would do, what’s left is mine to control.”

“It would be amusing to watch and see what happens. But I will tell you this much, we plan to hand this vial with your soul in it to the new government that will emerge from this mess. They can decide what to do from there,” the man added.

“As far as I know,” she continued, “That may be irrelevant as this is irreversible, but I guess a skilled healer may be able to put part back in, enough for the executioner to have his fun..”

Sweating profusely now, he felt he had moments of life left. “No, wait, I can help.”

“And you will. Now, my love they will find Alycia missing soon.”

She nodded and sat on the edge of the bed, a fresh stench wafted from the bed. She shook her head and looked at her husband. He waved one hand over the soiled linens, and another at the fresh clothes on the dressing table. The clothes hovered over the bed while she closed her eyes to concentrate.

Her mind thought back to when she pulled Harry’s soul from his body, that was self-preservation and he was a willing source. ‘Remember your training,’ she told herself, ‘concentrate’ she clapped her hands once, and rubbed them together. A golden glow surrounded her hands as she found herself lost in the flow of energy. She felt all the sources in the room, a strong and familiar source sat by her, and a weaker one lay on the bed. She could see other weak sources in the plants along the wall, and a guard a few doors away. Other sources began to filter into her thoughts; she could almost see the army of ‘goons’ spread through the building. Another strong source, a black source of energy licked at her mind from the far reaches of the mansion.

She willed these sources blocked from her view, ‘I can detect them,’ she thought and then focused on the life force on the bed. She placed one hand on his forehead and the other over his heart.

He screamed, but the room was silenced.

His eyes began to shed tears of blood.

She held the flow from his body. She writhed from the power, as it flowed through her, she could feel his blood boil in his veins. She could feel him being ripped apart.

Harry watched as she drew the soul from this worthless lump of flesh. As he once witnessed with his godfather, a glowing point of energy emerged from the body on the bed. She licked her lips as if ready to feed. Blood now trickled from his ears and the corner of his mouth. Lord Malfoy was dying.

“Hermione, leave his body alive, not too much,” he cautioned her.

The point of energy hovered over his face, as the witch released her hold on his flesh. She opened a small vial and motioned the point of energy forward. It slipped into the vial and she closed it.

“Darling here is his soul. His flesh belongs to me.” The look and aura that engulfed her could only be that of intense satisfaction. She stood from the bed and motioned for her husband to stand with her.

“Now, he is a mindless, soulless shell. Stand and cover that pathetic body,” she commanded. The body obeyed.

“You seemed to enjoy that a little too much, are you certain there are you lasting side-effects?”

“Yes, Harry, I felt exhilarated at the sensation, but I kept his soul isolated as we discussed. I don’t want any of that in me.” She sealed the vial with a spell containing it and slipped it into a safe place, a hiding place only a woman would posses.

Harry cocked his head as she slipped the vial into her brassier, which she only rolled her eyes at him. “We can’t let it break, and where else could we hide it?”

He grinned and held his hand to her, “Just let me ‘fish’ it out later,” he said with a wink.

The body of Lucius Malfoy stood, now dressed and waited. Harry waved both hands over them and appropriate robes now adorned their forms. They were ready for the Ceremony. They fell behind the shell as if they were subordinate.

“Remember Harry, when we get a chance we have to leave. We’ll get Riddle later. We’ll keep this… thing, with us,” she whispered to him.

“Right. I expect he’s going to be a bit upset when he discovers what happened,” he whispered back

“Shhh. Someone’s coming.”

Two guards hurried around the corner with grave looks about them, they bowed with respect and addressed the shell of Lord Malfoy.

“My Lord,” the first addressed the shell, “The prisoner has been taken by force, the two guards have been killed.”

“Shall we seal the grounds?” the second asked.

Flustered, Hermione glanced to Harry, and he nodded slightly and stepped forward. “Are you both fools to disturb the Lord with such matters? Of course seal the grounds. And search the dungeons; they couldn’t have gotten too far.”

She stepped next to Malfoy and whispered to him, and listened to his command.

“Wait, my Lord said to search the east wing first, they may have broken into the library to harm the Dark Lord, seal the library and search there.”

“Why hasn’t he given the order?” the first guard asked, never before had two of his private guard spoken for him.

“He had a wench that gave him an infection, it has injured his throat,” she replied mater of fact.

“Do as you’ve been ordered,” Harry barked, while Hermione motioned with her hand, moving the shell’s arm at the same time.

“Yes, my Lord. We’ll do as you command.” The two left to complete the orders.

“East wing?” Harry asked.

“It sends them off in a different direction, and Riddle was in the library, he’ll be pissed that he’ll be locked in there.”

“Clever, let’s go before we see another.”

“Harry, have you forgotten we can’t apparate out?”

“No, we can’t, but he can.” He said as he pointed to Malfoy.

Harry grabbed a shoulder, and Hermione grabbed the other arm while Harry performed the spell, the three vanished back to Godric’s Hollow.

---

“What the bloody hell did you bring him back here for, Spirit? He’s going to…”

“Do nothing, Sirius, he’s my little pet now.” She was beaming at her new acquisition, while Harry looked somewhat displeased at her current behavior. Hermione motioned for the body of Lucius Malfoy to sit against the wall of the shattered shack and then she walked away from the collection of wizards and muggle.

“Is that why you two left us? Eileen asked Harry.

Harry had been putting his invisibility cloak back into the rucksack, and did not want to have this argument with her; he has to clear things with Hermione. She seemed to enjoy taking his soul far too much. He left the others tending to Alycia’s injuries to talk to Hermione. She was uncharacteristically uninterested in her mother’s safety when she left.

He found her sitting on a pile of rocks, pulled from the fields when it was used for raising crops; she had her back turned away. When he came to her side, he could see she was holding the vial in her fingers, lightly stroking it.

“I could just let it slip and break. That’s all it would take. Then I will feel satisfied, for what he did to me, to us.” She never looked up to him, but sat there stroking the vial as if it were a pet.

“No, Hermione that would put you at his level. You’re not like him.”

“He made me this way, he did this to us,” she whispered to herself. “I can never forgive him even if I smashed this a thousand times,” she snapped at Harry, her hand cocked back to throw the vial into a rock pile.

“If you throw it into those rocks and it breaks you will be like him. I watched you in there. You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” He held his distance.

“So if I did, don’t I deserve some gratification at what he did?”

“That’s just it; this Malfoy didn’t do that to you. Yes, he’s done very evil things and he will be punished for it.”

He stopped and knelt before her, and reached his hand out. She held the vial back, unwilling to release it. He looked at her, and knew her pain inside. He too, knew that pain.

“Let me have the vial, it’s the right thing to do.”

“He doesn’t deserve to exist,” she whispered. Her hand wavered.

“No, he doesn’t. But I’m not a judge, and you are a healer, not a killer. You did what we had to do.”

“He doesn’t deserve to exist,” she repeated.

He took her free hand as her loaded one began to lower from the weight of Malfoy’s soul. “I know what this animal did to Lily Evans in this world, and I’m still willing to give him up.”

Her lip began to tremble, “how did you find out?” her voice quivered.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s what I do,” he let a slight grin escape. “Give me the vial and stop torturing yourself.”

Her hand dropped into her lap. The vial sat in her palm, across the scar burned into her hand so many years ago. He picked it up, and picked up her hand in his. He raised it to his lips and kissed her palm.

“That is what you should hold in these hands, love, not hate.” She looked at him; she had fresh streaks one her face from his words of compassion. And she couldn’t contain herself. She threw her arms around his neck.

“I’m so sorry, thank you for stopping me. I can’t, won’t become like him.”

“It’s over, I will keep this safe, we need to get ready for the ministry, Riddle will be there soon and I don’t think the Snape of this world would last too long against his anger. Go to Alycia, she needs your special touch.”

“I love you Harry Potter,” she whispered in his ear before letting him go.

He stood and walked back to the group rendering aid to Alycia. Hermione sat for another moment and collected herself before going to her new patient. She went to the clearing in front of the shack, the pads the men had used as beds were pulled together for a comfortable place to let her rest. Hermione knelt next to her mum and stoked her hair.

“Mum? I’m right here. You’ll be fine in a moment.” She looked as her hands and noticed a slight tremor. She repeated what happened only moments before, she rubbed her hands together and they began to glow. One hand to her forehead and the other over her heart. She looked deep into the form before her, and could see into her pain.

“She was given a potion, that’s all,” she said. “We have to wait for it to wear off. She’ll be fine soon.” She kept her hands on her mother’s head and heart, letting the magics return. After the glow stopped, Harry noticed Hermione still kept her hands in place. This time she was stroking her hair and with her other hand, could feel her heart beat.

James had been standing beside Hermione the entire time, waiting for the Healer for finish her work, and then waited for the daughter to give her love. “Hermione, I’ll stay with her. Please go with the others and deal with Voldemort.”

“James, no, it’s my duty to stay here.”

“No, Hermione, your duty is to be with your husband, this is my task. I have a question to ask her when she wakes up, or do I need your permission first?”

“Permission? Why?” she asked.

“I intend to ask her to be my wife.”

Startled at that request, Harry nearly dropped the same vial he talked from Hermione’s hand, and she would have fallen backwards, except she was still kneeling. He turned and stood next to Hermione, who was still dazed from the announcement.

“Yes, you heard me,” he now said to the other Marauders. “It’s time for some fresh blood in this musty group anyway.”

“But father, that would mean I would be married to my sister!” Harry joked.

She drove her elbow into his shin.

“Owww. That bloody hurt,” he said as he pretended to hop in pain.

“I think they both deserve to have some happiness,” she replied. “I think it’s a smashing plan.”

“First, Stag here has a task to finish.” Remus reminded them, “The night won’t stop for us to sit back and pat each other on the backs, and by now the rescue had been discovered.”

“Moony’s right, we have to end this tonight,” Harry said.

“So, how do we get inside the Ministery? Just walk inside?” James asked.

“We are going to the Ministry, YOU are staying here with Alycia, Prongs, someone has to stay behind and protect her,” Sirius commanded.

“Before you object, father, I agree, you need to stay here. I’m the only one that can face him and live. In my world, you didn’t fare so well.”

His shoulders slumped and he nodded. He knew someone had to remain behind until she woke.

“Then it’s settled, we’ll use him” Harry pointer to Malfoy’s body, “to gain access to the Ministry, Hermione and I will use the same ploy we used to escape the Mansion. Hermione, are you up for this? I think you understand.”

“Yes,” she said rolling her eyes. “You don’t have to treat me like a child.”

“Chrissy, Steve and Remus, you wait until we’re inside, I’ll get word to you. Sirius, you’re with us.” He fumbled inside his pack. “Take this invisibility cloak and follow us, a little surprise can go a long way. Also, a little confusion never hurt. I apparated into London just before we went to rescue Alycia and tripped as many wards as I could. Before you three follow us to the Ministry, take fifteen minutes and pop in and out of as many places as possible, trip as many wards as you can, make them think it’s an all out invasion.

“Good luck, Harry and Hermione, you will be missed,” James said as they turned to leave.

“Take good care of her mum, Prongs, or we’ll have to come back here and deal with you.”

“Right, you’ll drag me to the wood-shed,” James joked.

“Harry,” Jame began, “There’s a lot that needs to be done here, and I know we don’t have the right to ask this, but stay and live here. You’ve earned the right.”

Touched they both placed a hand on his shoulder; she leaned in and left a kiss, while Harry just patted him on the shoulder. “No, we have to do this before we can find our own reality and home.”

They turned with the others to leave as Alycia started to wake. “ Hermione, wait, ” James called. She returned to say goodbye to her mum one last time, a tear built in the corner of her eye.

James and Alycia also stepped to the couple about to leave, “ Son, thank you. You both are truly the most important people to have existed, here or in any other world. We promise to continue your fight, until we have completely triumphed or are gone ourselves. ”

“Dear,” Alycia reached to Hermione, “Thank you, if this bloke is half the man his son is, I’ll be the luckiest woman alive. You both take care.”

“Goodbye, Mum, James,” Hermione replied

The two small groups now attempted what full scale forces could not, although, no one bothered to tell them every prior attempt failed with no survivors. The first group began apparating in various parts of London . Hitting random streets and event letting themselves be seen. The second group waited a few moments until wards started tripping to signal the others were had begun the diversion. They popped into London a few hundred meters from the entrance.

“Sirius,” Harry began while in the sanctuary of the alley, “We’ll have to go in two at a time, you go with this ‘thing’,” he said pointing to the zombie, “and we’ll follow after you are in.”

“No, the Ministry stopped using the phone booth for the main entrance years ago. Ever since Voldemort came to power, he dropped all pretense of secrecy; we can just pass through the main doors.”

“And since we’re escorting this ‘thing’,” Hermione added, “we should be able to pass through.”

The procession of the zombie Malfoy followed by two personal guards and an invisible accomplice came to the main gate of the Ministry Sirius slipped in front of them and raised Malfoy’s hand to a pressure plate on the wall. “It’s an identification plate stolen from muggles,” he whispered hoarsely.

Hermione pulled her wand and pointed it at the zombie’s hand, an ancient looking manuscript appeared. She kept her wand in her hand, but slipped up the sleeve, ready to let it slip into place without being noticed. Harry noticed the book appear and nodded slightly.

The main gate swung open allowing the initial invasion force access to a large lift. The doors automatically closed and they felt the floor descend. The doors opened again into the main Atrium of the Ministry, and when they closed again, they kept the appearance of the original wall. Without drawing attention to themselves, the group walked past the security gate. The guard stood and picked up his wand as it to stop them. Harry stared at the guard momentarily, and he sat in his chair and nodded.

“Go in Lord Malfoy, his Excellency is expecting you in his throne room.” The guard said as the group passed.

Hermione glanced at Harry under the hooded robe questioning how they passed through so easily. He never noticed her glance and they preceded though the Atrium. They walked behind Malfoy’s shell to the bank of lifts, and as they approached the center one automatically opened. They entered and it descended one floor to the same one they first entered nearly two months ago.

Inside the lift, Sirius had to risk being discovered. “He has taken over the courtroom as his ‘throne room’. We have to be careful, if they know we have Alycia, and I’m certain they do; then they must know we have this horse’s arse.”

“It’s a risk we have to take, that’s why you’re under that cloak.” Harry replied as the doors opened into the ninth level.

They passed the locked and chained rooms, the Hall of Prophecies and The Death Chamber remained exactly as they remembered. The continued the procession through to the staircase that led to the courtroom, now converted into a throne room.

The hall to the throne room had the same dungeon-like feel to the walls. These walls have changed since his two official trips to the courtroom. The stone walls and floor seemed to have grown together, the seams between each rock would not allow as much as sheet of parchment. The musty and staleness of the darkened hall began to trigger a memory, fresh in his mind and much older in her mind. They both felt a simultaneous shiver of déjà vu as they passed through the hall. The fringe of light that cracked into the hall barely illuminated the entrance to the throne room.

Inside the chamber a dark hooded figure sat on a gilded with a thin layer of gold and padded with supple leather on the seat and back. The throne itself sat where the head judge of the Wizengamot had sat. The surrounding seats and benches that existed when it was a courtroom had vanished, now different rows of benches, more like polished church pews, boarded the to sides. The space directly behind had a large tapestry depicting Voldemort’s conquests in all his glory. The fictitious images on the tapestry showed Voldemort standing over bodies of muggle and wizards alike, holding a flaming sword overhead.

The seated figure motioned to an armored clad soldier, who wore dark armor and held his helmet in his hands, removed out of respect or fear, it was unclear. The warrior’s face was clearly visible as he bowed, turned and taking large strides, passed the newcomers. He had scars that seemed familiar; a slash from brow to chin left one eye empty, covered with a patch that was riveted to his flesh. His hair pulled into tight plaits that trailed down his back. A flowing black cape hung from his shoulders, in all respects, he appeared as an old thing knight.

Sirius had crouched low and shifted into the shadows under the invisibility cloak to avoid a collision with the soldier. The past conversation seemed to have an urgency that reflected on the face of the man on the throne.

“Lucius, please come, my old friend.” Harry gave a gentle hand wave and the zombie walked forward. Ready for this to escalate quickly, Harry took a couple small steps to the side, Hermione, followed his lead and glided in the opposite direction. Sirius remained pasted low to the wall, trying hard to not move and giveaway his position. If he kept still, any variations in his invisible field would not be noticed.

“I see you have something for me? How interesting. I truly expected to see Snape with you and the potion.” His tone was flat and even, no hint of discovery.

The form kept walking closer, forcing Voldemort to focus on him, while the two hooded and cloaked guards inched closer to the sides, in an apparent attempt to outflank the throne. The leathery and withered face pulled to a slight grin.

Hermione’s use of a manuscript was clever enough to get Voldemort’s attention. He heard there was an attack at the Manor and also heard Lord Malfoy was reported missing. But her he stood, in the flesh. Harry made a slight hand gesture having the zombie point to his throat, as if he couldn’t speak.

“Ahh, so they took your voice? And?”

“Lord Voldemort, this is a trap.” He heard in Parseltongue from one of the guards.

Sirius stared in disbelief as he watched Hermione drop her hood and step forward while Harry stood stone still.

“Explain yourself; witch, before I take your miserable life.” Voldemort ordered.

“It’s quite simple, I did this to this worthless pile of flesh; he’ s a disgusting and loathsome pig,” she replied matter-of-factly, and added, “I have taken his soul and disposed of it. And before you try anything, I simply want to warn you that my husband is a powerful and vengeful wizard.”

“It isn’t everyday I have the chance to meet someone with the backbone to stand up to me on their own. Yes, Malfoy served his purpose but he had become too much of a lap dog.”

“Which is why having us as your allies might prove beneficial; we are both speakers of the old way.”

“Tell me of this trap.” He pointed to the second guard, “You may leave us.”

Harry, at that point, dropped his hood too, “Sire, would you miss the opportunity to meet my husband?” Hermione asked.

Harry stepped forward to her side, putting an arm behind her back, “I alone can stop this rebellion, but there will be a price to pay,” he said.

“Such insolence; such disrespect; such self-centered greed; how refreshing. How can you stop this rebellion?”

“I have been in contact with certain leaders of the rebellion and they have taken us into their confidence. I can convince them to do my bidding with a word. As we speak, they are preparing to strike here. I can stop the attack, if I wish.”

“Can you draw them into a planned ambush as well?” Lord Voldemort asked.

“Certainly, if I had reason,” Harry replied.

“Would sparing your lives be reason enough?” Voldemort sneered as he gripped his wand.

“I think you may find that more difficult then you would think.” Hermione said as she raised her hand mimicking Harry’s motions, and Voldemort’s wand was stripped from his hand without a word. His wand flew into her hand, and she held it as if examining it.

“Phoenix feather, isn’t it? I’ve heard one existed,” she commented as if in casual conversation as she twirled the Dark Lord’ s wand in her fingers, gently stroking the shaft gliding her fingers down the length and paused at the tip. She knew her every move was being watched.

“So, she has the ability for wandless magic, impressive, but not in and of itself a unique skill.” He pointed to the wand in her hand and summoned it. It quivered in her hand momentarily before she released it back to him.

She smiled as he slipped the wand into his belt before he motioned them both forward. The deception had worked better then anticipated.

“So, you can call off this attack with a word?”

“Yes, I have a dog waiting to deliver my message. Go, it’s over.” He shouted to the windowless wall, and in Sirius’ general direction.

Sirius, still not believing what he heard, slipped out carefully still hidden under the cloak. All he had to do was get to the Atrium and he would be able to escape. With the disturbances created by the others tripping wards, security guards and Aurors scrambled from one level to another, trying to isolate the attacks. All he had to do was wait for the lift to stop at the correct level, and leave. He would be outside in moments, warning the others of the deceptions by Harry and Hermione, they now obviously had joined forces with the Dark Lord, ready to reveal the underground network.

He stayed out of sight; he needed to confirm his fears before leaving.

“So,” Voldemort said, “Send your message and let’s discuss how we can assist each other.”

“It has been sent, I ordered the attacks to be terminated,” Harry replied.

“It also seems we have not been properly introduced. You both well know who I am, but I have no idea who you two are, and it seems one of you is quite capable of blocking my mind from both of yours.”

“My name is Harriet, and this is my husband Herman Gratter. We have watched your rise with interest, although your management of the natural resources of this planet has been less then efficient.”

“Tell me Gratter, do you let her do all your talking? Has she emasculated you to that level?”

“Do you lead every one of your battles, or do you delegate probing attacks to a strong second?” Hermione replied before Harry answered.

“Interesting; you have an interesting strategy, let the little woman do your dirty work and watch for a weakness.”

She smiled at the remark, but bit the end of her tongue to keep from snapping. ‘How much longer, this is torture, Harry,’ she thought to herself.

‘A little longer, we need to know his weaknesses, besides pride,’ he thought back into her mind.

“So, you have a reason to offer your services? And what is your plan for crushing the rebellion?” Voldemort asked. He had begun to consider these two as allies, and as possible replacements for the lackeys he had surrounded himself with in recent years, if they proved useful. They were refreshing and strong. “What of Malfoy? His son will want revenge?”

“He is of no consequence; I shall deal with him when the time comes.” Harry replied as a matter of fact.

“So tell me, what ‘powers’ do you both possess?”

“We both have powers unique to each other, but complementary. He has a power that even you do not possess.” Hermione replied quickly.

“We know who the rebel leaders are, and there may be an uprising soon,” Harry began his planned speech. His monologue consisted of enough detail to be believed, and long enough for her to do her part.

‘Sire, I need to speak with you alone, send him away.’ She thought.

‘No need for that, are you the one blocking your thoughts?’

‘Yes. He really isn’t that strong, I let him believe he is. I know your weakness of the years and I can help. You are naturally so much stronger then he is, I find that… arousing.’ She thought.

‘Go on, I will let him drone on about this rebel plot that I am already well aware of.’

‘I have the ability to draw one's soul from one's body; Malfoy is an example of that. I can also draw the life force from a body and transfer it where I want. You have a problem with stamina, I know of your dependence on your rituals and your constant trips between the Manor, the Ministry and Little Hangleton.’

‘And what of him?’

‘It was a marriage of convenience; I was bonded to this other wizard by my father, that fool was weak. I convinced Herman to kill him for me and release me from that bond. Do this and I will be yours, and I will use my skill to return your lost stamina.’

‘How do I know you won’t turn on me, bitch?’

‘Simple, there isn’t anyone stronger then you is there? I want to mate with the strongest wizard possible, and I will bear you a strong son.’

Voldemort mulled her proposal in his mind for a few moments while Harry continued to detail possible but ridiculous strategies for defeating the Rebel alliances.

“Enough of your dribbling, Gratter. You have yet to tell me anything new,” Voldemort said stopping Harry’s speech.

“But, Sire, I am on the inside of two main factions,” Harry continued his pleading. ‘Love, did it work?’

‘Yes, but be careful.’

“Leave us, I wish to speak to your wife, alone,” Voldemort said as he dismissed Harry. “Come, you lovely creature, you deserve better then him.”

“Stop. She is my wife. We came here together, and I won’t leave without her.”

“Yes, but she is the only one I require to stay, if you wish to keep your life, leave now.” He held a weathered hand to Hermione, and she took a couple steps closer to the Dark Lord.

“No, I won’t leave without her,” Harry demanded.

“So be it, fool.” He pulled his wand and pointed it at Harry, who stood there and raised his hands as if he were trying to block the inevitable spell with his bare hands.

Hermione had slipped her wand from its hiding place and also had another wand in her other hand.

“AVADA KEDAVRA” the dark wizard shouted, but instead of the green killing beam, from his wand, nothing happened.

Harry’s hands began to glow; he began his incantation from before. “CONTEGOOPERIRE …”

Before he finished, a hand streaked from Voldemort’s side, but she failed to block the impact of his closed fist with her jaw. Harry’s concentration had been broken at the sudden physical attack.

“No, Hermione!” He shouted, and tried to cushion her fall, but missed. She flew down the steps of the raised dais where the throne sat, to the stone floor from the impact. The blow was enough to send her sliding into the wall. Her chin stung sharply and blood filled her mouth. Her head struck a protruding corner and she went limp. Stunned at the sudden changes, both adversaries watched her fall, as if it were a slow motion film. Harry’s hands still had the bluish glow, but it started to fade as he saw the tell-tell trickle of blood down the side of her face.

“So this was the trap, you both are fools.” Voldemort sneered as she took a single step to retrieve his wand where she dropped it. “So you are as weak as she said, I’l l finish her first, so you can watch.” He pointed his wand at her throat, “Diffin …”

“Expelliarmus ,” he yelled, and the Dark Lord’ s wand again flew from his hands before the spell was finished. “Leave her alone,” he shouted as he took the wand and twisted it in both hands, bending and ready to snap.

“You fool, I don’t need a wand to finish the likes of you,” he hissed and turned to face Harry. Hermione’ s limp body still lay between the two, but Harry was too far from her to help. Voldemort, on the other hand, was only a few inches from her and to drive the point of Harry’s weakness, buried his boot sharply into her side, the distinct snap reported ribs breaking.

The fresh pain woke her, but the new sensations had her doubled over on the floor, retching blood.

Fully enraged, Harry raised his hand at their foe, a red crackle began to snap from his fingertips and a concentrated bolt of lightning struck Voldemort in the chest, flinging him across the room and into the same wall Hermione had struck. The smell of cindered flesh wafted through the room, as the Dark Lord tried to lift himself to his knees.

Hermione laid there, bile and blood mixed in her throat, she managed to roll over and free herself from the bile, just as Harry crossed to her side. Voldemort was still too close to allow him a second chance to hurt Hermione, Harry raised his hand again and shouted “Stupefy” , causing Voldemort to stumble back from his knees.

“Weak, Gratter, try something stronger next time.” He raised his wand and held it over Hermione’ s body, pointing it at Harry. “Now, you will die,” he sneered.

The green hue began at the tip of his wand, evident of his weakened state. He was having difficulty summoning the power he needed to kill. Harry raised his hand again, and the same blue hue engulfed his hand.

Hermione was closer to Voldemort, she managed to open an eye, blood stung the other shut; she could see his wand and arm over her and could feel his weakened state. She knew she was hurt, and bleeding. She watched Harry hesitate his blow, ‘Because of me,’ she thought and reached out to Voldemort.

Her hands glowed with the same golden hue as before, and she grabbed the outstretched arm. She felt his life begin to drain from his body into hers; she felt his evil soul reach out to her like an infection.

She resisted.

She pulled as much of his life from his body as she could in that brief moment, leaving him weaker, but left his soul inside and intact. He was dying, but not dead. She fell back, briefly revived, and rolled out of the way.

Harry watched the dark wizard fall motionless. His body began to shrink, and a haze engulfed him. Harry took the chance and raised his hands to complete his spell. The same blue sphere of energy engulfed Voldemort’s body. The haze dissipated around the sphere.

He began to collapse the energy sphere, to destroy the body once again but before it disappeared completely he heard Hermione cough. He stopped the destruction of Voldemort, leaving a small apple sized orb hovering near her body. He rushed to her side knowing she was hurt. The injuries were not severe, but they were still painful, her ribs had begun knitting back together on their own although her scalp did not stop bleeding. He gently lifted her head into his lap and stroked her hair.

“You’ re safe now, love. He’ s gone.” He pressed his hand to the wound in her scalp, causing her to wince at the sharp pain.

“Harry, I could see his soul,” she began, her eyes wild in fright. “Harry, it’s not over. It wasn’t all there.” She franticly grabbed at his arms.

“Mione, it’s ok, I got him. He’ s gone.”

“No, before you hit him I could tell, his soul wasn’t intact,” she insisted again.

He thought the possibilities and watched the blue orb. It contained whatever was left of the Dark Lord. He stood, leaving her to hold her head and control the bleeding, reached out and grabbed the small sphere and squeezed it. It continued to shrink, but it wouldn’t disappear. He focused and concentrated on the single spot of pure energy, and willed it away, it shrank again, but still remained.

“I can’t finish it; it’s as if there’ s something stopping me.”

“Can you encase it? Maybe you need to rest first,” she offered.

He picked up Voldemort’s wand, and having the least bit of self doubt, created a small box to hold the sphere safely. The box was lined with an energy force, to match the sphere. He slipped it into the box and sealed the box.

She sat up now, still holding the back of her head and looked at the box. She slipped a hand inside his cloak and removed a single object. She held the vial with Malfoy’s soul and he held the remains of Voldemort in the other.

“You did it!” they heard from the opening of the chamber. Sirius appeared from under the cloak. “I couldn’t believe you two turned traitors. I had to wait and find out,”

Harry grinned and Hermione winced, she was still sore and still had some bleeding. Sirius tore a patch of his shirttail off and folded it as a bandage for her head. It soaked through quickly.

“We need to get her to a healer quickly, Harry. I think enough damage has been done here.”

“No, I’ ll be fine. I need to rest a bit,” she said. She looked to Harry, and they shared a thought. “No, Harry not you, it would kill you, you’ ve used too much to get him.”

“What does she need, Harry?” Sirius asked bewildered.

“Energy of sorts. She needs to draw on natural energy to heal.”

“But Harry’s too weak, if I can rest a while …” she continued.

“It’s not safe here; there will be others here soon. Can you use me?” he offered.

“Sirius, it might kill you, look what happened to Voldemort.”

“Look, kids, I don’t care, take what you need. Please.”

“Mione, what about that.” Harry pointed to the Malfoy shell. It had been hit by a stray spell and one arm was gone. She nodded reluctantly, and he motioned for it to come closer.

She held a hand out to the body, and they both were engulfed in a golden glow, lasting only a few moments. The shell stiffened and after the glow faded, it slumped to the floor. Not completely dead, but not alive either.

Her scalp wound finally closed, her ribs completely healed and the bruises on her side and chin also faded. Her strength began to return quickly.

“She used him like a bloody battery,” Sirius commented.

“Yes, and I can do the opposite but I’ve never done this before,” she hesitated and looked away. “I--I can’t kill.”

“I know. It’s a good thing to be able to stop. Now, love, we need to get the others and get out.” They left the throne room, a still quivering Malfoy shell remained on the floor.

“Sirius,” Harry began grabbing his godfather’ s arm, “It’s important one of us gets out to make certain this won’t continue. First chance you get, you need to get out.”

“Yes sir, General Potter,” he said with an exaggerated salute.

“I’ m serious, here, take this box, it must be destroyed somehow. I know I can do it, but I didn’t seem to have the strength earlier.”

“So keep this safe, and you will finish the task she started?” Sirius asked as they entered the staircase.

“She started?” Harry stopped and looked at Sirius.

“Yes, you couldn’t see it, but she nearly killed him, you only trapped him.”

“Harry,” she pulled him face to face, “that last line … ‘Their kin will complete what the witch lost began’ now it makes sense, mum and James must be the ones to destroy what’s left in this world, since you never existed here you couldn’t be the one to kill him.”

A moment of revelation streaked through the Potters, and Harry simply nodded to the potential outcome, yet to occur. He pulled out his rucksack and sat on the steps while he fumbled inside it for a moment.

“Harry, what are you doing? We don’t have the time,” she said to hurry him along.

“Just a moment, I need to write this down.” He scribbled on a sheet of parchment, and handed it to Sirius. “It’s the spell needed to destroy the orb, give it to James. He’ s the one, I’ m certain.”

Sirius took the sheet, and tucked it into his pocket. He still held the box and knew the job that lay ahead. “You two aren’t going to make it back, are you?”

“Don’t be daft, of course. The lifts are on the other side of this corridor, we should be able to get out from here, there’ s enough confusion.”

They stood at the door to the stair landing for the ninth level, and carefully opened it a crack. The hall seemed empty and clear, leaving an unobstructed path to the other end. Sirius slipped out first, and waited in an alcove just before the lifts, for the others to cross over.

Harry took a deep breath, grabbed her hand and kissed the back of her hand lightly.” Ready?” he asked.

She nodded and they caught each other’ s eyes for a split second, and each still could see that spark meant only for the other. They both grinned and he squeezed her hand as he pushed the door open. They started for the same alcove Sirius hid in, when from the corner of his eye, Harry noticed the chain around the Hall of Prophecies’ door was not only removed, but still moving. As they came to the door of the Death Chamber, the door to the hall of Prophecies swung open. A group of wizards in uniformed cloaks appeared, the two opposing forces froze, staring at each other, Hermione thought fast and pushed Harry through the first available door.

The door to the Death Chamber exploded seconds after they passed into the room, the only available cover was the stone arch.

“Sirius GET OUT!” Harry shouted and he and Hermione crouched behind the stone benches on the steps. The first wizard through the door was greeted by a bolt of lightning, the same as he hit Voldemort. When he fell, the hood slipped off and they could tell it was Victor Crabbe. Hermione hit the next with a stunner and he dropped.

The bench next to them exploded sending shards of stone screaming at them, one large chunk hit Harry in the shoulder with a thud. It knocked him off balance and sent him falling away from the cover of the benches. She managed a more aggressive series of spells, aimed to create confusion in the attacking group.

“Hermione, behind you!” Harry could see a wizard had worked his way around, and was about to strike her down, he fired a blaster off, hitting the wizard square in the chest. His blood spurted out as he fell dead, neatly bisected.

She rolled around to him, the door was clear and a series of spells and explosions erupted in the hall, Sirius was creating a diversion for them, but the door was now blocked.

The sudden silence from the hall means either they caught him or he escaped as Harry instructed. Harry held Hermione’ s hand tightly, as they strained to hear any movement. She surveyed the carnage in the aptly named Death Chamber, at least one was surely dead, one possibly dead and another stunned. Hermione stood to try and help the two near the doorway, but he held her back. The shouting resumed from outside.

The sound of shouts and obvious sounds of movement was good news, they were searching for Sirius. He must have slipped out in the confusion.

Harry held her hand, pulling her into an embrace. “We have one chance, we have to let the people here finish this fight, I’ m certain they will win, with Voldemort and Malfoy gone.”

“You still have that vial?” she asked. “We shouldn’t leave it, in case they …”

He reached into his pocket, for the vial, and in that last blast that shattered the stone bench, the vial broke. “It’s empty, does that mean--?”

“I think so, his soul needed a vessel, and he wasn’t able to become a spirit, there wasn’t any life force left, he’ s truly gone,” she let the last statement roll from her lips; she had caused his death. Even though she didn’t intend to kill him, he was dead because of her direct action.

“He deserved it, Mione, it wasn’t your fault.” He kissed her forehead to keep her from dwelling on Lucius Malfoy’s demise. “We have to leave.”

He stood and kept her hand tight in his, afraid to let go. He looked to the arch and back to her, she nodded and she still held Harry’s hand as this time they turned to the arch together and stepped through, still holding hands.

He held her hand so he knew she was near, he could still smell the fragrance in her hair as it swirled and flowed in the cosmic winds and eddies. She was nearby. He refused to let her hand go, even for a moment; he mentally apologized for crushing her hand as he held it so tight. He even imaged her saying in his mind she didn’t mind. His shoulder still stung from the blow moments ago, he ignored the throbbing and now the slight stiffness. He focused on her hand in his.

There was no floor, no walls, nothing but emptiness. This was what they experienced the last time. This is what she is experiencing with him this time, together. He reached out in front of him, hoping for any sensation, any tactile response, and like the last time there was nothing. Experience has taught him that the forces that are toying with them will take their own sweet time to let this end, as it must surly end.

There was still nothing. No, there was her hand in his, she wiggled her fingers either to ease the discomfort or simply to telegraph to him she was still there.

Time.

Time passed.

Still nothing.

The wiggling stopped, his hand had grown numb. He tried to pull her closer; his arm struggled against the force of the flow. He squeezed harder and all he felt was an empty hand. She was gone.

He wanted a touch of her hand, just a touch, a reassuring touch she was not lost. She can’t be lost he rationalized, last time he followed her and she was waiting for him, she’ll be waiting for him this time.

He closed his eyes to think and willed his growing fears away, she would be there, he was certain she was already there. As his anxiety mounted, he could feel the flapping of clothe, the veil as it fluttered in his face. He opened his eyes to find himself just on the other side of the gateway, as if he stepped through a door. Sitting on the floor in front of him was Hermione, waiting patiently.

“Mione?”

Her eyes lit as bright as the beams from a lighthouse guiding the lost home. She threw her arms around him and finally released a sigh of relief. He winced slightly, his shoulder would need her special touch.

“My hand went numb and I couldn’t feel you anymore, I tried to wiggle my fingers just to let you know where I was,” she managed to say between her kisses.

“I know. That was all I felt. How long were you waiting?”

“Umm, not long, last time I remember I sat alone for what seemed like hours, but this time you popped through about an hour after I realized I was through.”

“Do you think we’re home or is this world going to be worse?”

“I think we’ll find out as soon as we get out of here.” She slipped her hand around his shoulder, and sensed the swelling he ignored. She smiled and slipped her hand under his shirt, to his skin, and smiled. A warm surge passed through the injury as the pain disappeared with her touch.

“Better now?”

“Much better, thanks.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek, as they turned to the door. The evidence of the battle from only moments ago was not there. The bench that was shattered stood intact, as did the door.

After the last episode in the Ministry, they cautiously walked up the steps of the pit that held the archway, and passed through the door to the room. The hall was dark as if night had fallen. Not a single ray of light could be seen, she produced her wand, and after muttering the incantation, her wand tip began to glow. With the exception of the darkness, everything seemed normal, the first thing he looked for was the chain that sealed the Hall of Prophecies, it was not there. The door also appeared to have not been opened in a very long time.

They cautiously left that level and found the lift still operational, but it appeared to have been years since its last use. They left the lift on the second level, where the Auror’s offices were, any change here could be evidence of what they could expect. The light from her wand showed evidence of the lack of maintenance and years of neglect. The wallpaper had separated from the walls where moisture leaked through from broken pipes and outside seepage. Doors left open, many damaged from forced entries. Faded scorch marks on the walls showed evidence of spells that had missed their targets. They turned the corner where they expected to find the rows of cubicles, only to find the room in a similar state of disarray. The cubicle walls had either fallen of were knocked down, desks tipped over and also showed of a conflict.

They walked carefully to the spot where his desk should have been, it had scattered piles of parchment and layers of dust. The chair had been turned around, with the back to them. He kicked the chair aside to open the drawers, and as it spun, a pile of bones held together in a rotten bundle of cloth fell to the floor. The obvious detail was a wooden leg in the pile.

Hermione sucked in a gasp of air at the sudden clatter of bones, not expecting to see this.

“Moody. Its Moody, but he retired after Voldemort was gone.” Harry stated. “This isn’t the same world we left, something happened here too.”

This time she wasn’t afraid of the outcome of this world, again they were here for a reason and they had to find out what happened to determine the reason they were here. On the floor she noticed Moody’s wand, and picked it up, just in case. She followed him as they made their way through the debris that littered the halls and now clogged the staircase. The stairs themselves remained sturdy and intact, but the amount of trash indicated either a rapid evacuation or looting.

At the top of the stairs they found themselves looking in the Atrium. The once highly polished, dark wood floor now scuffed and dull, scoring along the walls and fragments of the fireplaces showed this was where most of the fighting started, the ministry tried to defend itself, and the fight must have bleed to the other floors. The Aurors were mostly killed in the Atrium. Several small piles of rags and bones lay scattered along the hall, several concentrated near the circular pool. The figures that had stood in the fountain, now also lay in ruin.

“How long ago do you think this happened?” she asked as they stepped over the remains.

“From the appearances, quite some time.” He stopped at the front security desk, a newspaper laid open, unread for years. He carefully blew the dust from the page and read the date. May 23 1998 .

“What is it, Harry?” she asked, although she knew the answer.

“This must have been his second target after Hogwarts; he wouldn’t split his force for a double attack. It’s that date.”

She gasped at the news, turned and sat on the guard’s desk. The possibility of being home crossed her mind, but deep down she expected it wasn’t. He also expected an emotional reaction. He moved to put his arms around her when she did something unexpected.

“No, Harry, I’m fine, I know this was some one else’s doing. I don’t need to be coddled.” She pushed him away; a steely eye look of determination was all she would reveal.

He stood there, unsure why the change, ‘something with the incident with Malfoy’ he thought, but before he could work out the details, she explained.

“Harry, it’s nothing about you, or me, it’s this thing we’re going through. Malfoy has nothing to do with it, I was glad to have some revenge for what he did to us.” She stopped and picked up his hands. “I love you; you’re my best friend and lover. I have been torn inside since he did that to us, to me. What happened was my release from that. As far as I care it’s over.”

“Hermione, I’m so glad to finally hear you say its over. It has been over for me since we almost lost Ginny; I refuse to allow anyone else to be hurt because of that curse. That’s why I want to find a child that needs a home and give him or her one.”

“Yes, if and when we get to our home, our reality. I want to make that our first priority.”

“Second. They’ve probable declared us dead by now,” he corrected her priority.

“Right, we straighten that out then find a child that needs a home and love.” She wrapped her arms around his chest, and put her head against him. He responded with an embrace and a loving kiss on her head.

“Now, let’s find out what happened, to the Burrow first or to Godric’s Hollow?”

“I want to find Ron, ok?” she asked, looking into his eyes.

“You know I can’t refuse these eyes. Of course, I miss him too, but that sheet may have a clue.”

“Hmmm. Yes, it might. It would at least give us an idea what to expect.”

He pulled the bundle of pages from the rucksack and thumbed through them. He found the one sheet in question and placed it on the security desk. Hen he released it, the words all vanished.

He place his hands on the top an bottom edges, some of the words returned and stated to glow:

sixth of seven… one whose star shines brighter… she is lost…

He released it and it became blank again. She placed her hands on the opposite sides, and other words appeared:

Dark Lord… oppression… Joined by… direction and council

He replaced his hands on the sheet and the full message faded to view:

As the Dark Lord comes to power
The sixth of seven will stand against oppression
Joined by one whose star shines brighter than anyone
Her intellect will give direction and council
Before she is lost to the ages
Leaving Fate to the son of the seventh

“Do you have it?” he asked.

“Yes, I believe so, obviously this means Voldemort is in or is coming back here. And…” they both realized she was integral to the message, since she had always been referred to as one giving direction and council.

“Who is ‘the sixth of seven’, and that second to the last line, I don’t care for the sound of it.”

“Darling, Harry, they’re just words on a sheet of parchment. It could mean me or my counterpart in this world. At least now we have some idea.” She tucked the sheet back into the book and then back into the pack.

“It’s time to go,” she said.

She held her hands out and he helped her to her feet, more to just hold her hands again, and they found their way out of the destroyed building.

Once at the lobby of the building there wasn’t a sign of a living soul. There wasn’t so much as a single guard to stop them from leaving and soon they found themselves on a street in downtown London on Covent Garden . That street was barren as well; old papers blew across the street. Cars littered the intersection, burned and rusted. This had the feel of an old muggle movie about a nuclear disaster, where civilization was obliterated.

“Harry, I don’t like the looks of things here any more then that last reality.”

“I think we should go to the oak tree. It should be clear enough there.”

She looked at him and nodded; no need for secrecy here, London appeared to be dead. He held her hand, as they apparated together, back to the same oak tree they picnicked under before all this happened. The tree was the same as before, the grounds were better tended then the last reality. But the monuments for those that died didn’t exist.

“Listen,” he said as she began scanning for something familiar, “they may be dead here too, we have to be prepared. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fair. Let’s see if they’re here.”

They passed the old oak; the grounds were in slightly better condition then in the last reality. Harry felt it, an uneasy feeling someone was calling. He let the feeling pass unmentioned. She also noticed something. But she had no clue what that ‘something’ was.

“I’m beginning to understand how you felt going to the Burrow with Sir James,” Harry said in a low voice.

She simply smiled and squeezed his hand. Together they approached the building in the distance; muffled voices carried across the field told them this time the scene might not be as devastating.

She gave his hand a squeeze as the both heard the voices, eager to find a friend. However, since the last encounters they were cautious. They crossed the field, staying close to the hedgerows for cover. The house itself had a more then normal rundown look about it, but still appeared habitable. Smoke from the chimney told them the dwelling was not empty.

As they came to the gate in the stone fence, a small child, a boy possibly six or seven years old ran past, and stopped short when he saw them. He glanced at Harry first and froze when he saw Hermione standing at his side. The boy turned sheet white, emphasizing the trademark crimson hair.

“Hello, what is your name?” Hermione asked, as she bent to his level.

His reply was a shriek as he turned and ran. “Mummy, it’s outside!!”

Confused they looked at each other and walked to the front door. Harry cautiously knocked while Hermione stayed behind him.

A fiery redheaded woman came to the door, she looked so familiar, but the years had worn her down. She had the look of a woman fighting daily for her and her child’s very survival.

“May I help you?” she asked politely.

“Please excuse our intrusion, we were hoping to find…”

The woman lifter her eyes to his greeting, and instant recognition flared in his mind.

“Ginny?”

“Yes? Do I know you?” she asked and at Harry’s mentioning her name, Hermione stepped forward with a warm smile for a lost friend.

“Gin, it’s…”

“You? How did you do that, Hermione? And who is this man?”

“Ginny, it’s me, Harry. You seem to know Hermione.”

“Of course, she’s been here ever since, since that day.” Ginny turned a confused look to Hermione again, “You’ve never left the house before, and you’re real?”

“Can we come in, Ginny?” Hermione asked, slightly bewildered at her comments.

The door swung open and she allowed them into the house. The young boy had been hiding behind Ginny’s skirt, trembling. She watched as the couple walked into the house as if they had done so a thousand times before. They both entered the front room, where Harry removed his pack and helped Hermione out of her robe. Then the unspeakable happened in Ginny’s eyes, she kissed him as they sat.

“Hermione? How could you be here like this?”

“I… don’t understand. Like how?”

Ginny never answered, from the stairs a translucent figure drifted into the room, “We have company? I thought I heard young Arthur cry out.” The figure drifted down and saw the couple on the sofa and froze.

“You’re… me?” Hermione gasped as she grabbed Harry’s arm.

“But, how?” the ghost exclaimed, “Who are you?”

Harry held a hand out to stop the questions. “My name is Harry Potter, and this is Hermione Potter, my wife. We are trapped between our reality and this one, because of an error in judgment.”

“Hermione Potter? But my name is, er was Granger,” she said.

He continued and began to explain their situation, he explained about the veil and coming from a different reality, he explained briefly without revealing too much information of their world or the past reality they had just escaped. The ghost sat on an invisible chair, and listened as the story unfolded. Ginny, too sat transfixed to the unfolding and remarkable story.

When he stopped at the point of arriving at the Burrow, the ghost began her story.

“It appears we had very similar experiences,” she looked at Hermione as she spoke. “I received my letter for Hogwarts and found out about my heritage. At school I met Ronald, and we became close friends through the years. He and I became very close and in our seventh year we dated.”

“We were the closest of friends too; the three of us, Ron is still my, well, our best friend. What happened to him?” Harry asked.

“I want to know what happened to Harry, it seems he never went to Hogwarts.” Hermione asked.

“I never knew a Harry Potter; the Potters all died the same day Voldemort disappeared the first time. He returned in my fifth year, and killed Neville. That was the beginning of his return to power. As for Ron, he died in the Battle of Hogwarts, along with most of the teachers and older students. The Ministry was the last battle of the war, when it was destroyed they managed to destroy most of Voldemort’s support leaving the world in a type of stasis. He’s been rebuilding since then, but unfortunately the Ministry’s destruction effectively ended our government, there were very few wizards left willing to step up and help rebuild. There are pockets of us scattered about, but as a whole, our world was destroyed.”

Hermione and Harry listened to the specific events of this world’s destruction, although it still didn’t explain every thing they had seen. The destruction of the Ministry as the last battle was clear now. But there were personal questions that had not been asked.

“How did I, err you die?” Hermione asked her ghost.

“Ron and I were together one night, he wanted me that night, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. We spent the night together, but we never… well…”

Hermione held Harry’s hand; she knew exactly what her ghost was trying to say. “Go on, we had something similar.”

“That morning when I woke in his arms, I had a vision.”

“Mum and dad?”

“Yes. They were…”

“It happened to us that way as well.” She squeezed Harry’s hand for comfort.

“Two days later we, Ron and I, with Dumbledore’s help buried them. That night Ron wanted me to spend the night with him, but I needed to be alone, he was hurt, but seemed to understand. I cried myself to sleep and cuddled in bed with the stuffed animals I remember dad gave me when I was a little girl. I woke up the next morning 500 years in the past. That was the last night I could have spent with him.”

She remembered Merlin’s comments about Harry delaying the funeral and how she went back much later. “I know what happened; you needed to save Hermia, right?”

“Yes. And I met…”

“Myddrin, who tried to explain what happened?” Hermione asked her ghost.

“Hermione,” Harry interrupted, “This is getting a bit confusing. It appears that’s the point things changed.” He looked at the ghost, “You saved Hermia, but did you go to the Chamber of Secrets?”

“No one knows where it is or how to get in. No, I never went there. After I helped Hermia I returned back here, but that was after the Battle of Hogwarts. I was told I died when the Gryffindor Tower was destroyed, Ron had found me unconscious in my bed the morning I went back in time and was caring for me until the attack. He fought bravely, from what I had heard, but he left the fight when Dumbledore was killed. And although he had been badly wounded, he came to get me. He wouldn’t leave me alone and that’s how he died. They said they found us crushed and unable to separate our bodies, we were buried together. When my spirit returned I had no where else to go, so I came here.”

“She was here as a ghost when I returned home several years later,” Ginny now began her side. “I had gone into hiding with my boyfriend at the time. He was being hunted for his part in saving some of us with an early warning before the battle.”

“Draco?”

“Yes, He was killed soon after I discovered I was carrying his child. His father had never forgiven him and branded him as a traitor. They fought each other in a duel and they both died from their wounds, although I still think Voldemort had been there too.”

“So, Voldemort is alive?”

“Some say he is, and some say he’s too weak to really come back again. There’s no reasonable explanation why he didn’t die when the Ministry was destroyed,” the ghost added.

“So chaos has been the norm for the past ten years? What happened to the muggles? When we passed through London , it was deserted.”

“Voldemort had gained the help of the giants and vampires. The muggles seemed to this it was some invasion from terrorists and tried to retaliate with their conventional weapons. They ended killing each other instead. It started with attacks in the main cities and issues overseas were blamed. There was a country there that feared invasion and launched missiles against a neighbor, which in turn launched their missiles, and they ended using weapons with such a destructive nature that most all in and around major cities had died.”

The news that the wizard civil war sparked a global nuclear war caused them to sit and reflect. Harry had thought the next question carefully; it was what he had to do. “Where has Voldemort been spotted?”

“There’s a township of Little Harrington where he’s suppose to have a family house, it’s believed he’s been there, barely alive.”

Harry sat back and blew a lung of air through his teeth and thought about this world. He felt a familiar head nuzzle into his shoulder and his arm found its way around her. Hermione had slipped her arms around his waist and sat there in silence. Her eyes fixed on her own ghost.

The ghost too had watched her counterpart since she entered the room. They all had shared their stories, each listening at those areas where events changed. The silence was broken by one more question, one almost whispered.

“Are you happy?” the ghost asked.

Hermione nodded and held Harry tighter. She pressed deeper into his side, with her face buried in his shirt. She began to grieve for lost friends here, and felt a hand stoke through her hair.

Ginny watched the loving and tender connection displayed between Harry and Hermione, and began to miss Draco that much more. She and her son were the last Weasleys; she and Draco never married and she never took his name. He had saved her life by forcing her to leave Hogwarts the morning of the battle. His arm still burned from the Dark Mark, his face still swollen from the beating he had endured. His one thought that saved him, was to save her.

With the exception of a small boy and a ghost, this home was empty.

“Harry and Hermione, can you stay for a while? I would love to have you here, only if you want and need a place to stay. We’d all love the company.” The ghost nodded her approval at Ginny’s invitation and even the youngest Weasley, of the last Weasley clan, nodded.

“Darling, can we? I’m afraid to see what our home is like.”

“Ginny, we’d love to, if it’s not an inconvenience.”

“Please, there’s plenty of room here. The two of you can stay as long as you’d like.”

“I would like to hear more of Ronald from your world. I miss him,” the ghost asked.

“Of course,” Harry replied.

They say in silent reflection, Harry still had his arm around his wife’s shoulder and continued to hold her. He kissed the top of her head and heard the unmistakable rhythmic breathing that told him she had fallen asleep. Possibly from the stress of the day, or because the last few days had been overly active.

Ginny noticed she had fallen asleep as well. “ There’s a room upstairs, third floor, that is larger than those on the second floor, you’re welcome to use that if you wish.”

“Thanks, Gin. That was the one Ron and I always shared.” He turned to address the ghost, “ I would like to visit him, is he, err I mean, are you both resting nearby?”

“Yes, it’s unmarked and only known to a few people. There’s a large oak tree near the glen, we’re on the east side.”

“That’s where Molly and Arthur and Bill were buried in our world. I put a monument to Sirius Black there about eight years ago.”

“It’s a special place, even in your world.” She watched as Hermione fell into a sound sleep, comfortable in his arms. “ She’s fast asleep; poor dear, Harry take her upstairs to bed. I’m going to put Arthur to bed soon, but if you want to spend time visiting, you’re more then welcome.”

He stood and picked up his wife, she moved her arms around his neck and moaned lightly.

“Thanks, Gin. You know, I never really told you before, but you’ve always been very special to us.” He stopped past her and gave his hostess a loving, family type kiss on the cheek. It was the first time since Draco died that another man had kissed her.

“Come, Arthur, it’s time for bed.”

---

The next few days had been pleasant and quiet. They returned to the oak tree to visit two old friends. The spot was unmarked as Ginny said, but it was easily found by them all. Hermione could feel the spot call to her, and Harry felt it call to him as well. The call for both was an uneasy voice of someone lost before their time. Neither of them was certain it was Ron or Hermione calling to them. But they were certain where it was.

One bright and warm day, Harry had decided to spend some time in the air, it had been years since he played on a Quidditch team, and with the scarce time he and the others spent playing, he didn’t get many chances to fly.

Arthur watched in fascination at Harry’s abilities with a broom, Ginny still had an old Clean Sweep, but it was nearly fifteen years old. She didn’t trust her son with it, since it was losing it s magic.

Harry’s broom was as powerful and fast as the day he received it from Sirius. He could see the boy watch from the ground and it sparked an idea. He’d take the lad flying. They spent most of the morning and well into the afternoon soaring through the clouds, leaving Hermione firmly planted on the ground, where she was more comfortable.

She had resigned her day to watch Harry play with another woman’s son. They promised to find a deserving child that needed a home and take him in, but it still hurt. She still wanted to know what other women knew, what it was like to carry a child and give it life. She sat back and watched with an ache in her heart.

Ginny carried a pitcher of lemonade to the porch, and sat next to the other witch. “ It’s a bit warm today, but it should cool down by tonight,” she said without looking over. She poured two glasses and set one closer to Hermione.

“It was a bit warmer in Florida , that one day James and I spent alone swimming. Pity Harry didn’t come along.”

“Um hmm,” she mumbled while taking a sip. “ So you and James spent a day together?”

“He was so terribly lonely; I wanted to cheer him up. Both he and Harry have the gentlest touch,” she said and quickly turned away. “ I mean when he spread burn ointment on my back.” Her added comment was more defensive.

“Really? And did you tell Harry about this?” Her interest clearly piqued at the slip.

“No, but he wouldn’t mind, he’s really an understanding sort,” she added but looked flustered at the thought.

“Hermione!” Ginny shrieked, “ You didn’t? His father?”

She shook her head violently, “ What were you thinking? No, absolutely nothing happened he's Harry's father after all.”

"Right," Ginny replied with a wink.

"Right, what?"

"Well, yes. I mean, you have the younger, why bother with the elder?" Ginny smiled and shrugged her shoulders, “ Father, son, I guess it doesn’t matter much." She gulped her drink and left Hermione in a confused state.

Hermione slumped back in her chair and thought about that slip. She watched her husband in the distance as he played with the small boy, and felt a longing she had pushed aside return and deepen a gap in her heart. He’d always wanted; deep down, the one thing she can no longer give him. In that aspect she was a failure. The chair seemed to be the only safe refuge, but that would also prove wrong.

She was being watched by another with a longing, the ghost of Hermione slipped into the chair next to the living one not allowing her time to mull through her thoughts. “ Hermione … God that sounds strange.”

“Yes, it does,” she said with a weak smile, but her sorrow had shown through.

“You are so lucky,” the ghost said while also watching the wizard.

“How so?” she asked.

“You have so much to live for here or in your world. You have a man that loves you unconditionally, that accounts for a lot."

“I wonder sometimes why he stays with me,” she sighed heavily.

“Surely you can see it, that man worships the ground at your feet, and you wonder why? And he did something for you I doubt anyone else would have, he followed you here, anyone else would have seen that as certain death.”

Hermione sat quietly; she knew her ghost form was right. Only Harry would have done that.

“You’ve had years with someone like him, and your friends are all alive wherever it was you came from. I know somehow the two of you will return to them.” The ghost paused and watched Harry in the distance. “ What is it like?” the ghost whispered, she almost didn’t mean to ask, but it slipped out.

“What is what like? I don’t understand,” she replied and had a flash of déjà vu.

“Being loved and happy, what is it like having someone that loves you and cares about you so deeply?” the ghost asked as she floated to face her mortal self.

“Surely you had this with Ron, if you both were as close as you said.”

“No, we never had what you have. I’m not certain I ever really experienced love. He and I were so close and with times the way they were, we desperately clung to each other.”

“You miss him, don’t you?”

“Yes, I wish he could have lingered as a spirit, but it wasn’t meant to be, I guess.”

She warmed a smile for her ghost. She wanted the same thing Harry wanted as a child, the one thing she was still able to give him, her undivided love. “ Being loved is easy, loving another is not hard, but being in love with someone and keeping that love strong takes a lot of work. Yes, we are still very much in love with each other. I’ve seen others that started the way we have, but they seem to fade and stop working at it. They become comfortable and begin to take each other for granted.”

“Do you love him just like when you first fell in love with him?”

“No. It changed over time; it’s not the same as when we first became a couple. I so desperately wanted him in a physical way, and I know he did too, but he made us wait. He wanted to wait until it was safe for us. He even had Dumbledore put the Fidelius Charm on us to hide our love for each other. He was afraid I would be hurt to get to him”

“Then you wait until you were married to make love.” The ghost stated as fact.

“No, I decided a few weeks before, well just before the attack, to have his child in case he was killed.”

“You have a child? Why haven’t you told us? This is wonderful.” The ghost exclaimed until she noticed her mortal self became quiet and began to retreat into herself.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” she asked and sat observing Hermione’s eyes begin to tear. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she realised they must have lost the child, and if she had tears, they would have shed too.

“We lost the child in the battle,” she whispered.

“Hermione, I’m sorry. Please forgive me?”

She began her weak smile again. “ I forgave myself a long time ago, we have talked about adopting. We grew up and we were lucky to have each other for support. Ron was always there with Luna. They married a couple years after we did, they have a son, and I think another on the way.”

“He’s happy then?”

“Yes, for the most part. They have their problems too, everyone has some issue with their spouse at some point, it’s a matter of being able to work it out and work past it. She does love him, but I think she’s jealous of what the three of us have together. If we ever return home, it’s one error I intend to correct.”

“I’m glad he’s happy. He was a good man.”

“No, he is a good man, even if he’s gone; he’s still with us, like you’re here in spirit. He’ll always have a place in my heart and in Harry’s heart. Ron’s the brother neither of us had.”

“And Ginny, in your world. Is she …”

“Happy with twins, a boy and girl. She and Draco married and have been happy together. We have all been each other’s family for the past ten years.” She sat in reflection of her words and sipped her tea, while her ghost pondered the same words they had shared.

“Hermione?”

“Yes?”

“I want to feel it, just once.”

“Oh?”

“I want to know what it feels like to be with someone that loves you that much. But all I’ll have is the memory of the one night with Ronald, and we never … you know.”

“You remained celibate.”

“Yes.”

She smiled at the strange wish her dead self had, of all the things she could wish for, this was a wish that was possible.

“Would you like to find out?” the mortal posed the question.

“Pardon?”

“With Harry, we could share a night together with him. I mean you could merge with me and we could experience it together.”

“No, it won’t work. You can’t. It could kill you,” the ghost said, not actually believing the offer.

“I don’t see why not; you are me, maybe a bit younger, but you’re still my spirit. It should work.”

“Should we ask him first? It is a very personal thing we’re talking about.”

“As his wife, I can allow it. And anyway, it would still be me with him, it just may be a bit crowded inside,” she grinned.

“Then when?”

“Tonight? He and I have a healthy relationship, and I can promise you he’s always eager.”

“Then tonight, thanks,” she tried to hug her mortal self, but her arms passed through her body. The two smiled and began to giggle like schoolgirls with a plan.

“Come to my room after Ginny goes to bed. I’ll leave for the loo and we can join there.”

Ghost and mortal selves of the same person left each other for the remainder of the day. Since one of them didn’t require food, she spent the dinner hour staring at childhood pictures of Ron on the wall of the home. There were also many pictures of her with Ron, she had avoided this room since she decided to stay here as a spirit. This was the room where Molly had hung all the family pictures. She was as much a part of that family as any of them, Molly fully expected at some point for her to officially become a Weasley. She reminisced of the holidays they spent, her muggle parents joining the wizard family sharing the holiday spirits.

She was certain she loved Ron, she even imagined after all the year she had been in love with him. But now she wondered what if the baby Potter boy had lived those many years ago, would she have felt the same for Ron? Her mortal self was very much in love with that man; would she still feel the same for Ron after spending so many years together?

She had regretted making him wait that night; it was the only night they were together. It was the only night they could have consummated their feelings. He died protecting her. He loved her into death.

She remained hidden with her memories until there were new sounds through the halls, footsteps outside the door and up the stairs. The time her mortal self had said to meet was approaching. She thought of this as betraying Ron’s memory and decided not to go on with this.

She hovered inches from the floor, watching the pictures on the wall.

The appointed time came and left, still she remained. She thought of this as an invasion of their privacy, something she didn’t have a right to. She watched the wizard pictures as they moved, reset and replayed the scene, over and over.

Nearly an hour past the time the agreed time, the door to the study silently opened, and a shadow crossed the room. If she were mortal, she would have felt the hand on her shoulder, if she were mortal; she would have had tears to shed. She heard the voice call her name, and turned.

“Hermione? It’s okay, she told me about your ‘ plan’,” Harry’s emerald green eyes sparkled with a glint of moonlight through the window. He was smiling and held a hand out as if to take her spirit hand in his.

“She told me what you two planned after you didn’t come. She is terribly upset; she wants to help you so desperately. Come, it will be fine, you can help each other.”

“No, I can’t, Ronald and I never …”

“Ron is my brother, of sorts. Did you know Molly and Arthur legally adopted me as a son before they were killed? And I want to share this with you, come.”

Touched by his sincerity and the openness he and her mortal self shared, she followed him to their bedroom, to find her mortal self sitting on the edge of the bed, red-eyed. The mortal Hermione patted the corner of the bed, inviting the spirit form over.

“I told him, he is willing, it’s up to you, I’m ready.” The look on the mortal form touched the spirit self and she nodded.

Harry watched the conflict of love between the two spirits of Hermione, his wife had so much she was willing to share; he felt selfish to keep her to himself. The spirit flowed into the mortal body, she stiffened slightly, then her head slumped forward momentarily. He began to sprint to her side, and halfway across the room she held out a hand, to stop him.

“We’re fine, we’re both here,” she said and smiled at her husband. She turned her hand over to invite him to her side.

He sat next to her and kissed her hand, she closed her eyes as his lips pressed on her palm, then he turned it over and kissed each finger. He ran his hands up her arms, across her shoulders and felt her shudder. He remembered her shudder like this that time on the beach when he refused to risk her life, when he chose to wait. She shuddered at his touch then, it was the first time he kissed her bare skin, as he now began to kiss and caress her neck.

He knew every spot that drove her wild and he was determined to hit each one, slowly and deliberately. This was to be the best night they would share; he wanted her ghost to have this memory for eternity.

She opened her eyes as his fingers slipped her nightgown from her shoulders. His lips ran down her breast, first to the right, and then to the left past the familiar scar from when she died. He gently laid her down on the bed, and stood, slipping out of the dressing robe he wore, and slipped off the boxers from his waist. He reached to her waist and slipped the nightgown from her hips. She obliged by lifting her bottom, freeing the garment.

She lay there; sweat beginning to build on her bare skin while his lips continued their conquest of her flesh. He resumed his attack on her left breast, her nipple now stiff. His tongue flicked lightly over the tip, sending waves through both souls in the single body.

She began to moan with the pleasure he was giving when he stopped and pulled away slightly. He snapped his fingers, and a glistening wave enveloped the room. “ We don’t want to disturb Ginny or young Arthur, do we?” he whispered as he resumed his descent from her breasts.

---

Ginny sat at the breakfast table and glanced at the calendar on the wall, July 31 st ‘summer’s half done’ she thought as she watched her son at the table. The boy had already finished his toast and jam, and was asking for his Uncle Harry. She sent him outside to play, while she waited for her houseguests. They had been extremely quiet during the night, too quiet in her opinion. The past few days had been enjoyable, to have friends share the loneliness of this isolated existence seemed to lighten her mood and the mortal Hermione’s time spent with the ghost form brought out a change in her attitude.

The door to their bedroom finally opened, and they came down the stairs, seemingly not have had a restful night’s sleep.

“Sleep well?” Ginny asked as she sipped her tea.

“Mmmmm,” she heard from Hermione and noticed their hands locked together.

“We were up quite late, talking,” Harry offered. Ginny noticed a blush pass through Hermione.

“I haven’t had anyone ‘ talk’to me like that in a long time,” she teased with a raised eyebrow.

Moments later, after she had sat at the table and he was filling their plates, Ginny noticed another entrance into the kitchen, the ghost had a wide grin and dreamy look in her eyes as she forgot herself and poured a cup of tea.

“So, where did you spend the night, Hermione?” Ginny asked the ghost.

The mortal version smiled and sipped her tea looking into the cup, as if inspecting the leaves swirling on the bottom. The ghost form sat next to the mortal form and they both sat with elbows on the table, propping their respective chins.

Harry sat opposite his wife, and had an equally secretive grin.

Ginny smiled into her cup and stood to let them to bask together. She left the kitchen with the pretence of finding her son.

The two mortals and one spirit sat silent at the table. The afterglow the mortal couple experienced that morning was shared with the ghost, more so since she had never felt this way before. Harry sat quietly, and finished his breakfast, stood and kissed Hermione on the top of her head.

“I think I’ll leave you two girls alone,” he said with a grin and left to find his young playmate.

They sat silently for a few minutes after he left.

“Hermione?”

“Mmmm?” the physical form sighed.

“You never told me about the curse.”

Stunned, she looked away. She had hoped to forget about it and hoped it was well in her past. “ It’s all in the past. It’s something we have accepted,” she finally mumbled.

The ghost smiled and placed her hand over the mortal’s shoulder. “ No, it’s not in the past. It’s very real and now part of me,” she said as she placed a kiss on Hermione’s cheek. “ You’ve given me a wonderful gift last night. Thank you,” she vanished to unknown parts of the home, giving her mortal form a radiant smile as she left leaving a last thought lingering in the air, “ Enjoy your gift."

Hermione pondered the ghost’s comments and thought about what about other details she had omitted that were now known in the ghost’s memories. She must surely know about what she did to Malfoy, and more importantly, the prophecies.

Her reflections were short-lived as she felt an object strike her sharply in the back of her head. A warm fluid ran down her back. She instinctively reached to the wound. The sudden attack drew her defenses as she spun around to find the source. A young boy knelt in the corner, snickering, and a much older one ducked for cover down the hall. Discarded rubber spheres lay forgotten on the floor.

“Harry!?” She screamed in shock. She left the table and viciously began her attack on the assailants; she knew where Harry was most ticklish and also knew where most little boys were ticklish. The laughter shared began to soak into the walls that had long forgotten such merriment.

---

Author's Note

It’s time for a poll of sorts. This part of the story is almost half way done. As you have seen there were different directions taken, giving the appearance of confusion. I'm certain you all can imagine how Harry and Hermione must feel. But, each different task will have a specific reason, for example, Hermione’s time journey as you can see had a significant reason, although as the time it seemed irrelevant. Past chapters, for example, included a mechanism for Hermione to finally release her anger and frustrations for her ‘condition’. (And since I’ve had many personal inquiries to that event and a possible reversal, let me add that the curse is bound to her and cannot be broken, it will remain intact forever.)

This story was originally going to be the third leg of my planned trilogy, but due to circumstances beyond my control, I was not able to complete the events originally detailed. This There will, unfortunate, be many points of unanswered issues, mostly in the alternate realities.

As many of you have seen, this was started well before HBP was released; the first two parts were actually completed before the 6th book in canon was even named. I have received some comments that this is not following canon. That being the case, and since this story was well underway when HBP was released, I feel it may be necessary to end this story once the required tasks have been completed.

But I will make the point that many of the events in my first fic predicted canon events, mainly with the different relationships explored in Canon, Ron and Hermione being in ‘like’, and Harry breaking up with Ginny. The additional point of Draco’s possible redemption is also portrayed in my story line.

My one question is this, is there sufficient interest in a fourth part to this story or shall I "gracefully" end it where I originally planned it? The main reason for this question is the readership has dropped significantly for this story, possibly due to the complex issues. Also the feedback I’ve received provides only a glimpse whether this fic is being enjoyed.

The morning after they invited the ghost to join them was one of the most fun-filled days they had had in a long time. The play between the three continued with Harry and Arthur, lasting through the day. Young Arthur Weasley enjoyed the playtime and the chance to have an adult male role model. He had known Harry for only a few short days, but the bond that grew would prove to be lasting on the impressionable boy’s life.

They both had had many common events in their respective lives, both never knew his father, both suffered a harsh life from a young age. Both lived their impressionable years in the shadow of a tyrant. Both gained a father figure only to lose him. Harry knew, deep down, they would have to leave one day, and as his surrogate father had, he knew he had to pass through the veil again.

But for now, here was a boy and the man he respected, simply playing together.

Hermione watched as she had the day before, from the comfort of the Burrow’s front porch. She watched and dreamed of the day they would welcome a child into their life. She hadn’t forgotten his promise to adopt, and she hoped that would put an end to her internal turmoil. But, she had a question that boiled in her mind, and wanted to ask her spirit.

She watched the two boys at play, separated by twenty years and several worlds. She could see Draco in the boy, the same pride, and the same confidence. And she could see the Weasley in him too; the compassion and open affection he displayed reminded her of Ron.

“Arthur! Harry!” Ginny’s call to them startled her from her thoughts. “Supper’s ready, time to come in.”

‘She sounds so much like Molly’ Hermione thought. “Do you need any help, Ginny?” she called back from the porch.

“No, dinner’s ready. Just come in when they do and mind they wipe their shoes.”

Hermione nodded and felt a cold touch.

“She’s so self-sufficient, just like Molly,” the ghost said.

“I wish we could do something, she seems so lonely.”

“You both have helped her cope better then you’ll know. She’s still my best friend, but I so miss the others,” the ghost said with a sigh.

“Hermione, I need to ask …”

“So, love, dinner’s ready?” Harry interrupted.

She rolled her eyes at the interruption, “Yes, dear, go wash, you too, Arthur, I’ll be there in a moment.”

Harry gave her a peck on the cheek and a wink to the spirit hovering next to her and left, dragging his playmate by the hand. The laughing continued to the washroom, leaving Hermione alone with her spirit.

“Hermione? Are you joining us?” they heard Molly’s daughter yell out.

“Can we talk later? I’d like to know a few things.”

The ghost nodded and followed her mortal self into the kitchen. Ginny had dinner on the table, waiting for them. A meagre meal, but it was enough for the now growing family. They chatted about the boys’ playtime, and even the ghost sat with them at the table, joining the conversations.

Soon after they had the table cleared, and Ginny had taken young Arthur to bed, Hermione sat in Harry’s arms, sitting on a rattan loveseat on the porch, content. The distant colours painted in the evening sky blurred from brilliant hues of orange and reds to the calming shades of nightfall. The couple sat in silence watching the Earth’s shift to nighttime.

“Darling, you looked so happy today. You really have taken to Arthur, haven’t you?” she said, splitting the silence of the peaceful view.

“He’s a great sort, fearless like his mum, but cunning like Draco. The little bugger almost beat me in a race on brooms, and at seven. He’s going to have a brilliant Quidditch career.” She didn’t have to see his face to understand his meaning, the tone of pride in his voice gave him away to his feelings for the boy.

“We could stay here and help Ginny raise him. She’s quite alone, since Draco died.”

He sighed heavily. “Yes, I can see it too.”

They sat in silence, until she stood, and reached for his hand. “Let’s go to bed, I’m a bit worn out.”

She pulled him up, and in one swift motion he moved one arm under her legs, just behind her knees and his other caught her back. He applied just enough pressure behind her knees to send her off balance and as his stood; she was cradled in his arms.

“Harry!” she exclaimed from the sudden move.

“You said you were worn out. Just thought you’d need a lift,” he said with a grin, one that had a certain meaning. Her coo of a response held promise that she wasn’t as worn out as she claimed.

Once in their room, she slipped into the toilet where she spent a few extra minutes getting just right for him. She slipped into a simple but appealing night gown and applied just the correct amount of perfume to entice, and in a moment returned to see him fast asleep. She smiled at him, he had played quite hard all day in the sun, and last night wasn’t very restful. He had at least managed to pull off his shoes, and unbuckle his belt, before his head hit the pillow.

She slipped back into the small toilet and changed into more comfortable pyjamas. She then finished undoing his trousers and slipped them off, rolled him over to free him from his shirt and to pull the quilt from under him, and tucked him in. He opened his eyes briefly; she cooed to him and stoked his hair. She placed a kiss on his forehead and then slipped into bed next to him, her arm wrapped around his shoulder. He was back into a sound sleep in minutes; she followed soon after.

Her sleep that night was restless; images invaded her dreams, images once seen first by an old friend and once in her own mind. But these were mixed with fresh images.

A little girl sat on the swing alone, her look of sadness bore heavily on Hermione as she watched from a distance. A woman walked to the child, who threw her arms around the woman’s neck.

“Mummy, the others won’t play with me,” she sobbed lightly.

Hermione glanced to the far end of the park-like setting, and watched two children, slightly older then the girl, as they played with two adults older than herself. The woman had greying red hair and the man had extremely messy, black hair with distinguished grey streaks along the sides, both had a familiar feel. Hermione heard the girl call the woman ‘ Nana’as they continued their play. Nearby them she saw two other adults sitting on a park bench, watching the four at play, these two were instantly recognized.

The young girl and her mother remained distant, far from the others, “Mummy, they said I’m too young to play with them. Why do they hate me?”

“It’s alright, Anna, they don’t hate you. They love you, but you’ll have a long time to wait before you can be with them.”

“It’s not fair, why do they get to live with Gran-ma and Gran-pa?”

“That’s just the way life worked. You have me and your daddy.”

The girl stopped crying and looked about, “Where’s Daddy?” she asked puzzled.

Hermione smiled and a hand instinctively reached for Harry at her side.

“He’s still sleeping; we don’t want to wake him. Come, it’s time to leave.”

She felt a hand gently shake her, and as her moist eyes opened, she realised she was staring into his eyes. “Love, you were having a bad dream. Are you alright?”

“I … I don’t remember it. It faded when you woke me. All I remember is it was not a bad dream, but it was a sad one.” She nuzzled into his chest, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, while his free hand stroked her hair.

“Shhh, go back to sleep,” he whispered.

The days had turned to weeks; the calendar showed three weeks had passed since his birthday. And although they didn’t have a party, the celebration was in private.

Three weeks ago Hermione had a dream that still disturbed her, but the details had eluded her conscious thoughts. Every night since, she thought of that night and that dream. She lay awake most nights, while Harry slept peacefully, but tonight something tickling at the back of her mind.

This night, she stayed there for nearly an hour, before abandoning the concept of sleep. A worn, but comfortable, dressing gown lay on the end of the bed, beckoning to her, she slipped out of bed, and pulled it around her shoulders. She kissed him again, and left for the kitchen and a cup of something warming.

They were on the third floor, by themselves for privacy. Ginny’s and Arthur’s rooms were on the second floor, at the far end of the hall from the stairs. She walked from her room to the stairs and looked up to the fourth floor landing, to the third step from the top and smiled. The house was so familiar she began feeling homesick. She walked quietly down the stairs past the second floor landing, the sounds from the hall from the two adjacent rooms told her one or the other must have trouble sleeping, she thought she heard pacing.

She found her ghost sitting at the kitchen table, a large book laid open in front of her. She was able to turn the pages by blowing across the book.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked her mortal self.

“No, there’s something I have to know.” She walked to the counter and pulled out a teacup and placed it on the counter. She took a step to the fridge, removed the milk, and poured some into a small pot.

“A few weeks ago you said something I never mentioned. You must know what happened.” She did not turn to look at the ghost as she spoke; she stood there to make her hot cocoa.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I know all about it.” She floated to her mortal self, as she began to pour her cocoa into the cup.

When she turned, a single tear broke from an eye and raced down her cheek.

“We are of the same heart, you and I, we have the same soul. One of us has a burden to carry on that soul and it isn’t deserved,” the ghost began.

“That night, you and Harry did something unselfish and caring.” She had a smile that radiated the same love the mortal Hermione held for Harry. She moved her hand to wipe the tear from her cheek but was unable to touch her.

“And you know every thing else I’ve done?” she whispered almost silently.

The ghost nodded, “Yes, I know about Malfoy. He deserved it. He’s the same pig here too. He’s the one that took Draco’s life.”

Hermione looked up and closed her eyes, simply nodded her comprehension.

“And that curse,” she started again.

From the second floor a muffled, but distinct, high, shrill scream tore into the night. The ghost vanished instantly leaving Hermione to run up the stairs alone. The cup of cocoa fell to the floor, and shattered, as lives were about to shatter in that quiet house.

She was first there, to watch Lucius clamp his hand over young Arthur’s mouth; blood smeared the boy’s face. He smiled at the ghost, briefly, “He’s my grandson, you worthless mudblood, and it’s time to begin his apprenticeship. Tell that wench of his mother it’s time he had a man teach him his proper place in this world.” He sneered one last time at the ghost, but before he could disappear the door burst open, the same image stood in the doorway, startling Malfoy. The ghost and mortal stood side-by-side staring at the wizard.

He smiled when he noticed she did not have a wand. “Fools,” he said as he raised his wand at Hermione. “Avada…”

“Expelliarmus,” she screamed, having raised a wandless hand to him. His wand flew from his hand, to slide under a chair in the corner.

“Miserable bitch, hiding a wand?” he asked as he stepped forward, raised an empty arm, striking her across the face with a closed fist.

A fine crimson spray flew from her mouth, from the gash in her lip. The blow was enough to force her from her feet, and in a dizzy state, watched as he picked up his wand to point at her one more time. Voices and footsteps from the hall forced his departure, taking with him the boy. Hermione remained on the floor in an empty room, the ghost, too, was gone.

“Hermione!” Ginny exclaimed as she rounded the corner to her son’s room. The scattered bedclothes and blankets and injured woman told her what she needed to know. She slumped to her knees, and held her face in her hands.

Hermione wiped her lip with the back of her hand and pulled herself to her friend into a comforting embrace. “We’ll find him. Don’t worry, Gin. I’m sure Harry and I can get him back.”

“Thank you for defending him,” she whimpered.

Hermione smiled, “Arthur’s part of our family, we’d do anything for him and you.”

Ginny buried her face into Hermione’s shoulder, and let herself go. “He’s … all … I have.” she stammered.

Hermione continued to stoke her friend’s hair, the warmth of her body pressing into her own stirred new sensations and feelings. She never held Ginny after the accident; she never shared her own grief with her friend. One more unfinished task of her life.

“Where’s Harry?” Ginny finally managed to say, they had been there long enough for him to have arrived.

Hermione stood, held Ginny’s hands and pulled her to her feet. Together they ran from the bedroom, up the stairs to where Harry was still in bed, Hermione switched on the lights, and expected him to wake. She crossed the room, to find the sheets soaked in sweat, his body rigid.

---

She had slipped out of the bed they shared and into a worn dressing robe. She leaned in and kissed him on his forehead, and stoked his hair before she left him alone when she quietly walked through the door.

He smiled as the impression of her lips remained, and as that lingering impression faded, so did his dreams of more pleasant times. The familiar beach they always escaped to faded to a dirt trail. He followed the trail as it wound through the woods to find himself outside the Burrow. A green hue radiated from a second floor window. He felt himself glide up and through the walls.

A tall man in a dark cloak stood over the bed in the room where a young boy slept. The man bent over the child and clamped his hand firmly over the boy’s mouth. He lifted the child with relative ease and in the struggle the lad gave, the man’s hood fell. His long white-blonde hair was unmistakable.

‘Leave him alone, Malfoy,’ Harry screamed as he began to take an offensive posture and rushed headlong into Malfoy, but passed through him.

The boy managed to wriggle loose and used his best offensive means, he bit down on the hand that clamped over his mouth, leaving a half moon of puncture wounds. Once free of the gag, he let loose a house-shaking scream, hoping to draw his mum in to save him.

The first on the spot was a translucent image. Harry watched as the spirit from that world’s Hermione glanced at him, smiled and hovered in witness to the attack. Harry heard a muffled comment to the ghost on her uselessness here as in life.

Harry continued to watch, unable to stop the attack. He watched Malfoy grin at the ghost, raise his wand to vanish when the door flew open, revealing a very much alive version of the ghost. Malfoy stood startled momentarily, then leveled his wand at Hermione and began the curse.

‘NOO!’ Harry screamed, expecting her to fall dead. Instead the wand flew from Malfoy’s hand. Harry watched as in the next seconds, a hand came round, striking Hermione across the face with sufficient force to cause a trail of her blood to trickle down her chin.

Harry blinked as she collapsed to the floor, and in that instant when his eyes re-opened; he was hovering in a dark, stone chamber. Lucius Malfoy held the young boy by a fist of his crimson hair. Red imprints on the boy’s face showed the suffering he was receiving. Harry watched, unable to help. He noticed another figure seated nearby, also in the same dark garments. Red slits from under the hood gave Harry the clue he needed without seeing the face.

He watched as the dream continued to unfold. He felt another presence in the chamber, and he looked up to the far corner of the chamber to see her hovering, trying to remain hidden.

He blinked again, and found himself in a different room, stark white with bright lights glaring down, blinding him. All he could see beyond the starbursts in his eyes were blurred figures surrounding a table. Another figure on that table moved and screamed in pain, he couldn’t see the table clearly; just an imagined image of chestnut hair matted in sweat, the scream of pain was from a woman. There seemed to be struggling between the woman on the table and the other figures. She was being held tightly in place, and she screamed again. The pain in her voice and the frequency of the screams increased sharply. In between the screams of pain, he heard the woman curse his name.

He tried to focus on the floor and the screaming stopped; it was now a dirt covered path, with a patch of dried blood. The wind blew, and the stained soil disappeared into the sky.

He blinked again, the fuzzy vision lifted. She was looking down at him. Fresh blood trails remained on her chin as she called his name over and over.

“Harry…” she called out again. “Harry, please wake up.”

“Mione,” he moaned her name. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he mumbled, still groggy from his dream.

“Malfoy hit me, he took Arthur.”

He reached through his fogged vision and pulled her to him. She laced her arms under him, and held him. She felt his chest rise and catch sharply, his grip tightened. “I’m sorry, I never want to hurt you,” he managed to whisper between his barely controlled whimpers of grief.

She held him and kissed his cheek, forgetting her lip. She pulled back to reach over to his bedside table for his glasses, and slipped them on his face. He was now able to focus and see her lip. He reached to her chin and wiped the fresh streak with his thumb.

“Malfoy was here,” she repeated. “He took Arthur and I got this for trying to stop him.” She wiped her lip with the back of her hand again, the bleeding had stopped and now it was just sore, as was her cheek.

“He took him somewhere, a stone lined room,” Harry managed to say.

“He’s in the Ministry. There was another with him and I’m afraid Malfoy is going to hurt him,” they all heard from a familiar voice hovering nearby.

Ginny looked to the ghost, and mouthed a thank-you.

“Yes, that’s it; I think he took him to the courtrooms,” Harry added, “but why there?” He had managed to sit up, moving Hermione off.

“Malfoy said he’ll have the boy agree or die, something about following his family’s destiny,” the ghost said. “I couldn’t hear it all; I had to stay far enough back so he couldn’t see me.”

“Hermione,” Ginny finally found her voice, “Thank you, I know what it meant for you to leave.” The mortal Hermione stood, and looked at Ginny puzzled, “She hasn’t left the building in the ten years she’s been here.”

She nodded to Ginny at the explanation, Harry had also stood, his knees seemed to wobble, but he caught himself. Ginny turned and blushed at the sight of a man standing there in his boxers. Harry reached a hand to the bedpost and steadied himself. He took a deep breath, and redressed quickly from the folded pile of clothes Hermione left after she undressed him.

“We have to go tonight,” he said, as he began stuffing their few belongings into the rucksack. Hermione nodded and dressed quickly, Ginny stood in the room and watched, she marvelled at the speed of their decision and the speed at their resolve to rescue a small boy.

Ginny left for her room to dress, when Hermione caught her by the arm, “Stay, you need to be here, we’ll get him.”

“No, he’s my son, I’m coming with you,” she turned and left.

Hermione took his hand, “Harry, what was the dream this time? Was it …”

He pulled her hand to his lips, and kissed the back, “Mostly I watched Malfoy, your ghost seemed to know I was there.”

“So you watched what happened?”

“Yes, you were brilliant standing up to him, again.” He turned, still keeping her hand in his, grabbed the pack, led her to the landing, and down the stairs.

“But it wasn’t enough; he seemed so much stronger here, physically, than before.”

“You do have to work on ducking,” he said with a worried smile.

“Harry,” she still held his hand, and pulled him to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. “You said you didn’t mean to hurt me, what happened?” she needed to know, his visions never lied.

“I only caught a glimpse of you, it sounded bad. You screamed my name and swore at me. That’s all I saw.”

She looked down to the floor, then to their still joined hands. Then up to his face, and his eyes. “I know you’d never hurt me intentionally, unless you felt it necessary; even verbally.” She paused, not meaning to say it. It happened almost twelve years ago and it still lingered. “No matter what you did or will do, it will never affect how I feel about you.”

Ginny dressed quickly, pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt; she pulled her hair back and tied it into a ponytail. She met the small assault team in the hall near the front door, where she put on a dark-blue cloak, and slipped her wand into a side pocket.

It had been several years since Ginny had been to the Ministry, it was still considered by many to be a grave for the fallen during the war. She remembered visiting her father there before he died at the battle of Hogwarts, she shuddered at the thought of the scene inside as they all Apparated to the front of the building.

Harry noticed Ginny’s apprehension, he and Hermione knew what lay inside, the grizzly images Ginny still held from the tales of bodies stacked in the halls like so much firewood. “Ginny, there i s little left inside, just small piles of clothes and bones where they fought and died. You don’t have to come in, we can deal with Malfoy.”

“No, he’s my son and I’m going to be there for him.”

He nodded at her reasons and they made their way into the building through the rubble and debris that blocked the entry. The main Atrium was exactly as they left it a few days earlier, the newspaper at the security desk remained as they left it. Ginny’s eyes widened at the destruction of the once elegant Atrium. The fountain, long dry, had a pile of rubble in it where the statue once stood.

“They are either in the courtroom or the Death Chamber, those are the only two with stone walls and floors,” Harry said as the walked through the Atrium.

“Death Chamber? You don’t think he’d subject his own grandson to that?” Ginny asked. The nervousness in her voice re-emphasised her building desperation.

“We’ll get Arthur; Malfoy’s not expecting us to find him this quickly. If we only knew which to try first,” Hermione said to reassure Ginny.

“They’re in the Death Chamber,” a shaky voice replied. The ghost had gone ahead and found them.

The group turned to the staircase and began the descent to the ninth level. The ghost hovered behind her mortal form, who in turn remained at his side where she knew she belonged.

“Hermione, wait,” the ghost whispered.

She stopped and motioned to Harry to keep going. “What? Is there something else?”

The ghost looked longingly at her physical self, “just keep yourself safe, you have so much to live for now. Please, that’s all I wanted to say.”

Puzzled she looked at her ghost and quickly caught up to Harry.

“What was that about?”

“I’m not certain, she’s concerned about me.”

“It’s only natural, she is you.” he said as they finally reached the doors to the ninth level. Ginny was directly behind them when they paused at the doors. “Nothing fancy, stun the bastard, grab Arthur and we leave as quickly as possible.”

“Agreed.” Ginny and Hermione said together.

He pushed the door open a crack and peered through the gap, looking for sentries. The immediate hall was clear and empty. He waved them all through the door, and they stealthily approached the corner to the hall leading to the Death Chamber. He peered around the corner, and found two wizards outside the door. He slipped back, held a finger to his lips, and held out two fingers on his other hand. Hermione nodded her understanding, Ginny watched them at work, a well rehearsed team.

Harry stood upright, while Hermione pulled out her wand and couched low, Harry pointed to her and to his left arm, she nodded again, and they waited. He held three fingers out, then two, then one, and then they jumped around the corner, each sending stunning spells to the two guards. The two slumped to the floor, with a minimum of noise.

“Hopefully they didn’t hear that,” Harry whispered. “The Chamber is a natural sound deadened room, so we may still have the element of surprise.”

“Harry, there are two others in the room, besides Malfoy and Arthur. One is sitting as a spectator, and one just inside the doors,” the ghost reported. She had been slipping in and out, watching them.

“Thanks, Hermione, now, Ginny, can you get the guard? Hermione you take Malfoy, I’ll deal with Riddle. It sounds as if he’s in a weakened state.”

The two witches nodded and they all slipped quietly to the doors to the Death Chamber. He again started his count down from three, and as he reached zero, they burst into the room. The guard at the door fell without blinking to Ginny’s first blast. Malfoy ducked Hermione’s stunner, the red beam exploded at his feet. Harry sent a blue bolt at the sitting figure, hitting Riddle in the chest.

Hermione turned and ducked as a green beam hit the pillar next to her.

“Expelliarmus!”

Blue flashes.

“Stupefy!”

Red flashes.

“Diffindo!”

Yellow flashes.

And green flashed in the Chamber. The three attackers fought in unison, Ginny joined Hermione to save her son.

Harry’s blast caught the Dark Lord unprepared, and he reeled backwards off the bench.

A green beam shot past Harry, he rolled to the side as the stone bench caught the blast.

Harry’s spell had caught Voldemort completely by surprise. It allowed Harry the time to close the distance between them. He stood staring at the hooded figure, the face under the hood still hidden from view. Two red slits were visible in the shadows of the hood. He held his wand in his hand, pointed to Harry’s throat. Harry held up his hand, open palm facing his foe.

The empty hand startled Voldemort long enough to halt his planned strike. He stood to face this newcomer, and watched the action in the background from the corner of his eye.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” Voldemort asked the assailant.

“I know who you are, Tom. Although I’m not surprised you don’t know me.” His arm remained raised ready to block any spell from the Dark Lord.

“Then if you know who I am, why are you not afraid? And why… I see you are quite skilled at blocking your thoughts. I applaud your skill, wizard.” He remained facing Harry, his wand ready. The duel behind Harry continued with Hermione and Malfoy, Ginny watched from behind a pillar, trying to deflect the spells aimed at Malfoy away from her son, hoping Malfoy would release him soon.

Hermione took a few quick strides deeper into the Chamber and from her new vantage point, fired another stunner. It exploded behind where Malfoy stood only a second earlier. He held the boy tight in his grasp; one hand gripped his arm near the shoulder. Malfoy’s quick dodge of the spell had pulled hard on the boy’s arm. The loud pop told them he pulled it sharply from its socket. Arthur yelled in the immediate pain of his now dislocated shoulder.

“Mummy, it hurts,” he sobbed.

Malfoy fired a spell at one of his attackers; it neatly sliced into the stone benches she had used for cover. His blast found the mark, but not the target, as Hermione rolled to the side, and shot another volley of quick spells. The flashes in the Chamber gave their movements an eerie slow-motion effect, making precise aim difficult.

Harry smiled at his opponent, “So, you have no idea who I am. Good.”

“No, but I can tell that bitch with you is quite talented, to hold off Malfoy as long as she has is admirable. Pity she will die with you.”

“Love, how are you holding out?” he called behind him.

“Splendid, just bloody splendid. This coward is using Arthur as a shield,” she called back. “I can’t get a clear shot.”

“Ah, so she’s your woman? That should make this more interesting, as you watch her die. I do enjoy a good floorshow.” Voldemort moved his wand slightly away from Harry and pointed to Hermione, Harry did not pose a threat, without a wand.

Ginny watched Arthur grab at his malformed shoulder. Her instinct took over, a yellow flash from her wand hit Malfoy in the leg. He stumbled at the pain, blood leaked from the fresh hole above his knee.

"It’s all right, Arthur!" Ginny shouted.

Malfoy’s hand reached around young Arthur’s neck.

“Don’t you dare, son-of-a-..." muttered Hermione. She could see Malfoy trying to strangle the child.

"Diffindo!" cried Ginny.

At the same moment, Hermione shouted, "Stupefy!"

Before Voldemort’s spell left his wand, red bolts tore from Harry’s open hand, striking the Dark Lord square in the chest, almost exactly as he had done in the past duel. He was flung across the Chamber as the same smell of singed flesh filled the room. This time there were sufficient obstacles for him to tumble into. By the time he managed to regain his composure, Harry had reached him, his foot stood on the Dark Lord’s wand.

“You’ve never beaten me before, and this time will be no different,” Harry said. He kicked the wand aside, leaving him defenceless.

Ginny’s spell hit Malfoy straight in his arm.

Hermione’s spell hit the wall next to him with an orange flash. The stones exploded sending sharp fragments into his face.

Malfoy grabbed at his face, the stone shrapnel had cut deep. He pulled hard on the boy to shield himself again. The ease with which his arm moved sent a shock of surprise through him, as he looked at the bloody stump of his arm.

A final “Expelliarmus” from Hermione tore his wand from his remaining hand.

Harry was ready to deliver his final blow; Voldemort looked up from the floor at Harry, the battle lost. His best had been bested by a woman and his best now lay on the floor in a bloody heap. “So now you kill me? Is that the plan? I am, as you can see, defenceless.” His hand raised to his hood, and he slipped it off to reveal himself.

Harry stared at the sight. The face of the man who caused the pain and suffering in this world remained hidden behind a black mask. The sounds in the room settled to a young boy crying with his mother calming him, a man moaning in pain and a strange metallic rush of air.

Hermione still held her wand at the fallen wizard, blood pumped from the stump of his arm, and oozed from the gashes in his face, one eye had been sliced from its socket and hung down his cheek. Her training and the primal need to heal took over as she now gave life saving aid to her greatest foe. She used her talents to close the wounds not common to this world, as she ripped a strip of his cloak and tied it into a tourniquet, stopping the blood loss.

She tore another bit of cloth, held it in her hand, transforming it into bandages for his face.

His scream of pain as she applied the dressing brought a smile of satisfaction to her face. She finished her first aid to him, and refused to use her magic to heal him. She then turned her attention elsewhere.

“I know you, Riddle, I know what you’re capable of doing, and I plan to make sure there’s a trial for your evil deeds. I’m not going to kill you, even though you deserve it.”

Ginny held her son as Hermione came to his aid, her hands began to glow the familiar golden hue, and she held one hand to either side of his shoulder. The deformed socket slipped painlessly into place, and she held him a moment longer to stop any lingering pain.

Voldemort tried to stand, his cloak now fell open and his chest was exposed, a plate hung around his waist, shattered, Muggle-style circuit boards hung from it. A small cylinder under his hair had a tube attached that fed into his mask.

Harry blinked, “Life support?” he asked without thinking. The most evil wizard on the planet needed assistance to simply breathe.

Voldemort’s struggle to now stand and his apparent weakened state gave the victor pause, long enough for the unthinkable.

He sprang from the floor, his hands closed around Harry’s throat through his cloak. Harry began to gag, and without thinking reached out and grabbed Voldemort’s face.

Hermione watched the renewed attack from the far side of the room, unable to assist. She quickly stood and rushed to Harry’s aid, hoping she could help in time.

Harry felt the fingers tighten into his throat; he felt a sharp pain as Voldemort’s strength began to crush his windpipe. No sound escaped his mouth as he grabbed his attacker, ripping the mask from his face, as his hands grabbed the man’s flesh, the grip loosened around his throat.

“Arrhh … What is your magic?” he screamed in pain. His cheeks burned red with Harry’s hand print, his scalp began to smoulder. Voldemort released Harry’s throat and grabbed Harry’s hands to pull them from his face. As soon as his hands touched Harry’s flesh, his fingers melted to dust, and the disintegration began eating into his arms. His face continued to melt into dust, the flesh on his head now nearly gone. His skull began to dissolve and the spell of Harry’s touch continued into the remaining flesh.

The figure before Harry was now little more then dust held together by the clothes he wore. Gravity now took hold as the remains fell to the earth.

Harry fell to his knees, and began to choke, his breathing was now difficult, the sudden damage now obvious. He felt another pair of hands on his neck, and his throat began to burn slightly before he could draw a clean breath. He coughed heavily, now being able to force air through.

“Harry? How did you do that?” she finally managed to ask.

He looked at the pile of dust, and then to his hands. “My mum. When she gave her life to save me. The same thing happened to Quirrel in our first year,” he managed to say with a hoarse voice.

The dawn of recognition streaked through her mind, he never really explained what happened when he recovered the Philosopher’sStone. “That’s how you defeated him before?” she now asked.

He simply nodded, his voice still hurt slightly.

Hermione smiled at him, and hugged him tightly, forgetting his still sore throat,

“Ow, love, my throat,” he managed after a moment. She grinned her reply and replaced her healing hands to his neck.

Ginny and young Arthur had watched as well, and now stood behind them. The both stood in awe at the simple defeat of the Darkest wizard of their lifetime. Harry and Hermione finally stood, the Chamber no longer had flashing lights from spells, or sounds of combat. The four stood in a Weasley-style victory embrace.

Hermione’s talents as a Healer helped three people that morning. Two friends now had their minor injuries healed, and one foe still would require medical aid. Her actions for Malfoy’s care left him laying on the ground as the four reunited.

“Harry, is it over? Voldemort’s gone?” Ginny asked. Her question meant the world also could begin to climb out from the dark shadow of fear.

“Yes. I think so. But to be sure.” He pushed them back a few steps and struck his hands together, he concentrated on the pile of dust. A slight breeze had stirred the remains. He cast his spell; a field of pure energy captured the pile of dust that remained. He closed his eyes and pulled his hands together, collapsing the sphere as they came closer together. The final flash of energy signaled the ultimate destruction of the remains.

“It’s over,” he said, he was noticeably weakened from the spell; his wife stood with him and let him lean on her. “Malfoy,” he finally said, “we need to make sure he’s held accountable for his actions.”

They left the spot as a group to where the other wizard had fallen. The bloodstain and arm remained, but a trail of blood left a path to the door, the guard they left stunned was also gone.

“He’s escaped!” Ginny shouted. She pushed Arthur to Hermione’s side and ran up the steps. The trail of blood stopped in the hall. She looked down the hall, the lack of visible disturbances in the settled dust on the floor told the tale; they had managed a clean escape. She balled a fist and stamped her foot in anger, then returned to the others.

“He’s escaped. He shouldn’t be hard to find. Harry you must help find him,” Ginny pleaded.

Harry looked at Hermione, they were still in the Death Chamber and had begun the turn of fortunes for this world. He shook his head, “No, Ginny, we don’t belong in this world. It’s up to you and young Arthur to carry on the fight.” He knelt to the boy, “Take good care of your mum, she’s a special lady. You will be the hope of your world. You are the future.”

The boy threw his arms around the wizard’s neck and squeezed as hard as he could. “I love you, please stay?” he said, tears streamed down his cheeks.

“We can’t. You will be strong, for your mum?” He pulled the boy away and stood. “Arthur Weasley, I love you too. And one day you will be a great wizard like your father was.” He ruffled the boy’s hair, and took Hermione’s hand.

They turned together, leaving the boy in his mother’s arms. The walked to the gate before them and each took a deep breath. “Harry, wait.” Hermione left his side, and walked to the debris. She picked up the discarded rucksack and brushed it off. She also spied a length of cord and picked it up as well.

She walked back, “We almost forgot this. And last time we had trouble keeping hold of each other.” She tied the cord around her waist and the other end around his. “Now even if we let go, we should arrive wherever we end up, together.”

They glanced over their shoulders one last time to the Weasleys and stepped into the archway together, the thin cloth of the veil flapped in the breeze they caused and slowly stopped to hang dead still.

May 23, 1998

Harry and Hermione stood together in a momentary state of shock at the carnage of bodies. The shock at seeing his stepparents lay dead ripped through his mind. Wormtail watched Harry turn to the dead couple, thinking if he killed Harry, he might escape this mess. Harry paused long enough at the elderly couple for Wormtail to lunge at him from the shadows, brandishing the bloody blade that had taken two lives that day. Hermione saw the steel flash toward them from the corner of her eye and turned to the attacker. She protected her one true love with a shove and received the poorly aimed blow meant for him; the blade plunged deep into her chest.

"HERMIONE! NOO!" The terror from his dreams for over a year flooded his mind, in a fit of rage and anger, he raised his hand, and ignored the loss of his wand; he gave a wave and a grabbing gesture lifted Peter by the throat. With a vengeance reserved only for God alone, the wizard squeezed his hand, as if he had grabbed the traitor by his neck. He watched as the rat-like eyes bulged from their sockets and blood oozed from his mouth. He squeezed his hand tighter and the all too familiar sound of crunching bone told the story. He released his grip, waved his hand and with a flash the crushed body fell to the ground, his head flopped awkwardly to the side. He tightened his fist one last time and, as if he were throwing a stone, a flash of fire erupted from his now open fist, striking the body. The remains burst into flame and vanished, leaving a small pile of dust and a silver hand. Never before had Harry experienced anger and hatred like this, the rush of raw power he felt was intoxicating; it was as if the Dark forces of Tom Riddle had poured into his soul.

The remaining Death Eaters had watched their master fall. Then, after the total destruction of Pettigrew, they shed their hoods and masks to beg forgiveness from Harry, for fear he would exact his rage on them. In his blind anger he gritted his teeth and snarled his hatred for them. With a final wave of his hand, as if they were insects on the ground, he crushed them with a simple hand gesture. The carnage that lay on the ground made his head swim with lust. As the blood flowed from the crumpled bodies across the grounds, his voices grew louder, cheered him on.

He turned to his side in time to watch a young woman slowly drop to her knees as if he were watching a surreal movie. It was the same woman he swore to protect with his life; she had offered her life to save him. Her hand tightly clutched at her chest. He simply stood there.

"Harry, it's a scratch, I-I’ll be fine," she lied as she held the wound tightly to try to hide it from him. She felt her breathing become pained and difficult, but fought through the pain. Her fingers tried to hold the wound shut and she felt the blade move with every laboured breath, telling her it was deep in her chest.

Harry stood over her and stared at her wound; she couldn't hide the blood now, as she fell to the ground. The blade that took his stepmother was lodged deep inside her. It was the same blade he once held in the chamber and had sought to destroy.

Hermione’s wound was severe. The blade pierced the left side of her chest near her shoulder and was buried deep; the wound profusely bled bright red blood, evidence of the damage to her lung. She looked to him with fear and shock as their eyes met; every vision he had of this moment flooded his mind. He saw her body lay on the ground, blood poured from her wounds. A bright crimson ribbon flowed down her leg, pooling at his feet. Here she was at his feet, wounded, trying to protect him.

Albus Dumbledore watched in disbelief at her sacrifice, and muttered to himself, “Unexpected, this is.” He slowly walked to the young man’s side in his most dire moments with the hope he could offer some comfort.

Her breathing slowed and became shallow and pained; the punctured lung began to fill with blood, causing pressure with every new breath. She could no longer support her own weight. He dropped to his knees to offer what little support he could, and pulled her to his arms. He had never seen her eyes so icy and lifeless; they were always full of life and joy. He had never felt anger like this before, the rage swept through his soul like a wildfire in a drought.

She mouthed three words to him, knowing her fate, and reached up to him. He felt her lips meet his one last time; they were as cold and lifeless as her eyes. She did not close her eyes as she kissed him that one last time. He held her tightly in his arms when her body stiffened once and then went limp. He could no longer feel her breathe; her chest remained still, her last breath escaped from their lips. Her eyes remained open, but were now dull and lifeless.

He screamed in pure agony as a bloodstained hand fell lifeless to her side; a scream that drew all eyes to the scene as he screamed, his scream rocked the core of magic held within the walls of the school. The Fidelius Charm lifted as she died in his arms, revealing the young couple’s true feelings and their shared pain.

"Harry,” his headmaster began, "this was her fate. You have no control over death; none of us can control it, it is out of our hands, she is gone. All that can be done now is to help those that need it, those that have survived.” He placed a fatherly hand to Harry’s shoulder in an attempt to pull him away from the body he held.

“Harry, she’s gone, let her go.”

He remained holding her. His pain deepened, his anger sharpened, his hate grew.

"Harry, she’s gone, let her go." Dumbledore repeated, hoping the journey for him to heal could begin. He knew Harry could recover from any other death, but not this one. He had to try to help the young man recover. He had to try and help him, and he had to be quick, because Harry's grief was now flowing to the growing crowd.

The number of dead had been overshadowed by the heroic actions of these two, standing side by side until one fell protecting the other. From the crowd, the murmurs and muffled voices joined with distinctive sobs that went unnoticed by Harry. Eileen managed to work her way to the front of the small group, her shock at the scene of death had been more then she could bear; she had steeled herself for this fight, always knowing Hermione and Harry would be together protecting each other. She turned to Jake, who had remained with her during the fight, and she began to grieve now, not only for her cousin, but because finally for her own father had given his life to protect the dead girl. Jake let his pistol drop to the ground to hold and comfort her.

"She can't be dead," Harry screamed as he pulled his shoulder from his mentor's touch. "I-I have to help her. She’s bleeding... she’s just hurt... she’s not dead... she can't die... I won't let it happen... HERMIONE! DON'T DIE, I LOVE YOU!" Harry pulled her close to his own body and held her. He felt the warmth of her blood soak into his clothes.

"Harry, this is her fate, please let her go." Albus repeated. He put his hands on Harry's shoulders in a renewed attempt to pull him from her body; he needed to get Harry to admit she was gone before he could begin to recover. Harry let her slip from his grasp, and she slid from his lap.

"Harry, it's over, we must face the fact that she’s gone..." Dumbledore repeated as he stepped back from the scene.

He stood and looked at her body on the ground, her blood still on his hands. The raw anger that flooded his soul with every passing second deepened to hatred. That hate blinded him and fogged his mind. He staggered away from her body and his mentor.

In his blind rage a vortex of pure magic began to build around him. His voices grew louder. His hate grew stronger. His ears were still ringing with Dumbledore’s words, ‘ She’s gone.’He couldn’t stand that sound another second. He raised his hands and lunged at his mentor as green beams shot from his fingers, engulfing the ancient wizard. Before he could draw another breath, the man fell dead.

All Harry could see were people coming toward him, attacking him, trying to kill him. His rage and anger began to destroy his mind. The group of students that came from the safety of the school offering help instead found death. Beams of pure magic shot out from his fingers as tendrils of death attacked from all angles, slicing into anyone in the way. In a brief few seconds, dozens of his classmates fell dead, cut in half as cleanly as if by a razor.

He staggered past the bodies that now lay across his path, some still moving, not fully realising only half a body could not survive.

He stumbled along the stone path; the screams of the dead now seeped deeper into his mind. The screams of those he just killed joined his other voices that began to drive him mad nearly two years ago. The barrage inside his mind was deafening as he fell into a single remaining wizard, alone in the shadows.

Lucius Malfoy never expected to see this depth of pure hate in any living soul. He stood and watched as Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world, viewed him in the shadows. Harry had only one thing in his mind, only one act he was capable of this day, he grabbed the air in front of him, and his adversary began to choke. He tried to scream, but all that came from his mouth was a fine crimson spray. The all too familiar sound of crushing bone was the last thing Malfoy heard before his body fell to the ground.

Harry collapsed where he stood.

The growing crowd around Hermione’s body held two people that loved her as much as Harry. Ginny and Ron fell to her side, as Ron gently held her in his arms and closed her eyes in death. He still loved her, even though his love for Luna had begun from the ashes of his feelings for this dead woman, she will always be a part of him. Luna had come to terms with knowing that there would always be a small piece of Ron’s heart she would never have, but what was left was hers, and she could live with that. Ginny reached a hand to her brother, he took it, and they both found a little comfort in the simple touch.

Hermione felt a presence, a peace she had never felt with Harry before. Harry, she needed to tell him she was fine and she had been happy with him. She wanted to tell him she would always love him. She heard every word she tried to say to him, but it was only in her mind. She thought about her only love as she felt herself drift away.

The screams she heard in the moments after death deafened her soul, and the rush of young faces tore past her. She felt a need to stop him, to call on him and calm his rage.

Ron held her in his arms as Ginny came to his side. Ron began to remove the dagger from her chest, it didn’t belong there and he couldn’t stand the sight of it another second. Ginny fell to her friend and gave Hermione a last embrace. At that moment, the brother and sister both felt a pull deep within their own beings. They felt a deep pain as life itself was being violently ripped from their bodies, the pain they felt radiated from their cores out through every pore. Their blood felt as if it had frozen in their veins, and in a last blinding flash of pain, both fell limp to the ground.

The glow from the three bodies blinded the onlookers; none of them had ever seen a sight such as this, waves of chestnut and crimson intertwined bonding and fusing as one. The single radiant glow sunk back into one body on the ground, seeming to illuminate each pore of her body.

She lay there; an arm from each friend lay across her bloody chest, the fingers of their hands were still woven together for the last time. She coughed bloody froth, as Jake bent to her aid, pushing the arms from the now dead boy and girl from her so he could carry her to safety and medical attention. In the fog of her mind she thought she saw Ron and Ginny stand and turn away from her, then disappear.

The wound from the dagger had sealed itself, but she wasn’t whole, there was a deeper gash cut through her very soul, she felt a loss she couldn’t identify; she had taken what wasn’t hers.

Present Time

He again held her hand so he knew she was near, but this time they were bound with a short rope at the waist, additional insurance this time. He could smell the fragrance in her hair as it again swirled and flowed in the cosmic winds and eddies, this time he could feel her hair as it danced across his face. She was nearby. He again refused to let her had go, even for a moment, last time he mentally apologised for crushing her hand as he held it so tight, a detail he corrected before they stepped through the archway.

The floor and walls disappeared leaving the void. This was what they experienced the last time; it was the same each time. He reached out in front of him, hoping for any sensation, any tactile response, and like the last time there was nothing except her touch in his hand and the tightness of the rope.

There was still nothing except her hand in his; she kept wiggling her fingers to reassure him she was still there.

Time passed.

Still nothing.

The wiggling stopped, his hand had grown numb as hers must have as well and they had at some point let go, but he had no memory of releasing his grip. He could still fell the pull on the rope, and every few minutes he felt a jerk from the other end, she was still signalling him.

He closed his eyes to think and willed his growing fears away, she was still there, he was certain of that. His anxiety never grew like the last time, the rope worked. He could feel the flapping of cloth, the veil fluttered in his face. He opened his eyes to find himself just on the other side of the gateway, as if he stepped through a door. She was standing by his side, rubbing the numbness from her fingers.

“Sorry, Mione.”

“It’s ok, Harry, it’s reassuring, if nothing else.”

“My hand went numb again.”

“I know. Just like last time.”

“Do you think we’re home this time or is this world going to be worse then the others?”

“I wish I knew, although just knowing Voldemort had got what he deserved the last times is comforting.”

They stood facing each other and let out a deep sigh at the reality they may have to face him again. As if this was a trial to prove to the powers in the universe that they were worthy. With fingers interlaced, they walked out from the pit of the amphitheatre to the chamber’s door.

“Now, we have no idea what’s on the other side, are you ready?” Harry asked.

“Honestly, no. I’m a bit nauseous, possibly just the fight and the veil,” she did feel queasy and moved to sit on a bench that had exploded only a short while before.

“I don’t think it will hurt to have a rest for a few minutes.” He still held her hand and moved with her to the bench. “And besides, maybe we should consult the prophecy sheet, to see if it’s changed.”

She nodded; as he sat, he faced away for her to rummage in the pack he wore. The sheet was now easily found, and she held it. The words began to form.

“Harry, here. For me it said ‘spirit lost… trapped… two will come… hate… peace… destroying.’ Take it and tell me what it says for you.”

He took the sheet and began to read. “It says, ‘As the Dark Star rises… spirit lost… chains of passion… hate and turmoil… each destroying the other…’ It’s a bit more then what you saw, but there are some common words. Here, hold the sheet too.’

She gripped an edge with him and the words now came together.

As the Dark Star rises
the spirit lost will be trapped by chains of passion,
two will come, similar but different
and turn hate and turmoil at last into love and peace
by one destroying the other

They sat and read the message, and her brow furrowed, “‘Dark Star’, Sirius is a star, do you think it could implicate him?” she asked.

He read the next line, “’spirit lost’ , you’ve been called that and we’ve met your spirit, and there’s the lost with thing too. But trapped?”

“’two will come, similar but different’ that must mean us, we’re two, and different, you’re a man and I’m a woman. Same race, different genders,” she added.

“These last two lines don’t sound promising, ‘hate and turmoil` sounds as if there’s plenty wrong here too.”

They refused to consider the last line, simply looked at each other.

“Harry, what if we just ignored this world and tried going through the portal again?” she asked. Neither had thought of that possibility before. “Maybe if we just keep trying, we can find our own reality again.”

“Mione. That’s a brilliant idea. As much as I don’t want to say it, but I can’t keep fighting like this. We both got hurt last time, how long can our luck hold?” She tucked the sheet back into the pack. Then he stood and pulled her to her feet. He noticed the blood rush from her face as it paled when she stood, and held her while she regained her composure.

“Are you certain you’re ok? You look pale,” he asked.

“Just a tad ill, that duel took a bit and these ‘trips’aren’t much fun either. Let’s just try.”

The walked back to the portal and she retied the cord around his waist and hers. “Ready? One, two, three…” and they stepped back in.

The cloth covering the portal flapped in their faces, they knew it would be a strange sensation in the void. They stood immediately on the other side, the disorientation never happened, the void was missed.

“Did anything happen?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Let’s see that sheet again.”

He turned away so she could remove the sheet, and she held it. He faced her, held the parchment with her and read the words as they formed.

As the Dark Star rises
the spirit lost will be trapped by chains of passion,
two will come, similar but different
and turn hate and turmoil at last into love and peace
by one destroying the other

“It’s the same, nothing happened. It must mean no matter what, we have to stay,” she said. The disappointment in her voice told him her hopes of getting ‘home’ had diminished.

“Then let’s get this over with.” He grabbed her hand and together they returned to the doors.

They both held their breaths, as he pushed the door open. The corridor appeared to be empty, and free of any debris. No sign of a past struggle. The doors to the Hall of Prophecies unchained. Voices from several other rooms on the floor indicated they we not alone.

“Should we try the lift or the stairs?” he asked Hermione.

“We stand a better chance of avoiding anyone with the stairs, until we know what happened.” He put his arm around her waist as they quietly walked to the stairs and began the climb up to the upper levels.

“Good plan, off to the Aurors' offices then?”

“You still have your badge, or have you lost it?”

“I almost forgot,” he said as he stopped in the middle of the first staircase. He rummaged through a side pocket, until he produced his identification badge.

They walked together up the stairs; both wondered what changes they would encounter. They climbed the first flight of stairs, and paused at the doors that opened to the Atrium. Last time the Atrium had been a graveyard for those fallen. Harry carefully peered through the opening of the door, and saw a busy hall with the normal activity of the Ministry passing through the Atrium.

“It appears normal, do you want to have a go at the Atrium or push on up the stairs?” he whispered to Hermione.

“I’d rather not take the risk. Let’s find a friendly face and see what changes we’ll have to deal with,” she answered. “And I’d like a hot shower and some sleep, we’ve not had a decent night’s rest in a few days. If this is anything like the last couple, I’d be afraid to face Voldemort as tired as we are.” The rumble from her stomach emphasised the point.

“Then let’s keep going and try the Burrow first.” He stood from the crouch and together they continued the climb.

They had reached the fourth level when they heard a familiar voice bellow through the corridors.

“Harry! That was Hagrid. If he’s here, and this is the fourth level, do you think he’s here working for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?”

He thought about it for a moment, “Yes, it is possible. Maybe if we could get his attention, we could find out from him.”

She didn’t have time to answer; the door burst open, momentarily separating them. A very young wizard stepped forward, his wand drawn and pointed directly at Hermione’s head.

“Stop, Granger,” he commanded. She got a clear look at him, his Auror robes and youth left no doubt of his junior rank.

“Pardon?” she managed to ask as she held her hands out, showing they were empty.

“The Lord will be displeased you’ve escaped. Don’t move or it will go badly for you,” he commanded as stepped through the doors.

Harry stood behind the young and obviously inexperienced Auror, ready to strike. Hermione stood frozen to the spot, and waited for the next move. The young wizard glanced at the shadow behind her, and she watched as his eyes grew larger. The realisation that she was not alone had sunk in.

The Auror stepped back and span around to try and avoid the spell he knew was coming, and pointed his wand at Harry. Harry stood there, his arm stretched out with a single finger pointing at the man’s heart. The image now in front of him, sent a tendril of fear through him, he dropped his wand and fell to his knees.

“Sire, my deepest apologies. Had I known you were here, I never would…” his voice trailed as he humbled himself.

Slightly stunned himself, Harry picked up the discarded wand, and looked at the wizard again. He then remembered his badge had been clearly visible. He grabbed the young wizard by the shoulders, and felt him tremble.

“Here,” he said as he pulled the young man to his feet and handed the wand back to the Auror.

“Sire? There was no report that the prisoner was to be brought here, do you require assistance?” he asked with his head bowed.

Hermione stood watching the brief interaction, and watched Harry’s handling of the situation. She smirked at Harry’s discomfort, even with all his experience, and the leadership he had displayed; he never felt it was fully deserved.

“I can deal with things. Thanks.”

“Thank you, sire, please forgive me,” he kept saying as he quickly left for his original destination, obviously afraid.

“That was strange, we both must exist here, ‘sire’,” she mimicked.

“Obviously. And worse than that, you’re some kind of prisoner, ‘Granger’, and quite possibly we haven’t married,” he said after replaying the brief conversation in his mind.

“I did catch that too, maybe we should just Apparate out?”

“To the Burrow?”

“No, the oak,” she replied. “Until we know more details of what happened.”

He closed his eyes to concentrate, imagined being at the oak in the field by the Burrow and instantly found himself standing in the familiar field, alone. He spun in the spot, expecting to find her nearby, except he was alone.

“Harry!” he heard a muffled call. He fumbled in his cloak pocket for the mirror, while she kept calling. He pulled it to his face and replied.

“What happened? I’m here at the oak. Where are you?” he asked.

“Still at the Ministry, it appears I can’t Apparate out.”

“Ok, love, I’ll be right back.”

“No, wait, take a quick look, remember last time nothing was there marking the graves?”

“Right, hang on and I’ll poke about.”

He paused and looked to the tree and the clearing beneath it. “Mione?” he called back, “The patch appears just as it does at home, well kept.” He walked closer and then spotted a group of grave markers with the names ‘Weasley’ etched on them. “It appeared correct except the monument for Sirius isn’t here. Just a moment, there are several grave markers. Molly and Arthur are here and, OH MY GOD,” he read another pair of markers, and turned pale.

“What? Tell me what’s there?”

“Stay put, I’ll be back straightaway,” he called back.

"Harry," she called into the mirror, but he stopped responding. She imagined hearing a distinct muffled voice, but it wasn’t him. She stayed in the stairwell, and prayed no one would show. She had tried several times to Apparate from the Ministry, but failed each time.

He still hasn’t responded, and there were new voices in the corridor, progressing through the day-to-day activity of the Ministry. She closed her eyes for a moment to think, 'Fourth level, Hagrid's here, maybe Charlie Weasley.' The voices outside grew louder, a heated discussion had erupted and she clearly could hear one voice belonged to Hagrid. The young Auror had descended the stairs, but she never heard a door open, he might still be there, watching.

She was growing frantic now that she was alone and unable to escape.

She heard Hagrid's voice bellow again, in an obviously growing argument. The voices grew stronger, and she heard footsteps approach from the corridor, the sound of a boot's heel landing on the floor followed by a hollow clunk. Another footstep and another clunk, they grew louder with increased frequency. She tried to sink into the shadows to avoid any confrontations. She hid as close to the opposite side of the doorway as she could. The step-clunk sound grew louder and the footsteps came closer with each passing second. Each second drew her closer to the shadows as she watched the door, ignoring all else. As the sound came to the door, she felt a hand clench her shoulder with another on her wrist, pulling her from the shadows into the centre of the stairwell.

"Hem hem." Hermione heard from her side, as she turned to the source, the voice continued. "Well, well, Miss Granger, it seems that you managed to escape," the voice snapped. The frog-faced witch that came with the voice now stood in front of Hermione; a face she remembered watching run through the Forbidden Forest in her fifth year, running for her very life from the centaurs.

"Escape?" she asked with a puzzled tone.

"Miss Granger," Umbridge repeated, "The Lord will be happy with me that I’ve apprehended you, and, most certainly interested in how you escaped; although I'm curious why you came here of all places." Umbridge had the same craving for power in her eyes that she had twelve years earlier. After their last encounter, Hermione had lost her patience and ran out of the headmaster's office slamming the door after her with all her strength. This person had the same gleam in her eyes, that of a sly rat who kissed the buttocks of whoever happened to be in power, even Lord Voldemort himself.

Hermione pulled her arm free and attempted to move away, only to be blocked and restrained. Umbridge not only stopped Hermione from leaving, but her free arm came around to strike.

Harry's return was timed perfectly. He appeared behind his wife but still in the shadows, and the anger at seeing Umbridge about to strike was not seen by the assailant. He stepped forward and his instant glare brought an immediate reversal and an unexpected result, when Umbridge backed away she fell to her knees exactly as the young Auror had moments earlier.

"Sire, please forgive me," she now pleaded as if in fear for her life. "I hadn’t seen you there. I found the prisoner wandering the stairs and tried to detain the bitch for you."

Harry took another step forward, now standing directly between the two women. He felt Hermione’s hand on his shoulder. The thought of seeing Dolores Umbridge before him, reminded him of the faint scar on the back of his hand, it was still visible at times; it had never completely faded.

His brow furrowed at her and her last remark struck a deep nerve, "Just go away, you loathsome bitch," he hissed. And to finish his point drew his arm back aiming a blow from the back of his hand. He felt Hermione’s gentle touch on his shoulder and he paused. That image also seen by Umbridge. In the brief moment of reason she managed to give him, he dropped his aggression.

"Just go away before I …” he hissed as he started to feel his anger grow.

"But, Sire, I …”

"Sod off, you miserable twit." He yelled. She took her cue and quickly backed away, down the stairs. She had left the area, but only out of immediate view and remained well within range to eavesdrop. The small area of the stairwell suddenly became more crowded when the door burst open.

Hagrid turned to see the couple standing slightly blocked behind the door.

Harry's face brightened at the sight of his oldest friend in the wizarding world. He wanted desperately to simply jump into his huge arms for a hug. He held off a moment to try and read the situation.

"Oh, ‘Arry, I mean, Sire," Hagrid managed to say, the hatred he felt sang through in every word.

"Hagrid?" Harry started. He looked at his friend, and stopped at the tree trunk strapped just below his knee. "Your leg? What happened?" he asked without thinking.

"Leg? That's rich, yeh cut me leg at the knee, and yeh asks what 'appened?"

"Hagrid? How is Harry responsible?" Hermione asked as she stepped from behind Harry.

Startled at the sight of the two together, Hagrid stood staring at her. "Hermione? Hermione Granger? An' with 'Arry?" he asked, not believing his own eyes.

From her vantage point, another continued to listen to the private conversation.

"Granger? No, don’t you remember..." she started when Harry grabbed her arm and shook his head as she turned to look at him.

"Hagrid, where should she be, if not here?" Harry asked.

"Sire, yeh know, yeh imprisoned 'er years ago."

She gasped at the comment and looked at Harry. He nodded, "Right, for what happened to Ron and Ginny." Harry confirmed.

"An' the others an' all, I mean, she murdered her own cousin an' that Jake fella, I really liked 'im."

"Hagrid, how?" she asked as she approached him and touched his arm. His only reaction was to flinch and step back.

"' Ow could yeh forget? Did yeh lose yeh mem'ry?"

"No, Hagrid, listen, we can’t discuss this here, I need to find some information, will you help us?" Harry asked.

"I don’t see 'ow yeh need anyone’s help, sire. An' if she’s in yeh custody, I don' see no problem."

"We can’t be seen leaving, we need to leave the Ministry, and I need your help." His request was not expected, but the half-giant nodded.

"Yeah, I've no blimmin' choice, yeh know tha', but I 'ave ter deliver this letter firs'," he said, holding up an official document.

"Excellent, meet us outside in ten minutes. I, we, need your help, but I need a few moments to explain to Hermione first."

"Wait, no, meet us at the Burrow," she said changing his direct instructions, and he nodded his confirmation.

"If tha's an order, I don' have a ruddy choice," he mumbled and started towards the stairs.

Hermione looked at Harry with a single question, a question that would spawn a hundred more. He put his arms around her, and she did the same. At the moment Hagrid turned to ask a question, he watched as she put her head on his shoulder and he kissed her cheek before they disappeared together.

"Me 'ole world's turned on its ear," he muttered as he started to hobble down the stairs.

He made it down the first fight before Umbridge could get away. He took the next flight quickly and blocked her escape.

"Wha' yeh doin' there, yeh fro'-faced waste o'magic?" He took this as his chance; the stairwell behind them was empty. He thought to raise a fist to strike a blow. "Tryin'ter spy on honest members o' the Ministry?"

"It's of no importance to a half-breed thing like you to know what my duties are, and how dare you threaten a Ministry official?"

"Get out t a me way, before I …” he growled as he raised his arm to strike before she managed to scurry away.

This time she held him tightly as they Apparated to the field near the Burrow. He needed to show her the markers with the message. They appeared on the far side of the oak tree, where five grave markers were visible, but not readable from that distance.

"Hermione, it will be unpleasant. Are you certain you want to see them?" he asked.

"Yes, Harry, I have to know," she replied. They walked slowly and reverently to the markers, she kept her eyes focused on the ground before her so she wouldn’t have to see the messages. The first three markers she had seen before, 'Molly Weasley, beloved wife, mother and friend.' Arthur's gravestone stood next to hers. Bill was laid to rest next to his father, but it was the next pair that were the most difficult to see, ‘Ronald Weasley, friend and companion to Harry Potter. Murdered by a close friend.'

Ginny's stone held the same message. 'Murdered by a close friend'. She fell to her knees between Ron and Ginny's resting place. Hermione placed a hand on the earth covering each friend, and mouthed, 'I'm sorry'.

"They were murdered. Harry, they mentioned you, but not me. I must be the one that …” she couldn’t finish the thought.

"That's what I thought too, something must have happened during the battle. The date’s correct," he said. "Something happened that day. Everyone has called me 'sire', it must be part of what happened to us."

She nodded her understanding; he could feel her try to contain her emotions at the discovery, and noted her failure when he reached down for her hand to hold it tighter. She turned to face Ron's grave and mouthed a private message to her friend.

"Harry, can we go to the Burrow? Maybe we can see what the other Weasleys know of this?" she asked after she finished her brief conversation with a dead friend.

"Would that be a good idea? If our assumptions are correct, then they may not want to talk about it, especially to you."

"Who else can we turn to? Eileen and Jake are dead too, and I'm the cause as well." The trembling in her voice showed the desperation she had begun to feel. "Darling, if you're with me, I can deal with anything they might say." She stood and faced him, her eyes red and swollen, but she held her tears.

"Yes, I'm certain if we explain our situation they’ll understand and help us."

He helped her to her feet, and supported her as they walked through the same fields they played in together in younger, carefree years before the last rise of Voldemort. The Burrow appeared unchanged from the one in their shared memories, it still appeared as if it would collapse from a strong sneeze. They cautiously walked to the door, and stood at the threshold.

"Mione, maybe you should stand off to the side, until we know for sure."

She nodded and left him standing alone, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head to be certain.

Harry knocked on the doorframe, and heard scuffling from inside. No one came to the door. He knocked again.

"Bugger off. We're not here," a voice shouted.

"George? Fred?" Harry replied.

"Bugger off, you mindless git," the voice shouted again.

"Harry, try again, please," she pleaded.

He now pounded and called out again, this time in a less then friendly Auror voice. "George Weasley, open the bloody door."

He heard less than polite mumbling as footsteps announced the approach. "Who the bloody hell do you think you are to barge in a man's home?" a shaggy red-haired man said. He had several days'growth of beard; it was obvious that he seldom left the house. He had been scratching in places only a man alone in his own home would consider, and had been looking down to the floor as he approached the door. He finally glanced up to see Harry standing in front of him, grinning madly.

His jaw dropped. He stared at Harry, unable to make a coherent phrase. "M-M-M … I, uh …”

"George?" Harry asked.

"Sire, please I had no idea …” he fell to his knees, humbled and frightened.

Harry started to chuckle, "George, it's only me, Harry," he began as he opened the door and pulled his old friend into a classic Weasley greeting

"S-S-Sire?"

"Stop with this ‘sire' thing, George. I need your help. Who else is here?"

"Umm, my brother. No one else, Lord."

Hermione now stepped from around the corner, "George?" she asked tentatively.

He looked up and forgot who stood before him, "What the fuck are you doing here, you fucking murderous bitch?" he spat at her.

"George, why …” she pleaded for an explanation.

"Why? You killed my little brother and sister, and you were supposed to be their friend. How could you? Why did you?" He ranted, his blood boiled from ten years of unresolved anger at their deaths.

"Please, George, humour us," Harry asked, in as polite a tone as possible.

George began grumbling something about overstepping authority and pushed the door open for them.

"George," a voice called from upstairs, "Who's at the door?"

"Lord Potter and that murderous bitch," he called back.

A second man bounded down the stairs in a near laugh," That's the best one you’ve pulled in years, I almost …” Fred Weasley stopped short as he came face to face with the two Potters. "Crikey, I thought you were having me on."

"Fred? Fred, please," Harry asked. "First, let me say one thing, whatever you believe she has done, put it aside, whatever I have done. Put that aside, just treat us as strangers from another world," Harry instructed.

"They’ve gone daft, George, doesn’t he know what's history?"

"No, we don’t," she replied. "The truth is too strange to explain briefly, the truth is we are from a different world. My name is Hermione Potter, not Granger. You both attended our wedding, Ron stood up for Harry and Ginny was my matron of honour, that was ten years ago next month."

"Quite, and next you'll tell us a Muggle runs Hogwarts."

"Well, one is the assistant headmaster under McGonagall," Harry replied.

A brief and nervous laugh from the twins began, expecting the others to join in the joke, they, however, remained silent.

"You are having us on? Aren’t you?" George asked after watching their silence. Harry shook his head.

"What happened to Ron and Ginny?" Hermione asked point blank.

"Simple, you murdered them. You were lying unconscious after the battle when they thought you were hurt, and you did something. They fell dead, and you laughed at them."

She stared blankly at the remark. "I laughed?" she finally asked softly.

"Yeah, then some bloke picked you up and took you off. We heard you killed him and the woman, what's her name?"

"Eileen Madison. She was her cousin. The man must have been Jake Stevens," Harry added. Hermione sat and stared blankly, stunned that she could have done any of this.

"But I never could have hurt any of them; they are all as dear to both of us as you two." She looked puzzled at Harry; he shook his head and cupped her hands in his.

"Fred, George, we really are not from this 'reality'. Something happened and we ended up here. Please, this is the truth."

Before another word, the door burst open, and Hagrid hobbled in. "Fred, George, tha' madman said he was on 'is way, an' she’s with …” he froze to his spot in mid-sentence, the fear of the retribution he faced showed in his expression.

"Please, Hagrid, don’t worry about it, come in, we do need your help. I was explaining to Fred and George that we don’t belong in this world."

Hermione stood and walked fearlessly to the half-giant, and took his massive hand, and kissed his palm. "Please. Old friend, just trust us now. Sit." she asked.

Stunned, he complied, as Harry repeated the story he had began moments earlier. Together they explained in detail nearly every event since the battle, as that seemed to be the point where this reality changed.

They in turn related the history of their world, Harry's defeat of Voldemort, Hermione 'falling'unconscious and killing Ron and Ginny, Harry's explosion of hatred and anger, and the massacre in the fields of the school, which was the point when Hagrid's leg was lost.

"So, we both 'snapped'after Voldemort was gone?" he asked in summary.

"Yeah, you both seemed, well, different after that. Harry, you announced yourself sovereign king of all wizards, and commissioned a search for her." Fred pointed to Hermione while George continued. "They said they found you in a flat, you were unconscious and the muggle authorities found the other two dead, buried nearby. Harry's had you 'confined' since then and you’ve never been seen. Everyone thinks you're dead."

Harry pondered these thoughts, "Where is she now? There must be more to it. Something else that happened …”

"Or didn’t happen …” Hermione interjected.

"Between us." He finished, the obvious difference in their demeanour showed the group these two were not the Harry and Hermione of this world.

"Rumour is she’s still alive and has been held at the old Order headquarters, it's still your house, but no one’s been in there in years."

"Then, that will be our first stop." he said as he stood. "Maybe we can force some change in them, make things here right again."

She remained sitting, and nodded, "Darling," she still held his hand, "Maybe tomorrow? We both need to rest, and I'm famished."

"Right. Fred, George, and of course, Hagrid, thank you for listening, but we need to go. And so you will know us, from the other two, we’ll use the names Sirius gave us as Marauders, Stag and Spirit. They will be our code names. Now, we’ve overstayed our welcome here. Love, come we’ll find a place for the night." He helped her to her feet, and they turned to leave.

"Wait." Fred called out. "If you are who you say, then stay here as long as you need. If this is an elaborate trick, then I hope you remember we did offer you lodgings."

"Quite right, brother. Stay at least the night. We’ve plenty of room, and it might be amusing to see Percy's face when he arrives home in a bit."

She looked to Harry, and before he answered, she replied for them. "It may put you all in danger. We shouldn’t. Harry, maybe we can find a room at the Cauldron?"

"She’s got a point, I'd rather not put you in any more danger."

"Nonsense, stay here. They’ll know you anywhere you go."

He nodded; he relished the thought of a shower and warm bed for the night. "Done. We’ll use our usual room."

"Usual room? You two haven’t spent the night in ten years, and never together."

"Ah, right then, the room at the top of the third floor, unless someone’s there."

"Use the second room on the right on the third then, it hasn’t been used in a while." Fred said casually.

They left the group and retired to the room they had been offered. She tried to give each a warm hug, but the cold reception to her embrace with Fred gave her pause enough to avoid the others. The couple climbed the stairs together, when she whispered, "That was Ron's old room, why that one?"

"I guess to turn up the guilt." he replied as they disappeared up the staircase.

The others remained downstairs, the revelations and twists they heard left them all slightly bewildered.

The late night rescue and subsequent battle that preceded the activities of the day left Harry tired and sore, more so for Hermione. She found the bed first and had curled up in the warm quilt before Harry could shed his shoes.

"Wouldn’t you like a shower first?" he asked.

"Umm mmm …” she mumbled in response.

"Mione?" he asked as he sat next to her, but it was too late. She was asleep. He smiled and stoked her hair, to which he thought he heard her purr like a kitten. He pulled the covers over her to let her sleep; pulled off the layer of clothes he had now worn and fought in, and fumbled in a cupboard for a clean towel.

He knew his way around this house as well as his own home, and slipped into the bathroom at the end of the hall to soak his achy joints in the warm flow. He kept his eyes shut as the warm fluid flowed over his face. He kept the flow washing over him, feeling the drops strike his face. He held his eyes shut, enjoying the relaxing feeling. He reached blindly to the shelf hanging under the showerhead, and identified the shampoo by feel.

He poured a generous amount into his hands, and worked it through his hair, feeling the ache from each strand of hair diminish with each passing moment under the stream. He kept his head in the shower, and kept massaging his hair to work out all the soap.

He hung his head. Both hands on the firm wall and shook his hair free of the excess. He was finally beginning to relax, and feel his muscles loosen. Then he finally opened his eyes to find his feet buried ankle deep in the warm, flowing mud. His body was covered in a fine film of the same mud.

He looked at himself shook his head and laughed. "Bugger, I should've known in all these years to never trust Fred and George!"

He turned off the shower and the thick mud flowed down the drain. He turned on the tap for the tub to be rewarded with clean, clear water. He rinsed the remaining mud from the tub and his body, then let the tub fill and laid back into the fresh bath.

"Mmmm, I see why she prefers baths," he mumbled to himself.

Nearly a half hour later he shook himself awake, and drained the water. The towel he used was quite fluffy and nearly as relaxing. He dried quickly, to return to their room.

"You're up, you were nearly walking in your sleep before," he commented when he saw her sitting up.

"I, I'm feeling a bit ill. I can’t believe what they said, but still," she sighed heavily. "Hold me?" she pleaded reaching her arms out.

He dropped the towel and pulled on his boxers before complying with her needs. The Hermione of this world had done something horrible, and even though this woman was guiltless, it still affected her deeply.

"Mmm, you smell heavenly, have a good shower?" she commented as she buried her face into his bare skin.

"Umm, I'd avoid the shower and opt for a bath, if I were you," he replied with a grin.

"Sounds wonderful." She kissed him deeply and passionately leaving him slightly light-headed from all his blood draining elsewhere, and left him alone to suffer that fate. He managed to shake his mind free after she left and dressed.

Outside the bedroom, he heard her slip into the tub, and heard a sigh of contentment. He smiled that she was finally able to relax. He heard the story of what she did to this world, but wanted to learn his role without her there. She had been stressed and still seemed pale, possibly from the confrontation with Malfoy and Voldemort in the past day. She seemed to have passed her illness and had managed a few moments to relax. 'She needs her time alone.' he thought.

He found his hosts still sitting and discussing the events, as if he never left. He joined them, resuming the same spot he sat with Hermione before his 'shower' more then an hour before.

"Interesting shower you boys have," he commented casually. "It was refreshing."

Fred looked at George, slightly puzzled, but George’s look was that of a guilty man about to be condemned. "Sire, it was meant for Percy, I really forgot to warn you," he nearly stammered.

Harry grinned and laughed, "It was still relaxing, but I warned Hermione to take a bath instead."

"Umm, did you use the towels in the bathroom?" Fred asked nervously.

"No, I found some in the bedroom, why?"

"No reason, none at all," Fred said with a relaxed smile.

"Fred, I’ve seen that smile of yours before, shall I be concerned for my wife's safety?"

"Umm, she really is your wife?"

"Yeah, we told you that before, she is my wife."

He sat, looking a bit nervous and flustered, "No, nothing to worry about, nothing at all."

Harry thought about the comments and expressions and made a mental note to avoid the towels in the bathroom. The light-hearted nature of his friends still existed, and it was as warming to be at that end of a Fred and George Weasley joke as if it were a welcoming Weasley hug from Molly. He was starting to feel some normality to the abnormal reality.

"Hmmm, fine then, I guess." He sat quiet and became serious. "Tell me about what I did. You focused on her earlier, I must have done something here, or people wouldn’t be terrified of me. I'd rather know first, she’s been through quite a bit these past few months, well, since we’ve been together, actually."

"You feel that strongly that you want to keep this from her?" Fred asked. It was one of the more serious questions Harry had heard from him.

"Yes, I would rather tell her myself. It would be easier, I think."

"At the end of the battle, Voldemort was destroyed, and Pettigrew knocked Hermione down. She seemed to be unconscious," George said.

"Actually, she was stabbed and died. That's what you must have seen."

"She died? As in gone and deceased?"

"Yes, she has a power that can draw the very life force from objects and people around her. She can channel that to heal others or herself in times of stress."

"So that's how Ron and Ginny died?"

"Most likely, however, in our world she drew what she needed from me."

"Crikey, that explains a lot."

"What happened next, to me?"

"You seemed to lose your mind, Albus pulled you from her, and you turned on him, he fell dead from your touch. You then blew up anyone in front of you. That's when you ran off and she killed Ron and Ginny."

"An', tha's when yeh blew off me leg, ‘Arry," Hagrid added quickly. "I was there behind Professor Dumbledore when yeh killed 'em."

"I … killed Albus?" he stammered. His face drained of all blood, forcing his scar to stand out blood red against his now pale skin.

"She was taken off, and hidden, I guess to get better. She wasn’t seen for a year or so," George added.

"My Hermione was carrying our child. Malfoy killed it and cursed her; do you think she left to have the child?"

"No one knows. You went mad, quite insane actually, searched the country until she was found. The story was those others were found dead with her, but some say you were the one that found them and killed them both."

"Why or more appropriately, how did I become the 'monarch' of the wizards?"

"No one could stop you or reason with you. You actually seemed as crazed as Voldemort himself."

"Right, I thought you came here to ‘finish' us and when I saw her, I lost control. If you were him, we'd all be with Ron and Gin right now," George added to explain his earlier outburst.

"I'm not 'him' but I think I'm here to stop him and this insanity."

They paused to soak the words into their minds, so much to consider in such a brief time. Before another word was spoken, soft footsteps were heard coming down the steps.

"George," they heard a woman's voice call. Hermione had a large soft towel wrapped around her, fresh from the bath, her hair wrapped in another. "I hate to be a bother, but all my things are quite nasty. Have you put Ginny's things up?"

"We, I, couldn’t stand to touch a thing of hers. Her room was as she left it before she left for school that year." George looked away at the comments, losing her was harder for the brothers than even Ron's death.

"Yes, we left her room the same. Please, you're welcome to anything she had that will fit," Fred added.

She stood facing the twins, Harry to her side and Hagrid sat behind where she stood. She took that extra step, bent over and gave her husband's two stepbrothers and thank-you kiss on their cheeks.

Hagrid watched her closely, he listened to every word said and watched both their actions, just as the twins had. Harry smiled at the compassion they were now sharing, putting their anger and hate aside.

Harry then glanced to his large friend and stared at Hagrid for a moment. He watched Hagrid's eyes grow large in his face. The same startled look Chrissy Linter had when she saw the rat, and he thought it to be a traitor. He sprung to his feet and scanned the opposite side. ‘Constant vigilance' was still etched in his mind. Fred and George were equally alarmed at his sudden action.

"WHAT?" he commanded. "What's wrong?" he repeated still scanning the room. Hermione had stepped back and turned looking in the opposite direction, her back to Harry's back and stared straight at Hagrid. His eyes continued to grow larger and now his jaw dropped.

"Mione, see anything?" Harry asked.

"Nothing." She looked intently, also watching Hagrid. Out of habit she still held her towel. She shifted it slightly, tightening it around her chest as she felt a slight chill.

"Uhhh, Harry," George started.

Fred watched the couple and then saw her stand behind Harry. "Uh, Hermione, did you use the towels in the bathroom?"

"Of course, they were the only ones large enough." She shifted the towel again, and the draft increased.

"Ha-Ha-ar — rry" Hagrid managed to stammer. "Hermione’s … umm... Neked."

Harry turned and saw the reason for the sudden shock. Now his eyes nearly popped through his glasses. George stood quickly and grabbed a cloak from the chair and trying to look away, but also tried to admire the view, handed her the cloak.

Puzzled, she looked at him; Harry still stared, as did the other men in the room. She finally looked down to see the last of the towel dissolve leaving nothing to the imagination.

"I'm terribly sorry, Percy's been bringing this woman home from time to time and I thought it would be clever to leave them those towels." Fred offered as he tried to help her into the cloak, but she wasn’t able slide an arm into it, he held it upside-down.

"And fix the shower?" Harry asked, his face held a stern expression, and waited until Fred had nearly dissolved himself before he couldn’t contain himself. He cracked a grin, mirrored by the one on her face, and finally broke into a thunderous laugh.

"That was perfect," she finally managed to choke out, the others still too nervous to join in, but the laughter from these two became quite contagious.

The room was illuminated by a single candle on the corner of the desk, many months' worth of wax drippings bled from the side. The figure at the desk was busy scratching in a book. The self-made quill etched the words on the page, the point being dipped into a small bowl every couple of words to continue at a feverish pace. The flow of written words mirrored the conversation in the room, jumbled and disjointed.

The figure could only be identified as a woman when the thin film of cloth covering her body fell open. At one time it had been an attractive gown, now it was simply threadbare rags that draped from her shoulders.

Her modesty long gone, the front of her ragged dress had been void of buttons for almost two years. It remained open to her waist, leaving her breasts exposed when she straightened up to stretch or lean forward, as she did when she wrote. The chair she sat on had no cushion, her bare bottom callused from the years spent sitting and writing. Her fingers, once long and graceful, now gnarled and bent around the end of a pen.

Traces of crimson leaked and stuck to the chair, evidence that hygienic practices had been abandoned along with her humanity. Her chestnut hair was matted and tied roughly out of her face. She had tried chopping it off at one time, only for it to grow back the next day. Her face hadn’t seen daylight in the nearly ten years she had spent here writing; the streaks of filth had stained her once clear complexion. Only one other person had seen this face during these years, and the visits had become less frequent these last couple of years.

A mattress sans sheets or blanket lay in the corner near the desk. The far corner of the room held several months'worth of waste, vomit, and faeces. The stench in the room, now familiar to the occupant was occasionally masked when the week's rations were delivered. The walls of the cell were all lined with volumes; each title was a favourite of the creature that existed in this room, but each page of each volume remained blank.

She spent every moment filling the blank pages, but ink was no longer provided; she used her very blood to stain the sheets of the books. She had begun transcribing each story of each title; that effort abandoned years ago after she discovered each written page erased itself when she slept.

She now wrote the only story she could remember, the others also erased from her waking memory. She wrote her story in its entirety every day and read the story before she allowed sleep to claim her withering mind.

"Damn it, there's nothing in here. We're wasting our time," she said in a deep voice, dictating to herself as she wrote.

"Harry, I think we both need a break, we’ve gone through these books a dozen times and I know we're just missing some little detail. It's nearly one o'clock in the morning. I, for one, am quite tired."

"Then go on. I can’t sleep thinking of this."

She suddenly sat up dropping her pen. "Accio Harry's cloak, Accio my cloak !" she called and waved her hand, even though it had been ten years since she held a wand. Her rotting dress fell open and again exposed her chest. The scar above her breast was raw and showed signs of deep infection. "Come on, let's get out of here," she called to herself. She stood and took an imaginary hand, and ran in circles around the room. She stood frozen as if staring out to a long forgotten horizon.

She reached to her shoulder and took a hand. She held it to her lips and kissed it gently. She slumped to the floor and nuzzled into a long missing companion. She resumed the deep voice again, "Hermione, there's something I want, tonight, from you. But I don’t know how …”

"To ask me? Of course, Harry. I want to make love to you too, come, and take me," she said as she laid on the floor, her legs spread for him.

There was no one there.

Her moans of pleasure were from imagined moments of pleasure she never had. She closed her eyes briefly and stood, she began her escape. She brushed her hands down the periwinkle blue gown, and lightly touched the mascara that was freshly applied. She held her arms up, taking another in her arms holding a long dead partner as she waltzed around the room.

"Why, yes, Victor, I watched you in the World Cup, I thought you were absolutely brilliant."

She stopped her dance, and fell on the stained mattress. She embraced a lover she had never known and stoked her own matted hair. She lay her head down to the mattress and when her hands stopped, her breathing slowed. The rise and fall of her chest slowed as she drifted into sleep. She had forced herself to stay awake for the past three days and nights. She was able to measure time from the sun's warmth on the wooden sheets that covered the shattered glass of the windows. She had broken them many years ago, and hidden glass fragments throughout the room, to be used to refresh her ‘ ink'supply.

The pages of the books on the desk flipped wildly, the ink faded from each page as it fanned through. The now blank book returned itself to the shelf of its origin.

She slept.

She would repeat her ritual again.

She would slice a fresh wound, allowing the last ones to scab over.

She would remember the girl that had been her sister.

She would remember the other boy that loved her into death.

She would remember her love.

She slept.

---

Hermione woke up the next morning; she'd had a disturbing dream that she was isolated and alone. She felt uneasy and rolled over to see Harry sleeping next to her. She smiled at him, even though he still slept.

"I love you, Harry Potter," she whispered as softly as she could. She scooted as close to him as she could get and as lightly as she could, first kissed a cheek, then his nose, and then his forehead. She was about to kiss his lips, as soft as a butterfly's touch when the corner of his mouth curled upward. Before she snuggled closer, his free hand snuck behind her and pulled her to his lips. The unexpected sneak attack landed him a quick bite on his lower lip, just enough to force him to drop his faux sleep.

"You're a sneaky one, Mr. Potter," she grinned while still biting on his lip.

"Wet wo wove my wip and wou'll fee how fneeky," he teased back.

His hand slipped from the back of her head down her side, and rested on her hip, the other still cradled her head.

"And exactly what do you have in mind?" she teased back pushing his hand off.

He held his hand out and motioned her back, "I can’t put my finger on it, but lately you seem different, too sexy for me to share with the other blokes here."

"Oh, please, you’ll say anything for a quickie in the morning, I'm sure the others are up by now," she slipped out of bed, throwing her legs over the opposite side. He reached over and held her around the waist, but she again pushed him off and shook her head.

"No, I'm …” She stood, grabbed a dressing robe, and ran out. She turned down the hall and slammed the door to the toilet shut, and clicked the lock.

He had just enough time to hear the lock click, and gave up his morning pursuit. He grabbed his clothes and passed a cleansing charm as these were the only things he had, his other clothes had been left with Ginny in the past adventure, she had promised to have them properly washed, but the were forced to leave before he recovered them. Hermione was luckier; some of Ginny's things did fit, except the skirts were a bit snug around the middle since Ginny was a bit thinner the Hermione in those days.

Harry had tried some of Ron's old things, but nothing fit, Ron had been much taller, Better to have one of the twins purchase some things later.

He had finished lacing his shoes when she finally returned, looking quite pale.

"Touch of the flu, I think. Strange though, I had a touch of nausea last night as well."

"Then I'd like you to stay here for the day, I'm going to find out what I can about this prison the other you is in."

She actually felt relief at his suggestion to stay, and instead of dressing, fell headfirst into the now empty bed. "Then be off, I'm going back to sleep."

He smiled, and blew her a kiss before closing the door. The others had been up a while; no one would dare disturb them. Even though it was clear these two weren’t the two from this world, no one wanted to take the risk. He found George reading in the lounge, and Fred at the table facing him.

"Morning, gents," he said as he plopped down at the table. A teapot sat on the table, filled with freshly brewed tea. He poured a cup and added a splash of milk.

"Morning, si … Harry. Is Hermione joining us?" Fred asked.

"She's decided to sleep in, but I need your help. I’ve been thinking about the other Hermione, you said she's held as a prisoner, but no one's seen her in years."

"That's right, hidden from the world. But nearly everyone that knew her knows she's in Grimmauld Place ."

"And what of the other ‘ me'? Where does he live?" Harry asked, as he stood and walked to the kitchen counter.

"Mostly spends his time in the old Hogwarts Castle , calls himself the Headmaster as well." George added.

"Should be easy to avoid him then, I have to see how she's faring." He pulled a plate from the cupboard and took several bits of sausage from the still warm skillet.

"You're not thinking of bringing her here?" Fred asked with a slight snarl in his voice.

"No, just curious to see how she's doing, and I want find out how much she remembers. There's bound to be something we've missed. I want as many details as I can pull together, we're here for a reason and I don’t want to make things here worse."

"You know the ‘other one' would just barge in and do what he wants. It's refreshing to see the difference," Fred said over his tea.

"Actually, if it wasn’t for Hermione, I might have turned that way myself. We've had a number of difficult times together, but we always had each other." Harry sat back in his spot with his breakfast.

"You're really gone over the top for her, haven’t you?"

Harry smiled and simply nodded while he chewed and swallowed. "Guys, I need some fresh clothes, these won’t last much longer, either of you interested in a shopping trip? I can’t be seen in public yet, not until I know what's really happened."

"Sure thing, Harry. Just leave me a list of what you need and size, I was planning to head to Diagon Alley today anyway." Fred offered.

George folded the newspaper and laid it on the side table; something was on his mind, "So your plan is to just talk to her and then what?"

"And then nothing, I have to see what options present themselves. If she's as insane as you say, there may not be anything I can do. Maybe there was a reason things happened then, at the very least, you’ll have a full account tonight."

"How are you planning to get in? No one's been there since, well, since the battle," Fred asked.

"Shouldn’t be that difficult, my face seems to open a few doors around here, I guess I just have to act like a right royal bastard and no one will notice."

Fred's face began to twist into a wide grin, at the humour Harry poked at himself. Harry finished his meal and walked back to the kitchen counter. He set his plate in the sink and ran some water over it, and then pulled a fresh one from the cupboard. He piled several fresh pieces of sausage on it and poured a cup of tea.

"Hey, mate, didn’t you just finish breakfast?" Fred asked.

"It's for Hermione, she's sleeping in, thought I'd save her a bit before you lot finish it all." He placed the plate and cup on a small tray, turned in the direction of the stairs. There were a few of his things he needed for his journey, and to bring a bite of breakfast for her might save his other lip. He paused and looked at the stark tray. A quick snap of his fingers and a single rose in a vase appeared on the tray.

"That's a nice touch, Harry," Fred joked.

Harry shrugged his shoulders and returned upstairs, yet another abnormal event in Fred and George's eyes.

He pushed the door open and saw her fast asleep, and placed her breakfast on the nightstand. Quietly, he retrieved his Firebolt and Invisibility Cloak from his rucksack. He closed the rucksack then slung it over his shoulders and started to leave.

"Harry?" she called hardly opening her eyes.

"Yes, I'm just heading out ….”

"To find her? Be careful," she called back.

He stopped and came back to her side, "I will, just get over this flu, you're the Healer in the family," he grinned.

"I love you, Harry, please come back?"

"Always," he replied as he stroked her hair from her face, "Feel better when I get back, ok?"

She nodded and smiled her special smile for him as he left before she buried her face deep into the pillow.

Harry left the Burrow and his wife to find answers. He could find his way to Grimmauld Place in his sleep, but he took a few extra precautions by pulling his cloak tight around himself and went out of his way to avoid any populated area. Flying there seemed safer, in case there were anti-Apparation wards in place, he decided to fly within a couple miles of the ancient Black residence and walk the rest of the way. His father's cloak would ensure he wouldn’t be spotted.

Over the heart of downtown London , he spotted a dark alley some distance away, about midway between number 12 and Diagon Alley. The area was clear of people as he lightly touched the ground, and pulled the cloak tighter around his body, carefully avoiding the many people outside the alley. This particular alley was in a fairly busy business district filled with small shops in the Muggle part of the city, a safe location to avoid being spotted by wizards in this reality. He uttered the simple charm, and his prized Firebolt returned to a compact size, small enough to fit in his rucksack.

Everything seemed perfectly normal when he left the alley. The activity that progressed around him seemed totally oblivious to his presence. The brisk walk alone served an additional purpose, this time was spent in personal reflection. Memories of how his life turned from an imprisoned child under his uncle's domination, to the boy wizard, to the hunted youth, to the hero of the world.

Harry passed a small park, children played while their parents watched. He paused and watched the simplicity of life, the pure magic of love. Thoughts of how empty his life had been as a child, but not knowing the difference crept into his mind. That emptiness wasn’t as bleak as it could have been when he learned his true identity. Ron and Hermione's friendships were the beginning of that new life, the point he felt re-born. They had been as much a part of his life as and as vital to him as breathing. Life without either would have driven him to a brink he couldn’t imagine.

The thought of the time he almost lost them both to his childhood ignorance raged into consciousness. It was Ginny that saved him and Hermione that healed him. A smile grew on his lips at the thought, she was a Healer even then and never realised the power she held in his life. He reminisced of the wonderful times and the troubled times the three shared, the good times seemed more wondrous and warming with the contrasting hard times they had faced.

Ron and Hermione were the true joys of his life and loved them both. He loved them as much as his own life, and tried to imagine his counterpart's emotional trauma when he thought she died. When he remembered that day, that feeling of loss was one he could never forget. And if he had lost either, he was certain his mind and his ability for rational thought would have been shattered.

Ron and Ginny were both gone in this reality, and it was Hermione's doing. But, he also knew if he had remained with her body, even for a few moments longer, he would have been the one she reached for and this world might have been different. He was stronger then either Ron or Ginny and this one detail was proof that he was far more powerful.

Harry found himself sitting on one of the benches, mesmerised and lost in his thoughts. Here sat hidden under his father's cloak, one of the most powerful wizards that lived and yet these simple people wielded a special power. He felt his chest tighten, and renewed his promise to find a child that needed that magic of love.

Hermione would be a perfect mother; she had so much she wanted to give. Her capacity for caring, evident early on when she tried to free the house-elves, to her inability to abandon a friend, needed to be shared. He had felt guilty that he was the sole recipient of her affections, and angry at the cause of her anguish.

Grimmauld Place was still distant, still a fair walk from here. He tried to imagine what he would find. He sighed deeply and watched the children play in blissful ignorance of this other world.

---

Hermione slept, the thin and mildewed mattress under her was the only comfort in the room. The various stains revealed more then just the loss of personal hygiene. Darkened streaks and stains had been left in the mattress from nearly every portion of her form. It had been only a few weeks since her one human visitor had been there, the most recent stains had dried, and the most recent scabs nearly healed.

The latest writings sat on the desk, waiting for her to view the mockery of her work, she know the pages would be as clean as she is wretched. She had a severe stomach cramp compounded with nausea, pity she had nothing to retch. The abdominal pains ebbed and returned in first increasing intensity, but lying still helped them pass and fade.

She kept her eyes shut, no reason to open them. The light that shone into the room from smoke coloured skylights in the ceiling gave the room its eerie haze. Kreacher was busying himself in the hall and she could hear him so very near to her prison cell as he performed his daily duties. The last meal she ate was four days ago, she pushed her hunger as far aside as she could. It will be more three days before he would deliver another half loaf of bread and quarter pound of stale cheese with her one bucket of clean water. That was her only concept of the passing weeks.

In the first weeks she had been held here, she used the water to wash daily and drink; the conditions were very different. There were clean things to wear and a real bed with sheets and quilts. As they were used and soiled, Kreacher took them but replacements never arrived. The lesson she quickly learned was once something was taken it was gone forever and one bucket of water was all she would have for the week. That one bucket of water became rationed as best she could, but hunger forced her to devour the meagre provisions that same day. Lucky days occurred when a stray rodent passed into the room; it was the only meat in her diet.

She had only one method to count the months. Her own body's clock continued to tick, as time passed her. The visits from him always seemed to be separated by many months. She relaxed knowing she had some time of isolation and relative peace.

That morning a familiar gait of footfalls signaled his approach.

She had these dreams before, where he'd come and sweep her away, as if she were a maiden trapped in a castle's tower by a wicked stepmother. Her knight in shining armour would force the door and take her from her misery. The past would be completely forgotten as if it was a horrible nightmare, but unfortunately, the cycle continued.

That morning it burst open, Harry stood in the threshold, the gleam in his eye flashed through her soul when their eyes met.

"M'lord? You're early?" she asked, the quiver of fear evident in her voice.

"No, he's not, mind your place, you filthy Mudblood," a deeper voice commanded from within her own body. “He’ll have you at his leisure.”

The man standing in the doorway enjoyed these scenes when she put herself in her place. His dress was in complete contrast to the miserable life that existed in this room. His trousers sharply pressed, his shirts were always laundered and starched. His cloak hung from his shoulders, and flowed around him as if he were surrounded in a mist. The corner of his mouth turned up as he watched her literally crawl to his feet.

"I'm here for our ‘ little visit', bitch." He looked at her and grimaced, she had digressed even more than he expected.

"Thank you for visiting me,” she bowed low out of fear and respect. “Please, Harry, have you forgiven me?"

His simple reply was forceful enough to make his point. "How dare you call me by my name?" he hissed as she tumbled across the room. The impact of his boot to her side caused her to fall into the waste heap, stirring the vile mix and adding to the stench. She coughed sharply, from the stench of her own wastes and from the fresh pain in her side.

"You worthless bitch, look what you did, there's a scuff on my boot, clean it, lick it off my boot," he commanded, She managed to pull herself to a kneeling position, supported with one hand on the floor, the other holding her side.

"But," was all he allowed her to say before he repeated the blow. She sprawled back, landing on the mattress, her frock slipped from her shoulders leaving half her torso exposed. She now coughed sharply and the sharp metallic taste of her blood flooded her mouth. A stream of red cracked from the corner of her mouth.

"I said clean my boot," he repeated. She cowered away from a third blow. "Afraid? And so soon into my visit, I thought we could have a more enjoyable time this visit." He goaded.

"P-p-please, no more," she pleaded.

His widening grin sent a new fear through her as he unbuckled his belt, and pulled it free of his trousers. He held the buckle and made a single loop, now holding the two ends in one hand. His first blow cut sharply across her face, leaving a raised welt across her cheek. His next blows across her back no longer needed to cut through the flimsy clothing she wore, the welts burned deep into her back with each blow.

She screamed with each fresh cut from his belt, he stopped as the sweat on his brow was matched to the blood on his belt. The gleam of raw animal desire burned from his gaze, he rolled her over with a blow from his boot. Her tears now mixed with the blood from first injuries, her back raw and bloodied. She knew what was next and barely managed to come to her knees. She slipped the remaining scraps of the dress from her shoulders to fall around her waist. He let his trousers drop to the floor, his boxers quickly followed.

He stood before her and forced her to lay on the floor as he knelt between her legs and forced her knees apart, ready for his first violation. To his dismay, the stench from her own wastes struck him, and pushed her away.

"How vile and disgusting, even by your low standards." He stood and pulled his trousers back into place.

"Next time, make sure you clean yourself. You disgusting piece of mudboold trash." He planted his boot in her side one last time, satisfied at the sound of bone on bone, and stormed from the room.

The door slammed behind him, all she heard was his laughter as he walked down the hall. She crawled to her mattress, and began to lick her wounds; she dare not waste her precious water supply, saliva would have to suffice. She chewed a less filthy patch of her once beautiful gown until it was moist, to wipe the oozing from the fresh wounds. She wished for a miracle to end her suffering, knowing he'd only let her go in death.

She closed her eyes and tried to push the pain aside, she needed to force herself to sleep and let the wounds begin to heal. She painted a calming picture of a park in her mind, with happy children playing with loving parents.

---

The view at the park mesmerised Harry as he watched the love between parent and child. 'Soon, we’ll have someone to share this with,' he thought to himself. He quietly pulled himself to his feet, and brushed off his trousers. He glanced at the wrinkles in them, 'that's a bad first impression,' he thought and passed a hand over his trousers and shirt, the creases in the legs now crisp and his shirt had a fresh laundered appearance.

He left the park and walked the few blocks until he had to turn down the street leading to Grimmauld Place . His brisk pace now felt more urgent, he felt a disturbance in his thoughts. He pushed that feeling to the back of his mind, and let his training rise to the surface. The house was now visible to him, and still held the unkempt appearance as in the days of the Order. From the corner of his eye, he thought he noticed a streak circle overhead.

"Nerves, must be my nerves playing on me," he mumbled to himself. He slipped his rucksack from his shoulders and carefully pulled out his black cloak. He hid behind a stand of bushes to slip the invisibility cloak into the pack. He took a deep breath, and stepped up to the front door.

---

Hermione lay on the bed, the nausea had passed and she could smell the now cool sausages and tea her loving husband had brought her. She rolled over to the side table and hungrily devoured the plate of food. She still had a queasy feeling and now a slight twinge in her back.

"Bugger, that lumpy mattress has given me cramp," she mumbled.

She stretched on the bed, and tried to work out the cramps in her back. A simple thought entered her mind as she grabbed a dressing robe and towel from the bedroom, and left for a soothing bath. She turned on the water, letting the heat fill the room. The robe fell from her shoulders as she stood and looked into the mirror on the other side of the door. She looked carefully over her body, and could see the signs of wear from the past ten years. The scars were still visible, but no longer a focal point. She turned to see her profile, and sucked in her tummy, sighing at the view. "Looks like I may have to start avoiding chocolates for a while," she muttered. "Either he doesn’t notice or it doesn’t bother him." She shook her head and slipped into the warm tub, forgetting for the moment her paunchy profile. The truth was he always noticed the little changes in her, but he also knew the years will change ones appearance.

---

Hermione closed her eyes and forgot the sharp pain from the bleeding welts on her back, she cleaned them as best she could. The memories of past infected wounds plagued her sub-conscious thoughts. Her bigger concern was the sharp pain in her side from his kicks. She knew a rib was badly bruised if not broken. Time will heal it. It had in the past. And would again, but only if she had the time.

Time was all she had left, he was gone, he never returned after a ‘ visit'for several months, this visit was totally unexpected. Relief from the tension and anxiety of his visit eased her into a fitful rest. The blood oozed into the mattress adding to the stains. She surrendered her attempts to sleep and lay there with her eyes fixed to a small spot on the wall as it walked across the surface.

"You stand a fair chance to escape, I’ll die here one day," she calmly told the cockroach. "I can only hope that day comes soon."

Her muscles had begun to ease, her side still ached. The bleeding inside also stopped as she no longer coughed up blood. She watched the insect continue its journey across the room when the door, again, burst open.

He stood in the threshold, a look of total disgust clearly displayed. That look sent new waves of terror into her relaxing and battered body. A single scream burst from her lungs at the unexpected appearance less then an hour later, tensed her body with the same sudden pain as the Cruciatus Curse. She rolled onto her uninjured side away from him and curled into as tight a ball as she could, hoping he wouldn’t be able to hurt her too much more.

Harry stood in the door; the stench hit him as soundly as a rugby player's tackle. He surveyed the room, and was struck by the piles of waste; however, the waste that he was most concerned about was the waste of a human life that cowered in the corner. She was still mostly naked, not having the strength to simply pull the dress over her shoulders.

"Hermione?" he managed to choke out.

She tried to force her body to shrink into the cracks in the wall.

"Hermione, how did things get like this?" the man in the doorway said. It took him only a couple of long steps to close the distance to her, she refused to look up.

"I-I-I'm s-s-orry, Lord. Please don’t …” she paused and forced a lungful of air, past the sting in her side. "Please … don’t hit …” her voice trembled and finally broke.

She never saw what he did; she was so terrified she kept her face hidden. He knelt to her side and pulled her drinking water closer. She felt the cool water rinse the wounds in her back and a gentle dabbing along the cuts. Had she looked, she would have seen he had a backpack, something foreign to her tiny world. He opened it and pulled out a clean shirt.

"Here, let's get this on you." She heard him speak, but was unable to register the words, his tone was foreign to her. He had cleaned the drying and caked blood from her back, and managed one arm into a sleeve. He pulled her to a sitting position, and pulled the shirt around her body. It was his wife's shirt, it was the same woman, but in her condition, she was dwarfed as it hung on her massively undernourished frame.

Kindness, he showed kindness after beating her nearly to death, again.

Harry gently pulled her face to his, but she held her eyes tightly closed, afraid this was a cruel joke, some new torture he devised. Her tears were mixed from pain and now sheer terror. He could feel her body tremble, she flinched at his touch.

"No one will hurt you, who did this to you?" he asked in a kind voice, one she remembered from her long dead childhood.

"Y-y-ou," she stammered. "Have y-y-you forgotten?"

"Hermione, please, forgive me." He knew it was the ‘ other him', but still needed her to hear his apology. "I'm taking you out of here."

"I-I can’t leave. You know that." Her ragged voice had now becoming defensive. "You did this, and now you're mocking my pain? I didn’t think even you could sink so low," she now hissed, her voice clear and no longer ragged.

"Hermione, please believe me, I’ll get you out."

"No, he won’t, don’t listen to him," she now said in a deeper masculine voice. "Ron, shut up," she snapped, this time a third voice broke out, this one sterner and younger. She pushed him back, with a strength and force he didn’t believe she still possessed. Defiantly an obvious change broke through and he now faced a different woman. She looked like Hermione, but her voice shifted, sounding different but still quite familiar.

Stunned, Harry backed away as she sat in the corner, now having a three-way argument with herself, and losing.

"What has he done to you? Hermione, you were so brilliant and caring, and now," he fell back and sat on the floor, watching her shift from personality to personality. "Is this how you managed to cope? By losing your mind?" He had hoped to find answers to this world, be there were only new questions.

"Do your worst, Potter. Even after all you have done to Granger, for some unknown reason she still loves you," a second distinctive masculine voice said.

"No, I won’t hurt you, I'm here to help."

"H-H-Harry?" her own voice replied. He could see her begin to tremble again, once the others receded back into her mind.

Encouraged, he moved closer, he could now see her condition. She was malnourished and had open sores in addition to the recent whipping she suffered. The shirt he used to cover her had already begun to stain from the open and oozing skin lesions. He reached into his pack and found an apple. Her eyes locked on the orb he now held. Hungrily, she leaned closer, and a single hand cautiously reached for the fruit. He placed it on the floor between them and slid a bit away,

She watched his eyes every second, as her hand reached for the apple. He nodded once and she snatched it faster then he used to snatch a Golden Snitch from the sky. She bit into the apple, nearly taking half in one bite.

She continued to watch him.

He reached into the pack again and this time removed a thin and shiny object. He held the mirror fragment in his hand and called into it. "Spirit, this is Stag. Can you hear me?" He paused for a moment

Nothing.

He called again.

"Spirit, this is Stag. I found her, and I'm afraid she needs your help."

Still nothing.

Hermione continued to nibble on the apple; the half she consumed was more then her abused digestive system could handle.

Harry called into the mirror again; a distant muffled sound broke through, but only for an instant. "Spirit, I'm waiting."

"Sorry, love, I was in the bath," she now called back. "How is she?"

"Fred and George were right; she's gone round the bend, no surprise at that, she's left to live like an animal. It's difficult to believe anyone could treat another this way." His voice cracked as he tried to relay the details. He paused long enough to regain his composure.

"Spirit, she needs a Healer or she’ll die," he said.

Hermione heard the message and a tear broke from her now swollen eyes.

"Are you certain? Can you bring her here? Is she lucid? How much does she understand?" Hermione hit Harry with a flurry of questions, some he could answer, and some he simply didn't know.

"She's malnourished to the point of starvation. She's devoid of any body fat, and there's massive atrophy of her muscle tissue." He had to stop again. "Hang on."

"What new torture is this? Act like you finally care? Just let me die," she hissed. The remains of the apple was flung at Harry, however, the blow to his chest from the projectile was ineffective.

"Please, I will get you the help you need and should have; I'm relaying your condition to a very skilled Healer." He sat next to her and put an arm around her shoulder in comfort and sat in silence for a moment.

"Stag, you still there?" the mirror called out.

"Yeah, she's calmed a bit. She's also got numerous open lesions showing signs of infection."

"Any chance to get her away?" she asked.

"I'm uncertain; she seems to think she's unable to leave. And I had to give her one of your blouses to wear, she's been kept in a worse state then the Dursleys did to me. I can't believe anyone's that cold-hearted," he said into the mirror. Hermione tried to push away from him but wasn't strong enough.

"Cold-hearted? You're one to talk, you bloody fuckin' bastard! " she shrieked in the masculine voice again.

"Easy, I'm not who you think," he said calmly to her. "Spirit? There's something else, she seems to have developed multiple personalities, and I think she's assumed Ron and Ginny and others."

"I understand. I'm coming now."

"NO. Stay there, I won't risk you coming here," he ordered.

"Harry Potter, you have no right to order me about, I'm your wife, not your servant. And she needs help now, from the sound of it," the voice in the mirror said sternly.

"Stay there. Let me try to get her out first."

"No, Harry, I'll be there directly."

"Harry?" the woman sitting in his arms now spoke. "Your wife?"

He nodded, "Yes, it's difficult to explain, but try and think, use that wonderful mind of yours, there's bound to be a way for you to leave."

She shook her head; reason seemed to have returned from the seeds of the civil conversation she had witnessed. "You kept telling me I'll never leave here alive."

Harry nodded, "Please understand I am not that person. I know there's a kind heart still in there, and I intend to help you. Now, pretend I'm not the Harry Potter that imprisoned you here. Have you tried to escape?"

She explained she tried to leave though the window, and managed to break it, but she couldn't pass a finger past the barrier. Other objects could, she had thrown numerous articles through the window, simply to prove to herself it was her.

"And the door?" he asked.

"Same, it's never locked. I just can't pass through it."

Harry stood, and picked her up, he walked to the door and together they attempted to leave. They were stopped at the threshold.

"Please, put me down," she insisted. He complied and she stepped back. He took a tentative step forward and out the door.

"See, I can't leave, but you knew that," she said, her voice strong and defiant. Fear of retribution no longer existed. Death was preferred to this life.

Before he could respond, he felt a hand on his shoulder. The cloaked and hooded figure behind him pushed past and through the door.

"Please sit," a woman's voice commanded. "As my husband promised, I am here to help."

"W-who are you?" Hermione asked the mystery woman.

She kept her hood pulled over her face, and remained totally hidden from view. The Healer held a hand out to Hermione and led her to the chair at her desk, and motioned for her to sit. She complied with the non-verbal instructions and remained quiet . One hand still held her tender side.

"This won't hurt, relax," the voice behind the hood commanded.

"Spirit, this wasn't smart," Harry finally said.

"It's my choice, I can't allow her to be abused this way, no one deserves it. Now, you are Miss Granger?"

"Y-yes?"

"Call me 'Spirit', that is all you need to know. Your injuries are severe, but correctable only if you want my help."

She looked away, and shook her head. "No, I've killed my closest friends, this is what I deserve."

"No. it wasn't your fault." Spirit knelt in front of Hermione and held her hands, "You did what you had to do to survive. I know it was not intentional."

Harry stepped forward; he hadn't related the details he had been told last night. "Spirit, you know?"

An unseen smile came across her face, "Of course I know. She had nothing to do with the mass deaths. Hermione, you tried to stop him, to calm him but you were too late. It's not your fault."

"H-h-how do you know?"

"We share many things, just accept that," Spirit replied.

Harry put a hand on his wife's shoulder, "did they tell you?"

"No, Harry, I heard you talking to Fred and George last night, Hargid’s voice does travel, you know."

"Hello, I'm not dead, yet. You can stop using third person references." Hermione shot back.

"Of course not. Hermione, did Harry do this to you?" Spirit asked.

"I deserved it. For Ron and Ginny. For the others he said I killed." She still refused to look up and continued her sub-ordinate role. "Just let me die, or kill me now," she whispered.

"I can't and won't take your life. Please relax." Spirit began to rub her hands together and a familiar glow radiated from her hands. She placed her right hand to the injured ribs and the other rubbed her back. The welts disappeared and the bruise on her side faded.

"Now, you need nourishment. I didn't have the forethought to bring any food, Harry, she needs to eat; can we try to get her out again?"

"It's hopeless," Hermione said, "You're wasting your time on me."

Harry carefully picked her up and carried her to the door again, and cautiously took a step. They found themselves on the other side. The first time in nearly ten years she had seen that side of the door.

"Spirit, let's leave," Harry called.

She walked to the door and once she came to the threshold, she was stopped. Her hood fell and exposed her face. Hermione watched and saw herself behind the hood. The image had been enough, compounded with her stress, she fell unconscious.

"Harry, I can't leave, take her to safety, I'll work something out."

"No, I won't leave you."

"Go on. I'm fine, after all I know how to handle you," she grinned.

"That other one isn't the same."

"Get her to safety, I'm perfectly fine. Go, I still have the mirror; call me when you return to the Burrow."

He finally nodded and vanished with a loud pop.

Hermione watched her husband vanish with her counterpart from this world. She had to remain behind simply to allow her other self to leave for safety. She also was safe, for the moment, but wondered if the other Harry would return to cause her harm.

She stood at the door and turned around, surveying the condition of the room she now inhabited. The filthy conditions were appalling and to have cleaned it normally would have taken days to do correctly, except she had one advantage, she still held her wand.

She pulled her wand from the pocket in her cloak, and waved it over the filth in the corner. The piles vanished.

"That's a start," she said, she pointed her wand to the mattress, and muttered the transfiguration charm, and the stained mattress converted into a bed complete with clean bedding.

She turned to the desk and the simple, but filthy chair, and pointed her wand at the seat. She paused momentarily and looked at the seat for a moment and stepped closer, holding back the cleansing spell. She looked at the fresh stains, and closed her eyes to try and imagine how blood traces like these could be evident, and shook her head in disgust.

"How can anyone be forced to live like this?" she asked herself.

The cleansing spell hit the desk and chair. Every remaining object she pointed her wand at in the room received the same treatment until the room was as clean and tidy as any room in Godric's Hollow.

"Much better," she said. She pulled the chair from the desk and sat, and shook her head again. Another transfiguration spell produced an ink bottle, quills and sheets of parchment. Carefully, she replaced her wand in its pocket, and reached for the mirror, placing it on the desk.

Her mind began to turn and she started her calculations, first starting by mapping out a calendar. Her efforts continued for nearly an hour as she reviewed her notations. She shook her head at the results and repeated on a clean sheet. The results were identical as her first draft.

"This can't be correct," she muttered and repeated her task with a renewed vigour.

Anxiously she checked her calculations again, comparing them to the first two drafts and picked up the mirror. As she glanced into it, she saw a pair of dark eyes staring back, they seemed cold and empty.

Startled, she dropped the mirror on the floor where it shattered.

"Bugger, that's bad," she told herself. She shook her head and picked up the largest fragment, but it was too small to be usable. She looked around the room for a suitable replacement.

"There's bound to be one here," she mumbled, then spotted the object in question. She pulled the cloth from the wall mirror and wedged the fragment from her mirror into the larger one.

"Hope this works." She pulled her wand and waved a reverse figure '8' over the mirror, the mirror fragment melted into the larger mirror.

"Harry? You there?" she called into the mirror.

There was no response.

"Stag? You there?" she called again.

"Sorry, love, just finished cleaning her up," he finally replied.

"How's the patient?"

"Had to bathe her, seems like it had been years since she’s seen soap. She's sleeping now, she passed out when she saw you, but I think she believes she imagined it. She's quite weak; I'm going to have Fred prepare some food for her."

"So you told them she's the one they knew?"

"No, I said you had a spill, and needed rest. After your sleep-in this morning they think there's something wrong with you."

"Harry, this is important," she said hesitantly, "I don't think we're alone."

"Of course we're alone; no one else can hear us."

"I thought I saw something, but dropped the mirror. I had to charm the room mirror instead."

"What did you see?" he asked, a note of concern hinted in his voice.

"I thought there was someone watching, but it looked like, oh never mind. It must be my mind playing tricks."

"I don't like you stuck there. I'm coming back as soon as I can," he said.

"Darling, please don't worry. I'm fine." She smiled to his reflection and glanced to the desk. "Actually, there's something I think you need to know."

"What? Is anything wrong?"

She smiled and looked at his reflection, "No, actually I think you might be surprised, but I need to show you this in person." She smiled again, and he noted she was defiantly hiding something.

"I’ll be there as soon as she's feeling stronger or if I can get one of the boys here to watch her."

"Hurry, darling, I’m…"

She never finished her thought as the mirror shattered. She spun around to see Harry standing in the doorway, a very angry look in his eyes. She looked in his hands, and saw the distinctive bluish-green blood leaking from a small form. On the floor at her feet, lying on shards of the broken mirror was Kreacher's severed head.

She shrieked at the sudden sight.

"That's his punishment for letting you have a wand and wander around my house."

"You had no right to kill him when he was not to blame, Harry."

"You miserable bitch, how dare you raise your voice to me," he shouted. He took two large strides into the room and raised his closed fist over his head. His blow was aimed perfectly at her jaw, however, her shared training with Harry and her recent experiences triggered a reflex and she blocked his blow. A move most unexpected. His blow glanced from her forearm as her free hand balled into a fist. Her blow found its mark, resulting in his nose oozing blood.

He wiped his face with the back of his hand, and licked the blood off his hand. He sported an evil grin at the taste of blood.

"So, it seems you’ve grown a set of balls," he said.

She had stood her ground, defiantly. An act he’d never faced.

She stepped back to open the field of combat, ready for another strike.

He reached to his belt, and whipped it from his trousers. She then realised how the other Hermione came to have the bleeding welts on her back.

"Beat a defenceless woman, too weak to raise an arm? That’s so manly," she taunted.

He raised his arm with his belt, ready to lash out. She prepared to duck the first blow, but failed to notice his real intention. His other hand flung the body of the house-elf at her, causing her to duck the bulk. Her distraction was what he needed and his belt dropped as that hand made contact to with her temple.

She watched as bursts of light clouded her vision, and she staggered backward. She fell back, on onto her bottom, but her head struck the table in her fall.

He now held his wand in his hand, and through the hazy vision she felt tight ropes bind her arms and legs. She tried to clear her thoughts and saw his grin. He glanced to the table and picked up her notes, and shook his head.

"So, you fucking whore, you’ve had other visitors?" He planted his boot deep in her side, the sharp pain shot through her. He was obviously well skilled in this method of inflicting pain, she felt the blow snap ribs and cut deep.

Her mind tried to push the pain out, to have a single clear thought. The moment he grabbed her by her bonds and began to lift her, she felt a sharp object within her finger’s reach; she grabbed a shard of the mirror, and dug it into her palm.

When Harry lost her in the mirror, he nearly panicked. His first instinct was to rush to her side, but he realised he couldn’t leave the other Hermione alone.

"Fred!" he yelled. "Get up here NOW!"

He raised a hand to her, and passed a charm over her placing her into a forced sleep, it was a spell used to contain prisoners after capture if there was to be difficulty containing them.

"Yeah, Harry, what’s the rush?" Fred called as he entered the room. He saw her lying on the bed, covered with just a dressing robe.

"Fred, this is very important. This is Hermione Granger, from this world. The one you knew before. Keep her safe."

"You’ve got to be having me on; that’s your Hermione."

"No, and I don’ have time to explain, we managed to rescue her but Hermione’s trapped. I must go get her."

"You really think I’m going to protect the murderer of my brother and sister?"

"Yes, she wasn’t responsible for those actions , it’s complicated, but it was what she had to do, I believe Ron’s and Ginny’s deaths may have prevented my counterpart from killing everyone there that day. Trust me; I think my wife is in danger."

Fred stared in disbelief as Harry grabbed his pack and turned to leave. "Please, do as I ask," he pleaded with his back turned. He couldn’t let Fred see him scared for her life.

Fred grabbed Harry’s arm and turned him so they were face to face. The look in Harry’s eyes was the only convincing Fred needed. "Go save your wife, I’ll stay with this ‘thing’."

Harry nodded and ran from the room.

He burst from the front door into the clear field in the front of the home. He closed his eyes and snapped his fingers, disappearing.

He appeared a moment later a little more them a block away from the house he inherited from Sirius Black. He ran with abandon and passed others on the street. Those passers-by immediately recognised him as he ran past.

He ran up the steps to the house, hoping she was there, but knowing if something happened, these precious minutes spent could have cost her life.

He knew which room she was in when they left and, ignoring caution, kicked the door from its hinges. He stood there, the room apparently empty except for a small body on the floor, covered by a quilt from the bed.

"NO!" he screamed and fell to his knees; she was gone and had no idea where she had been taken. She was in the hands of a madman that held no regard for life.

"Why? Why did you have to stay?" he screamed. He pounded his fists into the floor, the sting reminiscent of a similar time he had lost himself in his sorrow. That time was when he knew she was in danger because of him, this time, he was her only hope.

He fought his growing fear and anger, and looked to the covered body. He crawled closer, and pulled the blanket. He looked at the body of the house-elf, his head gone.

He managed to distance himself, long enough to see the shattered mirror speckled with elf blood, and a fragment with a small trace of her blood. He picked up that shard of the mirror, red from her blood and held it gently, as if it were the last trace of her.

He rocked back and forth where he sat, uncertainty crept into his thoughts, she was always at his side when he needed her, and he needed her now. He stared into the fragment and imagined it getting a deeper red. He looked up to see the others on the floor, bleeding. His hand wiped the traces of blood, but they remained and seemed to spread.

He kept staring into the fragment, hoping, straining to hear her voice. He imagined hearing leaves rustling in the background. "Could she have a piece?" he thought.

That one ray of hope was all he needed to pull himself up and try to devise a plan. He still had the other Hermione, but could, or would, she help? He gently wrapped the sharp bit of mirror in a rag, and placed it in his pocket next tot the other one he carried. He turned to the door, and ran out; he swung his pack from his shoulder and pulled his Firebolt out, enlarging it as he ran.

Out in the front yard of number twelve, he mounted his broom, and began to fly off, and never saw the large animal watching him from the bushes.

Harry rushed into the sky while the sun was beginning to set; the air had grown cooler. His first though was to interrogate Hermione Granger. She might have some idea where the madman called home. His trip back to the Burrow could have been faster by apparating, but from the middle of London, he could be traced. His flight lasted only a half hour, to a point on the outskirts of the city. He landed and instantly vanished only to reappear at the familiar home of the Weasleys.

Ceremony had to wait, as well as common courtesy as he ran into the dwelling and up the stairs. She was now awake, but gagged and faced away from the door. Fred stood over her, wand in hand with the look of a scarp yard dog about to rip into a trespasser. He had a bandage around his other hand.

“The fucking bitch bit me, damn near to the bone. Had to gag her too, she’s been screaming since she woke.”

“Did she say anything? Think, they have my wife,” Harry answered.

The sound of his voice caused her to flinch inside her bindings. She turned to face him and hissed through the gag; traces of blood still remained on her chin. Harry stepped closer and waved his hand over her face, the gag vanished. She sat amazed, when she realised he didn’t have a wand.

“Hermione, I need your help where else would I have taken you, besides Grimmauld Pace?”

“Why should I tell you what you already know, figure it out yourself,” she barked in Ron’s voice.

Fred laid his fist across her jaw, knocking her over.

“Fred that was unnecessary, hurt her again and I might return the favour.” His order rang from his Auror training, and even though she wasn’t his Hermione, he still felt the need to protect her.

“She’s trying to trick us with Ron’s voice. I won’t stand for that deceit.”

Harry pulled Fred aside, and cast a silencing charm over them. “Fred, that may well have been Ron talking, I believe part of him and possibly part of Ginny is still alive inside her. That’s part of her special gift, to draw others souls and, well, feed on it.”

“She’s a vampire?”

“Closer to what a dementor does, but she can control that and channel that to another. The problem is historically anyone on the other side of that power never survived. That’s what happened to Ron and Ginny, she simply fought to survive.”

“And you’re married to that?”

“She’s not an evil monster, this,” he pointed to the woman on the bed, “is the product of a decade of mental torture. My Hermione has done the same.”

“Who did she kill?” he asked not believing a word.

“Me. But she took what she needed to survive; my guess is that this one was almost too far gone and needed far more to come back and stop the other me.”

Fred shook his head, “I don’t, no, I can’t believe that, she’s a murderer and I’ll kill her myself if I have the chance,” he shouted.

“As long as I’m involved, you won’t get that chance.” He snapped his fingers and the silencing charm disappeared.

“Now, Hermione,” Harry commanded, “we can do this the easy way or the difficult way.”

She shook her head and grinned, “Don’t even remember your own home? After all the times you bragged how impregnable it is?”

“I don’t have time for games.”

She sat on the bed, quiet. Something inside that mind was still burning.

“I’ll tell you want you want, if you tell me the name of the bitch you call your wife. WE were supposed to marry,” she now hissed in her own voice.

“You won’t believe me.”

“You marry some bitch and hold me against my will, and…” she caught her words; she could hardly verbalise his actions. “And… now this?”

“Granger,” Fred now asked, “Do you still have feelings for him?”

“Stuff it, Weasel, what do you care?”

“Murderous bitch. You deserved everything you’ve received.” He started to lung at her again, but froze in his spot.

“Fred, enough. No one deserves to be treated this way. Hermione,” he knelt to her side, “believe me that seeing you like this hurts me. As for Fred’s question, do you?”

She turned away and refused to answer.

“I understand,” he whispered, and stroked her hair.

“You beat me almost to death, and then rape me just to make yourself feel like a man, does your bitch know what you’ve done to me?”

“She knows what he did. She cares more then you’ll know.”

She turned to look at him, to stare into his eyes again, the hate she knew was not there. The anger wasn’t there. “You keep calling yourself ‘him’, why?”

“Just understand that I’m not the one that’s done this to you, and I think you know where he took my wife.”

“Her name and I’ll tell you what I know,” she said defiantly.

“Hermione,” Harry said.

“What?”

“You asked her name. Her name is Hermione, she’s you, a different you. We are not from this reality.”

“Nice try,” she spat back. “Take me for a complete fool now?”

“I never have before. How else would you explain how we got you here, and she had to remain?”

“You set the ward, you can remove them, simple as that,” she said smugly.

He pulled the mirror fragments, and unwrapped them. One was still blood red, but the other clear. His thought was if she had a fragment that might convince this Hermione. “Spirit? Can you hear me?” he called into both fragments.

“She’s at Hogwarts,” a voice replied, a familiar but distant voice.

“Who are you?” Harry asked into the clear mirror, no face was visible.

“Meet me at the shack.” Was the only reply.

“Hello?” he called back without response.

“So there’s someone watching you too?” she now taunted. “You’re not the great one after all.”

Harry looked at Hermione, and thought for a moment. ‘She might be dead, and this could be a trap. No, if he hadn’t done that before, why would he now?’

“Fred, can I count on your help?” he asked his friend, and received a nod in return. “Hermione, I can’t leave you alone here, he may find you.”

“How noble, Mister Potter,” she said sarcastically.

He still had his rucksack over a shoulder, and looked to the woman sitting is a dressing robe, during the discussions and more as a result of Fred’s attack, that robe hung open. Harry waved a hand over her and the bonds around her hand and legs vanished. He opened a drawer and produced a some fresh clothes.

“Put these on, we’re all going.”

Hermione remained bound; her hand throbbed where she jammed the mirror under her flesh. A minor wound she healed to hide the glass. It still stung and she was careful to not move that hand, for fear of breaking the glass under her skin. The trip was quick and she pretended to be unconscious, hoping to gain some strategic advantage.

They had gone from the house in London to a green field, and she could see through slight cracks in her eyes the change to a path, then to a stone walkway. Soon the stone floor had stone walls, the very walls she spent her youth learning to be a witch. They were inside Hogwarts.

‘He didn’t Apparate directly; the wards must still be intact,’ she thought. She remained in her false state, feeling the journey descend into the dungeons. They paused at a great stone door, and he gave the password to the door.

“I am Lord Voldemort,” he hissed in parseltongue, secure in the belief no one else could understand and repeat it.

They continued inside this chamber, she could see the distinctive green décor of Slytherin. ‘This must be his new home,’ she thought. The journey ended abruptly when she felt herself thrown into a room, and heard the door sealed behind her. The room had no windows, just the door.

“Bugger,” she whispered to herself as she lay on the floor and waited for his footsteps to fade. She rolled over to finally rest on her knees; the stone floor had a cold bite.. In the dim light she could make out the various vials and containers on the wall. Over in the only corner visible, a glass jar held a collection of painting utensils. One notable object she could identify was a pallet knife, not terribly sharp, but it gave an edge that might work.

She inched over and turned her back. The pallet knife was not as simple to use to cut the bonds as typically shown in the movies, but it did the trick with minimal slips to her wrists. The rope around her ankles was easily untied.

Still sitting on the floor, her hand reached into her wand pocket but came up empty. Her other hand stung sharply from the shard, and there was no light.

“Lumos,” she whispered, with her palm held open. It glowed, illuminating the small room, it was little more then a cupboard two metres by one metre.

She turned a pail over for a seat, and cast the light into a small jar. Her other palm still stung whenever she moved her hand, and now she held it flat on her leg. This was going to be painful and she knew it, another jar near her light revealed a collection of paintbrushes, used for smaller details.

She sucked a lungful of air, and ignored the twinge in her side and placed a brush between her teeth and bit hard. Carefully, she squeezed the spot in her hand, until the mirror shard poked through her skin. Tears rolled from her cheeks at the new pain, as she pulled the glass free. The moment it was free from her flesh, she spat out the now broken brush handle, and wiped the blood from the mirror.

“Stag,” she whispered into the glass, hoping it would still work. She paused a moment ant tried to clean the glass, thinking there may be traces of her blood preventing the mirror to work.

“Stag, I’m in the dungeons. Can you hear me?” she called again, the confidence in her voice all but gone. She forced herself to remain calm, and not consider the possibilities.

“STAG…”

“Shhh… Keep quiet,” came a reply. The same dark eyes came into view.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Not now. Keep quiet,” came her only reply.

“Please, who are you? I need help,” she pleaded; any help at this time was preferred.

“He’s coming soon, ‘Spirit’ is it?”

“You’ve talked to Harry? When is he coming?” she asked, her voice getting noticeably worried.

“I can’t help, not yet. I’ll try to tell ‘Harry’ your state.

“Wait, there’s a password. Can you tell Stag?”

“I should be meeting him in a few moments, stay quiet if you want to stay alive.”

The glass faded, but she kept calling the stranger.

Harry needed to put a silencing charm on her, and she needed to be restrained. Her last attack on Fred left him more than eager for revenge; it was a side of his old friend Harry wasn’t fond of. Harry had an idea which shack that voice meant.

The Shrieking Shack still held its reputation; it was still feared by many since only a few people knew its secrets. They arrived in Hogsmeade in one of the side alleys, and remained hidden as they made their way to the haunted building.

“So that’s the ‘shack’ he meant. Should have guessed,” Fred commented.

Harry led the small group to the front door, there was evidence it had been opened recently, Fred pulled out his wand, ready for anything. Harry simply raised his hand and stretched it out, palm forward. “Shhh. You two stay put, I’m going to look around,” Harry commanded and walked up the stairs, following the disturbed trail of dust.

The trail was fresh, and it appeared someone had been here recently. He appeared defenceless without a wand, a position he used to his advantage. He came to that same room where he first met the three remaining Marauders, he hadn’t retuned to this room since that day fourteen years earlier.

He stepped into the room reminiscing of that day, his first indication the day was to turn bad was when he felt the tip of a wand in the back of his neck.

“Potter,” the same voice spoke with venom. “How foolish you are to come here, and to use those foolish code names.”

Harry froze in his spot and raised his hands, to surrender. “I’m not alone. There are others here,” Harry offered.

“Oh? ‘Spirit’, is that who you mean? That was amusing, watching you pretend you and Granger were working together, how did you do it? Polyjuice? Yes, that’s got to be the solution.”

“She said she heard something, I should have listened,” he muttered to himself, “can I at least see who you are, or are you going to stab me with that thing?”

“Slowly, turn slowly,” he said as he took a couple steps back.

Harry turned to see a man his height, grey streaks in his unkempt black hair and beard. The voice harsher then he remembered, but the face was the same one he had last seen a month earlier.

“Sirius?” he asked.

“Why? Harry, why?” Sirius asked.

A grin broke Harry’s formidable shield. “Sirius, I heard you were killed. How?”

“And I heard Santa Claus is shagging the Easter Bunny. I’ve always wanted to ask you why, why did you do it?”

“What?”

"Do what?" Harry asked back, confused. "Sirius, I have no idea what you're talking about."

“Kill all those people, and Dumbledore?”

“I didn’t… Sirius, I’m not who…”

“And how did you know about the mirror?” he snapped, not allowing Harry time to finish.

“The mirror? I’ve had it since you gave it to me,” he replied. He took a step forward, only to have the wand again pointed in his throat.

“I should just kill you here and now, save the world from your terror.” Sirius snapped, his determination to rid the world of evil shown on his face.

“What? No, wait.” Harry suddenly realised Sirius believed he was the other one. “I’m not who you think. Ask Fred, he’s downstairs.”

“I’m no fool. I’m shocked you let me twist your trap to allow me to trap you instead.”

“Sirius, Padfoot, listen for a moment. I’m not from here, Hermione and I fell through the arch, and came here. She’s traded places with the Hermione of this world. You have to believe me.”

He stood statue still and stared.

“Sirius? Please.”

“Arch?” He lowered his wand slightly.

Harry sighed heavily, “Yes, about four or five months back, but that’s not important.”

“The hell it isn’t. If you’re not the ‘Harry’ from this world, as you say, then where did you come from?”

“I followed my wife in a desperate act, she thought she was taking her life and I followed her, but fell into different worlds, like this one. In my world you also fell through during the battle at the Ministry.”

“With Bella, I know.”

“And I was told that you were killed outright in that duel.”

“Yes, that’s what happened here.”

Harry paused a moment. “Then if the Sirius from here is truly dead, then are you…” he stared at his godfather, and raised his hands in friendship.

“I came through the arch more then twelve years ago. I tried to find you but everyone assumed I was dead. I figured it might work to an advantage, with Voldemort. I’ve watched you begin to grow into the man your father would have been proud of, until…” he lowered his wand completely.

“Sirius?” Harry now became choked with new emotions, “Is it possible you came from my reality?” Harry threw his arms around his godfather, around an old friend, not a copy.

“I can’t say, but the Harry from this world would have gone into a rampage by now. My god, Harry, you do look good.” Harry broke from the embrace showing a tear running down his cheek. Harry’s bottled feelings and emotions toward Sirius surfaced.

“So, this ‘Spirit’ is…”

“Hermione, my wife, we married after Hogwarts. And the woman downstairs is the Hermione from here. You said she’s in Hogwarts?”

“I watched you, the other you, beat her in my old house then you left returned again. I thought I went round the bend when I saw her show up shortly after you did, I’ve been listening too.”

“Then you’re the one that covered Kreacher?”

“I followed you… umm him and Hermione to the castle, then came back to the house and covered his body. Then you showed up moments later.”

Harry broke free, “Sirius, we need to get inside, is the tunnel there?”

“No, it’s been block since he made the castle his home. And we have no idea where she is,” Sirius replied. “Come, let’s get the others and work on getting inside the grounds.”

“’Keep quiet’ he said, ‘stay put’ he said, bugger that,” Hermione muttered as she paced in the tiny dark room. The light in the jar faded and new attempts seemed to fade much faster. There was barely room to stand and turn, but the simple movements had a calming effect. Just doing something felt better then sitting and waiting for him to return.

She pressed her hand to her side; it was still tender, but better. Her abilities to heal others and herself depended on being able to draw reserves from the surrounding sources. This room was void and any living thing. The adjacent rooms also seemed to be void of life, her own strengths were weakening. She tried to concentrate on his current location, but he was either able to block her thoughts or he had left her totally alone or she was growing too weak.

She rubbed her hand; the fresh cut where she hid the mirror shard had stopped bleeding. Her lack of magical resources had been forced to use normal Muggle means of first aid, pressure points and a tightly wrapped bandage. A bundle of towels she found in the small closet served as bandages, but it still hurt.

She paced for a few moments in the dark and decided to try again. By her best calculation, she’s been locked away in this room for a couple hours. Since she was a skilled Healer and continued medical training in Muggle methods, she knew a wound like her hand would need an hour at least for the blood to coagulate and the throbbing was a clear indication. She also knew the throbbing was an indication of infections. Her hand slipped from her side injury to her stomach; that queasiness was returning.

She held the mirror and thought for a moment. “Stag,” she called quietly.

Nothing.

“Stag, please, I need you,” she pleaded into the mirror, her voice no longer had the confidence she’d only a few hours earlier.

Fear.

She began to feel fear.

She recently witnessed the brutal treatment this man was capable of, and in her condition, she became more then concerned. She knew fear. She sat on her makeshift stool; she looked at her hand as she held the mirror. It began to shake with fear. She steadied her hand as she called again. He still didn’t, or couldn’t respond.

Her fears from her youth were returning. Her deepest fear was of failure, she failed to stay where she was needed most, at his side, she failed to keep the other one at bay. She was failing Harry and his dreams, again.

“Harry,” she cried again into the glass, she thought it may have lost its charm when it broke, or her waning powers had an effect. Her growing fear began to turn to frustration. Her frustration at being unable to defend herself and being taken so easily grew into hate for the other Harry. His hate of her other self was the cause of this suffering.

She stared into an empty mirror again.

“Harry,” she cried for the last time.

The mirror remained silent as she looked at it sitting in her hand. “Bloody worthless shit,” she said and raised her hand to launch it across the small room, and started to bring it down in a perfect arch over her head.

“I’m not bloody worthless, but sometimes I may be a shit.” The glass called to her.

She had to squeeze the glass tightly as her arm arced, it dug into her flesh.

She held it up and nervously called into it. “Harry? Is it really you?”

“Stag, remember? Yes, I’m here,” his reassuring voice tried to ease her declared condition.

“I’m frightened. He’s worse then either of us imagined,” she began nervously.

“Shhhh, easy. We’re working a plan to get inside.”

“He’s put me in a cupboard somewhere in the lower dungeons.” She closed her eyes at the sound of his voice, and managed to calm her fear. “He’s set a password, one only you or I can repeat. ‘I am Lord Voldemort’. Got it?”

“Yes, I can manage that. I have to apologise for not believing you.”

“Come again? What?”

“Someone’s been listening to us, I can’t tell you who, but he’s with me now.”

“Can we trust him?”

“Without fail, once we get inside, we’ll work our way into the dungeon.”

“Harry, I have something important to tell you,” she said hesitantly.

“I know, you love me, we have to go, it’s not safe here. We’re out in the open so you can hear us.” He said quickly. “We’ll call when we’re near.”

“Wait, Harry?”

The mirror was silent.

She let a deep breath escape, blowing as much of her fear out with it as possible, they were coming but she couldn’t imaging who he found. She closed her eyes tightly to block the darkness of the room, to wait in silence.

She had no idea what waited on the other side of the door. A simple table outside the small cupboard he now employed as a holding cell became the desk for the individual in her thoughts. He sat at the table and grinned. He waited to see who these intruders were that were bold enough to take her from his own house. Her very notes sat in a pile on the side, but spread in front was an old map.

He watched the names as they scurried across the sheet, only a few teaching staff and others remained. His interest had peaked by the name displayed on the sheet.

“Interesting, the map never lies,” he mumbled, “The map is never wrong, seems the bitch has a new trick,” he continued.

He looked at the name again, “Hermione Potter+.”

Harry approached the school, with Sirius and Fred close behind, escorting Hermione Granger. It was a gamble, hoping he could bluff his way into the castle, with the others as his newly appointed guard and a transported prisoner as well.

The motley group passed the front entrance leading from Hogsmeade, past the sentry post with merely a nod. Sirius was nervous; he had last slipped into the grounds the day Harry had battled Voldemort. Hermione too had not been on the grounds since that day.

Fred and Sirius walked on either side of Hermione as she was levitated into the grounds. They both kept their hoods pulled over their faces in order to remain unidentifiable. The gag remained over Hermione’s mouth, and Fred’s dried blood remained on her chin. She was tightly bound, even though they had her cooperation. Harry sported a wide grin as if he had been victorious in a rabbit hunt.

The sentries returned Harry’s nod, and waved the trio behind him through the gate. The walk to the front doors would prove the most nerve-wracking for any of them, as they remained in the open.

"Keep in step. If anyone stops us, I’ll do the talking," Harry whispered to the others.

Once inside the massive double doors, he noticed a plaque that had been defaced, a name gouged off. The immaculate front hall of Hogwarts no longer held a welcome and warm feeling. Instead, it had the charm and appeal of dungeons used for torture.

Hermione kept her role in character as she struggled and fought each step inside the building, without being asked.

"She said she was being held in the dungeons. We should go there first," Harry commanded. There was only one person alive that could spoil the clandestine attempt to save Hermione Potter; that was the other Harry. The plan was as simple as it could get: walk in, find Hermione, and get everyone out. A side mission was considered to capture Harry’s other self, and hope to find a way to correct this twisted world.

Once inside the building, little changes came to light. The Hogwarts crest containing all four houses was gone. In its place was the letter ‘P’ formed with a lighting bolt. The eeriness and emptiness of the between-term castle echoed with each footfall.

Harry’s next shock came with the myriad statues that had replaced those of the founders, all in his image. In the Great Hall where the Goblet of Fire once stood, a statue of Harry, with the Gryffindor sword pointed to the sky, greeted all into the castle. At the base of the statue the likeness of the two youngest of the Weasley’s stood over the body of an unidentified woman, all remained in Harry’s shadow.

"See, here’s Ron and Ginny standing behind you. It was supposed to show your greatest victory as well as those that sacrificed themselves for your ‘glory’," Fred commented. "He forced the rest of my family to watch the dedication. To ‘honour’ Ron and Ginny."

"What I don’t understand Harry, is why did we bring her along?" Fred asked quietly, pointing to his charge.

"She obviously still means something to him, or he would have killed her a long time ago, I thought we could have her help him see reason," Harry replied as they came to the main passageway to the dungeons.

"Don’t underestimate him, Harry. Since he’s assumed power, he uses people as playthings," Sirius warned.

"This used to be the path to Slytherin House, but after he took over the school, there were changes, the four Houses were eliminated. There were no more inter-House competitions or rivalries," Fred added.

They continued the procession down into the lower chambers, past the Potions classroom. Harry smiled at his plan; it was working.

"MmmMMMmMHMhmm…" Hermione tried to scream through her gag, rewarded with a backhander from Fred.

"Shut up," he hissed.

Harry stopped and turned, and pointed a single finger at one of his oldest friends. "Lay another finger on her and you’ll deal with me," he warned. He reached a hand for her gag, "No noise, understood?"

She nodded her compliance, and the gag was removed. "You all are fucking crazy, going here? He knows you’re here, he must. There should be guards, but it’s empty."

"It’s half-term, why would he need them?" Harry asked.

"You…you don’t know him like I do," she replied in a rough whisper. "He’s been afraid someone is going to do to him what he did so long ago. That’s why he won’t kill me. He thinks it’ll bring him bad luck."

Harry shook his head. "I think you’re wrong–" he started to say as a red stunner hit him square in the chest.

---

"Ennervate" he heard as his eyes started to open. Nearly every muscle ached. The metallic taste of blood danced in his mouth. What he saw first was his feet dangling in mid-air, and a pair of feet on either side of him.

He raised his head, and looked to the left: Sirius hung by his arms; his head drooped from his shoulders. He looked right, to the unmistakable shape of the man that led him into this folly. On the floor at his feet a few metres away, lay the nude form of the woman they had brought, curled into a ball, fresh welts oozing blood down her side. Standing directly over her, the Harry of his reality was buckling his belt, sporting a wide grin and four parallel gouges in his cheek. He could hear Granger’s soft sobbing from the brutal treatment she had just endured.

"So, Weasley, I always thought you had better sense than to follow some imposter to your end."

"S-Sire?" Fred stumbled over his words, still trying to understand what had happened.

"You have one chance to live. Who is this ‘man’?" he said as he grabbed Harry by the hair and turned his face to Fred.

"H-H-e claimed to be you."

He chuckled at Fred’s reference. "How could you possibly mistake that for me?" Harry jeered at his unconscious counterpart.

"He… he told us he was you. He had a woman with him and claimed she was that, from an alternate world," Fred finally choked out, as he pointed with his chin to Hermione lying on the floor.

A twisted grin broke across the tyrant’s face, "Alternate world? How did they get here?" he demanded.

"He didn’t say, sire."

"Hmmm, that does explain some things. Thank you, Weasel, I will reward your loyalty later." He turned, picking up a sheet of parchment from the table and moved towards the door. Hermione lay on the floor a few metres away, and he deliberately went out of his way to land one last kick to her side before leaving the room.

Fred looked at the table; a pile of parchment, old clothes, and an empty pack remained. He recognised the pack as Harry’s backpack. He could still taste his own blood, and his tongue circled the inside of his cheeks, looking for the injury. He found his lip had been split open at the corner; the cut had his own teeth’s imprint. Blood also continued to leak from his nose, but strapped to the wall as he was, he could not do any more than spit the offensive fluid to the floor.

He could see both Harry and Sirius were unresponsive, and Granger continued to silently sob in a lump on the floor.

"Happy now, bitch?" he snapped.

She turned her head to his voice, her matted hair covering her face. He was not able to see her clearly as she tried to hide in the shadows, and she could not see him at all through her swollen eyes.

"George?" she whimpered.

"No, Fred. Why did you kill them?" he demanded.

"Fred, I… I never meant to hurt them; you must believe me. I loved them both."

"Fuckin’ whore, you enjoyed every second you led me on," she barked back in Ron’s masculine voice.

"And you called yourself my friend, jumping Harry as soon as he dumped me? You always were a cold, scheming bitch," she hissed in another girl’s voice, one Fred recognised as his baby sister’s.

Hermione pulled her knees into her chest, ignoring her lack of clothes. She gingerly reached for a foot bent at an awkward angle, and winced. Fred could see the streaks falling from her eyes cutting a path through the filth on her cheeks. He saw her clearly for the first time in ten years, her healthy frame reduced to an emaciated form, her skin hanging from her bones showed the years of abuse and neglect. The voices she had screamed at herself were familiar; he had recognised traces of both Ron and Ginny. All these years he had blamed her for murdering them; he did not completely believe the explanations he had heard only a day or so earlier from Hermione Potter.

"Hermione," he began in a softer tone, "did you intend to kill my sister and brother?"

In a barely audible whisper she managed her answer,"No." She tried to cover herself with one arm and clear her eyes to see him with the other. The caked blood held one eye shut, but she managed to see some light through the other.

"Fred, help me? I can’t see," she begged.

"Why Ron? Why Ginny?" he asked.

"They came to help me, and I was hurting so much. I could see the faces. Faces of the young children. They screamed past me. I could tell they were dead."

"I was there too. There were no children, except where Harry was." He paused to reflect. "Where were you?"

"I don’t remember. I don’t remember many details anymore," she paused to think for herself. An obvious struggle in her mind raged. "I tried to write what I remembered, but the notes kept vanishing. I ran out of ink, and used this." She held her arm out; he could see scar after scar, the freshest one newly infected.

"Where are you? I can see some light."

"On the wall," he replied.

"Who else is here?" she asked. She rolled to her knees and tried to stand, but screamed in agony. In Harry’s rage and sexual frenzy he had broken her ankle, either to keep her from moving or just for the pleasure it gave him. She returned to a sitting position and tried to cover herself with her arms and legs.

"Easy, stay there, you can’t help anyway. Harry’s here and…"

She screamed again, and hissed some unintelligible sounds at Fred. She tried to push herself away on the floor, but ended directly in front of the unconscious Harry, a trail of her blood marking her path.

"It’s not the Harry we know, he’s someone else. I thought he was more powerful, but he was tricked, and stunned before we got too far. He’s just a clever imposter."

Silence covered the room. Neither knew what to say after ten years of hate.

"Fred?"

"What?"

"I’m sorry," she whispered, the cracking in her voice rang with sincerity. "I’m sorry they were the ones that died because of me."

"Mmmm…" the body to Fred’s right moaned. Hermione turned towards the sound, and looked up, one eye barely open.

"W-Who is that?" she asked Fred.

"Him, the imposter," Fred answered. Harry’s return to consciousness was slow as he shook off the stunner.

"Fred? Where are we?" he asked before he could look around. His glasses lay on the table with his other possessions. Unlike Fred, his arms were chained to the wall, and the weight of his body pulled on his wrists.

"We’re right where you led us, into his trap. Nice work, hero."

"Who else is in here?" he asked, trying to get his bearings.

"Sirius and Granger."

"Hermione? Spirit?" he called out, his vision blurred. "Where are my glasses," he asked.

"They’re on a table two metres away to your right," Fred replied. "But it might as well be miles away for what good…"

"Accio glasses," Harry commanded, and they flew into his hand. He managed to slip them on, and took stock of the situation.

"How? You don’t have a…"

"Shhh, don’t say it, it’s our advantage," he barked. He looked at his manacles and closed his eyes. "Alohomora," he said, and pulled at his chains.

"It ain’t gonna be that easy; they’re charmed," Fred said.

Harry pulled at his chains again, then looked to Sirius and called, "Ennervate," waving a hand at his godfather.

Sirius began to move, and also shook off the grogginess of the stunner. "Where?"

"In some dungeon or torture chamber, inside the castle, I suppose," Harry informed him. "Where is he?"

"He left a short while ago; picked up a sheet of parchment and left."

"Then we don’t have much time," Sirius added.

"Then, what do you suggest we do? Gnaw our arms off to escape?" Fred asked sarcastically.

"Let me think a moment," Harry answered.

---

Hermione listened at the door, trying to detect any sound. Her lights had died hours before, and Harry’s mirror had been silent as long. She ran her mind over other thoughts, remembering floor layouts and itemising all the available objects. Her training with Harry and Ron had taught her to focus on finding solutions, not to dwell on how desperate the situation might seem. There is always a way out.

"Think, Hermione. There’s bound to be a solution here," she tried to encourage herself.

Pacing did not help, the room was too small. She pushed every thought of Harry to the back of her mind, not wanting to lament on the things she never told him. She refused to think of a life without him; she focused on escape.

The door finally opened and a flood of light momentarily blinded her. In the door stood Harry. She squinted, looking at him, and could tell he looked exactly like hers, except that he held a wand.

"Come on, it’s time for you to tell me the truth, and to answer for your personal attack." She could see his grin on the face she knew so well, though this face was so foreign. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her from her confinement.

"Where are you taking me?" she insisted as she stood outside her cell.

"SILENCE, whore, I’ll ask the questions." She felt a sharp sting on her cheek from his hand. He was as surprised as she was at the results of the slap.

"That should have sent you to your knees, bitch," he said to a standing Hermione.

"You’ll have to try harder," she hissed back, swallowing the pain as she spoke.

He let out a silent chuckle, "Who the fuck are you? The map says you’re ‘Hermione Potter,’ but that’s impossible. I never gave you my name."

"So it seems. And given the current situation, I’d have a difficult time wanting it."

The defiance she displayed was refreshing, and stimulating. In the years he had ruled, no woman had aroused him the way she now did.

The glint in his eye, although familiar to her, also repulsed her. This man looked like Harry and sounded like him, but was not her husband. He grabbed her arms in a dominant grip, and forced his lips to hers. She held her jaw shut tight, refusing his tongue entry to her mouth.

He maintained his forceful attack on her, shoving a hand up her shirt. He ripped at her clothing, leaving her chest exposed. One of his arms still held her close as he forced another kiss, his other hand freely groping her. She managed a well-placed knee to a vital region, forcing him back.

"Try that again, and I’ll kill you, you bastard," she hissed as she attempted to cover herself.

The blow doubled him over momentarily, giving her a moment to think. He shook his head to clear the newfound pain, and his grin returned. "So, it seems you’ve forgotten your place as well as your past." He straightened, and without warning punched her square in the stomach. She grabbed her stomach, forgetting her modesty and the pain in her side.

"Did that hurt? Afraid to lose something, whore?" He punched her again, this time in her face, splitting the inside of her cheek. "Maybe I’ll wait a while before I take that from you. Yes, I figured out your little diagrams."

She fell to her knees and held her stomach, tears from the pain welled behind her eyes, but she forced them back.

"Here, I have a little surprise, to help you remember your place." He grabbed her by her hair and pulled. She lost her balance as he dragged her by her hair to a smaller chamber. He kept pulling, and lifted her into a chair in the room. Belts and chains wrapped around her, securing her legs, arms, and body.

There was a table against the wall, and a towel covering something on it. He pushed her to it, and pulled the cloth, revealing a stone basin. It resembled Dumbledore’s Pensieve, but the carvings on the side were different.

"You seem to have forgotten this little exercise. Surely, you remember how this works?"

She glared at him, a tiny trickle from her scalp telling the tale of the force he had used. This can’t be good,' she thought to herself.

He tipped her forward, and shoved her face into the urn. Additional straps wound around her, securing her to the table, rendering her unable to move. He turned and left her alone, locking the door.

"Enjoy your afternoon. I have to see to my other ‘guests,’" he called as his laughter faded.

The first image forced itself into her mind, from the battle at the ministry when she had been wounded by Dolohov’s spell. The pain from the burn raged through her mind, as if it were real. Instead of becoming a bystander in the memory, as with the Pensieve, Hermione felt the pain and watched the events as they happened to her. She could remember the smell of her singed flesh. Unlike that time, she was now alone with her pain. She tried to close her eyes, but the memory burned into her mind. She screamed from the intense agony.

The scene began to fade, replaced now with a new memory, from that night on the beach when she had wanted him. The pain from the burn turned into the pain of desire she had felt. She imagined him holding her, and then pushing her off. ‘No’ he said in her thoughts. ‘You still want Ron; you’re only here because Dumbledore ordered you here,’ his voice said in her head. But that was not how she remembered that night! As painful as his initial rejection was, that night in his arms was more memorable then the night they had first made love.

That is when the realisation struck. These were her thoughts and memories, the other her; this was how this reality differed. ‘He resented how this self felt for Ron,’ she now thought. ‘That’s why they never became close.’

Now, instead of merely suffering passively, she watched the images, and fought the physical pain they delivered. She watched the next vision, and sobbed as she saw her parents being murdered.

She remembered the event, but her Harry had helped her past that memory so that it was almost totally forgotten. She now remembered every second: her father hit simultaneously with two spells, the sickening crunch of bone on bone; the image of her mother flying through the air, and into the table. She heard the sickening snap as her mother’s body folded around the desk. She had almost forgotten how they had died. She watched Goyle’s foot crash into her father’s broken face. She had never before recollected the blood. She watched as, in her dying moment her mother reached for her life’s companion and held his hand into death.

Hermione retched into the bowl. The bile vanished as it entered, but the smell lingered.

The next memory started as a silver hand plunged a blade deep into her chest. She felt the initial sting as it cut; she felt the snap of the rib that had prevented the blade from severing her heart. Her breathing became labored and she felt the gurgle of blood in her lung as she began to drown. She watched herself die in his arms. She felt his warm lips on her cold ones.

He held her, and screamed. Then, she watched and listened to Dumbledore console him, pulling him away from her. He dropped her body and she was alone. ‘Another change,’ she forced her mind to register. She watched from above her body as Harry killed Albus Dumbledore, the green beam of death striking Harry’s mentor square in the chest. Harry walked past the body, and Hermione watched him raise his arms, and unleash red tendrils from his fingers, which sliced through the younger students that had just emerged from hiding.

The bodies fell where they stood, some sliced in half. Now, the upper torsos of the dying tried to crawl away from the carnage, dragging their entrails. Faces began flying past, screaming in pain. Faces of the children Harry had murdered. Nearly everyone was a first or second year, too young to aid in defending the school. Hermione tried to cry for those lost, but had no tears left.

She continued to watch as her body was lifted, the blade removed. She saw the crimson hair of a brother and sister over her body. She knew what was next. She felt her soul pull on an unseen force. She heard a pair of screams as two of her closest friends fell dead across her body. A crimson wave engulfed her and she felt power surge through her, a power that came from two separate directions and tore into her soul. The burn of the three souls created a blinding flash as the three were welded into one. In that moment she felt both Ron and Ginny inside her, but watched as their images turned their backs to her and walked away into oblivion. That image faded when Jake lifted her body and began to carry her off.

Mere moments had passed, but they lasted an eternity. She prayed this would not last much longer.

The next vision came into view. She was standing on a beach, and felt a distant sense of peace. A flower-covered altar was positioned a few metres away, and Jake and Eileen stood at it, facing the ocean. Hermione looked down at the lavender gown she wore. A clergy member stood before the couple, and she listened to them exchange vows. There were only a few people accompanying them, sitting behind her, watching the joining of the two. Jake and Eileen had just exchanged rings, and the clergy announced to all assembled that they were now husband and wife, and then the couple shared their first kiss in matrimony.

Screams erupted from those sitting behind her, she turned in time to see the green beam fade from view and the people fall from their seats. She turned back to the bride and groom, who had also turned in the direction of the screams. A silver flash passed from Jake to Eileen; they looked at each other in the confusion. Eileen’s white dress streaked with red lines of blood, and then a thin red line encircled her neck. Jake stood frozen, still holding onto his wife’s hand. Then, her wedding ring slipped from her finger into the sand. Jake turned and looked at the source of interruption, and his head rolled from his shoulders, coming to rest at Hermione’s feet. A second head wearing a now red veil stopped next to the first. Two pairs of eyes stared at her, mouths open in a soundless scream of pain.

Hermione screamed, reaching for the woman to comfort her, but her hand passed through the memory.

Harry stepped from under his cloak, a red-stained sword in his hand, the one he had used to slay the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. ‘See what you’ve done now, bitch? You made me do this. Why did you run and hide from me?’ he asked as he slapped her across the face.

‘The bloody bastard, how dare he!’ Hermione muttered as she felt her heart fill with anger. Her other self was not responsible for all the crimes of which she had been accused. "This must be what we have to change," she thought.

‘Clean this mess up, and wait for me,’ the other Harry commanded before vanishing. Her counterpart fell to her knees, and using her hands, dug two shallow holes. Tears streaming down her face, she managed to roll Jake’s still-warm body into the first pit, and then pulled her last blood relative on earth into the other. She closed her eyes and gently lifted the two heads from the ground and placed them where they belonged. She covered the two bodies with the sand she had scooped from the beach moments earlier, finding a gold ring in one of the piles. She slipped it on her hand and stared at it. It was her cousin’s wedding ring. She knew he would never honour it, but he was bound by the wizard’s promise he had made to her.

Hermione rubbed her ring with her thumb and felt some reassurance that it was still there after viewing these images.

She pulled herself to her feet and trudged her way across the beach, away from the two fresh graves, and through the small town. Her lavender gown, now stained with blood, went unseen by anyone. Once inside the apartment that she had called her new home, she curled up on her bed and cried herself into a fitful sleep. The last thing she remembered was reaching for a worn teddy bear for comfort.

Hermione stared at the teddy bear and the young woman lying on the bed, still except for the slow rise and fall of her chest. She only remembered descriptions of that time in her life, told by her Harry, who had cared for her; this young woman would have to suffer alone.

The images faded again, into a library. She sat in a chair, with many stacks of books strewn on the floor; each page, she noticed, was blank.

This thought bled into other memories of constant beatings and repeated sexual abuse, all from the same man.

She tried to block the emotions that came with these images; they were as painful to watch as her own memories. Her mind numbed to the repeated images until all went blank. Then, nothing. No thought, no sound, no light. She was in a void.

Then, the images swirled back into her conscious mind, and she was in the ministry facing Dolohov again. She felt the pain from the spell burn through her mind again, but now it was with an objective view. She began to make mental notes of all the minor and subtle changes. The cycle of memories had begun over, and they would repeat, over and over, until he would return to pull her from the Pensieve. Each new viewing let her see additional facts others had missed, until she knew the full truth.

---

Harry returned to his special Room of Requirement, one he specifically outfitted for entertaining special guests. He had only been gone a short time, maybe half an hour; his first guest was safely tucked away in the dungeon, being entertained with certain memories he had saved.

He expected the lot of them would be awake by now, and he was not disappointed. There were some signs that they had attempted to free themselves, and he looked startled to see his alternate self wearing his glasses. His first reaction was to blame her, but she had moved only a metre or so from her spot, her foot swollen. Obviously, she could not move that well.

"Weasel, I must thank you for bringing these entertaining imposters here."

"But, I…"

"Silencio," Harry shouted, while pointing his wand at Fred. "I have the perfect reward for you. Titillando," he roared, and feathers appeared around Fred.

"Hmmm, that’s not going to work, is it?" He walked over and produced a familiar jewel-encrusted dagger, and slit Fred’s clothes from his neck to his feet. He worked easily, and every stitch of cloth was removed, allowing the feathers to continue their task.

Fred began to laugh silently. He laughed at being tickled by the feathers, while the other Harry sat back in a chair and watched.

"NO! Let them go," he screamed as he struggled with his chains. "I’m the one you want. They have noting to do with–"

"I’m afraid I’m enjoying this too much. Why don’t you just watch the fun? Immobulus," his counterpart called, freezing Harry in his place, rendering him incapable of stopping this torture.

"Tickle, tickle… hahahahaha," Harry’s reflection taunted, and leaned back in his chair to watch. The others too were forced to watch the abuse done to their friend.

An hour passed, and Fred’s skin was showing signs of welts from the constant tickling in static spots. He had a bloody froth from his mouth, and his convulsions caused by the forced silent laughing did more than make his side ache.

Harry glanced at the clock on the wall, and watched the laughing Weasley, whose side now started to bleed as it split open. The other Harry stood and watched the scene, then chuckled to himself and left the torture chamber, saying, "You boys just hang around for a while, I’ll be back with a friend."

No sooner had the door shut then Hermione had crawled to Fred and pulled herself up. She grabbed each feather and tried to stop it, yet each time she removed one, another would take its place.

She turned to Harry, "I don’t know what to do! He’ll die! I can’t let that happen. Please, help me!"

"He can’t talk," Sirius told her. "He’s immobilised. You need to cover Fred, and then the feathers won’t have an effect."

She stood on one foot, and then hobbled to the table by where the clothing Harry had given her at the Burrow lay on the floor. She picked up the tattered blood-stained shirt and put it on, then picked up the cloak she had worn. She hobbled back to Fred and draped his body with the cloak, creating a barrier which blocked the feathers.

She stood in front of him, the shirt dripping over her thinner frame, covering her as effectively as it could. She tried to smile at him, but simply could not.

"Hermione, is there a wand there?" Sirius called.

She looked up at him and shook her head, "No, and I don’t think I could manage to use one even if I tried." She could see Harry’s eyes move, but nothing else. She reviewed the cumulative situation they were all facing and slumped to the floor, to wait for his final retribution.

Their wait was short. The door opened, and he strolled into the room, giving her a questioning glance. He carried a bowl, covered with a dark cloth.

"Thought I forgot about you?" He turned to his mirror image, "I was having a nice chat with that woman you brought. She reminds me of someone, can’t place her for the life of me." He laughed at his own joke, and walked to where Hermione sat, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her to face his counterpart.

"Here. This is what I saw." He shoved her into Harry’s bound form. He then glanced at Fred, who had passed out from his torture. Blood had pooled beneath him. Harry shook his head, "Disgusting, Weasel. Simply disgusting."

He strolled to the table, and let the dark cloth fall to the floor. He reached into the bowl and removed a length of thin chain threaded through a chunk of meat. It dripped a thick dark liquid as he held it. He turned to Harry and his grin returned.

"She was quite entertaining, a decent sport all around. And I thought about bringing you two together." He looped the chain over Harry’s head, allowing his prisoner his first close look. "Yes, it is what you think it is," he gloated.

Harry squirmed and tried to break his invisible bonds, managing a guttural growl as he felt the organ beat on his chest.

"I cut her heart out, just for you," his other self started to laugh. "Oh, and by the way she wanted to tell you that you were going to be a father. I guess you won’t have to worry about any snot-nosed brats now."

The heart continued to beat on his chest, while their host sat back to watch the look of horror break on his double’s face. The heart was still warm, and dripped blood. “She squirmed a bit at first. I imagine you’re familiar with her squirming, or is she a screamer? Interesting scars on her tit, that must have been a memorable night,” he taunted.

The heart kept beating.

The other Harry glared at the now covered but unconscious Weasley, then gave the beating heart on his double’s chest a pat. Hermione managed to hobble away, but not far enough; he walked to her and roughly grabbed her arms. He pulled her into a vicious kiss, forcing his tongue into her mouth. She attempted to resist, but was too weak.

“I always seem to get aroused when I kill something, don’t you?” he asked. He smiled maliciously as he pushed her aside, and spat on her as he reclaimed his spot at the table. “Yes, I’m sure you do too.” He kicked his feet onto the table and leaned back. “And yes, the bitch was knocked up, didn’t you know? Or maybe it wasn’t yours? Maybe I let the ‘cat out of the bag’ there, eh?” His comments cut deeper then a blade, and the heart kept beating.

“Maybe she’s been stepping out without you knowing. How would you catch a cheating bitch anyway?” he paused to reflect. “I guess you could have waited to see what popped out, pity it’s too late for that now. If you had half a brain you might have caught her shagging some low life.” He kicked his feet from the table and leaned across it, “Maybe you’re just not man enough to keep her from wandering, hmmm?”

Harry managed to partially shake the Immobulus curse and screamed in agony, but his invisible bonds held tight. “NOOO!” he kept screaming as his body continued to shake. The shaking was a vain attempt to dislodge her heart from his chest. It continued to beat, even though it was now empty of blood and utterly useless.

“Grow some stones. I cut you free from the cheating bitch; you should be thanking me,” he taunted. “But then again, now you’ll never know if she was cheating or not. Pity.” He sat reflecting on the effects these revelations had. “The honest truth, she admitted she had recently found another guy, an older bloke that’s more of a man than you. I guess experience matters.”

Harry screamed again, as his anger and agony grew. She was dead. The beating heart remained on his chest. He writhed and shook for an eternity; with each passing second, each beat of the heart tore deep into his soul. The seconds ticked by, turned to minutes, and then the minutes began to build. His futile attempts to break the charm encapsulating him formed a flow of sweat across his brow, and seemed to highly entertain his other self . Fatigue began to settle in as Harry continued to struggle fruitlessly against the spell.

To his side Fred began to wake from his torture-induced sleep; he emitted moan after moan from his stiffness and fresh wounds. The tyrant’s attention was momentarily drawn away from Harry’s agony and he dealt with this as he would any trivial annoyance.

“Hmmm, Weasel's finally awake. Good. CRUCIO!” the other Harry yelled, his wand levelled at the red-haired wizard. Fred’s already battered body arched in the pain of the torture spell as Sirius and Hermione watched, unable to help. Harry though did not even notice. His mind began to fog as the realisation that the best part of his life had been murdered. His anger blinded him to his friend’s suffering beside him.

Fred’s skin began to quiver, the muscles over his entire body flexing and relaxing at an uncontrolled rate. The spasms tore his side open even more, exposing the raw muscle around his ribs. His silent screams pantomimed Harry’s anguish. Sirius felt a sickening lump form in his stomach, partly for Fred’s pain, partly for Harry’s loss.

Their maniacal host maintained his spell, his guttural laugh vaguely reminiscent of the madman he had vanquished ten years before. Then, he yawned and glanced at the clock as it ticked seconds of life from his captives.

He lowered his wand and sat back to admire his handiwork. Noticing that one of his guests had yet been untouched, a smile grew on his face.

“It’s getting late. I’ll see you boys after dinner. Sirius, I haven’t forgotten you. I’ll have a special treat for you after dinner.” He left the room whistling a short tune.

Physically and emotionally exhausted, Harry had stopped struggling against the invisible bonds. He could not shake the organ from his chest; his shaking now was the rising hatred in his own heart.

“Harry,” Sirius called.

The only response was the wizard’s broken sobs.

“Harry, listen. We’ll kill the bastard. I swear, as a wizard and as your godfather, she will be avenged.”

In a quivering mass near the table, Hermione Granger remained too afraid to move. Through the matted hair on her face, she watched Harry and Fred’s suffering. She could clearly see from one eye now, and the swelling in the other had reduced enough to see shades of light.

Hermione stared at the heart on Harry’s chest, knowing it to be a mirror of the heart in her own chest. She could see he had lost something precious, and wished someone would grieve for her like that one day. Her eyes closed as she fought back her fears and the voices that haunted her. Summoning her Gryffindor courage, she hobbled to Harry and slipped the chain off his neck. His face was streaked with grief, and she felt something stir within her own emotions that she had thought long dead. She could not reach him, so instead she placed a kiss on her palm and placed it on his cheek. The heart kept beating even after she returned it to the bowl.

Harry never noticed her palm was scar-free.

Through his tears he imagined he could still hear her voice. He closed his eyes tightly and an image flashed in his mind. He saw a woman with short brown hair lying face down in a pool of blood. In his emotionally enhanced state he imagined her voice calling him, but shook it off.

Sirius watched his godson as he tried to fight to overcome his new grief. He kept shaking his head violently. “Harry, still with us?” he asked.

Hermione stopped at the table and let gravity take hold to slump back to the floor, she would not let those voices take over again.

Harry stopped struggling, and looked to Hermione lying on the floor nearby. “D-d-did you say something?” he asked her.

“No, I-I …” she stammered. She had been staring at the bowl lost in her thoughts.

“I-I can still hear her,” he cried, and struggled against the chains. He pulled hard, the manacles dug deeper into his wrists. The fresh, sharp pain sent a surge through him, but the harder he struggled, the deeper the cuts from the manacles grew.

“We need to work out a plan to escape, then we’ll all avenge her,” Sirius said to console him.

Fred moaned from the torture, his torn side still bleeding.

“Hermione!” Harry screamed with conviction, this last outburst finally breaking his invisible bonds.

“Stag’s losing it. She’s dead mate, face it,” Sirius barked.

But now free of the Immobulus curse, Harry could see the body clearly in his mind. He screamed for her. The longer the image remained, the deeper his rage grew.

“Stag!” Sirius shouted at Harry, again. “Snap out of it, come on, boy.”

Harry shook his head, his mental image of Hermione disappearing, and turned to look at his godfather. “We’ve got to get out of here. We’ve got to find her; she’s still alive, she has to be,” he managed to choke out.

“Harry, are you okay? Are you certain you’re ok? She’s gone, you understand that?”

Harry looked at his chains again, and closed his eyes to concentrate. ‘Help me, my love,’ he thought and felt a familiar twinge. His hands flattened, and he pointed his palms up to the ceiling. A blue glow emanated from his hands and turned into a blue beam of light that ran up the length of his chains. Fresh sweat broke from his brow as he forced the spell to strengthen.

Sirius watched this new display of raw power. The manacles that held Harry glowed. The intense light forced him to look away, and in the next instant, the glow in the room disappeared.

Harry lay on the floor, having fallen a metre. He remained there, dazed for a moment, then shook the feeling off. Slowly, he staggered to his feet, his first thoughts to release his companions.

“I’ll have you both free in a moment.” He stretched his hands toward the others’chains, but could not summon the energy he needed.

Exhausted, he fell to his knees, trying to recover. “That’s a fair try, Harry. It must have required a huge effort,” Sirius consoled him.

Harry remained on the floor, and wondered how long it would be before the other Harry returned. “Give me a moment to gather my thoughts, Sirius,” he muttered.

Before either man could draw another breath, they heard an incantation.

“Bombarda!” Hermione shouted from the table. She had found Fred’s wand on the table and had pointed to the ceiling. That was more than enough to rip the chains and a good portion of the ceiling loose. Both Sirius and Fred joined Harry on the floor.

Hermione fell to the floor, exhausted, but altered. She smiled as Harry came to her side, too weak to lift her arms but beginning to resemble her old self. The brief conversations she had had in the past day did more for her spirit then a month in the hospital would do for her body.

“No, there’s nothing left for me. You showed me there should have been more. That’s all gone. There’s nothing left for me here. You leave I’ll try to slow him down.”

“I won’t leave you to that monster. I promise you will live out your life free from him, even if I have to take you with me when I leave. You’re so much like her,” he said softly as he stroked her hair. She started sobbing softly at his kind touch and the gentle look in his eyes. Even in the face of his loss, she could see the love she lost.

“Go, go and leave me here,” she said.

Harry shook his head, “No, I brought you here and I’ll get you out of here, to safety. I swear I won’t leave you here for him to hurt you again. Sirius, help Fred; I’ve got Hermione.”

Hermione buried her face into Harry’s shoulder, and they consoled each other.

“Harry?” she whispered, and he nodded in reply. “You’re not my Harry, but you’re the person I always wanted him to be. I still love him, I don’t know why. But I would trade my life for Hermione’s if it could make you happy.”

“Shh … I know. You’re so much like her,” he whispered.

---

“They’ve been gone more than four months, why do you still cling to them?”

“They are my closest friends, I can’t just let them go, you don’t understand.”

“It’s because you’re still in love with her?” she said, again verbalising her single resentment.

“I am not in love with her, you know that.”

“I’ve been just a substitute,” she said, the hurt was clearly evident in her voice.

“You’re my wife, not a substitute,” Ron had had this argument before with Luna, always with the same result.

“Then let them go.”

“I can’t.”

“But you have to move on. They are gone,” her tone softened, Ron had struggled to maintain there was still hope, but no one ever returned from the arch.

“They are as much a part of me as you and the children. I can’t let them go. They helped define who I am. You don’t understand.”

“How could I? The three of you never really let me be part of your secret little world.”

“We were kids; you are the only one in my world now.”

“Then I’ll always be your second choice. Do you know how much that hurts?”

“Luna, love, I don’t look at it as ‘a second choice’ but the right choice for me. Yes, I thought I loved her—”

Luna drew in a deep breath but Ron held his hand to stop her thoughts before she said a word.

“I thought she was the one for me. But I realised that even though we did and do love each other, we were never in love. I never felt the same for her that I feel for you. I was a fool to think we even had a chance, she was obviously waiting for someone else, but neither of us knew it at the time.”

“I knew it,” Luna said softly.

“I know, you started to make me understand how wrong I was. It was you I was really looking for. I'm glad you had been able to see that. I'm glad somehow I began to realise that too. Of all of us at that time, you were the only one that seemed to know who you wanted from the start. And you waited. And you were there to help pick up the 'pieces' and made me see what I almost missed.”

Luna just shrugged her shoulders in reply, as if she knew he was right.

“You know I’m right, you know how I feel about you, Arthur and that little one we haven’t met,” Ron said, as he held her and gave her expanding belly a light pat.

She finally nodded. “Yes, but sometimes it’s nice to hear that.”

“The memorial is in an hour, and I am expected to be there, will you be with me, at my side?”

“Do you want me there or are you afraid to stand alone? You always had them with you. Even after Hogwarts.”

“I can let them go, only if you’re there with me.”

Luna reached a hand to Ron and she reluctantly nodded. “They were also my friends, Ron, I’ll miss them too.”

“Minerva asked that we arrive early, she had to discuss some matters about their estate,” he said hoping to shift the subject from painful topics.

“Doesn’t it all go to her cousin? Eileen?”

“She mentioned a meeting with a distant relation contesting the standing will, since I have been the executor of their estate, this has become an issue.”

“You know the law, six months is required after they have been confirmed dead.”

He nodded, “but I still don’t believe they are dead.”

“Ron, the Veil has been our form of dealing with the worst of our world for centuries, it has been the most humane form of execution we have.”

“Yes, I know, but I still have hope, they went together, and they have done things together that seemed impossible.”

“This is beyond even them,” she shook her head in frustration, sympathy no longer worked, he needed to realise he alone still held hope.

“Yes, at some level, deep down I know you’re right,” he replied.

“Now, it’s time to go, Arthur has been itching to strip off his dress robes since he put them on. Could you get him, I can’t stand to climb those stairs again.”

Ron smiled and understood. This new child was giving her more difficulty then Arthur, and this child was eager to make his or her presence known.

“Arthur! It’s time,” he called.

“I said fetch him, I could have called him down myself,” Luna scolded.

Ron shrugged, “I didn’t want to leave you.”

The boy came running down the stairs, an image this home had seen for countless generations of Weasleys. The three gathered at the ancient fireplace, and first to leave was Luna. She held her son’s hand as she grabbed a handful of powder and stepped into the fireplace.

“Hogwarts Great Hall,” she called out and tossed the powder at her feet.

Ron threw his cloak over his shoulders, and straightened his bronze Auror badge before following his family.

The Great Hall had not changed in the years since they had left. However, the solemn décor mirrored the sombre event being hosted. The four house tables had been cleared, and replaced with rows of chairs. Dignitaries from every major wizard community in the world mingled before the ceremony began; representatives from portions of the wizard communities unaffected by the terror of Lord Voldemort were in attendance to honour the greatest wizard since Merlin. Ron and his family were ushered to a place of honour where the High Table usually sat. Several rows of chairs created an arch around the podium.

Luna and Arthur took their seats next to Albus Dumbledore, who had been engaged in a very private discussion with the mysteriously cloaked figure sitting on the other side of him, a conversation so private it required a Silencing Charm placed upon it. Though once the two Weasley’s arrived, the kindly wizard had turned immediately to the young Weasley beside him, scratched his snow-white beard, and smiled warmly at him. Any other boy would have been in awe to have the Minister for Magic sit with him.

The mysterious figure stood, and approached Ron Weasley, as he stood in conversation with the headmistress of the school.

“Exactly, Minerva, the law clearly states six months have to pass after certainty of death before an estate can be awarded. My contention is that certainty of death has not been satisfied.”

The cloaked figure reached a hand out to Ron, saying, “I share those sentiments, Auror Weasley. I feel you are correct.”

“Excuse me, exactly who are you?”

“I am one of Mrs Potter’s oldest friends. I have known her as a young woman and girl, and watched her grow with you and Harry over the years. My name is unimportant, just be assured the Minister and I are equally old friends.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind sharing your name.” Ron’s sense of mystery told him this man had knowledge of vital importance in his prolonged investigations.

Ron felt a hand touch his shoulder and tuned to see the Minister at his side. “My old friend, Senior Auror Weasley, is, as you know, the Potters' oldest friend. And I’m certain my word should suffice for his credibility.”

Ron turned, “Yes, sir. As you are standing up for his credibility, then there is nothing…” he paused a moment, “Did you say Senior Auror?”

A smile and warm hand was offered to Ron, “For recognition long overdue. Now have a seat, the ceremony is about to begin.”

Ron finished shaking the hand of the Minister for Magic, before returning to his family, the bronze badge he had proudly worn turned into a gold one, a mark of his promotion .

Albus, meanwhile, placed a hand on the cloaked man before they parted company, he and Minerva returned to the seats behind the podium, while Albus stood to address those in attendance .

“Friends, members of the wizarding world’s communities, if we may begin.”

He waved a hand over the podium, the banners that hung from the rafters changed, now bearing the image of Harry and Hermione when they were happiest, the images shifted from the day of their wedding, to when they received their Order of Merlin, First Class, other awards, to times shared with close friends.

“We are here to pay final tribute to not a hero, but to a man and a woman. Not to a skilled wizard and gifted witch, but to a loving couple. When Harry first met Hermione, the magic of their lives included the lives they touched. Ronald Weasley is as much a part of that story as either of them, but had never received the same awards and honours. Today we will pay final tribute and a first tribute.

“But first, Harry and Hermione Potter are not with us today, solely due to the love they have for each other. That love was the reason they protected each other. Recent events have unfolded that had put that love to task, beginning with events triggered by meddlesome deities believing they have every answer.”

A covered hand rose to a cloaked face to muffle a cough.

“They are not here today to witness this monument. It was commissioned to honour them for their lives and their accomplishments.”

He raised a hand, and a massive cloth draped over an equally massive structure began to rise.

“I can say I knew Harry as well as any other person alive. He would not want this monument to reflect his feat of ten years ago. So this is in recognition of his life and his love.”

The cloth rose from the statue, three figures stood a full four metres. Harry stood in the centre with Hermione to his side and Ron to his other side. The images were of them as they looked as young adults. A tablet in Harry’s hand listed names of those that supported and aided them, Ginny and Luna topped the list; Draco followed them on the list. Hagrid, Eileen and Jake’s names had also been engraved .

The base of the monument held the names of those lost, with Harry and Hermione Potter as the first couple, followed by Jason and Janet Potter, James and Lily Potter, and Arthur and Molly Weasley .

“Please let this be the only memorial for them and let this reflect their lives, not their deaths. Let them be the last victims of Voldemort’s final attempt to rise to power. I know I shall miss them both, Harry was like a son to me, and I failed him and his wife. I…” Albus stood silent, unable to finish his thought.

Minerva stood to take over, but the ancient man held a hand up to stop her.

“Every person here that knew them has their own personal memories, what is important, is that you all remember them in that light, keep them alive in your hearts. There will never be a kinder, gentler man than Harry Potter, and there will never be a more caring and open woman than Hermione Potter; goodbye my children.” He turned and left the raised dais to try to regain his composure.

The headmistress of the school took his spot, “Thank you all for being here to honour them, there is a reception following on the grounds they loved so much.” She turned and left the podium, signalling the assembly to leave.

---

“Mr. Weasley, a word if you please.” Ron heard from behind, just as they left the Great Hall. The voice was familiar but he was unable to place it.

“Luna, please take Arthur, something tells me this may be important,” he quietly said to his wife before turning to face the mystery man.

“I believe there’s a room we can use privately, this is for your ears alone,” he whispered to Ron. The Auror held a sceptical look as he followed.

The man turned and left for a small chamber that Ron did not recall. Its door appeared as nondescript as any classroom , but once inside it, the room’s walls changed and vanished; vines and trees sprouted from thin air, covering the entrance .

The mysterious figure strolled to a field surrounded with trees and a meandering brook in the distance . Ron felt a gentle breeze surround him as he followed the man to a pair of chairs carved from the stumps of two trees, a table sat between them; it was carved from a single slab of granite.

“Please sit; would you care for some tea?” A pair of teacups appeared, steam still escaping the pot that sat between them, filling the clearing with its aroma. In the centre of the table sat a plate of biscuits and other treats he remembered his mother baking when he was a boy.

“I’m certain you have questions, and I think you deserve some answers. Come and sit.” The mystery figure poured the tea into the two cups on the table.

Ron cautiously complied and sat on the offered seat. His mysterious host turned to face him and shed his massive cloak. The man before him was not the one he imagined. He seemed so familiar, almost exactly like Albus Dumbledore, except his nose wasn’t long and crooked, and he wasn’t as thin as the Minster. The wizard’s hair and beard were snow white; both extended half the length of his body. He wore a pleasant smile, and his blue eyes twinkled in the rising sun’s rays. His long, periwinkle blue robes and cloak swept the ground, showing high-backed boots laced up to the top. The very top of his boots was folded down over the laces, looking like socks that wanted to slip to his ankles. Ron also noted this man was not wearing glasses, nor did he appear to be as old as Albus.

“Who am I? That would be your first question. And why did I bring you here, which would be your second. Is that about the size of our introductions?” he said with a smile as he picked up his cup.

Ron stared at the man, his face firm with a foreboding glare practiced from years of hunting Dark wizards. “Yes. Identify yourself, and your purpose for this ruse.”

“Hermione was far more pleasant when we met. We had a nice chat before she had to leave. Lovely girl, but you already know that.”

“Do you know where they are?” he asked, he tried to maintain his tone, only his training held him back.

“Yes, I believe I know exactly where they are. But let me introduce myself, I am an old acquaintance of Albus’or more correctly, I was his mentor. My name is Myddrin. But p lease have some tea, I believe you’ll find it delightful, I’ve grown a soft spot for Twinings Lady Grey, although Hermione did not seem to care for it.”

“Myddrin, is it? When was the last time you saw them?” Ron insisted.

“The last time? Here or where they are now?”

Ron blinked and sat. “Are they still alive?” he asked bluntly.

“They were alive this morning, but I cannot tell if they are safe at this moment. The wards surrounding them are powerful and they need you to help them.”

“But the Veil, they passed through it?”

Myddrin nodded, “Yes they did, several times now, I believe. And each time they succeed and continue their adventure, the closer they come to understanding why.”

Myddrin leaned forward and picked up a biscuit, and added a splash of milk to his tea. “I tried to explain to Hermione when we chatted, some five or six centuries ago, I had a companion that took an apprentice who held evil in his soul. That is the same evil that you, Harry and Hermione had, and will fight here. It is the same evil they are confronting even as we speak.”

“Who is this companion of yours, and why can’t they deal with this ‘apprentice’?”

“She had passed to the next level; I am the last of that order. The details are not necessary for you to understand, or even know. I felt I owed you this message that, yes you are correct to hope for them. It is your faith in your friends that has helped and guided them when they needed you . Hermione has expressed several times how important your skills would have been to them. Your talent as a tactician parallels Harry’s abilities for doing what is right.”

Ron stood sharply, his long held grief for his friends boiled to the surface in the form of anger. “Tell me what you know, and I promise I will speak on your behalf at the hearing. If you had any involvement with their disappearance, I swear I’ll see you in Azkaban.” Ron exploded. His fiery temper broke through.

“Please, Ronald, sit. I tried to explain to her that none of this was her doing, or mine for that matter. But because of a selfish act so many years ago, events fell into place that required minor correction.”

Ron remained standing, his hand held his wand as it sat in his cloak pocket. “What events?”

“As I said, my companion’s misguided apprentice changed the course of time in an attempt for absolute power. Only someone absolute in their own quest could correct that change. The person was Hermione. She executed her task brilliantly, and in a fashion I never anticipated.”

“Then take me to them, now,” he demanded.

“That I cannot do, I cannot help them because I do not exist where they are.”

“What good is this farce of a meeting, then? Exactly why am I here?”

“You can seek them out, in your thoughts. You’re as strongly linked to them as I was to my companions before they passed. They will not know it was you, but you can help guide them. They do need you.”

“That’s all? Think about them?

“Essentially, yes. As Albus told those at the dedication, to always keep them in your thoughts; that will help them find the strength when they need it most, and I feel they need as much help now as they ever did.”

Ron sat back to absorb this revelation and to ask. “How do I know this isn’t an elaborate hoax? You’ve given no real proof of who you are.”

“You are absolutely correct, and I have no proof other then my word. For that you could ask Albus about my authenticity, if I were to allow you to remember this conversation. That unfortunately is not possible.”

“And why is that? Unless you plan to wipe my memory then I will remember this meeting.” His fingers tightened on his wand and began to pull it slowly from its hiding place.

“You wand will be ineffective here. I have no intention of altering your memory, on the contrary I will remind you of key points after we return.”

“Return? Where did we go?”

“It’s not a matter of where but when. I learned from my error with Hermione to not have these conversations in your past. We are, if I’m not mistaken, several hundred years into your future. You will remember this in its entirety, but you will be an old man, and attribute it to senility. I will give you a reminder of Albus’message to keep them in your thoughts. That should suffice.

“Now, if you are ready, your wife is waiting.”

Ron blinked at the revelation, feeling confused. He sat and stared for a moment, as things began to swirl around. The time he spent with Myddrin seemed to rewind. Ron watched as Myddrin put the teacup back on the table and the fluid poured back up into the teapot. The man opposite him stood, as did Ron, and they both turned and walked backward away from the table and tree-stump chairs. Ron’s mind began to lose focus on the conversation. The ivy and shrubs sank back into the walls; a small classroom desk appeared where one did not exist. Ron remembered passing through a door as it shut in front of him.

Ron turned, and remembered Luna as she took their son by the hand. It all seemed terribly familiar

“Mr. Weasley, a word if you please.” Ron heard from behind, just as they left the Great Hall. The voice was familiar but he was unable to place it. He turned to see a familiar face as a hand stretched to his.

“Sir, I want to offer my sincere thanks for all you have done. I hope you remember what the Minister said and keep them both in your thoughts.”

Ron shook the man’s hand and cocked his head, “Tom? From the Cauldron, right?”

The room was dark. The body of a young woman lay in a pool of her own blood, her short, well-kept hair masking her face, her heart ruthlessly butchered from her body. The stench of death filled the room. Her murder was sent as a message.

The silence in the room would have been absolute but for the slow, steady breathing coming from the small table in the corner. Another woman sat bound and unconscious; her head fallen to her chest from the stress she had endured.

“Hermione…”

“Ron?” the woman mumbled as if in a dream. “I can hear you…”

“Come back, please,” she heard clearly.

Her head snapped up; she had just remembered seeing him in a dream.

She still remained strapped to the chair, though no longer forced to endure the memories in the Pensieve. Relief spread across her body as she realized she had passed out at some point and had fallen away from the images.

She sighed heavily, recalling every detail of every memory from the Pensieve. She knew why this world ended in this state; almost everything seemed to fall into place, except her dream of Ron. She tried to remember what he said, and why she had dreamt of him and not Harry.

She sat in the dark, gathering her thoughts while giving her tired body time to regain its strength. Her brief nap had allowed her side to heal itself; and though the phantom pains from her counterpart’s memories still lingered, she knew them to be only in her mind. The longer she rested, the stronger she felt. Her daily nausea had returned, and now she knew why, it was morning-sickness. But she had only partial answers to the likely questions she knew her Harry would ask.

All she could do was wait for him to find her. She assumed the chamber into which she was taken was near the classrooms of her past mentor, but she was not absolutely certain where Harry and the others were in the castle or for that matter if they were even still in the castle.

Now rested, she finally felt ready to try to break her bonds. She knew she had some of Harry’s abilities; now was the time to exercise one of them. She closed her eyes and concentrated, just like she had once taught him. She felt a tingle in her arms concentrate around the straps that bound her arms. Those straps began to loosen, just enough for her to slip one arm free.

“That was tougher then I remembered,” she mumbled.

She had used unfocused magic before, in the distant past to save a friend; it was as exhausting then as it was now. But she had an arm free. She reached for the buckles of her restraints and worked them loose until all the straps fell to the floor.

Then, still in the chair, she squinted as she tried to survey the room. A moment of concentration and a blue flame appeared on the table, illuminating the room. She saw the desecration of life on the floor; the young woman lost her life for little more than a dark prank. Hermione found an old sheet covering a pile of crates to cover the corpse, and managed to move the body to the side of the room. Under normal circumstances she would have felt more for the unknown woman. Now though, her concern remained preoccupied with her own unborn child’s safety. A hand found its way to her stomach, still tender from the earlier blow. It was too soon to begin to worry; enough time had passed without serious repercussions. Their baby was still safe.

Her thoughts drifted back to a time in the recent past, and she clapped her hands once, rubbing them together. A golden glow surrounded them as she found herself lost in the flow of energy that streamed throughout the castle. Only this time, she was not searching for additional souls to drain; she was looking for someone special.

She concentrated, in her field of vision, still watching the life force signatures in the surrounding castle. She again could detect weak sources nearby: trees outside, house-elves scurrying through the hidden halls. Other sources began to filter into her thoughts, some familiar and some foreign. She saw two nearly identical images: one with an image she recognised as herself, though a very faint, almost gone version of herself; there were also two others. These figures were deep in the dungeons, not on the seventh floor, where the Room of Requirement existed. The other image she felt was nearby and getting closer.

It was he; he was returning.

She made an attempt to warn her Harry before the other returned, her strength weakening with every passing second that she thought of only him.

“Stag… can you hear me?” she ventured. “Harry? Please…” she tried to connect to his thoughts, but lacked the strength. She wanted to warn him, and tell him she was safe, but lacked the ability. In a flash, she remembered the mirror, she reached into her pocket and held the fragment in her hand, hoping that he had his. “Harry? Are you there?”

The mirror was blank, but desperate, she waited for any response.

Nothing.

She could hear footsteps approach the door. It was too soon for her Harry, and she cringed at the prospect of another session with the other Harry’s temper. The voice on the other end of those footsteps began yelling at unknown targets. The doorknob turned, and she waited for him to throw the door open and resume his torture with the same demonic pleasure he had before exhibited. The latch, however, remained locked. The yelling continued, then began to grow softer as the voice retreated down the hall.

Feeling mildly dizzy, she released the lungful of air she realised she had been holding. The chair she to which she had been strapped at the Pensieve looked far too appealing; her tummy began to rumble, and she began to notice how dry her mouth was. She sat in the only chair in the room and tried to imagine how her counterpart had managed for ten years. The tension of the past day’s experience and the experience in that very chair left her unable to relax.

Glancing around the room, her gaze fell upon the piles of crates and picture frames that had been hidden beneath the sheet with which she had used to cover the dead woman. The backs of the pictures faced her, and her curiosity grew.

“I wonder who these unfortunate people were,” she mumbled to herself. The first portrait was slashed, the occupant long gone. The next she recognised from Dumbledore’s office many years ago, Headmaster Dippet. The next couple of pictures were also former Headmasters and Headmistresses of the school, in each portrait the occupant appearing stunned or unconscious. The last one she turned though held a familiar face.

“Albus!” she exclaimed. The figure in the picture looked up to her and gave half a smile.

“Miss Granger, it has been too long. Are you well?” the voice asked in a sincere tone.

“Sorry, Professor, I haven’t used that name in ten years. It’s Potter. Harry and I married straight from school. But I don’t expect you would have known that.”

“How is Harry? The last I remember he locked all the portraits in this room. I remember he was in considerable pain, and I truly don’t hold him accountable for his actions of that day.”

She nodded in understanding. “There’s a lot I have to explain. I’m not that Hermione Granger; Harry and I are both here from another reality. The best I can tell, it all started five years back. Events from our lives evolved us, well, me, really, into an act of desperation and thus ending up here. To us, this is an alternate reality. We’ve experienced two others as far as we can recall.” She proceeded to relate as much as she knew of this world, detailing the changes she had identified in the Pensieve.

“Extraordinary story, Miss Gran—er, Mrs. Potter.”

“Please, Albus, we’ve been on a first name basis for years back in my world. It’s good to hear your voice, though.”

The portrait smiled warmly at her, “So, you’ve met my old friend Myrddrin?”

She nodded in reply, “He hasn’t shown himself, so I doubt he’s still alive.”

“I’m certain he is, but if he hasn’t seen fit to help you in these troubled times, he must have his reasons. Have you tried to talk to him?” Albus asked.

“I have no idea where to find him if he’s still alive. When he talked to me last it was five hundred years ago,” she replied.

He smiled again, “Next time you’re in Diagon Alley, look for him. He lives near the Leaky Cauldron; I’m certain he would help you.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that. He hasn’t lifted a finger in the past, so why would he help now?” her tone held a dash of resentment.

“I’m afraid only he can answer that question. When you’re in the Leaky Cauldron ask for—”

The door flew open, flooding the dim chamber with light. The figure that stood in the doorway was a familiar one, but in the glare she could only make out his outline.

“Talking to strangers, now? I’m a bit shocked,” Harry said.

She pushed the portrait back, stood, and faced him, defiantly standing her ground. Harry walked into the room and grabbed her arms; she could see his face now, even in the shadow. He pulled her to his chest and held her tightly. She felt the clammy, sticky shirt press into her.

“Mione?”

“Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s really me.”

She felt him tremble in her arms, her palm as cold as ice as he released a long held sigh.

“Harry, are you ok?”

“He said you were dead,” he said, embracing her tightly.

“Harry, he’s had locked me in this room. There’s a dead girl on the floor over there. He butchered her and left.”

Hermione’s palm began to tingle pleasantly as Harry held her; a warm feeling washed through her, reassuring her that this was truly her husband.

“He said he cut out your heart,” he said, thinking of the bowl on the table in the dungeon. He could not bear to tell her what the other him had did and said.

“My God, Harry, I’m perfectly fine. He tried to torment me with my counterpart’s memories, except he forgot some are mine as well and that I could see the variations. I know where and how things here changed.”

“You’re safe, that’s all I care about.” A weathered smile grew on his face, his concern about the accusations pushed aside momentarily. “Sirius created a diversion to draw that maniac away; he’ll be looking in the Astronomy Tower for hours. Sirius planned to fly off on my Firebolt from the rooftop; I left Fred and the other ‘ you’in the broom cupboard near the entrance. If he doesn’t read the Map, we all should be fine.”

“Harry, listen to me, I know why this happened,” Hermione said as she pulled his face to hers.

“I do as well. He did to me what he thought would hurt me. He was wrong. And that’s his mistake. I underestimated him. That was my mistake.”

“We’re together again, darling, that’s all that’s important,” she said to console him.

Harry’s smile faded as he remembered one thing from his session, ‘she admitted she had recently found another guy, an older bloke’. That accusation, however much he knew in his heart was unfounded, shook his resolve. His faith in her marred. His look now sending shivers of fear into her. “Mione, please tell me, is it true?”

“What?” she asked.

Her palm’s tingling faded with his smile.

“Harry, I have to tell you, I have no idea how or when …” she began, but he put a finger to her lips.

“Later, we will talk later. Right now, we have to find our way out.”

He kept holding her, as though she would vanish once he let her go. All the pain they had endured, all the suffering seemed to disappear with his touch.

But as he held her, his mind began to once more accuse her. He stopped himself, reasoning, ‘She’s my life, my love. He was lying about her; he had to be lying.’He felt the warmth of her breath on his neck and banished those lies from his mind.

Together, they left the room, disregarding the Pensieve on the table. The first statue they passed was the one-eyed witch; there, they turned and slipped into the hidden tunnel, down to the lower floors to retrieve the others. Fred and Hermione Granger were still in the small room, now sitting on the bare floor. Although both weak from the ordeal, Fred’s condition seemed more desperate; he continued to drift in and out of consciousness while the other Hermione gently stroked his hair, attempting to soothe his pain.

Hermione Potter stepped into the cupboard, helping them both to their feet; and with Harry’s support the four left Hogwarts Castle .

---

“I want them found,” he screamed, and the remains of the unfortunate house-elf who had delivered the news of their escape received another brutal blow, the torture spell still causing the carcass to quiver.

The tyrant’s unfocused anger rivaled that of the time he had first tasted the intoxicating power surge of killing. He had killed for sport, and from mere boredom; he had killed for the shear pleasure of feeling his victim’s life yield to his hand.

But now he was angry.

“I want that bitch brought before me; I want those Mudblood-loving Weasleys’ heads, just their heads.”

An unfortunate guard caught his eye, and without a word he sent a purple flash from his wand, which seared his victim’s flesh to the bone. The guard gave a brief scream of pain before another beam severed his head.

“I want that imposter here to answer to me for his treason,” he screamed.

He fell back into the ornate throne he had installed in the outer chamber that had once housed the Slytherins. His rage seethed internally, the room devoid of life save for himself; the guard lay smoldering in a growing crimson pool, the only sound left being the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on the throne’s arm.

“Guard!” he screamed. “Order the trolls out to find them,” he bellowed, sighing heavily.

---

They had planned to rendezvous at the Burrow; Sirius was already waiting for them, having escaped as planned. He had led Harry’s evil twin on a wild goose chase deep into the Astronomy Tower before flying off to a point from which he could Apparate away, wisely making stops at Diagon Alley and then at points in Sussex and Leeds before reaching Ottery St Catchpole. At each stop Sirius had made certain he had been spotted, and since his criminal status had never been overturned, his simple appearance had caused a mountain of turmoil. Harry had given him explicit instructions to leave him and Hermione if they failed to show in thirty minutes and to disappear abroad in the Muggle world.

While waiting for his godson and the others, Sirius quickly explained as much as he could to Percy and George about the events that had led to Fred’s condition. Twenty minutes into his story, they arrived, much to his relief.

Harry carried Hermione Granger, with his wife close behind, levitating Fred.

Sirius had hoped, through his story, to lessen George’s shock, but his twin still looked extremely weak, and needed care and rest. The results from Fred’s torture session were not life-threatening by themselves, but left untreated could cause lasting complications.

Physically, the others had fared better; the other Hermione seemed to be managing her internal demons, at least for the moment, while Hermione Potter seemed to feed off her husband’s strength.

“Hurry with what you absolutely need to bring. We won’t have much time, possibly less than an hour,” Harry warned George and Percy. Even exhausted, he managed to maintain a commanding stance.

“Look, mate, there’s too much here to leave behind. You don’t expect him to come here anyway?” Percy protested. It was a daunting order, forcing them to leave their family’s ancestral home, possibly never to return.

“I absolutely expect it, but we’re not in any condition to face him. He’s stronger then we expected,” Harry replied. Hermione had left her counterpart and Fred to rest in the front room, and now hurried to gather as many items as she could. Each new stack she compiled, she packed into a different compartment of the seven-lock trunk from the attic.

“And you expect us to just believe that you’re not him? Not that I completely understand how this happened,” George argued. “First, you two show up and expect us to believe you, then you damn near get my brother killed and drag those other two here,” his rant and his rage beginning to build, “And now you expect us to abandon our home because you staged a half-witted rescue attempt.”

“George, yes, that’s exactly what must be done,” Hermione replied. She continued pulling objects from the cupboards that both Molly and Ginny had told her were important family heirlooms.

Past the need for words, George stormed from the room half-expecting a spell in his back. Harry let him go, shaking his head; he knew George was right.

The activity in the house was furious; George and Percy left to pack their own possessions, leaving Hermione and Harry to finish salvaging what precious items they could. Photographs were the mainstay of artifacts saved, as was a small box from the family clock containing the fallen arms of past Weasley’s, Harry’s realizing its importance immediately, as it listed the entire ancestry of the ancient wizard family.

“Come on, we have got to leave,” Harry called again to Percy. All the others had finished packing, but Percy remained in his room still sorting through his personal things.

“I’m going to need a few more minutes,” he called, hurriedly putting his quill down.

“No, now. He’s coming,” Harry said as he stared into the distance. “If it’s not packed, it’s not of importance. We must leave.”

Grumbling, Percy neatly folded a sheet of paper and hid it in his pocket before joining the others in the lounge, Harry pulled out the small table from in front of the sofa. Silently, his hands glowed blue. He pressed his hands to the object and it trembled briefly before returning to normal.

“It’s time. As soon as everyone touches it, and everyone must touch it, we’ll leave for a safe location.”

He began piling the chests, shrunken so that they could all fit, into a valise on top of the table. His wife helped her other self and Fred, as both were still weak. All of them took hold of the Portkey and were instantly transported away from the Burrow, with only one person in the group having a clue as to their destination.

“Where the bloody hell are we?” Percy was the first to break the silence. The only other sounds came from waves crashing gently on the shore. The beach was clear of any traces of human activity.

“The French Riviera, and unless I’m mistaken, near Marseille, I believe,” Hermione stated as she glanced around.

“Precisely,” Harry confirmed, looking away from her. “We’ll stay long enough to be seen; perhaps an hour, then we’ll use another Portkey to go elsewhere. I intend to keep this up to cover our tracks, let him think we’re being sloppy. There’s a shack just over that hill, we should be able to stay there for a bit.”

George and Percy were the only ones grumbling as the group covered the short distance. Hermione knew from their shared class work in Surveillance and Evasion, this was the accepted process. She grabbed his hand and pulled him aside while the others approached the shack.

“Harry, do we have enough time for me to help Fred? He’s still too weak for this.”

“No, not here; that will have to wait. I won’t risk him finding us,” Harry said, still refusing to look at her. As they followed the others, she pulled him into a cuddle, tucking her head into his shoulder. Her arm slipped around his waist, but his hung limply at his side, cold and unfeeling. Her eyes were fixed to his face, and she could see his concern for Fred, but she also knew deep down there was more then just his concern of being found.

She shook her head, “I have to do something. His side’s stopped bleeding, but there must be some internal trauma for him to still be on the brink of unconsciousness.”

“Hermione, I can’t allow it, but I will get you the things you need. Blood-Replenishing Potion and Pepperup Potion?” he offered.

“That might do. Is there an apothecary nearby? They may have what we need.”

“And that would leave a trail for him to follow,” he added sharply.

“Could you wait a moment? I’ll draft a list of things I need.” She pecked his nose with a kiss and disengaged herself from him to retrieve a sheet of parchment and a quill from the pack, setting to work on her list. She knew exactly what she wanted and quickly slipped the list into his pocket.

“Don’t be long, darling. There’s a shop near Beauxbatons Academy . You should be able get everything on the list there.”

He nodded his silent reply.

“Darling, there are two lists. You’ll need to find a Muggle pharmacy, for some additional things.” She gave his hand a loving squeeze as he vanished, hurried inside the shack, and proceeded to busy herself with her two patients.

Harry’s first stop was at a French version of Diagon Alley, in the village near Beauxbatons. He had been there before in his world on official business, tracking Dark wizards responsible for practicing a spell unknown to modern wizards. Unfortunately, all evidence of that spell had disappeared before he could apprehend them.

He reminisced on that mission during his first year as an Auror, The traces of the ancient magic that led him and his partner to this very same wizard community had vanished, leaving him in a dark alley behind a shop similar to Borgin and Burkes. That day, he had felt that he was being watched. Ron, too, had had that same feeling. Ron had stood shoulder to shoulder with him in those days, sharing every adventure. Hermione and Luna still had an additional year of training as Healers and could not join them in the field.

Harry passed the same alley where that investigation had died without a trace. He had that familiar feeling that he was being watched, and smiled.

When he spied a remote branch of Gringotts, he decided his first stop could wait. A thought crossed his mind to repay his prior host for his kindness. He opened the door, and lowered his hood, fully exposing himself. He paused at the door before walking directly to the counter.

The goblin at the first counter was busying himself with the paperwork from its last transaction, vaguely aware that a new customer stood in front of him.

“S'il vous plait, prend un nombre et vous serez aidé par le commis disponible prochain,” the goblin said, still dealing with his documentation. - Please to take a number and you will have help by the next available clerk.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t speak French,” Harry replied.

The goblin slammed his quill on the table. ‘A nother troublesome Englishman,’ he thought, but then his grainy eyes focused on the wizard. The scar on his forehead and the snarl on his face could not be a good sign.

“Pardon, Monsieur Potter, how may I help you?”

“I need five, no, let’s make it ten thousand Galleons from my personal account. And transfer fifty thousand to St. Mungo’s; I’m in a generous mood.”

“Sire? Ten thousand is past my limit for this branch, I only have eight thousand on hand.”

Harry leaned closer, “Rubbish, I said ten thousand. Wait, do you have Euros?”

“Yes, but I don’t see where that…”

“Did I ask your opinion?” he asked in an alarmingly calm tone. The goblin stared at him, familiar with the legendary anger of Harry Potter.

“N-N-no, I have,” he paused and looked at the ledger, “eight thousand Galleons, and I have another twenty thousand in Euros.”

“Fine, I’ll take it all. Put the gold in reduced weight pouches and the currency in a satchel.” Harry turned and leaned against the counter, giving off an annoyed air.

“But,” the goblin added, “for a sum of that size I need proof of…”

“PROOF?” he roared, “I’ll give you all the proof you require.” He pointed a finger and a green hue enveloped his digit, his emerald eyes also began to glow.

“Please, I meant… signatures…” Two goblin hands were held up, as if that would stop any curse from Harry. “But, in this situation, we can dispense with the formality.”

“That’s better. Now be quick about it,” he shouted, and lowered his arm. The goblin scurried off to fill the required draft, and returned with two bags, both weight-reduced for his convenience.

Harry snorted his approval, turned on his heels, and stormed from the establishment.

Once outside, he removed a handful of gold coins and slid them into his trouser pocket; he managed to stuff a handful of Muggle currency into the other pocket; the rest he slid into his rucksack.

After passing four more shops, he saw the one for which he had been looking, “Apothicaire et Potions,” the name of which Hermione had written on the list she had given him. Harry had fortunately worn his ancestor’s tunic, as its larger size conveniently hid his hands, and thereby also had enough room to conceal smaller objects. When he opened the door, a tiny bell tinkled, announcing his arrival.

“Bonjour, peux-je vous aider, monsieur?” the clerk greeted Harry. - Hello, can I help you, sir.

"Vous excusez moi, do you.... no, I mean, parlez-vous English?" he stumbled out of his mouth.

“Non, je ne le parle pas. Mais si vous attendez un petit peu, il y a mon associé qui peut comprendre ce que vous disez.” he replied. Harry shrugged his shoulders and looked at the first list. Every item had been perfectly written in French, Hermione’s having neglected an English translation. - No, I do not speak it. But if you await a moment, there is my associate that can understand what you say.

“Monsieur, may I be of assistance?” an older gentleman emerged from a doorway, covered with a cloth. Harry’s first impression was that of a much older version of Snape, with a touch of Lucius Malfoy tossed in for good measure. His demeanour, however, likened more to a Weasley, openly pleasant and friendly, offering Harry his hand.

“Sir, I have a list of items I need, and discretion is necessary.” He handed the list to the older wizard, who motioned the younger clerk over, and then carefully read from the list.

“Le premier article, potion de nettoyage des blessures.” and the storekeeper nodded to his assistant, who bowed and went to the far wall, scooping out the necessary potion. Then, noticing Harry’s mild confusion, the older wizard kindly translated Hermione’s words into English. “As I instructed Jean-Claude, the first item is a wound-cleaning potion. Has there been an accident?”

“No, we are, that is my wife and I, are on a walking tour of the countryside. She gave me this list of potions, in case we encounter the need.”

“I see, and you anticipate the need for Essence of Murtlap, or this last item?” He did not wait for an answer to his question; this was clearly a list to either prepare for a battle or to recover from one.

He raised a hand before Harry could answer, “Please, I do not care why you require these items, and since nothing on the list requires approvals, I can fill it completely.”

Harry watched as he turned to his assistant and read off the rest of the items.

“Jean-Claude, donne-moi la plus grande bouteille de la potion Comfrey que nous y avons.” – Jean Claude, get the largest bottle of Comfrey Potion we have on hand.

“Nous en avons seulement un peu, mais nous avons plusieurs de kilos de l'herbe.” - We only have a small amount, but we have several kilos of the herb.

“I’m afraid all we have is the raw ingredient for the Comfrey Potion, which would require someone exceptionally skilled at potions to brew it.”

“I have just the person; she brewed Polyjuice Potion when she was twelve.”

“Good, but I must warn you, it is still in the dry herb form and should only be used in the potion form, and if burned, the side effects of the smoke causes only a temporary memory loss in wizards but is fatal to muggles.”

“I’m certain she can handle this. A kilo should suffice,” Harry replied.

“Jean-Claude, donne-lui un kilo, et enveloppe-le avec attention.” - Jean Claude, give him a kilo, and wrap it carefully.

“Potion pour rétablir le sang, Jean Claude. Non, pas ceux-là, les plus grandes: je crois ils vont les utiliser beaucoup. Bon. La prochaine est la Drogue Sédatif. Bon. Finalement, l'Onction Inconsciente du Docteur Ubbly.” Then, he turned to Harry and said, “Monsieur, I have instructed Jean Claude to give you the larger bottles of Blood-Replenishing Potion, Calming Draught, and Dr. Ubbly's Oblivious Unction. Is a member of your group having troubling thoughts?” - Potion to re-establish the blood, John Claude. No, not those, the biggest ones: I believe they will use them a lot. Good. The next one is the Drug Sedative. Good. Finally, Doctor Ubbly’s Oblivious Unction.

“No, my wife has had a few bad dreams; I believe that’s why she needs them.”

He carefully wrapped each bottle and placed them in a canvas sack, winking at Harry as he handed him the bag. Harry reached into his pocket and retrieved a handful of gold, placing a dozen coins on the counter for payment.

“Non. Please, Monsieur Potter, you are known here and it is an honour to serve you,” he said, bowing his head slightly.

Harry nodded his reply, but left the gold on the counter and exited the shop. On the way to his second stop, he noticed a wizard’s bookshop; a smile crept on his face, and he walked inside.

“Excuse me, do you have an English section?” he asked the first clerk he encountered. The wizard directed Harry to a corner of the shop with a handful of shelves. The volumes were mostly standard fare, with a full collection of Gilderoy Lockhart’s works. He quickly found the volume he sought, and brought it to the counter.

The puzzled look on the clerk’s face disappeared, replaced with one of fear. He put the book in a sack and handed it to Harry, bowing as he backed away.

Harry shook his head and left the shop. Urgent to leave the wizard community, his pace quickened: he had revealed himself to others, stolen funds from himself, and acquired the items Hermione needed.

He carried the sacks carefully, resisting the urge to shrink them, knowing that that might affect the potency of the potions. Walking hurriedly, he soon passed all the wizarding shops and then several more streets before arriving in a Muggle shopping area.

A sign attracted his attention, its name at the top of his second list. Inside “Pharmacie et Médecines” he again sought out an English-speaking clerk, but unfortunately, this time found none.

So, instead, Harry handed him his sheet. The Frenchman read through the list out loud, then paused at the last item on the list, smirking at Harry. “Votre femme... est-elle en train de vous donner en enfant?” he asked, whose only reply was a shrug. - Your wife…is she going to have a baby?

Les pansements et les robes stériles – Bandages and sterile dressings
La bande hypoallergique de prémiers sécours – Hypoallergenic First Aid Tape
Les nettoyant antiseptique – Antiseptic cleansing wipes
Quelques baumes antibiotiques – Antibiotic ointment packs
Fil rétort – Sutures
Le Test de Grossesse – Early Pregnancy Test

Again, all the items had been placed in a small sack for him, Harry paid with some of the Euros he had acquired earlier.

Then, looking carefully around, Harry spotted a public toilet in the distance, popped in the gents’side, and entered one of the loos. Gently, he waved his free hand in front of his body, silently vanishing without witnesses.

He reappeared on the same beach at where they had earlier arrived, and sprinted to the shack where the others were waiting.

“Here are the things you needed. They recognised me at the shops,” he related coldly as Hermione began pulling the potions from the sack. She opened the first bottle and began to prepare a dose for Fred.

“No, not yet, we have to leave now,” he demanded and took the bottle from her hand.

“Harry James Potter, this will only take a moment and might speed his recovery.” She held her ground, retrieving the bottle from Harry.

He rolled his eyes at her stubbornness, letting her take the bottle, “Fine, just this one, but then we must leave.”

“Agreed.”

She poured a small amount of potion into a glass and held Fred’s head up. “Here, it’s a Blood-Replenishing Potion. Drink it,” she commanded.

Fred took the glass to his lips and drained the solution in one gulp.

“Ok, Harry, I guess the others can wait a bit.”

Harry then repeated his spell on the table, his hands once more silently glowing blue. He pressed his hands to the table and it trembled briefly before returning back to normal.

“Quickly, everyone, we have to go, that other ‘ me’ should have picked us up. Fred, as soon as we get to our next location, you’ll be fine.”

Hermione Granger had stayed closer to her former enemy than anyone else, unwilling to leave him to suffer alone. Feeling safe for the first time in ten years, she had joined this strange group, avoiding another bout of his mistreatments.

The other Hermione examined Fred’s wound again, and after a brief check of his vital statistics, nodded to Harry. “He’ll be better once we get to the next spot, but he’s weak.”

“Then quickly, everyone hold the table,” he ordered. Everyone followed with immediate compliance, except for Fred’s twin.

“No, you’re a fool if you think they won’t send out spellseekers,” George protested. “I’m taking my brothers home, and you can continue your little adventure without us.” He pulled Percy by the arm and motioned to Fred.

Before either could lift the injured man, Harry stopped them. “I fully expect them to follow us, for a while at least. Haven’t you ever seen a fox hunt where the prey slipped away?”

The grumbling from the Weasley clan continued.

“I understand what Harry’s saying,” Sirius piped in. “Let him think we’re roaming the countryside, and let them follow for a bit, right?”

“Exactly. We won’t be able to conjure a glass of water without their finding us. This also gives Hermione the chance she needs to help your brother, George. Plus, I’ve allowed myself to be seen enough to give them a decent trail to follow. Now, if you want to remain, then I can’t stop you, but as long as you remain here, I can’t protect you.”

“The same way you protected Fred?”

Harry hung his head low, “I underestimated my other self. It won’t happen again. Stay now and face him alone, or leave with us so we stand a chance to end this.” He finished by placing his hand to the table, followed by both witches and Sirius. George looked to his twin, and received a nod.

Reluctantly, the two remaining Weasley’s joined the others as the table once more vanished.

This time, the group reappeared at the summit of a mountain instead of a beach. The table had landed cocked to one side, and Fred, who had been laid on its top for the journey, began to slide off. Hermione Granger held onto him tightly with all her strength before Harry succeeded in leveling the table. To their added misfortune the group had landed on this mountain in the brief interval of a brewing storm. The vividness of the lightning in the Black Forest and the crashing, rolling, and booming of the terrible and majestic battery of heaven was astounding.

To one side of the summit, a road wound through the thick forest and past its peak. It lay only a few hundred metres away and from their vantage point was currently empty. Harry waved them all forward, abandoning the table from the Burrow and following a path away from the road. George carried his brother through the thick woods, unwilling to let anyone assist.

The worn path led them through the thickest part of the Black Forest , down to a simple bridge crossing a small stream. A chain-link fence separated the forest from a well-manicured garden with a natural stone-paved footpath. The path then passed through a trellised opening and down a simple set of steps to a wooded patio of a cottage. Old trees neatly covered the surrounding area from view, obscuring their next resting place.

A small fountain sat on one end of the patio, nestled in the flowering shrubs. Simple benches provided a sanctuary for personal meditation, and looked out to a small grass-covered yard. A simple child’s swing set constructed of thick timbers revealed that this was not just a house but someone’s home.

“Inside, everyone. Quickly, and try to keep quiet,” Harry ordered.

He led the procession through a glass door into an enclosed conservatory. Potted wintergreen plants of various types, mostly bamboo, ivy, laurels, and rhododendron, stood in neat rows along the glass wall, silent guardians. The abundance of plants inside the room accompanied with the glass walls also helped to hide the house from view.

The door from the conservatory into the house opened to a terracotta floor that covered the hallway into the main living room and attached rooms. In one corner a cozy arrangement of matching leather sofas surrounded a tiled, wood-burning fireplace, which proved too small to accommodate access via the Floo Network but was just the right size for quiet romantic evenings. A dining area adjacent to the glass walls of the conservatory gave a breathtaking view of the edge of the Black Forest . A large kitchen opened opposite the conservatory, with several closed doors down the hallway that obviously led to the bedrooms.

Exhausted, the refugees filed into the cottage. George took his twin directly to one of the bedrooms, with both Hermiones following, Hermione Potter carried a satchel filled with the potions and Muggle medical supplies Harry had procured. Her skill in Healing and the concern of her counterpart for Fred kept the three isolated in the room for several hours. The rest adjourned to separate bedrooms, for much needed rest.

Hermione measured a number of potions, ready to administer to both her patients. “Here, Fred, this one is another Blood-Replenishing Potion, and another to help calm your thoughts.”

She poured an amount of another potion into a clean, folded cloth, and applied the purple fluid to his wound.

“Bugger that,” he yelped. A whiff of smoke drifted from his side.

“It’s a wound-cleaning potion, to avoid infections,” she stated in a calming tone.

“You could have warned a bloke before you tried that.”

“Sorry, it’s necessary.”

She took a clean bandage from the Muggle supplies and poured a measured amount of the thick, yellow Murtlap Essence on it, securing the bandage to his side with some adhesive tape.

“There. Give this a day or so and there won’t even be a scar to show.”

She ran her fingers through his thick red hair, and smiled with thoughts of Ron and Luna waiting in her reality. “Hermione, I’d like to see you in the adjacent room. I need to inspect those welts on your back, and deal with that ankle.”

The two nearly identical women left the room to allow the wizard to sleep, Hermione Granger still walking with a slight limp. Harry stood at the end of the hall, waiting, but his wife waved him off, closing the door. Once in the room, she motioned for her counterpart to sit.

“The ankle still tender?” she asked as she gently felt the swollen knot on her leg.

The other Hermione sucked in a mouthful of air at the touch.

“A bit, thanks,” she replied, and sat quietly for a few moments holding her ankle. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“This isn’t the way it was supposed to be, I can’t believe you allowed yourself to be abused like this. I mean, I know you as well as I know myself. I know how you felt about him, but that was ten years ago.”

“How would you know? You have no idea what happened.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. As best as I can tell, we shared identical backgrounds, up to the confrontation with Voldemort. My Harry defeated him, as yours did here, but there was a deviation that affected the both of you. I can help you, but I don’t know if I can help the Harry of this reality.”

“How would you have dealt with the situation?” Hermione Granger asked.

“That day something horrible occurred and I’m certain you did what could be done. The power you unleashed was beyond your ability to control, then and now. I’ve spent years trying to understand it myself. The difference between the two of us is Harry was there for me and I drew his soul to mine, while you reached out to the closest available: Ron and Ginny. My only guess is Harry’s power is stronger than Ron and Ginny combined.”

“Then why didn’t he die, like Ron and Ginny?”

“I don’t have an answer for that,” she confessed. “Now, drink these and try to rest.” She handed her several vials and watched her drain them both.

“Good. They should help. I need some sleep too. We’ll have plenty of time to talk soon.”

She stood and left her counterpart, who lay her head on the pillow and fell into a deep, restful, and dreamless sleep.

Hermione smiled as she left the room, finding that Harry had remained, still waiting for her. She quickened her pace towards him. For the first time since they had left the confines of Hogwarts, they were alone. Her first instinct was to throw her arms around his neck and find an enjoyable way to prevent him from drawing a breath.

As she approached him though, in those few steps she watched his features turn hard and cold. He wore his Auror’s mask. He held the door to the smaller room open. It seemed to be a nursery, with a crib in one corner and a small bed to the side.

“Please sit,” he commanded, his tone sending a deep message that something was deeply disturbing him, and that she was at the core of the issue.

“Darling?” she asked, puzzled. Since they had escaped from Hogwarts, she had felt a light, constant sting on her palm. Now that sting began to hurt; he was angry. She had not felt this much anger from him since before he defeated Voldemort; this was worse then his anger at Pettigrew.

“Wait.” He snapped his fingers, and a wave engulfed the room. “There, now we can have a private discussion.” He stood just out of reach, his hands firmly held behind his back.

Hermione sat and watched, and was about to ask what was on his mind when he spoke.

“I have to know, is it true?” His glance to her stomach instinctively sent her hand there.

“Yes, I believe so. That’s why I had you buy the test kit from the pharmacy.”

She leaned forward, trying to lighten the mood, but he stepped back.

“So you thought you could fool me into purchasing that test kit.” He paced in front of her, as he would during an interrogation.

“No, Harry. I needed to confirm my suspicions first. And after the past few mornings, I really don’t believe it’s necessary.”

She moved to stand, but remained sitting when he motioned her to stay.

“Who’s the father?” That one question cut deeper then the blade that pierced her chest. This sliced into her heart.

“Harry, there’s been no one else. How could you doubt me?” her face contorted as she tried to understand his question.

“The curse… I know how badly you want a child. And that one clause meant you could have someone else’s child, but not mine. So tell me, who is the father?”

She shook her head in disbelief and stood to face him, but before she could reply, his next question cut her again.

“I know you spent time alone with James in that first nightmare. Did you sleep with my ‘ father’?”

“You can’t honestly believe that, could you?” she asked with a near chuckle in her voice.

“I… I don’t know what to believe. Ginny had told me you spent time alone with James, and when the other Harry said you were dead, he said you admitted there was another older man.” He remained stone-like and distant.

“You, Harry Potter, you’re the father,” she said as she reached for his hands. “You of all people should know how much I love you. Read my thoughts, if you must.”

He felt her fingers try to intertwine with his but managed to pull his hands away. The look of frustration on her face that he would believe anyone else over her had done more to allay his fears than her responses had.

“The curse, I believe, is gone. That night with my ghost. Remember?”

“Yes, that was several weeks ago.”

“Three weeks and four days, to be exact. And if I calculated correctly, I’m one and a half weeks late. When we arrived in that reality, I can assure you I could not have been pregnant. The last thing the ghost said of that night was ‘Enjoy the gift.’”

She pulled him to the bed and forced him to sit. “Harry, I believe she stripped the curse from me and that now, she’s carrying that burden.”

“Why did you keep this from me?” he asked quietly.

“I didn’t. I only figured it out the other day, when I was trapped in the other Hermione’s prison. I worked out the dates three times, but then he read those notes and used them against you. He knows you because he is you.” She pulled his face to hers and looked deep into his eyes. The constant sting dissolved into a different sensation, and she smiled.

“You’re going to be a father, Harry,” were the last words he let her say that night.

Morning burned away into early afternoon before the couple emerged from their room. Four wizards sat in the lounge, Fred feeling strong enough to join his twin and Sirius in a game of Exploding Snap, and fragments of the cards played lay in smoldering piles on the table. Percy had managed to turn on the radio, and was continuing to search for the wizard’s channels.

“Bugger this, I can’t find the Wizarding Wireless Network anywhere,” he muttered.

“You won’t,” Harry replied as he and Hermione entered the room, arms wrapped around each other’s waists. “It’s a Muggle radio.”

“Well, look who’s finally awake. You know, a Silencing Charm doesn’t work when the furniture’s banging against the wall,” George grinned.

“The walls in this cottage are a bit thin,” Sirius confirmed with a boyish smirk.

Hermione’s face raised a few notches in colour before turning to her husband with a questioning look, to which he nodded.

“Harry and I have an announcement.”

“You’ve joined the British shagging team for the Olympics?” Fred shot back.

“First, I want to thank my wife for putting up with me. Today is our anniversary,” Harry announced, ignoring Fred.

“And to add to that news, recently I’ve had my suspicions, and now I’ve confirmed the results. We’re expecting.” Hermione added.

“Who? Is someone coming?” Percy asked while continuing to spin the radio’s dial. A well-aimed book struck him in the shoulder.

“You twit, she’s preggers. Or haven’t you noticed she’s been puking each morning?” Sirius grinned.

Before another word was said, the group surrounded the couple with congratulatory shouts and backslapping. The impromptu celebration attracted another, who paused in the hallway to observe. The group’s cheerful affections to the happy couple hit her hard. She remained on the outside and watched with emotions she had not felt in years.

“Give the lady some room,” Fred finally managed to push the others away and offered Hermione a chair.

“Thanks, Fred, but my legs are just fine,” she said, refusing the seat.

“So, when did this happen? I hope it was planned.”

“Not exactly planned, but something we both have wanted for years,” Harry replied.

He lightly kissed his wife’s cheek and strode into the kitchen, returning to the group empty-handed. Hermione Granger watched as Harry walked back to the group. The scene tugged deeply on her emotions, and she too turned to the kitchen, then back to the hallway, her left hand dangling by her side.

“Forgot to mention, the cupboard’s bare,” George commented. “Whose place is this anyway?”

“It belongs to the Muggle Interpol, the International Criminal Police Organization, ICPO. I’ve been attached to the Criminal Intelligence Analysis division throughout the Ministry; they maintain a string of ‘safe houses’ through out Europe.”

“Won’t that other ‘Harry’ know about these?” Percy asked.

“No,” Hermione interrupted, “these houses are strictly top secret, and even the Minister himself doesn’t know where they are. The Minister knows about them, but that’s all. The Muggle authorities don’t reveal much if they can avoid it.”

The figure in the hall lightly tapped her leg with the utensil she held.

“Then how do you know?” Sirius asked with concern.

“I know about a couple, this one, and the one in Belgium. There were a couple incidents where Ron and Harry needed a Healer they could trust.”

“Right. I forgot you both had a different life before this.” Sirius said with relief.

Hermione had been watching her counterpart in the hall, and a strange display the others had failed to observe. Hermione Granger alternated smiles and frowns as she seemed to mirror the group’s actions.

“Excuse me a moment.” She turned and left the men, who quickly returned to congratulating Harry.

Hermione Granger watched and slipped into her room as Hermione approached crossing from the lounge into the hall. The room she occupied was only a door away, it was an easy escape. A light rap on that door yielded no response.

“Hermione?” Hermione Potter called as she knocked again.

“Leave me be,” her counterpart called out.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. I’m coming in,” she replied, opening the door. Hermione Granger sat on the edge of the bed, rocking. The knife she had taken from the kitchen remained poised at her own throat.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Hermione yelled in shock, forcing her to lower the blade.

“Leave the bitch alone. You’ve interfered enough.” A sharp male voice from within the young woman commanded.

“No. She deserves better, and I will help her resolve her issues. That includes dealing with the both you, Ron and you, Ginny,” Hermione’s tone cut directly to the disembodied souls trapped in the witch. “I won’t allow you two to let her take her life.”

“You can’t save her, she’s useless to the rest of the world,” the other female voice chirped.

“The bloody hell you say, she’s not worthless. And I’ll find a way to return her to what she once was, a brilliant and gifted woman.”

Hermione sat on the bed, next to her other self, whose hands trembled as she fought the urge to raise the knife again.

One woman gently and calmly took the knife from the other tormented and trembling one, and allowed the frightened woman to embrace her.

“Shhh… you’re fine. I won’t let the memories haunt you,” the healer cooed to her patient.

“The-they wanted me to kill the beast,” she whispered hoarsely, “but I can’t. Please help me?”

“Yes, I promise.” The clean butcher knife fell to the floor.

“Why do you care?” she asked through her tears.

“Because it’s what you truly deserve. Now let’s begin.”

The Healer produced her wand, and uttered a charm as a flask floated into the room.

“We’ll start with this. Drink it.”

She handed a measured portion to her patient. “It will calm your mind and help you cope.”

She ran her fingers through the tangles of hair that matched her own and gently kissed her forehead. The thin woman laid her head on the offered shoulder, and released a deep sigh.

---

In the darkening forest a slight drizzle played hide-and-seek with the leaves; the mist folded around the trees like a soft blanket. The air was fresh and clean, quite refreshing after the musty odour of the castle in which they were recently held. In the distance, the Swiss Alps seemed so close they could almost be touched.

Wild flowers, surrounded by trees of the Black Forest, decorated the banks of the Tittisee at the eastern foot of Mount Feldberg. The oblong and glass-smooth surface of the lake afforded a beautiful view of the Black Forest. The leaves would soon change to brightly coloured hues of yellow and orange.

The forest and street surrounding the cottage provided ample warning of anyone who would approach. The view from the panoramic windows in the front of the dwelling held a view of a small village in the distance. The town of Feldbergerhaf at the east side of Mount Feldberg, a short two kilometres away on the Todtnauer-Hüttenstraße, could have been any small village in the heart of Europe.

Sirius left the cottage at the break of dawn the day after Hermione and Harry had announced their pregnancy. His task was simple: purchase rail passes for everyone in the group, two zone pass with a three-week expiration. He listed the home zone for each pass as Spain, hoping that that would help conceal their movements, and hopefully draw attention away from them.

To help pinpoint their last location, he Apparated to the far side of the village, conjured identification cards for each member of the group, and hailed a taxi to go to the rail office. From this point forward, they would live and act as Muggles. He used Harry’s Firebolt to return to the mountainside house. The entire excursion lasted nearly an hour, as he had been forced to wait for the Rail Office to open.

“There he is. Do you think they spotted him in town?” Percy asked.

“He’s been on the run for twelve years; I think he can handle buying seven tickets,” Hermione Granger sniped back.

“She’s right, Percy,” Hermione Potter added. “He’s quite capable of handling this task. But he was supposed to be noticed; that’s part of the plan.”

A glance shared between the two women revealed one was not simply patronising the other.

Hermione Granger seemed more on edge than the others. Her counterpart from the other world was the only one with whom she had shared her secret, the only one whom she trusted completely. She kept her distance from the others, mostly Harry due to the years of oppression.

Harry had been watching the other Hermione since her rescue, and the connection between the two women amazed him. The trust that had been built in only a few short days seemed to be the necessary link for the other witch’s mental and emotional recovery. Another wizard also watched the woman, the recent events forging different thoughts and purging his hatred for the murderer of his siblings. The mutual disrespect between Hermione and the Weasleys had not subsided in their short time together, except in Fred.

Fred held one memory of their shared captivity with more significance than the others, for while Harry had managed to free himself, it had been Hermione that had freed him and Sirius from their chains.

Hermione Potter had waited until Sirius returned to take the time to venture into the village for a little shopping, she spent much of the lunch hour in a different location.

The plan to leave would soon commence. Small groups, Sirius first and alone, then the three Weasley’s, followed by the two identical witches. Harry would remain behind in case of trouble.

Moments before dusk, Sirius slipped away.

“George,” Fred whispered to his twin, “you and Percy go first; I’ll be along in a moment.”

“No, we all go together; we’ve always stuck together.”

“And what if they get the three of us? No, you and Percy push on. I’ll be along with the others.”

“Ok, lads,” Harry interrupted, “time for you all to be off.”

“Go on, I’ll be there directly.” Fred gave his brother a pat on his shoulder and pushed them both out the door.

“Harry,” Fred addressed their leader, “let me go with Hermione. I have a couple things to say.”

Harry looked as his wife, and she nodded, taking a position next to the tall red-haired wizard.

“I meant her,” he whispered to Hermione, nodding towards Hermione Granger.

Hermione grinned her reply and stepped back to Harry, while the other woman looked puzzled. “Go on, I’m staying with Harry. You two go on.”

Fred reached a hand to the thinner woman and pulled her under his arm. “I never thanked you for blasting those chains. I was wrong about you.”

The witch continued to look puzzled, and shook her head. “No, I can never make it up to you and your family for what happened.” She turned away.

“Hermione, please. The others weren’t there and Percy is too thick to listen. What I wanted to say, when this is done, I want you to know you have a home wherever we are. Ron and Ginny both loved you, and I can see why.”

“Go on, you two, time to be off. Now. Down the main road about a kilometre to a crossroad. Then right and on to an alley between the first two houses. The others should be waiting there.”

Fred nodded and pulled Hermione closer, safely under his cloak. In unison they left the dwelling.

Harry held his Hermione’s hand, not needing to look at her to know she smiled. “I look good with Fred, don’t I?” she teased.

“She does, but I don’t think you’re his type.”

”Oh, then there’s a noticeable difference?” she teased.

“Let’s say I’d be able to pick you from a dozen ‘copies’.”

“Only a dozen? That’s not that reassuring,” she pouted.

He replied by intertwining her fingers with his.

“Then a hundred,” he said as he pulled her hand up and lightly kissed the back of it. “Time for us to go.”

They left the cottage in the Black Forest to join their comrades.

---

Boarding the train was a simple matter; each small group entered a different coach, and worked towards a pair of connecting compartments near the caboose. The layout of the carriages was reminiscent of the Hogwarts Express. This, however, was a Muggle train. The door to their second room was locked from the inside, while the connecting doors remained open.

“Remember, no magic for any reason from this point forward; no clues or traces for them to follow,” Harry reinforced to the others.

“And what makes you believe they won’t try to follow us on this train? They’re not stupid,” Percy inquired. He was as thick as ever, a man that played only within the basic rules, never venturing for a risk.

“He won’t follow this one, because Sirius and I both left spells and hexes on two different trains, in different directions,” Hermione replied. “One train headed to Paris and the other north to Sweden.”

“Now, time to shed all traces of the wizard world. Take your cloaks and stuff them all into this duffle bag. I’m afraid you’ll have to wear Muggle clothes from now on, Percy. Sirius, you still have that other sack?”

“Yes, milord,” his godfather teased with a graceful wave and bow.

“Stuff it, Padfoot,” Harry shot back, giving him a sharp whrack on the back of his head.

“Oy, can’t you take a bit of a joke?” Sirius asked as he rubbed his head in drawn-out motions.

“Here,” Harry pulled out various bits of normal, everyday Muggle clothes for each except for his wife’s twin. Hermione had taken the opportunity to purchase a few special items for her and her thinner counterpart during her shopping excursion, and since Hermione Granger had precious little when they arrived, she had had to dress in her new outfit prior to leaving.

“Keep your wands handy,” Harry said. “We don’t want to be unarmed.”

“So, if a train is heading to Sweden and another to Paris, exactly where are we going?” George asked.

“South.”

“But this train is heading to Vienna,” Percy observed.

“Exactly,” Harry said as he settled into a seat, Hermione nuzzled into him.

His travelling companions looked at him, puzzled by the response, or more specifically, the lack of information.

---

The trip began uneventfully.

Fred and Hermione Granger camped out on one side of the first compartment with the Potter’s; the others split up to find a comfortable spot. George and Percy refused to remain in the same compartment as Hermione Granger, evidence that Percy’s stubborn streak had begun to creep into George’s persona. They remained in the same compartment with Sirius. Fred though had not left Hermione’s side since departing the cottage.

After settling into their respective compartments, one of the group felt a different sort of rumble.

“Darling, it’s nearly 8:00, doesn’t the restaurant coach close soon?” she asked. That simple comment bringing additional grumbles for food, they left in total for the restaurant coach. Although their passes afforded unlimited travel, food was a different concern.

“Here.” Harry reached into to his pockets and produced a large bundle of Euros, giving each member an amount. “Dinner’s on me, but remember, we have to make this cash last for some time.” Nods from each of the group showed their understanding of the current situation.

In the restaurant car Fred and Hermione remained with the Potters, while the three others sat as a separate table.

“Harry, how long are we going to be running?” Fred asked between bites of his roast beef sandwich.

“I expect a month; he found us out too fast last time. That was my fault for bringing you all into that trap. I won’t allow another mistake like that.”

“So you intend to try to rid the world of him again by yourself?” Hermione Granger asked, her Healer had ordered a heavier meal heavy in protein to help her back to a healthy weight. She had begun to eat again, but could still only manage small portions.

“No, my error was I marched you all into his lair. I intend to force him out into the open. Then we’ll be on equal footing.”

“Not exactly equal, you have us in reserve,” Hermione corrected from his side. Her appetite had grown, not unexpectedly. She and Harry shared a Bauernplatte that consisted of a smoked Bratwurst, a Polish sausage and a smoked pork loin, ample food for three.

“Not sure what good that one’s for,” Percy whispered from the other table, with a smug look to George and Sirius, as he motioned toward Hermione Granger.

He was answered with a smack across the back of the head from Sirius. “Mind your attitude, Weasley, she’s one of us whether you like her or not.”

One Hermione had not heard the remark, but unfortunately the other more powerful witch had, and she made a mental note to later correct Percy’s remarks against her patient.

“How true,” Harry said in reply to Hermione, “We need to plan a way to force him into the open, where we have an advantage.”

“Mate, that’s not going to happen,” Fred commented idly as he took another bite from his sandwich.

“There is a way,” the witch next to him said. “Me.”

“He hunted her down the time she disappeared,” Fred added. “He’ll do it again.”

“He had a good idea where I was then,” she said.

“But now if all has gone as planned, it’ll take some days or weeks for him to find us.” Harry added, then looked down at his plate, whose contents had dwindled down to mere scraps.

“What? I was starved.” His wife said in defence. She threw her arms up as if confused as to his queried look.

Harry shook his head and stood from the table, giving her room to exit. He gathered the checks and left a handful of notes at the register. “I’ll get this one.” He said cheekily as he and Hermione left for their compartment.

Hermione needed time alone with Harry. Having mentioned this to her double before arriving at the table, the witch silently thanked her counterpart as she deliberately kept Fred in the restaurant with the pretence of dessert.

Once safely alone, Hermione began her plans. Quickly pulling her husband to the bench seat, she pressed a finger to his lips, “Whisper, I don’t trust the walls. You have no intention of heading past Vienna, do you?”

“No, I’ve discussed this with Sirius; we’ll head south from Vienna, to Italy.”

“Milan? Is that where you’re thinking to face the other you?”

“No, that would simply be the first stop. We’ll charter a plane in Milan and send it off to Egypt, then continue to Rome. The wizard community in Rome will help hide us for a while. I don’t feel comfortable with the others’ duelling abilities. I haven’t actually seen any of them in a fight, not here at least.”

“So, to Rome to train them up on their skills. Yes, I can see the merits. How are they going to practice if we have to avoid using magic?”

“Umm… I haven’t worked that part out yet, but we have around four or five days before that’s an issue,” Harry admitted to Hermione.

“Whatever we do, we can’t let him split us up. It’s frightening how devious your mind could have been, to murder in cold blood and pretend that...” she shuddered at the thought, unable to verbalise the experience Harry and the others related.

“I know. That’s why it’s imperative we all train together as a team. There’s got to be a way for George and Percy to accept the other you.”

“Mm hm. Fred has done a radical turnabout. Perhaps he can have a chat with his brothers.”

“That may do, but for the moment, I’ll keep her from the others,” he said as he pulled his wife into his arms and sat with her. The landscape flashed by, streaks of lights from various street lamps and distant homes giving the ride an eerie feel, and appearing vaguely familiar to them both.

“Reminds me of a movie at the cinema. It looks like we’re flying in space,” Hermione said, raising her voice to its normal volume, and putting her head to rest on her husband’s shoulder. She drifted into a light sleep, mesmerised by the streaks that shot past them.

Caterina Pasqualina Basile was a young woman living with friends away from home, studying at the University Of Music And Performing Arts In Vienna. She was only a few years older than her roommates, a direct result of honouring her family’s wish to complete her schooling at home in Naples before venturing into the outside world. Her first years had been spent honing her practical skills in the hope of a successful future, but now she wanted to nurture her artistic talents. She had the gift of touch, and that had led her to the violin; the artistry of her music was pure magic.

As a young girl, when her fingers danced in the execution of her chores, whether she prepared the evening meal or simply combed her long, dark blonde hair, they were gracefully simple to watch. She mesmerised many a young suitor by a simple touch of her hands, seemingly entrancing them to her will. Her extra years of school prior to attending the university had trained her to use that skill at an expert level; her feats astounded her instructors.

The violin came so naturally she thought her other talents would simply lay wasted. But she would realise soon enough that her other abilities would play a major role.

That morning began as normally as any other. She typically woke earlier to begin preparing a hearty breakfast for three. She always pulled her long, dark blonde hair into a bandana, like her mother always did. A silk dressing robe covered the pyjamas she still wore while labouring in the kitchen. Her two flatmates slept in while she prepared their meal.

This morning began as a normal day.

This would be the last normal day she would enjoy.

“Mmm, it smells wonderful,” Laura complimented as she lightly embraced Caterina. “You always seem to have a magical flair when you’re in the kitchen; it puts me to shame.”

This was a fairly typical university flat; the two women shared the accommodations with another friend, Daniel Meyers. Daniel Meyers and Laura Mitchell had grown up together and had been childhood playmates from the crib; their parents too had been long-time friends. The roundabout trek they had made to this university began when they both had been selected to attend The Juilliard School in New York City.

Caterina was the newcomer in this trio, introduced as a permanent third member by Laura. Laura and Caterina had been classmates in their first term three years earlier, in Music Theory, and had sparked an instant friendship. Laura’s family in the United States had influence and money, old money, and had set her up a trust fund to support her life here in Vienna. Daniel’s circumstances were very similar. Either could have justified the apartment they shared, and the fact that they lived together helped seal the unspoken betrothal the two families expected.

Caterina’s presence in their lives was kept secret.

Her family, in contrast, lived a simple life in Naples. Her father owned a bakery, handed down for several generations; the modest income it provided was enough, though scarcely enough for Caterina to squander on lavish surroundings. The young musician sought employment her first week in Vienna, but met with failure. She fell into good fortune with this friendship; Laura had watched her struggle during their first week of classes together, and found herself mesmerised with the grace of her hands when she had held the violin. Laura’s heart opened instantly to her, once she had learned her need of a home. The relationship between the three of them was beneficial for all. Laura’s obsession with the flat afforded the others the freedom to pursue their own desires. Caterina’s upbringing and extra talents in the kitchen were favoured due to Laura and Daniel’s lack of culinary skills.

“Please, see if Daniel is awake?” she asked Laura in broken English.

“He was snoring away when I got out of bed. Let me go wake him,” she replied, leaving her roommate alone in the kitchen.

Caterina smiled as she heard the commotion down the hall. Upon hearing a shriek of surprise, she knew Laura had found a unique method to rouse Daniel from his sleep.

“Get up, you lazy bum.” Sounds of a crash shortly followed, then a scream, and lastly, giggles.

After a few minutes of silence, her two friends entered the large eat-in kitchen; Laura strolled in while Daniel had a slight limp.

“Crazy witch,” he muttered, “waking a guy from a dead sleep.” He fell into his seat, and rubbed his shin.

Laura laced her arms around his neck, and kissed his cheek, “Sorry, my love, but maybe next time you’ll remember not to leave your desk chair in the middle of the room.”

“With luck there won’t be a next time,” he growled playfully. The banter between them was part of their charm, part of the unique love they shared.

“Please, Daniel, let’s not have this fight at my home tomorrow,” she ordered with a deep sigh. “The train leaves soon after the morning meal. I will file for the tickets this morning.”

“You mean after ‘ breakfast’, and it’s ‘ buy’the tickets,” Daniel corrected absentmindedly while he spooned sugar into his cup.

Laura smacked his arm and gave him a look.

“Please, Laura, he is right to fix my words. How else can I learn English to spend the Christmas with your families?”

“Don’t worry about it! Your English is fine; our families will love you, just like we do. You know that,” Laura said. She knew how self-conscious Caterina was about her English, although her German was almost natively perfect.

Caterina smiled warmly and gave her closest girlfriend a loving kiss on the forehead, “Please finishes. I need a shower, then to the tickets.”

When Daniel started to stand, she placed a warm hand on his shoulder, “No, I will get them. You both have large classes, and I have a meet with my professor.”

“There’s some money in the house jar. Use that, not your own, ok?” Daniel instructed.

Caterina nodded and left the kitchen for a quick shower before a meeting with one of her professors. She did not take the money from the jar when she left.

The walk from their flat to the professor’s office led Caterina through the small village, past a café with late-morning customers enjoying the new day. As she hurried to her appointment, she concentrated squarely on the upcoming meeting. Her class work had been uneventful, and she expected the talk was meant to bolster her efforts. She was trying to mentally list all the possible ways to improve her grade when she walked headlong into a woman nervously looking about the café.

“Ach, entschuldigt bitte mich,” Caterina said after regaining her composure. – “Oh, please excuse me.”

“Excuse me? I don’t speak German very well, Ich sprech klein Deutsch,” the woman replied. – “I speak little German”

“Nein, es heißt 'ich spreche kaum Deutsch' oder 'ich spreche keinDeutsch',” Caterina corrected. – No, it's 'I speak little German' or 'I don't speak German'

“I’m sorry, I still don’t understand,” the woman said trying to thumb through a translation dictionary.

“What you should have said was 'ich spreche kaum Deutsch' or 'ich spreche kein Deutsch.' Those dictionaries are worthless.”

“You speak English?” she asked in amazement.

“Of course and also my native Italia, and as I said earlier, I’m sorry I wasn’t concentrating on my direction,” she said as she turned to continue on her journey.

“Wait, can you tell me how to get to the train station? I’ve been looking for it for an hour. I’m meeting my husband; he sent a message for me to meet him there.”

“Three blocks up that street,” Caterina said and pointed to the road around the corner from the café, “and turn to the right one block.”

“Thank you, Miss…”

“Caterina Basile,” she said extending a hand.

“Metilda Weasley. Pleased to meet you,” the woman replied, taking her hand.

“Now, I must go, I have an appointment for my professor,” Caterina said, leaving for the university offices.

Caterina waited at the door for nearly ten minutes; her appointment was for 11:00 that morning. She had arrived early but now regretted that decision. Nervously, she squirmed in the chair outside the office, knowing that being summoned to speak to the head of the department was never good.

The door opened and a silver-haired woman motioned for her to enter. The inner office was a typical one; rows of books lined the walls and a single oak table sat with a large, leather chair in front of the window. The man sitting in that chair also motioned for her to enter and sit in one of the two simple chairs before the table.

“Please have a seat, Fräulein,” he commanded.

She nodded and quietly walked into the office, sitting in the chair on her left.

“I have reviewed the results of your concerto you have developed for your thesis, and I’m afraid there are too many similarities to another’s work. Changing the piece to a different key does not make this an original work.”

“But sir, I spent the past three months on this work. I can assure you I have not taken my inspiration from anyone else. I’m certain if you compare that other student’s notes to mine, you’ll see mind is original.”

“I have reviewed the piece you have submitted and I have had three other experts review your effort. They all concur this is simply a modified version of Mozart’s Violin Rondo in the key of C but written to use the key of E.”

“No, I worked on this in the privacy of my home. I remember the melody in my head as a girl.”

“Then it seems you’ve heard this played before, and are attempting to pass it as your own.”

“But I have to use this to complete the term’s requirements.”

“That is a valid problem, one I have no solution to. The term ends in two weeks. I expect an original work submitted at that time. Now, good day, Fräulein.” He looked down to his work where he had been presently slashing other students’efforts with his editor’s pen, ruining untold hours of effort.

Caterina stood, in a mild state of shock, and left the office.

‘Mozart. Cazzo, I copied Mozart,’ she thought as she left the building. She had another errand to complete that morning. The train station was only a short distance away but not far enough for her to clear her thoughts.

The line for rail passes was thankfully short, with only one man in line in front of her. She pulled out the notepad she had used to record her concerto, trying to concentrate on this disaster. ‘I couldn’t have copied from Mozart’ she tried to rationalise, as she flipped page after page.

“Look, mate, what I need to know is, when is the next train south leaving?” the man at the counter repeated.

"Wie ich schon sagte, der nächste Zug nach Süden steht erst für morgen früh auf dem Fahrplan."

Caterina listened to the obvious language gap between the Englishman and the ticket clerk. The man appeared concerned and nervous as he continually looked from side to side.

“Bloody hell, Mione could sort this out,” she heard him mutter. He had a rail pass in his hand as well as the schedule, but it was clear that this man was either illiterate or did not know what he needed.

Caterina frowned at his predicament; she had been extremely preoccupied with her professor’s negative critique of her last work to notice the clerk and this Englishman were about to come to blows.

“Look, does anyone here speak English?”

“Sir, may I help?” Caterina asked.

“Please, if you could be so kind. I need to know…”

“Yes, when the next train leaves for South. As this gentleman has been trying to explain, the next train south leaves tomorrow.”

“That late? We hoped to be on our way today,” the man said.

She turned to the clerk to ask a few questions of her own, “Können Sie mir sagen, wieso es diese Verspätung gibt? Heute sollten noch mindestens drei Züge fahren, und morgen noch weit mehr.”

“Was ist denn mit den anderen Zügen laut Fahrplan? Da sind doch noch mindestens drei?” – Excuse me, why is there a delay. There should be at least three more trains today and a good number more tomorrow.

Her new companion stared at her in utter confusion.

“I simply asked why there is a delay. There should be at least three more trains today and a good number more tomorrow.”

"Es hat Berichte über außergewöhnlich wilde Tiere gegeben, oder verwilderte Tiere, die die Züge angreifen. In Italien hat es Fälle gegeben, und in Frankreich auch. Allein in Bonn wurden drei Personen getötet. Man versucht gerade, die Züge zu reinigen, aber sie werden nicht vor morgen früh wieder freigegeben werden." – There have been reports of unusual feral animals attacking the lines. Some in Italy, some in France. There have been three people killed in Bonn alone. The authorities are trying to clear the rails, but they won’t be open until tomorrow at the earliest.

"Wirklich? Verwilderte Tiere?" – Really? wild animals?

"Ja, davon haben die Berichte gesprochen." – Yes, wild animals.

"Oh... Vielen Dank." – Thank you sir

"Bitte sehr, und ich danke Ihnen für Ihre Hilfe mit dem englischsprechenden Herrn." – You're welcome, and thanks for helping with that Briton

She turned to the Englishman to relate this new information. “He said there have been attacks on the trains, some unusual animals. It happens in many places, and three have died in Bonn.”

The man’s face turned hard at the news. “Exactly what animals?” he asked.

“He was not clear, some large wild animal, large enough to stop the train at least.”

She turned to the clerk once more, “Ach ja, und außerdem hätte ich gern drei Rückfahrkahrten nach Neapel, für dieses Wochenende." – Excuse me, I need three round trip tickets to Naples for this weekend.

"Zweite Klasse?" – Second Class?

"Ja." – Yes.

"Aber gerne. Das wären dann... hundertsiebenundvierzig Euro." – Of course, that will be one hundred forty-nine euros

She opened her purse, and began to dig for her money. When she looked up, several fifty Euro bills sat on the counter, and the Englishman had turned to leave.

The clerk handed Caterina her passes and change, and then she ran in the direction of the Englishman. He had almost turned the corner when she caught up to him.

“Sir, that was unnecessary,” she panted, “I did not require you to buy these tickets.” She held out the sum he had left, offering it to him.

“That’s quite alright; I would have been there for hours if you hadn’t assisted. Please accept this as a token.”

“Which way south are you going?”

“We’re touring parts of Europe. I had been to Italy years ago and thought we’d venture that way.”

“Such a co-incidence, I travel to home on the train with my companions. Where in Italia do you visit?”

“I’ve been to Naples on business once, and thought my family would like to visit there.”

“My home is in Naples. If you wish I could show you around the village.”

“That would be very kind, but I must warn you, I’m with my family.”

“Even better. Please invite them.”

“No, I’m afraid that’s not possible, my wife’s sister has been ill, as is my step-brother.”

“Please, for your kindness I insist.’

“That’s extremely kind. I’ll ask my family, and we’ll look for you. I believe we’ll be on the same train. Now, I must return.”

They turned and parted company. Still holding the money and the rail passes in one hand, she turned on impulse, “Sir, if you please, have you dinner plans? I would be grateful if you and your family would join us tonight. It seems my budget has received a bounty.”

“Thank you, that’s most kind. I have to retrieve the others; I’ve left them in a waiting room for the next train. They are just around the corner.”

“Of course, I have finished my obligations this morning,” she said, then sighed, remembering that her grades for this one project were in jeopardy.

“We could meet at your flat, say 5:30? If you could give me directions, or— I have an idea— come with me, and you can give my wife the directions.”

He smiled and ran his fingers through his thick, unkempt black hair. On his forehead she noticed a distinctive scar; her heart immediately jumped to her throat and she felt her blood rush from her face.

“Y-Yes,” she stammered slightly. She hoped her change in attitude was not noticeable, as well as she hoped her hand sliding into her pocket had not been not noticed either.

She kept looking at his face, and the scar.

He turned in the direction of the train platform, and led them directly to a waiting area. Caterina walked next to him, trying hard not to stare; a knot had formed in her belly when she had recognised him. Her hand remained in her pocket, where she held her one means of defence.

“I’m sorry, miss, how terribly rude of me, my name is Herman, Herman Gratter, and yours is?” he said as they walked together.

She blinked at his introduction, almost an afterthought, and thought she must have imagined that scar. She had heard wild stories where the size and shape of the legendary scar varied greatly. She hoped it was just her imagination run wild. “Catty, I mean Caterina, but my, how do you say, friend boy calls me Catty.”

“Boyfriend. So, you have a young man in you life?” he asked, grinning. Caterina found his attitude charming and pleasant, quite unlike the stories.

“No, not my lover,” she said adamantly shaking her head. “I live with Daniel and Laura. We are close; they are like my family here, in Vienna. I take them home for my family to meet.”

“I see. Here we are.” He held a door open to the waiting area where seven others sat, three women and four men. One of the men was decidedly older then the others and two of the remaining three men seemed to be in a heated discussion with last. One of the women stood behind that last man in the argument; Caterina recognised her as the woman at the café.

“Caterina, this is my family, as it were.” He held a hand to one of the women, who appeared to have a strong resemblance to each other, though the one whose hand he now held was slightly heavier than the other. “This is my wife, Harriet, and that is her, sister, Sarah.”

Caterina walked over to the first woman and held out a hand, “Pleased to make acquaintances.” She tried to paste on a smile, and shook the woman’s hand. She smiled at the initial touch, and remembered having the same sensation from an acquaintance a year earlier.

“Love, she’s been so kind to help with the ticket vendor, and has offered her home for dinner tonight. I need to have a chat with uncle for a moment, could you get directions from her?”

Harriet had stepped to his side and had given him an affectionate kiss in greeting, another change in the stories and rumours. “Of course. I think our uncle wanted a few words with you as well, Herman,” she said with a raised eyebrow.

With that, Herman took his leave and walked to the older gentleman in the group, who appeared slightly bewildered.

“Now, I understand you’ve invited my husband to your flat for dinner? Quite an unusual custom, I think,” Harriet said, her stern look boring through an already nervous Caterina.

“No, the invitation was for all. He seemed lost, and could not talk correctly for the clerk. I simply assisted,” she replied. “I did not see him leave funds for my tickets before he left; I wanted to return his kindness,” she wanted to be truthful, but her nervousness was not missed by Harriet.

“Yes, he is a bit irritating in that way,” she replied, seemingly relaxed. “He seems to think he has to personally help every soul he meets. I guess that’s just one of the things about him I find appealing.”

Caterina continued to stare, now slightly confused. “How long have you been with him?” she asked, not believing how stupid she was for remaining.

“It’s been seventeen years, and we married ten years ago,” the lady replied with a smile.

Caterina looked at Harriet carefully, and smiled for the first time. “And I see he makes you pleased,” she said.

“Yes, we’re happy together; he’s a special person.”

Caterina nodded and smiled. She reached her hand out and placed it on Harriet’s arm for a moment to be certain. At the touch she looked at Harriet’s tummy and cocked her head.

Harriet placed a hand on her abdomen and nodded, “Yes, our first. Now, what are the directions to your flat?”

Caterina smiled and finally removed her other hand from her pocket, feeling a calming relief. She relayed directions from the train station to her shared flat, mentally counting the people she invited and wondering how she would break this news to her friends.

Harriet seemed to memorise the directions instantly, and a few moments later Herman had joined them, with the uncle.

“Caterina, this is my uncle, Paddy. I’ve asked him to help you, shopping and such, if that’s acceptable.”

She nodded, still nervous at his command. ‘Wonderful, he’s given me a watchdog,’ she thought to herself. “Please, I have no need of help; it is not needed,” she said.

Paddy stepped forward. He seemed to be reserved, but she could see a fire in him that the years had not diminished. He held out a hand, hoping to break the ice, “Don’t think of me as anything more then a spare set of hands to carry the extra supplies.”

“Please to call me Catty,” she replied.

“Most of my close friends call me Padfoot. I guess because of my big feet,” he said. “Where shall we go first?” He motioned for her to leave, and followed a step behind her, though quickly catching up to her in a single stride.

“The market. I need to restock the kitchen. And then home to brew these potions for dinner.”

“Potions?” he asked.

“With the vegetables and a stock,” she replied with a shrug.

“Soup, it’s called soup. A potion is something a bit different.”

“So sorry, I have had to learn English only these past three years. My, as you say, flatmates are from the America.”

He nodded, noting her choppy sentences. “I spent a few years abroad there myself.” They walked down the boulevard past the café and around the corner to an open-air market.

“Here is the market. Please, how do Herman and Harriet like to eat?”

“Anything would be smashing. There’s a nice-looking roasting joint, is that acceptable?”

“Yes, there should be time for it to cook.” She signalled to the butcher and pointed to a large joint, opening her purse.

“No, Harr— er, Harriet left me explicit instructions. You are not to buy a thing.” He pushed her hand away from her purse, clandestinely noting its contents, then produced a large bundle of currency, pulling several sheets away and handing them to the vendor.

“No, my arrangement with Herman was for you to be my guests,” she shook her head in frustration. “Please, I am to buy dinner.”

“I’m afraid he’ll be disappointed if I let you. Just accept his generosity, trust me; this means very little to him.”

Reluctantly, she agreed, and handed the large joint to ‘ Paddy’to carry. At the next stop they purchased more ingredients for the meal as well as dessert, and a few choice bottles of wine. ‘ Paddy’doubled the order of wine she had selected, expecting to leave their host and her friends a few bottles for another time.

They walked briskly back to Caterina’s flat, and by the time they arrived, she gladly welcomed the assistance with the additional groceries. Daniel and Laura were still in class and not expected for another couple of hours.

“Thank you for your help,” she said. “If you wish to rejoin your nephew, I can manage.”

“It’s quite alright; they wanted to get rid of me for a while anyway. Here, let me help. I’ve been known to whip up a ‘ potion’or two in my time,” he said with a laugh.

She pushed him into the lounge, yelling some choice words in her native tongue, though continued to keep a wary eye on him from the kitchen.

She watched him as he sampled one of the bottles of wine they had purchased, and then as he glanced over the small library accumulated by the household, selecting a book that seemed to spark his interest and thumbing through the volume.

“Caterina, are you sure I can’t be of help?” he called out.

“I’ve nearly finished; please do not help. My companions should return from studies soon,” she called back.

She kept observing ‘ Paddy’as he sat back with the book and his wine. He held it as though he was actually reading, but she noticed he never flipped the pages, as if lost in thought. But then the door flew open, and she saw his hand quickly slip into his pocket, as if about to draw a weapon.

Caterina left the vegetables she had been chopping, and hurried into the hallway. “Daniel, Laura,” she called quickly, drawing their attention away from the stranger in the lounge.

“Catty, who’s the guy in…?”

His question was cut short when she embraced him, planting a ‘welcome home’ kiss on his lips. Daniel looked bewildered at the openness she displayed in front of a stranger while Laura snickered behind him.

“Shh, I’ll explain inside,” she whispered in his ear as she pulled them both into the kitchen.

“What—” he started, but she kissed him again still in the hall.

“I’m so glad you’re home, darling. Please help in the kitchen?” she said loudly.

She pulled them both aside quickly, and explained in a hurried whisper, “I had troubles with a stranger at the station, and I made a mistake to offer him and his friends dinner. This man is one of his group sent to watch over me. Don’t ask any questions, please. I have bad feelings.”

They both nodded in acknowledgment, knowing she had a sixth sense for trouble, and followed her into the lounge.

“Sweethearts, this is an acquaintance I had made this morning. Paddy, this is Daniel and Laura, the ones I live with here.”

The stranger stood, set down his glass and book, and walked to greet them, hand outstretched. “Pleased to meet you both. Caterina helped my nephew at the train station; I hope this isn’t an inconvenience.”

Daniel looked at the man standing across from them, and took his hand, “No problem. So your nephew is coming soon?”

Caterina interrupted, “No, their ‘ family.’I met them all, eight in total, but two have been ill.”

Paddy nodded, “It’s a fairly complicated story, but essentially, yes. Two of us had been hurt in an accident, and we headed abroad during their convalescence since staying at home would have been painful at the moment. I actually expect the others to arrive soon.”

Their wait proved short-lived as a light knock sounded at the door. ‘ Paddy’turned towards it as if a reflex had been triggered, and slipped one hand into his pocket. He walked to the door, being careful to stand on the side with the door-jam. He produced a small mirror from his pocket and after glancing at it, finally relaxed and opened the door.

A small group entered, all of them strangers to Daniel and Laura. Caterina came forward to hastily make the introductions, but the two sisters immediately hastened to sit down in the lounge. Caterina noticed that the thinner woman was leaning heavily on the other, favouring one leg. The third woman remained holding onto one of the men’s arms, as if he were a life-ring.

Daniel and Laura though proceeded to largely ignore Caterina’s hasty warning.

Laura busied herself passing out glasses of wine, and began a conversation with Paddy; all the while she watched Herman as he spoke to one of the two women, before walking with her to talk to Caterina.

Daniel on the other hand began demonstrating his latest ability. A friend had recently taught him sleight-of-hand, and he was currently entertaining two of the redheaded men by making a coin disappear and then reappear behind one of their ears. He fancied himself a skilled magician.

Caterina had retreated into the kitchen under the pretence of inspecting her dinner. Meanwhile, Laura had moved on to speak with Sarah and Paddy. Herman and Harriet followed Caterina into the kitchen.

“So,” Herman began, “you got along with my uncle? He’s really a kind and gentle man once you get to know him.”

Caterina turned to him, “Please, do not lie. I can tell there is little resembling you and the others. This one and the other woman look to be sisters, yes? But they are not. And the two with Daniel are brothers, but not you.” She bit her tongue at her abrupt remarks, but stood fast.

“So, you see there’s no family resemblance. You’re quite correct. Fred, George, and Percy are my brothers; their family formally adopted me eleven years ago at Christmas. None of us knew about Metilda until today, seems she showed up unannounced. Harriet is my wife of ten years, and Sarah, as you can tell, is related to her.”

“And Paddy? He’s not your uncle, is he?” she quizzed him.

“No. He’s my godfather, but he’s been as close to me as my father. My family was murdered when I was quite young. So you see; this actually is my family.”

She stared at him, and then at the others in the lounge. She finally sighed and began to relax, “I had an image you were someone else. Please, I’m sorry.” She reached to the couple and gave them each a hug and friendly kiss.

“Please forgive me, I had thought… I heard wild tales as a girl, but those were fantasy.”

“What stories?” Harriet asked.

“Fanciful tales of strange, evil men; they were folklore, nothing more.”

“I would like to hear more of these stories. Maybe on the train you can entertain us with them,” Herman said, putting the subject to rest.

“Darling, why don’t you see to the others? I’d like to get to know our hostess,” Harriet stroked her husband’s shoulder, and he left to rescue Fred and George from the clutches of the amateur magician. Caterina watched, cringing as Laura eyed Herman.

He joined the others as they all gathered for some small talk. Laura watched as he stopped to fill his glass, quickly moving to help.

“So, are you just travelling through Europe?” She laced her arm around his.

“Yes, sort of a convalescent trip. We had a difficult time at home and needed to get away.” He attempted to step back without seeming rude.

“Tell me about it, I’m looking for inspiration for a novel.” She edged closer. In the kitchen, Harriet, assisting Caterina in organising the dining room, failed to notice Laura’s one-sided advances.

“Caterina, that’s a very pretty name,” Harriet started. “I understand you’re here as a student. What are you studying?”

“The violin. I have magic with music. It is one of my passions.” She handed the roast to Harriet, and stepped into the lounge to call the others for dinner.

While Harriet set down the roast, Caterina carried several other dishes to the table; the group gathered around. Harriet watched as Laura positioned herself next to Herman. Sarah watched in mild amusement as her counterpart shook her head slightly and slipped behind Laura, lightly tapping her on the shoulder. “You do know he’s married, and I can tell you for a fact that his wife is a jealous witch.”

Laura looked at her, puzzled; when they held hands, an evil grin spread across Herman’s face, earning him a stern look from his wife.

“Oh, I didn’t realise. So you’re his witch— ahh, I mean wife,” Laura replied nervously.

“Correct on both counts. She terrified my cousin once; poor sod never talked to her again.” A round of snickers added to Laura’s deepening crimson face.

Harriet simply smiled and offered Laura the chair on her husband’s other side, which she declined. “It’s alright, I never did anything. I just threatened to turn him into a slug,” she said with a shrug.

Caterina’s eyes widened at the joke, and she mentally vowed to dig into that remark.

The evening’s tension broke with Laura’s misplaced affections, and the jokes now passed back and forth easily through the group. The rest of the evening wore on, the large party enjoying the merriment and fellowship of the night.

Later in the night, Caterina found herself alone with Harriet and made one last offer, “Please, stay the night. We can find room for you all. The train leaves early and the hour is such, I do not think you could find a hotel.”

“No,” she replied. “That is too kind and we won’t put you out.”

“Please, stay.” She held the other woman’s hands gently, the sincerity of her offer prompting Harriet to reconsider.

“I’ll have a talk with Herman,” she said. She needed to wait until later; he was currently in a heated argument with Percy.

The flat was a large one for three university students, courtesy of the affluence of both Daniel's and Laura’s parents. The flat had three private bedrooms, and in addition to the lounge and kitchen, a library and study room with ample space for their books as well as each of their instruments.

The past evening stood witness to not three, but eleven adults in that space. The three single women shared Laura’s bedroom. Often used to spending the night together, staying in one or the other’s room and talking late into the night, Laura and Caterina found that the addition of a third dulled their conversations; on the other hand Sarah discovered their newfound confidentiality bolstered her confidence.

Daniel offered to share his room with Paddy, Fred, and George. Herman and Harriet spent the night in Caterina’s room, and the remaining two spent the night in the library. All told, it was an amicable arrangement, and would have been perfect except for the loud snores emanating from within Daniel’s room.

The three women awoke first, Caterina before the other two, though Sarah followed her almost immediately.

“Go back to sleep,” Caterina whispered to her house guest,

“Can’t, I’ve been a light sleeper far too long. Can I help in the kitchen?”

“No, it won’t take much labour. But I would like the company,” she said, smiling.

Slowly, the others crawled from their rooms, a couple of the men looking the worst for wear due to their excessive wine consumption from the previous night.

Caterina and Sarah silently watched as Harriet disappeared into the toilet, her pregnancy obvious. “So, this is their first? I would think a couple such as they would have many children. He is so dedicated to her.”

Sarah held her stomach, and nodded, “Their first, from what I know. They lost some early on.”

“So sad and so terrible. How did it happen?”

“I don’t know the details. They haven’t told me much of their past.”

“So you two are not very close?”

“No, we’ve lost each other until recently. It’s a hard story.”

“Actually,” Herman added, coming into the kitchen, “we found out about Sarah only a few weeks ago.”

“How is that possible? Did you not know of each other as children?”

“It’s a long and involved story. We’re thankful to have found her when we did. She was not in good health at the time. Now, no more of this, it’s too painful for her,” Herman interrupted. “Now, what’s for breakfast and when’s the train leaving?” he asked.

“Two hours, but we must leave the flat before that.”

The others slowly joined the three in the kitchen, followed soon after by Harriet, looking pale. Caterina handed her a cup of tea, “Please. It will help your illness; I learned this from an old friend, it is a peppermint tea,” she said warmly.

“Thanks, it smells interesting.” She sipped from the cup, and her face flushed slightly. “Mmm, this is wonderful; I may need the recipe.”

As Harriet sat down to drink her tea, Herman left to pack their few belongings. Laura and Daniel also left to pack for their trip to Caterina’s family’s home, and shortly, the entire group was ready to leave.

Caterina’s initial suspicions had finally been replaced with a careful trust, convinced that her imagination had merely played with her mind, though today, she did hope there would be no more surprises.

The journey to the train station began normally enough. Daniel and Laura led the group, arm in arm. Caterina and Sarah remained in conversation at the rear. But then, the group noticed a crowd on the far side of the street.

‘No’, Caterina thought looking ahead, ‘not a crowd but a mob’. In a flash, the streets exploded with running people, the first group passed them in terror.

“Ein Tier!” – “It’s a beast!”

The group stopped; Daniel and Laura remained at the front, the redheaded twins behind them; their faces instantly anticipating trouble.

“Es ist hinter uns her, LAUF!” – “It’s after us, RUN!”

Daniel and Laura stood frozen while more people ran past them, screaming.

“Es hat Klaus getötet.” – “It killed Klause.”

More people ran past, injured and in pain. Several others lay in the street at the end of the block, all but one still able to move, though they too seemed to be dying.

Before any could react, before any weapons could be drawn, Daniel saw the beast; he turned and held Laura as the first blow hit them. It would be a fatal blow.

Petrified with shock, Caterina watched as her two friends fell less then a metre away, but was quickly pulled aside by Sarah into a small gap between two buildings.

The massive club swung again. George sidestepped the attack, pushing his twin aside only to receive a glancing blow shattering his arm. Percy, who had been walking a few steps away with his wife, managed to pull her aside to safety.

An innocent bystander who had stood frozen in terror had received the full force of the blow aimed at George. It crushed his chest, the snap of bone and spray of blood leaving little doubt that he died instantly.

Another swing of the massive club struck the side of a building a few metres from where Sarah had pulled Caterina, crushing the wall. They huddled together as Caterina screamed, “Era un troll... un maledettissimo, fottutissimo troll... cazzo... cazzo …” - "It was a troll... a goddamn fucking troll.... shit..... shit...."

The man she knew as Herman stood in front of them, arms stretched out, as if he were protecting them. Thick, blue bolts of pure light crackled from his hands and struck the beast.

“Un maledettissimo, fottutissimo troll... cazzo... cazzo...” she screamed, her hand nervously reaching into her pocket and pulling a thin sliver of wood. - "a goddamn fucking troll.... shit..... shit...."

Sarah continued to hold her while Herman stood facing the beast, striking it in the chest with his massive bolts. Singed flesh burst into flame. The beast fell back, unleashing a blood-curdling scream of pain.

“Cazzo... Cazzo...” Caterina screamed. Her hand shook as she pointed her thin shaft at the man in front of her and began to mumble. The woman with her grabbed the stick from her unsteady hand.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sarah said as she tossed the wand aside.

"Maledizione!" Caterina shouted.

“Hermione, help Daniel and Laura if you can,” Herman shouted behind him as another bolt flew from his hands into the beast. She looked at the two in a growing pool of shared blood.

“Hermione, Sirius, take him from the far side,” the raven-haired man screamed. Caterina noted the strange names.

Harriet and Paddy jumped as if trained in military tactics, they moved quickly to the far side of the street.

“Wands, Harry?” Paddy yelled.

“No, draw him away, I’ll deal with it,” he yelled back.

“Granger, how are Daniel and Laura?”

“Help me, I don’t know what to do,” Granger pleaded to her other self. “Daniel’s head is split open, but he’s still alive. Laura’s got a light pulse, but her chest is crushed and she can’t breathe. There’s too much blood.”

“Use your power, concentrate; you can help them,” Hermione called from the other side of the street.

“I-I can’t.”

“Yes, you must. You’re their only hope, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Hermione called back to her.

“You, you have to do it,” Hermione Granger called back as she kneeled at the two bodies.

The monster screamed again as thick, blue ribbons poured from the gaping wounds. Caterina saw a massive arm fall a few metres from it as it struggled to stand.

“I can’t, Daniel and Laura are beyond anything I can do,” she screamed.

“D-dead? They are dead?” Caterina mumbled as tears streaked from her eyes still tucked in her hiding spot.

“Just do what you can,” the Healer called out.

Defeated, Hermione Granger shakily put a hand on each of the still-warm bodies. Laura was unconscious and hardly breathing; Daniel was still awake but quickly losing blood; his skull had shattered from the falling debris, his back had received the initial blow while trying to protect Laura. His hand twitched once, and he tried to move. Hermione saw him flinch and placed his hand in Laura’s; she could feel him relax, she could feel that he wanted to die in her arms.

“D-Daniel? Can you hear me?” she asked.

One eye focused on her; he was unable to otherwise communicate.

“I can’t do anything to help. Please forgive me. Laura is here with you,” she muttered, tears now streaming from her face. She glanced at Caterina sitting in shock and mumbling in Italian.

The beast managed to stand while it screamed in agony as it swung the massive club from its remaining arm, now fighting for survival. The stone wall behind Sirius exploded.

Daniel attempted to speak to Hermione Granger, but could not. His one eye looked up and down, acknowledging her with uncertainty. She watched as he tried to squeeze Laura’s cold hand.

“I-I think I can help you stay with her forever. Is that want you want?”

Daniel’s one eye stared at the witch, and she sensed his answer. So, she closed her eyes and did as Hermione had told her. She felt a warm glow pulse through her body; it radiated to each of her hands on either of the two broken bodies.

A massive thud signalled the end of the troll, bringing the combatants out into the open.

Daniel arched in pain, the same pain Harry had felt ten years ago, the same pain that both Ron and Ginny had experienced. Laura was so far gone that she never felt the pain.

“Harry, I think it’s done for,” the man she knew as ‘ Paddy’called out. The man standing in front of her turned around.

“Harry, she had a wand,” Percy said, pointing to the thin stick nearby.

“Cazzo, è proprio lei... è proprio Harry Potter?" she screamed. - "Shit, you're him, you're that Harry Potter"?

Harry took a step towards the discarded wand and picked it up, then another step to close the gap to Caterina. He kneeled to her level, and replied, “I can’t understand you, but yes, I am Harry Potter, but since you’re obviously not who you appeared to be, I think we both need to explain, later when it’s safe.”

“L'avete ucciso voi? Maledizione... Maledizione...” - You killed it? Damn … Damn …

“Mione, I can’t understand a bloody thing she’s saying,” Harry called to his wife, on the other side of the street.

“Deal with it; I have to help the wounded.” She first checked the bystander, noted he died instantly then stopped at George to check his arm.

Two glowing orbs hovered over the broken bodies of Laura and Daniel as they lay together in a shared pool of blood. Caterina watched, though her eyes failed to comprehend the sight. Hermione Granger stood, as if in a trance; the raw life energy before her was intoxicating, inviting. She lusted for it, bringing her hands together to caress it; the two orbs merged and hovered between her hands. She held the glowing ball before her, longing to taste their souls.

Hermione Granger could feel Caterina nearby, grieving for her friends. She released the orb of the two merged souls. It drifted to Caterina, and alighted on her forehead, long enough for her to realise that even though her friends were now dead; their souls would remain joined forever. She said her final goodbyes and collapsed into Harry’s arms, sobbing softly.

Hermione Granger remained at the side of Caterina’s two fallen friends while her counterpart began mending George’s shattered arm. His arm needed several moments to knit the bones back, though much longer to subside the residual pain and that would have to wait.

After dealing with George, Hermione Potter came to help her counterpart and gently touched her arm. She could see the extent of their injuries and offered comfort, “You’re not to blame. It would have taken more skill to save them than either of us has. Life is too fragile.”

“I killed them,” she muttered, and collapsed in Hermione’s arms; both women fell to their knees.

“No, the troll did that; you released them from their pain and let them be happy in death,” she said as she stroked the other woman’s hair.

Caterina remained sobbing in Harry’s arms, still muttering to herself. The other wizards watched as Harry lifted Caterina. Sirius stepped to help the two Hermiones, but was stopped by one of the Weasleys.

“No, Sirius, I’ll take her,” Fred said, holding Sirius back. He lifted Hermione Granger’s thin body and turned towards the train station; the others followed. Percy and his mystery wife stayed in the back, isolated; Harry kept a wary eye on them.

During the short walk to the train, the group looked at the street, littered with bodies from the deadly attack.

---

“The train is going to be delayed again, due to the troll attack,” Hermione said as she returned from the ticket booth. Caterina was still mumbling to herself and holding on to Harry,

“How long is the delay?” Harry asked, trying not to upset Caterina.

“The ticket vendor implied that he had no idea; there were other ‘ animal’attacks elsewhere.”

Harry stood, giving her his seat. “Good. That should give me the time I need. I need you all to stay here and wait.” He turned and walked to Percy and his wife, and after a few heated words they left the waiting room.

Caterina now sat alone; all attempts Harry made to console her had failed. Her tears had long ago dried into streaks on her face, and her sobs had ceased. The only sign of life was her constant rocking as she stared into oblivion, her unseeing eyes showed little sign of life.

Hermione Granger too sat inconsolable, in her mind having taken, without a doubt, two more lives. Fred sat next to the witch, offering what he could. She looked at him, a new understanding of the past slowly helping to heal a wound. She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes in a vain attempt at a peaceful sleep. She held Fred’s arm tightly as she tried to let her shattered mind rest.

George’s arm was tied in a sling, the bone mended but the tissue still damaged and stiff. Time and care would see him through this injury. In contrast, Sirius and Hermione Potter had taken the attack and subsequent injuries of the others in stride, as warriors. They alone remained vigilant during Harry’s brief absence.

The lull in action ended a short time later as the door to the lounge gently swung open; Harry walked in and headed directly to his life partner.

“Darling, did you manage to finish your errand?” Hermione asked him quietly.

“Yes, it seems we’ve decided to charter a private Muggle plane and escape to the east or more precisely, Romania , I sent Percy and Metilda on the plane. Hopefully, they will be safe enough. I then left instructions for the plane to go to Egypt and then Peru . I know they’ll follow that plane; I paid them in wizard gold. I have a car waiting to take us to another station.”

“Harry, what did you find out about her, Metilda? She and Percy kept to themselves; I never got a chance to talk to her,” Hermione asked.

“Turns out she’s the one Fred and George planned that shower gag for. Percy married some Muggle and has been hiding her from them. I lost my temper with him because he took it on himself to send for her when he knew we were leaving. That’s how he found us.”

She nodded, understanding the reason Harry had sent them away; splitting the group could ensure that his forces would be divided as well, and Percy would be far safer elsewhere, once he discovered the deception.

The driver Harry had hired had a Volkswagen Caravelle, a good-sized vehicle for seven wizards. Harry remained with Caterina, nearly carrying her into the van. Hermione sat on the opposite side, trying to console her. Meanwhile, Hermione Granger’s remorse for Laura and Daniel spoke volumes to George; he was finally realising what his brother had accepted earlier. The drive to the other station passed in near silence, their driver’s report about some escaped creature the only initial chatter. The thirty-minute drive seemed an eternity to Caterina, who still remained silent.

They arrived at the perfect time; the conductor announcing that the only train to Italy that day was departing within the quarter hour.

The group quickly found a pair of adjoining compartments. Hermione Granger and Fred remained together, as he had now, after the battle with the troll, taken an even more protective stance over her. George’s arm, though still sore, had healed at an accelerated rate. At the station, neither of the twins would say a great deal about Percy’s actions except that he had proved little more helpful than the Muggle that the troll had crushed.

Once settled, the group opened the adjoining doors to allow open conversation. Caterina sat in the far corner with Sirius next to her and opposite from Harry and Hermione.

“Why did you choose to live without magic?” Sirius asked, hoping to draw her back before she lost herself.

She turned to look at Sirius, no longer staring into a void.

“Why did you give it up?” he asked again.

“It frightens me; to use this power does not seem natural,” she replied softly.

“That’s a natural reaction, coming from one born to a non-magical family. My family embraced it, and encouraged me when I was at school,” Hermione said, hoping to turn Caterina’s mind away from her friends’deaths.

“How do they feel about you now? Have they truly adjusted to the magics?” Caterina asked.

“They are not with us,” she said softly.

“We all have lost those we loved at some point. It’s one of the events I wish I could have changed.” Harry added.

“No, we both know the risk of tampering with the past,” Hermione said as she laced her fingers in his hand. “What’s done is done. We know they are happy for us.”

Harry nodded in agreement, leaving Caterina and Sirius in mild confusion.

“We have been in contact with them,” Hermione continued. “Harry had them interred in his, now our, family plots.”

“With James and Lily? I never had the opportunity to visit them before I had to disappear,” Sirius asked.

“Yes, at Godric’s Hollow.”

“You are all magics?” Caterina asked nervously.

“Yes,” Fred replied from the other compartment, “but we’ve been trying to get away, to hide. Hermione and I, and Harry to some degree, were all injured the day before we met you. His wife has been treating our wounds before we do what we all know is yet to come.”

The conversation remained solemn, each member of the group deep in thought during the early portion of their trip. With the exception of leaving for dinner that evening, they remained mostly silent. Nothing more was said of the attack.

---

Even though no one had an appetite, they left for the dining car as a group, except for two of the women. Caterina’s slow retraction from her comatose state began with a simple conversation that afternoon, but nevertheless she decided to remain in the compartment. Hermione Granger also remained, her jerky movements since they boarded the train proving she was far from ok. They both needed closure from the day, though Hermione Granger needed an even deeper healing.

“If you both change your minds, we ’l l have a space for you,” Harry offered as the group departed.

“We’ll bring you back a sandwich, if that’s fine,” Hermione added, giving her double a reassuring squeeze on her shoulder.

Hermione Granger flinched at the compassionate touch, though still looking away. She refused to look at Caterina, so Caterina instead took that first step, taking a seat next to the troubled woman.

“Sarah, I mean, Hermione, thank you for Daniel and Laura,” she began tentatively, speaking softly to Hermione Granger. “They touched me after you joined them. They are pleased to be together, I will miss them, but they are happy. I always knew they had love for each other. You gave them the love they were afraid to share in life.”

Hermione looked up at Caterina and spoke for the first time that day, “How can you say thank you?” she whispered. “I killed them.” She sat, lock-jawed and bitter. The abrupt transition that followed set Caterina off balance.

“So, bitch, you did it again. You’re just a bloody murderer; we weren’t enough to satisfy you,” she hissed at herself in a male voice.

“You should use that power on yourself, just once,” another voice screamed from Hermione’s mouth. She replied to the new voice by balling a fist and striking her own face. A trickle of blood from her lip told Caterina that this was not an act.

“What are you waiting for,” Hermione screamed as she stared into a reflection in the window. “Leave me alone! Get out!” She flailed her fists wildly at the spectres plaguing her mind, landing several blows effectively.

“Stop it,” Caterina screamed. She grabbed Hermione’s arms and tried to turn her around to face her, amazed at her strength for a woman who seemed so frail. Hermione pulled away, breaking free.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed, wildly swinging her hands. A horrified Caterina tried to stop her, but with one swipe of her arm, Hermione accidentally made contact. The blow to the side of her head was more than Caterina expected; it felt more like a man’s punch then a woman’s. Caught off balance, she fell into a tray on the side table.

The glasses and water pitcher fell to the floor, breaking; Hermione grabbed the largest shard from the floor.

“Get OUT!” she screamed as she drew the razor-sharp glass across her stomach, slicing her blouse leaving a red trail across her middle. She raised the shard high over her head, but paused before plunging it into her stomach.

Caterina took advantage of that pause, and grabbed her hand, staying another self-inflicted wound. She turned Hermione forcibly to face her, and stared into eyes wild with rage and anger. She watched as Hermione’s eyes changed, as if she were mentally struggling with other people, just as the two women were struggling.

The glass shard fell from Hermione’s hand as her eyes refocused. Caterina, dealt her a return blow, left a welt across her cheek, and screamed, “STOP! You did not kill them! The troll did that.”

Hermione froze as tears welled behind her eyes and her chin trembled. The two women fell together, one more than supporting the other. Caterina guided them both to a bench, keeping Hermione in a supportive embrace.

Hermione’s pain ebbing as her internal struggles died down, her head fell onto Caterina’s shoulder, and her weakened arms found her waist. First, her rapid emotional swing and now silent call for help moved Caterina as she stroked Hermione’s hair.

A quiet sobbing slowly replaced the arguments and screams.

“You did what you could; you left them happy. I will always remember them with the love we had for each other. I’m happy they are together,” Caterina whispered as calmly as she could.

Hermione looked up and tried to smile in response, but her ability to smile had been crushed years ago. So instead, she just nodded her thanks and tightened her arms around Caterina’s waist.

“You miss them?” Hermione finally managed to ask.

Caterina nodded, letting her tears find her again; this time they helped her to open up and begin healing. “Daniel was the first man I loved,” she admitted softly, almost as if she were alone and talking to herself. “And Laura loved him too. I’m happy they are together,” Caterina whispered.

“So you both were in love with him? I killed your lover?” the quiver in Hermione’s voice returned at the knowledge of Caterina’s loss.

“I loved Laura too. We wanted to be a family together, the three of us,” she said looking into Hermione’s eyes. “We were to tell my family this trip of our decision to live together. Papa thinks I wanted to show off Daniel to the family. I wanted to admit my feelings for them both, but now … Please do not tell anyone. Papa would not understand.”

Hermione nodded and sealed her promise with a mutually needed hug. Caterina returned the hug with a chaste kiss on the cheek. Hermione responded with a more intimate one. It was the first kiss she had shared with another person in more then ten years; Caterina’s response was equally passionate. Hermione’s embrace began moving to a more intimate position.

“No, please. This is not what you want,” Caterina said, pulling away. “You need someone that loves you, please. There’s someone here that wants to care for you and your child,” she whispered.

Hermione looked at the younger woman while shaking her head, and put a hand to her stomach. The cut was superficial, though deeper than a scratch, “I don’t want this bastard; it will be as evil as he is.”

“I do not believe that, and you don’t either.” Caterina tightened her hold around Hermione, and gave her another kiss on her cheek. “I can’t give you that same love, please,” she whispered her plea, and felt the woman in her arms relax.

“Thank you, for caring. No one else has in so long …” her voice trailed off as she felt her mood shift again. She began to shake, fighting her internal demons.

“I care about you, please; we both suffered today. Now, let me see to that cut.”

Caterina opened Hermione’s blouse, expecting to see a fresh wound, but the only evidence was the sliced blouse with a tinge of blood. She looked at the spot puzzled.

“My cuts heal quickly,” Hermione shrugged.

“Then change that blouse and come with me to dinner?”

“Yes,” she said with a pained smile.

They left the compartment, arm in arm, for the dinner car to find that Harry had indeed saved them seats, with large, inviting sandwiches in front of them. Agreeing to keep their previous experience together a secret, the two women went to join the rest of the group.

The morning after the troll attack that took Daniel's and Laura’s lives, their train arrived in the station at Piazza Garibaldi. The madhouse activity of boarding created the perfect cover for the group as they departed; the few bags they carried not requiring a porter.

“Please follow me. Papa will be waiting just past the market,” Caterina instructed. She and Hermione Granger walked together, with Fred on Hermione’s other side for support. Harry and his wife followed, hoping to blend into the crowd, with Sirius and George a short distance behind them.

The throng of people largely ignored the refugees from a world unknown to them, only casually noticing that several of the men seemed overly dressed for the climate.

“Bloody hell, Caterina, you could have warned us it would be so awfully hot,” George complained as he stripped off as much as decency would allow, Fred and Sirius imitating him, though without the complaints. Harry, both Hermiones, and Caterina had already changed into appropriate clothing.

Acting like tourists, the others fanned their faces in the heat of the morning. Caterina found that she too had been away from home for too long, as beads of perspiration ran down her cheeks.

“You said your father is waiting? Will he have enough room for all of us?” Hermione asked the girl as they hurried across the square.

“I told him Laura tends to travel with many bags, so he may have the furgone,” she replied.

“But will his car hold all of us?” Fred asked.

“No, not car. Furgone, for his work, to deliver his breads and cakes.”

“She said his wagon or truck,” Hermione corrected from behind.

“Yes, his work truck, the same as the one you hired in Vienna,” she replied, nodding at Harry.

“Whose idea was it to come here in the middle of the summer?” George complained again.

“Would you rather have gone with Percy?” Sirius asked; he had stripped down to his undershirt.

“Anywhere else might be better,” Fred added, sniffing the air. “Where’d he end up anyway?”

“Romania, yesterday afternoon,” Harry answered. “I could make the arrangements for you to join him if that is what you want,” he added grimly.

“No, Harry, I think he got the worst of it,” Fred huffed as they quickly crossed the square.

“Yes, Romania is too far from the sea. My family’s villa is comfortable, overlooking the sea,” Caterina said, hoping to appease them.

The group had crossed the crowded square when a tall, elderly man, stocky but firmly built, approached; his hair, though thinning and grey, still showed some signs of ebony. His smile grew as he spied the long, blonde hair of his daughter in the crowd. He waved at her and the two that walked beside her to get their attention.

“Catty, come, I have the car waiting.” Father and daughter threw their arms around each other for a few long moments before Caterina’s father looked around the large group, then turned his attention to the couple that stood next to his daughter, puzzled, “You must be Laura and Daniel. Catty’s told us so much of you.” He reached for Fred’s hand for a proper greeting.

“Sir? My name’s Fred and this is…”

“Sarah Gratter.” Hermione Granger added quickly.

“But I expected Daniel and Laura. Are they not coming?”

At his simple question a grief-stricken expression appeared on Caterina’s face. “No, Papa,” she said, “that now is impossible. There was an accident yesterday at the train station.”

“Are they well? Were they hurt?” her father asked as he reached for his daughter, who gratefully found comfort in his arms.

“No, Papa. They were badly hurt and there was nothing the doctors could do for them. There was a disturbance and we all had to leave.” At that statement the others stepped closer, and Caterina’s father realised the news he had heard on the radio had been about her friends.

“Excuse me, my name is…”

“Harry,” Hermione interrupted, “he deserves the truth.”

He nodded, then held a hand out to the elder man. “My name is Harry Potter and this is my wife, Hermione. We made Caterina’s acquaintance two days ago when she assisted me with a slight language barrier. When we discovered we were heading to the same destination, we decided to travel together. When we arrived at the station, her friends were unfortunately in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Papa, they did much to help. Harry stopped the problem at the station; he is also special.”

Her father stared at the new faces and back to his daughter. “Like you?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, “Only they have more than any others I’ve known.”

He now surveyed the entire group, and noticed they all seemed slightly out of place, even in normal clothing. He looked to the man that had addressed him and took his hand.

“Cat is an exceptional judge of people, and you are the first like her she has brought home. Please, the car is just over here.” He pointed to the van at the curb, and guided them all to the vehicle, careful to keep his daughter close, as any protective father would.

The group crowded into the van; Harry sat with a Hermione on either side, while the others had to make do on the floor. Everyone remained silent as the van drove off.

“Papa, I had to leave them,” Caterina said to her father in her native language, breaking the silence, the hitch in her voice echoing her grief.

“So these people are in trouble? And you came to help them, and this cost your friends their lives. I hope these people are worth the price.”

“Papa, please don’t be angry. There’s something about them. I know you don’t approve, but there are things about that world you know nothing about.”

Behind the two hosts Hermione nudged Harry, and began to translate, in an unintelligible series of hisses, the discussion between father and daughter.

“We shouldn’t have involved her,” Harry replied softly. “Sir, we have imposed on you. If you could take us to a nearby hotel, we would be grateful. I’m afraid we’ve caused your daughter enough trouble.”

“No,” she said shaking her head. “Please stay. My home is safe for you. Please, Papa, they need help.”

In the wizarding world there are powerful spells that can be used to force a person to do another’s bidding. Even in the non-magical world there are ways to manipulate another person’s will other then spells. The most powerful magic in either worlds pales in comparison with the effect of a daughter’s plea on her father. Without hesitation the elder man nodded and smiled at her, “Of course, my love, they are welcome to our home. Please stay, there’s always room.”

Harry shook his head, “No, that’s very kind, but we shouldn’t.”

“Please stay. Mama can help you with your illness,” she said as she turned and looked at both Hermiones.

Harry had started to shake his head when Hermione squeezed his hand and grimaced. “Darling, I don’t think this is going to be a lot of fun. And we could use some help. My sister and I have a common condition, and I won’t be of much use to her soon.”

“She’s…?” Harry breathed, in shock.

“Yes,” she whispered. “If we could manage some time to get past this stage, we should be fine. Remember when Ginny was in her second month?”

He nodded, thinking, ‘But that was twins. This could be worse with a pair of pregnant witches.’

“Thank you, Caterina, I think we will accept your hospitality,” Hermione replied.

The drive turned pleasant soon after they left the congestion of the city and began to wind through the countryside. Shortly, the van pulled into a long driveway neatly trimmed with cypress trees; to one side of the main building, a smaller structure stood separated by a pool, on the other lay a detached garage. A low, stone wall surrounded the building, giving an overall feeling of security.

It was a Mediterranean-style villa, with a panoramic view of the cliffs overlooking the coastline of Campania, an ideal site for pastoral relaxation.

As they exited the van, they passed through a furnished terrace facing the sea, and cantilevered over the water stood a gazebo complete with a dining table and barbecue grill, which seemed to anchor the gazebo to the mainland. An opening through the railing connected to a set of stairs which led to the beach below.

Hermione raised an eyebrow as she toured the grounds with the others when she spied a familiar statue in the centre of the terrace, facing the main path from the house. She walked over to the statue and reached to the base, feeling around in a specific spot and smiled.

“Something wrong with the statue, love?” Harry asked.

“No, nothing at all, I was just checking something,” she replied as she stood near the statue.

Caterina led the way, her arm laced through her father’s. In the distance, inside the small building across from the pool, two figures stood facing each other, visible through the panoramic windows.

“That is the pool cottage,” Caterina commented to the others. “There, inside, is Mama, and my brother, Rico.” She waved to them, but they remained unaware of the approaching group. The group watched in awkward silence as the mother and son exchanged indistinguishable shouts and the young man left the cottage, slamming the door.

“Please excuse my son. He came home past his curfew. If you would excuse me, Cat, you can show them to their rooms?” He left the group, blocking his son as he tried to escape over the stone wall.

Lingering outside momentarily as Caterina led the others into the main house, Hermione eavesdropped upon the muffled but loud conversation which ensued between parent and child.

"La chiami educazione questa? Abbiamo ospiti!" his father demanded. – “Where are your manners? We have company!”

"Ospiti? Non conosciamo questa gente. Perché dobbiamo stare qui?" He sprinted over the wall and ran from the villa. – “Company? You don’t know any of these people. Why do I have to stay here?”

"RICO, torna immediatamente qui!" Caterina’s papa shouted, and looked over his shoulder to see one of the women watching the exchange before she slipped into the house. – “RICO, get back here.”

Hermione entered the main building with the boy’s words still in her thoughts. The living room sported a large fireplace surrounded by furniture, reminiscent of their safe house in the Black Forest. A pair doors opened onto the terrace path leading to the gazebo.

“Please follow. The rooms are down the hall, past the kitchens. There are three double rooms, each with a private toilet and shower. Take any you like.”

“What about you and your family? How will we know which are your rooms?” Hermione asked.

“We stay in the pool house when there is company. Use this as your home, please. I will talk to Mama about dinner.” She gave Hermione Granger a passing kiss on the cheek, leaving the group speechless.

Harry led the way, taking the first room they passed for him and his wife and offering the second to Hermione Granger; Fred, George, and Sirius took the third. They deposited their belongings quickly, eager to finally find a few moments to relax.

“This is bloody nice. I never expected this,” Fred commented to his brother.

“She must have been misleading Daniel and Laura. The other night, all they could talk about was how little she had. I was expecting a Muggle version of the Burrow,” George replied as they joined the others.

Hermione left for the kitchen, carrying several vials that needed chilling. While the others explored the grounds, she found the kitchen and refrigerator. Opening the large door, she found it fully stocked with fresh food, all newly purchased. She also noticed what was missing as she left the vials on one shelf.

“Excuse me, miss,” she heard from behind and felt a hand on her shoulder. An elderly woman, heavy-set and with a warm, caring look on her face, her long hair pulled under a bandana, stood behind her. “We expected Cat to have her friends from the university. Are you also students?”

She shook her head. “No, we just recently met Caterina. You must be her mother. My name is Hermione Potter,” she said, holding out a hand in greeting.

“I am her mother. You say you have just met? What of Daniel and Laura?” she said, taking Hermione’s hand and looking over the other’s shoulder.

“They met with an unfortunate accident; Caterina offered her hospitality.”

“Yes, she is a caring young woman. Those jars, are they medicines?” Caterina’s mother asked as she began pulling various pots from a cupboard.

Hermione nodded, “I’m a… physician. Your daughter gave me permission to store these in the refrigerator.”

“She mentioned you might need some room, is one of your others ill?”

“My husband’s brother was injured in the same incident during which Caterina’s friends were hurt. But I think it best she explain the events.”

“Her father told me they could not come.” She smiled warmly as she stepped to the refrigerator to retrieve a wrapped package of fresh meat.

“Would you care for some help?” Hermione asked.

“No, please, this is my joy. Now, go enjoy the warmth of the day.” She opened a cupboard over the counter, and quickly closed it, opening two others before she found the spices she needed.

“I think that would be nice; thank you for your hospitality.” Hermione gave the woman a warm handshake and left the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder at the door to see the older woman searching for a plate. Her observations added more pieces to a growing puzzle in her mind.

Hermione left Mrs. Basile and the kitchen for the terrace to find the Weasley twins and Sirius had left to explore the beach, leaving Harry and Hermione Granger waiting for her to return. Caterina sat on the terrace with them, the three engaging in what seemed like pleasant conversation.

“So your family has lived in Naples for the last five generations?’

Caterina nodded. “Yes, but most other families have been here much longer.”

“Caterina,” Hermione started, “how long have you lived here in this villa?”

The younger woman looked up at her, thinking for a moment. “This villa has been with the family for several generations.”

Puzzled, Hermione closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Are you feeling alright, love?” Harry asked.

“Just a bit of a headache, it should pass with some fresh air. Walk with me on the beach? You know how I feel about beaches, Harry.”

He nodded with a mysterious grin and stood, offering a hand. She put her hand in his, stood with him, and they left together for the stairway to the beach, his arm around her shoulders. The other Hermione remained with Caterina to share this time alone.

“They are very much in love,” Caterina commented after they were out of earshot.

“Yes, we were,” Hermione mumbled.

Caterina had come to terms with loss of her two friends, though continued to grieve for them. Harry took on the responsibility of informing her family about the circumstances of the prior day, giving only enough information to explain her withdrawn mood, including the truth of their history.

That first morning proved stressful for the three witches in the group. Hermione Potter awoke to the same nausea she had been experiencing since she and Harry had left the last reality more then a fortnight ago. Each bout of morning sickness proved reassuring to the Potters, if somewhat unpleasant. Hermione Granger now began experiencing the same illness as well; her recovery from near abuse had previously delayed these symptoms.

Fred Weasley continued to help in the recovery of her mind, now that she had physically healed. The image of her freeing him and Sirius had been forever burned in his mind, and compounded with the recent events he had witnessed; he promised himself that he would stay by her side.

They had begun to relax in their peaceful setting when the fourth Basile reappeared that morning. He was almost ten years younger than Caterina, and his fashion statement revealed the conformity of a contemporary rebellious youth, his jeans so large they barely stayed on his thin frame. In one pocket the latest portable music player constantly screamed the newest Anime music into his ears.

He left the pool cottage without acknowledging his family, ‘a rude gesture worthy of Dudley,’ Hermione thought. Yesterday’s first impression utterly reinforced.

He walked past the women sitting together near the pool, his coal black eyes devoid of feeling. He ran a hand through his unkempt and equally black hair, which provided a sharp contrast to his pale, white skin. Hermione’s attempts to engage him in friendly conversation were met with failure as he rudely ignored their entire group, though she did notice, through her keen sense of smell, evidence of his less than legal recreational activities.

Moments after he emerged from the cottage and scaled the same wall he had yesterday, his sister emerged from the same door, joining the two Hermiones.

“He’s off to trouble, isn’t he?” Hermione Granger offered.

“Uh-huh, he’s had troubles with unsavoury people recently. Papa is beside himself trying to keep Rico from hurt.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

Caterina shook her head, and sighed heavily, “No, thank you. Papa thinks he will not learn his path is wrong until he falls. Papa prays every day that he can be there to help him.”

“He is quite young. There’s a sizable age difference between you two. You were never close were you?”

Caterina looked to the sea, a tear crested in her eye. “I am the oldest; he is the baby. We had a sister between us that disappeared five years ago. Some say she was taken and sold to the underworld. I believe… I know she is gone. Rico was affected strongly; he never fully accepted it.”

Hermione Potter changed seats to be next to her new friend, “I know how you feel. Any loss hurts, and that never goes away.”

“He’ll be fine; every boy has this rebellious phase. He ’l l grow out of if when he realises there’s more to life,” Hermione Granger added.

The Weasley twins entered the terrace, joining the women. A sound sleep had done them both wonders; they resembled more the free spirits of their youth. One of them sat next to the thinner woman, while his twin took a chair opposite their hostess.

“Good morning, Fred.” Hermione Granger beamed. Her hand slipped into his from her lap, and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

“Ay, and a good morrow to you Miss Basile. I have to confess, this is a wonderful place you have. It’s amazing anyone really lives in these villas,” George addressed Caterina.

She only braved a smile in reply.

The rest, including Mr. and Mrs. Basile, now joined the growing group. Caterina’s mother and father sat together, resembling the Potters in their radiating affections for each other.

“Mrs. Basile, that herb tea is wonderful; I hardly felt ill this morning. Thank you.”

“You are certainly welcome. It is a blend handed down from mother to daughter. I’m sure your mother had secrets she shared with you.”

Hermione turned her eyes away.

Harry walked to the Basile matriarch and bent to whisper in her ear. Each passing word caused a growing distress in her face. “I’m sorry. Please, I had no idea.”

“That was a long time ago. It still hurts to know how much of life they missed.”

“Enough of this depressing conversation. You are here for a holiday and you shall not feel distress. The cooling water of the sea is calling. There should be bathing suits in the rooms if any of you have failed to bring yours.”

“Smashing idea,” George piped in. “A day spent by the seaside sounds enjoyable. Harry, you and Hermione haven’t been to the ocean since you spent that summer abroad. How about it?”

“Agreed, a day of relaxation is just what we all need. We ’l l all meet back in ten minutes?” Harry added as he reached for Hermione’s hand to escort her to their room to change.

The serenity of the villa eased them through the days that followed. Each passing moment Hermione Granger spent with Hermione Potter helped her to recover her lost identity. Her healing process did not simply show her what or who she should be but also helped her realise who she was. The years of neglect and abuse began to fade quickly from her memory as she tried to regain a path lost so long ago.

Her only regret remained losing the man with which she had fallen in love and still cared deeply for, even after the mistreatment and pain he had inflicted upon her. Hermione Potter’s description of the memories she witnessed proved instrumental to the restoration of a sharp mind that had been dulled over the years. Gradually, the two Hermiones grew as close as sisters, though they had yet to breach certain topics, namely the source of the voices that continued to plague Hermione Granger’s thoughts and also the memories of her cousin’s death. Neither, though, knew the reason for the gap in her memory after Eileen and Jake had been crudely buried by her hand.

The sea breeze felt refreshing in the sweltering heat, the gazebo in which the two women were sitting would have been ideal for a relaxing moment, but they were deep in shared therapy.

“Focus. Think only on the facts of that morning of the battle. I was there in your thoughts and witnessed the events he stored in his Pensieve.”

“No, you can’t possibly understand. I did murder them,” the troubled Hermione mumbled.

“No, you can’t pull back. You must understand exactly what happened if you are to recover to your own mind.” The two women’s hands remained together in spite of one constantly trying to pull away. Hermione had not allowed her other self to pull away, she knew physical contact meant as much as any potion or spell. “Hermione, you forget he forced me to watch your memories; I saw the events as they happened, not as he told you they happened. He left you for dead. Albus pulled him away from you at the moment you needed each other. It was simply Ron and Ginny’s misfortune to care deeply for you. That’s what cost them their lives.”

“They should have left me too,” she mumbled. “My life wasn’t worth both of them.”

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It was Pettigrew that hurt you both that day, just as he hurt me.” She opened her blouse and revealed the scar from that wound. “We shared a common history up to that point.”

“Then why did Harry leave me?” she began to sob. This was the heart of her issues, and unfortunately a subject upon which her Healer could only speculate.

“I wish I could answer that. My Harry and I had a deep connection as friends, years before we became intimate.” She rubbed her palm, feeling the outline of the scar that joined them.

“When?”

“When what? I’m not sure what you mean.”

“When did you first… become intimate? He never wanted me; I wasn’t pretty enough.”

“Rubbish. I’m certain he cared for you at some point. That Valentine’s day before you fought Voldemort, didn’t he promise to marry you?”

“I don’t completely recall those days. I tried to write them out, but he cursed my cell; nothing written would last once I fell asleep. I spent years writing it all down,” she held her arms out for inspection. “When I ran out of ink, I resorted to extreme measures.”

“I was in that cell; I saw the ‘ ink well’. And you forget, I had many of those same memories.”

“Not the same memories. They can’t be identical since there seem to be differences between us.” Hermione Granger shook her head, almost in a nervous twitch.

“I wanted him since that first night I slept with him in the Astronomy Tower, but we made love for the first time the night Mum and Dad were murdered. I planned it so well that night, but our first time was the key to Malfoy’s curse.”

“The one that caused you to be unable to have a child?”

“Yes.”

“We never did that night; he wouldn’t. After Eileen and Jake took me away… after that, he stopped being tender and kind to me.”

“Do you think that’s why he left you? That possibly he wasn’t as committed?”

She nodded slightly, “I’ve had ten years to replay those days. I wish I knew what he was thinking, the way you both seem to understand each other.”

“Let me see your hand,” Hermione Potter ordered, pulling her counterpart’s fist open. The unblemished skin revealed another clue. Puzzled, Hermione Granger grabbed the same hand on her other self and found her lightning bolt scar.

“In our sixth year when he was learning the extent of his power, Voldemort caused a vision in him that forced his scar to burn. I put my hand across his forehead and we had this connection ever since.”

“I remember that. He collapsed and had a fever,” she looked away deep in though and suddenly sucked in a mouthful of air sharply, “I never touched his forehead; I had my handkerchief between us.”

“Possibly, that’s the crucial point where we deviated. I could sense his feelings after that. He stayed with me for the next three days when I was unconscious, and I think that was when he subconsciously realised we were meant to be together.”

“No, he spent that night in the hospital wing; I stayed with Ron until he was released. When he arrived in the common room in Gryffindor tower, that’s when he started to seem cold and distant. You said you were unconscious for three days?”

“Yes, they said I barely moved a muscle, as if I…” she stopped mid-thought, “… the same way I was when Jason and Janet died.”

“Who?” Hermione asked with a puzzled look.

“My children. They died in an accident before they were born, that was five years ago. Their funeral was the trigger that sent me into the past; Myrddin said I had to hold the teddy bear the day two family members were buried.”

“Who’s Myrddin? Mum and Dad were buried nearly a year before Jake and Eileen… died. Harry found me and took me away. That’s the last time I remember seeing the outside world.”

“He’s the one responsible for sending us back in time. I watched your episode when Harry forced you to bury Jake and Eileen; you must have gone back then. In the last world the Hermione there went back when Mum and Dad were killed, but when she returned, she was dead. I went back when we lost the babies. There was a five-year difference for me. It may be possible the timing had much to do with it,” she sat back and crossed her arms.

“I never went anywhere. Harry found me and brought me back.”

“So you don’t remember saving Hermia? Or entering the Chamber of Secrets five hundred years ago?”

“No, none of that happened,” she answered with a puzzled look.

A smile crept onto her counterpart’s face, “I think I know why Ginny died. You needed to have some knowledge to gain access into the Chamber of Secrets. And she had that knowledge buried deep in her subconscious. You needed to change the manuscript to save Harry.” She looked at her double, and hissed one last question, in Parseltongue. “Did you go back to the Chamber of Secrets and alter the manuscript?”

“No, it was like that when I bought it for him. I can’t get into the Chamber, only he can,” she replied in Parseltongue without thinking.

Hermione leaned back in her chair and smiled; this was a major breakthrough for her counterpart in this reality. But before she could explain further to the other woman, two figures caught her eye.

"Dove hai lasciato le buone maniere? Abbiamo ospiti," she heard Caterina’s father demand. The man held his son's arm in a tight grip. – “Where are your manners? We have company.”

"Ospiti? Quelli? Avevi detto che Caterina avrebbe portato con sé due amici ma IO non ho potuto portare nessuno. E guarda un po'... ora lei ne ha portati addirittura sei!" Rico screamed back in anger. – "Guests? Those? You said Caterina would have brought with her two friends, but I couldn’t bring with me anyone. And look at that... now she's brought six of them!"

"Ha le sue buone ragioni. Ora, per piacere, comportati da persona educata. Queste persone sono importanti per lei; e sono anche molto potenti." – “She had good reason, now you best mind your manors. These are important to her; they are powerful people.”

"Intendi gente strana come lei." Rico struggled to break free, but his father’s grip must have been stronger. Both Hermiones watched, listening intently. – “You mean freaks like her.”

"E' tua sorella, non una 'tipa strana'." – “She is your sister, not a freak.”

"E allora perché l'hai mandata via?" The boy’s anger seemed to amplify when his sister’s abilities were added to the argument. – “Then why did you send her away?”

"Cribbio, lo sai che doveva frequentare quella scuola! Non poteva imparare a controllare il suo potere a Napoli!" – “Damn, you know she had to attend that school! She couldn’t learn how to deal with her powers in Naples!”

"E questo l'ha autorizzata a fingersi qualcuno che non è, proprio come abbiamo dovuto fare noi adesso? I commedianti per questi suoi 'ospiti'. Far finta di essere ricchi, far finta di essere addirittura una 'famigliola felice'." – “So she could pretend to be something she isn’t, just like we have to pretend for her ‘guests’. Just like we have to pretend to be ‘happy’ here.”

"Conosci già la risposta." – “You know the answer to that.”

"Perché? Sembriamo tutti spaventapasseri in abito da sera, ed è tutta colpa sua. Anche questa villa è colpa sua. Voglio andare a casa! Farà schifo, ma è casa nostra," Rico screamed. He finally ripped his arm free and pushed his father aside. He only managed to force him back a step. – “Why? We all look like scarecrows wearing dinner suits and it's all her fault. Even this villa is her fault. I want to go home. It might be horrible, but it's our home."

From the kitchen Rico’s mother watched the argument; it was the same fight they had had time and time again, only this time, father and son started to become physical with each other.

"Farai come abbiamo deciso." To emphasize his point, the elder man grabbed his son roughly by the shoulders. "E devi pure smetterla di vederti con quei delinquenti da quattro soldi dei tuoi amici. Odorano di guai." – “You will do as you’re told.” - “And you are to stop associating with those ‘hoodlum’ friends. They are trouble.”

"Faccio quello che mi pare," Rico screamed at his father, and moved to shove him back, but felt something akin to an electric shock shoot from his hand. This time, the elder man fell back, as if struck by a hammer, losing his balance as he fell into the statue at the centre of the terrace, and lay on the ground motionless. – “I ’l l do as I please.”

"Rico... che hai fatto? Rico... piccirillo di mamma sua... che hai combinato? Dio..." his mother screamed as she ran out of the villa to her husband. – "Rico... what have you done? Rico... little one, what have you done? God..."

“Hermione, find Harry, he’s on the beach,” Hermione Potter ordered her counterpart. She sprang to her feet and ran to Caterina’s parents.

“Let me have a look at him,” she said to Mrs. Basile, and bent down to carefully look for any injuries, using her Muggle training to check for certain signs. Thankfully, Hermione found his pulse and breathing was normal; a small laceration in his scalp was not enough for him to be unconscious.

She peered into his eyes, and sensed the source of the injury.

Harry arrived with the others close behind.

Hermione held the man’s head in her lap, “He’s been stunned. He had an argument with Rico and fell over.”

Harry turned to Caterina, “Is he also a wizard? Has he been tested for magic?”

She shook her head, “No, I am the only one in this family. He has never shown any skills.”

“Harry, remember Neville also didn’t show signs until he was a bit older. Hermione reminded. She turned to Mrs. Basile to reassure her, “He ’l l be fine once the Stunning Spell wears off, we can’t risk using…”

“Ennervate!” Caterina yelled, pointing a wand at her father. The man’s eyes blinked before he sat up. His sudden re-animation startled his wife; both had been shielded from having to witness magic by their daughter. This was one of the few times either had been the subject of a spell.

“Mama? Was it Rico?” he asked, slightly dazed.

The elder woman nodded and turned to her daughter, “Cat, he has your powers but he has refused to acknowledge them.”

“This was an unfocused and wandless spell; he could have killed your husband. He needs to be properly tutored,” Hermione informed Mrs. Basile.

“Mama, did he receive his letter? Oh never mind, it's still too early for that," said Caterina shaking her head.

“Too early? The boy is flipping fourteen!” Hermione Granger said incredulously.

“At home we get the letter at eleven years old; here, they start training later,” Harry offered.

Hermione then turned to face Caterina. “We need to have a chat. And you must be honest with us.”

“Yes,” Caterina replied.

“Harry, this is not their home. I stayed here once before with Mum and Dad as a girl.”

“Summer of our second year? I thought it was familiar,” Hermione Granger added.

Caterina’s head bowed down, she had been caught. “Yes, this is my uncle’s property; he lets it for holidaying tourists. I begged him to stay here with Daniel and Laura, so they would not see where we live.”

“Caterina told us they were rich and would not understand we are not,” her father added. “Our home is not as grand.”

“That’s why Rico acted so poorly? And that’s why your mum couldn’t find her spices that first day. Any woman would know every detail of her own kitchen; she seemed lost.”

The elder woman nodded, “Sì, I did forget where things were in that kitchen.”

Mr. Basile coughed, and looked pale.

“Papa, you need some water,” Caterina said, giving her an excuse to leave.

Harry stood and looked around, scanning the horizon. He barely heard an alarm in the distance, but could see a column of thick, black smoke rising from the centre of the city. Caterina had been gone for only a few moments when they heard her scream, sending Harry and Sirius running into the kitchen. The girl stood staring at the radio, holding a map.

“It’s gone,” she muttered.

“What happened?” Sirius asked first.

“They burned our home,” she replied. “On the news, the street is in flames.”

Harry looked at Sirius and both men quickly returned to the terrace to call the others. “We’re in the open; this isn’t safe,” Harry said. “Everyone inside, and then we can figure out what happened.”

Hermione had heard his tone of voice before, when he was hunting the rest of Voldemort’s followers; she knew he was following an old mentor’s motto, “Constant vigilance.” She felt her palm grow cold and knew he was scared, though he never showed it. Publicly, he showed only his mask of authority.

Fred and George helped Signore Basile into the center of the house, far away from any window. He and his wife looked confused at their guests’sudden precautions. “What happened?” they both asked.

Inside, Harry paced, deep in thought, rubbing his chin. Caterina stood in the doorway, trembling. Harry looked at her, his official mask of authority instantly falling into place. “Who else knows you are here?” he demanded.

“No one except Uncle; Papa closed his shop for the week since it is so far away.”

“So, no one knows we’re here except Rico and your uncle, and your uncle believes you’re here with Daniel and Laura. Caterina, that deception may have saved your family’s lives.”

Harry turned to Cat’s father, “You have known Rico has wizard powers and you never told him?”

“Yes, we don’t think he knows or understands.”

“He needs to know. Untrained and unfocused, he could be a danger to himself and others.”

“Papa, the news, Via Bixio was burned. Our home is gone.”

Only Caterina’s father seemed to understand, “Vendetta,” he said. “This is a vendetta. He will hunt you all, and now us, until we are all dead.”

“That will not happen,” Harry said as confidently as he could. “Do you have any idea where Rico may have gone or where his friends are?”

“Yes, I followed him once; he thinks he is so clever but I was the one who allowed him to grow, to see his own path. We tried to show him his errors, but he needs to learn on his own. Come, I will take you there,” Signore Basile said.

“Not all of us. Sirius and Fred will go with us; the rest of you stay here in case something happens. Better still, Mione, go take some money and hire a day boat, and make sure no one sees you.

She nodded, knowing their safe haven could now be easily jeopardised. She stood and left the group for the bedroom while Harry continued to play out the scenario aloud.

“Here’s what I think happened: he had received word we killed his troll sentry, and sent others to investigate. I’m sure he discovered Daniel and Laura’s bodies, and detected this Hermione’s special touch on them. He’s not stupid; he would have traced us through Caterina to your real home and is either waiting there or has been there. This may be the safest place until he connects that link with your uncle.”

Hermione ran back into the room. A frantic look on her normally calm face alerted the Auror. “Harry, Rico took your bag!”

“Why do I have to listen to them? That freak of a sister runs them,” Rico argued with himself. “Why did she get those powers and not me?” He picked up a handful of stones and threw one across the field into the car park beyond the trees. His effort was rewarded with the sound of breaking glass and a car alarm.

He slung the stolen backpack over his shoulder and picked up his own bag, his last gift from his middle sister, He remembered the day she gave it to him, only a week before she disappeared.

He kept to the shadows as he made his way through the streets of Naples . He was just a kid, one of thousands who roamed the streets; many were not as fortunate as he to have a warm bed to sleep in, and roof over their heads. He had been gone nearly an hour’ he knew they would look for him to punish him.

’They can rot in hell; I won’t return,’ he vowed to himself. The warehouses near the old docks proved an ideal place to meet his friends. They had broken into one of the abandoned buildings and systematically converted one of its offices into a meeting place, scavenging sofas, chairs, and tables from the other rooms in the warehouse. It served as a place to stay, away from the prying eyes of the authorities.

The thick stench of the smoke still hung in the air, cartons of stolen cigarettes carelessly piled on one of the tables in a far corner. Bottles of liquor and wine stood under that table; the empty ones were casually used as target practice so that piles of broken bottles lay near the shattered window that opened out into the main storage areas.

Rico grabbed a fresh pack of stolen American cigarettes and a half full bottle of red wine. He stuffed one of the cigarettes between his lips and lit it with a match, taking a long deep pull.

“Better,” he muttered, and fell lazily into an overstuffed wing-back chair that he had claimed as his own, reaching into a side pocket as he did so. He removed a clear bag with several hand-rolled cigarettes and a dwindling supply.

He carefully pulled out a small white sheet, creased it, and sprinkled a generous amount of the green leaves into the fold. With the skill of an expert, he folded one side of the paper over and twisted it in his fingers. This procedure he repeated with whatever was left over in the bag, which made only two more cigarettes.

By now Rico had drained the half bottle of wine and several stolen cigarettes, waiting for company before indulging in the product of his labor.

“Rico! You’re early,” his companion called out shortly.

“Franco, I had another fight with that bastard father. This time I knocked him over and he struck his head,” the laughter in his voice void of compassion.

“Light one of those quickly. I hate not being high.”

“Where’s Nickie? She was coming today?”

“Yes, she had to wait for her father to leave, some big important meeting. She told me he is some British politico type.”

“Another asshole for them to rape? Stupid English.”

The boys laughed while Rico lit the drug-filled cigarette. Another twenty minutes sped by and they had consumed the last of the original marijuana they had when a girl a year or so older entered the chamber. She smiled, went directly to Rico, and plunged her tongue in his mouth.

Franco watched as his friend hungrily groped the girl’s breasts, while she ran her hands through his hair. She lifted her skirt and she sat in his lap, straddling him.

“If you want this, you had better have some more of those,” she teased, pointing to the last of the joints.

“I have more, much more. My sister brought some stupid Englishmen to my uncle’s villa. One of them left this out.” He opened Harry’s backpack and spilled the contents. Strange gold-coloured coins, too light to be real, and a large pile of Euros fell out, but the kids stared only at a tightly wrapped bag filled with a leafy, green herb, which had fallen on top of the pile of money.

“They had that much? There must be a full kilo. Roll a fat one,” Nickie commanded.

Rico obliged, and felt her hand rub his groin. She knew little of being subtle when there was something she wanted, and what she wanted was to be the first to smoke this new supply.

Rico’s attention wavered momentarily as her hand roughly rubbed the bulge in his jeans. “If this is as good as it looks, I’ll let you have a little more, my Rico,” she said with a shy smile.

He put the newly rolled cigarette in his lips and lit it, taking a deep pull on the herb. He filled his lungs as far as he could before she took the cigarette and straddled his lap. Rubbing him through his jeans, she put the burning cigarette in her lips, pulling a lungful of the drug and holding it. Rico slipped his hands under her shirt and began to fondle her.

She coughed, but inhaled again.

He rubbed her breasts.

She coughed harder.

He pulled her shirt open and reached to free himself from his jeans.

“No. You know better, Rico, I can’t do that. I’ll do you like I always do.” She said as she filled her lungs full of the drug. She held her breath and tried to suppress a cough as she leaned forward and kissed Rico.

The urge to cough forced her to break from the kiss. As she exhaled, dark yellow smoke escaped from her mouth. A trickle of blood leaked from her ears, unseen by Rico as he exhaled and put his lips to her breasts.

She moaned lightly as he continued to attack her chest. She took the burning cigarette from his hand and pulled on it again; ignoring the difficulty she had holding the drug in her lungs.

She coughed again; a hoarse, deep, barking cough.

He began to suck on her, as his hand slipped under her knickers. A new trail of red leaked from her nose.

She coughed again, this time a fine spray of blood spurted from her mouth. Rico continued to suck on her breast, still oblivious.

“Rico!” Franco suddenly screamed. “Nickie is… She’s…”

She screamed, the sound as blood-chilling as any in a horror movie.

“Nickie, what?” Rico screamed as she pushed him back. He was at a loss for words as a crimson trail oozed from her ears and nose.

She screamed again, the last air she could force from her lungs. The terror in her eyes burned a permanent image in Rico’s mind: she was going to die.

“Nickie, NO! What’s happening to you? What have I done?”

She beat her fists against his chest as her strength left her. Now, all she could manage was a gurgle as bright red mucus poured from her mouth. Rico stared in terror as the warm breast he had just caressed and suckled fell off her body and into his lap. Her flesh began to dissolve; the lumpy gelatin visible through her ribs all that was left of her lungs. Then that too began to spill through her bones and out of the hole where her breast had been.

He stared and screamed as he watched her heart, visible through her ribs, continue to beat. It beat harder and faster, trying to force her blood through arteries that had also began to dissolve.

Franco had fallen into the corner, and vomited.

Her heart beat one last time before it too fell from her chest, landing in his lap.

“Fuck you, Rico, don't you understand? It's the bloody drug. You've killed her!" Franco screamed.

Rico tried to hold the girl in his arms; her flesh continued to dissolve until all that was left was the skeleton of her torso, though her limbs still remained intact, at least for the moment. Her face now began to dissolve. The exposed blood soaked bones of her skull formed an eerie grin. Her dead eyes continued to stare at Rico as the flesh around them also melted and dripped from her skull.

He never saw Franco slip in his own bile and fall out the door, down the stairs. A sharp barb on the landing caught his arm, leaving a gash from his shoulder to elbow. His blood left small puddles down the metal steps.

He began to panic, pushing her carcass from his lap to the floor. His lust had turned quickly to terror, and her melting flesh dripped from his lap as he bolted from the chair.

He stood over her carcass, still jerking from reflexes that refused to stop, and looked at the bag of drugs on the floor. His face turned pale and he started to shake; he felt his lips turn cold and numb.

"I killed Nickie... I killed her,” he muttered as he looked at her remains.

Franco was gone, and the putrid odour of his vomit struck Rico. Clamping a hand over his mouth as he felt his insides twist, he fell to his knees and vomited as well. Nothing but bright red fluid spewed from his mouth, and he screamed, “FUCK, I smoked it too," and vomited again.

"I smoked it too... I’m going to die," he cried, trying to run. In his blind fear he instead ran headlong into the wall, striking his head on a protruding shelf and gashing his own scalp.

The fresh trickle of blood leaked to the corner of his mouth, adding to his panic. A vision of the ooze from her mouth flashed in his mind as he tasted his own blood.

“Those British bastards did this,” he screamed, and a vortex of air twisted around him, engulfing the room. The windows exploded outwards with the force of his magic; loose objects inside the room began to swirl around him; bits of dissolved flesh splattered the walls.

He watched as the effects of the drug began to fog his mind, “Franco! Help ME! I don’t want to die!” he screamed. A tendril of light flashed through an open window, mesmerizing him as he continued to call for his friend.

“Franco, come back!”

He felt the fog close in; all he could remember was that he needed Franco.

A loud thump on the floor broke his concentration; the glowing in the room vanished leaving a stunned and shocked Franco on his hands and knees, vomiting.

Franco looked up to see Rico, his clothes and hair still blowing in an unseen and unfelt windstorm.

“FUCK! Rico?” he screamed, looking around wildly. He looked at the floor to find a skeleton in a crimson puddle. He looked back to Rico, who stood as still as a statue. “You're a freak. You're a bloody freak. You killed her.”

“Freak?” Rico asked calmly.

“FUCK YOU! I was a fucking block away, how did I…”

“You returned?” he asked. Bits of Nickie still stuck to his clothes, feeding his friend’s terror.

Franco screamed and ran from the room again, shouting, “I'm going to tell her father. You're a dead freak!" He fell out the door again, making his escape.

Rico stood motionless; his mind had gone blank as he remained standing over a skeleton clad in a short skirt and open blouse, the bony feet stuck inside short, spike-heel boots. A final slab of skin that had stuck to his shirt fell into the puddle and began to dissolve.

Time was not relevant as he stood motionless, staring into the void of his mind, seeing nothing.

A loud crash outside drew his attention. The sun was setting, leaving long shadows across the dried, red splotch on the floor. The grisly bones at his feet grinned one last time, as if she knew her father’s revenge would end him and his family.

The door crashed open as Franco was thrown through the door. A man casually walked in, followed by several others; one he recognized as Nickie’s father; others he knew to be ‘family protectors,’ as she had called them. The look on her father’s face when he saw his daughter’s remains never fully registered in Rico’s mind.

“You fuckin’ little shit, I’m going to rip your head open!” Rico heard through his fog.

“You will do as I say. This was unfortunate for you, but providence for me. Now, Signore, wait outside,” one of the strangers addressed Nickie’s father. “You can deal with whatever I decide to leave for you,” his accent was proper British, his manner, and dress like that of a gentleman or noble.

Rico blinked, and his void opened to allow the scene before him.

“Fuck you; I’ll kill this little shit now!” Nickie’s father screamed.

The stranger smiled and pulled a thin stick from a pocket and turned to Nickie’s father; a yellow flash momentarily blinded Rico. “No, you will do as I command.”

It seemed strangely comical to Rico as he and the rest of his entourage complied, nearly falling over each other trying to escape the threat of a mere stick. The stranger casually walked over to the boy, kicking the bones from his path.

Rico looked up to see the same face he had seen at the villa; he heard the man’s name in his head, but ignored it. The stranger placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled warmly, “Now, boy, I will only ask this once. Do you understand?”

Rico could only nod.

A moan from the corner of the room attracted the man’s attention.

“Before I ask you this one question, the one question that you were born to answer, let me show you what will happen if you try to deceive me.” He turned to Franco, and pointed his stick at him.

“Crucio…” he casually said, without feeling, without remorse. A flash of light flew from the stick he held and struck Franco’s battered body.

Franco screamed; his body quivered and shook violently; fresh traces of blood broke from his lips.

“It took me a while to get the full story from him, but I’m afraid he was not clear on certain details.” The man turned away, releasing Franco from his agony. Then, he carefully surveyed the floor, but the dwindling light prevented him from seeing clearly.

“Lumos,” he called out, holding the stick in the air. A brilliant glow illuminated the room, almost blinding Rico. The stranger scanned the floor, finding the bag of drugs and the pile of strange coins.

“There’s my gold,” he muttered, and opened the bag of drugs. He sniffed the contents and chuckled.

“Boy, do you have any idea what this is? It seems you didn’t, pity. I had seen pictures of that little tramp; she would have been fun for an evening before she got too old. Shame you had to melt her, but she was just a worthless Muggle after all. I guess no one warned you Comfrey has certain side affects.”

Rico heard the words; some of them were strange. ‘Some English words,’ he thought.

“Now, first, where did you get this?”

“Y-Y-you,” he stammered. His focus shifted to the lump of flesh in the corner; his friend had stopped moving.

“Do you know who I am?”

Rico shook his head, “You came with Cat to the villa, with strangers. I stayed away.”

“I see. So you avoided me. How many others are there?” his one question grew to two, then three. He now paced causally in front of Rico.

“Y-Y-yes, there are three men and two women,” Rico offered, hoping to appease this man.

That information was acknowledged with a nod.

He glanced back to the bones on the floor.

“Look at me, boy!” the stranger screamed, pointing his stick at Rico. The fury in the man’s eyes burned into Rico’s living soul. “Don’t you ever look away from me again unless I say you can. Do you understand me?”

Terrified, Rico nodded.

“Good,” he said in a calm voice. “Let me formally introduce myself, Harry Potter. I’m certain you’ve heard of me?”

“No. No, sir.”

“How is that possible? You are from a wizard family aren’t you?”

“W-Wizard family?”

He shook his head, “Muggle-born, I should have guessed. Well that’s a shame. Before you die, where are they?”

“Rico, don’t! He’s evi…”

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" the man shouted, and pointed his stick at Franco. A green beam struck him square in the chest, and he stopped moving; his eyes fixed, staring into space, his mouth still open in mid scream.

“Now, where are they?” the man called Harry asked again, and the green glow from his wand seemed to shift to his eyes.

“My uncle’s villa,” Rico said, and he saw the tip of the wand glow before all conscious thought ceased.

---

“Signore Basile, I am sorry for your home. Remember though that if we were here, it is possible we all would have died.”

The older man stood in the smouldering remains of his home; His family possessions lay scattered and shattered on the ground; his family pictures, burned. Nothing had been spared.

“You… and your people brought this on us,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Yes, we did. And for that all I can do is offer my apologies, and the promise that I will do everything in my power to correct this.”

“Correct this? Who do you think you are? God? I have lost one daughter; must I lose my two remaining children?”

“We’ll find Rico, but you must understand the contents of that pack he stole could be as damning to him as if he were to face the true evil of this world.”

“True evil? You have no place to talk of evil. This was my home. What have you sacrificed to this ‘evil’ you speak about? Talk to me when you know what loss is, you selfish bastard!” Caterina’s father screamed.

“You have no idea what Harry’s sacrificed,” Sirius interjected, unable to stomach any more of Signore Basile’s unjust accusations towards his godson. “He lost his entire family to this evil, and almost lost the woman he loves. And yes, he’s lost friends too.”

“So you’ve lost people close, but what would you do if you lost that child she carries?”

“Survive, continue. Just as I have before,” Harry snapped.

Sirius turned, “Before?”

Harry stared at the one man he trusted in this world and nodded, “Three. We have lost three to this evil. That’s why I fight, and I’ll continue until I die.”

“Harry, I had no idea.” Sirius put a hand on his shoulder.

Harry attempted a smile, “Once, when Hermione and I faced Voldemort. She was carrying a child. And again, five years ago we lost twins. The twins rest next to her parents. Next to where my parents are buried.” He turned to face Caterina’s father, “Yes, we’ve both lost a lot, but you still have Caterina and Rico. Let’s find him and bring him home.”

“This was my home.”

“It will be again. Houses can be rebuilt, as long as there are people to live in them. Now, where is Rico’s special hiding place?”

The four men stood in the ruins, three of them waiting for the other to decide his course. Finally, Signore Basile turned, leaving behind the destruction of his life. His two new companions followed suit as all three stepped back into their vehicle.

The four remained silent on the drive to the abandoned warehouses; the actual drive took longer than if they had walked from the Basile residence, but the sun had fully set and the trail would be difficult to follow at night. There were no signs of life from the buildings, but Harry, well-trained for an operation dealing with criminal elements, still approached cautiously.

“Here, I have torches for us,” Rico’s father said as he pulled a pair of lights from his van. Harry entered first, with Sirius behind him; then Rico’s father and Fred came up behind them, acting as a rear defense.

They cautiously climbed the stairs to the office, noting a fresh blood trail.

“Someone was here, and left hurt,” Sirius commented, pointing to the wet blood.

The door at the top of the stairs swung open on its own, further adding to their wariness. The wizards held their wands to the ready; Mr. Basile remained at the rear, unarmed, but ready to aid.

Harry was first at the door, and then waited for his godfather to position himself at the other side. He held three fingers, counted back to two, then one.

Sirius pushed the door open with his foot, and he and Harry peered inside. Harry motioned to Sirius to the left side while he slipped to the right. Fred pointed his wand in the door and called out, “Lumos!” illuminating the room.

Mr. Basile looked at Fred’s lit wand, and turned on his torch, which spread just as much light. Fred looked at the Muggle device, shook his head, and uttered, “Nox.” Harry switched on his torch as well.

Noting the small room did not have any other doors, and that there was no activity, the group entered, hoping to find some reassuring sign. One man was searching for his son, the others hoping to find a clue to the whereabouts of Harry’s double.

“Looks as if they had a rough time,” Sirius commented. “There’s a boy over here. From the looks of it, he’s dead.”

Mr. Basile turned to the spot, several shades of pale as he rushed to Sirius’ side. “Franco,” he finally managed to say. “But what could do this to him?”

“Hard to say, it could have been anything, a poison maybe,” Fred offered.

“But where is Rico, and Nickie? They were inseparable; the three were always into mischief.”

Sirius looked to the floor near a large wing-backed chair on the other side of the room. “Here’s something, some bones and this goo. Harry, what could have done this?”

“I have no idea; looks like some strong acid,” Harry replied.

“Are they human?” Fred asked, looking across the room from Franco’s body.

“Yes, from the looks of it, it was a person, not terribly large,” Harry added as he inspected the remains.

Mr. Basile turned and flashed his light to the spot; the grizzly bloodied skull stared back through empty eye sockets, the initial shock catching him as he turned and retched on the floor near Franco.

Fred stepped over to aid the Muggle, who was obviously not accustomed to this type of gore.

“How can you stand there so calmly,” Mr. Basile screamed in mid-heave. “Please tell me it isn’t my Rico!” He had to look again, and turned to the skull, staring at the dead face.

“The bones are scattered,” Harry commented. He looked at the pattern, and noticed a trail of steps through the goo. Matted in the puddle were bits of flesh and hair, not melted. Tucked against the chair, the bottom half of the skeleton remained fairly intact, the legs still had much of their flesh.

“Here’s the largest part of whoever this was,” Sirius called out, and moved the chair to one side. “Mr. Basile, was Rico taken to wearing skirts?”

“S-S-Skirts?” he stammered. “Nickie always wore short skirts too short to cover even her underwear, to provoke the boys.”

“Was she cute?” Fred asked as he poked around the carcass with Harry.

“Yes, she was, but she was also only fifteen. She made games of tempting any man she encountered. She tried with me once, then lied to her father when I refused to show interest. If Caterina hadn’t seen the exchange…”

“So her father would have been upset if she had succeeded in seducing you?” Harry interrogated as he continued to investigate Nickie’s remains.

Finding no other clues, he stopped looking over her bones and scanned the floor in the immediate area instead. Near the chair he picked up the unburned end of their ‘cigarette’ and tore the paper. He examined the substance and a bag caught his eye. “Comfrey,” he said softly to himself. “Those idiots smoked this stuff.”

“No, that is not the point; her papa is a powerful man, a camorra boss. What you would call organized syndicate.”

“Come on, mate, the mafia is only in books,” Fred chirped.

“No, this is serious,” Harry added, dropping the Comfrey cigarette and bag. “I tracked a group of dark wizards once to Naples where there was supposed to be a meeting with a crime lord. That was a couple years ago, but in my reality.”

“Sì, this is a big organization and Nickie’s father is one of the leaders. There was a story of one man that she flirted with, and after her father had a chat with that man, he never again was able to be with a woman, and his legs took six months to heal. And he has never afterwards touched the girl.”

Mr. Basile looked at the chair and spotted Rico’s pack, stained red. “There, that is Rico’s bag, I would know it anywhere. He was here, but he would never leave that bag; it was his most special possession.”

“The obvious result is he was taken, and we can only assume Nickie’s father has him,” Sirius surmised.

"Dio santo, no! He’s as good as dead,” the older man screamed as he fell to his knees and sobbed. “He took my daughter and now my son.”

“Nickie’s father took your daughter?” Harry asked.

“Sì, to work in his home; she was to be Nickie’s nanny. He said she could come home for holidays, but she disappeared five years ago.”

Harry he crossed the room to examine Franco, but pulled the man to his feet, “Why would you allow her to go? It doesn’t make sense.”

“We had a debt to him; I went to him for the money to pay for Caterina’s special schools. She does not know, and I pray you don’t tell her.”

“For money?” Harry said with some disgust.

“Not just money, for the chance to leave this life. He promised Chiara a chance to learn a trade, to be a governess. He would forgive the debt if Chiara stayed with Nickie until she was to be married.”

“Is there a chance she’s still there? Have you seen her recently?” Fred asked.

“No, I tried once to see her,” he said, holding his head, “that first year; they threatened her life if I ever attempted to see her again. I heard she was sent to one of the houses for prostitution he owns. Is she still alive? No, I gave up hope for that miracle.”

“If there’s a chance to find them both, we will do our best, but for now we have a task to begin.” Harry turned to Franco to examine the corpse, and froze in his spot, “He used Avada Kedavra...” he almost whispered.

Sirius and Fred grew stone silent at the announcement.

Mr. Basile opened his mouth to ask its meaning.

“He was murdered by magic, using one of the worst charms in our world, an Unforgivable curse, Avada Kedavra," Harry commented before asked.

Mr. Basile replied, "I thought ‘abracadabra’ was only fiction for people who knew nothing about real magic. Poor boy, who--what--could do such a thing to him? How?"

Harry corrected him, “Not abracadabra, Avada Kedavra. It's an Unforgivable curse, the spell that kills. It kills without leaving a trace; so, Franco was tortured before he died.”

Harry stood and, still holding Rico’s pack, turned and headed for the exit.

“Harry’s right,” Sirius added and turned to follow, leaving Fred to help Mr. Basile.

Sirius caught Harry before he started down the stairs, “So, what’s the plan? We storm the gates and free Rico?”

Harry paused on the steel staircase, “No, it’s the other ‘Harry;’ he’s got Rico. He’s looking for…” The realization hit him hard, and he sprang down the stairs. “We have to get back to the villa, fast. Everyone get down here now!” he commanded.

Sirius came first, followed by Fred and Mr. Basile, the two wizards now realizing what was to happen.

“No time to wait; Fred you bring him, Sirius, with me now!” Harry almost screamed. He and Sirius disappeared with a loud pop; Fred and Mr. Basile followed seconds behind.

“ Ennervate! ” the man said, reanimating the body. Rico’s eyes blinked in confusion from the carpeted floor of the car in time to see the heel of an Oxford slam into his face.

“Just a little memento of the day, by. I’m taking you home, where you belong. I’m quite anxious to have a chat with your parents,” Harry said with a glint in his eye.

“H-H-Home?” Rico asked, his cheek stung from the blow, though the tears streaming down his cheeks were from the terror he had witnessed and was himself experiencing.

“Yes, or more correctly, to your uncle’s villa. I hope, for your sake and your family’s sake, that those ‘house guests’ are still there, or it will be most unpleasant for you.”

“W-who are —“

“How soon you forget.” He shook his head at Rico’s ignorance.

“You said, ‘Harry Potter’?”

“Clever boy, so you do remember. Now about those visitors at the villa; you said ‘three men and two women.’ Are you certain? Describe them.”

“Sì, one man was older than papa but with dark hair; the two other men looked the same, like brothers. The women also looked the same, like sisters, but not like the men.”

“There was no one else? Are you certain?”

“Sì, no one else, just you,” Rico added.

“So you lied? There were four men?” the anger in his voice flared and terrified Rico further.

“No, I did not lie. I thought you meant besides yourself.”

“Where in the villa are they staying? And what is their daily schedule?”

“Y-you and one woman stay in the first suite, the other woman in the second room of that suite. The three men are in the second suite.”

“Good. And their schedules?”

Rico stopped to try to think. He had avoided all contact with Caterina’s guests, but had kept an eye on their actions. “The women spend their time together, sometimes with you; the others stay on the beach. The older man seems to disappear when you go for a walk with your dog.”

Harry leaned back to form his attack; his fingers began tapping on the arm rest of the car door as he stared at the passing terrain. The sun was almost gone as the car arrived at the entrance to the villa, stopping while the driver opened the iron gate.

“ Signore? Why?”

Harry looked at the boy, and pondered that one question. “You truly have no idea who I am? Or for that matter, what you are?”

Rico reluctantly shook his head.

“I am a wizard, but not just any wizard. I am the sovereign ruler of all wizards. Do you understand so far?”

Rico nodded.

Another car approached as the driver was returning to the car.

“Good. Driver, wait outside for a moment; I need a private word.” The driver closed the door and greeted the other car, informing its occupants of the minor delay.

“Now, boy, you understand who I am. Do you know what you are?”

Rico shook his head.

Harry leaned in close to him, “You are a wizard, a Muggle-born one at that. No magical parents or family. Now, the local authorities here are little more than a nuisance; there’s precious little they can or will do to me.” Harry leaned back before continuing, “So, is there anything else you want to say?”

“W-wizard?”

“How very articulate.” He pointed his wand at Rico, and the boy’s hands and feet were bound, his voice gone.

“Driver! Let’s continue to the villa,” Harry barked.

The procession of cars passed through the gate and down the long drive lined with cypress trees; both pulled to the left side of the main building into the detached garage.

Harry lowered the window on the side nearer the villa and peered out. “Strange, no one’s about.” He looked back to his captive, “Have you left anything out? It seems the villa’s deserted.”

Rico looked back through wide eyes and shook his head, unable to speak.

Harry chuckled at the over-sight and tapped his wand on the boy’s throat. He then pointed his wand at Rico and levitated him and pushed the boy from the car. He grabbed Rico by his hair dragging him towards the house.

Rico screamed at the pain, for, even though floating, it still hurt.

“Show some backbone, boy, and maybe I’ll let you die like a man instead of a dog.” Harry pushed Rico through the doorway into the villa. The dining room table seemed appropriate, and Rico’s body hit the hard surface with a thud.

Harry had a gleam in his eye as he pointed his wand at his own throat, and called, “Come out, daddy’s home!”

His amplified voice echoed through the building, but yielded no reply. He cracked half a smile, “Didn’t really expect them to come running. Now, boy, you will help me here. I need to find my friends.”

Harry pointed his wand to the chandelier and the crystal ornaments that hung down grew into razor-sharp spikes, positioned over Rico’s body. He narrowed his eyes at the table, noticing the room had darkened. He looked at his intended prey, and shook his head.

“Sorry, lad, there’s not enough light to see what I’m doing. Pity the sun’s going down, but that should be just enough for this.”

“ Bombarda!” he shouted, pointing his wand at the wall, which then exploded, leaving a huge, gaping hole in the building, the remaining rays of the sun filtering in, past its ruins. Then, pointing his wand to his throat again, he shouted, “I have the boy.” He paused for a moment, waiting for a reply.

“I have the boy and you have five minutes before he dies.” Harry looked at his captive and held his wand to his young throat. “Scream,” he commanded.

Rico screamed, the wand amplifying his terror to fill the house as well as the grounds. After he had watched Franco being tortured and then die at this madman’s hand, he expected worse for himself.

“Good job. At least you have learned to follow directions in the past few minutes.”

Harry pulled a chair from the rubble of the wall and sat. Callously, he pointed his wand to the chandelier and flicked it, releasing the first spike.

“AAaaahh!” Rico screamed as the spike struck his elbow, shattering the joint while pinning him further to the table.

Harry held his wand to his throat again, “Another spike will fall every ten seconds until you show yourselves. Each new spike will find a different mark.” He pulled his wand from his throat and addressed Rico, “Now all that’s left is to watch and enjoy the show. Oh, and I wouldn’t be so concerned about that elbow, who knows where the next will hit? I hope for your sake they haven’t abandoned this villa completely.”

He thought for a moment and held his wand to his throat again, “Oh, and I promise he won’t die, yet. He has four minutes and fifty seconds left.”

Rico looked at his arm, unable to move it, the pain from the shattered joint nearly more than he could stand.

“Tick… Tick… Tick…” Harry taunted until another spike fell, this one hitting Rico’s right knee and causing equal damage to that joint while also pinning his leg to the table.

Rico’s screams were louder than the sinister laughter coming from Harry; his blood leaked from the wounds and dripped onto the white carpet under the table. His arm began to twitch from the pain, as did his leg, each movement rubbing the shattered bones together.

Seconds ticked past as another spike struck him, the pattern random, though each found its mark accurately. After more than a minute, each limb had at least one wound: a spike had severed a thumb while impaling his hand, another cut through his ankle, leaving his foot limp. Each fresh wound brought new levels of pain to the youth.

In the second minute the spikes began falling closer to his torso, landing in his thighs and shoulders. The pain began to subside, but only because he was losing feeling in his limbs. Still, no one showed.

A curtain waved from its hanger over the French doors to the terrace, the doors creaked slightly from the light breeze.

Harry smiled and reached to a spike nearest him, impaling Rico’s arm. He gently caressed the crystal in the boy’s arm, as if he were seducing the pain in the youth. He gingerly stroked the protrusion in Rico’s arm, and caught the boy’s eyes pleading for mercy. Harry grasped the stake as if he were about to pull it free, and twisted it in the boy’s flesh.

Rico screamed from the added pain. The spike twisted in his young muscles, the splinter of bone caught by the crystal ground against the shaft of bone where it originated.

“Three minutes left, that make twelve so far. I wonder if you’ll bleed to death before the last spikes find their marks. The suspense is killing me; I hope you last the full five minutes.”

Another spike fell, spearing him through the groin.

“Oh, that’s gotta hurt,” Harry taunted.

That last wound hit an artery, evident by the pulsating of the spike in rhyme with Rico’s heart. Harry reached over and poked it, causing an additional surge of pain through the boy. Rico’s blood now spread rapidly from the table.

The leaves of the fica tree in the corner rustled slightly.

Harry stood and turned around, facing the tree. “Thinking an invisibility cloak would do much good? Show yourself,” he demanded as his wand pointed at the emptiness in front of him.

The air began to shimmer as the cloak slid to the floor, exposing a single figure standing before him.

“Where are the others?” Harry demanded as he aimed his wand at the intruder.

“Dead. I killed them this morning. I knew you were coming back for me.”

“Caterina, deal with your mum if you want me to try to save Rico. I can’t help him with her screaming. George, I need you to pull these ‘things’ out one at a time or he’ll bleed to death,” Hermione barked out the orders quickly.

“He’s dead!” Mrs. Basile screamed.

“Mama, please come away, Hermione alone can save him. I watched her help others,” Caterina begged as she pulled her mother’s arm.

“Like she helped kill your friend?” she screamed back at her daughter.

“No, mama, that wasn’t her. It was the other.’

“George, I need those tea towels for bandages until I stop the bleeding.”

"Dio santo, no! He is but a baby.”

“No, that one George. Careful, it’s in his heart,” Hermione ordered him, focusing her undivided attention on the boy before her.

Rico screamed as the first spike was pulled from his chest. As Hermione quickly placed her hands over the wound, the bleeding slowed and stopped. Only a hole remained in his chest.

“Now, this one. Yes, it’s in his stomach,” she commanded. After George pulled that spike free, Hermione moved her hands over the fresh injury and began to reverse the damage, starting with his internal wounds. She left the lesser injuries for later; as nasty as they appeared, they were just holes waiting to be sealed.

One by one, they extracted the spikes, closing the flow of blood more important than setting the bones.

“My baby,” Rico’s mother screamed while her daughter tried to console her.

“Mama, he should heal. You haven’t seen what this power can achieve. Please, calm some.”

“Why did she do it?” George asked Hermione as they worked.

“To save his life, and to give Harry time to get here. She should have waited,” Hermione replied. She knew though that put in the same position she would have done the same thing.

Rico stopped screaming, the pain finally causing him to lapse into unconsciousness. Now that she did not need to worry about hurting him, Hermione doubled her efforts.

“I wish that sod of a husband of mine would get back instead of chasing after burned-out houses,” she hissed under her breath.

At that moment she felt a hand on her shoulder. “He’s been here?” she heard from behind.

“Bloody obvious, I would have thought. It’s about time you found your way back,” she cut back at Harry.

“We must have just missed him. We found Rico’s friends. It looks like we just missed him here too. How did all this happen?”

“George, tell him. Sirius, come here and take over for him or this lad could die.”

Harry gave Hermione’s arm a reassuring squeeze and backed away. Sirius and George traded places just as Fred and Rico’s father arrived.

Caterina left her mother’s side to retrieve her father and explain the disaster, much like George was doing for the others.

“That bastard had the boy and threatened to kill him. We were out of the house just as you warned, down on the beach. Hermione found your Invisibility Cloak and Firebolt on the grounds by the stone wall.”

“What were you doing on the grounds?” he asked his wife as she continued to work. He could tell this was draining her, but she refused to stop or slow down.

“Not me, the other Hermione,” she called over her shoulder.

“Right, she was off by herself when we found the lad’s father stunned. She gathered your things before we left for the beach; we used the cloak to shield us from view. Quite clever of her, actually.”

Harry looked about and realized she was missing. “Where is she?”

The group that had stayed behind remained quiet, unwilling to verbalize her act. Caterina had calmed her parents and came to George’s aide. “She stunned us momentarily and went to him.”

“That’s right. She went back to him of her own free will and claimed we were all dead.”

“Harry, there’re some potions in the refrigerator. I need the blood replenishment and Pepper-Up potions,” Hermione ordered.

“Please, I can get them,” Caterina offered, and ran to the kitchen.

Harry was still evaluating the damage, not to the house, but to their lives. There were two dead teenagers in a warehouse, and one laying here near death. A young couple had died only a few days ago in a hunt for them. A young woman was murdered simply to cause him pain. A family was devastated, losing their home. A young woman’s life was also in the balance and may have already been lost.

Harry paled at the losses incurred since they came to this reality. He had had deficits before during other conflicts, but this was personal. He paced behind Hermione as she and Sirius removed the last spike. She too looked pale and drained.

“Harry, for all of them to be safe, we must leave before the local healer returns,” Hermione cautioned Harry.

“She’s right, Harry, we have to leave before someone else is hurt,” Sirius added.

“What about Hermione? That bastard took her, we have to rescue her,” Fred insisted.

“Where do you propose we go?” George quizzed his brother, who replied with a shrug of hopelessness.

Harry paced in the clearing, thinking out the problem, his concentration broken solely by the hysterics of Rico’s mother.

“Fred, George, Sirius, over here,” he commanded, and they gathered near Hermione. “He could have taken her anywhere, but there are three likely destinations: Grimmauld Place , Hogwarts, or the Ministry. He has full control over all three. If he were to deal with her in private, Grimmauld Place is the most likely, though he has more resources at Hogwarts. If he’s decided on a public display, he’d take her to the Ministry.”

“So you think we should check them in that order? Sounds like a plausible plan, if we stick together,” Fred replied.

“No, there’s not enough time. We have to check them all at the same time,” Hermione said. “I remember once you and Ron had a similar problem a couple years ago.”

Harry nodded, “Yes, Ron’s plan worked then and should here, but there are risks.”

“Ron? But he was murdered by her…” George started before catching an elbow in the ribs.

“You git, he’s talking about their world, not ours. Ron is alive and well there. Go on, Harry,” Fred said.

“Sirius, you’re most familiar with your old home, so you check it out. Fred and George, you both go to the Shrieking Shack and nose around Hogsmeade for information. I’ll take on the Ministry with my cloak; it should be empty by now.”

“We need our things. George, please fetch the bag from my room,” Hermione asked. The tall, red-haired wizard turned and left momentarily.

“No, that is foolish,” Caterina said as she joined them. “There is another way to have ears in your Ministry. They passed a law for all foreign-born witches or wizards to register when they arrive in Britain , and that office is always open. I can do that without suspicion. No one has seen or knows me.”

The group remained silent for a moment as if no one expected her to volunteer, until Harry said firmly, “No, I can’t allow it. You and your family have suffered enough.”

“Harry, she has a valid point. And Merlin knows we need the help,” Sirius added.

“Please, it would at lease help repay you for helping us. If you went to your Ministry and were seen or caught, all would be lost.”

But as Harry began to reject her offer, Hermione interjected effectively overruling Harry’s veto, “That is a great idea, Caterina. Harry and I are too well-known to venture within a hundred kilometres of the Ministry.”

“Are you certain you want to take this risk, Cat?” Harry asked, hoping she would back down. George returned with the duffel bag of clothes that they had removed on the train before arriving in Vienna , and handed it to Harry.

“Yes, I have been through this in Vienna when I began my studies. I can do this too. I will say I am seeking employment.”

Thinking it over, Harry began nodding, “Then you all need to be off within the next few minutes. We’ll rendezvous in the Muggle visitor’s lounge at King’s Cross, in exactly one hour. The Ministry should be closed for the day, but there are always guards milling about. Cat, can you Apparate within a block of the Ministry and get inside quickly?”

“She should just use the floo for Overseas Arrivals. That wouldn’t raise any suspicion. And there’s a five galleons’ duty,” Fred corrected.

Harry dug into his pocket and handed the necessary amount to the young witch, then thought it over for a moment and handed her an additional handful of coins. “Look for Diagon Alley when you leave when you leave the Ministry. It is a reasonable destination if you have just arrived from a foreign country. You should be safe there.”

Harry pulled a cloak from the duffle bag and wrapped it around her. “Stop and have a meal at the Leaky Cauldron, and if you think you’re being followed, book a room there and wait for one of us to fetch you. If you feel safe, then meet us at the rendezvous point.” He handed her the duffel bag, “You’ll need some luggage to make it look realistic.”

“Sì, I can leave from a floo in a pub in Roma. It will just take a moment. Ciao,” she called out and for the first time since she had become acquainted with this group, and for the first time in front of her parents, she vanished with a loud pop.

"Dio santo, what happened to my girl?” her father asked.

“She Apparated away. It’s the easiest method we have of travel; it’s perfectly safe,” Hermione tried to reassure him.

“Right, the rest of you need to be off. Remember not to jump directly there, and try to hide your trail. Love, it is time for us to leave too.” Harry took Hermione in his arms and kissed her forehead before the entire group vanished.

---

Caterina arrived at the Ministry in the immigration section. An active department, it served as the only legal entry point for all wizards arriving from overseas. She shouldered the bag and stepped from the floo into the queue. The room was abuzz with rumours; people were continuously arriving from various locations.

From the bits of conversations, many had come to see a state execution. She tried to maintain a disinterested appearance as if unaware of the activities, but she grabbed every word hoping for additional clues.

She stepped to the counter and handed her paperwork to the official.

“So, miss, you’re ‘ere for the execution tomorrow?”

"Si, sono qui per frequentare un seminario per l'università. Resterò al massimo una settimana." she replied in Italian . - “Yes, I’m here to attend a seminar for my university studies. I will be here a week at most.”

“Sorry, I don’t speak a word of Italian.”

She cocked her head and feigning a lack of language skills, replied. "No, la mia università è a Londra." Her lack of English and student status in Vienna seemed to be enough proof for the immigrations official. – “No, my university is in London.”

“That will be five galleons. You do have galleons?” he spoke quite slowly and held out five fingers.

“Sì,” she pulled a small bag from her pocket and produced five coins.

“Now, to the Wand Registration queue you go, missy.” He pointed to another window on the far wall with a longer queue.

Caterina sighed and joined the growing line waiting to have their wands inspected and certified for use in Britain . She reached into her pocket and produced her wand. It was the same one she had purchased when she had received her letter, carved from a fig branch and with a Unicorn tail hair for a core.

She had not practiced her magic actively in several years; Disapparating to Rome was her first time since completing wizard school. She ran through all the potential questions that could be asked, and opted to remain ignorant of the local language.

She kept her ears open for any indication from those around her of the upcoming public display. All she could gather were stray words from the crowd.

She nervously watched as others before her surrendered their wands for inspection. She watched as random wands and their owners were pulled aside into a small cupboard.

She finally stepped up to the counter and stood there, ignorant of what was expected.

“Wand please, miss.”

She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. “Che cosa vuole? Non capisco.” - “What do you want? I don’t understand.”

The inspector rolled his eyes and pointed to the sign of a wand over his shoulder. She nodded her understanding and placed hers on the counter. The clerk picked it up and visually inspected it. He waved it once and repeated the incantation, “Prior Incantato,” and her last five spells appeared, her Disapparition to Rome , followed by a reduction spell and several levitations spells.

“All seems in order, miss. I must inform you that a trace spell has been placed on your wand to track any spells you perform while in Britain . Enjoy your stay,” he said as he handed her wand back to her. She remained standing with a strained look until he motioned her towards the exit.

She smiled and replied, "Grazie mille, signore." - "Thank you, sir."

As she exited the Immigration office, a posted sign caught her attention. She tried to read it as she passed, not wanting to draw attention.

“State Execution to commence at 10:00 AM …” was all she could read. But she had the time and had to assume it was to take place the following morning.

Next, she followed her instructions, proceeding to Diagon Alley in the hope of gaining more information.

---

Fred and George used a portkey directly to the Shrieking Shack, bumping into the rickety furnishings as they landed and tumbling to the floor in a jumble of matching limbs.

“Mind your bloody elbow! You jabbed me in the eye.”

“Sod off, you’d best watch those clown feet of yours. Kick me in the arse again and I’ll show you some brotherly love.”

“Keep it up and the whole bloody guard will find us.”

George stood first and brushed off the dust, then reached out a hand to help up his twin.

“What say we start at the Three Broomsticks? We might pick up some news there.”

“Splendid idea. I could use a spot ‘o something to warm up.”

Fred shook his head, “It’s the bloody summer, you git.”

“Well, I could still use a spot to rinse this dust from me throat,” he replied cheekily.

“I would not recommend that course of action. You never know who may be watching,” they heard from a familiar voice from the corner of the room.

---

Sirius went directly to a small park several blocks from his family home. Sirius knew exactly where he needed to apparate to in order to not be seen; there was a small park several blocks from his family home. It was one of the childhood playgrounds he frequented with James and Remus. He materialized behind a small stand of bushes, and in the dark of night could go totally unseen.

Peering through the branches, he noticed the park was empty, and emerged from his hiding place, walking around on all four paws. A large, shabby, black dog would draw less attention than his human form.

He kept near to the shadows, staying far from the more travelled walkway, opting to pass through the neighboring yards. He played the part of a stray well, stopping at one point to relieve himself on a tree.

A few yards from his old home, he paused and sniffed the air, catching a scent he remembered from his youth though was unable to recollect. From the distance the building was dark and apparently empty.

He walked slowly, half expecting a trap or guards. Hearing a distant cough, he stopped at the edge of the last shadow before his yard.

Cautiously, he took a step back into the darkness.

Before another thought could register, he felt a sharp, biting pain in his hindquarters, followed by a hideously loud hiss. He turned sharply and bared his fangs at a large, grey tabby cat, still hissing and swiping its claws at him.

‘Bugger this, I don’t have time for some bloody cat,’ he thought, and growled.

The cat swiped at his snout and connected, leaving a bloody trail on his nose. He lunged at the cat just as it ran off, and then followed as closely as possible. In the distance he heard footsteps from the darkened porch of his house. He turned his head to see an observer coming out of hiding to see the cause of the commotion.

Thankful he followed the cat, hoping to be able to circle around to the rear of the house. Making his way, he chased the cat into a thicket of bushes and slowed his pursuit.

“Sshh…be quiet and come here,” he heard from within the shadow.

He slowed and looked into the branches; he could see an outline of a figure.

“Sirius!” he heard a hoarse woman’s voice say.

He looked up just as the woman stepped out from the deepest shadows. “I’m taking a risk, but when Rubeus told me what was happening, I had to believe the rumours that you were here.”

He shifted back to his human form and suddenly remembered that scent.

“It’s not safe here. There’s a trap in the Order’s old headquarters,” she whispered.

“Then change back into a cat, follow me, and we’ll talk.”

She nodded and shrank back into her feline form.

---

A couple walking arm in arm down the dark streets of London never drew anyone’s attention. They were properly dressed in the latest summer fashions from Europe , the light and airy fabric seeming to flow gracefully as they strolled along the avenue.

As they left Regents Park , to all outward observers the pair were simply meandering along with no obvious destination, their route took them through several neighbourhoods, and down streets they once travelled in more carefree days, as children. She never let his arm go as they strolled in nearly perfect harmony.

“Nervous, love?”

“Not when we’re together. I just hope the others are safe.”

“The station is only a mile or so away. With luck we’ll see them all soon. You’re not getting tired?”

“No, I could use the exercise before this baby makes it too difficult to move. I really don’t want to be one of those women who lets herself go with the baby as her excuse.” She held his arm tighter as he left a light kiss on her head.

They entered the rail station at King’s Cross through the Euston Road entrance. They needed more money, having only a handful of gold coins and less than a hundred Euros left, but seeing a queue at the currency-changing station to their right, the couple continued on not wanting to be seen. The escalator to the underground had one side disabled, forcing people to walk up the long flight of stairs.

The woman spotted their ultimate destination first, the visitor’s lounge opposite platform number eight. They fought their grumbling stomachs as they passed the take-away shops on the way to the seating area. Once there, the woman carefully looked through its glass doors, hoping to spot their companions.

“No one’s here yet; we’re the first,” she whispered.

“No, we’re not,” the man replied as he spotted an unusual sight: a large black dog sporting a leash and a dark coloured doggie jacket with a yellow handicapped symbol. The animal was leading an elderly woman in a broad-rimmed hat pulled over her face.

“Harry, that’s just a guide dog for the handicapped,” Hermione said as the woman and dog approached. She watched them closely and imagined she saw the dog smile.

The closer they came, the more the dog’s tail wagged.

The woman’s face was still hidden from view, but as they passed the couple, the dog stopped and sat. “Good boy, Padfoot,” the elderly woman praised her dog. “Now find the lounge,” she instructed, just loud enough for the couple to hear.

“Did you hear her, Harry?”

“Yes, we’ll wait a moment and then follow them.” The man and woman continued and stopped at the large road map on the wall, inspecting the routes.

“Love, I’m a bit knackered. Can we have a seat?” the woman asked again, just loud enough. The couple then turned and walked back to the lounge, this time passing through the doors.

Once inside, they found the room empty with the exception of the woman and her dog. Hermione motioned for a spot where they could see the door but not be seen from the outside, and sat. The dog stood and guided the woman over, and she too sat. Hermione noticed a fresh scratch on the dog’s snout.

“Evening, ma’am,” Harry offered politely.

“Mr. Potter, I presume? And from what I’ve been told, you must be Mrs. Potter.”

“Professor McGonagall?” Hermione said, with a pleased look.

“Please, call me Minerva, I haven’t taught in years, since the school was closed. I was fortunate to be watching the old headquarters when your godfather happened by. I hoped to find you.”

“He explained everything?” Harry asked.

“No, I was approached by another old and dear friend that told me an unfathomable story. I never would have thought it was true, except he has never lied to Albus or me before. When Rubeus told me he had seen another Harry Potter, I had to consult another old friend who also concurred to your presence.”

“We encountered Hagrid when we first arrived, that was some time ago. Who else knows we’re here?” Hermione asked.

“You had a pleasant chat with him one afternoon, or actually his portrait. I have another in my home and he appeared one day telling me a similar story.”

A gleam in Hermione’s eye of enlightenment slightly confused Harry. “In that room at Hogwarts when you came for me and you asked if I was talking to strangers, I was having a chat with Albus’ portrait.”

“So it is true, I only half believed it, I came here on pure faith,” Professor McGonagall added. “Sirius here told me that same tale and brought me here.

Sirius had walked away, to an isolated corner and the dog disappeared as he changed back to his human form. He walked to the three and joined the conversations.

“Mr. Potter, you must have heard what’s to happen in the morning. Your counterpart is planning…”

She stopped as the doors burst opened; a young woman walked in and spotted the four in conversation and froze in her spot. Instinctively, Professor McGonagall had her wand pointed directly at the newcomer.

“Professor, wait she’s a friend. Caterina, over here,” Hermione said to Professor McGonagall as she waved Caterina over.

Without another word she nearly ran to her companions, “That bastard is planning an execution, at 10:00 am, but I do not know where,” she rushed out in a near panic. It was painfully obvious she was terrified.

“Catty, take deep breaths,” Hermione commanded. “This is an old and dear friend, Professor Minerva McGonagall. Professor McGonagall, this is Caterina Basile, we found her a short while ago while we were in Europe. Her brother was nearly murdered by him,” Hermione said in way of a brief introduction.

“We still have Fred and George unaccounted for.” Harry said. “Now Professor, tell us what you know.”

“He has announced there will be a public trial in the courtrooms of the Ministry at 9:30 and a planned execution at 10:00. It would appear the trial is a formality to justify her murder.”

Harry nodded, “Thank you, that’s the best news possible, it means she is still alive.”

The doors opened again, this time several wands were produced, as three figures entered the room. Three men, arm-in-arm, who appeared to be quite drunk. Harry recognized the two taller men at once; the middle was shorter and quite stockily built.

One glance at the group sitting to the side and the faux inebriation ceased. The three quickly closed the distance; the shorter man remained a step back.

“Fred, George,” Hermione called out first, then recognized the newcomer. “Charlie?” she asked.

He stood and stared at her and shook his head in disbelief. “I hardly believed these two, and Percy. Still can’t believe that git got married and never told any of us.”

Harry stood and walked straight to Charlie, and sporting a wide grin threw his arms around the man. “Good to have you here. God it’s good to see you.”

Charlie stood still, not responding to the greeting, and waited for Harry to release him. “So you are here from another world?” he finally asked.

“No, a different reality, we can talk about this later,” Harry said as he led the three to the makeshift war council.

“So we now number eight, if we position ourselves correctly, we may just have Hermione and escape.”

“Nine, I believe Rubeus will be there to help,” Professor McGonagall added.

“I would suggest we all try and get some rest,” Hermione recommended.

“Where the bloody hell are we going to get some rest around here? There’s nowhere to sleep,” George complained.

Harry sat in thought. “I have the perfect place. Charlie do you have any Muggle currency? We’ll need to hire a car.”

“I have around a hundred quid,” Charlie replied.

“That’s great, if this works, I’ll repay it a thousand fold,” Harry said as he took the cash from Charlie and hurried for the exit.

“He must have a bloody brilliant idea to run off in a hurry,” Sirius commented. Harry was gone only a few minutes and returned with a trademark grin.

“Let’s go, all of us, I have a couple cars waiting.”

The small mob stood and left in small groups to the exit, following Harry. He led them to a pair of waiting taxies, each large enough to take half of the group. “Come on then, it’s quite late and we don’t want to keep our hosts waiting.”

Once inside and settled, the two cars left the station. The drive to the new destination lasted nearly a half hour.

“Darling, it’s nearly 10:00, would they still be up?”

Harry knew the schedule kept, “No, they’d be long since in bed. But I think this would be a pleasant enough surprise to get them out of bed.” His grin at the anticipated pleasure he faced brought a frown on her brow.

“I thought we were done with them,” she whispered.

“So did I, but this is still my house,” he replied as the cars pulled into the short drive of Number 4 Privet Drive.

Sirius and Professor McGonagall quietly exited the car parked in the drive with Harry and Hermione. The three Weasley brothers and Caterina climbed from the second car in the street. Harry paid both drivers and they all watched the cars drive away.

Harry took the initiative and approached the door of the house he spent most of his youth, abused and ignored. It was eerily different, lights were still on in the lounge, and voices could be heard through the door. He raised his hand to knock, but Hermione stayed the blow on the door.

“Suppose they are not here anymore?”

“Then we’ll apologize and move on, Mrs. Figg’s house is a few blocks away, I know she’ll help,” He said as he rapped on the door loudly.

A moment later his aunt opened the door.

“Harry?” she said startled, the blood drained from her face and Harry thought she would faint. She managed to maintain her composure by using the door for support.

“Yes, may we come in?” he asked politely.

Aunt Petunia looked at him and then to the woman at his side, and finally to the group behind them. “Y-You’re back?”

“Yes, for the night. You remember Hermione? I believe she was here for the summer when we were in school.”

“Good evening Mrs. Dursley,” she said politely and extended a hand.

Aunt Petunia stepped back, unwilling to take Hermione’s hand and opened the door. Harry took this as an invitation, and walked inside with Hermione. The others followed.

“Petunia! Who’s at the bloody door at this hour?” Harry’s uncle bellowed from the lounge.

Harry let a smirk crack on his face, and Hermione pulled him close, “You’re enjoying this a bit too much, try to not torment them too much, ok?”

He nodded as they entered the lounge coming face to face with Uncle Vernon. Dudley sat on the sofa with an equally attractive woman sitting at his side; the sheer weight strained the frame of the furniture. Harry kept his wife at his side as they greeted his estranged family.

“Vernon, how very nice to see you again,” Hermione started, trying to relieve the stress of the moment.

“P-P-Potter, you’re back?”

“For the night, we were out on the town and needed a place for the night, I hope we aren’t an inconvenience,” Harry replied.

Dudley finally stood, but still sheet white from the knowledge of who his cousin is. “H-Harry, h-how have y-y-you been?” he managed to stammer.

“First, let me say I’m not excited to impose on you either. But with events as they are, we were forced here. No one is to know we are here, do you understand?” Harry ordered, assuming the air of authority.

“Y-y-you promised to leave us in peace,” his aunt managed to say.

“You know who I am, and the things that have happened since I left this ‘house’. Stay to yourselves and we will all get along amicably.”

“Harry, they are family, we can’t be rude. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, I know this seems strange, and if you are aware of our lives, then you must know the seriousness of the times. We have a dear friend in mortal danger and we need to spend the night here before we can help her,” Hermione began to explain.

“So, y-y-you came here?” Uncle Vernon asked.

“Only for the night, and I’m sorry if we interrupted your party,” he said as he looked at the tray of hors d'oeuvre on the table. “I trust you all remember Hermione, but I don’t expect you’ve met any of my friends, although I believe you should remember Professor McGonagall. These three are the Weasley’s, Sirius is my godfather, I thing you may remember the discussions about him. And this is a new friend, Caterina Basile.”

Each of the group nodded except Caterina, she was unaware of the family history, and she approached Aunt Petunia in a warm greeting. “I am pleased to meet the family of my friends, thank you for your hospitality,” she said as she extended a hand.

Petunia stood and stared. “You’re one of them, a freak,” she finally hissed at Caterina.

“Caterina, it’s ok, we never got on together in the past.” Harry admitted as he ignored the insult and turned to his cousin. “Dudley? I see you have a friend as well.”

Dudley stood and tried to build his courage, as the woman next to him stood to face the new group, “Hello, since he’s too tongue tied, I may have to introduce myself. My name is Marjorie Dursley, Dudley ’s never mentioned a cousin before.”

“H-H-Harry,” he finally managed to find a voice, “This is my wife, Marjorie.”

Hermione beamed at the news, “So you finally found a match? Let me offer our congratulations. Darling, we must remember to send them a gift,” she said holding Harry’s arm.

“Oh, right, I don’t expect any of you to know this, but Hermione and I have been married ten years now.”

Marjorie turned to Dudley and whacked his arm, “you had a cousin that you didn’t even know was married? And you neglected to invite them to our wedding? What else have you been hiding from me?” she asked. It was evident who was truly in charge.

“Not to be rude, Marjorie, but we never got on together in the past, so it’s not surprising you’ve not been told about Harry, now if you’ll excuse us, it’s late and I need some rest. Darling I’ll be in your old room, please see to the others.” Hermione kissed the tip of his nose and turned up the stairs following the others, and directed them to their temporary quarters for the night.

“I’ll be up directly.” He turned to his companions and scratched his head. “I guess the four of you can share the spare room,” he said pointing to the three Weasley’s and Sirius, and then turned back to his cousin. “Are you still living here or have you moved on? Oh foolish me, of course you still live here. I hope you don’t mind letting my friends use your room?”

Marjorie came nose to nose with Harry, now starting to turn her temper on him for imposing her from her room. “I most certainly do mind. How dare you force us out?”

“Marjorie, dear, please let him use your room, we’ll explain later,” Petunia pleaded.

“Splendid, Professor and Caterina, you can share the front room, I’m certain you’ll find it comfortable. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see to my wife.”

“Not so fast, what makes you think after all this time you can just waltz in and take over?” Vernon ranted, having found some courage.

Harry turned to his uncle, and now that the others had left the room, his manners turned cold. “Uncle Vernon, I’ll discuss this tomorrow, be thankful we’re only here for one night. And if you value your lives, you’ll mention this to no one,” he said poking his uncle in the shoulder, “not even that annoying sister of yours, Marge.” He left his relatives standing in near shock as he made his way up the stairs.

He heard muffled but loud discussions and smirked at the mischief caused that night.

Once in his old room, he found Hermione sitting at his desk rummaging through a stack of papers, several boards in the floor were missing.

“Remember when we came back after we left school? You never had that talk with Uncle Vernon and we never recovered these.” She pointed to a pile of parchment he used to document his dreams that fateful summer.

“So we never came back here,” he said.

“No, further proof the end of the battle with Voldemort was where this world deviated from ours.”

Harry sat on the small bed, and she left the desk to be at his side. “Darling? None of this was our doing. But tomorrow we have a chance to help Hermione Granger.”

“I intend to deal with him too, this must stop,” he said staring into nothing.

“I know. Come to bed, we need some rest,” she said as she wrapped an arm around him and they curled together in the small bed.

The family of four that lived in the house had huddled together most of the night in the lounge until sleep began to claim the younger two. They shared detailed explanations of the mysteries of these people with Marjorie, but with an obvious slant against Harry and his companions. Vernon and Petunia retired to their room only a few hours before dawn.

Hermione was first to wake as dawn broke through the still of the night, having an urgent need for the toilet. Her pregnancy was still causing nausea in the morning. Having to leave the small bed also woke Harry. He dressed quietly and lay in his bed to wait for her to return.

“Sorry, Harry, this isn’t the most attractive part of having a family, is it?” she apologized. He stood to hold her, knowing she always felt weak-kneed in the morning.

“Maybe not the most attractive, but it is the most reassuring. It is a reminder nothing has changed and the baby is still healthy,” he said as he gave her tummy a slight pat and a smile.

“Feel well enough for some breakfast?” he added as she pulled a jumper over her head.

“Um-hmm. I think so.” She replied as they left the tiny room.

None of the others were up yet; Dudley and Marjorie were still asleep on the sofa. And since Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were not there, there was some hope for a peaceful cup of tea before having to do battle with the world.

They carefully slipped into the kitchen and closed the door to have their moment of peace. Harry turned on the stove for the water while Hermione prepared several slices of toast.

“Have you worked out a plan yet Harry?”

“Aside from storming the gates? No,” he admitted. “I’m not Ron; we really could use him now."

“We know the following; the trial is at 9:30 with the planned execution at 10:00. We also can assume this is an elaborate trap for us, or he would have killed Hermione by now,” she said listing the known facts.

“We also know the trial is to be held in the courtrooms, and the execution should be in the Chamber of Death. You don’t suppose he’ll just toss her through the Veil?”

“No, that would be too easy,” she replied after a moment’s thought.

“I think he would like to see her, and us, suffer.”

“Then the best chance for success would be when she’s moved from the courtroom to the Death Chamber. There’s little room for a lot of people, so the chances are there would only be a couple guards.”

“Seems reasonable, Sirius and I will enter the Ministry while the rest of you wait for us to effect her escape.”

“No, Harry we have to work together, or have you forgotten the last time? We, you and I, were apart and we both were captured too easily. We have to work as a team.”

“Hermione, we can’t risk losing this baby. I won’t risk losing you to save anyone, not even her,” he said.

“This is not your decision alone. Nor is it mine. We both know we have to be together. Every time we faced Voldemort, we were together. The one time we were apart turned disastrous for us, you thought I was dead and I thought I lost you too.”

The door creaked open, as a stocky redheaded man who resembled a tree-trunk lumbered into the kitchen. “Morning,” he yawned as he picked up a cup and filled it with tea.

“Good morning Charlie, we were discussing our options,” Hermione answered back.

“Fred and George filled me in on most of the details, Percy tried to explain what was going on, but he didn’t seem to have a firm grasp of the events,” he said as he pulled out a chair from the table and sat. “I half believed him when he babbled about a saviour getting ready to free the wizarding world.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘saviours’, we just want to return to our reality. And if we have to set things right here before we can leave, then so be it,” Harry replied.

“I heard your plan for this rescue effort, I might have something that can help.” He took a deep sip of the steaming beverage, “I have a couple sets of dragon hide Armour, it’s not much, but it may give you that slight edge.”

“I want Hermione to have a set,” he said before another word was said. “And I want you to use the cloak, or you stay behind, is that agreeable?”

“Yes, the three of us should be able to get her free,” Hermione agreed.

“What about the others? How can we get them inside?”

“Caterina, Charlie and the professor shouldn’t have any problems; no one knows they’re with us. Hagrid should be inside as well. Fred and George could wait outside if we need help.”

The door opened again, Caterina and Professor McGonagall passed through. The planning for the rescue was again questioned, with the basic strategy related.

“Dio, that is your plan? We will surely all die.”

“What other ideas do you have?” Harry asked the newest member of the resurrected Order of the Phoenix.

“Sì, in my school, in Dangerous Magic Defences, they taught a spell, we call it circolo di potere or you might call it ‘Orbis Virium’.”

“The Circle of Power? But that requires a pentagram with five,” Professor McGonagall added.

“Sì, cinque, five of us. We are more then five, it would be enough.”

“Catty, ‘Orbis Virium’ is a powerful spell, and for it to be used properly, requires timing and practice,” Hermione said shaking her head.

“Sì, practice; but only for those unfamiliar with the other partners. You and the others have known each other for a long time. It should not be a hardship. And, I have, how to say, fatto in tre, come la trinità?” – “made it with three, like a trinity”

“Trinity? Really?” Hermione asked.

“Sì. It did not have the same strength, or durata, but it was possible.”

“We won’t need it to last long, just enough to get him stopped,” Harry said. Hermione raised an eyebrow, as if he understood Catty’s last comment.

The added activity in the kitchen and additional traffic through the hall roused the sleeping couple in the living room; the new discussion with raised voices was heard in the kitchen.

“Looks like your cousin is finally up,” Charlie commented, stopping further discussions.

“Poor sod, I feel sorry for him, he didn’t marry as well as I did,” Harry said as he reached for Hermione’s hand to change the subject.

“Yes, look at the wretched witch you got stuck with,” she teased.

Charlie watched this display and hurrumphed a few times before excusing himself to wake the rest of the group.

Hermione turned serious as soon as they were alone, “I’m really scared, what if he’s a better tactician than us? We could be walking right into his trap.”

“I know. It’s a risk I wish you wouldn’t take.”

“I have to be there with you, it’s the only way. You two are equals and you need me there to help tip the scales. Besides, I’ll be in dragon hide and under the cloak.”

“The cloak will fool the guards, they will be easy to by-pass. But if you encounter him, I’m certain he’ll know you’re there.”

“I’m a big girl, you don’t have to worry.”

The door opened to see an irate Marjorie burst into the room. “I have no idea why they are so terrified of you two, or who the hell you think you are to burst in here and throw us out of our own rooms.”

“Good morning, Marjorie. How nice to see you this morning,” Harry replied amid smirks from Hermione.

“Don’t you patronize me, I want an explanation, or I’m having the authorities toss you lot out.”

“That would be a neat trick; we need to be leaving soon anyway. And as I’m certain my ‘family’ hasn’t informed you of the details, let me fill in some of the blanks.” Harry started, his anger kept at bay only by Hermione’s touch.

“It’s quite obvious who’s in control here,” she cut back seeing the physical exchange. “And the authorities would be interested to know you threatened our lives. ‘…If you value your lives, you’ll mention this to no one…’ Was that meant to scare us, because it has no affect on me.”

“Harry and I are a team, I know him better than anyone else. I know when he’s about to lose his temper, and trust me, you won’t enjoy the ramifications. And since you have been kept in the dark about us, let me make this simple. Harry is the legitimate owner of this building and has every right to this property. As for any threats…”

“They are not threats, but warnings. My uncle is well versed in the activities regarding our companions and us. If I were you, and had half a brain, I would forget you ever saw any of us.”

“So, you’re criminals, common thieves?”

Sirius had been listening and took that moment to interrupt. “He’s an officer in her majesty’s service. A high-ranking member of MI5, I trust you’ve heard of them. We all are members of his team or under his protection.”

“Spies? You expect me to believe you are spies? What a fairy tale, next you’ll say you’re tracking werewolves and vampires.”

“Not today, but a close friend is afflicted with lycanthropy,” Sirius replied seriously.

“Marjorie, I told you to avoid them,” Uncle Vernon said trying to isolate his daughter-in-law.

“Ahh, uncle, glad you can join us. You should have briefed her better, I’m certain you are aware of the dangers present these days?”

“Um, well, yes, I’ve heard. But still this is my home…”

“That I own, but of course you are unaware of that clause in the estate. No matter, after today it may not matter a bit. We need your car and Dudley ’s too.”

“No,” Marjorie insisted, “I intended to spend the day shopping and I must have the car.”

“Here, take the keys, and the keys to Dudley ’s car are on the hook by the door. Marjorie, let them have the car, please listen to us for once,” Uncle Vernon pleaded.

“Good man,” Harry praised. “They should be back later today, and if anything happens, I’ll make certain they are repaired straight away. Now, if you don’t mind we have an execution to stop.”

“I’ll gather our things if you want to brief the others on the plan, darling.”

“Right, Sirius, let’s round up the others.”

“Charlie’s handled that, he had a spot of trouble with those two sods,” Sirius said.

“Tell the twins they’re driving.” He said tossing the keys to Sirius. Hermione left with Sirius leaving Harry alone with his uncle and Marjorie.

Harry waited a moment, before giving his uncle a final warning. “Uncle, Marjorie, your safety may not seem in jeopardy, but rest assured you all are in more danger today they ever before. Do not be mistaken, the dangers of the past with Lord Voldemort pale in comparison to what we face today.”

“Rubbish, so far you’ve offered no proof of who or what you are, or this ‘lord what ever his name is’,” Marjorie said discounting all his warnings.

“Marjorie, you are the perfect match for Dudley, I hope you two have a long life together, Uncle Vernon, you and Aunt Petunia of all people should know the truth or at least believe this is no prank. I more than likely shall never return, so if I were to leave this life, this house and all it contains is yours. I have already established who will receive the rest of my estate. Good-bye,” he said as he turned from the table and left with the others.

Outside, George sat in the driver’s spot in the first car, leaving the passenger’s seat in front for Harry. Hermione and Caterina sat in the rear seat. Fred was in charge of the second car, with Charlie and Sirius as his passengers.

They left Surrey and Privet Drive behind and rapidly approached the traffic of London.

"Harry, mate, please remind me why we chose to use a Muggle car?"

"Because this way we wouldn't be traced. We could get lost in traffic and they can’t follow us."

"Bloody hell, look at that! It’s a red light!"

"Where's the invisibility switch?"

"There isn't any invisibility switch, you twat.”

"Then how do you expect me to fly this bloody piece of junk?"

"I expect you to drive it, not fly it."

"Bloody hell, George, maybe we'll be safer as his prisoners than as your passengers again."

"You know, love? I think my boggart has just changed."

"Mine changed the first time he drove on the wrong side," Caterina said.

"Cat, darling, this is England ; we drive on the other side than in Europe. "

"Yes, I KNOW that, but he doesn't!"

"Isn’t that the police approaching?"

"No.... LOOK OUT - THAT IS A TRUCK!"

"Why are they all going the wrong direction?" George muttered.

"You haven't got it yet, mate? You’re going the wrong direction!"

"Ave o Maria piena di grazia il Signore è con te..."

"What in hell are you blabbing?"

"Isn't that obvious? I'm PRAYING!"

“Here we are, at the Ministry safe and sound.”

"Harry, when did you start going grey?"

"About ten minutes ago."

"But we were only in the car for five minutes."

"I know."

“Grazie per averci salvati dalle forze del Male!” – “thank you for saving us from the forces of Evil”

"Cat, we haven't faced him yet," Hermione said quietly.

"No, I meant his driving!"

“How could I have married into such a spineless family?” Marjorie screamed, as she slammed the door. She carried one suitcase of possessions, fully expecting her bluff to work, fully expected Dudley to follow her and finally leave the sanctuary of his parent’s home.

But no one came out to stop her.

Carelessly, she plodded down the drive to the pavement. The lone alarm from a rushing fire engine was the only other sound that morning.

Marjorie was all but ignoring her surroundings when she quite literally ran into the one person she never expected to see again.

“Out of my way, woman,” he commanded. His black cloak bellowed as he approached her. A number of other men approached from across the street.

“YOU!” she shrieked, standing her ground.

“I said get out of my way, bitch,” he said, as he pushed past her intending to ignore the Muggle woman.

“How dare you speak to me like that,” she spat drawing his attention.

“How dare I speak to you?” he said, as he turned and took a quick look at her. He shook his head in disgust. “You stupid cow, I’m in too much of hurry to deal with the likes of you. My ‘family’ is waiting,” he said turning towards number 4 Privet Drive.

“So, you decided to return? And what the bloody hell did you do with my car?”

Her comment froze him in his tracks. “Explain yourself, woman.”

“Spy my arse; you don’t even remember forcing us out of our own bed last night. And my spineless worm of a husband refusing to stand up to any of you.”

“How many were there?” he demanded.

“You don’t even remember?” She shook her head, turned, and walked away.

“Avada Kedavra!” A green light hit her and she fell to the ground.

“Stupid Muggle,” the wizard muttered, as he turned his wand towards the house, instantly sealing all its doors and windows. A gleam flashed over his face as another beam of pure energy struck the building, an explosion reverberating from inside. Similar beams struck the house from other directions, as several men converged at its front. Fresh sounds of destruction accompanied the growing sound of distant sirens.

Screams sounded from inside the house, as flames burst the windows and consumed the first floor; before spreading rapidly to the second. The house remained sealed; allowing only the flames to escape.

The wizard remained at the scene, watching the flames, listening to the screams of pain and death. He grinned as the roof collapsed long before the fire brigade arrived.

The only help possible was occupied at another scene only several blocks away.

---

“Why did you leave me?” the voice asked endlessly.

She listened to the question unable to answer. His last interrogation session had left her unable to speak and nearly drained of life, kept alive merely for the formalities of the trial and the proceedings that were to follow. The shackles cut into her wrists; the fresh welts on her body had clotted hours earlier. She felt relief only when she leaned her bruised body against the icy cold stone wall.

“Why did you leave me?”

Sleep was impossible; death was probable. She no longer wanted to try to survive; she just hoped her sacrifice would not be in vain.

There were no lights in the anti-chamber where she was held, no windows, and only one door. A simple wooden chair sat against the far wall, where he sat and enjoyed watching her suffer.

She strained to hear any hint that this would end, but her raspy breathing and that voice remained the only sounds. Her mind began to drift in the darkness, the cold stone against her bare skin her only route back to reality.

“Why did you leave me?” the voice asked again.

She tried to mouth her only reply, but the pain in her jaw prevented that. ‘You stopped loving me,’ she thought again.

“Why did you leave me?”

She reflected back to the recent dream she had imagined, of another life where she was happy and he still loved her. ‘I never stopped loving you,’ she thought.

“Why did you leave me?” the voice repeated.

She let her eyes close, and felt a cold tear fall on her chest.

How long she had been unconscious she could not tell. The dark room now flooded with light as she felt multiple number of hands on her. Her legs were unshackled and she was being held upright to relieve the stress from her wrists. A sharp flood of pain hit her hands as the pressure of the shackles was relieved.

She still was not allowed the dignity of clothes as she was dragged away from the comfort of her cell, her bare feet unable to support her weight as she was pushed into the confining space of the courtroom’s cell.

A throng of faces stared at her as she was forced to stand behind the iron bars, the confines of the cell not allowing her to sit. She left her hair pulled over her face in the hopes of being able to hide her shame.

“Hermione Jane Granger, you are being held for murder and High treason.”

“Does the accused have any last words before the verdict is read?”

She raised her head and tried to speak, but was still unable.

“Having been duly tried and found guilty of all crimes, you stand before this tribunal for sentencing.”

Another voice spoke out from the judge’s raised bench, “Death.”

“Take the convict to the Death Chamber to carry out the sentence.”

“No. She is to suffer a slow and lingering death to serve as a message to any other traitorous and cowardly individuals that may act against the state. This sentence will be carried to completion immediately.” That voice was unmistakably Harry’s.

She felt hands grab her through the bars. The door to the cell opened; she was manhandled from the cell and deposited into a clear, rectangular box.

The smooth sides felt soothing to her battered body, as she pressed against the glass. She refused to look out at the faces in the courtroom. Many were there as witnesses, though very few were there voluntarily.

“You may proceed.” she heard from the judge’s bench.

She thought she felt something in her hair, and moved her hand to her head, watching a white speck slip to the floor of the chamber. Then, she felt another something slowly fall into her hair. She could not tell what was happening. Another white speck fell to the floor.

The specks increased until a constant stream was falling into the chamber. The pile grew, now covering her feet. Only then could she tell that the pile was moving. Her feet grew numb as the pile grew deeper, now halfway to her knees.

She tried to move, but the chamber was so thin that she was unable.

The white specks stuck in her hair, and the stench grew. She could look at them closely for the first time. “Maggots!” she tried to scream.

“Yes, your body will feed and nourish these maggots, until only your bones are left. In all likelihood three to five days from now, they should have burrowed into your flesh. In a week the sentence should be complete.”

She screamed, but no sound could be heard because the chamber had been silenced, and the edges of the shattered bones in her jaw rubbed together, feeding her pain. She could still taste the blood in her mouth. The flow of maggots continued to slowly fill the chamber. It was at that moment that she finally realized the cell would be her coffin.

She looked up to see a hooded figure approach. He came face to face with her, only that thin layer of glass between them.

“Why did you leave me?” Harry repeated. “Goodbye, Mudblood, I have some invited guests to entertain.” He turned, laughing as he walked away.

She sobbed in silence, still trying to move her lips. ‘There’s still good in him. He’ll stop this insanity,’ she thought.

She could feel the maggots as they began to feed on her open wounds. The tiny creatures nuzzled into her skin, squirming and eating.

She screamed in silence.

Slowly, they continued to pour into the glass coffin, now up to her stomach.

The hordes of people who had come to witness the event sat in near silence as the last of the maggots were dropped. The top of her cell was closed off, but ventilated so that air could circulate for the parasites.

She had not been taken from the courtroom; she was to remain as an exhibit for all time. The witnesses began to leave the room, after the coffin had been sealed. No one wanted to watch her die; even Harry had left her to die alone.

She watched as the last faces left; she recognised one clearly from his size and the tree trunk he had for a leg. She also thought she saw another face with him, but the pain fogged her mind so much that she lapsed into unconsciousness.

---

Outside the courtroom in the corridor; a select few remained to privately mourn the convict’s death. Hagrid clumped over to where Professor McGonagall stood, where she was talking to another woman and man.

“Professor,” he greeted, expecting an introduction. The woman never looked his way and left, her long blond hair flipping as she did so.

“Rubeus, you remember Charlie Weasley? He returned to watch the execution, as a representative for the rest of his family.”

“Hagrid, it’s good to see you again.”

“Here ter watch an innocent girl suffer, Weasley?”

“Here to finally see justice. The professor and I were discussing recent events in Romania and the dragon population. She was informing me of the recent events here.”

“If yeh wan’ justice, why this?” Hagrid asked, his sympathy for Hermione evident.

“I can promise justice will be swift,” Charlie said.

“Justice is one thin’, bu’ this is jus’ murder,” Hagrid began to rant.

The door to the stairs opened, drawing their attention. Caterina returned and hurried back to the group. She remained tight-lipped when she approached, eyeing Hagrid suspiciously.

"Spirit, chi è quell'uomo gigantesco?" she whispered cautiously. – Spirit, who is that large and horrible looking man?

“Hagrid, this is a good friend of some old and dear friends, whom you may remember. Caterina Basile, this is Rubeus Hagrid, the individual we discussed last night. Spirit instructed me to make the introductions. Rubeus, Miss Basile is here to help,” Professor McGonagall said by way of introduction.

“Caterina, is it? An’ where migh’ yer be from?” Hagrid asked.

She looked at him, puzzled, and cocked her head slightly. The elder educator smiled and repeated the half-giant’s question, this time without his heavy accent.

“Italia. I met these people in Vienna and we have travelled together for the week past. That ‘other’ almost murdered my brother.”

“I see. Professor wha’ can we do ter save Hermione?”

“At this point I’ve been told we should not do anything, at least for another hour.”

Caterina again was looking puzzled when she felt a warm hand on the small of her back, and then heard Hermione whisper, “Cat, non possiamo ancora entrare, è troppo presto.” – “Cat, we can't go in yet, it's too early.”

"Allora, che cosa facciamo nel frattempo? Stiamo qui impalati e ci guardiamo intorno come cretini?” - “So what are we going to do in the mean time? We stay here standing and look around like fools?"

“Chiedi alla Professoressa, o la gente penserà che tu stia parlando da sola. Posso tradurre io quando sarà necessario.” Hermione instructed. – “Ask the professor or people might think you’re talking to yourself. I can translate as needed.”

“Non c'è bisogno che tu traduca, posso parlare nel suo stesso linguaggio, and Rubeus, direct your questions for Miss Basile to me for translation,” Professor McGonagall interrupted. - “No need for translation, I can converse in her own language.”

The door to the courtroom swung open, the familiar face that came from the other side causing tension among the small group. Hagrid’s eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. The intruder stared at the others.

“Hem, hem, I see you’re trying to recruit fresh members to your old ‘Order’, eh McGonagall?”

“Dolores, how nice to see you again and, as you are well aware, the Order died with Albus more than ten years ago. Charlie came at his family’s request and Rubeus is an old friend of Miss Granger. She needed to know not everyone abandoned her,” Professor McGonagall said coldly.

The frog-faced witch turned to Caterina. “And who is this lovely creature?”

“My niece from Italy. I’m afraid she hasn’t quite mastered English,” Professor McGonagall said.

Caterina held her hand out. “Pleases to see your acquaintance, sir,” she replied in her worst attempt possible.

Dolores Umbridge glared at the young woman, and then gave Hagrid a knowing smirk. “You’ll be interested to know, it seems the convicted won’t be able to last the day. She’s fainted like a child.”

“Yeh worthless waste o’ magic,” Hagrid muttered under his breath.

“Worthless? No, not after I report this ‘meeting’ to the authorities. Then we’ll see who’s worthless, you half-breed.” Umbridge grinned and turned back into the courtroom.

The gentle half-giant lunged before anyone could say a word and was through the door before Umbridge could close it. She turned to him just as his massive fist swung and hit her full in the face. The force not only flattened her features even more, but also flung her across the room, smashing into the glass coffin which held Hermione Granger.

The two Aurors on guard instantly raised their wands, unsure if this was the forewarned escape attempt.

“Hold, or the both of you will not draw another breath!” the senior officer commanded.

Hagrid’s anger seethed to the surface; he crossed the room quickly; his wooden leg clumping with each step. Without another word he grabbed the fallen witch and slammed her into the glass again, the Auror’s orders largely ignored.

The glass cell around Hermione cracked as Hagrid released Umbridge’s neck, letting her slump to the floor, blood trickling from her mouth and nose. Hagrid stood his ground as the first Auror approached him.

“So, we have our first attempted escape,” he stated, holding his wand up at Hagrid’s throat.

The courtroom door opened; his black cloak flowed around him as he stared down the Auror, before addressing Hagrid. “Brawling in my courts? Hagrid, I would have expected more from you.”

“Sire, they burst in unexpectedly,” the second Auror pleaded, as he stared at the wand in Harry’s hand.

“No matter, I shall deal with him personally,” the wizard stated, as he raised his wand, pointing it at Hagrid. A beam of energy blinded the Aurors, and all they heard was a loud thump as the half-giant’s massive frame hit the floor. “Now, this ‘thing,’ get rid of it,” he commanded, pointing to Umbridge’s bloody form in front of the cracked coffin.

“Yes, sire.” the two wizards grabbed the bloody witch and pulled her from the room.

A wide grin spread across Harry’s face as he stepped up to the glass coffin. He looked inside and stared at Hermione’s face. “So, here you are. You scared us all,” he said.

He stared at the face which he knew so well, and smiled. “She’ll be fine,” he said to the empty space behind him, tossing aside the wooden stick he held. A comforting touch on his shoulder, a sign of acknowledgement, was all he needed. He watched as the grey maggots in the chamber started to leak from the damaged panes. The impact was just enough to crack the glass, but not shatter it. Harry smiled into the glass, watching his grin widen.

He watched as his reflection raised its wand. A split second before the beam struck the coffin; Harry felt a hard tug on his arm pull him behind the heavy oak table. The invisibility cloak flew off, revealing Hermione as both she and Harry fell together. The glass panes shattered, spilling the dead maggots and the unconscious woman from the execution chamber.

A quick wave from Hermione’s wand knocked a large glass shard away from the base of the coffin, as the limp and bare body inside fell out. Hermione Granger was safely hidden from view from the other side. Hermione raised her wand again and created a wind that swept a pile of debris into the attacker.

Harry neatly dodged the flying glass as he pointed his wand again at the couple on the ground. Before he could cast his spell though, the rock behind him exploded. The massive body, which he had previously killed, was now pointing a battered umbrella in his direction.

The Harry on the floor raised his hand, casting a shield over himself and his wife, and with a sweeping motion slid Hagrid across the room to safety behind a pillar.

“I see you decided to save the bitch. Pity those other fools with you fell for this deception,” his counterpart called out. “I shall deal with them soon.”

“It wasn’t that hard. You’ve terrified people so long, one look and they were ready to do anything I ordered,” Harry replied. He looked at his wife by his side and whispered, “You need to get out. He’ll go for you first.”

“I’ll give you one chance to surrender and I give you my word your executions will be swift.”

“Get stuffed, you’re the one outnumbered.” They heard from another corner, as a blue spell exploded just behind the Dark Lord. Sirius had managed to slip into the courtroom unseen and had taken an offensive position. “Sorry I’m late. I got held up when Hermione left.”

Behind the Dark Lord and unseen by the others, a dedicated group of his personal guard waited for the order to join the battle.

“Mmmm,” Hermione moaned. Her jaw and the wounds from the beating she had endured had fully healed only to be replaced by new injuries from her cell’s collapse. The pile of dead maggots still assisted in hiding her from view. Hermione Potter pointed her wand at her counterpart, conjuring a cloak to cover her, further concealing her.

“So you managed to find a way to help her, and under my very nose. I applaud your ingenuity,” The Dark Lord called from the safety of his concealment. “Tell me, how did you do it?”

“We didn’t, she did, thanks in part to you and the maggots,” Hermione yelled back.

“Have you forgotten she is The Lost Witch?” Harry added.

“A myth,” his mirror image called back while signalling to his attack team.

Hermione Granger moaned again and began to crawl from the debris, holding tightly onto the cloak. She looked over to her rescuers and saw her double wave her over.

“One last chance or I promise a long and painful death,” the Dark Lord called, as he motioned his guards into position. Each man who slipped into the courtroom stayed close to the shadows, tipping the balance back to the Dark Lord’s favour.

“She is that witch,” Harry replied back to the tyrant.

“Granger, can you make it over here?” Hermione Potter whispered as loud as she dare without raising alarm.

She shook her head. “I can’t,” she mumbled, her voice trembling with fear.

A green beam shot out, shattering the stone bench behind the other Hermione. Harry pulled his wife close, shielding her from the flying rock. Sirius returned a spell at the ‘elite guard’, hoping to give the two Hermiones the time to reach a better cover. Hermione Potter shot a spell at the ceiling over the doorway opposite her and her husband, to block any additional reinforcements.

Hermione Granger, drawing strength from her counterpart’s determination, finally gritted her teeth. She waited for Sirius’s next spell to hit and then closed the ground to join the couple.

“This is a better defensive position, but we need to find a way to flank his men,” Harry told the two women.

Hermione looked at him. “Together. Remember, we have to do this together with Sirius.” She turned to her counterpart, who still wore the cloak wrapped around her frail frame. “You have to let us deal with him.”

Hermione Granger shook her head, “No, I can’t let you. I have no idea how you helped me, but I can’t let you take that risk.”

A series of blasts peppered the area behind and to the side of them. “One more blast like that and this table won’t hold.”

“It’s me he wants. You never should have come back.” She pushed back and tried to stand, but Harry pulled her back to safety.

“That’s foolish. We have a plan.”

“A plan? To barge in and get us all killed?”

“Padfoot, get Hagrid and retreat, we’ll cover you,” Harry yelled, as he waved his hand, releasing a fireball at the opposition.

Hermione Potter pointed her wand again at the ceiling, and another large chunk fell, blocking the way between them and the guards.

“Now, you two need to go. I’ll be right behind,” Harry commanded. A bolt of energy shot out from his hand, striking one of his counterpart’s guards and giving the two women the chance they needed. Hermione pulled the weaker woman up, shielding her as they both ran out of their hiding place.

Harry turned at the exact moment to see a purple flash cut through his wife’s black cloak just as she passed through the door. The scream tore into his mind as she fell; memories of her fall wounded at the Ministry twelve years ago flooded his mind.

Harry watched as she stumbled and fell after his spell found its mark. He pointed to a guard at his side, motioned for him to advance, and then gestured at two others to follow the first. They heard screams from behind the protective cover, before the intruders jumped up and ran for the door. A number of spells struck the door, shattering the wooden structure.

“After them, you fools! They can’t go very far; the bitch was wounded,” the Dark Lord commanded.

The three remaining guards scrambled past the debris, pushing aside the remains of the door. Now confident of his safety, Harry stood and followed his men to the corridor.

In the distance he heard someone shout, “Divide et impera,” followed by, “RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!”

He made his way out of the courtroom in time to see one guard wounded on the ground. At one end of the corridor a second guard was chasing a large dog through a set of doors, while another was running in the opposite direction, past several prostrate bodies.

“This way! They ran down here!” the far guard shouted, as he ran though another set of doors on the opposite end of the hall.

Harry ignored the first guard and hardly paid mind to the fallen one as he ran towards the far doors. He passed two bodies. The first was of a man, lying motionless, whom he did not recognize; the second of a woman whom he identified immediately. She lay on her side, her back to him; he could see the charred gash in the black cloak she wore.

He slowed down as he came closer and slammed his boot into her back. She flinched at the contact, but did not utter a sound.

“So, they left you to die anyway? How noble of them,” the Dark Lord sneered, as he rolled her over. She was still breathing; he could tell her wound was not fatal. He leaned over her body and grinned, raising his fist one more time.

“Orbis Virium,” three voices suddenly chanted in unison.

Hermione’s eyes snapped open as the area of ground next to her shimmered and slid away. Two figures sat on her other side; all three held hands, a glow engulfing them. Harry began to pull out his wand, but then felt Hermione’s hands grab his face.

He felt a sudden surge from her, which held him motionless, and heard her voice through a growing fog.

"It's over, Harry. I love you too much to let this insanity continue,” she said. The other two maintained contact with her, adding their power to hers.

“Orbis Virium,” the voices repeated.

Harry felt his inner strength drain from his body, and then a sharp, cutting pain tear through his chest. His blood began to boil in his veins as the intense pain of her mere touch cut deep into his soul.

He tried to scream, tried to pull away.

His body stiffened as the burning turned into ice. The last image he had was a blinding flash, then nothing.

---

“Orbis Virium… Orbis Virium,” Harry and the two Hermiones chanted quietly, as they waited under the cloak. Hermione Potter had used a Silencing Charm on the three of them to hide them, while they prepared.

“Orbis Virium,” they repeated, until the cloak slid from them as Hermione Granger turned to face the Dark Lord. Harry and his wife continued to hold hands, maintaining the circle as she reached out to him and held his face.

"It's over, Harry. I love you too much to let this insanity continue,” she said, as the light engulfed them all.

Harry vaguely remembered this scene occurring once before; though this time he was on the other side of that force. Hermione Granger and his wife looked at him, as if both in a trance, motionless staring into a blinding flash of light.

He looked at it with them. As the flash drew closer, they both seemed oblivious of the emptiness surrounding them, though he seemed to remain cognisant.

“Orbis Virium” He heard again. This time the chant echoed into his very being, the surrounding glow pulling that light even closer. He looked at his wife once again; her body was gone, and only a brilliant glow of pure white light remained. He looked to his other side to see that same glow mirrored on Hermione Granger. He could still see his hands as he floated forward.

‘Mione?’ he thought.

‘I’m here, my love.’

‘I am as well.’ He heard from his other side. The two glows on either side of him seemed to blind him; the sensation of touch disappeared, replaced with a warm sensation throughout his entire being.

‘Are we dead?’ he asked. He glanced down to see four figures locked in a twisted embrace. He could distinctly see where he sat with his Hermione, and where the other Hermione was now rolled on her side, with her hands pressed against another man’s face.

His face.

He watched as a distant light emerged from the body the other Hermione was holding; its very soul was being drawn from his other self’s being. The glow was distinctly different, not pure white, but grey and dull.

‘Darling, are you watching this? It’s incredible,’ his wife gasped.

‘My God,’ he thought, ‘is this really happening?’

‘Yes, but I don’t remember this. Harry, there. His soul, do you see it?’

‘Yes, it’s strange. That streak looks strangely familiar.’

A tormented scream ripped through the consciousness they both shared; a man’s face swirled in the light before them. In that face a snake, dark as pitch, was twisting around the man’s flesh. Its fangs sunk deep into his neck, pumping its venom into his soul. The man screamed in agony as transparent hands tried to pull the coils from his flesh.

‘Harry, that’s you, but there’s something wrong, ’ Hermione thought, her distress tearing into his mind.

He imagined his youth; he thought back to that spell she had taught him.

‘Abeo Tegere,’ he thought, as his mind sent a brilliant ray of light into the tormented soul of his counterpart. The charge of energy struck the serpent’s head, ripping the reptile from Harry Potter’s black soul. Harry maintained the surge of energy for what seemed like an eternity, until the fangs were finally extracted, leaving a gaping wound. A flash of the darkest light exploded from the serpent, then slowly faded, leaving behind a faint image which too vanished.

‘Harry?’ He heard from his side. ‘Was that…?’

‘I think it was the last of Tom Riddle’s soul. It must have infected me, er, him when you died.’

He felt his hand fall free as one side of the glow surrounding him began to dim and drift to the rapidly fading image before them.

He watched as a chestnut-coloured wave of chocolate and strawberry swirled around the fading light. ‘Harry, don’t leave me!’ Hermione Granger screamed inside her mind.

‘You still love me? After all I’ve done?’ They all heard faintly.

‘I knew it wasn’t you. I knew there was some good left,’ she cried.

Harry watched, imagining her holding his counterpart in her arms. Harry held his grip tight, afraid to let his Hermione go as they watched the death of his own counterpart’s tortured soul.

‘Harry, ’ Hermione Granger thought to the fading image, ‘I never stopped loving you. Please stay with me…’

‘I hated you. I despised you for killing Ron and Ginny. How can you still love me?’

‘I hated myself for that too, I wanted you to understand. I accepted what you did because I felt I deserved it.’

Two new figures emerged from the mist; ‘You punished her, as we both had. But now, we can see clearly she could not control herself.’

‘Ron?’ the fading image thought.

‘We are both still here, now part of her,’ Ginny’s thought spoke out.

‘We are going to have a child,’ Hermione Granger screamed to the fading image of Harry in her arms.

‘I know,’ the other Harry replied softly.

‘Harry, hold on, please,’

‘I can’t. I deserve to die for what I've done. I could have stopped, but didn't,' the fading voice said.

‘I won’t live without you.’

‘Hermione, there’s not enough of him left. Riddle’s poison consumed him until this is all that remained. He is almost gone,’ Hermione Potter thought.

‘You have to stay, I won’t let you go.’

‘Yes, you must, for the child you will love. Goodbye, my love. Please forgive me.’

The image of Harry Potter, the tyrant, dimmed and faded forever from existence.

In his mind Harry listened to the exchange of the two counterparts in their last moment together and saw them together. He glanced back to the four figures below, still locked in their twisted embrace; not a single hair or muscle had moved.

The brilliant glow that surrounded him weakened further; he could now see a figure floating nearby, and another more familiar one right next to him. The distant figure drifted back to them, and Harry sensed a great deal of sadness about it.

“Hermione?” he called out.

“Darling, I’m right here,” she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. She was real to his touch; he felt real. He turned to face her and she smiled.

“I can see you?” he asked.

She nodded, “Yes, although I can’t explain why. All I remember from the one time we joined like this was the warm, comfortable sensation that everything would be fine.”

Harry looked to the other figure now standing before them. He reached his arms out to it, and Hermione Granger accepted his comfort and wept for her lost love.

“What can we do for her?” he asked, as he stroked her hair.

“Support her when we return. That’s all we can do.”

“And how do we get back?” A new figure appeared from the mist, as Harry posed his question.

“That will happen soon enough. If you please, I’m certain you have questions, and it is time for answers.”

“Myddrin?” Hermione Potter asked.

“Yes, I’m glad you remembered. It makes it easier this way. Please, sit,” Myddrin instructed, as the mist transformed into a field of green and a gentle breeze warmed them all. Four chairs, carved from the stumps of trees, sat around a table, carved from a single slab of granite. The man that stood next to one of the chairs held his hands out, inviting them to sit.

He was familiar to them all, yet still seemed to be a stranger. His look was different than the last time Hermione had seen him. He looked much younger; his beard was shorter now, though his hair was sill longer and lightly peppered with grey.

As they approached the clearing, Harry, with his wife by his side, continued to support Hermione Granger. Harry got his first look at the man in the periwinkle cloak, his features similar to the description he read from Hermione’s writings of five hundred years ago.

“Myddrin?” Harry repeated.

Myddrin nodded, “Yes. Please, sit. We have plenty of time, but I’m sure you all are quite tired after this ordeal.”

“Harry, he’s real! I wasn’t imagining him!”

“But how can you be here? And also be in the past? And in our reality?” Harry asked.

“That is simple. I exist physically in all realities, just as you do. Over time, I have learned how to share my thoughts with my other selves in the other realities, so that I may help when needed. I simply have to identify which self needs my assistance, or which seems interesting to me at any given time.”

“Why did you let this happen?” a weak voice asked from across the table. Myddrin turned his attention to Hermione Granger.

“Please understand, I had tried to prevent this, but I can not interfere directly. I had hoped you could have prevented this in the past, but as this history had shown, I was wrong.”

“You weren’t wrong; it was the timing. It was the unforeseen human elements, which were difficult to control,” Hermione Potter stated.

The ancient wizard nodded. “I resisted trying to change your futures so many times. I am bound by my duty to remain unbiased, but I couldn’t let the evil of this world succeed.”

Harry looked solemn.

“Then you are responsible for her power? And her miraculous resurrection from death ten years ago was also your doing? And you said you can’t interfere.”

Myddrin looked at the two women, but addressed Hermione Potter first. “You never did actually die, in the strictest of terms. Yes, your heart stopped and you ceased to breathe. And you would have died that day and nothing would have brought you back, if Harry had not pulled the dagger from your chest.”

“I barely touched it. It was still in her chest when I took her to the hospital.”

“Quite right. It was, however, enough to allow her heart to beat on its own. And she did draw on you and your life’s essence to survive. She took only enough to heal the damage to her heart.” Myddrin turned to Hermione Granger and added, “Ron, however, had removed it from you.”

“So, I do have the ability to draw a soul from someone else?”

“Yes, but unfortunately once that soul has been removed, you cannot reinstate it.”

“Then, how did I survive that day?” Harry asked.

“That is one of the great mysteries of life and of love. It should be enough that you did survive, much the same as when Sirius Black nearly lost his soul to the Dementors that night you proved his innocence. I would say it was your pure love for her that kept your soul from leaving. As for Hermione, since her powers are the cause of this bubble between life and death; she was able to survive on her own.”

Hermione Potter reached a hand to Harry and another to her stomach.

“Our child…is it…” she began, appearing distressed.

Myddrin chuckled softly, “Your child is safe within you, and will be unharmed by this experience. However, your child,” he added, turning to Hermione Granger, “needs more than you will be able to provide on your own. I expect you will survive this pain, and find a way to be happy."

Hermione Granger shook her head, “No, I lost the one person whom I loved.”

“Yes, you have lost your first love. But there is a gentler love, one that will warm your heart softly and won’t burn away in a wave of passion; a love softened by laughter and friendship, the one that will last. Remember that you must learn tolerance, for one day you may find your greatest foe to be your strongest ally,” he punctuated his last comment with a wink to Harry.

She shook her head, “There’s no one left who cares about me.” Myddrin smiled warmly and held her hand.

“There is someone, I promise, little Hermione. And he's calling you now. He’s desperately looking for you. Can you feel it?” She closed her eyes and smiled for the first time in this strange place.

“Yes, I can feel a warm embrace wrapping around my heart. Is that him?”

“Yes, he is waiting and searching.”

Hermione Granger looked up and said, “I feel something pulling.”

“Don’t resist. Follow it, follow his strength. Otherwise you might not find the way back.”

“But...” she tried to protest, as her form faded, leaving only the pure, white glow of her soul, which hovered and then disappeared into the green of the forest. Myddrin finally turned his attention to Harry and Hermione.

“Your task here is over, but there are more challenges before you, and one that may prove to be the most trying of all. It will be some time before that task comes to light, but I must warn you both, your daughter’s life may well hang in the balance.”

“Daughter?”

“Yes, you will have a daughter. When you leave here and return to your physical forms, you must return to your own world and let life find its own course.”

“To our own world? Won't the trip through the portal harm our child?” Hermione asked.

"No, neither of you had been properly prepared to prevent passing through safely."

“Prepared? How?” Harry asked.

“How is not important for you to know; should that knowledge escape, the damage would be irreparable.”

“Then we are safe to return, and Sirius as well?” Hermione asked.

“Yes,” he said nodding, as they also began to fade. “But you must keep the events of these months as a deep secret. Tell no one of the details, or the delicate balance may be lost forever. ” His voice faded as his last words were spoken, the green grass dissolved, as did the stone table and tree-stump chairs.

“You know the way back. Follow it…” They now heard in their shared thoughts.

Harry and Hermione returned to their physical forms, to find Hermione Granger cradling her Harry’s body in her arms, weeping over him.

She looked up at Harry and Hermione with tears streaking her face. “It really happened?” she asked.

“Yes, now you know why and how he wasn’t able to control his actions. He had been battling Voldemort’s soul for ten long years,” Harry said, as he knelt by her side.

“He’s at peace now. You helped him find that. Remember, deep in his soul he still loved you,” Hermione Potter added. She picked up Harry’s old cloak and draped it over herself and Harry. The wizarding world of this reality would accept the illusion that Hermione Granger had acted alone.

The fall of the Dark Lord was not witnessed by anyone, since the corridor had been empty. But once those ordered to witness Hermione Granger’s execution heard her quietly sobbing, they realized the reign of terror was over.

The crowd that began to gather started with those who sought to rescue Hermione; Sirius and Professor McGonagall were the first to return, followed by Caterina and Charlie, and then members of the Elite Guard.

Hermione and Harry drifted close to Sirius; Hermione tapped his shoulder.

“Follow us,” she whispered in his ear. The three vanished silently from the crowd.

The door to the Death Chamber lay near the end of the corridor, and no one in the throng of wizards noticed it open and no one saw a single wizard slip through it.

No one noticedthe thin veil flap in the breeze and the slowly stop to hang dead still.

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Author's notes:

To my faithful readers, the next and (hopefully) final segment to this saga will begin after a brief hiatus.

First a gigantic thank you to everyone that had helped beta this tale as it progressed. The names are many and the effort monumental. I cannot express my gratitude sufficiently to all these wonderful people. Each and every one deserves credit.

• robinsinn
• nylrebmik
• Les
• Horst - My German Beta
• WX2Kenji
• And others long past…

However there is one that I will mention above the rest.

Kagome -sama , thank you. Your evil mind is worthy of special recognition and special thanks. You have stayed with me through more of the story then anyone, for that I thank you. For being a good friend in those dark moments of doubt, I can never express my feelings adequately, you have me speechless.