The Last of the House of Black

A/N: *Psycho shower-scene music playing* I'm back! Hi there, told ya I get to write more fanfics. :D

This is supposed to be another mystery, with lots more drama, and at the same time, a continuation of Die With Me. If you haven't read it, you should, but it isn't that necessary.

I've been planning this one a while now, which is why it's been giving me serious problems, but I think I've got it (seeing that the plan was abandoned halfway through this chapter anyway) and I hope you are interested enough to read on.

As for the prologue here, I have to say this: I have a new found respect for my mother and every woman who has ever given birth, that looked very painful while I was researching it.

I hope I got it as close to the real thing as my imagination could, I don't know how it works but I wanted it to be realistic.

And by the way, if you think you've got this figured out by the end of this chapter…. *laughs maniacally*

Alright, author's note long enough, on with the tale.

Disclaimer: I firmly believe that this would never be written by JK Rowling, so the plot is mine, but the rest is hers.

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“Children are the only form of immortality that we can be sure of.” - Peter Ustinov

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Prologue

Squatting uncomfortably on the old settee, the young woman tightly gripped the intricately carved bedpost of the old four-poster and cried. Waiting for the pain of this latest contraction to subside, her breathing was slow, as if any faster would increase the pain, and ended in groans. Her forehead, hair and body were soaked in sweat, dampening her nightdress and the seat beneath her. Her throat was parched so that her voice came out in a rasping whisper whenever she dared to speak. And every few minutes the most excruciating pains, as if someone was running a hot knife through her lower back and along the inside of her thighs, racked her body.

She was so tired, so very tired, that all she wanted now was to go off to sleep. She hadn't slept properly in hours; the pain relieving charms were next to useless as the time between the contractions lessened. Rubbing her back did not much help either, the most it produced was more agonised sobbing and pleas for mercy from pain that refused to end. Unfortunately, there was none, and sleep continued to evade her.

The elder woman attending to her, the only other person in the room then, came over with a small china bowl of ice.

“Here, suck on this, you have to keep your throat wet,” she said gently.

The young woman shook her head, “No… I'm… I'm fine.”

As if to disprove this, another pain cut through her lower stomach and she gave out an anguished gasp that sent tears spilling from her eyes. The elder woman sighed and put the ice to her lips. At once she greedily sucked on it.

“Suck on the ice, keep your throat wet. You perspire so much it dries, and then your body is heated, but don't worry, this will all be over soon,” she said.

When the cube finished, the elder woman gave her another, and continued, “I know I've been telling you that for hours now, and today doesn't want to end, but it will. Nine months of waiting, ends in one day of pain and you'll have your baby to hold. I've done it six times and the reward at the end was greater than the pain could ever be. Focus on that, you'll soon have your baby in your arms.”

“It won't be for long… if… if they find out… if… it won't…” she began to protest.

“No one is going to let anything happen to you or them, why do you worry so much? Hundreds of children have been born during war, most of them live through it and beyond, there is no reason yours shouldn't,” said the elder, sternly.

“I know it's just… I… I worry so much… so many bad things… I…” and then she was cut off by another contraction that made her bite her tongue and squeeze on the bedpost until it subsided and left her in more tears.

The elder woman patted her back, “There, there, it's all right, I know it hurts, but it's alright.

The young woman suddenly released her hold on the old bed then, and reached for the elder, the woman enveloped her in her arms. Then she began to cry, her voice breaking very much like a child's, “Why does it hurt so much… I read… I read about it… and you and Fleur… Fleur told me… but why does it have to hurt so much…. Everything was fine… everyday… it didn't hurt so much…. Why does it have to hurt so much?”

Holding onto her, the elder gently stroked the younger woman's long, bushy dark hair, “I haven't any potions for this… and the charms… I know they're not lasting, but it's the best I can do for now. Focus on something else; try to forget the pain… I know it's hard but until they come… focus on something else, it's almost over now.”

And then, as if on cue, there was a noise from below. Voices from the entrance hall wafted up to them and the elder woman released the younger.

“They're here, that's most certainly them, now what did I tell you? I'm going to meet them and bring them up, in the meantime, remember what I told you. Forget the pain, I know it's hard, I know, but you can't think of the pain now. It's all going to be over soon,” she added again at the end.

The young woman nodded, and began to look earnestly around the musty, darkened bedroom as her attendant left her. She had to find something else to focus on, something else to think about while the pain slipped away… but what?

If it was this house it was a poor choice. Unplottable though it may be, number twelve, Grimmauld Place was certainly not the place to give birth to a child. It wasn't even the suitable place to raise children. No wonder Sirius Black had run away.

It was unnaturally quiet sometimes, made strange noises at others, and then had a darkness to it that worsened at the new moon. Paintings screamed curses (and especially when you threw your foul-tasting juice at them, the nerve), strange artefacts that looked rather interesting could kill you, and contrary to evidence, she was quite sure one of those poor house elf's heads on the stairs had winked at her. Basically, this house was musty, dusty and old, and would fit perfectly into a ghost story.

Nearly-Headless Nick, forgive her.

So no, not the house, it was bad to think of the house, but then, what else?

This bedroom was not too bad a choice, but then there wasn't much. It had been the bedroom of the former mistress of the house, and no doubt brightly painted in her day, but now the burgundy wallpaper was faded, mouldy and peeling. The cream and gold finishing was either blackened or covered in some measure of grime. The furniture felt sturdy enough, but who knew what strange creature was eating away at the wood or lying in the sheets of the bed no matter their washing the day before. The people in the portraits had all left earlier, but every now and then would come in check the progress and give the most useless advice, some of it intentionally, as to what to do with the pain. The only things she could really focus on then, were the carpet, completely flat now, and the antique gas lamps that would've looked really nice had some of them not have strange, snake carvings on them.

So no, not the room either, there wasn't enough to look at, and as far as she was concerned, that only left the baby.

She knew exactly where its head lay in her lower body, she was acutely aware of it. She knew exactly how many times it had turned and twisted within its little home in her stomach since her water broke that morning. Then when it had settled, where it had chosen to kick at since then too. She was very sure she could feel every inch of his tiny body as it tried to force itself out of her. But knowing these things, as she always liked to know things, did little to change the fact that it was not over yet and both would have to wait.

How then could she forget the pain?

Another stab this time from her inner thighs crossing to her back and she closed her eyes and whimpered. Bearing down as her attendant had told her, she began to breathe quickly and deeply through a small opening in her lips and clenched teeth. It only served to make her feel faint, she stopped that and tried to breathe through her nose instead, grinding her teeth and forcing into fists her hands on the bedposts.

It seemed to take forever to end but it did. Eventually, lazily, the pain ebbed away and she opened her eyes.

And then she found something to focus on.

The windows of the bedroom had been opened earlier to let in the spring air and sunlight. The air had actually been rather warm, which did not help her discomfort, and for the fact that this was a house in the city the view offered was not that spectacular. As a matter of fact, much of the view now was blanketed in the unseasonable mist that had descended on them two years prior that the Muggle meteorologists were yet to explain. She knew what it was of course, but that was not what held her attention then.

What captured it was the sunset.

Dipping beneath a horizon of grimy, redbrick structures, and flanked by billowing clouds, the flaming sun parted its blushing lover, the evening sky. Its light coming into the room then bathed everything in a mild, honeyed glow like varnish on an old table. The waxing moon had already risen, half-concealed by the clouds as if awaiting its turn at this lover, but this time dressed in indigo and diamonds. The evening air was cooler, flowing in gently through the curtains, but bringing with it the noise of the city around.

Car horns, shouting voices, the odd bird, loud stereos, pedestrians on the thoroughfare and the barking of dogs nearby, it combined and came at her, and for a moment, she did forget. She was too busy being slightly awed that all this could go on without the slightest knowledge of what was to happen in this room.

Previously, she had known endless days like this. Filled with noise and people and life beyond the confines of this hidden, somewhat frightful house, she never thought she would miss it all when at last she was made to stay here.

In the absence of morning sickness, which she never got, and with some slight swelling, a few pains here and there, and the most alarming expansion of her hips and breasts (though she had few complaints on the latter), she had been involved in the “secret” war as much as if she had never been pregnant. Stopping the Dark Lord Voldemort far surpassed such trifle things as “being with child” as one of her friends had put it in rather Victorian manner. Helping Harry Potter stop him and live to tell the tale was far more important.

She had even come too close to death for comfort too many times to count. The Death Eaters didn't seem to know her little secret, which was quite fine by her, but also meant that they attacked her as usual. Of course, considering that she was Muggle-born, and fighting against them, they wouldn't have given lee-way if they knew either.

The whole lot of them were just a bunch of worthless, heartless bastards.

Now though, it was very clear that she had been pregnant, and as it was, all the things of it she had missed were threatening to descend on her at once.

She was hot, sticky, frustrated, bloated, and tired. She was sick of the house, worried about her friends wherever they were in the fight, angry that she got pregnant in the first place, and desperately hoping that the baby would be all right. She had a list of problems a mile long, and the baby's father was off somewhere and wouldn't be back until that evening.

Well, it was evening now and he wasn't here yet. She was waiting as best she could, and for all the pain she was going through he had better have an excellent excuse.

He probably did, he always did.

And then the doors of the room opened and the new arrivals entered to meet her.

The first to enter the room was the elder woman, her attendant of before, a short, plump woman with dark red hair, Mrs Weasley. The mother of two of her friends, wherever they were, she had been her with her since she first arrived at the house in fact. Against their earlier concerns, she had actually been rather accepting of this obviously out of wedlock pregnancy, after a severe scolding of course. And the requisite marriage, she had planned, three months prior.

She didn't know what she would have done without her, and then at times wished she would go away, but today she didn't want her out of sight for too long. In the absence of her mother she was all she had.

The second had been in the house all along but had chosen to wait for their arrivals below. A tall, haggard-looking man with dark brown hair greying much too soon for his age and ragged robes, Remus Lupin had been her teacher once at school and had spent quite some time with her too. He looked at her now with eyes full of concern but an encouraging smile on his lips. He did not know what she was experiencing, but he was there if she needed him.

The third, one of the arrivals, was a tall, pale man with yellowed teeth and a head of greasy black hair, the former Potions master at school, Severus Snape. When last she had seen him she had hoped, and never thought that she would see him again. And certainly not under these circumstances either. If Harry ever found out that he was here he would come back twice as fast and just to kill him. His face was a mask as he stared at her now; she was in too much pain to care about modesty.

The fourth was a very beautiful young woman with deep blue eyes and long, light blonde hair, Fleur Delacour-Weasley. Mrs Weasley's daughter-in-law, Fleur was one of the few who knew that she was pregnant. This was not the time to spread the good news. She walked to the settee and sat behind her, drew her hair from her face and whispered in her throaty voice, “You shall be fine, my son deed not take long.”

She tried to smile in acknowledgement.

And the last she didn't know, a thin woman, another blonde, who could have been her mother's age, but was most likely much older. She was the midwife.

She didn't wait for introductions before she went across to her and said, “I'm Healer Winters, Hermione, I came as fast as I could, how are you doing?”

Hermione shook her head and gripped the bedpost again, clenching her teeth. Fleur began to massage her sides and stomach, still whispering encouragements. The Healer sighed, “Oh yes… I can see, well don't worry, I work quickly, and very soon this will be finished…. As I understand it though, you wanted to wait for the father?”

“Her husband… yes…” said Mrs Weasley. In the background, Snape's brow furrowed slightly.

Hermione nodded, and then shut her eyes and forced herself to breathe.

The Healer had sterilised her hands, checked on her condition and shook her head, “You can't wait, your child is beginning to crown…. If the gentlemen present would kindly leave, we have to begin.”

Both men bowed respectfully to the four women and swept out into the hall. One to await the soon-to-be father and the other to attend a special potion he had been brewing for the past few months….

Hermione was shaking her head and forced herself to speak, “No, I have to wait… he has to be here… I…”

The Healer turned to Mrs Weasley and asked, “Is this her first child?”

She nodded, and the Healer turned back to Hermione and said, “Your child has waited long enough… what about you? When its father arrives it'll be here waiting for him in the flesh, there is no need to starve your child of oxygen otherwise.”

Hermione looked down at her rather swollen stomach, out the window at the sky, paling blue and traced with violet, and then nodded, “Okay… okay… let's do this… he'll be here for him when he comes…”

At once the Healer drew on a white apron over her robes and knelt before the settee, pushing up Hermione's legs higher and further apart. Fleur, behind her, gripped onto her knees to steady them and Mrs Weasley began to procure blankets and a bucket.

When Hermione began to look around at this, brow furrowed in concern and curiosity, the Healer said, “To you I'm sure this is all a very old way of doing things, but as I understand it it's not safe for you to go to St Mungo's or a Muggle hospital, we must work with what we have,” and turning to Mrs Weasley asked, “Did you give her anything for the pain?”

Mrs Weasley shook her head, “I couldn't find a thing… a few charms but they're not much use.”

“Well, it's too late to use anything now,” she said and then directed her attention back to her patient, “Okay, I want you to breathe like you were doing before and when the next pain comes I want you to push… you know how to do that right? Good. When the pain comes again I want you to do it as hard as you can- this shouldn't take more than three- and you'll be holding your baby soon… do you know it's sex yet?”

Hermione shook her head, “We… didn't… we didn't want to…”

“Okay… then we'll all find out together…” said the Healer.

It didn't take long for that “next pain” to come. No more than a few seconds would pass after her instructions were given before the white-hot knives surged through Hermione's lower back and she clenched her teeth and tried to dig her nails into the bedposts.

“No… breathe, don't do that, breathe and push!” commanded the Healer.

She forced herself to obey, squeezing her interior muscles round the tiny body within and felt something round breaking through the apex of her thighs where the Healer's hands, cold and covered in latex gloves, had descended to draw it out. The pain subsided though, she looked down to the Healer in alarm and the woman shook her head, “It's alright, it's okay, your body can't perpetually contract. At the next contraction, do as before.”

And then it came again, she squeezed, shutting her eyes for a moment, until she felt the little round object come free of her and something slightly larger pressed behind. She opened her eyes wide, dared to look down and found the Healer's hands supporting a shrivelled, round, and dark magenta object, the head, with eyes tightly shut and covered in a clear, but sticky substance. If she didn't know it to be her baby she might have screamed.

The contraction had not ended though, and with a whimper, she pushed again and out came shoulders, torso, legs, a dark red, equally shrivelled “pillow” with a cord that ran to the tiny navel on the torso and once the mouth was cleared, a loud, high-pitched, halting wail.

Her baby, here it was, head, torso, two hands, two feet, ten fingers, ten toes, eyes, ears, nose, mouth, streaks of dark hair. Her baby, it had grown inside her, she had carried around another life inside her, and here it was. Her baby, her very own beautiful baby, and that thought made her smile.

Despite her fatigue, despite the pain now softly ebbing away, despite that strange fluid that now flowed after, she smiled. She looked down at the little, shrivelled face, now being cleaned with a towel by Mrs Weasley, and she smiled a weary, relieved and very happy smile.

“It's a girl! You have a beautiful daughter!” said the Healer, herself taking long, deep breaths from the ordeal. As if to acknowledge this then, the infant, her features filled out to reveal a tiny round face, opened almond shaped honey-brown eyes and stared up at her mother.

“Oh my…” Hermione gasped, still smiling, and lifted the infant from her stomach to her arms as the Healer cut away the cord and its strange pillow and dropped it into the bucket nearby.

“Do you `ave a name?” asked Fleur, releasing Hermione's knees to stroke the fine dark hair on the child's head.

“Yes… it's… Maia… Maia Jae…” said Hermione, and gently traced the tiny cheek. “He said he wanted us to have months… I should have told him that we should have years… but I know what he meant… Maia, for May… the 15^th of May. Oh gods, I'm rambling… and he was so sure it was a boy….”

“Boys are the tradition in my family,” said Mrs Weasley, looking down with a smile at the baby, “be grateful for your girl.”

“I am,” Hermione said, now tapping lightly on Maia's nose, and the baby staring sleepily up at her yawned.

They all laughed.

And then it happened.

Something stirred in her, deep in her, and slid down to the opening from which Maia had just emerged with pain just as before. She looked to the Healer in alarm and said, “Something… I… oh my… I think… I think there's another one!”

“What?” asked Mrs Weasley, and came over to them from where she had been moving the bucket. She took one look at Hermione, and lifted Maia out of her arms while Fleur reverted to her earlier position behind her.

Hermione nodded, eyes wide, “Yes… I can feel it… oh my… how many… oh dear… how long… oh…”

“Calm down…” said the Healer, kneeling once more before her and putting in her cold, gloved hands to check. After a most uncomfortable moment, she nodded, “Yes, there's another… you know what to do, it shouldn't be as bad as the first.”

Before Hermione could protest this, quite sure that the pain actually felt worse, there was a contraction, and much unlike the first time, the baby simply slipped out with its little pillow into the Healer's hands. She cleaned its mouth and rested it onto Hermione's stomach as before, which now felt, thankfully hollow, and cut away the cord.

But this baby didn't cry.

As they wiped away the stickiness from its tiny body, it was the silence that made the Healer lift it away, much to their alarm, and begin to tap gently on the soles of its feet while searching desperately through her bag for a tiny oxygen mask.

“What… what's… what's happening? Why isn't it crying… what's wrong?” asked Hermione, terrified.

In her mind a horrible mantra rang loudly: “No, don't let it be dead… please, not his baby…. Don't let it be dead… not his baby, not his baby….”

Mrs Weasley went over to assist the Healer while Fleur tried to reassure her, “Don't worry, its okay, nothing's wrong.”

The lack of conviction in her tone was very telling though, and Hermione forced herself to sit upright, dropping her legs to the floor and began hoarsely, “Is there something wrong… did we take too long… but we didn't know…”

And just then, and louder than before, a high-pitched wail sounded from the women's arms and they were back with the baby and placed it in hers, “Another girl… twins!”

The relieved smile returned to Hermione's face and she wrapped her arms around this second, unexpected child. Maia, now asleep, was returned and placed beside her sister. The Healer set to work cleaning up with the help of Mrs Weasley, and Fleur smiled down and asked, “Zere very leetle, very beautiful, what are you going to call zis one?”

“I-I don't know… I… we only had one name… and then another for a boy… but… not two girls… twins… oh Harry…” said Hermione, much too in awe to properly think. And it had to be great awe indeed if Hermione Granger couldn't find it in herself to properly think.

Mrs Weasley smiled, “Don't worry, it will come to you.”

“Yes… I'm sure it will… oh my… won't he be surprised… I'm surprised…” continued Hermione and then gave the most girlish laugh she probably ever did as she stared down at them.

The door creaked open then, and nervously, Lupin's head came round the door.

“I… I heard crying… oh… oh!” he exclaimed as he noticed Hermione's arms and came in just as Fleur threw the quilt from the bed over her lower half.

“Yes, twins! Look at them, Maia… and… Julia, meet Maia and Julia Potter!” Hermione declared, and then her face fell, “Oh… well, at least until Harry comes… oh he's going to hate it… May and July… too many months….”

As Snape came into the room behind him, and still with an emotionless face, Lupin smiled at the twins, “He's going to love them, and you gave them those names, why would he ever hate them?”

Hermione's smile broadened and brightened to a grin.

Miles away from them, across the twilight darkened earth to Scotland and an old castle being lit-up for the night, in the silence of a cluttered old office, there was a stirring. The activity of the castle round- its thousand occupants noisily heading off to dinner, teachers chatting casually in the staff room, a caretaker and his cat slinking through the corridor for troublemakers- meant that it was missed, but it happened nevertheless.

Dust and cobweb-covered shelves, drawers and filing cabinets, each stacked with literally thousands of old, yellowing scrolls, and some brand new, began to move about of their own accord. One by one, the scrolls were drawn out in mid-air, unfurled, looked over under the light, and then shoved back in again as if some unseen person was searching for something. An unseen person who was rather careful too, for though a slight dust would fall here or there the scrolls never tore.

There was no need to go quickly either. Whatever they were looking for wasn't going anywhere and nor was the reason for their search in the first place. Every few hours or so they went through this process, magical children were being born everyday; they had to go to school somewhere. It was simply its duty to record their names for entry here, just like right now.

And then they found it.

It was one of the newer scrolls, sealed with the emblem of the ancient school, and half-filled in under the letter “P”. The scroll shook off a sprinkling of dust, unfurled, and spread itself across a nearby desk. A candle moved closer, bringing the light.

Here, there was a mild tossing about in a quill stand, a fine black one was selected, and then dipped itself in an inkwell beside the stand. Taking care to drain off the excess ink, the quill zipped over to the scroll, ran down the list of names, and under “Peterkin, William” and “Phelps, Lucy”, scribed “Potter, Maia” and “Potter, Julia”.

Its mission accomplished, the quill returned to the stand, and a duster took its place, dusted the latest addition, and set itself aside. The scroll then lifted itself, shook the dust off, snapped straight again a moment, furled up, sealed and returned to the shelf.

But this was not the end of the affair.

Hours later, another scroll would be snatched from one of the shelves.

Again with the school's seal, but this time from the section labelled “B”; it came off the shelf with a flourish and unfurled itself. When the scroll was spread out unto the desk, another quill was selected and dipped in ink, and this time it zipped over the list to the top.

Once there, under the names “Bennett, Gavin” and “Birch, Shelley” it scribed, “Black, Maia” and “Black, Aimee”… whilst the list from before was brought out. As this list was being dusted, the previous one unfurled and with two quick strikes, “Potter, Maia” and “Potter, Julia” disappeared from it. The unseen clerk satisfied, the lists furled, resealed and reverted themselves to their places.

And no one would ever know of this, never.

There was no reason to; it was not that important, name changes occurred sometimes on these lists. When next the human overseeing it came in too, they simply checked the number of new names and left.

Who really cared if a Potter became a Black?

Well, not for twelve years that was….

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A/N: At long last, Chapter One, and I should warn you: one, you're probably going to be very confused at the end of this if I've done my job correctly, and two, there is a non-Portkey ship mentioned here along with its subsequent product. Please do not flame me.

However, since some flames can be useful, I was told I had too many twists last time, will attempt to use less twists in story then. Ha! That'll happen.

Carlotta Pinkstone comes from the Wizard of the Month thingy on Ms Rowling's website.

Disclaimer: Still quite sure JKR won't write this, but don't even mildly entertain the thought that I own anything else.

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12 years later…

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To Die Young

“Miss Pinkstone, let me get this straight - are you saying that… that the Ministry is-is mishandling Muggle-Wizard relations… even now, eleven years after the war?”

“The Ministry has been going about this entire affair incorrectly for a very long time, long before the Second War began in the first place. There is simply no justifiable reason to keep ourselves from the Muggles. Are we afraid of them?”

“Well, no… but in the name of security…”

“Security…! I believe the Second and the First Wars… as a matter of fact, the many wars throughout our history have proven that the ones we should be afraid of are ourselves. The Dark Lord was a wizard hell-bent on Muggle eradication wasn't he?”

“Harry Potter was a wizard…”

“You know what I mean, but there is a prime example. Harry Potter was raised by Muggles, more than that, his mother was Muggle-born. His Muggle family knows about magic, and if we have the families of those like his mother knowledgeable of magic and our ways, why can't we allow the wider Muggle community knowledgeable of us too? It all comes back to the same question, are we afraid of them? And then, if not, what is the Ministry trying to do, to-to hide?”

“We also have, in our history, the Spanish Inquisition, the Salem Witch Trials in the United States… examples of what happens when Muggles find out about us…”

“Those things belong to history, and none of us were actually harmed. The Muggle world is vastly different now. I firmly believe they would be much more capable at handling this knowledge now than their predecessors.”

“Are you familiar with the Daily Prophet exposé on the Muggles who raised Harry Potter…? The treatment meted out to him was… appalling.”

“Not all Muggles are like them…”

With a “click”, the programme of the Wizard Wireless Network fell into silence and with it the house. Despite the rainstorm barrelling without, the stillness that followed that one action resonated.

Of course, any mention of Harry nowadays would be greeted by a solemn quiet. Respect for the dead they called it, to her, the mark of failure, and shame.

Sinking into her armchair at the window again, Hermione drew aside the curtains and looked out at the darkened midday sky. If it were not for the clock on the mantel one would not be able to tell.

The wind howled horribly as it thrashed the trees and flower bushes round the house, forcing them to bow under the assault. Fat raindrops, already hammering the roof and windows, sent the water-logged earth into a dirty, frenzied dance. Ever so often, brilliant flashes of light tore through the darkened heavens to the cowering earth, to be followed by the roof-rattling drum calls of the weather at war. A late summer tempest it could be called, were it not that summer had long passed weeks before.

She let the curtain fall back into place and sighed, the guests would be arriving shortly. This was weather fit for neither man nor beast, but still the guests would be coming. After all, what was a little rain to wizards? And better still, on her birthday?

She sighed again as she thought of that, and looked around the living room to distract her thoughts.

Neat, pristine, pastel colours, portraits, lace curtains, a few balloons (Ron's idea) and a banner handmade by Caspar - now curled up asleep on the nearby sofa - it was ready for the party, and looked right out of a Muggle home-making magazine. Its simple extravagances though - the antique lighting, picture frames, ornaments - and oddities - strange, ancient tomes in the shelves, a bowl of “ash” above the fireplace, a grandfather clock in the corner that didn't tell the time - gave it an air of expensive taste, and witchcraft, that was very Hermione Granger-Krum.

Well, at least she liked to think it was every other day of the year.

On her birthday, like today, Hermione Granger did not really like it at all.

This was the home of the young widow of star Bulgarian Quidditch player Viktor Krum and their son, Caspar. A manor house in Wiltshire, it was a step down from the larger castle-like home they had in Bulgaria. This was where she had fashionably retreated after her husband's tragic death in a Quidditch match two years prior. This was where she intended to start over, already in training to become a Healer at St Mungo's, and raise her son, alone. This was where she greeted and entertained friends, reporters, and relations. This was where she mourned.

But it was not hers, not the way she wanted it.

If she had her way, this house would be far smaller, cosier, and in a less high-profile neighbourhood. (Draco Malfoy lived just down the street in the renovated Malfoy Manor; the press couldn't believe their luck.) If she had her way, she would already be a Healer, have more control over who came and went, and Caspar would not be constantly talking of Quidditch. (Not that she would ever be able to control that, but he would spend a little more time with his books.) If she had her way she probably would not have even married Krum in the first place, and her son would not be as fluent in Bulgarian as he was in English. (Not that learning a foreign language was a bad thing.) If she had her way, those two on the WWN, the reporter and Ms Carlotta Pinkstone, would be speaking differently when it came to Harry.

If she had her way, Harry would be alive.

Well, not alive… okay, yes alive… but here, before her, visible, where she could see him. If she could have just one thing, just one little thing her way, she wanted that. She wanted him to be alive and here on her birthday waiting impatiently for Ron and the others to arrive for the party.

But she couldn't have that as much as she couldn't have those other things now.

Another crash of thunder, Caspar stirred uncomfortably in his sleep; she looked to him worriedly for a moment, and then turned to the clock on the mantel.

In less than an hour they would begin to arrive for the small gathering in honour of her becoming thirty-two. Of course, by definition “small” actually translated to “mildly large” when one knew the Weasleys. Coming through that fireplace would be Mr and Mrs Weasley; Bill and Fleur and their children, Louis, Françoise and Antoinette, (the eldest son, Philippe was off at Hogwarts); Charlie and his wife, Michelle; Percy was still an outcast so he didn't count; Fred and Angelina, and their son Christian; George and his daughter Victoria; Ron and Luna and their son Henry (called Harry), and finally, Ginny and her fiancée, Neville. With all nineteen of them she doubted there would be standing room, or that she would be able to find Caspar after a while.

That brought an unwilling smile to her face that swiftly fell away a moment later. She should be more grateful that they were coming at all.

When she was the wife of Viktor Krum birthdays were spent being thoroughly pampered in Bulgaria, which, though she loved, made her miss them even more. She wasn't a prisoner, she could have left the house anytime she wished, but she just… didn't. And then her in-laws and his publicists and the constant press for his fame and hers… they all combined, almost conspired against her movement. When he died she confined herself here, change of situation and environment, but same old imprisonment.

This was the first time since he died that she was seeing anyone outside of her little world of the house, Caspar's school and St Mungo's.

But then, more than that, Harry would never have been ungrateful for them. He, more than her, deserved to have them coming to a party today.

And this brought her back to before, with the silence: failure and shame.

She, they, all had failed to save him in the end. They could have, should have done more to help him than they did but they didn't. Mrs Weasley had told her that she had been sick for a very long time, a period Harry had spent alone searching for the Horcruxes and surviving Death Eater attacks. Not only that, but the Ministry continued to pursue him, slandering him when they couldn't get their way and more than once threatened his arrest for endangering them.

If she had been there, instead of recovering from the wounds of an attack she should have been more vigilant about after Ron got hurt, he would not have endured that alone. She might even have been able to stop them altogether, somehow.

But she hadn't.

So now, like them, she had to endure that sense of failure: no Harry to celebrate her birthday with, no hero for them to laud… and to feel that shame.

If only, if only, everyday she repeated the same phrase, if only… he would be here now.

She was pathetic, she mourned for Harry more than her own husband.

Just then a particularly sonorous crack of thunder echoed through the silent house, and Caspar woke suddenly, “Mummy…?”

Hermione turned her attention back to her son just as the small, dark-haired, dark-eyed boy left the sofa and climbed into her arms in the armchair. She secured him there, and absently stroked his hair a while, still staring listlessly into the fireplace.

He let her do it for a while, his fright ebbing slowly, and then spoke, “Mummy, smile, today is your birthday.”

Her little champion, so very perceptive of her moods… she smiled immediately.

He was not convinced.

“Mum, are you thinking about Daddy or Harry again?” he asked.

She looked down at him and kissed his forehead, ignoring the question.

She knew she would regret telling him about Harry, and how he had disappeared - twenty years old, rushing off into the forest to fight Voldemort, scared, alone… - the day she did it. Whenever she went off into her thoughts he would always mention him or his father, and the latter with a tinge of sadness. He somehow got the idea into his head that she must have cared for this Harry as much as she did his father.

He was a very precocious little boy.

But then too, it must have had something to do with little Henry Weasley. When she heard Ron call him “Harry” in the background for the first time, the other day, while she was talking to Luna in the fireplace, her breath had caught in her throat. Luna, ever perceptive as well, noticed this and called her son - a red-haired, turquoise-blue eyed and freckled boy of Caspar's age - to meet her. The difference in physical appearance was a relief but she would never get used to his nickname.

And all the while Caspar had been sitting nearby, appearing to read, and had not missed a thing. What was she going to do with him?

He asked again, moving his head away from her and turning so that he looked straight into her eyes, “Mummy, were you thinking about Harry or Daddy? You shouldn't do that if it makes you sad.”

She gave him a weak smile and said, “I'm a very stupid woman, Caspar, I can't help it sometimes.”

“No, you're not. You're a very smart person, that's what everyone says, that you're a very, very smart person and you're my Mum. And if thinking about them makes you sad then you should stop,” he declared.

Why was it that he at times acted more like Harry while strongly resembling - with the exception of the nose and feet - Viktor?

A brilliant flash of lightening darted across the sky outside the window and Caspar became an ordinary child again and dove into her embrace for safety, wrapping his arms tightly round her body. She put hers around him as well, and said, “Why don't we listen to the radio again so we won't hear the storm?”

Caspar nodded at once; she reached over to the small radio on the end table and switched it on.

And immediately she regretted it.

“Today was the first day of trial for Nicolas King, the fifth young man to date to claim to be Harry Potter. Using Polyjuice Potion brewed with strands of hair, illegally obtained from so-called associates of the Chosen One; he practically fooled his way to the doorstep of the Weasleys. A slip then was when he was finally caught.”

“Ronald Weasley, best friend of Harry Potter, was quoted as saying, `When will you lot just give it a rest? Hermione and my family and I really don't need this.'

He was of course, referring to Hermione Granger, widow of Bulgarian Quidditch star, Viktor Krum, and also the friend of Mr Potter. Mrs Krum has been living in virtual seclusion since her husband died in an accident at a Quidditch match in Bulgaria's qualifying game two years ago. Prior to this, she was even more elusive for interviews about a rumoured relationship with Mr Potter. On a lighter note for her, today is her thirty-second birthday and we here, at the news centre of the WWN, would like to wish her a very Happy Birthday!”

Caspar freed himself from her and said, in his usual grown-up manner - adopted since his father's death - “See Mum, they want you to smile too, so are we going to enjoy ourselves when everyone comes?”

He conveniently ignored everything else mentioned in the broadcast. She gave him another smile, forcing herself to make it convincing.

“Okay, that's better,” he told her, then continued, “Now can they come already, I want to give you my present.”

This made her smile genuine, and she teasingly asked, “What is it? Why don't you give it to me now?”

He firmly shook his head, “No, I want everyone to see it too.”

“But isn't it for me?” she asked, curious.

“Yes, but they helped me, I met Mrs Weasley (he pronounced it `mistress') at school last week. She told me to call her `Grandma', and then I told her about your birthday and she said she had an idea and wanted my help, so I helped her,” he said.

“You met Mrs Weasley at school, and she asked you to call her `Grandma'? My, aren't you a lucky little boy, you get another grandmother… but you still have to tell me what it was or I'll tickle you,” she warned with a grin.

He returned it, “My lips are sealed.”

“Are you sure?” she asked mischievously, then wrapped her arms round his little body and proceeded to rapidly run her fingers around his waist and under his arms.

He began to laugh and shriek, twisting in her arms under the assault, and declared, “I'll - never - tell! Stop that Mummy!”

She plainly refused.

~*~*~*~

Stepping out of the billowing emerald flames of the Floo Network in the fireplace, still tightly holding onto his son's arm, Ron declared, “Oy there! Is this the house of one Mrs Viktor Krum?”

There was some shuffling in the direction of the kitchen, voices whispering, though one said loudly, “They're here!” Then there was the clatter of cutlery, a door swung open and out into the living room stepped, for the first time in two years, Hermione, and her son.

For the fact that they hadn't seen each other in so long, Ron couldn't help but be surprised that he recognised her immediately. Then again, this was her house, Hermione hadn't changed much - same mass of bushy brown hair, same bright brown eyes - and she practically ran into his arms, exclaiming, “Oh Ron, do you know how long Caspar and I have been waiting for you, why do you have to drag your feet everywhere?”

“Can't help it, residual condition called `Drive-Hermione-Starkers' from school, not likely to go away soon,” he replied cheekily, and grinning. She rolled her eyes and he continued, “Anyway, why does your birthday have to be on a Monday? I practically had to beg McGonagall to let me go, the French transfer students are coming on Friday.”

“French transfer students?” asked Hermione, arching an eyebrow and finally releasing him.

“Yep, from Beauxbatons like Fleur, and with my luck they'll probably end up in Ravenclaw too. Remember when they came in Fourth Year and sat at their table? Anyway, I hope they're not swots like you, one in a generation is good enough for me!” he said in mock exasperation.

She aimed a kick at his shin, and then spotted the boy beside him, his son Harry.

Henry Weasley was going to be as tall as his father someday, that she hadn't noticed from the fireplace, but she could see it now. He resembled Ron strongly, but had his mother's influence here and there, including the slightly dreamy look in his eyes. But unlike his father, or his mother for that matter, he was dressed practically normal. No hand-me-downs, no butterbeer cap necklaces… just jeans and a Weasley jumper and clutching a paper bag tightly behind his back.

Ron re-introduced them, “Hermione, meet Henry Arthur Weasley, or just Harry for short, in the flesh. Harry, meet Mrs Hermione Krum.”

She extended a hand, the boy took it and gave a firm handshake, “It's nice to meet you again, Mrs Krum.”

“Its Hermione Granger now and it's very nice to meet you again too… Harry…” she said, smiling down at him.

A slight coughing in the background alerted her attention to her son - not at all wanting to be left out and at the same time pretending to be all grown-up. She released Harry's hand, and walked back to where Caspar stood. Drawing him forward timidly, she introduced him to Harry.

“Harry Weasley, this is my son Caspar Anton Krum. Caspar, I know you saw him before, but in the flesh, this is Harry Weasley.”

The boys met each other in the middle ground between their parents and shook hands. Harry then released his package to Caspar, who opened it at once, drawing out two jumpers: a larger periwinkle-blue one (like her Yule Ball dress robes) for his mother, and a smaller, blood-red one for himself. Caspar said a muted, “Thanks,” and then turned to look at his mother, as if asking permission to wear it.

She had a feeling he wasn't too keen on the colour. The Durmstrang Institute, no matter how much they and his paternal grandparents discussed his entrance, would definitely never see the face of her son.

She nodded; he handed hers over and then said to Harry, “Do you like Quidditch?”

The boy's eyes widened as if incredulous at this question, “Of course I do, everyone in my does!”

“Want to see my collection?” asked Caspar, suddenly exuberant at the prospect of a playmate. She had forgotten to mention what a Quidditch-loving family the Weasleys were, she had also forgotten that he must be rather lonely here with her alone too. She stifled her envy.

“You have a collection on Quidditch?” asked Harry, and then his excitement faded slightly, “Oh yeah…”

He just remembered that he was talking to the son of Viktor Krum; of course he would have some sort of Quidditch collection.

Caspar ignored this, pulled the blood-red jumper with a large “C” on the chest, over his head, and said, “Come on, I'll show you!”

Both boys took off out of the room without waiting for parental permission. A second later though, they were back and Harry quickly told his father, “When Louis and Christian come, can you tell them where I am?”

Ron highly amused at his excitement, asked, “What about the girls, don't you want them to come to?”

The lack of jubilance at this question plainly told him that he didn't and the boys took off again. Ron laughed, “Some things will never change, I used to do that to Ginny, and trouble is there are more girls this time.”

“Oh yes, I heard from Luna, Françoise, Antoinette and Victoria, your mother must be happy… um, where's Luna?” asked Hermione, looking back at the fireplace where the flames were dying to a small fire.

Left alone with him for the first time since the funeral, she found herself strangely uncomfortable. This was the same Ron, gangly, blue-eyed, red-haired and freckled, but somehow… well, she hadn't seen him in so long she couldn't expect them to be like they were back in Hogwarts.

He failed to notice a thing.

“She's coming with the rest of them - Mum insisted on bringing food - I told her you would have but she said that you shouldn't be cooking on your birthday… of course, I know you don't like sugar so I'm glad she is actually…” he told her grinning widely.

“Funny, very funny,” she replied, and then noticed that he had an arm behind his back, “What's that you got there?”

Ignoring her, he asked, “So, how are you and Caspar doing here in Wiltshire, nobody's bothering you right, like that git Malfoy, Witch Weekly said something about him sniffing around your house?”

“We're doing fine, I haven't seen Malfoy, and why are you reading Witch Weekly? But what's that?” she asked, now coming over and trying to look behind him.

As he was several inches taller than her, and a bit larger, he managed to keep the contents of his hand hidden, while reaching the other to cup and look over her face and then declare, “Hey, no wrinkles yet, what kind of son are you raising? No worries, we'll cure him of that, one minute with Fred and George and he'll be a normal boy again.”

“Stop it, I want to know what you've got in your hand,” she protested and then began to reach behind him.

“Don't you want to know how I'm doing as a teacher in the `cursed seat' at Hogwarts?” he asked, referring to his position as the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

“How's your career Ron? Fine? Wonderful, now what's that?” she asked shortly, and pushed him aside so that he raised his hands in the air… Just as Luna, Ginny, Fleur and Mrs Weasley emerged from the fireplace, followed by a gaggle of loud children and the Weasley men, including Neville.

Ginny took the object from his grasp and handed it to Hermione, “Here, ignore the git… nice to see you again, finally, Hermione! How have you been? Happy Birthday!”

And she was swallowed by a red, and blonde, tide, but not before catching the look of disappointment on Ron's face. She smirked at him, and then turned to her visitors, each greeting, hugging, kissing and introducing various children.

It took her more than ten minutes to finally greet all of them, and their children - the reddish-blonde, blue-grey eyed Louis, and mulatto Christian took off the second they had met her and Ron managed to shout over the others that Harry was upstairs with Caspar - and receive their various gifts. She barely noticed the absence of Angelina, Michelle and George's wife Alicia, formerly Spinnet. She was forced into her Weasley jumper by Ron, and once her hands were free of gifts, had to lead Mrs Weasley to the kitchen to set out the food. When she came back, she was made to open Ron's present before they could properly settle into their seats, and laughed at the sight of it.

It was Gilderoy Lockhart's comeback novel, having finally miraculously recovered from the effects of the Memory Charm and informed of his former fame (much to Ron's chagrin), Memories in Magic.

She looked up at Ron and said in her best fan-girl voice, “Memories in Magic by Gilderoy Lockhart, however did you get a copy?”

“Mock it all you want,” said Ron seriously, though his eyes betrayed internal delight, “but you better read it. I paid good money on that git, I remember you liked him.”

“That was Second Year, Ron, if it wasn't for you and H…” she stopped at once and the strange, awkward silence descended.

It only lasted a second though, for Ron quickly said, “Don't worry about it, just read it, okay? Now to the more important questions, everyone here wants an answer, are you dating Draco Malfoy?”

“Ron!” scolded his mother, Hermione laughed and the others took turns shaking their heads, sighing or laughing too.

Feeling playful then, she replied, “Actually I am, we've been going out for quite some time now as a matter of fact…”

“What?” Ron practically roared, and this time she laughed so hard tears came to her eyes. It was an almost perfect replica of his reaction when she naively announced her engagement to Krum in the Three Broomsticks years before.

With this happy company then, it didn't take long for Hermione to forget her earlier musings. She really hadn't seen them in so long that she barely waited for a question to be answered before asking another, and vice versa. Everyone wanted to know how she was doing, what was her relationship with Krum's family, where was Caspar going to go to school; Mrs Weasley focused on her health, dreams and such… she felt as if it were another interview, but this time she got answers too.

Bill was now head of the Curse-Breakers Department in Gringotts bank; Fleur was working elsewhere in the Accounts and Customer Relations with much improved English still heavily accented by her French, their children were fine.

Charlie had married relatively recently and had a home in Romania and was only visiting now. Mrs Weasley looked less than pleased at this but refrained from comment. Ron beside barely contained his amusement.

Fred and George had expanded their business internationally, and were willing to offer Caspar discounts on their products, (Hermione politely refused) while Angelina played Quidditch with Puddlemere United, and Alicia, worked at their company headquarters.

She knew of Ron's position, and Luna was editor of The Quibbler while her father managed from home. She would never admit to Luna that the only paper she and Caspar read nowadays was The Quibbler; the others were at times to difficult to get through.

Ginny worked in the Auror Department at the Ministry, Neville operated a business that supplied St Mungo's with various magical plants for their medical and potions work, and they were going to marry on New Year's Day.

At this Ginny flashed her ring, Hermione beamed at her, and took care to twist hers inwards. Krum had been less than modest about it, Ginny's paled in comparison.

The one thing she could be glad for though was that Ginny appeared so happy. Hermione couldn't remember much in those first foggy days after Harry disappeared - she had been delirious, gone rushing in after him and was later found lying on the forest floor almost catatonic - but she did remember Ginny's somewhat lost expression.

It had mirrored hers perfectly.

She was better now, moved on, that was good for her… Hermione doubted she ever could again.

Mr and Mrs Weasley were in happy retirement, missed her dearly and demanded (Mrs Weasley that is) that she let them watch Caspar while she worked instead of the nanny who came over during the week.

Hermione reluctantly agreed, but she was only pretending. She couldn't let them know how thrilled she was at the prospects for him… or for her.

She began to tell them about her move to England, raising Caspar alone and the press… when Caspar suddenly came bounding down the stairs followed by the three Weasley boys.

The girls, who had been sitting nearby listening to the adults talk, looked up at them as if surprised they were there. Fleur's elder daughter, Françoise, narrowed her eyes at them; they pretended not to see her.

Caspar then, didn't even bother to ask permission before dropping into her lap a carefully wrapped box. She looked to him confused a moment, then remembered his earlier mention of a present, and smiled. She carried this on to Mrs Weasley, who was quietly beaming at her as well, and tore off the wrapping.

A few tense moments later, and Hermione was holding a plain, white photo album. Her confusion returned, she opened it carefully and nearly shut it again at once.

As in many Wizard photographs, this one was filled with moving pictures. The people within were looking up at her, smiling, grinning, talking amongst themselves or even sleeping. This did not startle her, Hermione was a witch, and she knew these things. What did startle her was the fact that in each and every one of those photographs, and on every page, was Harry Potter.

She was not sure that she recognised these pictures, though they were all from the war, apparently taken at the Burrow and Grimmauld Place. She was there, or Ron sometimes, but mostly Harry, everywhere, messy black hair, vivid green eyes, lightening bolt scar, tall, skinny young man… Harry, Harry, Harry. And all at once she felt that old shame and failure again.

They'd failed to save him; they should have done more… if only, if only, if only.

She concealed this from the others though, as she carefully closed it and smiled up at Mrs Weasley and her son, saying, “Thank you very much, it's lovely.”

Mrs Weasley had a strange look on her face though, and absently replied, “Happy Birthday, dear.”

Caspar, for once, missed her discomfort, “Happy Birthday Mum, I'm glad you like it.”

He enveloped her in an embrace, and Hermione was thankful for it. The tender mother-child moment was the perfect excuse to cry.

~*~*~*~

In another room of the house, while the others now began to comfort Hermione, curious at her tears - Ron glared at his mother's back, and Caspar looked lost - a delivery was being made.

Coming through the storm, dripping wet, carried on the wind and exhausted at the weight of its delivery, the small, brown barn owl flew through a half-opened window in the study and landed on the table of gifts already there. But there wasn't a human present to free it of its load or supply a treat, and the absence of a cage indicated that no one in the house owned an owl.

The owl shook off the water in its feathers, slightly miffed.

It waited for a few moments, hooted twice and then realised that no one was coming. It shook its feathers dry again and then began to peck at the binds holding the package to its leg. The twine immediately snapped under the sharp beak, and the owl hooted once more for good measure.

Still no response, it hopped off the table and flew out of the window into the stormy afternoon.

The package, upset by its sudden departure, toppled off the table to the floor with the address facing up.

“To: Hermione Granger-Krum

Northbridge Manor,

Wiltshire, England”

“From: Amaranthe Montgomery,

Courtenay House,

Nice, France”

-->

A/N: First up, thank you to everyone who read and reviewed. Second, I know you have a lot of questions, I'm proud to know it worked, and I can assure you that the answers will be coming in subsequent chapters.

In this one, what can I say, here are the twins, and excuse my French. And extra, a bit of karma for the Dursleys.

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine, except for this plot I happen to love a little bit, and the children and one teacher mentioned here.

~*~*~*~

The Beauxbatons Transfers

“Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques,”

“Are you sleeping, are you sleeping?”

Dormez-vous, dormez-vous?

“Brother John, Brother John?”

Sonnez les matines, sonnez les matines,

“Morning bells are ringing, morning bells are ringing,”

“Din-don-din, din-don-din!”

“Ding-dong-ding, ding-dong-ding!”

The fifth harmonised rendition of the nursery rhyme had barely ended when suddenly Madame Fontaine screamed in exasperation, “Jumelles! Enfants terribles! Be quiet! Can't you see Monsieur Hagrid is trying to steer?”

The song ended immediately, only for them to burst out laughing. Even Hagrid at the helm of the little boat, now slowly taking them across the lake to Hogwarts, had to chuckle a little. Mme Fontaine was furious.

“Zis is not funny! No one said zat we would be sailing to zee school! And in ze dark! Maia, Aimee!” she scolded and this time they fell silent completely.

They had been singing the rhyme, begun as humming, turned to song and then rising in volume, since they first stepped into the little boat fifteen minutes before. Hagrid had actually not minded them much, coming all the way from France earlier that day, they had to be tired, and bored. But Mme Fontaine, their French chaperone, was not at all forgiving.

She looked decidedly uncomfortable amongst their luggage in the back of the dinghy. She was probably not one for sailing, so their attempt to amuse themselves just grated on her nerves. But they were still some ways off from the school.

The white marble tomb of Professor Dumbledore glistened in the faint light of the crescent moon, while the yellow lights of Hogwarts castle twinkled brightly in the dark, beckoning them home. The strange forest that surrounded the lake on the grounds of the school was quietest tonight, and the boat's occupants could just make out the sound of centaur hooves trampling the undergrowth. The glass-like placid lake beneath them meant that their ride so far had been nothing more than a swift glide to the opposite shore. But then, ever so often, a slick tentacle of the Giant Squid would break the surface—to the utter horror of Mme Fontaine, and the silent awe of the girls—bringing with it a soft music like the mermaid's song.

These things though, could only hold the girls' attention for so long. And presently, once the quiet had settled long enough, Maia started singing again.

“Row-row-row your boat,

Gently down the stream.

Merrily-merrily-merrily-merrily,

Life is but a dream.”

And then her sister joined her, and the harmonising began again and with it their voices rising in crescendo, and Hagrid began humming with them too… and Mme Fontaine screamed, “Jumelles!”

Hagrid chuckled to himself the rest of the way to shore.

Standing at the massive double-doors of Hogwarts castle, awaiting the new arrivals, Ron wondered what could be keeping them. He could barely find the tiny lamplight of the boat, a yellow pinprick in the murky expanse of the lake, and once or twice so far, he was very sure he had heard a woman's scream. He knew Hagrid wouldn't let anyone fall, and even if they did the Giant Squid would return them, but still it was worrying.

Behind him, in the Great Hall, the students were slowly settling in for a special feast. Professor McGonagall, as Headmistress, had insisted they have a smaller version of their annual Sorting Ceremony for the transfers despite it being just the two. No one complained, any excuse to feast was most welcome, and the two new students would be greeted as they always greeted First Years every year. However, there was one major difference from the norm; the two new students would be entering Second Year instead of First.

According to the information he had received from Professor McGonagall, the two girls were a pair of British-born identical twins, who had been living in France with their Aunt Amaranthe since they were six years old. Just two weeks ago, shortly after their Second Year at Beauxbatons began, their aunt died suddenly in their home in Nice. With no mention of parents, or any other relatives for the children to go to, the school had begun arrangements to find a home for them during the summer, or put them in an orphanage. And this was when a letter from their father arrived stating that the girls were to return to England. No amount of wrangling, protests, or complaints could change his mind, his decision was final and this was why Ron was standing here now, searching in the dark for a small boat's light.

Footsteps on the cold, stone floor alerted him to the approach of another and Ron turned to see Professor McGonagall, as stern, thin-faced and greying as ever, approaching. He straightened his posture immediately, and she smiled, “Professor Weasley, I assure you that you won't receive detention for bad posture, just a misshapen spine.”

He visibly relaxed and replied, “Old habits die hard… um, I can't see the boat, but I think I heard a woman scream, singing and laughter… something very strange is going on out there.”

“I'm very sure that Hagrid won't let anything happen to them,” she replied, still smiling that rare smile, and then asked seriously, “What happened at Miss Granger's birthday party, when you came back here, I received reports of unnecessary grumpiness?”

Ron let his own, slight amusement fall away and looked out again at the lake, and finally spotted the lamplight of the boat. They were almost to shore.

He replied, “It was fine. But my mother gave her something… a photo album of us during the war, had Caspar give it to her… Hermione thanked them but then she started crying…. The last time I saw Hermione, it was at Krum's funeral, and she wasn't crying then… one mention of Harry and she just…”

His voice trailed off, Professor McGonagall took over, “Am I to assume she was equally surprised at your son's name?”

This brought his smile back, albeit temporarily, “Yeah, Luna had to call him over to meet her, she said she looked… frightened.”

He didn't want to say “as if she'd been attacked by Nargles”, Professor McGonagall, like Hermione, wasn't altogether too fond of Luna's oddities.

She seemed to know very well what he had refrained from saying, but didn't comment as she replied, “First her best friend, then her husband… I'd say Molly's gift was a little thoughtless, but Hermione will be fine. No one is sorted into the house of Godric Gryffindor because the Hat was bored…. But tell me, how are you doing?”

The question surprised him, since he had taken up the Defence post at Hogwarts three years ago, this was the first time she had ever asked about his well-being. He replied anyway, “I'm fine… seeing Hermione again was just… it was good, we've been apart too long, we never should have split up.”

The sentence held a deeper meaning that didn't escape McGonagall; she told him, “I assure you Mr Weasley, that Mr Potter would have never suggested it at the last moment if he didn't think it was best. And I know you know it too.”

“Best for whom, Hermione and me? We didn't have much of a relationship before, when I got hurt it worsened, we drifted apart… by the end of the war it was over. Splitting up was the end of it, I just had to look at Hermione's face and I knew… Harry was just being noble and stupid,” Ron said, then stopped and sighed. Professor McGonagall allowed the silence to descend.

And then she looked past Ron to the small quartet coming up the banks, with various pieces of floating luggage behind them, and exclaimed, “What… in the name of Merlin!”

Ron, who had turned back to her as she spoke, looked once more down to the lake's edge and found the reason.

The boat had begun to head off to the boatshed, Hagrid was leading the way up to the school with the girls' chaperone, and the girls would occasionally appear from behind the half-giant's bulk to look up at the castle. At one point he heard a soft mew, one of the girls was carrying something in a small box, most likely a cat, and then at another point they stopped and looked across to Dumbledore's tomb. Hagrid began leading them on again, the woman speaking quickly, alternating between French and English, (thank goodness for Fleur and Madame Maxime) and the girls went on ahead of them. But clearest of all in the dark night, the one thing that had captured Professor McGonagall's attention was that the girls were not dressed in Hogwarts' robes. As a matter of fact, they were dressed in pale blue silk, with heeled shoes and tilted hats, and for warmth, there was only a small travelling cloak on their shoulders: the trademark uniform of the Beauxbatons Academy.

Professor McGonagall was livid.

But she kept her cool as the girls got to the steps, ran up to greet them and one of them said, “Bonne nuit professeurs, je suis Maia, c'est mon soeur Aimée, nous somme jumelles.”

The second twin nudged the first, whispered sharply, “In English!” then turned to them and said, “Good night, I'm Aimee Black and this is my sister Maia, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

Ron looked them over in the light that flowed out through the open doors to the steps. The one, who had spoken first, Maia, was slightly skinny, with a round face, almond-shaped honey-brown eyes and a head of long, thick black hair now set into a ponytail that fell down her back. The twin she indicated, Aimee, was her perfect reflection, and dressed as they were, if not for their help, he could not tell one from the other.

They were like Fred and George, only younger, dark-haired and female.

Professor McGonagall replied, “Good night girls, welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry… do you have your uniforms?”

The second twin spoke again, “Oui madam, but Mme Fontaine told us not to change yet.”

The moment she said it, Ron knew that she had made a mistake, and she must have sensed it too, for Professor McGonagall set her mouth in a thin line and the girl quickly turned round to find her chaperone and Hagrid. Mme Fontaine was blissfully unaware of the danger though, and called up the stairs, “Jumelles! Do not just stand zere! `Ave you forgotten your manners, say `Good night'!”

Maia replied quickly, “We already did, we were waiting for you.”

She said nothing to this, continued on up to the doors and addressed them both, “Madame McGonagall, and Professor, I am Madame Gwendoline Fontaine, zee chaperone from L'Académie Beauxbatons. As you were informed, zees are zee transfers, Maia and Aimee Black… I take it zee arrangements for zem `ave been made?”

She spoke so formally and directly to the point, that Professor McGonagall's anger seemed to deflate a bit, but only just, as she replied, “Yes, they have been…. But I am sure that you received our letter concerning the rules, why are the girls not dressed in uniform?”

“Oh, zat…” said Mme Fontaine looking down at her charges who had begun to head down the stairs again to Hagrid and their trunks.

Their skirts and cloaks fluttered slightly in a sudden night wind, and Aimee's, or possibly Maia's, scarf unwound itself from her neck. Hagrid caught it before it went away.

“We travelled zis morning directly from Beauxbatons. Your robes are so `eavy and `ot, I could not ask zem to wear zem all zee way `ere,” she replied, nonchalant.

Professor McGonagall's eyes flashed fire, “Where are their robes?”

“In zere trunks, of course,” Mme Fontaine told her, still nonchalant and oblivious to Professor McGonagall's displeasure, “Zey can wear zem later.”

When Professor McGonagall began to shake slightly in anger, Ron determined it best to step in, “Well that's done, let's get inside, it's very cold here, freezing! Um Maia… um… twins! You two midgets… I mean… yeah, let's get inside, it's freezing cold out here tonight!”

The girls turned at once at the sound of his voice, and came running up the stairs again, and this time leading their luggage by their wands. Hagrid brought up the rear holding two long, wrapped packages that could be nothing more than brooms, and the box with the cat.

Professor McGonagall suppressed her anger again long enough to let the girls and the half-giant to pass, before turning to their chaperone and saying curtly, “Well, I can see that your duties for the night are done, if you'll be on your way…”

Mme Fontaine snapped to attention at this, she finally seemed to notice Professor McGonagall's mood, and asked, “I `ave not yet seen to zee girls' settling in, or where zey shall stay until zere father finally appears, and `ow am I to get to zee gates, across zat lake by myself?”

“No, Professor Weasley here will take you, and then he'll return quickly for the Sorting, the students are getting restless. We'll make sure that the girls are settled, and their father, considering that he contacted you to send them here, I am sure he will contact us eventually. A former student no doubt, no trouble at all,” Professor McGonagall replied tersely.

Mme Fontaine looked greatly affronted, turned away from Professor McGonagall and called to the girls, “Adieu, Maia, Aimée, remember what I told you, if you need anything at all, owl me at once.”

A parting shot and the only thing she could do.

The girls stopped mid-conversation with Hagrid and turned to her to nod. For the first time since they arrived—and considering he had not seen them for that long—Ron could see hesitation in their eyes, almost fear. He could not begin to imagine what they were feeling then, being ripped from one school and transplanted into another, unfamiliar, and alone.

But he had to be grateful it was not the derision Fleur had first had towards the school. Maybe they hadn't been at Beauxbatons long enough.

His eyes fell on their trunks just then, and for the first time he noticed something rather odd. But before he could further inspect it, Mme Fontaine said, “Shall we Professor?”

He turned to lead her out, she bid Professor McGonagall a short “Good night”, took one last, longing look at the girls—who were now very quiet standing with Hagrid—and left with him.

The massive doors closed behind them at once, she started slightly and then asked, “Are we going across zee lake again?”

“No, that was only for the girls, we're walking to the gate down there,” Ron replied absently.

Her eyes widened, “You mean zere was a shorter way across?”

Ron was too busy thinking to smile.

He couldn't be sure, and maybe it was just his imagination, but on the girls' trunks, embossed in gleaming silver, he spied what looked like a very familiar object. When last he had seen something like it he was seventeen years old and going off to fight with Harry.

It was a family crest, of an old, pure-blooded family whose line had died out over a year before then. Whose last son had been the closest to his parents Harry would ever get alive, and as godfather, who had left him everything including a miserable old house-elf.

It was the crest of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

~*~*~*~

“Mum, where do I put these?” asked Caspar, coming out of the study with yet another stack of gifts from her birthday party.

Hermione looked over at her son from her place in the adjacent library and said, “In the closet in the hall… Caspar you should leave those things alone, I'll move them when I have the time… and I can do magic.”

Caspar gave a sigh and whined, “Mummy! You know you'll never move them if I don't, you're always too busy doing something else! It's all been lying in there all week.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, “Excuse me, young man?”

He put on a cherubic grin, she shook her head and gave in, “Carry on Caspar, just don't break anything.”

As he disappeared along the hall Hermione returned her attention to what she had been doing since she arrived that night from St Mungo's, looking through the photo album.

Before, she had promised herself that she would make a show of looking at it for Caspar, smile and thank Mrs Weasley whenever she saw her again, but never really look at it.

But she couldn't.

Four days from her birthday, somehow, someway, Hermione found herself drawn to it when she didn't need to be. When she knew she shouldn't be.

She would not admit to herself that she had rushed home from work that night just to look at it. She could not do that, it would mean that she actually wanted to hurt, to feel her heart seize, to feel a stab of guilt every time she turned a page and saw a picture of Harry. Hermione Granger simply was not a sadist.

But then she was.

She needed to see Harry's face, to see him doing something other than not being around. She needed to berate herself for sometimes wishing—in the deepest, darkest depths of her mind that was—that he was Caspar's father and not Krum. She needed to remember those times when they were “happy” and no one could hurt them and no one knew where they were. She needed to think that everything was alright and that the past eleven years had happened differently. And she needed to ask every picture a simple question, “How do I let you go?”

Four years after the war's end, she thought she had achieved that, when, after finally ending her relationship with Ron, she started going out.

Ron, at first, would drag her to parties while he stalked… no, observed… Luna Lovegood, and eventually she started going on her own. She made new friends, she saw her family more often, and she tried to ignore that part of her that wished she didn't have to. And then she met Viktor Krum at another party Ron had “dragged” her to.

When last they had seen each other, she had been fifteen and he was the eighteen year old Quidditch star come to the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He had ended their relationship just before returning to Bulgaria then because he felt her attentions were elsewhere. She didn't know how to tell him “Of course, someone was trying to kill my best friend.”

At twenty-five though, facing the twenty-eight year old Viktor, she knew what he had meant then. But thankfully for them both, she didn't have a reason to be distracted anymore.

He had had a girlfriend of sorts at the time, but within two weeks that was done and Hermione took her place. She refused to feel guilty about that. And then it took them less than eight months to be engaged. She refused to listen to everyone's complaints that it was too soon, or that part of her mind that knew she didn't completely feel the way he did. She would, and did, learn to love him, and when Caspar was born that sealed it for her.

For the next six years they were that lovely celebrity couple everyone speculated about but no one really knew. Away from her family and friends in Bulgaria she lived another life, and could forget. But it wasn't to last.

As much as she would never forget the sight of Harry rushing off into the forest eleven years ago, she would never forget Viktor flying away two years ago to start a game that would end in his death.

She closed her eyes and tried to clear her thoughts. When she opened them again she was twisting her wedding ring on her finger. She didn't know why she couldn't take it off, but she would deal with that later. One thing at a time, let go of Harry, and then let go of Viktor.

Looking down to the photo album again, she tried to focus on the page for the night. Since she was going to look at it, and she wasn't a sadist, she would do it one page at a time.

So far, in looking at the album, she was very clear on the fact that she did not remember taking these pictures. Most were at the Burrow, and one or two in the ever morbid Grimmauld Place, but she didn't remember them. When she had calmed enough, she had once asked Mrs Weasley when they were taken and she had told her after she had gotten hurt. Hermione barely recalled getting hurt in the first place so this didn't help at all.

Tonight's pictures were at the Burrow, it was late winter, and she and Harry were thickly bundled up in the company of a shaggy, black dog. Mrs Weasley had scribed, “Harry, Hermione, Alastair, January 28^th, 1999” underneath so she knew it wasn't Sirius, but she didn't remember ever having a dog. Frankly speaking, she knew she would never just get one either for Crookshanks would have killed her the moment he caught the scent of one… and what happened to Hedwig?

As she sat puzzling now, all thoughts of Harry and Viktor gone out the window, Caspar reappeared bearing two gifts, one brightly wrapped and another in plain brown paper. He said, “These are the last two, I found one under the table, where do I put them, there's not enough space in the closet.”

Hermione came alert at this, “Not enough room… did you just shove everything in there?”

He once again put on his best innocent face and she sighed, “Come on, I'll help you… goodness Caspar, do you have to be so messy? Neither Viktor nor I were, where are you getting these bad habits from?”

She rose from the desk and went out to help him, leaving the album open on behind her. Moments later, she exclaimed, “Oh my… Caspar Anton Krum!” at the sight of the mess he had made. But she had gone from the desk too soon.

The last picture on the page she was perusing, was of her and Harry walking through the orchard on a slightly windy afternoon. The photographer had caught them unaware, and not only that, just as a slight wind blew through the orchard shaking some snow down unto them. Harry tried to shake it off, but Hermione chose to dance, until Harry took her hand and they twirled. And in the midst of their twirling, if she had been there then, she would have noticed her odd, slight paunch.

~*~*~*~

By the time Ron returned to the castle, having delivered Mme Fontaine not only to the gate but Hogsmeade station as well, he had forgotten all about the crest on the trunks. He was too busy ranting about her making him take her to the station and miss the beginning of the feast. As a matter of fact, when finally he got in and to his seat at the staff table the Sorting was just about to begin.

Professor McGonagall allowed him the time to take his place, between Professor Julius Theoden, the new Slytherin Head of House and Potions Master (thankfully a more agreeable personality than Snape ever was) and Professor Padma Patil, as pretty as ever, the new Charms Professor to replace the retired Flitwick. (She took advantage of every opportunity to rib him about their Fourth Year Yule Ball “date”.) Tonight she smiled, leaned over and whispered, “Where were you?”

“I had to deliver the girls' chaperone, were they Sorted yet?” he replied.

Professor Theoden, a tall, lean, balding, stone-grey eyed and sharp-nosed man, who had been listening whispered, “No, just about to in fact, you missed the song… same old, same old.”

Ron resettled himself and Professor McGonagall, after glaring at him, nodded to Professor Sprout who stood in front centre with the Hat, a stool and a short list and read, “Black, Aimee.”

At this point Ron, still gathering his bearings for coming in late, finally noticed the girls. They had been seated at a small table at the front, left hand side of the staff table with the Head Boy and Girl, still in their Beauxbatons uniform, but wearing apparently borrowed Hogwarts robes over it. One had already replaced her Beauxbatons hat with the familiar Hogwarts black pointed one and the other, apparently Aimee, removed hers as she rose from the table.

With a hesitant look back to her sister, she walked steadily over to Professor Sprout and the Sorting Hat, and climbed unto the stool. Once she was seated, the Hat was placed on her head and a hush descended over the room.

If Ron looked to every table in the room then, and this included the Slytherins, he was quite sure he would find them all anxiously awaiting the decision.

Amongst the Gryffindors, the look on the face of his nephew Philippe stated it clearly. The cobalt blue eyes of the boy were trained directly on girl on the stool, ignorant to a friend messing his reddish-blonde hair behind him. Ron would never admit to Fleur how sometimes her son unnerved him when he did that in class. The Third Year's usually good grades from this concentration usually overrode that.

Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were of no real interest to him, save for one shocker in Ravenclaw. A slightly plump, blonde-haired, pink-cheeked and very rouge-lipped little First Year by the name of Rosalie Dursley, who was now staring with curiosity at the proceedings oblivious to his gaze.

He was still in so much shock over the fact that this little girl was the biological, natural born daughter of one Dudley Dursley, known wizard-hater and Muggle boxer that he was yet to summon the courage to tell his wife, self say Hermione of her existence.

Of course, the Daily Prophet expose on Harry's childhood might do it for him soon enough.

In the Slytherins the only person of interest was a very beautiful black girl in the Second Year, Rhiannon Zabini. Blaise Zabini, according to Ginny, had somehow managed to stop posing long enough to find someone equally as arrogant as he and then too to produce a child with. No surprise came from the fact that his wife happened to be rich, pureblood and almost as famous for her beauty as his mother had been. Luckily for her too, she was still alive.

Rhiannon was not looking at the Sorting now, but directly up at him instead so that he cut his gaze back to the Hat. The two of them were not the best of friends, he could imagine the reports she sent back to her father.

And just then the Hat bellowed, “GRYFFINDOR!” so that Aimee started a bit in her seat, nearly falling off, and the Slytherins, including Rhiannon, laughed. The applause from the Gryffindor table though, drowned them out as Aimee recovered, solemnly made her way to their table, and was immediately descended upon by her curious new housemates. Philippe and a friend were the first to her side, her apprehension at this in no way a deterrent.

Maia's turn, she cautiously headed over to the Hat, with an encouraging look from her sister—finally able to fight off those around her—and sat on the stool. The Hat on her head, a hush descended again and Ron could almost see Aimee willing it to be Gryffindor too. Padma leaned over again to whisper, “I hope they're not split up, Parvati and I were always different but that just seemed to make it worse sometimes.”

“What if they're like Fred and George?” asked Ron and Padma made a face.

“That would be a disaster, okay, split them up,” she replied. Both he and Theoden laughed.

Her second wish was granted when a second later the Hat bellowed, “HUFFLEPUFF!” and Maia, slightly confused, was up and heading off to a table across the room from her sister. The obvious disappointment on her face quickly masked as she was surrounded by her new housemates as her sister had been before. Ravenclaw, Slytherin and Gryffindor collectively groaned.

“Tcha, I was right the first time,” said Padma, as they looked at the twins, now trying to spy each other over the heads of the others.

“They'll be fine,” said Ron, “one's in a tower, the other's in the basement, it's not as if we've dragged them from their parents, out of their home and to another country. By Monday they'll be just two more of the crowd.”

-->

A/N: Okay, general, in this chapter there is use of the movies as canon for their uniforms, as if you didn't get that already from the other chapter, and as the title says some meetings or two. I have to tell you too, that since I am taking exams for a while, the updates are going to be really separated. Hope you don't mind, bear with me for explanations and like this chapter.

Disclaimer: I can't say it enough, plot and the kids are mine, nothing else.

~*~*~*~

A Series of Meetings

When last anyone had officially entered number twelve, Grimmauld Place, it was shortly after the war and Harry's disappearance. The demise of the Dark Lord meant that further official meetings of the Order of the Phoenix were soon to end, the absence of the owner meant that going there felt inappropriate and eventually it was closed off, for good. Unofficially however, no sooner than had the Order left the old home of the proud House of Black, than a new series of meetings began.

These meetings had nothing at all to do with Dark Wizards, Death Eaters or even the upkeep of the house. They were not focused on finding the owner, or selling the furniture or even reunions for old time's sake.

No, these meetings focused entirely on something else.

What were they to do about a pair of identical twins?

Lupin was barely down to the cavernous, basement kitchen of the strange, dark house, when Mrs Weasley's voice came up to him, “When did Amaranthe die?”

He stopped a moment, startled at the sound of her voice, and then continued down, “Two weeks ago.”

Another voice, a man's, asked, though without appearance of concern, “Where are the children?”

Lupin went over to main table and heavily sat down. Orange-yellow, the lights of the fire someone had started cast eerie dark shadows round the room and made the hanging pots and pans illusionary instruments of torture. On him, he was quite sure they emphasized the dark rings round his eyes and the lines on his face though he was still much too young for them properly. He took a moment to savour the warmth, and replied, “They should be at Hogwarts now, Nymphadora said that the Ministry received a French mistress and two schoolgirls yesterday, last night the mistress went back alone.”

Silence greeted this answer, the three present allowing it to descend, before Mrs Weasley asked, “Where did they go?”

“According to Professor McGonagall, Julia… Aimee… to Gryffindor…” began Lupin, but was soon cut off by Mrs Weasley.

“Wonderful! I knew it! Just like her family!” she exclaimed happily.

Lupin continued, “And Maia to Hufflepuff.”

Mrs Weasley's face, even in the poor light, visibly fell. The second man, Snape, said then without a hint of amusement, “I should have expected as much, Potter would have fit right in there himself…”

Lupin didn't let him finish, “I can assure you—not that anything is wrong with Hufflepuff—from what Professor McGonagall recovered from Beauxbatons both girls are of reasonable intelligence, courage and ability. They were just above average in all their First Year classes.”

Mrs Weasley put in, “Just like their mother… a-and Hufflepuff is a house dedicated to hard work and fairness…. But it's unfortunate they were separated, they're twins. They should always be together.”

“I say this respectfully, madam,” began Snape, “but if they're anything like your sons we should be glad they've been separated. Hogwarts may have stood through centuries and wars, but one moment of stupidity, or two, could destroy it in an instant.”

Mrs Weasley said nothing, but her eyes narrowed at him. There was a double meaning to that sentence she did not like.

Lupin broke the tension, “There's something else… a letter… their father's will… or Last Will more appropriately, is why they're here now. After Amaranthe died, a letter came to the school stating that the girls were to return to England upon the death of their guardian if they were not yet of age. A copy was sent to the Ministry… its Harry's handwriting….”

Gasping, hands flying to her mouth, Mrs Weasley asked, “Does—does this mean… that he's… that he's alive…?”

Lupin shook his head, “It was not dated… but I do recall Harry writing a series of letters, before the twins were born… I thought they were to Hermione… but…”

“Potter was making his preparations… I'm impressed, (again with no emotion so that it was hard to believe) I did not think it possible he had the mental capacity to do so… what of Miss Granger?” asked Snape.

“Nothing they could find, I believe she didn't think it necessary, after all, not even I knew to the last minute that she was going to part with her children,” replied Lupin.

“It was absolutely necessary, the moment they slipped and the Dark Lord got wind of the children's existence they would be dead… or worse…” said Snape gravely.

“What's worse than losing your life to that monster?” asked Mrs Weasley, turning to arch an eyebrow.

“Being raised to hate… and to kill…” replied Snape coldly. His dark eyes took on a blankness that hadn't been there moments before, “He might have killed them at once, but Potter's children would have had certain… advantage… to him. Trophies, on one hand, meant to humiliate, and pupils, on the other, meant to be as wicked as he for as long as they were useful.”

“Children are our immortality…” said Mrs Weasley absently.

Both men spared her a momentary glance, before Snape said, “This development, Amaranthe's natural… (Lupin nodded) death, certainly complicates matters… this entire thing is going to unravel before we have any time to control it. How much do the twins know? How much did Amaranthe think necessary to tell them when they started getting curious? For that matter, where is Miss Granger in all this, her memories?”

“I gave her an album… for her birthday…” said Mrs Weasley suddenly, and still in that absent way.

Both men now snapped attention to her immediately, “What?” asked Snape.

“Photographs… but she seemed to remember nothing, focusing only on Harry's picture and seeing nothing else,” she replied, somewhat sadly.

“Why ever would you do something as foolish as that?” asked Snape.

She looked up to him with the hint of tears glinting in her eyes, “Because no mother should forget—be made to forget—her children. Because it's been eight years since last we saw a Death Eater or even had an attack. Because the girls are twelve years old, they need their mother now more than anything. Because the moment the war was finally over we should have re-introduced her to her children, made her remember them as much as we made her forget. Because…”

“We had no hand in that!” declared Snape in a low, reproaching voice.

“But we made no attempt to stop it did we…?” she demanded. “We could have told her instead of letting her marry that Quidditch player and move away? What if Harry is alive and Krum hadn't died? What if she had married him in England instead of Bulgaria? What would you have told her at the altar when the ceremony couldn't commence because she was married to another man she had no recollection of? What would you have told her if Harry had showed up in Bulgaria during the Quidditch World Cup and she realised she had two husbands? I don't care for controlling this anymore, I want it to unravel.”

“You've made a serious mistake, three innocent people are going to be hurt at the end of this and their names are Aimee, Maia and Caspar, in addition to your youngest son and daughter. The moment the truth is known, everything is going to change for them, mentally and physically. Do you know how much they would pay to kill his child?” warned Snape.

“A long time ago I would have cared, but Ron is married to Luna Lovegood with a child, and happily so and Ginny is engaged. They've moved past that. Aimee, Maia and Caspar are half-siblings who do not know each other, I think the time for their introductions is long overdue. And as for their safety, what are we all? Dead? Harry's children will be in danger regardless. If someone finds out first… they could hurt them and no one would know why!” replied Mrs Weasley, her voice now bordering on shrilly.

Lupin cut in, “Molly… I…” He paused a moment and then continued, “I can't say that I disagree with you. She's right; we should let them know of each other… we've delayed too long.”

Snape's face became an expressionless mask, and he replied, “Fine, but I suggest you be quick about it. Potter's children are at Hogwarts now, and if they're anything like their father it shouldn't take too long for everyone to know their secret.”

Mrs Weasley sighed, seemingly unsatisfied even in her victory, and said, “I was lying before when I said I didn't care though… I'll care if they can't forgive us.”

~*~*~*~

After ten full minutes of determinedly ignoring the bell of the front door, Draco Malfoy finally decided to answer it. And when he did he had every intention of giving his unwelcome visitor a piece of his mind. Didn't anyone care that he didn't want to speak to them?

But once the door was open the words died in his throat. Standing on the front steps, after fourteen years, were two people he never thought he would see again, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson.

Both were obviously older, Pansy, still pug-faced and dark-haired had become slightly rounded, but covered this flatteringly in expensive clothing and jewels. Blaise, had grown distinguished, even more handsome in his fine suit, and stood tall behind Pansy with a ghost of a smile on his lips. Both wore heavy cloaks despite the warm weather, chatting with ease, and had stood expectantly for him to open the door.

Due to his shock, and aforementioned irritation, none was forthcoming.

Neither then waited for further invitation before stepping past the threshold into Malfoy Manor and beginning to remove their cloaks.

It took Draco only a moment to recover now, and sputter, “W-what are you two do-doing here?”

Pansy replied casually, “We heard rumours; we want to know if they're true. Are you “courting” that Mudblood down the street?”

“You mean Granger?” asked Draco, stupidly.

“No, she means one of the Creevey brothers, of course she means Granger!” snapped Blaise, glaring at him.

Draco glared back, realised how childish that was and said, “No, I'm not, I won't be caught dead within two feet of that-that… woman!”

“Oh, is it `woman' now?” asked Pansy, nastily. “Are you going to be calling her Hermione, Hermy or `Mione next too?”

“Don't be stupid Parkinson!” snapped Draco, “I haven't seen Granger since she moved here; she's playing the `reclusive widow'.”

“Have you seen the boy? Her son, what's his name? Connor? Castle? Something with a `C'…?” Blaise asked.

“Caspar… and no, I haven't seen him other than in those pictures in the paper. Why do you want to know this?” he asked, getting annoyed as he grew accustomed to their presence. “You know I wouldn't associate with those kinds of people… Father would turn over in his grave… or hell… or wherever they sent him after Potter left him to the werewolves.”

Neither though, seemed pleased with this answer.

This irked him more, “What? Did I do something wrong? Can't say I'm sorry for it though, I don't follow the Powers-That-Be anymore. I want to live.”

Blaise then began, “I would have thought you to want a trophy? Or at least revenge?”

“What?” asked Draco, confused, and then it dawned on him, “Are you insane? Have you both forgotten the existence of Weasel? Hell, Potter's many other `friends' nowadays? And haven't they already had their trophy, no Scarhead to parade?”

“I don't agree with it either, Draco,” said Pansy. “But you have to look at it rationally. How better to seal their humiliation than to have a former Death Eater actively seeking their heroine? The sensation it would cause, the…”

“The shortened lifespan, the constant attention when all I want is a little peace, the wrath of Granger, Weasel and those people helping them who know werewolves—worse than Greyback mind you—Aurors, Ministry officials…? `I have to look at it rationally?' I didn't betray those bastards to become their poster boy to celebrate Potter's absence!” he declared. Then after a moment added, “You know what; I think you two should leave, you've disturbed me long enough.”

“I don't think we're finished…” protested Blaise, but Draco had had enough.

“I think we are… no, I know we are… after all this time, to come back now to ask me to become some kind of gigolo… I'm thirty-one, not twenty-one, I have priorities!” he said and threw their robes at them.

“Yes, you do, to everyone who died in the war fighting for the cause!” declared Pansy.

Draco looked at her then as if he had never seen her before, and said, “Be careful Parkinson, or you're going to become just as crazy as my `dearly departed' aunt. I owe those who died nothing, didn't you hear me before? I betrayed them and you! I don't care for any causes, I don't care for any wars and I don't care for you, now leave!”

Blaise began to make for his living room, saying, “Fine then, it was just a joke. Do you actually think we would come back after all these years to ask you to do something ridiculous like that? Why Draco, you have changed. I'm done playing `junior Death Eater'; I couldn't take the mark in the first place…”

Draco didn't catch the punch line, and he was very serious about their leaving. Pansy began to join Blaise in the living room though, and he knew they weren't going to.

Blaise was speaking again, “How about we just `catch up' instead, it's a Sunday afternoon, Rhiannon's at school, my wife's… somewhere, I don't know—oh by the way, I'm married with a daughter, Slytherin—Pansy's got no other place to go… we know you don't….”

Draco wanted to rage but didn't. He didn't know why, but he couldn't. He just stood as they settled onto his sofas, looked around for a house-elf or drinks, conjured a few iced glasses of wine when they didn't see either, and waited for him to join them.

He didn't.

Blaise began, “Here's something to break the ice, my daughter reported that they're two new students at Hogwarts, a pair of twins transferred from France… that French school… whatever.”

“I've read the papers, `British-Born French Students Transfer to Hogwarts!' What does this have to do with me?” asked Draco, annoyed.

“Oh nothing, just `spreading the gossip'…” he said casually, “But she did say that when they were going off to bed, she saw their trunks. What was stamped on them should interest you.”

“I don't think I care,” said Draco.

Pansy smiled at him, “Oh you will, it was `Toujours Pur', the crest of some family of yours, the House of Black if I'm not mistaken.”

Draco rolled his eyes and yawned at them both, “One of my late uncles… the convict, blood traitor… Sirius left everything to Potter when he died. In Sixth Year someone started selling things from the house… it was probably something from there… Grandmother Black must be turning in hell with Father…”

He smirked to himself at this, but the others didn't. Blaise continued, “You see, we're not so sure about that. One, the trunks were new, and two, the girls' name is Black. And before you even say it, they're not Muggle-born.”

Draco tried his best to look uninterested as he asked, “And how does your daughter know that?”

“Simple,” Blaise replied, “they told her.”

Draco scoffed, “Just like that, are they Slytherins too?”

“No, one is a Gryffindor and the other's a Hufflepuff, but they were raised in France,” said Blaise, as if this was some form of explanation.

Draco missed it completely, “And…? I think you should be concerned that your daughter is talking to a Hufflepuff and a Gryffindor.”

“McGonagall's, and that blood traitor Weasley's doing, the Houses have a lot more joint classes and some other propaganda to `foster inter-House relations'. Almost every other weekend the students are mixed up in the Great Hall for dinner so they can talk to each other. As luck would have it, Rhiannon got to sit with Aimee and Maia.” Blaise explained.

“Who?” Draco asked, all prior irritation gone.

“That's their names,” said Pansy, “Aimee and Maia Black.”

“As I was saying, she got to sit with them and they talked, of course, everyone else at the table wanted to talk to them too… but with the Hufflepuff in the basement, we are partially guaranteed information… if you want it?”

“What do I care for two little girls…? I don't know your daughter, I haven't seen you two in years, and all of sudden you come here wanting to share? Joking about me after that woman and acting like the moment I disappeared you didn't abandon me as dead?” demanded Draco, his irritation returned at Blaise's preposition.

Pansy came to him with softened voice and an innocent smile, “Draco… all we want is to help you get back out into the world again. You've been locked up in here too long… Potter's dead, his friends are distant, if anything, we just don't want us to become like them.”

“I don't want trouble,” Draco said seriously, looking away from her, “and you two are bringing it.”

~*~*~*~

As he had predicted, Ron found that by Monday morning all talk of the twins had faded away and the school resettled itself. In fact, when next he would see either sister it would be in the first class of the morning, coincidentally a joint one with Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.

Seated up front in black Hogwarts robes—lined dark red for the Gryffindor, Aimee, and dark gold for the Hufflepuff, Maia—they arrived before much of the class and stood when he entered the room. Remembering the Beauxbatons delegation in Fourth Year, he told them, “Good morning girls… um, you don't have to do that here.”

They blushed slightly and sat down. Their black hair was loose now, cascading their shoulders like veils, splashed gold in the light coming through the windows of the room. They had the appearance of being thoroughly scrubbed, powdered and perfumed, the perfect little ladies. It was also a bit annoying that they looked so bright and perky when Ron had fought to awaken moments before.

Maia spoke first, (he had to love this separation thing) saying, “Merci, bonjour professeur, did you have a good weekend?”

For the fact that this was the first time in three years a new student didn't immediately ask him some Second War-related question on the first meeting, he had to arch an eyebrow at her. She appeared unfazed however, and even unconcerned that she should be gushing over his friendship with the Great Harry Potter right then instead of minding his weekend. He replied eventually, “It was fine, thank you, and yours?”

Aimee spoke up, “Wonderful, our housemates showed us around the whole school, but not the forest, they said it was forbidden… can you believe that? I mean, what is the point of having a forest on the grounds and then tell everyone that they can't go into it, it's an open invitation.”

Immediately assuming teacher-mode, Ron said, “Miss Black, it is not an open invitation, there are… dangerous… things in that forest.”

She had the grace to flush red at this, but said bravely, “Even more of a reason to go in there, imagine that… Daddy said that he could barely keep himself out of it…”

“Aimee!” her sister suddenly exclaimed and her mouth clamped shut mid-sentence.

He had to wonder what had just happened there, but chose to ignore it, warning, “I'm hoping I won't hear about you two wandering into the forest anytime soon… will I?”

Both girls shook their heads, and then Maia started again, “So, we have some questions…”

Ron stopped her at once, “If any one of them have anything to do with my friendship with Harry Potter, Harry Potter, or any rumours you've read in the rags they call papers these days about Harry Potter, I won't answer.”

Both girls though, looked affronted.

Aimee protested, “We were not going to ask you anything about Harry Potter.”

“You didn't let me finish,” added Maia.

Feeling somewhat embarrassed, and then still sceptical, he stopped, “Oh… okay… sorry….”

“That's quite all right,” said Maia with dignity, and at that moment Ron was struck with the uncanny reproduction of Hermione in Fifth Year. Continuing, she asked, “We just want to be clear on some things, are all our classes joined?”

School-related—this furthered his embarrassment—but he replied, “Uh… no, sometimes you have classes with Ravenclaw or Slytherin and sometimes it's just one House.”

“Okay…” said Maia, they both took this in a moment, and then Aimee asked, “Where's the Owlery?”

“Upstairs… but you don't have an owl… I saw a cat…?” asked Ron, wondering if he had missed something.

“Socrates… no, we don't have an owl, but if we needed to use one it would be good to know where it is,” said Maia.

“Right… tallest tower, northernmost… just follow the stench… there are school owls up there you can use,” he told her.

Aimee had taken out a quill, finest eagle feather, and quickly wrote down the directions, though she did pause at the word “stench” and smiled. The sight of the quill though, drew Ron's attention to the twins' uniform.

Not one inch, from the striped ties round their necks to the shoes on their feet spelled Madam Malkin's. There was a touch of luxury to it that Ron normally accorded to Malfoy and other wealthy students, with the exception of Harry, when he had been going to school. The effect actually added to the `little lady' appearance of the girls so that he wondered what his mother would think if she met them. Their father, or whoever had purchased their robes, had gone for the best.

The handiwork of Mme Fontaine no doubt, if he thought about it.

Maia was speaking again, they seemed to take turns, “About the Quidditch teams, are any looking for players?”

Now this was Ron's kind of question.

He replied quickly, “I don't know how it worked at Beauxbatons, but here you can only play for your Houses' teams. Gryffindor doesn't really need anyone… maybe a new team altogether… (He whispered this) but Hufflepuff's always looking for new talent. (He suppressed his amusement) What kind of brooms you have, I saw Hagrid bringing them in…”

“Silver Arrows,” said Aimee.

Ron was about to tell her that they had discontinued making those brooms a long time ago, when Leonard Jewkes, as sole producer, couldn't meet the demand. But his thoughts cleared immediately when he remembered that the company that had produced the Firebolt had recently purchased Mr Jewkes' plans and remade the brooms, naming them the Silver Arrow II.

He sputtered then, “Silver Arrow IIs, those are the best brooms under professional level you can get… and they're in limited supply like the Firebolt was… they're… how did you two get one… a pair?”

“Papa had Tantie Marie get them for our birthday this year, when we came home they were waiting for us,” Maia explained, and then both sisters saddened.

It was then that Ron remembered their recently departed aunt; he tried to change the topic, “Any other questions?”

The girls recovered, and Maia, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, asked, “How do you get stuff delivered here… from Weasleys Wizard Wheezes. We heard about them from this boy, Philippe Weasley, and he said that you would know…?”

Ron narrowed his eyes at the mention of his nephew, smart and dedicated he may be but Philippe had a tendency to mischief. He told the twins then, “'Stuff' from the Weasley joke shop is banned here in Hogwarts, you're not allowed to have anything of theirs delivered…”

“But Philippe had some of the Puking Pastilles, he gave them to…” said Aimee and once more her sister cut her off.

But this time, Ron had to note, the silencing was put-on. He was quite sure that they had had every intention of telling him about Philippe's clandestine operation.

There was a moment of silence then, and Ron replied, “Anything ordered is delivered as normal to you once you clearly state your address, in this case, name, house, and the school. Once it passes Filch… Mr Filch's inspection, it will come to you. Is there anything else you'd like to know?”

Aimee made another note, Maia spoke up, “Um… do-do you know anything about Mrs Hermione Granger-Krum…?”

When he made to protest to this line of questioning, Aimee joined in, “Nous pardonnez, we know you said that you won't answer anything about Harry Potter, but this isn't about Harry Potter. We only asked because we know you're her friend—well, that's what everyone tells us—and we were there when her husband died in that game… Tantie Marie took us… we saw everything… is she all right?”

How cute, they had managed to side-step his protest. And for some reason, instead of refusing, he replied, “She's fine, I saw her on Monday for her birthday, and she seems to be doing all right. Going for a job at St Mungo's… you're not going to tell anyone about this, are you?”

The girls shook their heads, and then Aimee asked, “What's she going to do there? I want to be a Healer too… is it going to be in ordinary Spell Damage or worse things?”

“I don't know, I didn't ask,” said Ron, and then felt rather ashamed for it. He continued, “I have a question of my own though, I know that you've only just got here, but… do you have any relatives here that we can contact? Anyone we should inform that you've gotten to England… your mother, another aunt, uncle perhaps?”

The girls became even more solemn, and Maia replied, “Our grandparents are dead, both sides… and our mother… well, I don't know…. But we have some Muggle relatives, our mother's and father's. Our mother's relatives don't know us at all… and our father's don't like us… or know about us either… but we're supposed to go to a house in London for the summer, our father's made all the arrangements.”

Ron noted this, and asked, “But still, we need to contact someone and we can't find your father… you're mother's relatives, do you know their names?”

The sisters looked at each other a moment, and one asked, and rather quickly so that he barely heard it, “Houldshay eway elltay imhay?”

It was pig Latin.

“Eway avehay otway,” her sister replied.

“Onay eway ontday,” protested the first.

“Ehay illway indfay utoay aterlay nywayay,” was the rebuttal.

“Fine,” was the final word in English and Aimee turned to him, “Puckle, that's all we have, their surname… Tantie Marie didn't talk about them much, but she did tell us their names.”

A bit fazed by the display of twin-speak, Ron recorded the name and then asked, “Your surname is Black, when did your father go to school here… it couldn't be after me and I don't remember anyone here with that name while I was…?”

Maia replied quickly, almost cutting him off, “We don't know,” and immediately Ron knew it was a lie. Nothing about her or Aimee had betrayed her response, but Ron just knew she was lying.

Well, maybe it had something to do with their conversation of before, and her haste, but he still knew she was lying. He had to wonder why.

Before he could question them further though, a bell sounded through the school, it was time for classes to begin. Ron and the twins looked around, and were surprised that they had been joined by the others while they had been speaking.

The girls gave him a shy smile, he displayed an apologetic one to the rest of the class and began, “Right, today in Defence Against the Dark Arts we're going to learn about basilisks, which is quite fitting if you've… sorry… since you've all heard about my Second Year here.”

They all, including the girls, grinned.

~*~*~*~

Sailing on the cool wind of the dark night, the weary brown barn owl made its way to the darkened study of the house. Its journey had been long, the traverse from Scotland marred by freezing, driving rain and a quickly vanished moon. But it had a package to deliver, and until that was done it had to keep going.

The little girls who had sent it on its way had made their instructions clear: “A house by the sea in North England, the study is open to the cliff.”

“He should be home, but if not you can just leave the message, don't wait for a reply, we'll get one later.”

“If the address is wrong return it to us, we'll have to check it again.”

And then their conversation carried off, forgetting the owl still on arm.

“It can't be wrong; it was in Tantie Marie's letter. She told us everything in that letter.”

“Tantie Marie was getting old, everything was `Mes petites filles pauvres', she could have made a mistake.”

“Sometimes I think you're getting old, you slip up too much.”

“You too, have you forgotten the owl?”

“Oh… yeah… fly away little bird, bonne chance, donner notre amour au papa!”

“Oui!” said the other and that was that.

Finally though, its destination appeared in its sights.

It was not really on a cliff, more of a rise in the land before the sea. The house was not a mansion, but large enough so that one could think it was. Neighbours were barely visible but there, cars passed at odd intervals, no one walked the roads and the house it was going to stood silent and dark. No one was home, and it looked for months.

Thankfully, just as the girls had said the window in the study was open. It floated in effortlessly, to the sound of waves from the inky black sea crashing harmlessly onto the shore.

No sooner than had it landed though, than it made to leave again.

Piled in the study as far as it could see, was stack upon stack of dust-covered letters. Newspapers, books and magazines scattered unto the floor, owl droppings littered the windowsill, and a musty smell permeated the air. It was now very clear that no one had been here for months.

Just as it was about to go out the window though, a door opened and it dropped onto the windowsill and turned back. Someone had entered the room.

It was a man, tall, with black hair—possibly mussed from sleep—a pair of bright green eyes behind round-rimmed glasses and a very odd scar on his forehead. He was dressed as if he had just come in from a business trip, but minus the tie and jacket, and called casually to his visitor, “Hey there… what's that you got there?”

The owl hopped back into the room and perched itself on the desk. The man came over and carefully removed the letter, slipped the owl a treat from his pocket and flipped on a switch. The owl made to go away again but was stopped when the man exclaimed, “You're a school owl… this letter is addressed from the school… wait a moment…!”

The owl remained where it was on the table as the man tore open and read the letter, paused for a time musing over it and then finally scrawled a long letter in return. He revised the letter three times then, before folding, sealing and handing over the finished product, with ten Galleons in tow and a treat for the owl.

As the owl hopped to the window again the man said, in halting French, “Dire mes filles, bonne nuit.”

It didn't seem to matter that the owl couldn't speak.

-->

A/N: First, I must apologise for the increased rating of this story due to this chapter. Second, I must apologise for the reason for this increased rating as it most certainly stinks. Third, this is a double post as I am not sure when I will be able to post again.

Thanks for reading and reviewing, I may not be able to respond all the time but I do read all.

~*~*~*~

Remembrance

“Serpensortia!” was the cry and Ron turned to the young caster with an arched eyebrow.

He had seen many a duel, some good and some bad, since the restart of the Duelling Club of Gilderoy Lockhart's day after his return to Hogwarts. He had seen young duellists pull off many a nasty spell at each other in the name of victory. He had even had a few duellists sent off to the Hospital Wing for getting too rough with each other in the heat of it. But this was getting ridiculous now.

Clearly Philippe Weasley had missed the family handbook on behaviour, even Fred and George would not have gone that low to end a duel.

Just as quickly as the spell had been cast though, Maia aimed her wand at the snake flying through the air towards her and shouted, “Vipera Evanesco! How cute, Tarantellegra!”

Her attacker dropped to the ground legs tangled and flopping about. Despite this, and finally proving himself the son of Bill Weasley and not Draco Malfoy, he shot off “Engorgio!” towards her.

She hastened to finish him off then, “Petrificus Totalus!”

His body went stiff, his cherubic face displaying his shock, and he lay silent in his place on the duelling platform. Maia seemed momentarily startled at her victory, her mouth and eyes wide as she looked him over and to her sister. Aimee mouthed something to her, she recovered quickly then turned to Ron and asked cheekily, “Is this the best you can do?”

He gave his best impression of Snape, “Miss Black, do not let me deduct House Points for cheek.”

She gave her best impression of concern.

He continued, “Finite Incantatem! Philippe here is a bit of a pushover, (his nephew glared at him) why don't you battle… Miss Zabini… instead…?”

Rhiannon standing amidst her friends, Slytherins Ron didn't care to know, protested at once, “She's a Hufflepuff; I don't want to hurt her.”

Professor Theoden replied for him, “Very funny, get up there, Gryffindors are all generally pushovers, but she's beaten one… show her how Slytherins duel.”

She kept her face expressionless but her eyes betrayed her annoyance. With a sigh she drew her wand, loudly whispered to her friends, “I'll be back, shortly,” and took Philippe's place on the duelling platform.

Professor Theoden shook his head.

When Ron gave the signal, the two girls met each other at the centre and bowed. At the shout, “Present arms!” they raised their wands, Maia's fine ebony, long and slender, Rhiannon's a shorter, magnificent willow, and glared slightly at each other. No matter how many times he had seen that stance, it was eerie how it struck him that they looked the Second Year Harry and Draco.

“Ten paces!” was the second shout and they turned and marched back to their former positions.

The tenth pace was barely finished though, before Rhiannon suddenly turned and shouted, “Rictusempra!”

Maia turned immediately, ducked the flash of silver and shouted, “Expelliarmus!”

Rhiannon ducked as well, but still had to tighten her grip on her wand as the spell tugged it away. Once she had settled it again, she shouted, “Incarcerous!”

Maia immediately shouted, “Protego! (The spell bounced harmlessly away) Petrificus Totalus!”

Again she missed her target; Rhiannon shot her nastiest look and called, “Stupefy!”

The Stunning Spell, and immediately all other duels halted. Rhiannon had just upped the ante. Protests from other Hufflepuffs, spectators, and Aimee—who shoved away her dueller to rush to the stage and her sister—were silenced by the calls of the Slytherins demanding Rhiannon kill Maia if she had too.

What was this, a blood sport?

She missed with this one though and Maia sent it back to her. She cast “Protego” over herself, and then sent over the Bat Bogey Hex. Maia glared as she shielded herself, and then hit her with the spell Ron had tried on Malfoy in Second Year. Unlike Ron's Second Year, within seconds Rhiannon had fallen forward and was belching slugs.

The Hufflepuff cheers drowned the Slytherin boos.

Triumphant, Maia petrified her and said, “That wasn't very nice.”

Ron couldn't conceal his amusement this time, Professor Theoden concurred.

“Bravo, Miss Black, you're a natural,” he applauded her, and then freed his student.

While Rhiannon, defeated, and angry, headed back to her friends, he said to Ron, “She's won four out of her past six duels… how about we put her up against someone… older…?”

Once more the other duellists, having resumed their own fights in light of the quick end to the match, halted. Padma, who had been seated quietly nearby observing the proceedings protested, “An older student? Professor Theoden, have you lost your mind? Just because she can fight off those in her Year and one above her doesn't mean she can take on the school. Someone in a higher year will automatically have an advantage!”

“Well yes, but I do believe Harry Potter, from Professor Weasley's accounts, has more than proven that knowing more spells alone can't help you. It takes skill,” he told her with a charming smile.

Oh, if he only knew. Luck, was more an appropriate word.

She protested again, “Okay, skill is a part of it too, I'll accept that…. But she's already been in six duels, why don't you give Aimee a chance instead… let Maia take a rest, her sister's just sitting there.”

Ron cut in, “Now that's unfair, we don't know how well she duels…”

Aimee spoke up immediately, “I can duel just fine.”

“You're not helping yourself,” Ron told her, and then added, “And you drew against Miss Corner over there, and lost to Mr Bennett…”

“And defeated Miss Phelps and Mr Ramsey…” she counted, “Maia and I used to duel at Beauxbatons, we had formal classes before we came here.”

Oh yeah, he had forgotten, why did that school have to have a different way of doing things. Didn't they care that the girls had only been here six days and he didn't want them to get hurt? Didn't they care that he was a Weasley and they had a thing for orphans?

Before Ron could speak again though, a ringing from the doorway silenced the room. All turned towards it.

Standing there shaking a small bell was Professor McGonagall, who sternly announced, “I'm afraid that will be all for the evening, Professors, we have classes tomorrow.”

The groans that followed this were muted, but she continued as if she had not heard them, “Now, all of you, bedtime!”

Reluctantly and muttering to themselves the students began recovering robes and wands. A few had to wait to be cleared of spells, others had to find friends and some had to procrastinate as long as they could to part from them. Ron was watching for the twins.

Maia hopped off the duelling platform and found her sister. The two never delayed their parting; in the four days of school they had had so far, Ron had learned this. Just as the other nights, they met each other before finding their friends, whispered something quickly in pig Latin, tonight Maia added a joke, they laughed and almost had to be dragged off by their friends.

Maia had so far befriended her roommate, Lixue Corner, the daughter of two Ravenclaws he regrettably knew well, in addition speaking to Rhiannon. As pretty as her mother, the Eurasian Lixue laughed with them as the joke was repeated, Ron wondered if it had anything with Philippe's defeat and then they left. Tonight Maia went out of the Great Hall with Lixue; Rhiannon was clearly still upset about her defeat, and had left earlier.

Aimee left with a Gryffindor girl, Sarmistha Thomas, who Ron just remembered would have been perfect to duel Maia. She was an excellent duellist and since he knew her parents, Parvati and Dean, he was glad to see how she turned out. He couldn't speak for her mother, but her father was always a good friend. Why didn't Padma suggest her niece?
Well, there was always the next Duelling Club meeting.

When the girls slipped out of sight, Ron spied a small blonde Ravenclaw slip off a stool and go out alone, Rosalie. He had not even noticed her come in, not that she could join in anyway, the Duelling Club was open to Second Year and above. He was at least glad to see that she had come; he seriously doubted any Dursley would impart whatever little they knew of the Wizarding School to her anyway.

All those he knew gone, (Philippe limped away with a friend) Ron turned his attention to the approaching Professor McGonagall who began when she stood with the other teachers, “Professor Theoden, if you wish for the Duelling Club to maintain its presence in the school, I suggest you do not pair older and younger students with each other. No excuse would do for a parent with a severely injured child at the end of it.”

Professor Theoden bowed in apology, and said, “My apologies, dear madam, but I was only going to suggest putting her up against Mr Christensen, the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain. He's not a good duellist; she could have taught him a few things.”

Professor McGonagall offered him a faint smile, but said, “Still, students are only supposed to duel those in their year or of matched ability for a fair fight, I don't want this to turn into a passage way to the Infirmary.”

He bowed again, and Ron decided him determined to show up every male teacher at the school. Taking over, he said, “Speaking of parents… did you find anything on the Puckles?”

Padma asked then, “Who?”

“Puckle is the name the twins gave me of their mother's Muggle family,” Ron told her. “We're looking for them to make sure the twins have a place to go for the summer… did you have any luck?”

Professor McGonagall shook her head, “Without their mother's name it's a hopeless search, and their names aren't helping… when did they say that their father went to school here?”

“They said they don't know,” replied Ron, “but I don't believe it.”

“Why not?” asked Professor Theoden. “Not every child in the world can exactly tell you their parents' histories, not even a few adults… it's not that difficult to see.”

“I know that,” said Ron, “but I think they're lying… and considering one of them let it slip that their father often spoke of going into the forest here when many of us wouldn't…”

“Amend that statement, Mr Weasley,” said Padma, daring to mimic Professor McGonagall, “the correct line should be `when many of the other students wouldn't'. If I'm not mistaken you and your friends spent a lot of time in it as well.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, “Harry and Hermione spent a lot of time in that forest. After First and Second Year, I tended to avoid it unless I had to.”

“Nevertheless,” cut in Professor McGonagall, “the little Misses Black, are still here alone. Keep an eye on them.”

Ron had to wonder what she thought he was doing. Since their first conversation he had been watching the twins.

Apart from learning how they parted and their friends, he had come to know that Aimee liked Potions (Professor Theoden told him) and Maia liked Arithmancy (this he got from Padma) and both liked his class. (Okay, so he wasn't really sure about that one, but he liked to think that all the students liked his class.) He now knew that Maia was a talented duellist, both disliked Philippe and both seemed to know more about the school than was available in their Hogwarts letter. More than once they had enquired about teachers, Deathday parties, the now belated Mrs Norris and on one occasion, to his surprise, Dumbledore's Army.

But also, maybe it was just the Weasley weakness for orphaned children too; he watched them for their loneliness. Even though they had friends now and were settling into the school, there were times, and especially in separate classes, that they withdrew from the world around them. They would not answer even if they knew it, they would not volunteer—not that the rest of the students did ordinarily—and they would not speak. In their eyes he could almost see a sadness that definitely had nothing to do with missing each other.

Honestly, their father had not properly thought out his plan before he signed them away to a babysitter.

So if Professor McGonagall wanted to know, he had been watching the twins. He was in loco parentis when it came to them. Luna would be proud, he smiled despite himself.

Professor McGonagall was speaking again, “So, now that that's done (he hoped he had not missed something) I think we should all retire as well, tomorrow is another day.”

The three teachers nodded, bid her “Goodnight” and departed to their separate offices.

~*~*~*~

“Cheerio!” was the whisper of a memory that came to him as he finally sat down on his bed and listened to the sea. The house was dark, he, as always, was alone. Hedwig was off hunting, age not slowing her need to feed.

“Cheerio!” was the soft voice, filled with amusement, and drunk of the false euphoria of the charm and the real one of their victory.

“Cheerio!” their daughters' letter lay nearby on the nightstand, fuelling the memory. He looked away from it but the memory remained.

“Rictusempra!” was the reply, “No!” was the squeal and he tumbled head-first into the past.

Hufflepuff's Cup was carelessly thrown aside. Its Horcrux destroyed it was once more a drinking utensil.

They were seated on the floor, or rather; she lay on the floor on her back, him seated nearby and levelling the wand that would later destroy a monster, harmlessly at her, watching the effects of the Tickling Charm.

There they were, both nineteen, still innocent of what was about to happen, unaware of the ramifications that would come when it did, safe in the thought that they were one step closer to bringing down the Dark Lord. Ron was forgotten tonight, as were the rest of the Weasleys, those were thoughts too painful. Voldemort was pushed to the back of their minds, for the second time since he knew her Hermione had decided off work feeling “rebellious”. A pact had just been formed between them in this small, dingy flat in Muggle London, later to be inscribed in Latin on their rings—both he now wore round his neck—“Concedere vita ipse ego”: “Die with me”.

And then, finally tired of using his wand, he cast it aside and allowed his hands to take over, tickling her mercilessly till her eyes watered and her squeals begged for release. He took his hands away, but on impulse leaned over and kissed her.

It was over in an instant. He sat up and backed away while her eyes widened in surprise and she slowly forced herself to sit too.

The question, “Why did you do that?”

The answer, “I don't know.”

She didn't like it though, she could have never settled for it, “Why did you do that? It can't be `I don't know', you had to have a reason.”

All rebelliousness gone, she was Hermione again.

“I just wanted to… I guess,” he told her.

He didn't have a proper answer then, but it was still the truth now, he just wanted to.

She sat there a moment, then came over to him, and said, “Then if you just wanted to… do it properly… don't just do it and run.”

He looked up at her surprised, and in her eyes he could see that she was still Hermione. Who else would she be? Hermione never liked anything done halfway or incorrectly.

She was kneeling beside him, and dared to lean downwards to kiss him back. He rose on his side, met her halfway and kissed her as properly as he thought was possible.

But it wouldn't do. For some reason or the other tonight, it just wouldn't do. Well, there was a reason, but they would come to that later. For now, he didn't know why her kiss—that turned to kisses—were so greedy, so hungry, and so full of things he hadn't even begun to think of. All he had wanted was a kiss, one kiss.

When he couldn't stand it anymore he put trembling hands unto her shoulder. They slid to her back as she came closer to him, into his embrace and pulled her mouth away for air. He barely took a breath before, spurred on by memories and the other boys' talks of what should be done now, he began to spread kisses along her cheek to her ear and then down her neck. She wrapped her arms around him and drew him as close as their bodies would allow.

But her greedy actions of earlier had inspired him. He wanted more than this, much more than this. Scary as that thought was.

The floor was cold, stiff, uncomfortable and uncompromising. With his arms on her back he lifted her up as he stood and they both tumbled unto the couch nearby. She looked up at him, surprised by this action, but he silenced any coming protest with a kiss and slipped his hands free of her back to climb her skin beneath her t-shirt. When his fingers grazed a hint of some other contraption beneath, he recoiled as if burned.

She caught his hands, holding them to her waist as he broke their kiss and tried to sit up.

In her eyes was the question, “What's wrong?”

He dropped his eyes, ashamed, “I… we…”

She seemed to know what was wrong, and released his hands… only to grip the bottom of her t-shirt with her own trembling hands and pull it off over her head.

He looked away from her at once, never had he seen so much of her flesh… he had never dreamed he would.

Really, he never had.

But she was not finished with him, she took his hands, which, despite his somewhat irrational fear, went willingly, and placed them on her shoulders where he could feel a pair of thin cotton straps. She did as before, coming into his embrace, his face still turned away, and let his hands fall unto her back, but she held them upon the contraption. He turned to look at her again, her cheeks deepened to magenta, but her eyes held his gaze and let his hands feel the clasp on her back… and break it.

The moment it snapped open he pulled away from her again, but she wouldn't let him. She came to kneel, lean forward and kiss him again, capturing his lips with her own, exploring his mouth with her tongue and allowing his hands to travel the newly bared skin of her back while her own hands began to ascend his chest beneath his shirt.

He lost control.

His kisses became fierce once more as a new desire, foreign and pleasing, overtook him, and the couch was now very uncomfortable too. He drew her to straddle him and with his hands beneath her stood up and walked her to the small bed—hers, in their little hiding place—and lay her out on it before descending over her.

She did not protest, she let him, she wanted him, all of him and took her hands out from beneath his shirt and began to unbutton it. But she was taking too long, almost as afraid… and then as excited as he.

He helped her, tearing it off like a t-shirt, buttons popping away and threw it aside. But the odd contraption was still in the way… as was everything else.

He pulled away from her, breathing heavily, and held her hands down when she protested this action. She looked into his eyes and stopped struggling at once. He released her hands and went to her jeans, unbuckled, unbuttoned, unzipped and pulled them off of her. Once more, more flesh than he had ever dreamed of seeing but he was too far gone to stop and think about it. He did the same to himself and climbed back over her on the bed. And finally, just before returning to their kiss of before, he took hold of the straps of her top and pulled it off.

He didn't look, he couldn't, irrationally, he didn't want her to think him a pervert. With the flat well-lit as it was, despite its dinginess, and the half moon out tonight he did catch a glimpse though. But with their bare chests against each other he let his hands do what his eyes wouldn't. And for the first time since this started, her heavy breathing broke into a moan.

The noise, so unnatural coming from her, made him open his eyes again and stare at her. Her head went back, her face flushed deep red, and all blood in him rushed determinedly south. She gasped and opened her eyes as well, but instead of the revulsion he had expected—in spite of their current activity—they were dark with desire.

Staring deep into her eyes he kissed her again, then broke that to jump to her neck, his hands left her breasts and slipped to her waist, his mouth took their place. She wrapped her legs around his hips and grinded against him, he groaned, and nipped at her. She moaned, drew her legs up and began pushing down his shorts with her toes. He took his mouth from her breasts and began to trail kisses down her stomach, his hands gripped the waist of her underwear and drew it down. He stopped his kisses just under her navel, where her warmth grazed his neck and ripped her underwear free of her thighs.

Eyes wide, she stared at him, he pushed off his shorts completely, and then climbed over her again to capture her lips. There was no turning back or slowing down now, they were going too fast and couldn't stop even if they weren't.

She grinded against his hips again, he gave a grunt and she giggled. His hands went to her knees and pushed them apart then slid down to her hips and he waited until she looked at him. The look in her eyes was all the permission he needed. A second later he found her centre and filled her, her eyes shut, she scrunched her face and her hands gripped the mattress in agony and pleasure.

And then she whimpered.

He stopped, but her hands left the mattress and gripped his side and she drew herself up—eyes still shut, face still twisted—so that she sat on him and he slipped deeper. It took only a moment after, for her body to tighten round him and she grinded as before. This time though, the sensation drove him wild.

He forced her down again and took over, pushing himself slowly—for she still whimpered slightly—in and out of her. She tightened her legs around him again, her breath on his neck hot, and when she took to his lips again she nearly bit him. He was startled, almost amused by this, but said nothing as his hands found her breasts, he kneaded them a while and then they slipped down to where their bodies had come joined.

He had never felt anything like this before. The sensations that ripped through him, the wonder at the fact that they were once very separate beings, the thought that they could have done this before… so many times before… he speeded his pace. She clenched her teeth, almost on his tongue and he felt himself full in her. His pace went faster though, she gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she clenched and unclenched her fingers, but he couldn't stop himself.

Sweat, heat, salty kisses, electric touches, her breath in his ear, her hands in his hair, moans, grunts, fiery passion he had never dreamed existed, possible. Ron, Voldemort, Ginny, neighbours, the world, forgotten. He didn't need to think of them now; he didn't want to, not went she drew his head up to her face and made him kiss her again.

She wanted so much more than he could give, and yet he was sure he could give it to her. If he could lie with her like this forever he would. If he had to die, he would die like this with her, he was dying like this in her. He never wanted it to end.

And then much too soon it was over.

In a wave of… something… that spread from their centre to the tips of his toes and under his scalp, he felt himself spill into her and he collapsed over her body.

And then he was ashamed again.

She said nothing. She just lay there beneath him, their bodies still joined and his head resting on her chest, and said nothing. He had a feeling he was the only one to whom that had happened.

He asked timidly, breathily, “Did you feel that?”

She shook her head, still saying nothing and let him rest there for a while, as the shame continued to spread.

Eventually though, she moved his hands away from her side and made to pull free of him. The movement ignited his passion, he held her fast, and staring her straight in the eyes he held her hands down and bucked their joined hips.

He moved slowly, almost painfully slowly, allowing each movement to flow through her until she began to moan and writhe beneath him. The sight of her like that made him draw it out for as long as he could each time. The insatiable desire building in him meant that she had to feel what he did, she had to.

He would do this over and over again with her until she did.

Eventually he slipped her arms free of his hands, flipped him unto his back and held him there as if to give him a taste of what he was doing to her.

The bed shook slightly; he dragged them up a bit and she fell over him, her hair tumbling into his face while her hands found his and their fingers intertwined.

And then she rose up again, her back arching almost as Sirius' did as he slipped into the veil. She gave a gasp, that turned to a cry and he speeded his pace again until he felt that wave coming again. As she collapsed over him, finally feeling what he did, he spilled afresh into her and let his body relax.

“Did you feel it now?” he asked.

She nodded and his shame was gone.

It didn't take long after this then, for him to claim her again. After that, thoroughly exhausted, he drifted off to sleep with her in his arms, their bodies entwined. He never wanted to part from her again.

He would not know though, when she would start from him hours later, just as the sun broke the horizon, and scamper off the bed anxiously to find her wand. He would not know when she would frantically try a spell she had found while reading through books at school some years before. She did it twice just to be sure, and then went to the bathroom to take a long, hot shower. He would not hear her fretful whisper all the while, “Please work, please… how could we forget… what was I thinking? Oh gods… please work…”

He would know though, over two months later on Hallowe'en that it didn't work. Their night together was never repeated for Hermione did her very best to avoid him after, much to his frustration. His reply of “I don't care” to her protest “Something could happen”, and stolen, heated kisses whenever he could, not moving her an inch.

For two weeks before Hallowe'en though, she had actually begun to act rather guarded. Tasks she would have rushed into were now done gingerly, she began to watch her food and eat more of it than necessary, strange, non-War related books began to appear, he caught expanding her jeans once, but she was mostly herself. And then that night, in the pouring rain as they made their way to the orphanage of Voldemort's childhood, Hermione told him simply, “I'm pregnant.”

He stopped his advance at once, swung round to face her and she opened her robes to reveal a barely visible paunch through wet clothes.

He looked up at her and found, even through the blinding rain, that she was crying.

“I don't know what to do… I… I realised it two weeks ago… the spell… I tried it… but it didn't work… it was supposed to but it didn't… I…. I can barely hide it really, that was my first clue… when I started to gain weight… but I'm getting big so fast… I… oh gods…. That night… I don't know… I wanted you so much… I was… I was…. Oh gods, we're in trouble.”

In reflection, maybe breaking into dance right then was not such a brilliant idea, but the way she looked at him… how could he not? Her expression of fear was so deep, her eyes pleading for help when she was the one who usually had the answers… he smiled and started to dance around her in the rain in the street.

He wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't hex him, her expression changed to one of concern and then something like annoyance, but he didn't stop. He pulled her with him too, Voldemort forgotten, his arms round her and they spun in the street. And then he sang, “We're going to have a baby!”

A passing man in an umbrella shook his head. A car slowed down a moment, and then continued on its way, the driver no doubt wondering if they had gone mad. And the rain just kept falling.

He stopped dancing only when, on spinning her a third time, she gripped his shoulders and said, “I think I'm going to be sick.”

He knelt then before her and put his head to her stomach where he could feel the rise of it against his face.

“We're going to have a baby, the two of us, a baby,” he said, and he grinned.

“I'm going to have a baby,” Hermione corrected.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… details…” he waved it aside and hugged her waist and kissed her stomach.

That was the night he made the decision that he would do anything for them, that he would give them the world, that they would be their little secret. He even got to sleep with her again, another little secret.

They kept it a secret too, for six months.

Six months in which Hermione managed to change little other than her size. Six months in which the world didn't matter as long as he could return to a hiding place and find her asleep, or humming to her stomach or busily poring over some books, Hedwig nearby and a hand gently massaging their child through her robes.

Six months that ended the moment Mrs Weasley's letter came in stating that Ron had finally woken and wanted to see them.

With winter almost over, Hermione's robes and jumpers couldn't conceal their secret for long. Apart from her stomach and breasts, her face, arms and hips had filled out too. Her lack of illness aside, she was in every form or fashion a pregnant woman and the moment they met with Ron and the others they would know too.

That's how Hagrid had found out hadn't he?

Selfishly, he didn't want anyone else to know what he knew. He went off to visit the Weasleys while she was resting one afternoon, (leaving the puppy which had been with Hagrid guarding her) told them that she wasn't well and exhausted and returned just before she awoke. He had a feeling she knew what he had done though, not that he answered her questions about it. He would do anything to keep them together, anything.

Mrs Weasley was determined to see Hermione though. In retrospect, he had a feeling that the moment Hermione stopped making appearances with him in battles and that he began to team with Aurors and Order members, she got suspicious. The reported absences were further fuelled by an encounter with Snape who stared at Hermione a little too long for his liking and left without a word. Mrs Weasley sent a letter that she was coming; Hermione was seated at the kitchen table when she did with Fleur and Lupin.

She took one look at her, looked up at him coming out of the bathroom and asked, “Is it Ron's?”

Hermione looked out the window, ignoring the gazes of Fleur and Lupin.

He shook his head, “It's mine.”

Mrs Weasley allowed a moment for fury to wash over her silently, and then said, “Fine then. Get your things, we're going to Grimmauld Place, it's not safe here. In the morning we'll discuss the marriage…”

“What…? We can't… not now… not like this” said Hermione, turning back into the room.

Mrs Weasley narrowed her gaze, “This child is not going to be born out of wedlock, you two have… I don't know… but we have to fix this. And if this has anything to do with your size I'll remind you that you're carrying a child, there is life growing inside you, you're not fat.”

They did not say another word, gathered what little they had and left quietly. She soundly ranted at them once safely within the old house, and Hermione cried for hours. If ever he was mad at Mrs Weasley, and he was quite sure that he had never been, it was then.

The next morning Mrs Weasley made them breakfast, but all the while detailing the wedding they would have the next afternoon: Fleur was off to find a dress, Lupin would get the rings, an Order member would officiate, and they would sign the documents and make this affair legal and then deal with the other problems of their “misbehaviour”.

They still said nothing to this, allowed her to take full control.

The funny thing was that at no point did anyone mention where Snape got into the picture. Or the decision to change their daughters' names, or to give them up for safety, or even, after it was all over, to leave them. All of that would come later.

Fleur got Hermione a plain white dress: scoop neck, sleeveless, satin top, empire waist, lace, floor-length skirt with a small train and enough girth for her “condition”, and a bandeau veil that came to her waist, and did her hair and make up. He wore a new pair of dress robes, and a nervous smile. Lupin had the rings and gave her over, Hermione cried again, her father was still alive, Mrs Weasley was her matron and Fleur and Snape witnessed it. The officiating Order member, smiled at them both, married them and then was Obliviated. He took Hermione up to their room, carried her in and spent the night watching her sleep.

That was the last happy day they would have.

The birth of his daughters, though it pleased him to have them, to hold them, as he would with Hermione for the next seven months until they were weaned, was much too short-lived an experience to bring a smile to his face. He had missed it entirely in the first place. Voldemort, Ron, Ginny, Death Eaters, the War, all played a part, and unconsciously too, in taking it away from him. He was Harry Potter, why should he ever have something to be happy about?

He should have run with Hermione when he had the chance.

The sound of tapping at the window, drowned by a wave embracing the sandy shore, brought him out of his reminiscence. He was back in his darkened house, alone, his wife the widow of another man, his children raised without them; the world convinced he was dead. He fingered the rings round his neck absently a moment and then looked to the window when the tapping started again.

A familiar owl hovered behind the glass; he rose from the bed and went to let it in.

Just as before though, it deposited a plain envelope into his hands and flew away without waiting for a treat.

Snape had trained it well.

He did not hesitate to open the letter then, and read the simple short message. Hesitation never changed whatever he wrote.

But tonight, unlike those of before, instead of crumpling and discarding it, Harry fell unto the bed and re-read the words until they blurred.

“Mrs Weasley has made a decision. Your wife will know of it soon enough. Return immediately, you will be needed once the truth is out. Be prepared for the backlash.

DO NOT HESITATE!

By the way, your daughters have been sorted. A Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff, congratulations, you should be proud.”

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A/N: Second part of double post, please forgive mistakes, I included translations for pig Latin and well… don't know what else to say. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and somehow I will try to get another chapter to you soon.

~*~*~*~

Unravelling

Maybe it was because she had probably heard the name mentioned before that Hermione couldn't help but think she knew Amaranthe Montgomery from somewhere. Some four weeks after her death and three after her earthly remains had been returned to England by the French authorities, the woman's relatives finally arrived at St Mungo's to claim her. Hermione's duties had nothing to do with this, as she was still in training she wasn't even expected to handle a situation like it. In fact, she had just been passing by when she was called over by a friend, Healer Duncan Abbey, for help. It was then that she saw the name on the ledger, and the feeling overtook her.

She wasn't sure, but she knew she had seen that name somewhere.

She dismissed the thought though when she considered that she had practically no life months after returning to England. How could she have known the woman at all?

Healer Abbey, a stout black man from Yorkshire, was speaking, “How are you and Caspar? My wife asks about him all the time?”

Hermione smiled slightly, “He's okay, doing wonderfully in school, and since he's found my friends' children… well, I can barely keep him on weekends. I'm fine too.”

Healer Abbey smiled, “I'll believe you about Caspar, but you don't look `fine' at all. Are you sleeping properly? Eating well? Getting out of that house like I told you too?”

Hermione tried to reply as casually as she could, “I am, but with work, and raising Caspar… sometimes I don't get enough of everything…”

“Excuses, excuses… according to what I've heard of the Weasleys, Caspar is welcome to go there as often as you need him to—I heard this from you—or you can send him over to my wife, Sadie is in his class….” There was a pause where he gave a piercing look over that made her self-conscious and then he told her, “You're doing it again you know that?”

Hermione looked at him puzzled, and then remembering that he had been one of the Healers attending to her and Ron after the war, she said, “No… I'm not… I'm sure I'm not… it's just that… with Caspar… I…. He is my only child and I'm tired at the end of the day. There are women with more than one and…”

Healer Abbey waved away her reply, “I've been meaning to ask you about that… did you have any children before Caspar?”

They were almost upon the office where the Montgomery family were waiting for the remains Hermione was now gingerly holding. At his question she paused, “What?”

“If this is going to upset you, I don't want to say more, but when we first examined you and Mr Weasley…. I don't know… maybe it was because of a bad fall or some injury… though I can't exactly explain it like that but… one of the Healers wrote that you must have had a child… during the war…” he told her.

Hermione could say nothing more then, than, “What?”

“Well… it confused the rest of us too, because… where was the child? We wondered if you had miscarried, but you had given birth so maybe it had been still-born… or even given up… but no one made any mention of a child and we just… well… we ruled the decision as a mistake…. But I still have to ask now that I can… did you have a child during the war?” he asked.

Hermione just stood there staring at him completely stunned, and when coherence returned stammered, “I… I seriously… I… there is no way… I have absolutely no recollection of… I think I would remember my pelvic bones being pushed apart… I mean…” She stopped, and began again, “Healer Abbey, I can assure you that I did not have a child during the war, I was too busy helping Harry. And even so, who would have been the father? Children, families… they were `inconvenient' when Voldemort was after you, I would have been a liability they could not afford to have.”

Healer Abbey nodded, “I understand… but… the report is there if you want to read it…. The only reason I brought this up again is because I spoke with Mrs Weasley a few days ago and she mentioned you being `incapacitated' for some time during the war. She didn't say why but she did say it was for much of a year… you can understand how the timeline worked for me then…?”

Hermione had paused again, but this time it went unnoticed for they had just come to the door of Healer Abbey's office. He opened it and ushered her into the lightly sunlit room, just as the family of Amaranthe Montgomery rose to greet them: an elderly couple who had to be her parents, and a younger man who was probably a sibling.

After the customary introductions, the first to speak was the younger man, asking, “We're told my sister died in France three weeks ago? Did it have anything to do with her assignment?”

Hermione was about to ask “What assignment?” when Healer Abbey said instead, “I hardly think architect's lives are that exciting.”

“Is that what she was doing this time?” absently asked Mrs Montgomery, her mother.

“Pardon me?” asked Healer Abbey and looked to the room for explanation.

Her brother spoke up again, “She was an Auror you know, her assignments… sometimes she had to have a cover and… what's the matter?”

He had just noticed the increasingly puzzled expressions on Hermione's and Healer Abbey's faces for he paused. A second later he began, “Hey… you're Hermione Granger…”

She cut him off though, when finally remembering where she had possibly heard the name before, to ask, “She was an Auror on assignment in France with her nieces?”

“Nieces?” asked her brother, becoming as confused as they were, “I don't have any daughters…”

At this Hermione began, “But in the paper—I thought I heard the name somewhere—in the paper it said that she was the aunt of those little girls… the ones now at Hogwarts… the twins. My friend is their teacher…”

“I don't have any children Miss… uh, Healer Granger, I'm not even married,” he told her. “Eleven years ago my sister left an owl saying that she was going off on assignment, we never hear from her again and then we learn she died recently from the paper. Now you're telling me she was raising two girls in France? I… I… I don't know what to say…”

Healer Abbey stepped in, “Did your sister specialise in protection… a `bodyguard' maybe?”

“We're not sure what she did… but I do recall her once being assigned to guard Hogwarts while Mr Potter was there… in '96-7…. These girls said she was their aunt?” he asked.

“Well, I'm guessing the Beauxbatons Academy is not mistaken about where their students are when they're not at school…. Do you have any other siblings… possibly a sister…? Married…? Maybe to someone with the name `Black'…?” Hermione asked.

The younger Mr Montgomery shook his head, “It was just my sister and I, and my parents have no other children. These girls… we don't know them…. You don't… you don't think they were Amaranthe's children do you?”

“We don't know,” replied Healer Montgomery, “there was no evidence that she had had a child from the reports we received from France… and I don't know what the children called her, but the paper did mention that the children had a father somewhere…” He turned to Hermione, “Did your friend tell you about their father?”

The mention of the lack of evidence of Amaranthe's giving birth was currently running through Hermione's mind when he spoke, but she came away from it to reply, “No, not really, something about a letter stating that his daughters were to return to England. I… she was an Auror?”

Mr Montgomery Senior spoke, “Healer Abbey, Miss Granger, I don't know what's going on. I don't understand this, I merely came here to claim my daughter's remains and now I'm hearing… we don't know these children…”

“Aimee and Maia,” supplied Hermione, and he continued.

“Aimee and Maia Black, we don't know them or their father. All we do know is that eleven years ago my daughter went off to work and disappeared. She wasn't married, we don't have any more children and we certainly don't have any grandchildren.”

Hermione and Healer Abbey looked at each other, at the urn in her hands that she now lamely set on the table and gently pushed over to the Montgomerys and decided right then that this was very strange.

~*~*~*~

Knocking lightly on the door, Cho waited for the throaty reply, “Enter,” before stepping quietly into her superior's office.

Mrs Fleur Delacour-Weasley was seated at her desk behind a pile of papers being busily sorted magically while she proofread a few more in her hands. The pretty blonde woman today had her hair neatly pulled into a knot at the back of her head and wore robes of palest blue, another in her apparent collection of light colours.

Despite the work going on around her though, and her obvious place in it, she looked completely out of place. More at home probably would have been the sitting room of some mansion or the back of a rather expensive yacht and not the rough, sometimes grimy walls of a small office in the depths of the Wizard Bank.

Of course, Cho herself was often told the same thing.

She looked up as Cho entered, smiled and said, “'Ow is your daughter? We can barely get Philippe to write sometimes, ees all well?”

Cho smiled back, and replied, “Lixue is quite fine, thank you for asking. She's been going on and on about school since she left, only one sentence was about herself in her last letter. Michael was rather upset.”

Fleur laughed, “Ah yes, zat happened with Philippe too, I expect zee same with Louis and zee girls. I find myself `oping zey won't go to Gryffindor, it may be family tradition but zey might forget me. I am a greedy mother, no?”

Cho shook her head, “I don't think so… I'm glad Lixue's happy at school, but I wish she was happy with me… so in a way, we are both greedy….” She let her voice trail off a bit, both women having a moment to ponder their children and then said seriously, strangely softly, “I um… I wanted to talk to you about something I found… while I was going through the client records…”

Fleur immediately assumed a business posture, straightened in her seat, and asked, “What is it?”

Cho took a seat across from her desk and placed a thick folder before her, “This… is the record of the Potter account since Harry started school at Hogwarts…. (Fleur dragged it over to her) If you look at it for the years 1991-7 when he left school, you can see that the withdrawals are normal. There are gaps of months at a time, mostly because they were spent on schoolbooks, clothes, odd gifts, spending money and not for his daily welfare… and then even after the inclusion of the money from his godfather in `96.”

“Yes I can, so what is zee matter?” asked Fleur. She mildly wondered what Cho was doing going through Harry's records.

“Well, when he went off to the war, and the bank here closed off much of its finances, withdrawals were at odd intervals, which are to be expected. It is money withdrawn when possible, and not too much to carry considering…. Then we have when the money is split between your family and Hermione Granger… but not all of it. Apparently, some money, mostly what he inherited from Sirius Black, was untouched. And then eleven years ago, the withdrawals changed. Apart what from what your family gets, there have been withdrawals at various, sometimes regular, intervals made by some unknown person, and at long distance… which last year then changed again to a pattern last seen when Harry was at school…” she explained.

Fleur looked over the papers in the file before her for a moment before she realised what Cho was implying and then asked, “Are you saying that…”

Cho cut her off, “I'm sorry, I'm not saying anything, but the money is being withdrawn… possibly stolen… from right under our noses for the past eleven years, and I don't know why…”

“You can't steal from Gringotts like zat! You can't steal from `Arry's account like zat! `E `ad a special arrangement, authorisation comes from `im with `is signature and zee signature of zee person simultaneously zee first time, and zee person after. No one can just steal…” continued Fleur as if she hadn't heard her. Her English strangely deteriorating as her curious anxiety rose.

“I know,” said Cho firmly, “I know that, but the money is going somewhere, and has been for the longest while now. I'm not implying that someone has been… I don't know what I'm implying but… it looks very suspicious.”

Fleur looked up at her and sank into silence, but not before murmuring something.

Cho never heard it, and allowed her some time to muse on this before asking, “What… what do you want to do about this…? Should I start asking questions? Start looking for answers?”

Fleur nodded, at once to clear her head and give her permission, “Yes, yes, we need to know… I don't know `ow zis `appened, but we need answers… but one leetle zing, keep zis quiet, no one must know about zis.”

“I won't tell anyone,” said Cho, hoping not to sound too hurt at her implication.

“Good, zee last we need is for zee papers to come after us… zee minute zey know… that we…. And especially `Ermione… my brother-in-law, `e is veery brutish sometimes… but she… I do not want to zink of what she might do.” Fleur continued.

“I'll keep it as quiet as possible… and as for Hermione… we do not talk much, so otherwise, I doubt she'll hear about this at all,” said Cho.

~*~*~*~

“London bridge is falling down,

Falling down, falling down…

London bridge is falling down,

My fair lady…”

Singing softly to themselves the twins, with their cat, slowly made their way down to the lake's edge and Dumbledore's immaculate white tomb. Out of uniform it was hard for Ron and Hagrid, standing in the shadows near the forest edge, to properly tell them apart. A pair of Weasley jumpers would have come in handy about now, it was one of the ways he could tell the difference between his brothers. Of course, it couldn't tell him why the twins were out here now though.

Did their father tell them about Dumbledore too?

As they got to the tomb, gleaming brilliantly in the early morning sunlight, slightly illuminating their round faces, Ron said softly, “They don't look scared… or awed, or apprehensive or… it's like they've been at Hogwarts an entire year already and its really only been a week.”

“Some children are like that, it takes ah lot ter scare `em,” Hagrid replied, “Harry was like that.”

“I know, but their father told them a lot apparently too. They know every teacher's name, even asked for old Flitwick… Theoden said Aimee mentioned Snape,” Ron continued.

“You think he was a pas' student… before yer? But the las' Blacks I knew were Sirius' family,” said Hagrid.

“Yeah, McGonagall said that, but Sirius' family isn't the only one by that name… maybe…. And then Puckle… there's a lot of them… but without their mother's name…” Ron told him.

“That's alrigh', yeh'll find `em eventually, they didn't come from nowhere… but I wanted to ask you… how's Hermione? I haven't seen `er since she came back,” he asked.

Ron exhaled heavily, “She's fine… her son spends almost everyday at my house with Harry… she has to force him to leave…. Today they're going out; he insisted… he's taking care of her, just like Krum.”

Hagrid took a moment, and then asked, “So, how are yeh?”

Ron stopped then, thought about it for a while and replied, “I miss him too Hagrid, sometimes it doesn't look like it, but I miss him too.”

“I never said yeh didn't,” Hagrid told him, his tone only mildly reproaching, “I just wanted to know how yeh were doing… especially with that little girl around.”

He nodded towards the castle and his beetle black eyes narrowed slightly. There was concern and pity in them, and still, along with a little righteous anger. Mention of the Dursleys tended to do that to him.

Ron looked up to the castle and Ravenclaw Tower, “I have nothing against her, she's just a child… she may be related to them, but so was Harry…”

“I went with `em to get her… the Ministry… she wasn't in a cupboard but no one was smiling when we got there neither. I'd like to think she was done better than her cousin. Ain't righ' someone should be punished fo' being special,” Hagrid told him.

“That's good to know,” Ron replied and meant it.

And then both started at the sound of a voice behind, asking, “You mean that little First Year is related to Harry?”

Both men turned round. Long, black hair touched with gold, dark, almond shaped eyes, dark olive complexion and today in robes of soft orange, it was Padma.

Ron surprise melted away and he became curt, “You know, it's rude to sneak up on people like that, and eavesdrop.”

“Is she?” she asked Hagrid, ignoring him.

He nodded, “The Dursleys are relatives o' Harry's.”

She said nothing to this, just stared at him a moment and turned to the castle… and then turned on Ron when he said, “You can't tell anyone.”

“Who do you think I am? Parvati? I have better things to do with my time than sell the secrets of Harry Potter to the world!” she snapped. “But then… this just proves the Daily Prophet Exposé.”

“What exposé?” asked Hagrid, for he, like Ron, had stopped following the paper.

“The Daily Prophet's been getting reports somehow, about Harry's life. Some kind of `on-going investigation', they call it. No one knows who their source is but whoever it is better hope I never find them. Hermione, me and my family knew and that was all, he didn't tell anybody else because he didn't need to. I don't think even Ginny really knew about those people… now the whole world knows,” Ron told him.

“Does the little girl know?” asked Hagrid.

“It's the only reason I read the papers now, I haven't seen anything about her, yet,” Ron replied. “And I'd like to keep it that way too, if I could, though I guess it wouldn't take them long if their source knows as much.”

“Not the mention your last impostor,” added Padma, “did he really get to the front door of the Burrow?”

“No, he didn't leave the café I met him in. He would have been dead if he had got to the Burrow though, I don't think my mother could take another one,” Ron told her. “I hope they put him away for a long time.”

While he was speaking though, Padma spied the girls at the tomb, now joined by their respective friends already dressed for the day's Quidditch match (Hufflepuff vs. Ravenclaw) and began, “Speaking of exposés though, have you heard the one about the Montgomery family and the twins?”

Ron broke his conversation with Hagrid to ask, “What?”

“Oh that's right, you don't pay attention to the press anymore… well, unless it suits you…. Apparently, when the family of Amaranthe Montgomery went to claim her remains, it was the first time they heard of the twins. `Do You Know These Girls?' is the headline they're running with, no photographs of course so you have to wonder who they're talking about from their very poor descriptions. You would think the story in the papers would have clued the Montgomerys in before though,” she told him.

“Amaranthe Montgomery… `Tantie Marie's' family doesn't know about them?” asked Ron.

“Not a clue, she only has one brother and he's not married. So, it would appear that she's not really their aunt,” she replied.

Ron's anger surged immediately, “They took this to the press? Don't they care about those two little girls…? You know how news spreads, in hours the whole school's going to know!”

“Well, yes,” said Padma, casually, “but it would have gotten out eventually anyway; the Daily Prophet would probably kill for a scandal nowadays. And the news on Harry Potter's family just isn't that interesting other than to raise Muggle hatred and whatnot… poor things, they're going to be all over the front page as soon as they get the chance.”

They all looked back to the twins.

“Stone and mud will wash away,

Wash away, wash away…

Stone and mud will wash away,

My fair lady…”

“If Amaranthe wasn't their aunt then, who was she?” asked Ron, his eyes trained on the two little girls now taking some very brightly coloured paraphernalia—Hufflepuff colours—from their friends. Lixue turned to look dead in their direction, he doubted she saw them.

“An Auror, a Ministry Auror hired off eleven years ago on some secret mission and then ended up in France six years after. The Ministry have no record of her assignment but say she was on `protective service' for fourteen years actually,” replied Padma. “You know, I should get something bright for Ravenclaw… some of those things look like Wheezes material…”

“Oh gods… what if she was protecting them from something… they could…” began Ron, but Padma stopped him.

“If she was, they've been in the paper for days now. But Hogwarts is the safest place they can be… my father may not have agreed back then, but it is, during the war no one could take it. All we have to do, as Minerva says, is watch out for them, nothing to worry about.”

Ron scoffed, and then asked, “How come you and Hermione can call her Minerva… what is with her favouritism? I can't dare do that…”

Padma smiled and then turning to Hagrid said, “I hear, you've got a fine black dog that needs to go for a walk, where's Alastair?”

“Resting,” said Hagrid, “he's an old dog now, gift from Harry.”

Again, that moment of silence fell, until Ron broke it, “How about we go down to the pitch, the match will be starting soon… for once I like Ravenclaw, that Hufflepuff captain is a real pain in the…”

“Don't you dare complete that sentence!” scolded Padma.

He laughed.

~*~*~*~

High in the soaring stands surrounding Hogwarts' Quidditch pitch, Aimee and Maia found themselves lost amidst the roars and colourful displays of the throngs of Hufflepuff supporters. Aimee and Sarmistha had joined Maia and Lixue in the Hufflepuff stands, but quickly deemed this a mistake. Clearly some of them had bypassed Mr Filch's inspection with an array of contraband: fireworks, animated banners, streamers, and someone even had a real badger. The noise alone could be enough to take the seats from under them.

The twins had been to Quidditch games at Beauxbatons, of course, and they could be just as noisy and colourful. But the restraints of Madame Maxime meant that those matches… well, they were nothing like this one. The British seemed to have a knack for rowdiness when it came to sports.

And then there was the commentator.

Apparently since Lee Jordan and Luna Lovegood, commentators each tried to outdo their predecessor for biased humour and weird commentary that had nothing at all to do with the game at hand. Considering that a gap of only fourteen years had passed since the two had been in place, the fact that there had been “predecessors” showed their determination to accomplish this feat.

Today's commentary was being supplied by Gavin Bennett, Aimee's duelling partner and fellow Gryffindor. Standing in the teachers' box at the loudspeaker, he called as they were taking their seats, “WELCOME ALL! WE'VE BEEN AT SCHOOL A MONTH AND FINALLY WE GET TO QUIDDITCH! WHAT A RELIEF, ANY LONGER AND I'D HAVE TO HANG MYSELF… (He was booed) YEAH, NOT FUNNY, I KNOW…. ANYWAY, TODAY'S MATCH-UP BETWEEN HUFFLEPUFF AND RAVENCLAW IS THE FIRST OF THE SEASON ON THIS BRIGHT SATURDAY: NOT TOO MANY CLOUDS, NO SIGN OF RAIN…. BUT WE ALL KNOW THAT WE'RE JUST HERE TO WITNESS YET ANOTHER TROUNCING OF HUFFLEPUFF SO WE CAN GET TO THE IMPORTANT MATCH, GRYFFINDOR VS SLYTHERIN!”

Immediate concessions from the Slytherin and Gryffindor stands overpowered the angered shouts of the Hufflepuffs.

“Gavin…” began Professor McGonagall, warningly.

Ron shook his head behind her.

“Idiot,” said the twins simultaneously, and their friends laughed.

“Do you always do that?” asked Lixue.

“No,” they said together.

“ANYWAY, I'D LIKE TO TAKE A MOMENT TO PRAISE AIMEE BLACK FOR BEING SUCH A GOOD SPORT THURSDAY NIGHT AT THE DUELLING CLUB. UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE SHE DIDN'T TRY TO HEX ME AFTER FOR BEATING HER…” continued Gavin.

“Gavin Bennett…” began Professor McGonagall again.

Maia smirked as her sister blushed bright pink.

“SORRY, HERE ARE THE TEAMS OUT ON THE FIELD. HUFFLEPUFF UNDER CAPTAIN MARK CHRISTENSEN… DID YOU NOTICE THERE'S NOT A GIRL ON THAT TEAM…? (More boos) OKAY, OKAY! AND HERE'S RAVENCLAW UNDER CAPTAIN EMMA ADAMS… MAN, DO I EVER WISH I WAS IN SIXTH YEAR…? YOU LUCKY… (Professor McGonagall fixed him a glare) AND HERE IS MADAM HOOCH WITH THE BALLS…!”

“Do they do this every season?” asked Aimee, “Don't you all get tired of them trying to be funny?”

“Well, yeah, I heard they do, and last year they went through three people until they came to this dull Seventh Year who bored them so much they just cheered to drown him out,” replied Sarmistha.

“Does Hufflepuff really get beaten every season?” asked Maia, her eyes trained worriedly on the seven players in canary yellow and black on the field.

“Unfortunately… but we've won, once or twice you know, but that was a long time ago… and when Harry Potter came to the school… nobody could beat Gryffindor. They could lose matches in between and still come back to take the Cup. They won it twice in his last years and he wasn't even playing!” Lixue told her.

“I'd get bored of that,” said Maia, her expression in every way agreeing with her sentiment.

“Yeah, I think I'd start cheering for another team after a while,” added Aimee.

“Well, considering that they had been the losers along with Hufflepuff for many years straight before he came to the school, it was quite a feat,” supplied Sarmistha.

“But still… lose one year… give somebody else a chance…” continued Maia.

A whistle sounded below just as a sharp, chilly wind blew through the stands. The players took to the air to begin the match, the commentator began, “BRRR… CHILLY OUT HERE! AND WE'RE UP, RAVENCLAW IN POSSESSION OF THE QUAFFLE… GAYLE PASSES TO NOTTINGHAM… WATCH OUT! SAVED BY CAPTAIN CHRISTENSEN… SENDS IT CAPTAIN ADAMS' WAY… DAVISON STEALS… HUFFLEPUFF IN POSSESSION… KEEPER ANDREWS HOLDING HIS POSITION… SAVED! BACK DOWN TO HUFFLEPUFF KEEPER BLAIR… THIS WON'T TAKE LONG… RAVENCLAW SCORES!”

Almost immediately all of the Hufflepuff stands groaned. Ravenclaw was ecstatic, and some of Gryffindor and most of Slytherin cheered with them.

Lixue turned to Maia, “Here we go again.”

Play started up again, but instead of paying attention, Aimee tugged on her sister's arm and said, “Eway ancay ogay ownay.” <We can go now>

“Hetay amegay?” indicated Maia. <The game?>

“Hetay etterlay?” reminded Aimee, and Maia groaned. <The letter?>

“Eway annotcay eepkay ritingway otway imhay!” she hissed at her sister. <We cannot keep writing to him!>

“Eway avehay otway elltay imhay owhay eway reay oingday erehay!” reasoned Aimee, she was started to plead. <We have to tell him how we are doing here>

“Come on!” said Maia annoyed, rising quickly from her seat, and dragging her behind, “We'd better hurry, I want to see the rest. Eway ustmay otnay ebay eensay!” <We must not be seen!>

As they began to leave though, their friends made to follow them too, an unforeseen complication. Maia gave Aimee a meaningful look and tried to find an excuse.

Just then though, she would receive unexpected help.

“INTERRUPTING TODAY'S COMMENTARY FOR A MOMENT… WILL AIMEE AND MAIA BLACK PLEASE GO TO THE HEADMISTRESS' OFFICE IMMEDIATELY, YOU HAVE A VISITOR!”

Forgetting her excuse at once, Maia said, “Can you save our seats… we'll be back soon.”

Both girls nodded and resettled, Maia gave an internal sigh of relief and began to make her way out of the stands after Aimee. When they were out of earshot, halfway down, Maia scolded, “We can't keep writing to him, it's not safe! Tantie Marie gave us that address for emergencies!”

“But I want to talk to him! We never get to talk to him, he's actually written back this time… so we should send something,” stubbornly replied Aimee.

“I want to talk to him too, but what if something happens?” asked Maia.

Aimee scowled at her, “Something's already happened, Tantie Marie died and we're alone here. When we have to go home for the summer, what if he's not there? What if he doesn't know when we have to go home?”

Maia stopped suddenly, “Wait… did they just say we have a visitor? Who's come to see us?”

Aimee's eyes widened and she halted too.

They had come all the way down from the stands and were walking across the grounds back to the castle. The entire area was deserted, most of the school at the match, the roar of the game and the commentator's voice still sounded around them but they could clearly hear the strange noises of the forest.

They may have teased Professor Weasley, but they were never going in there.

It took quite some time for Aimee to speak, and when she did her voice was shaky, “You don't think… you don't think Papa's come to see us… do you?”

In reply her sister took off running back to the castle and she was left to give anxious chase. They bumped into someone at the door, called, “Pardonnez-nous!” over their heads and slowed their pace to a brisk walk. The castle was empty as the grounds were though, their footsteps echoed on the stone floor and after an unfortunate run-in with a ghost, they finally made it all the way to the stone gargoyle of the Headmistress' Office.

It was then that they stopped; they had last been here the night they arrived, and today… just behind that door….

Maia, unable to properly speak, whispered the password, and gave her sister a bright grin as the gargoyle turned away to allow them entry. Shaky footsteps followed unto the stone spiral staircase, their breathing loudest in the small corridor, and finally they stood at the door.

Aimee opened it this time, and together they crossed the threshold into the office they had seen once before, read about so many times that they knew every detail as their old bedroom in Courtenay House.

Professor McGonagall (when had she left the game?) was seated at her desk and greeted them, “Good morning, girls, come in and have a seat.”

They had never seen her really smile, not once since they met her, and this included the fact that they only knew her a week now, but today something seemed off. She had a tight look on her face, her mouth was set in a thin line and she seemed to be trying her very best to control herself. Even her dark red robes seemed stiff.

Or maybe it was because their visitor had come in the middle of a Quidditch match. Papa always told them about how much she loved those games.

Taking their seats across from her, she began, “As you were told, you have a visitor. You may not know this person, but I don't want you to be alarmed, nothing is going to happen as long as you're within these gates.”

Aimee looked at her sister, and then both girls looked back to the Headmistress. Someone coughed in the background and they turned towards them. Hope died in their throats as Professor McGonagall announced, “Aimee and Maia Black, this is Miss Pansy Parkinson, she's come to meet you on the behalf of Draco Malfoy… apparently, he thinks you two might be related to him.”

A/N: Naughty ending, very naughty, sorry, couldn't help it. Will amend my awful ways as soon as I can.

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A/N: Thank goodness for late assignments, I have an early Christmas gift for you, this chapter! Hope you like it like the rest. Otherwise, in school life, definitely don't want to see my grades for this semester. *sigh*

Disclaimer: Not mine, save the plot and a few characters. Ha!

~*~*~*~

The Return of the House of Black

Taking a step from her place at the window, the heavily bejewelled and perfumed Pansy offered the twins her sweetest false smile and said, “Hello girls, it's nice to really meet you. Those descriptions in the paper never do anyone justice… as you've been told, I'm Miss Parkinson, a friend of Mr Malfoy's.”

She extended her hand to shake theirs, every movement exuding the supposed sincerity of her intentions.

They ignored it.

Instead Maia asked, “Mr Malfoy? Draco Malfoy? We heard that he worked for Lord Voldemort, that he was a bad man who only got away because no one could prove he did anything wrong. What does he want with us?”

Aimee added, “Why does he think we're related to him? We don't know him, Tantie Marie never told us about him.”

Acknowledging their snub, Pansy had withdrawn her hand, but kept the false smile as she replied, “Haven't you two read the paper yet…?”

Their blank faces and the curious look on Professor McGonagall's supplied their answer. Her smile turned pitying, she turned their chairs to her and stooped before it, “Oh, you poor dears… you don't know yet…”

Just out the window a roar erupted from the Quidditch pitch, someone had just scored. The commentator's voice boomed a second later, “I DON'T BELIEVE IT. HUFFLEPUFF'S SCORED! SOMEONE GET OVER TO CAPTAIN CHRISTENSEN, HE LOOKS LIKE HE MIGHT FALL OFF THAT BROOM!”

Unsurprisingly, he was booed for this too.

Both girls wished they could see it. Now that they could see no importance in their visitor to them, they didn't wish to see her anymore.

Pansy's demeanour had changed, her voice nasty despite the smile as she said, “Tantie Marie was not your aunt, Amaranthe Montgomery is an Auror someone hired to look after you eleven years ago… and according to the paper, that someone may be of one of the most respected pureblood families in the Wizarding world, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. They're saying that you two are the last of that house, and as Mr Malfoy is himself a descendant, we're just trying to make sure.”

“You're lying,” said Aimee, “you don't know Tantie Marie. She is our aunt, and we know our family, she's never told us about any Draco Malfoy.”

“The first we've heard of him was when we came here,” said Maia.

Quickly realising that she would get nowhere with them like that, Pansy rose and looked around her. When her eyes fell on the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, who had perked up at the mention of his family name, she pointed to it and asked, “Do you know that man?”

The twins turned, Phineas Nigellus turned up his nose at them. Maia said, “He's Phineas Nigellus Black, Tantie Marie said that he's our ancestor.”

“Ancestor?” asked Phineas Nigellus, as if the word insulted him.

“HUFFLEPUFF IN POSSESSION OF THE QUAFFLE… CAPTAIN CHRISTENSEN TAKES OUT A BLUDGER HEADED SEEKER RITCHER'S WAY… RAVENCLAW SEEKER BRANSON SEEMS TO HAVE SPIED THE SNITCH… LOOK AT THAT GIRL GO! FAILED WRONSKI FEINT AND ALMOST BLUDGEONED FOR IT… YOU PEOPLE REALLY NEED TO GET YOUR OWN MOVES! NO WONDER GRYFFINDOR'S GOING TO POUND YOU ALL TO DUST NEXT GAME!”

More boos, and then there was an “OW!” someone must have pelted him with something.

“Right, 'Tantie Marie',” repeated Pansy, and then continued slowly, reassuming her position before them, “The House of Black… is a pureblood family line, its very motto is 'Toujours Pur', and it has kept this motto throughout the years by marrying only into other pureblood families. Draco Malfoy's mother, Narcissa, came from that house. Now the Montgomerys… are half-blood, which means they have Muggle relations. In the paper, your Tantie Marie's family claims that they don't know you. Her brother doesn't have any children, and she didn't have any sisters… so that leaves you two… well, she's not your aunt, because, if you're a Black, she can't be related to you.”

The girls said nothing, but Phineas Nigellus was not thus handicapped, “If they're Blacks? The Black family line ended the night that boy took my great-great grandson to his death fifteen years ago! Who's making these claims? Whose children are they? Bellatrix had none, Narcissa had one, Andromeda married a Muggle (his teeth gritted at that), Sirius died childless and Regulus died young… where do these two fit in?”

An amiable voice that made Professor McGonagall start in her seat followed this outburst, “Phineas, I do believe we can assume there is an explanation?”

The twins' attentions were drawn to the large portrait behind her desk of a greying old man with twinkling clear blue eyes and half-moon glasses, dressed in light lilac robes. They didn't need an introduction to know him.

It was the portrait of the late Professor Albus Dumbledore.

Pansy herself started, “Professor Dumbledore! I… I…”

“It's quite all right, Miss Parkinson, I assure you that I am quite dead… now what was it that you were saying about these two? That they're related to the House of Black? I'm afraid that without proper explanation I will have to agree with Phineas. I was there the night Sirius died, and also discovered the will in which he left everything to Harry Potter… what does the Daily Prophet have to say?” he asked, leaning forward in his seat, his fingers forming a steeple.

“RAVENCLAW SCORES… THAT IS AN OBSCENE GESTURE MR WILLIAMS; I CAN SEE YOU QUITE CLEARLY FROM HERE! HEY! THAT'S A BLATANT FOUL! WHERE'S THE REFEREE, HUFFLEPUFF JUST FOULED CAPTAIN ADAMS! WHERE'S ALL THAT FAIR SPORTMANSHIP HUFFLEPUFFS KEEP RANTING ABOUT? I DEMAND JUSTICE! OKAY… RAVENCLAW IN POSSESSION… AS IT SHOULD BE…! FINE…!”

Pansy recovered slowly, drew over a chair and sank into it. She looked near faint, but gave no sign of it in her voice when she replied, “The Daily Prophet are not claiming anything, they just released the information that you two are not Amaranthe Montgomery's nieces… that she was just keeping these girls somebody's little secret for eleven years now.”

“She is our aunt!” snapped Aimee, fiercely.

“That's not what your name says,” said Pansy, coolly. “Maia Jae and Aimee Jean Black, that's the name on the Beauxbatons Academy's records, that's the name, as far as they've found, on your birth certificates. Amaranthe had no nieces, because her brother has no children. She was an Auror, working for the Ministry of Magic, privately hired to watch over you two. And no, your name alone doesn't identify you as belonging to that noble finished house, but by your admission, this woman has told you that Phineas Nigellus Black is your 'ancestor'. And, we have the indisputable evidence of one your schoolmates that you are in possession of a lovely pair of trunks stamped with the Black family crest. I know some of the things were stolen and sold during the war, but you have to understand, it is suspicious. But like I said before, I am only here on Mr Malfoy's authority to find out if you two are really related to him… and if you insist that Amaranthe is your aunt, and everyone else here can agree that the family line is finished… clearly we were both mistaken… and 'Tantie Marie' was a liar.”

“HUFFLEPUFF SCORES AGAIN…? ARE THEY OUT THERE WITH SOME KIND OF LUCKY CHARM? I DEMAND DRUG-TESTING FOR THE ENTIRE TEAM!”

“You're lying!” screamed Aimee, and suddenly, the hem of Pansy's robes caught aflame.

She sprang out of her seat shrieking wildly, Professor McGonagall rushed to her assistance (“Miss Black!”), Maia snatched her sister's arm and yanked her out of her seat and both retreated to the window.

“OW! THAT HAD TO HURT! SOMEONE JUST PUMMELLED THE HUFFLEPUFF SEEKER WITH A BLUDGER, KNOWING THEM IT WAS PROBABLY A TEAMMATE!”

Aimee was not finished though, “Tantie Marie was our aunt! She's taken care of us since we were little because it wasn't safe for our parents to! She and Papa told us who our family were! She was! She was!”

Maia still said nothing, though she looked just as distressed as her sister was. In fact, she just stood holding her sister out of harm's way while the Headmistress doused Pansy's robes and the woman repaired the ruined hem. In the midst of a loud moment between the two, Maia whispered softly, “Antietay adhay ecretsays; ouyay nowkay hesay idday; nlyoay apapay peaksays hetay ruthtay!” <Tantie had secrets; you know she did; only Papa speaks the truth!>

The paintings on the wall were in uproar, Phineas Nigellus at the head of them, decrying both girls for the attack on Pansy. Professor Dumbledore's painting was silent; he was staring at the girls with a furrowed brow and a curious gleam in his eyes. The little display of wandless magic seemed of no consequence to him.

And, apparently, to Pansy too, for once her clothes were fixed, she merely took a few moments to compose herself, assure Professor McGonagall all was well, and then turned to the twins again, “Okay, okay, if I'm lying, tell me something… another friend of mine, Mr Blaise Zabini—his daughter is a friend of yours, told us about the trunks—he has this theory… do you know Regulus Black?”

At this Professor Dumbledore assumed a stern posture in his seat; Phineas Nigellus quieted his fellow portraits to listen in. Professor McGonagall began, “Miss Parkinson, are you sure you're alright?”

Maia replied to Pansy's question, “Yes.”

“HE WON'T BE DOING ANY SEEKING FOR A WHILE! WOW! THE GAME'S JUST STARTED! IT LOOKS LIKE THEY'LL HAVE TO FORFEIT! LIKE I WAS TELLING PROFESSOR WEASLEY THE OTHER DAY… PROFESSOR WEASLEY…?”

Pansy smiled at her, “Good, very good… now he disappeared, possibly died, in 1981, at twenty years old, thirty years ago, under mysterious circumstances. For some time before that, he had lost touch with a lot of people who knew him… so Mr Zabini has this strange idea, that Regulus Black, may be your father… or grandfather… depending on how you look at it. That in 1981, either he disappeared, and started a new life under a different name… though he gave his daughters his family name… or that he died, but not before he had a child, a son, who became your father in 1999…. Now tell me… which one is it? Who is your father?”

Aimee was still too distraught to speak, Maia replied, “We can't tell you, it's not safe.”

At this all the room fell deafeningly silent, Pansy scoffed, “Who am I going to tell…? If he is your father, or your grandfather, we can help… Mr Malfoy is quite willing to take you in. As you know, with this little revelation the Ministry is going to have to take you two as wards until they find a home for you… and especially if your father doesn't show up or contact them soon… so, who is he?”

“We can't tell you that,” Maia insisted, “And we do have other family, our mother's Muggle-born…”

“Muggle-born!” exclaimed Phineas Nigellus. “They're definitely not Regulus' children; he would never marry someone like that!”

“Have you forgotten Andromeda married a Muggle?” asked Professor Dumbledore.

“HUFFLEPUFF IS CALLING IN THEIR RESERVE SEEKER… THIS SHOULD BE A SHORT MATCH; HE COULDN'T CATCH THE SNITCH EVEN IF IT WAS DOING THE CRAWL ON HIS NOSE!”

“Our father's not Regulus Black!” snapped Aimee, brought to life by their exchange. “But he… he must be related to us, because Tantie Marie said that we're his (she looked at Phineas Nigellus) descendants, so he must be….”

Phineas Nigellus, miffed at being snapped at, said, “I already know Regulus isn't your father…. Tell that to that idiot 'descendant' of mine. Here's a theory, why don't you all look at that Potter boy instead… he was always an insolent trouble-maker, he could be their father!”

The twins' eyes widened and they looked at him in shock, though it also could have been alarm.

“THE SNITCH HAS BEEN SPOTTED… KEEPER ANDREWS SAVES ATTEMPT BY DAVISON… HEY… SOMEONE GET THAT BLUDGER! HEY… IT'S HEADED MY WAY! HEY… WOW… THAT WAS A CLOSE ONE! CAPTAIN CHRISTENSEN, AREN'T YOU LOOKING OUT AT THE FIELD, I'M NOT PLAYING!”

Professor McGonagall turned on him, “Now Phineas, Harry was away at war for three years! He's not their father!”

“Why not?” demanded Phineas Nigellus, “I wouldn't put something like this past him. Just like his father, or worse, Muggle-born wife… though the fact that they have my family name could mean that they weren't married… and my family money. Gives up the children and then runs like the coward he is…”

“Phineas Nigellus…!” began Professor McGonagall.

Suddenly, there was a disturbance in the staircase just outside the Headmistress' Office, and a second later the door burst open to reveal a very red-faced, wild-haired Ron Weasley. He must have run all the way from the Quidditch pitch, from his slightly dishevelled appearance, and was barely being held back by some unseen person in the stairs behind him.

Professor McGonagall at the sight of him at once sighed and fell into her seat.

He took one look around the room and roared, “You! I had a feeling something was wrong the minute I heard they had a visitor, but you! What are you doing here?”

Pansy turned to him with a smile, “Just coming to pay a visit Mr Weasley, what does it look like?”

She spat the “mister” as if it were an obscenity.

“You don't have any children, so you have no business here! Or did you and your little master finally manage to breed?” he asked, his tone returning the implied obscenity.

“THE SNITCH… SOMEONE'S… COLLISION… WHO'S GOT THE SNITCH? OH BOY, THAT DIDN'T LOOK PRETTY… WHO'S GOT THE SNITCH…? IS IT… IS IT… YES… RAVENCLAW'S CAUGHT THE SNITCH! RAVENCLAW WINS! RAVENCLAW PLAYS GRYFFINDOR NEXT GAME! BYE-BYE, SEE YOU NEXT YEAR… I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU ALL EVEN BOTHER…”

“PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!” someone shouted, there was a strange silence after that.

“It's not as if I came to see your son Weasley, what business do you have with these two little girls… is there something we should know?” she asked, smiling nastily.

“Get out!” he roared.

“You can't put me out!” she snapped.

“But I can,” said Professor McGonagall, “I should have stopped this before it began. Miss Parkinson, please leave the premises immediately, you're distressing my students.”

Pansy turned back to her shocked, hastily recovered, and said shortly, “Fine then.”

She gathered her things, smoothed her hair, and headed to door. Ron stepped away to allow her to pass, the persons behind him, Professors Theoden and Patil, did the same. When she got to the door though, she turned and said, “We'll have tea sometime soon again girls, I assure you. Welcome to the family.”

Just before the door closed in her face, Maia said from the relative safety of Ron's arms where he had gathered them, “We were here first; it's us who should be welcoming you. And you're not welcome!”

~*~*~*~

“Our headlining story tonight: British-born twins, Aimee and Maia Black, recently transferred to the prestigious Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, are being claimed as relatives of known former Death Eater, Mr Draco Malfoy.

In light of a recent Daily Prophet interview with the family of Amaranthe Montgomery, the twins' former guardian, that declared the girls no family of theirs, the school and the Ministry were left on a search for their real family. This morning, the search ended when Mr Malfoy's reported long-time girlfriend, Pansy Parkinson, visited the school to meet them. After the meeting, unceremoniously ended by a 'belligerent' Ronald Weasley, the Defence professor, Miss Parkinson had this to say:

'Mr Weasley was quite out of place in the entire incident. The conversation I had with the girls was going wonderfully until he arrived. I know he does not trust Draco but he is reformed, in fact, the girls mentioned him immediately when I began speaking. And, they have confirmed that they are his relatives, but until we get official confirmation of this, Draco can't wait to meet them. He's always happy to find family, all of are, after the nightmare of war. Thank you.'

Miss Parkinson refused to confirm or deny a circulating rumour that their father is one Regulus Black. A young Death Eater himself, who disappeared in 1981, Mr Black was the younger brother of Sirius Black, the godfather of Harry Potter. Sirius, died in 1996.

A reply to her statement, issued by the school and Mr Weasley just moments ago, simply states, 'Without all the necessary facts, we are not ready to jump to the conclusion that the girls are relations of Mr Malfoy or the Black family. We are still sorting through their records, and until the time we can state without a doubt that they are, we will not tolerate any further disruption of their settling in.'

No reference was made to another rumour that this is just another more elaborate plot by persons attempting to secure some of the reported multi-million Galleon Potter wealth. We at the WWN will continue to monitor this story…”

With a relieved sigh, Hermione opened the front door of Northbridge Manor, allowing Caspar to rush in past her with his bags, and said, “Thank goodness, we're home, I thought today would never end.”

“You're just lazy, Mummy,” said Caspar with a grin.

She closed the door behind her, set her bags down and said, “And you want to go to bed tonight without that promised dessert. You're lucky no one recognised us, following you around and trying to prevent that is hard work!”

“You left the radio on again,” called Caspar from the other room, ignoring her statement.

“You heard me,” she told him, dropped her keys on a side table and began sorting through the mail.

“Can I get a toad for my birthday, or for Christmas? We've never had a pet, well, except for your cat… but I want my own. Can I get one Mummy, can I, please?” he asked, coming into the foyer again.

“You're talking to the wrong person, Santa Claus deals with Christmas—isn't it a bit early to be talking about that, Hallowe'en isn't even here yet—I deal with birthdays… write him a letter,” she said.

“Santa Claus…? Mummy!” he whined.

Hermione didn't hear his reply though; she had stopped listening when her hands fell on a thick, large brown envelope simply addressed, “Hermione, I know you probably forgot our conversation by the time you got home, so here's your report, Lincoln Abbey.”

She tore open the seal, and threw out a dark blue folder packed of possibly more than a hundred pages with her name on tape on the top, “Granger, Hermione Jane” and beneath, the word “Confidential” stamped in black. On another piece of tape beneath the stamp, was the sentence, “Examination report on patient: Granger, Hermione Jane. November 5^th, 2000.”

Five days before, on Hallowe'en, Voldemort had died and Harry disappeared.

Caspar brought her back to consciousness, “Mummy, what did you get? Did you win something? Noel Collins' mum won something in the mail yesterday, he was boasting about it all day today. Miss Warrington sent him to the office…”

She cut him off, “Caspar, why don't you go watch a cartoon, since you did such a wonderful job of taking me out and about, I think you deserve a treat.”

Caspar was staring at her with a clear look of distrust on his face, but he said, “Okay… but don't you want to see what I'm looking at?”

“No, you're a big boy, my little man, I trust you,” she said, not once looking at him. She was still staring down at the folder.

Caspar hesitated at the door for a little while, then decided that he should not waste his good fortune, and went off to the living room with a quick, “Okay! I'm going to watch a scary movie that'll probably give me nightmares!”

She was not too out of it to catch that though, “Don't you dare, or I'll tell Harry and Louis and Christian that you sleep with a night-light.”

He made no reply, and she was left alone with the folder. And alone with the folder, she put her palms down on either end of the side table and muttered, “Oh gods…”

She was not sure why this was affecting her so. She had already told Healer Abbey that she had had no children before Caspar. She was quite sure of it, and of the fact that when she married Viktor Krum she was still a virgin. She and Ron had never gotten that far, and with the war before, that was the furthest thing from anyone's mind.

But somehow, and this was all probably because she respected Healer Abbey so much, she couldn't help but….

This was ridiculous.

Gathering up the mail, including the folder, and her bags at the door, she went up to the study.

The window was open, the cool night air of early October flowing freely in bringing with it a scent of decay that was uniquely autumn. A gentle silvery-white light, which was that of the waning moon, floated softly unto her desk. Somewhere outside a cricket sang, a lone car passed in the street, she heard Caspar's cartoon clearly from below. She walked into the room, flicked on a light, dropped the bags at the door and went to her desk.

Lying in the centre of it as always, was Mrs Weasley's gift, the photo album.

She had so far stuck to her plan of slow perusal, and nothing she had seen so far revealed anything out of the ordinary. But, tonight, she would break that. Just to disprove the Healer's assessment, assuage Healer Abbey… she would have to break her little rule… and possibly hurt herself in the process.

The pictures were supposedly of her time in recuperation, so they were all the proof she would need. Being pregnant would have hurt Harry, it would have made her a liability, it could have… no, she didn't want to think like that.

But it implied, it could mean… that she… that because of her….

This was all wrong and ridiculous.

She closed the window, discarded her coat, and drew closer the small lamp on her desk. Settling into her chair, she opened the album to her last page: her and Harry at Grimmauld Place, most of them of their faces and one in the dim light of the full moon coming through a window. She had no time for such patience tonight though; she quickly skipped seven pages and scanned the one she came to for any evidence of something “off”.

The pictures there were a disappointment; she was alone in the library behind a mountain of books and glaring slightly at the photographer.

Harry was no where to be seen, that was good, she never wanted him to think she was tired in the war. He would have found some way to send her home.

One was of her sleeping on the same pile, possibly later, and Lupin coming in with a blanket to cover her. In another he had wrapped the large blanket round her and was helping her out of the room.

She skipped two pages.

She was heavily bundled up on a sunny, late winter evening seated on a bench in the backyard of the Burrow with Fleur. Fleur was balancing a very adorable baby, nearly lost in his clothes, of about six months or more on her knee. Hermione was teasing him.

She skipped another two pages.

It was spring time; she was standing at the window of Grimmauld Place with her back turned looking down at the street. There was a heavy mist without, diluting the light and somewhat distorting her image, but she couldn't help and see that something was… wrong.

The rest of the pictures on the page yielded nothing much, other than her seated at a desk, full cheeks pink and reading, an odd one of her with narrowed eyes glaring at Phineas Nigellus followed.

And then she turned the page.

And then her breath hitched as her mouth opened in surprise.

She was standing in a room. A large room with yellow and white wallpaper, a moving scene of ducks in a pond on one wall, little teddy bears running along the ceiling… and a baby's cradle, pram, changing station, toys, bassinet… and she was very visibly, very heavily… pregnant.

It took her only a second then to start out of her seat, slamming her chair back against the wall while she stifled what could only be described as a scream.

From below Caspar called up, “Mum, are you okay?”

She was still so stunned he had to repeat it before she replied, “Yes, Caspar, I'm fine… Mummy just had… I'm fine, walked into my chair!”

“You're getting clumsy too, you know that?” he called again, his voice much closer than before.

She realised then that he had come up the stairs. That he was just in the hall in fact. If he came in and saw her like that… she couldn't let him….

She immediately slammed the album shut, dumped the folder atop it and began to push the chair back from the wall as he came in.

“I'm not clumsy, you haven't met Auntie Tonks yet have you?” she said casually, hoping that her face was not displaying the alarm that was sounding off within her.

Caspar shook his head, “Who's that?”

She forced a smile, “Keep visiting the Weasleys, you'll meet her soon enough… she has a son, much younger than you boys, quite surprised she hasn't dropped him yet.”

Caspar grinned, “I'll tell her.”

“Back to the television, young man, you're distracting me!” she ordered, fighting to make her smile genuine.

Caspar shrugged and went away at once. She waited until she was sure he was gone, when the television's volume returned to the earlier level he had no doubt set to let her know he was watching a cartoon, and then sat down and let out the cry that had followed the suppressed scream.

She could do nothing else then than just sit there a while. Her cries coming in stifled gasps, one hand covering her mouth while the other went to her stomach and crumpled her clothes above it, her voice breaking through, “Oh gods… oh… I… oh…”

The cricket outside sang again, a low mournful tune that reminded her of the fable of the cricket and the ants. Another car passed in the street, someone walking a dog called it back, a wind bended the leaves of the tree just out the window.

But the longer she sat there crying, she knew it was the less she would understand. She was in shock, distressed even, but there had to be an explanation. This was no immaculate conception. There had to be a father and a birth and….

She dragged her seat back to the desk, cleared away the folder and opened the album again.

This time she hurriedly scanned every page from the one that openly revealed her pregnancy and found an abundance of pictures to make it true.

There was no denying that it was her.

Bushy brown hair, bright brown eyes, same face, small build, head in a book, but her body filled out more accommodating… was it a boy or a girl?

At the Burrow, at Grimmauld Place… in the library, in a bedroom, in the kitchen, it was her and she was pregnant.

Did Harry and Ron know? Lupin did, Mrs Weasley—there she was—knew, Fleur—she had to have known—what about the others? But if they knew… how come they didn't tell her… remind her? Did she have some kind of accident that made her forget? Did she give it away and erase her memory? Did it… oh gods no… did it die?

At this last thought she stopped looking through the album and began crying in earnest. Tears flowing freely down her face, her vision blurred and she could not suppress the bawl that came then.

It had to have died. That was why they… why she must have forgotten… why they didn't mention it. She had a baby, in the war, she had a baby and it died… oh gods….

This time Caspar came running up the stairs—she had to wonder how he heard her over the television—and rushed to her side calling, panicked, “Mummy! Mummy, what's wrong? Mummy, did something bad happen? Mummy!”

He somehow managed to clamber into her lap, wrap his little arms round her neck and tried to soothe her. She did not stop crying though, and eventually he started crying too.

“Mummy, why are you crying? What happened? Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice more terrified, she was sure, than hers.

She had no time to comfort him though, no matter how much she knew she should. She just couldn't, she had to let all of it out. She had to cry.

And when she stopped, or maybe just a little before when she was sure of herself again, she would attend to him. And then… when they were both alright, when she could come up with a reasonable excuse for this. Caspar would not understand or accept “I just needed to cry”. He would probably be confused by the pictures of things he had never seen, just as she was though she had done them and couldn't remember. And when he started asking questions… then she would get some answers.

~*~*~*~

“Finally, I was beginning to wonder if you were foolish enough to disregard my order,” said Snape coldly, as his guest finally came down into the darkened kitchen of Grimmauld Place.

It was the meeting place of more than one clandestine party.

The reply was just as cold, “I'm not your servant! I don't have to come to your every beck and call… now what's going on?”

Snape surveyed the arrival in one, quick glance and said, “You're looking tanned, where were you?”

“Vacation… (Snape fixed him a look) it's a Muggle tanning product, it'll wear off in a few days… what's this about Mrs Weasley making a decision that my wife will know about soon enough?” he asked, not at all concealing his impatience.

“Don't you want to sit down, you look tired,” began Snape casually, almost charmingly, but he was speedily cut off.

“I don't have time for this…” the arrival began but Snape stopped him in turn.

“Oh, you have plenty of time, you haven't done a damn thing in eleven years Mr Potter, and I know you're not doing a damn thing now! Have a seat,” he told him, his voice curt.

Harry glared at him, but despite the childish urge to keep standing, walked into the light to the table and sat down. Snape gave no outward sign of delight in his victory, and said, “Now that we're seated, tell me… why, didn't you divorce the girl? This would have been so much easier…”

Harry gave a growl of frustration deep in his throat; a faint smile played at Snape's lips, but never touched his eyes.

“You know full well why I couldn't divorce her… a few years after he's declared dead Harry Potter files for divorce from a woman who doesn't even remember marrying him? I can't even get an annulment without raising eyebrows… is this your way of asking for gratitude for your convincing Hermione to marry Krum in Bulgaria? I won't thank you for it, I'll never thank you for that at all,” Harry told him.

Snape waved away his speech, “I don't want 'thanks', (the smile played at his lips again), but tell me, when Krum fell… were you in Bulgaria… should I assume his death no accident?”

Harry's voice was deadly ice when he said, “I had more than six years to kill Krum if I wanted to. Why would I do it in a public place in front of my wife and his son? Now tell me, what is going on with Mrs Weasley.”

Snape seemed finally satisfied with his ribbing for the evening and said, “She's decided to tell Miss Granger the truth. She's given her an album of photographs from the war complete with images of her pregnancy. There are no pictures of the children, of course, we gave those to Amaranthe… but Hermione's going to start asking questions, and with the girls at Hogwarts now… and Mr Weasley… I don't expect it to be too long before mother and daughters are reunited.”

Whatever reaction he had assumed Harry to give to this news, he surely did not expect the non-reaction he got instead. Harry just sat there staring at him a moment, before finally asking, “Am I supposed to be disappointed by this, I never wanted Hermione to give them up in the first place.”

“Oh ho, this is news to me; you didn't look too keen on stopping her back then. As a matter of fact, you're the one who gave her choice,” said Snape.

“I didn't expect her to choose me over our children!” said Harry, a hint of frustration in his tone.

“No, of course not, I forgot, you seem unaware of how much the world revolves around you,” Snape told him, dryly.

Harry refused to rise to the bait, asking instead, “Since this could have been conveyed in your little letter, why am I here? 'Be prepared for backlash', I'm dead remember, Hermione finds out the truth, goes home with our daughters and I stay this way for their safety.”

“Unfortunately, that excuse doesn't work anymore; there hasn't been a major Death Eater attack in three years. Your wife's worse enemies now are her in-laws, I have it on good authority that your daughters have been receiving gifts from you, and a letter recently…” Snape said and was cut off.

“You've been spying on me?” asked Harry, through gritted teeth.

“I don't trust you that much, Mr Potter,” said Snape, “And according to my spies, I have good reason not to. If you intended on staying dead you should have remained that way and not contacted your daughters at all, but you couldn't resist. Once their mother knows about them, they're going to inevitably mention your letters and when they do, she's going to track you down… possibly to kill you.”

Harry scowled, “They know it's not safe to talk about me.”

“They're your and Miss Granger's children, believe me, it won't take that long for someone to slip up. And besides, she's their mother, why ever would they think it's wrong to mention you to her?” Snape told him.

“Do you even know that Hermione stole ingredients from your cupboards in Second Year to brew the Polyjuice Potion?” asked Harry.

Snape looked unmoved, “I miss nothing, Mr Potter. Now, how do you intend on working your way back into their lives, with the number of impersonators running around a grand return is not going to help you. They'll be suspicious, the press won't buy it and you'll possibly be arrested for being… yourself.”

That brought a smile to his lips, but it was wiped away a second later by Harry's reply, “I don't intend on doing a damn thing, you called me, I'm moving home. I'll buy a house, move in, and let them come to me.”

“Are you insane, you're supposed to be dead, the dead don't just show up and buy houses,” Snape pointed out.

Harry shrugged, “You're right, they don't… but I have an advantage over them, I'm not dead.”

“And when Miss Granger and Mr Weasley show up demanding answers, as well as every Tom, Dick and… well you know the rest, what are you going to do?” asked Snape.

“Who said anything about coming back here as Harry Potter?” asked Harry.

This time, Snape really smiled.

-->

A/N: Hi there, HAPPY NEW YEAR! And as it is a new year, I'm bringing two new chapters. Hope you like them, more answers, and still more questions and there is much more to come still. The good thing about this vacation is that I got to write a lot, and even better, I actually started the plans for my own Year Seven fic. You're probably tired of reading them by now, but I thought I would give it a try. Forgive me.

Disclaimer: I wish.

~*~*~*~

Truth

In the silence of the bedroom around him and despite the low bubbling of his nearby fish tank, Caspar could very clearly hear his mother's movements in the next room. Since she had sent him to bed just two hours before, he had been listening to her, pacing, muttering and finally, tossing about in her bed. She was restless, she couldn't sleep, and he was quite sure that by morning, it would be clear that she hadn't.

This had been the pattern for just over a week now. As a matter of fact, since the night he had found her crying in the study, barely able to speak.

Something was wrong.

She had never given him a reason for that, just sent him off to bed with the promise to tell him in the morning… and then didn't. And maybe that was why it was still bothering her now; she had always told him the truth. But for tonight that would not do, whatever the secret she was keeping, it was not letting her sleep. In the absence of his father, he was the man of the house, her 'little man', and he could not allow that to continue.

In the darkness of his room, the moon having waned to a gentle crescent, the light of the fish tank clearly illuminated the slightly opened door. She never locked it, 'to let in the hall-light' she told him, but he stopped needing that when he got the fish. Tonight though, he would need it again. When she finally settled, as much as she could lately, he would find out exactly what was wrong with her.

He was just beginning to drift away when the tossing stilled. He had had a long day, despite his plans that night, he and Harry had quite an active evening playing “Air Pirates” and raiding the girls' tree house on the brooms (they didn't really fly, they just pretended they did) at the Burrow. He had actually slept there for most of that week—another consequence of that night in the study—until he had made such a fuss that day that she had to take him back.

He hoped Mrs Weasley didn't mind too much, she didn't really need that picture of Harry anyway. None of them in the house really looked at it.

The call of an owl in a nearby tree reminded him of his mission. She had not tossed about for quite some time, he wondered if she had fallen asleep. He hoped she had, he didn't need her to find out what he was up to yet.

An exasperated sigh, something flopped, sheets rustled, and then it was still.

He would have to be extra quiet.

Waiting again until he was sure she would not come out and catch him, Caspar threw off his covers, slipped off the bed and then quickly made his way to the door. His sock covered feet on the carpet muffled his footfalls, the creak of the door near gave him a heart attack, and he paused to make sure she was still quiet.

No sound.

He peered around the door to look at hers—it was closed—and then went out the other way to the stairs. He didn't stop until he was at the top of them.

The window on the landing gave a view of the still, dark and near moonless night without and a snowy owl cut into his gaze. The magnificent creature, with eyes of amber, visible even in the dim light, sounded a call through the air then turned as if to stare directly at him.

He started back a moment, and then ran down the stairs to the second floor and the study. It was only at the bottom that he realised his mistake. She could have heard the thunder of his steps on the hardwood stairs.

Too late to consider that now though, he went on to the study as planned, found it open, as always, and quietly went in.

It was darker than his bedroom, this room needed no nightlight, and he wondered if he really had thought this plan through. He could have done this at some other time, like the morning when it was full of light. Of course, she would be home then, and she would probably be in here, and he would not be able to get the book.

That book was tantamount to his plans. That book probably had all the answers just waiting to be discovered, and he had to discover it. That book, the one she got for her birthday that Mrs Weasley gave him to give to her, how much it upset her and still she read through it.

He had never looked through it himself, but maybe he should have. She had cried the first time she got it too.

Gathering his nerve, Caspar stumbled to her desk in the dark, and turned on the desk lamp. A soft glow lit up his face and the book on the centre of the table. He took it at once, switched off the light and went out of the room.

He would go back upstairs to his own where he could watch it with his nightlight. He had the privacy of his bedroom, he would be in the best position to hear if she was coming, he would be able to monitor her sleeping… and she had the advantage of the open door.

That halted his progress, with the door open she could easily find him with it. He couldn't allow that to happen either.

He retreated to the study, switched on the light again and took her seat at the desk. He had to climb up; his feet could not touch the floor in the chair, and then drag himself forward by gripping the desk. Comfortable there, he opened the book… and was sorely disappointed.

Save for the pictures of Big Harry, there was nothing he could find to upset her. She was smiling in a few, Big Harry at her side or Mrs Weasley or another strange man he didn't know. There was Louis' mother, there was the Burrow, and there was a big, black dog he didn't know either. (She definitely had to get him a toad now!) It was snowing in some, or just cold, or they were tucked away in a warm house. She danced in one, was asleep in another with Harry on the couch—her head on his chest, his hands on her stomach… which looked strange—and just reading quietly by the firelight in one still. There was almost nothing wrong in any.

And then he came to one that was rather strange. Well, maybe not all that strange, but just curious… or rather interesting… or maybe it was just different.

He wondered if she had ever seen it, she looked so pretty he doubted she would cry.

She was standing at the bottom of the stairs in a pretty white dress with a high waist and skirt of beaded lace. Her hair was drawn away from her face, a few loose tendrils at the side, and there was a veil on her head, white like her dress. She looked very much like she did in the pictures of her wedding to his father… except in those the skirt was wider like a bell, her sleeves were short and puffed and the waist was lower as her stomach was flatter. In this she had a big belly… just like those of when she was having him.

He couldn't see a thing that would make her cry in it at all.

On the other page, standing in the same spot was another of her, but Big Harry was with her too. His robes were dark green, like moss, his hair always a mess, a hand around her shoulder and another linked with hers. In the picture, as Caspar looked, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. She blushed and looked down at her stomach and then gently ran her hand over it.

That was just like with him too. Was she having a baby? Did she have a baby then too?

“Caspar!”

He started out of the seat and near fell off the chair as it rolled backwards. By the time he had recovered she was already over to the desk and demanding, “What are you doing in here? Why aren't you sleeping?”

He could ask her the same thing. Her harried and dishevelled appearance betrayed her own insomnia. Hair wild, nightgown hanging off her, she ignored the desk and had come over to examine him for injury. Instead though, he chose to ask, “Mummy, did you have a baby before me?”

She instantly froze, her anxious eyes searching his face, and then turned to the desk and the open album. She gasped, “Oh gods…”

Now that he had her, he didn't hesitate to continue, “Mummy, were you and Harry like you and Daddy… did you marry him like Daddy?”

At this she turned back to face him with furrowed brow, “What?”

He slipped off the chair and went to the desk and dragged the album over to her, “See… like when you married Daddy…”

She did not answer though.

She just stared at the pictures open-mouthed; her confusion turned to surprise and then began to turn the pages. The wedding pictures were only spread over two pages, and the first one that came after was of Harry carrying her up the stairs. She froze again, and then took the seat Caspar had just abandoned and for a moment allowed every emotion, from shock, to confusion and finally anger to wash over her.

Caspar stood idly by, not sure if he should continue asking questions, and especially when she began to look angry.

But then she stood again, closed the book, and looked at the clock. She seemed to deliberate something a moment, then shook her head, muttered, “They have to answer me,” and turned to him, “Get your shoes and your coat, we're going to the Burrow.”

He looked hesitant and began to protest, “But Mummy, I broke Mrs Weasley's…”

One more look silenced that and he wordlessly went out up to his room. When he came back down she had already gotten her coat and shoes and started the emerald flames of the Floo Network. There was no stopping her now, what had he done?

“Come on, Caspar, I know them, they're still awake,” she said, calling him over to the fireplace.

He went to her; she lifted him into her arms, whispered, “Its okay, Mummy just wants to talk,”

He did not believe her.

Securing her hold on him then, she stepped into the fireplace.

~*~*~*~

Despite Madam Pince's best attempts, the Hogwarts library was never truly a place of silent reading or study. If not for the barely audible sound of pages turning, quills scratching against parchment, or a chair being replaced, there was always also the sound of footsteps between the shelves, whispering voices, falling books, and once or twice, a low snore. Sometimes the students would entirely forget where they were, her screeching at them then didn't help matters any. At other times it were the books that made the noise, and especially when a wily student dared to steal into the Restricted Section.

This was how it always was, even for her predecessors, and this was how it always would be, unfortunately, for her and her successors.

And tonight, it was no different.

The twins had come into the library this evening, at the time they were usually off to the Duelling Club, and had taken a place at the window in the study area furthest from her desk and the door. They ignored the books and bags they had brought with them, including one Aimee had taken from a shelf on her way over, choosing instead to spread the desk before them with copies of the Daily and Evening Prophet, Witch Weekly and The Quibbler. Tonight's visit had nothing at all to do with school or the events of the wider world, they had far more important matters to discuss.

Aimee began the whispering, “It's true.”

She had just come upon a copy of the last week's Daily Prophet, the one from the morning of Pansy's visit.

“Do You Know These Girls?” read her sister:

“That's the question on the lips of many at the Ministry of Magic and the administration of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In light of a recent shocking revelation about the identical twins that transferred to the prestigious Wizarding academy some three weeks ago, staff in both places is at a loss to the answer.

The twins, identified as twelve year old Maia Jae and Aimee Jean Black, are apparently not the nieces of Amaranthe Montgomery, their late legal guardian, as was apparently told to the administration of both Hogwarts and their former school, the Beauxbatons Academy, and the Ministry. As a matter of fact, the family of Miss Montgomery claim that the first they heard of the children was at St Mungo's when they went to collect their relative's remains. To their knowledge, Amaranthe was an Auror on protective service for the past eleven years, has never married and…”

Maia stopped reading and looked at her sister. Aimee drew another paper from the spread and read, “A Finished Line Restarted: Twin Sisters claimed for the House of Black!”

Maia took up Witch Weekly, “The Secret Lives of Sirius and Regulus Black: Which Brother's the Father?”

“Devilishly handsome, appropriately wealthy and infamous to boot, the Black brothers were prime heirs to the title of the Wizarding World's Most Eligible Bachelors—when their lives came to an end in the dark year of 1981. Separated in death by some sixteen years, the brothers were reportedly on opposite ends of the Wizarding war against the Dark Lord. However, we at Witch Weekly have found that their rivalry may extend to a whole new level: fatherhood.

In the case of twin sisters Aimee and Maia Black, a veritable whodunit has arisen: who's the father, and where he has been all our (and their) lives?”

“Toujours Pur No More: Muggle Blood Runneth in House of Black's Pureblood Veins!” Aimee read from the Evening Prophet. A quick glance told her she didn't really need to read further.

The Quibbler was a woeful disappointment, or maybe a pleasant surprise, not a page made mention of the twins. The stories of the others for the rest of the week went on and on with fantastical reports of women claiming to be not only the twins' mother but the secret wives of Sirius and Regulus Black. None of them stood up to the question of their whereabouts when a few proclaimed knowledge of Sirius' innocence, others still got descriptions of the brothers quite wrong and then still some claimed that neither brother was dead in the first place.

Pansy featured heavily in interviews, Draco Malfoy was reportedly 'indisposed', and no one could make contact with Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin, the Weasley family or Hermione Granger for comment. By the fifth day of the news breaking the headlines changed to, “Gilderoy Lockhart to Speak on Harry Potter at Eleventh Anniversary Celebrations!”

They had become old news and were forgotten.

Well, to the world at least, if they looked up from their desk now they were sure to see someone staring.

Claiming relation to the House of Black, even if you didn't really mean to or thought anything of it, meant that you were somewhat related to Harry Potter. Being somewhat related to Harry Potter made you famous: either a pompous fraud and a bold-faced liar or the closest they would ever get to him.

For them it had meant an entire week at the mercy of the school they thought was getting used to them. And that meant that they were speedily proven wrong. Not many were too keen on listening to explanations and denials where Pansy's declaration was concerned. They were even snubbed by Lixue and Sarmistha… well, at first anyway, and it took Professor Weasley's direct intervention at one point to stop the stares in the Great Hall for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

They had become outcasts, a position, as it was, much worse than just being an outsider. If they ever hated Pansy before, they hated her now.

Aimee whispered again, “If Daddy sees this he's not going to be happy.”

“He doesn't know what we know,” Maia whispered back.

“Why didn't they tell us that she wasn't our aunt? That 'Tantie Marie' was just an old fraud, 'mes petites filles pauvres'… they both lied,” said Aimee, bitterly.

“Shh!” her sister silenced her, and then whispered, “They didn't lie, and she was our aunt. She took care of us because Papa and Mum couldn't. They both love us, she loved us, and you know it!”

Aimee was silent a moment and then said, “That doesn't make you an aunt, that makes you an au pair.”

Maia glared at her, and then said, “It doesn't matter anymore anyway, for what it was worth, she took care of us… kept us safe like they say she was doing… and now we're safe in here just like Daddy always was…”

Aimee said no more to that, and turned back to the papers, then drew one atop the pile.

It was the Evening Prophet, of the same day of Pansy's visit, but focusing instead on the first appearance in public of the widow of Viktor Krum and her son since her return to England. She was shopping in London, a black and white photograph showing the two window-shopping at Harrods, and above the picture a headline blared, “Out and About in London, Mrs Krum and Son Step Out!”

“I wish we could be safe with Mum,” she said then, her voice tinged with a sadness that only appeared at the mention of their mother.

Maia looked at the paper and covered it over with the rest, “Me too… but not today, she wouldn't understand…”

“I hate Tantie Marie,” said Aimee.

Her sister had no reply to this, knowing that further argument was futile, and instead looked out the window at the dark night sky. A silent moment would pass before she said, “Can you imagine that they—or rather, Mum—used to sit here, in this very library, at these very tables, trying to save Papa's life every year?”

Aimee gave her sister a momentary glance, then followed her gaze out the window, “Sometimes… in Gryffindor Tower I like to think that I have Mum's room… and I sit on the same chairs that she did, and I look out the window and can see Hagrid's hut and everything… just like they did.”

A snowy owl cut across their gaze, flowed over the forest and lake and disappeared.

“I can't see that from the basement,” whined Maia, childishly.

Aimee grinned, “That's what you get for being a duffer… but at least you can keep an eye on the Slytherins.”

“A duffer… oh, you mean being you? I may look like you but I'm not, and I don't have time for the Slytherins… especially Rhiannon. Do you know that she said she was sorry?” asked Maia.

Her sister turned back to her, clearly annoyed, “Oh… she did? She doesn't look too sorry; she didn't look too sorry all week. She didn't tell her friends a thing when I was here before trying to do my Charms essay, which, by the way, have you finished yet?”

Standing in the doorway, just out of earshot, Ron looked in at the twins at the table and gave a relieved sigh.

When they hadn't shown up for the meeting he had searched the entire castle for them, his mind filled with horrible images of Pansy and a Death Eater army come to take them away to Malfoy Manor. Off to that hell-hole of Death Eater splendour where nothing but the Dark Arts and blood purity were cherished above all… not that it was much different at Grimmauld Place, but still….

He didn't know why he had given Pansy's parting lines any weight but he just had. The world could say what they wanted about them but there were certain men Ron believed belonged in Azkaban after the war and Draco Malfoy was one of them. No matter that he had helped them, no matter that he hadn't killed Dumbledore, he—and Snape while he was at it—belonged to rot in the cold dungeons of that prison for the rest of their lives.

But away from that and seeing the twins now, it was almost as wonderful as finding his son again after one particularly terrible evening in Diagon Alley.

He had lost too many people in his life, he couldn't lose any more.

He brushed that thought away at once. He didn't think like that, the others did but he wouldn't.

A gaggle of First Years went by on their way out; Madam Pince narrowed her eyes at them and then stopped with a stiff smile when she saw him. He smiled back and walked into the library headed straight for the twins' table, the two girls deep in yet another of their secret conversations. They didn't even look up until he was upon them and began, “Hey you two, skiving off eh? I wouldn't advise starting that until Fifth Year though, I didn't.”

Blank expressions hastily became mischievous smiles, and Maia said, “We thought we'd give the others a chance for once, especially Philippe, catch up on our schoolwork… I'm useless at Transfiguration.”

He looked at them sceptically, spied the papers and asked, “What were you trying to do, turn these papers in firewood?”

“No,” said Aimee, unblushingly, “Toilet paper.”

~*~*~*~

Never one to beat around the bush, no sooner than had Fleur arrived at the Burrow that night, than did she announce to all present, “Someone's stealing `Arry's money!”

All present, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Bill, Fred and Angelina, Ginny and Neville and Lupin and his three year old son, turned to her in surprise.

It was late; they had been waiting for her to arrive for dinner for hours since her owl had arrived from Gringotts. They customarily met like this to eat nowadays, and her announcement that she would be working late had Mrs Weasley slightly miffed. Dinner was being magically kept warm in the kitchen at the dining table, and as Fleur came in a set of candles at the table lit up. The light it cast gently illuminated the room, revealing a Burrow little changed from the days of their childhood and the Second War.

The last thing they expected to hear from her mouth then was what she actually said.

She assumed they misheard and repeated, “Someone `as stolen from `Arry, they `ave been doing so for twelve years now… we suspected it last week… but now we know it's true.”

This brought them back to their senses, Mrs Weasley speaking first asked, “What…?”

Ginny asked next, “We… who's we?”

Fleur took off her coat, kissed her husband and settled into the living room with them, “We… are Mrs Cho Corner and I. (Mrs Weasley and Ginny made faces) She discovered zee discrepancy and investigated for me… then zis morning she called me with news zat a large withdrawal was made late last week from `is account… someone is stealing from `im.”

For a time then, the room was silent again, the ghoul in the attic and the wind in the trees without being the only distraction.

But what could they say to this really? What questions were they going to ask? Who were they supposed to suspect? Where would they begin? And why did Ron have to be working tonight when he could be here yelling and ready for a fight?

And then Mr Weasley asked, “Do you have any idea of who this person may be? What they look like?”

Fred began, “George and I were just trying to convince those goblins last week to use some of our stuff… you might know who it is today. Remember that old saying in flagrante delicto, well…”

“Be quiet, sweetheart,” said Angelina, closing his lips with her fingers. He grinned despite it.

“No… zee person is authorised… he allowed them to take the money…. This last week… that person came back again… more money than usual… we can do nothing to stop zem, and we still don't know who they are,” Fleur said.

“Do you know why they're allowed to take this money?” asked Mrs Weasley.

No one caught her sideways glance to Lupin. Not even he for he was looking down at his son, and not paying attention then either.

“No,” said Fleur, catching the glance and staring curiously at her mother-in-law, “we can't tell why. Cho was looking at some 'patterns'… she thinks she has something but still… in zee end we don't know what's going on…”

“What does she have?” asked Ginny.

Fleur was silent a moment, as if considering her answer, and then she replied, “It's very strange zis pattern… I barely know how to explain it…”

And then suddenly she was cut off by the eruption of towering emerald flames from the fireplace.

Everyone started out of their seats, Bill and Fred took on a defensive stance, wands drawn, the others barely moved. Very few people had authorised access to the Weasley home on the network… though people could still get in….

Mr Weasley called, “Lo… who's there?”

Their defences fell the moment Hermione and son stepped out of the flames in the middle of the room.

“Oh gods, Hermione!” began Fred, “Woman, you are Muggle-born but you do know how to use an owl!”

Hermione ignored him.

Setting down Caspar, and not even hesitating to dust herself clean, she walked to Mrs Weasley and said, “I was married to Harry!”

That silenced the room again, and put all thoughts of Fleur's revelation out of their heads.

Mrs Weasley did not reply, Lupin finally looked away from his son in alarm, and Ginny went very pale.

Hermione repeated, “I was married to Harry… wait… no… was I married to Harry? According to this photo album (she drew it out from her robes and flipped it open in Mrs Weasley's lap to the very page) I was… and not only that, I was pregnant?”

This time the silence was deafening, you could barely hear a person breathe. Ginny swayed slightly in her seat and put her hand to her head to steady herself. Something fell at the fireplace and broke, echoing, all eyes turned to Fred.

He laughed nervously and said, “Sorry… thought I should make a distraction… seemed appropriate—right—then—Reparo!”

Hermione continued to ignore them, “Please Molly, tell me… because I don't understand it… I don't even remember it… was I married to Harry? I can see that I was pregnant—I don't know how that happened either—but…”

Mrs Weasley turned the book round in her lap and then looked down at Hermione. The silence continued, the others waiting with bated breath for her reply….

She said only one word.

“Yes.”

Hermione stopped pleading, her mouth fell open and she fell back on her haunches away from Mrs Weasley. Fred and Bill left the fireplace and took seats besides their wives on the arms of the sofas. Mr Weasley turned to his wife in shock, Lupin let his son go over to Caspar—standing in the room staring at his mother and Mrs Weasley transfixed—and Neville tried to draw Ginny's attention for she seemed to go even paler.

Finally Hermione spoke again, swallowing slowly she asked, “T-to which question was that d-directed?”

Mrs Weasley released a deep breath, “Both.”

Hermione swallowed again, looked down at her hands and gasped, stifling a cry.

“Why? Um… no… how-how did this happen?” she asked a moment later, and apparently when she could speak again.

Lupin looked directly at Mrs Weasley, she kept her eyes trained on Hermione but could feel his, and all the others', gaze upon her. And then she said, “I… I'm not sure exactly…”

Technically, it was the truth.

Hermione nodded at this and then asked, “D-did my baby… did it die?”

She swallowed again even before Mrs Weasley began to reply. Her eyes were now trained on the floor but there was no doubt they were filled with fear.

Mrs Weasley began to reply, paused and then said, “N…”

Hermione cut her off again, “No, scratch that one… Healer Abbey, he said there was a report… it said I-I gave birth… s-so tell me instead… was-was it a boy or a girl?”

Mrs Weasley made to reply again but didn't. Ginny said softly, “Mum…”

Lupin began, and Mrs Weasley finally took over, “It was a girl…”

“Girls…” corrected Lupin, “There were two of them, a surprise for you… identical twins…”

“You knew too…?” asked Hermione, turning to him.

Mrs Weasley continued, “Yes, identical… and no… they didn't die… you… you gave them up…”

This made Hermione turn back to her with clearest shining joy in her eyes that immediately died. There was a look to her son, she offered a weak smile, and then returned to Mrs Weasley, “W… no… h… no… why did Harry marry me… was it… was it to make it legitimate… did something happen to me… D-Death Eaters…?”

Mrs Weasley and Lupin then, had to wonder why for someone so smart, that Hermione immediately went to the worst conclusion. Well, maybe it had nothing to do with intelligence, but why didn't she think of the simpler alternative?

Lupin began, “No, Hermione… Harry…”

“Harry… well, yes, he wanted to make them legitimate…” said Mrs Weasley.

“Oh no…” said Hermione and Mrs Weasley tried her best not to sigh in exasperation. She knew why she thought that way, she understood, or at least she was trying to, but still….

“Oh no, he… oh gods…” Hermione went on and stifled another cry. “He… he married me…? Oh Harry, you were always so noble… I didn't deserve that… I'm sure of it…. He… he married me, oh Harry…. W-was I still married to him… when… when…”

A quick look to Lupin and he replied for Mrs Weasley, “He was…”

At this Ginny finally made her presence known again, asking, “W-what…?”

And then suddenly they remembered that they were not alone.

Hermione turned to look at them and then dropped her head. They didn't have to look closely to know that she was ashamed, there could be nothing else on her face but.

“Oh my… I…” she started to say and then, as some realisation came to her, she turned back to her son and gasped, “Oh gods… Viktor…”

Even though they were acknowledged though, none of the others spoke. They just remained where they were in silent astonishment looking on as Hermione cried and Lupin and Mrs Weasley watched, seemingly unable to move as well. Caspar left Lupin's son, went over to his mother and embraced her.

In a mixture of what could only be grief, shock and shame, tears ran errant down her cheeks. Tracing speedily down her face they dripped unto her robes and her son's hands as he tried to wipe her face dry. She let him comfort her, stroking her hair and wiping her face and every few moments whispering, “Its okay Mum… you're alright Mum… Mummy…”

But maybe she didn't believe him for eventually her voice came through, “To me… the… he was… he should have had… and all he got was me…. I'm not worth it… why-why did he have to be so noble…? He should have had someone he loved, not me… I was a burden, a responsibility… a… oh gods…. Harry… Harry…”

Lupin's voice came then, a low whisper so fierce with passion that it seemed unnatural coming from him as he said, “Don't you ever… don't you ever think you were not worth it….”

Hermione stopped crying and looked up at him, her eyes seemingly drowning in sparkling tears. She protested, “B-but… he just did it because he felt responsible for me… he should have had someone he loved…”

Lupin only came stronger, “He loved you!”

“As a friend…” she insisted and he immediately rose from his seat, went over to her and kneeled.

Taking her warm, wet face in his hands he said, “Hermione, you are very smart but sometimes you can be so foolish. Hermione, he didn't and never regretted this… he loved you. And he married you, not because he felt responsible… but because he was responsible… he was the father…”

Hermione stopped crying at once.

She paused, looking at him completely stunned, floored even, unable to speak… or think….

“What did you say?” she asked.

Or maybe it was Ginny or someone else, she couldn't be sure really.

And then she fainted.

Hermione woke up angry.

She couldn't be sure how long she was out for. She didn't know if she had fallen to the ground kneeling or had been standing and fell on this couch. She could barely remember that she was at the Burrow in the first place. But there was one thing that she remembered, and for that she was angry.

The first words out of her mouth as she came out of a darkened world into one of light and sound was, “Why… why in the name of all that is… why didn't you tell me about this before!”

Someone came over with a damp cloth and a soothing voice, “Shh, calm down darling, you need to rest a bit…”

“NO!” she yelled, “TELL ME THE TRUTH! WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THIS BEFORE? WHY DID YOU KEEP IT A SECRET? WHY DID YOU WAIT TWELVE YEARS BEFORE YOU FINALLY DID IT? Were you ashamed of me? Because I have to tell you, I'm ashamed of myself enough already! Why…?”

“Calm down,” soothed the voice again. “You're upsetting yourself…”

Her vision cleared at once.

Seated beside her on the sofa, her attendant was Mrs Weasley and for some reason she never looked older, or more tired. In the background were still the others, minus Caspar and Lupin's son.

She sat up even straighter then and asked, “Where… where is my son…?”

“He's upstairs… he's scared, and confused,” replied Lupin.

Hermione found with certain pleasure that his voice was filled with shame. It was not like hers, but it was there and that was enough. Looking up at him then she found the same look on his face that was on Mrs Weasley's.

The pleasure ebbed away slightly, but her anger remained.

“Of course he is, it's not his fault… and so am I…. I had a baby… babies… in the war… when Harry was dying…. You didn't tell me that… and then… he's… he's their father… Harry…? W… I… and we gave them away… somewhere out there; someone is raising Harry's children…. Oh my gods… they don't even know who we are they are… do they?”

Fred cut in, “Well… actually they would… I mean you were Krum's wife…. Harry Potter…”

“Thank you, Fred,” Hermione told him, though there wasn't malice in it. “But… they don't know me… us… like… their p-parents…. I had a baby… with Harry… babies… children… in the war…”

“Yes, you did,” said Mrs Weasley, her voice descending to a soft whisper.

Hermione swallowed a cry, and then asked, “Why… why don't I remember this?”

At this Lupin and Mrs Weasley looked away from her, and then couldn't look at the others.

It was then that Hermione noticed their faces.

Anger, disappointment, disbelief… every emotion and expression she felt they had… and Ginny… she seemed calm now but Hermione knew better. In her eyes was something very close to devastation. How else would you feel if you learned the man you loved, who you had been waiting for, who had died in a war you were forced out of had had children by another woman during that time?

Hermione didn't want to think that she had been waiting for Harry to come back for her in the end. Before she was firm in that belief, but now, she didn't want to think it.

Mrs Weasley had turned back to face her, a sad look in her eyes, and said, “After… after the twins were born… Harry made a decision t-to give them up…. It wasn't safe for them with you, no matter where you hid; they could've been killed at any given moment if anyone ever found out…. So there was a potion… it took months to make and then it just sat there… until Harry was sure he could do it and let go…. But it would've been better if he hadn't seen the children, if he hadn't spent seven months raising them, watching them grow up… those are memories… so precious… no one should have them taken away…. Yet he had a world to save and you and the children to protect… so he decided to drink the potion…. And on the day he was going to do it, you found out… and refused to let him go back alone… even if Ron and everyone else was there… insisted that he and Ron were useless without you…. He argued with you for hours… until you… until he made you choose… he told you that either you chose him or them…. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, but he made you choose… and in the end, you chose him. His face… he didn't want you to do that… but you did.”

“Oh gods…” said Hermione, softly and she stared at the floor again for some time. No one dared a word.

Eventually though, she asked, “B-but, none of this explains why you didn't tell me after…?”

“It partially does…” said Lupin. “When Harry… when he disappeared after the battle… we didn't know how to tell you…. We couldn't even come up with a reasonable answer for everything so… we didn't. In the absence of their father, we just thought, it would be less painful if you never saw them, if you never had to live with the knowledge that Harry wasn't there to raise them too…”

“You chose for me…?” said Hermione, her voice a whisper but the hurt in it clear.

“I know… we know that was wrong… but all of you were hurting so much… we didn't know how… so we kept it between us…. The twins were safe, and you would have a new life, where you wouldn't have to hurt like that…” he told her.

“How do you think I feel now?” she demanded.

“Hermione…” Mrs Weasley began.

“No…! NO! You… you let me marry Viktor… without knowing this… our son is upstairs, tonight he just found out he has older sisters! You… you didn't even think that I deserved to at least know then… my life… it was a waste when I met Viktor again. I could've been with my daughters… oh gods…” Hermione said, her expression clearly revealing her anger, her revulsion, and her mortification.

“Hermione…” pleaded Mrs Weasley.

Hermione wasn't listening though; she threw her legs over the sides and tried to stand. Lupin made to help her, but she snapped, “No… GET AWAY FROM ME!”

“Hermione, please understand… we didn't know what to do! At first, we just thought it would be so simple to tell you… but it was just after the war, so we thought you would recover first and then…. But then days turned to weeks to months and then years… and it didn't get any simpler. Eleven years ago, after Hallowe'en, if we had come up to you and told you about Maia and Jul… Aimee, you probably… we…” Lupin tried to explain but Hermione cut in.

“Wait… what, did you say?” she asked, halting her escape from the sofa to look him straight in the eyes.

Someone gasped in the background, footsteps on the landing told that Caspar had possibly come down again.

“What…?” asked Lupin, “I-I was asking… please Hermione, please, I… we beg your forgiveness… we didn't… we made a mistake… but we…”

Hermione shook her head, “I… I need some time to think this through… but… w-what-what are their names?”

“Maia… Maia Jae and Aimee Jean…” replied Mrs Weasley. “Maia, and at one point for her sister, Julia, but Harry changed it to Aimee, he said something about too many months. Maia, 'the great one', Jae for her grandfather, and her father, it means the same thing James does, 'supplanter'. Aimee means 'beloved', she was the surprise twin, you had no name for her, so he chose that and then gave her your middle name, 'Jean' for 'God's gracious gift', like Jane…. And their surnames, Black… changed from Potter to protect them… he gave them over to his godfather…. Sirius would protect them; like he did for Harry, but this time with his name… your daughters are Maia Jae and Aimee Jean Black…”

Hermione's mouth opened in shock, she stretched a hand forward and gripped the side of Lupin's arm and stared at Mrs Weasley.

“You mean… those little girls… the twins… the ones brought over here… the ones who were in the paper all week… they're mine…? They're mine?” asked Hermione.

Mrs Weasley nodded.

“Maia… Maia and Aimee…” she repeated, and then she smiled. She smiled until a laugh escaped her and the other hand went to her mouth, “All week… all this week I thought they were dead… until Caspar… oh gods…. But this means that they're… that they're at Hogwarts…?”

There was a moment of awe, she laughed again, and looked around at the others, “They're… at Hogwarts… just like we were…. Caspar found them… my babies… (her face fell, her smile fading away to one of utmost sadness) with Ron…”

The others registered her change in mood and turned with expressionless stares.

She returned to Lupin and Mrs Weasley and asked, “Does he… did he know… did he know about them…?”

Lupin dropped his head, “No… no one else save me, Molly, you and Harry, of course, the portraits… Fleur… (She and Bill among the others immediately stared up at him wide-eyed) and… Severus Snape… who brewed the potion…. Ron was hurt… we felt no need to include him…. You were both afraid of his reaction, Harry more than he let on…”

“But we should have told him. He's our friend… their… their uncle… (her smile returned briefly) he should know… he should have known…” said Hermione.

“At nineteen, and twenty, neither of you were too keen on risking it… Eventually you would have, of course, you were already planning to when Harry… when Harry decided to drink the potion. Miss Granger… Hermione… I beg your forgiveness for this… I beg all of your forgiveness for this… we should have said something sooner…” Lupin replied, his eyes pleading.

Hermione's joy waned to sadness, and she fell into silence. And then she said, “I… I don't know if I can… I don't even know if I can forgive myself… maybe I will… someday…. But I-I want my memories back… for goodness sake, I-I want my children back…. They've grown up without me for too long…”

Mrs Weasley offered her a sad smile, “Yes they have…”

Silence fell a moment again; Hermione rose from her seat and walked to their stairs where Caspar and Lupin's son sat watching.

She offered him a faint smile, which he didn't return. Not immediately anyway, but when he did he stood and raced down to her, drawing her into a tight hug.

Then Fred spoke up again.

“Well… this just confirms two things…. One, Harry had more in him than we thought… (“Fred Weasley!” screeched his mother, he went on as if he hadn't heard her, and Hermione blushed crimson) and two… now we know where that money was going…”

“What money…?” asked Hermione, breaking away from her son to look at him.

Fleur gasped, “Oh my… from `is account… I think we do…”

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A/N: Quick bit of trivia, the name Paul Nicolas is from a National Geographic 2005 issue I read where there was a story on the Battle of Trafalgar and the death of Admiral Sir Horatio Nelson. Something I didn't know when I read it, Paul Nicolas was a lieutenant at only sixteen (which makes me feel really lazy) in the war.

Disclaimer: Plagiarism is illegal and I have no money or powerful friends.

~*~*~*~

Subterfuge

Tall, with light blonde hair, grey eyes and a slightly muscular build, thirty-one year old Paul Nicolas moved into a fashionable Wizard neighbourhood of Wiltshire and immediately caused a stir. All that was known of him at his arrival, apart from his physical description and name, was that he was a “man of the sea”, whatever that was, from Northern England and had decided to retire from it. He was apparently wealthy, and considerably so from the size of the estate he purchased, had no known employment, and most important of all, was also unmarried.

Well, at least they believed he wasn't, the rings he wore round his neck could be his parents'.

Another point of interest, though not as much as the rest, was the location of his new home. Of all the places to get into, he had been fortunate enough to find himself on the same street with Mrs Hermione Krum and Mr Draco Malfoy.

Normally, the residents of the area would never be too thrilled to find themselves in the company of a disgraced former criminal and a Muggle-born no matter how wealthy they were. They were most of them old, powerful pureblood families who liked peace and quiet and certain adherence to known—albeit unwritten—rules of society. But these days, with the almost literal buzz around those two… well, exceptions could be made. Mr Paul Nicolas then, however innocently, had brought their opportunity for gossip, if possible, to them.

However, when it came to it, the first to visit Mr Nicolas was not a member of their community, no, not at all. The first to visit him was instead a tall, pale man with greasy black hair and dark eyes, black robes, yellow teeth and a mostly unpleasant countenance. Of all the people to first visit him, it was Severus Snape who did.

“You know, when you said you weren't coming back as yourself—truly the best idea you have possibly ever had—I at least expected something smaller, maybe even less attention-grabbing, not the largest house within reach of your wife,” said Snape as he stepped casually through the front door, Harry… Paul… had just opened.

The black night from which he had just emerged seemed to swallow the rest of the houses on the street at the late hour of Snape's arrival. Save for the few street lights, the distance of the other homes from the main street meant that they were almost lost to the darkness. It was chilly out too, they were passing into late autumn, already many of the surrounding trees with their leaves various shades of yellow, gold, maroon, brown and the odd green. Harry took a glance around out the door and shut it.

Following Snape back into the house then, he replied just as casually, “I haven't seen her in twelve years, and not once yet in the two days since I've gotten here, you have nothing to worry about… and I've lived in small, grimy shack by the seaside since the war, I needed a change.”

Snape took a dismissive glance around the dimly-lit house and told him, “I don't worry, and especially not for you… but should I be concerned about Miss Granger and especially if nine months from today we are treated to another little Potter?”

Harry ignored it and asked, “Are you going to give me the potion and instructions now? I still have some unpacking to do.”

“So quick to end our little meeting… surely I was not so horrible to you in your youth…? Never mind that, don't answer that one… I have the potion… but tell me, do I have to give a potion to Miss Granger as well…?” he asked, still holding his face its usual mask. “I was serious before when I asked about you seeing her. She's grown very beautiful, and with all those fine clothes and the life she had in Bulgaria… well, Miss Ginevra Weasley has some fine competition…”

“For your information, I do not intend on seeing my wife until she finds me… and she was always beautiful, I'd appreciate it if you stopped looking…. Can I have the rest of this potion now, please?” was Harry's reply.

Snape gave a shrug of indifference and drew from his robes a large clear glass bottle and two small vials. The large bottle was filled with a strange grey, still bubbling potion with the viscosity of mud, which Harry seriously doubted was entirely potable. He shook the potion bottle a bit, looking at the substance swirl, lumps appearing here and there, removed the cork, sniffed—the smell was as terrible as the look—and resealed it.

Harry felt rather ill.

Setting them out on the side table in the foyer he said, “This… is not the Polyjuice Potion. Due to your decision… and choices… this is a variant of it, rare, difficult to make and only used by Aurors in the most important of missions… few outside and within the Ministry know of it. You must take it every two days, one small vial at a time spaced at exactly six hours…. You, of course, have already tasted the first sample… which is why you look the way you do… nice tan.”

Grimacing slightly, and definitely feeling ill, Harry took the potion and vials from him and asked, “That wasn't the Polyjuice Potion before?”

“No,” replied Snape, “you're going to be more visible now, if someone should see the exact copy of themselves or someone they know…. I mixed the features a bit so you have a little of everything in there, but I warn, do not miss a dosage.”

He had become so grave then that Harry had to ask, “What happens if I miss the time?”

“Don't do that,” said Snape, “it will fade away, and if you've already taken one it will be incomplete, there is no telling how you would appear.”

“How wonderful,” said Harry “as if I don't ordinarily attract enough attention…?”

Snape had nothing to say to this, but taking a few steps off the foyer to the reception room, asked, “Have you, by chance, read any of the papers for the past two weeks?”

Harry, examining the vials and potion, replied absently, “No, what did I miss?”

Snape hesitated a moment, and then told him, almost sighing, “Miss Pansy Parkinson paid a visit to Hogwarts recently, (Harry paused and then quickly swung round to face him) apparently to quell some rumours…. Amaranthe's family refuses to claim the children… she said they would be a trouble spot if anything ever happened…. Well, they've made themselves complete nuisances now. The papers have, for whatever reason known only to them, claimed the children instead for Sirius Black or his brother… as you wanted, if I recall correctly?”

Harry was much too alarmed to speak, and Snape continued, “Miss Parkinson claimed the visit was for Draco Malfoy, I spoke to him recently and he denies this, heavily. Whatever you and Mr Weasley did to him in the war… he insists that he had nothing to do with it.”

Harry regained his voice and rasped, “How did she get past the gate?”

“It was Mr Malfoy and myself who… no need to go down that road again, but she had no hand in it. That's why she could get in, she won't again of course, but she doesn't need to. Whatever she was up to she must have achieved it….” Snape told him.

Harry looked murderous.

Snape spoke up quickly, “Know this well, despite what I just told you I want you to stay away from them. If you want to keep this a secret… if you want them to 'come to you' as you said, you will let this settle itself, the papers have already forgotten… and besides, there is more.”

Still murderous, Harry paced in the foyer a moment, clenching and releasing a fist, breathing heavily until finally allowing a weary sigh to escape him and asked, “What is it now? I'm not promising a thing if she's done anything else.”

“This has nothing to with her,” Snape said, “back to your wife… she knows.”

Harry's brow furrowed, “What?”

“The night of your arrival here, Miss Granger's young son went into the study and found her little album, and decided to take a look himself. She apparently found out about the pregnancy some days before, but being the person that she is and with the 'evidence' we have, she assumed the child had died. Molly's meddling extends deeper than I thought. Nevertheless, her son stumbled upon some pictures of your wedding, Miss Granger found him, saw them and immediately went to the source. Molly confessed as much as she could, which is mostly everything, so Miss Granger now knows… a lot,” Snape explained.

The first question to this, “Has she seen them yet?”

“No,” he replied, “she wishes to speak to Mr Weasley first. My, how this is crumbling quickly…”

“She knows… and she's going to tell Ron…” said Harry, thinking aloud.

“Yes, and again, be prepared… once she finds you, I highly doubt you'll survive the Killing Curse twice.”

Harry looked at him, and he was deadly serious.

~*~*~*~

If ever Draco had a reason to hate his friends, it was certainly now. In the middle of breakfast they arrived, as if nothing had happened, took up seats at the table of the brightly sunlit dining room, and ordered their own breakfast. While the house-elves rushed off, Blaise took up a copy of the Daily Prophet and Pansy asked, “What's the headline this morning?”

Blaise looked it over a moment and announced, “Weasley Family Slated to Appear at Anniversary Celebrations!”

She scoffed at that, Blaise continued:

“For the first time since they began, the Weasley family, well-known for their association with Harry Potter, will appear at the anniversary celebrations for the end of the Second War. There is no word on if any of them will speak, but speeches have already been confirmed from the Minister for Magic, Gilderoy Lockhart, and a rare first, Miss Carlotta Pinkstone, at the celebrations which also host a memorial for the late Chosen One. There is also still no word on whether Mr Ronald Weasley or Mrs Hermione Krum will appear.”

“Hasn't she gone back to 'Granger'?” asked Pansy.

“I don't think so, her in-laws wouldn't be too pleased with that… if the rumours of a pre-nuptial agreement are to be believed,” said Blaise.

“She actually signed one?” asked Pansy, barely arching her eyebrow.

“That's what they say… Viktor Krum's family weren't too keen on his Muggle-born bride from the beginning, and especially since it didn't take them long to get married… thought she was after his money. His public death in front of their son took away whatever claims they planned to make, but they must have some way of controlling her…” replied Blaise.

“Why do you think they're controlling her… or trying to?” inquired Pansy.

“He left her and their son most of his money, and with the considerable stipend she was already getting from Potter, they would want to make sure she's close… notice she hasn't really been out since her return… for that matter, since Viktor's death? I hear the boy's name is already down for the Durmstrang Institute, blood-red robes and all,” he told her.

She smiled grimly, “Suits her just fine… trying to work her way into good blood, nasty little Mudblood whore!”

At this Draco spoke up, or rather, roared, “Um… have the both of you lost your minds? WHAT, IN THE BLEEDIN' HELL ARE YOU TWO DOING IN MY HOUSE?”

They turned to him as if just remembering he was there, Pansy replied simply, “Breakfast, dear.”

Draco's mouth fell open in his shock.

Blaise turned to Pansy, “So, you never told me what you thought of the twins… Rhiannon says they won't speak to her; the Hufflepuff sought her out after you left and nearly hexed her. She was saved only by the Weasel happening round the corner… I must speak to them about their disciplinary problems…”

“The Gryffindor burned my robes—it was nothing, they were old, bought them the week before—but I would have appreciated a little more control as well… then Professor McGonagall puts me out after Weasel stormed in… I barely had time to speak to them. Spoiled little brats, but then, I guess they would fit right in with Draco's family,” she replied.

Draco spoke again, “How do you know that? You don't know my family, your little outing was only to stir up the papers, the family line is dead… well, if you don't count me and that werewolf's wife and her mother… those little girls know nothing of me!”

“They called Phineas Nigellus Black their 'ancestor', to his portrait's face… he denied it, but…. Oh, come on, Draco, all I wanted to do was have a little fun… the rumours were just starting, Blaise had the evidence, and the papers were starting to dig… I merely helped them along with the conclusion. Honestly, I don't know or care if they're related to you or not and you shouldn't either! All the Black money Sirius had went to Potter and he gave it to the Weasels and the Mudblood… they have nothing extra to gain from this. Whoever this Monsieur Black Père is, he's the only one that should be concerned about the papers,” Pansy told him.

“Why can't you two understand that I just want to be left in peace… and where do you get off calling yourself my girlfriend?” he demanded.

She gave a tinkling laugh, “Oh Draco, like I said, I was just having a little fun, the girlfriend bit was entirely the papers… we all know you've been chasing the Mudblood's skirt from the day she moved in here. You've always wanted her; you know it, since school…. But be careful there, Potter, Weasel and gods know who else got there before Viktor, she's probably the Panama Canal about now.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at her, “How vulgar… is this all you do, insult rich widows and harass young children? No wonder Muggles think all witches are green, ugly and evil, you champion the cause.”

She drew up away from him, “A little touchy aren't we, what do you care what Muggles think? Are you really chasing after Granger… tell me, is there any truth to the rumour that after the war, if Viktor hadn't found her first you would have?”

Blaise cut in at once, “Children, children… let's not attack each other, they're too many people out there to spend that energy on… can't we just have a quiet breakfast?”

The house-elves were finally returning with their dishes. Blaise set aside the paper and took up a napkin; Pansy took the paper from him and set up her own napkin. Draco gave an exasperated sigh.

After a prolonged silence, Pansy spoke again, “Well, well, well, who's your neighbour? He's made the society section… trumping you and Miss Granger for the first time in weeks… Mr Paul Nicolas… hmm, maybe I should pay him a visit.”

“What now, is he my long-lost bastard cousin by some other relative?” asked Draco, snippily.

“No, I don't know,” said Pansy, with feigned sweetness, “but he's rich and handsome, and apparently better behaved… that's good, I need a new wardrobe.”

Draco scoffed, “He wouldn't want you if you danced naked in his front yard. Stick to harassing young children, Pansy… but I shouldn't blame you for being jealous of Granger; gold-digging strumpets are not your thing.”

Blaise nearly choked on his toast.

~*~*~*~

Rushing about in an anxious circle, Hermione had to wonder—between ordering Caspar, for the fifth time, to clean his room and seeing to the snacks—why she was so worried about Ron coming over. This was Ron, they had been best friends since First Year, they had gone through a war together, they had seen each other at their worst… what did he care if the house was a little out of order? But then again, he was coming over to be told about the secret love-children of his two best friends for the first time.

That kind of revelation needed a neat, clean house for the angry outburst sure to follow.

She wasn't sure who had summoned Ron from Hogwarts for the meeting today. She hadn't gone back to the Burrow since that night and she wasn't planning on it any time soon. She needed to think, to sort this all out herself, before she could face them again.

She did remember who communicated to her that Ron was coming though, Ginny owled her the next morning with the news. She had to wonder why Ginny was still talking to her; she thought that she, of all people, would be the most furious.

Harry had been her boyfriend, not Hermione's, before the war. In fact, Hermione had given no indication, in all the years they knew each other, that she even mildly wanted him. Wasn't she the one that gave Ginny advice? Hadn't she spent her entire Sixth Year chasing after Ron? And then suddenly, in the middle of war she changes her mind and goes as far as to bear his children?

She guessed she should be grateful for small mercies though. At the same time that she didn't really want to see them, she needed them too.

A crash of glass, a shout of “Sorry!” and Hermione called up, “Caspar, what are you doing up there?”

There was a moment of silence and he replied, “I was looking for a box… I think I broke one of your presents!”

That was another small mercy she had to be thankful for. Despite learning a secret that would surely at least result in mild misbehaviour from most of his counterparts, Caspar had been rather good about the news. He actually referred to the twins as his “sisters”, spoke of meeting them and just this morning asked which floor they would sleep on if they came here.

Of course, she wouldn't be Hermione if she didn't find at least some of that suspect.

Taking a deep breath, she refrained from rolling her eyes, and walked up to the second floor. As she turned into the hall, she said, “You know, I really should ban you from this closet, you're dangerous. Every one of my presents must be broken now; I don't know what I'm going to do with you…”

She stopped when she found him trapped in the midst of a pile in the middle of the floor before the open closet door. Pieces of glass were spread through his hair, glinting like tiny diamonds, and on his clothes and around him on the floor. He shook off a few, dragged over the box from which it had come and drew out the remnant of what looked like a crystal vase.

“Sorry…” he said, looking up at her then, and put on his best cherubic grin.

She narrowed her eyes, and went on to help him, muttering to herself, “If it's not one thing, it's the other…. Caspar, Ron's going to arrive at any moment and look at you… oh goodness; you and Harry better not make this mess worse…”

He rose to help her, putting back the boxes one by one and apologised, “I'm sorry Mum. I was just looking for a box to clean my room like you said, I didn't mean to make a mess, honest!”

She paused and studied his face a while so that he paused too, only for her to take him into her arms and kiss his head.

“Eww…! Mum!” he squirmed and tried to wriggle free, but she held him fast.

A silence fell; he felt her demeanour change to something stiff, and very serious.

“Caspar, I know you're usually very messy, and very mischievous… and very cute… but… I want to ask you something…. And I want you to tell me the truth…. When you found out about the twins… your sisters… you didn't say anything… is it bothering you?” she asked.

He didn't reply until he had wriggled free of her and shook his head, “No.”

“Are you sure, Caspar? Because… you see, I plan to meet them soon… and after that… I may want them to come here… with us… so if it bothers you… you should tell me now,” she said, trying her best to reassure with her eyes.

Caspar remained silent a moment and then shook his head again, “Nothing's wrong, Mum… I always used to wish that I had a brother… or sisters… I'm good.”

For a while she just sat there staring at him, trying to gauge his reaction, and then finally looked away when Caspar said, “Mum, Mr Weasley is coming…”

“Oh, right…!” she started, “let's put this all away and then we can go and meet him and I can…”

Her voice trailed off as she anxiously began to re-stack the boxes in the closet, muttering to herself all the while. Caspar could hear snippets, here and there, half were about one day opening the boxes and packages, the other about Ron and the twins.

He couldn't tell her then that he had actually been opening the packages secretly for weeks now, placing the gifts about the house within her view but without her noticing. No, she was more concerned about the latter, so instead he told her, “It's going to be alright Mum, he doesn't have to like them but he's not going to live with them, we are. And if he upsets you, I'll just put him out!”

She halted her progress and looked at him, and then she laughed, “Oh Caspar… you don't have to take everything your father and I told you so literally you know…. Now come on, help me put away these boxes before he….”

She had turned back to the boxes, putting them back one by one and stopped again when she remembered that this could be done magically. What was it that Ron had yelled to her in the Devil's Snare in First Year? “Are you a witch or what?” or something like that?

With a sigh, she drew her wand… and then her gaze fell upon one at the top of the pile left. Caspar, who had been packing all the while, picked it up before she could get to it and walked into the closet. She stopped him at once.

“Caspar, come back here a minute… what's that you got there?”

He paused, “What's the matter?”

“Can I see that box?” she asked.

He shrugged, “It's your gift, but if you keep ignoring them I'm going to take them all for me.”

She didn't reply as he handed it to her, she was too busy staring at the address on the plain brown package:

“To: Hermione Granger-Krum

Northbridge Manor,

Wiltshire, England”

“From: Amaranthe Montgomery,

Courtenay House,

Nice, France”

“Mum…?” asked Caspar, his expression changing from amusement to concern.

Still Hermione didn't hear him.

Almost completely forgetting his presence and the mess in the hall, she rose and headed down to the living room with the package in her arms. Caspar followed, watching quietly as she tore open the package on her way down, and then nearly tripped over the pouf in the living room causing the contents of the box to spill out unto the floor. She dropped to her knees before them and gasped.

Behind her, Caspar's eyes widened as he registered what he must be looking at.

From the box, now spread out at their feet, were photographs, hundreds of magical photographs where the people in them moved and sometimes seemed to have a life of their own. There were albums too, apparently filled to capacity, a scrapbook, a mini suitcase, shrunk to fit into the box and three letters.

Hermione tipped the box and dropped out the rest.

There were drawings, apparently made by young children from the somewhat incomprehensible, multicoloured swirls that covered them, curiously shaped arts and craft, two pairs of tiny shoes, a very ragged teddy bear and a banner that she started from as if burnt. It had come from the Quidditch World Cup qualifying rounds and the game that had widowed her. It was the colours of Bulgaria and someone had written across the top in white, much like Malfoy in Fourth Year, one word, “Viktorious”.

“Vatch this… you too Caspar… this game vill be quick…”

Caspar ignored it and her, deliberately turning his attention to a photograph that had fallen atop his shoe. He turned it over; she let the box escape her grasp to look over his shoulder at it.

There were two little girls. Both had thick black hair, both had familiar shaped brown eyes, both had smiles on and both were in their pyjamas. They were sitting in the garden, late on a sunny morning, and apparently in the city for in the background above the black corrugated iron fence and trees and shrub they could spy a few buildings. Someone was giving them directions on their pose, but they were laughing, ignoring them, and every few moments would whisper to each other with distinctly conspiratorial looks on their faces.

They needed no introduction; they could only be two: Maia and Aimee Black.

“Mum…” said Caspar.

Hermione reached into a pile of other loose photos nearby and drew out another. The same little girls were sitting in the stands of very familiar stadium, the banner above their heads and the letters “V” and “K” painted on their cheeks. They were waving it casually, the match had yet to begin and Hermione had to put her fist into her mouth to stifle her scream.

They had been seated merely feet from her—the section was familiar too—and she hadn't noticed. She hadn't known.

“In the absence of their father, we just thought, it would be less painful if you never saw them, if you never had to live with the knowledge that Harry wasn't there to raise them too…”

Caspar took one of the albums and opened them. The first page had a large photograph of the same girls, they could be no one else, but as new born babies. Tiny, pink, wrapped in blankets and in the arms of their father….

Hermione at once slammed the book shut and pushed it away from Caspar.

“Oh gods…”

And then suddenly the flames of the fireplace turned brilliant emerald green and billowed out towards them. Before they had time to move or even realise what was going on three figures stepped from the fire: Ron Weasley, his pregnant wife Luna, and their son, Harry.

The trio dusted themselves off, the pair on the floor never moved and it was a time before anyone noticed.

Luna tugged on Ron's arm; he looked down at them with a smile that faded away when he noticed the pictures on the floor.

The first words to escape anyone after a prolonged silence came from Ron, “I thought they were barking… the whole lot of them… it couldn't be… but it's true….”

Hermione drew up unto her haunches and closed her eyes, Caspar stood beside her.

Didn't she tell them that she would do it first? Didn't she tell them that she wanted to be the one to tell him?

Ron came closer, looking down at the photos spread around them and picked up the book Hermione had just pushed away from Caspar.

Even her breathing stopped.

Ron opened the book and froze too. A moment later, she heard him turning the pages, Luna stepped over with Harry, he and Caspar just looked at their parents and each other. The silence in the room was so absolute Hermione could hear her heart's pound in her chest echoing like the tick of the nearby clock.

And still she would not open her eyes.

And then, someone knelt down and gently held her shoulders. Hermione dared to peek and looked up to see Ron staring at her.

His expression was calm.

“Ron…” she began.

His expression remained calm, but deep in his eyes she could see a silent war. If he was angry he suppressed it, if he was disappointed he kept it to himself, but in his eyes she saw it and everything else. And then he told her, “When do you want to see them?”

Her eyes widened, she gasped, “You… y-you…”

He didn't let her finish, “Hermione… I don't know what happened… and I don't care…. Ginny sent an owl after you left… Hermione, I see those two girls every day and they're… they… I've never noticed it until… when do you want to see them?”

She looked down around them at the photos and books and said, “I have to explain this to you… I need to… y-you have to understand that… that we never meant to hurt you… I don't remember what happened, but I swear it…”

“Since when do you swear?” he asked, cutting her off.

“Please Ron,” she pleaded, her voice dropping to a whisper, “Don't make this a joke, this is serious. Please understand that we never wanted to hurt you, we should have told you… you should have known…. I… I am so sorry Ron…”

“Hermione…” he said, gripping her shoulders and forcing her to look up at him, “Hermione, just tell me when you want to see them, you can do it today if you want… or Saturday, they have no classes then, I'm sure Professor McGonagall would like to see you…”

“Ron…” she continued to plead, eyes filling with tears, fists crumpling his robes.

“Hermione… I… I don't want to hear it, it happened, it's over… just tell me when you want to see them and I'll make it happen…. Just don't ask me, don't try to explain… I don't… need to know anything. Harry… those two little girls… they think they have no one now… they have a whole family they haven't met yet…. do you want the school to send them to the Dursleys if this ever gets out?” he asked.

Tears spilled down her face, she shook her head.

“Good… then Saturday. You'll see them on Saturday, and whenever you want to tell them… tell them the truth, and who you are… I'll stand with you…” he told her. She looked surprised, and slightly relieved, but there was still fear. The relief and surprise fell away.

Thinking he was losing her, he continued, “We're a family, Hermione, the three of us were a family and every family has secrets… and should be able to depend on each other… and forgive…. I don't need to know what happened with you and Harry, eventually you would have told me… like always….”

“But Ron… this is… we did something…” she began to protest.

“LISTEN TO ME!” he roared at her, “I-don't-want-to-know… for eleven years I've lived with the thought that he's gone for good… he's not…. He lives… in them… he came back to us… he never left us… in them… so please Hermione, don't tell me and on Saturday we'll bring them home.”

She gave two sobs, and threw her arms around him, “I love you… I am so sorry… I love you so much… and I'm so sorry!”

He held her for a while, patting her hair, until Harry asked, “Is this visit over then?”

Everyone turned to look at him, Hermione smiled, Ron shook his head.

~*~*~*~

The ball went sailing over the wall, bounced a few times on the pavement, rolled across the road and came to a stop at his feet. Paul bent over and picked it up… just as the two little boys who had been playing with it, one red-haired, and the other dark, came bounding out behind. With brooms, towels tied round their necks and throwing about a tiny plastic ball they looked as if they had been playing Quidditch. He could barely remember the last time he had.

They paused when they saw him, he asked, “This is yours…?”

The dark-haired boy spoke up at once, “Yes sir, it's mine, can we have it back?”

He held it out for him and the two quickly came over for it. The red-head took it, said a quick “Thanks” and made to go away, the dark-haired boy remained.

“I'm Caspar, I've never seen you around here before, are you the new man who moved into the house down there?” he asked, pointing to the correct gate.

Paul smiled at him, “Yes—Caspar—I am. Paul Nicolas, nice to meet you… wait… Caspar Krum is it? I heard that you and your mother lived here…”

Harry standing across the street called, “Hey Caspar, let's go back in…!”

Caspar ignored him, “Yes… my Mum was going to bring you a Welcome Basket but she's been busy… so welcome.”

Paul smiled at him, “Thanks… I feel welcome… don't feel too bad about this but I've already received a number of baskets from our neighbours… I don't think I need any more.”

Caspar grinned, “You haven't tasted one of Mum's cakes… or Mrs Weasley's…”

Before Paul could reply to this, a woman's voice called from the gate from which the boys had just emerged, “Caspar… who are you talking to?”

He dare not look up then. He couldn't, he wouldn't… but the boy turned and immediately introduced him.

“Mr Nicolas, Mum, the man who just moved in here…”

“Who?” asked another voice, a man's, and he just had to.

Eleven years… he had not properly seen them in eleven whole years… and there they were, standing just across the street looking curiously at him. He would have ducked away were it not for the fact that they did not know him… or rather Paul. He would have run for it were it not broad daylight and they would think him crazy. Eleven long years… his choice… and all he could do now, was stand where he was and say, “Paul Nicolas… new neighbour, nice to meet you… um… well, I'm sorry, I only recognise Mrs Krum… you are?”

Another woman, with long, dirty blonde hair, wide, dreamy silvery-blue eyes and heavily pregnant, appeared behind them and fixed him a stare that made him decidedly uncomfortable. Luna, it was Luna Lovegood-Weasley.

The man introduced himself, “I'm Ron Weasley… you must be the first person I've met since school who doesn't know me…. This is my wife, Luna… our son, Harry… that's Caspar. You're Hermione's neighbour…? (His expression visibly darkened.) Haven't been chatting with Malfoy have you?”

That was Ron speaking to him, and he didn't recognise him. And not only that, but he had… he had named his son 'Harry'…. He had never had asthma, or panic attacks for as long as he could remember but there was always a first time for everything and he felt he was going hyperventilate now. He wrestled with himself to stay calm.

Paul arched an eyebrow, “Draco Malfoy… that's the former Death Eater isn't it… no, haven't met him. Don't think I want to either…. I've actually been at sea a while… went to school in South Africa… a world away from here…. Um, was just walking here when this ball came over… nice boys you have… this one here was just welcoming me to the neighbourhood. Me, Paul Nicolas being welcomed by the son of the best Seeker in the world, Viktor Krum… quite a welcome this is…”

Caspar smiled, and pointing back to Hermione said, “Someone has to teach her manners, you would think she didn't have parents…. Or that she saved the Wizard world…”

Paul turned to stare at her and Ron again, his jaw dropped, “Y-you're… Hermione Granger… and Ron Weasley… Harry Potter's friends… you people… you're heroes…! I may have been away from it all but not too much that I… I can't believe I didn't recognise you, it's an honour….”

He marched across the road to them and quickly and firmly shook both their hands. It was with considerable reluctance that he released Hermione's.

“I don't believe it… wow…!” he said.

Hermione smiled at him, and Ron looked a little embarrassed, Luna on the side of them kept staring at him, and now with what could only be suspicion.

“We're not that great, you know… just, really ordinary people who got very lucky…” Ron said, modestly.

“I don't believe that either,” Paul told him with a grin. “This is just, wow!”

Hermione laughed a little and said, “Ron… could never pull off modesty…”

There was a moment of awkward silence, they seemed to have run out of things to say, and Paul began, “Well… um, I'll be going now… have a lot to do today… it was nice meeting you… bye… bye Caspar…”

He barely waited for them to say goodbye before he was off, walking determinedly back to his own gate. But he had a moment of terror when Caspar, who had come over with him when he went to greet them, turned to his friend and said, “Come on Harry, I was in the lead…”

He almost stopped and turned at the sound of his name.

When he was there though, he paused as he opened the gate and dared a glance back to them. He couldn't take it, forget what Snape said, he had to see them… and his heart seized.

The boys and Ron and Hermione had gone, but Luna was still standing there looking at him. He was very sure that she couldn't recognise him, that she didn't know him… but the way she was looking at him.

He quickly vanished from her gaze.

-->

A/N: Quickly, new chapter, and apologies, in last author's note wrote Sir Horatio Nelson, when it should be Lord Nelson. Heh!

By the way, saw GoF, twice! It rocked but could have been longer.

~*~*~*~

Reunion

“Caspar…? Caspar, wake up! Wake up, Caspar!” sharply whispered Hermione, gently shaking her son awake.

“Mumm…?” he asked, groggily, before turning over and drifting off again.

“Come on, Caspar! Wake up! Mrs Weasley's waiting for you downstairs and Ginny's going to come any minute! Wake up! Wake up, it's time to get ready!” she commanded, shaking him again.

Caspar barely stirred this time.

She sighed, pulled the covers off, lifted him, and as he lazily protested, went to the door saying, “I told you to go to bed early last night… I told you that I wanted to go out today… why didn't you listen? Caspar, if you keep this up I'm not going to let you go back to the Weasleys!”

They were at the top of the stairs where the light flowed in through the nearby window, sighing at the end of her statement, she missed his slight smile.

That was the point of his disobedience.

She carried him all the way down to the kitchen where Mrs Weasley, already busily preparing breakfast and complaining about the lack of real food in the cupboards, turned to her and said, “I'll take him, give him here- you go up and get ready, Ginny should be arriving any minute.”

Hermione handed him to her, Caspar snuggled into Mrs Weasley's neck and she laughed, “Oh no, you don't! You have to wake up; the others are waiting for you.”

“Taking him to London today?” asked Hermione, taking advantage of a pot of freshly brewed coffee.

Mrs Weasley shook her head, “No, we're going down to Godric's Hollow…”

The sound of Hermione's cup breaking on the kitchen floor cut her off and started Caspar awake.

“M-Mum…?” he asked, now fully conscious and staring at her.

Mrs Weasley was calmer; she put him down and cleaned the mess.

Hermione barely acknowledged this, having gone rather pale, but she was conscious enough to ask, “W-what?”

“We're taking them to Godric's Hollow… and about to see some of the preparations for Hallowe'en and the anniversary celebrations. Don't worry dear, we'll keep him well away from the press…” said Mrs Weasley, casually.

Hermione was not pleased, “But… why, why would you…?”

“I wanted to see it,” said Caspar then, suddenly.

Hermione looked down to him, and the stubborn look on his face. He continued quickly, “Everybody talks about Harry, and his family, but I don't know him, and I wanted to see it. Don't be upset…”

For a time Hermione did not say a thing and just stood there staring between Mrs Weasley and Caspar. And then finally, her voice returned enough for her to say, “Eat your breakfast and get dressed Caspar… I should-I should get ready, Ginny will be coming any minute…”

With a last look at them both then, she left to get ready herself.

Through her shower, combing her hair and getting dressed after though, Hermione was lost in her thoughts. When she finally sat on her bed to put on her shoes, she was startled to find that she had gotten there. But she couldn't help it.

It was not so much that she was bothered by the morning's excursion to Godric's Hollow; she had actually planned on taking Caspar there herself sometime. She didn't mind that he was learning about that aspect of Harry's life, inevitably he would come to know of the horrors she and the others had faced in the war. She didn't even care that much that they were doing it without her permission, at his school a few of the children had wizard parents and she couldn't stop him from overhearing what they may say at times. But in her mind, the mention of Godric's Hollow reminded her of Harry, and Mrs Weasley's casual reply reminded her of the confession, and that combined to remind her of why she was rushing Caspar out of the house and waiting for Ginny.

Today was the day she would go to Hogwarts to see Ron, and Ron would introduce her to the twins.

A shoe in hand, she stopped to sink her head into her free palm.

How many days now was it? How many days now since she had learned the truth about them, and was still trying to believe it? How many days now since she had found the pictures of the twins and spoken to Ron and was trying to grasp that? How many times in those days since had she tried to steel her reserve to meet with the twins today knowing that she would have to leave without them after? How was she going to make it through today?

But she had to.

If she truly wanted to believe, if she truly wanted to understand, if she truly wanted to remember, or failing that, start with new memories of the twins and with them a part of her family, she had to.

At least Ginny would be around to help if she couldn't.

She released a sharp breath and began to put on her shoe again to clear her thoughts.

She didn't want to think of Ginny and Harry again, not today, especially not today. Those thoughts would make meeting the twins more difficult than it was already going to be. She knew how it was for her, but Ginny….

She stood and went to the mirror to survey her reflection.

She had to stop thinking of the others and just for today focus on herself. If she didn't do that, she could end the day no better than how she started it. It could be worse even too, the twins could think her crazy, or hate her.

She wouldn't be able to stand it if they hated her. She needed them to like her, to get to know her, to trust her, to understand something she barely did herself….

“Hermione, Ginny's here!” called Mrs Weasley from below.

“Bye Mum, we're leaving!” called Caspar after.

She heard the sound of the Floo Powder exploding in the fireplace, a moment of quiet, and then another burst. A second later, a voice called, “Hermione, are you ready to go?”

Ginny had come, it was time to go, but Hermione had not moved from her place on the bed.

“Hermione…?” called Ginny again.

On the nightstand beside her bed Hermione had placed a framed photograph she had taken from the album. The twins could be no more than five years old, dressed in full-skirt satin and tulle dresses, and seated in the ancient library of Grimmauld Place barefoot. She wondered how Mrs Black had taken to that, half-bloods weren't they? But more than that, she wondered how they had missed it. How come, despite being inhabited by the organisation that was most instrumental in the defeat of Lord Voldemort, they had missed the presence of two little girls and her nanny in the house?

That, more than anything, she didn't understand.

“Hermione…?” came Ginny's voice again, but softer, and Hermione looked up to find her in the open doorway.

“Are you ready to go?” she asked, and then her gaze fell on the portrait. “Is that them?”

Hermione nodded, Ginny stared at it a moment, and then said, “Come on, it's time to go.”

~*~*~*~

“Nicholas Flamel” was the password; the portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress swung open and then abruptly slammed shut. She narrowed her gaze at the student in the hall.

Dark hair in two long braids, the small girl was dressed in an ivory sweat-suit and trainers holding a long, slender magnificent broom over one shoulder and a smile on her face. Her features were familiar, very familiar, but let no one say that the Fat Lady didn't know her students. She sniffed at the girl and turned up her nose.

“You're not a Gryffindor… what's your business here?” she demanded.

Maia replied, “Bonjour Madame, my sister is, je suis Maia. I've come to get her for Quidditch, may I go in please?”

“There's no Quidditch today…” said the Fat Lady, returning to carefully scrutinising her.

“No, but there's Quidditch practice… now may I go in? I'm going directly to my sister's room, no where else,” Maia said, pleadingly.

The Fat Lady sat silently a moment, pretending to consider her answer, and then swung open, “Hurry in, dear… I was just pulling your leg. You're one of those twins, of course you can go in… but, I do have a duty to do too…”

Maia didn't hear half of her reply. With a hurried, “Merci!” she clambered in, and as the portrait came down behind her, she was left staring around the red and gold Gryffindor Common Room slightly open-mouthed.

Save for the colours, the windows allowing in the sunlight of the brilliant morning without and a view of the castle grounds and the portrait entrance, it was not too much different from Hufflepuff's. But she was more awed by the fact that it was exactly as her father had described it, that as she looked at it now he had seen it then, that Aimee was very lucky….

And that Philippe Weasley deserved to be tarred, feathered and sunk with a stone.

She had not seen him when she came in, but she heard him, “Never been surrounded by such finery eh…?”

Snapped out of her reverie, she looked down and found him lounging on one of the couches by the fire. Red hair mussed up (the apparent intention was a red-haired version of Harry Potter), still in his pyjamas and feet atop a table, he smirked at her (the actual impression was Draco Malfoy) and waved.

She rolled her eyes and continued on to the stairs. The room was mostly deserted around them, most of the students gone down to breakfast, some were not yet awake and others still sitting around barely noticed her. Philippe hopped off the couch behind her, and as she got to the stairs cut across in front of her.

“Where are you going, Gryffindors only!” he said, blocking her path to the girls' dormitories.

Maia narrowed her eyes at him, a retort at the tip of her tongue… and then relaxed. Folding her arms, and smiling, she replied, “Fine then, why don't you go and fetch Aimee.”

“I'm not your servant!” he spat.

“But you said it was Gryffindors only, and as you like to point out, I'm not a Gryffindor,” she told him.

He smiled at that, theatrically bowed to her and turned and headed up the stairs.

Halfway there though, he stopped, or rather, was stopped. A loud klaxon wail had sounded through the entire tower that started uproar all around. Some Gryffindors started yelling, a few others swore, someone threw something at a door somewhere above. The stairs turned to a slide, Philippe yelled and slid down to her feet.

Maia burst out laughing.

“I think you meant, girls only, and I am a girl!” she said, as he tried to sit up.

It was then that Aimee—dressed for the day in the matching outfit to her sister's, but pale lavender—slid down the stairs and landed on his back. His face dropped into the carpet again.

Maia ignored him, addressing her sister, “Finally, time to go, Captain Christensen wants to start early so he can have a practice after the match.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Aimee.

“Apapay layedpay, ehay antsway sauay otway laypay ootway,” she replied. <Papa played; he wants us to play too.>

Philippe rose off the floor, “Hey, you knew that was going to happen, didn't you…? (He levelled suspicious glances between them.) Hey! Wait… Captain Christensen…? Are you… are you going to try out for the team? Ha! What position are you going to play, Bencher? Cause that's the only good position on that whole team…!”

“Petrificus Totalus!” yelled Aimee, spinning suddenly, wand pointed straight at him.

His arms and legs snapped to his sides, his entire body going stiff and he fell at their feet. Maia snorted.

Someone over at the window said, “About time you shut him up… talks too much…”

A girl coming down the stairs then, had a different view, “Hey, I can deduct points for that! Unprovoked attacks against other students are against the rules!”

“Unprovoked…?” began Maia, shocked.

Aimee hastened to apologise, “Its Philippe, he was bothering us and…”

“That's not a reason to petrify him…” she scolded, glaring at them both, though for some reason her eyes seemed to tell a different story. Philippe was clearly not winning any popularity contests.

Drawing her wand she turned to him and muttered, “Finite Incantatem!”

Philippe fell free at once, the girl went on, “But you're lucky I'm busy at the moment… don't let me catch you at it again though!”

The girls shook their heads, and then raced out of the Common Room. Once they were in the hall though, they burst out laughing.

The Fat Lady fixed them a glare, a few nearby portraits did the same, but neither saw them. Maia giggled, “Did you see the look on his face…?”

“Even the prefect agreed with us… half of Gryffindor hates that prat…” said Aimee.

But their amusement wasn't to last for long for just as they started off again a hurriedly dressed Philippe bounded out from the portrait behind them, “You think that's funny, don't you? Well, I'm going to have me a laugh watching you try out for Hufflepuff, gods knows we're all going to every time you lot play!”

Maia rolled her eyes and fastened her hold on her sister's hand, “Come on, we have to get down to the pitch.”

Philippe though, did not leave the girls all the way down and out onto the castle grounds. Joined by two friends at the front door, and straightening his clothes all the while, he continued to joke behind them, making whistling noises like a bomb falling from the sky and squealing like a girl… until Maia could take it no more and turned on him.

He glared at her and her raised wand… and then his eyes widened, his two companions freezing as well.

Because she knew better, she knew it was not because of her that that had happened, even Aimee had stopped moving. Before she could turn back though, his voice changed to a high-pitched squeak, and he stammered, “Uh-Uncle Ron… and-and Mrs Viktor Krum!”

Maia straightened immediately and spun round, only to be stunned still.

Standing beside Professor Weasley, who was shaking his head at the sight of her drawn wand, was a woman. Pretty, of average build and slender, with brown bushy hair and bright brown eyes, she was dressed in fine robes of ocean blue. The last time they had really seen her, and especially this close, was in Bulgaria where her robes had been in her husband's colours….

It was Hermione Granger-Krum.

Hermione was staring at them both in turn, eyes slightly wide… and then broke into a smile. Releasing Professor Weasley's arm, she walked to them, reached a hand to their faces… and stopped just inches from Maia's. It seemed very much as if she wanted to touch them but for some reason was holding herself back. And then instead, she said, “I'm… I'm Hermione Granger… it's very nice to meet you, Ron told me that you asked about… that you'd been at the game…?”

Aimee replied first, “Yes ma'am… Miss Granger… we…”

She smiled again, and cut her off, “Please… call me Hermione…”

“Hermione,” Aimee repeated, “Um… yes, we were… h-he did…?”

“Yes, I did,” Professor Weasley replied, “Once, mind you, and being the complete nutter that she is, she insisted on meeting you after that… couldn't wait to come down here….”

He paused then, before breaking into a grin and began again, turning to Hermione, “Good, now we've seen them, let's get you back to your room where the nice men in the white robes will get you some tea…”

He petted her hair and gently tugged on her arm as if to lead her away. The girls laughed.

“Ronald!” scolded Hermione, her voice turning shrill as she turned to shrug him off.

There was an echo though, and the twins looked over her shoulder to find a beautiful young woman, with hair as fiery red as Professor Weasley's but brown eyes, standing with her.

“Aunt Ginny…?” came Philippe behind them, “What are you doing here?”

The woman came out from behind them and stood next to Hermione before the twins, “I decided to come with them, I've never seen Ron teach, needed a laugh.”

She flashed him a smile and turned to the twins, and much like Hermione had, she remained staring at them a while, before saying, “I'm Ginny Weasley, Ron's sister… so you're the Black twins I've heard so much about, which one of you is which?”

Maia spoke up, “I'm Maia, she's Aimee… it's nice to meet the both of you…. Um… you really came all the way here to meet us? Is this-is this about the paper…? And-and that woman who came to meet us…?”

Professor Weasley nodded, “Yes… and no, you see, we're the kind of people who don't really care about the papers much… well, except for my wife's. Pansy Parkinson is just a troublemaker you shouldn't worry about too much…. That said, they still wanted to meet you too, see how you were doing with all the attention… and I see they're in luck… trying out for the Hufflepuff team are you?”

Maia started at this, looked down at the broom in her hand and swallowed.

“Well, um… you don't-you don't have to look if you don't want to…” she said.

“Nonsense,” said Hermione, kindly. “I've never really liked Quidditch but I don't mind watching… and the young man behind you, Philippe Weasley I presume, are you trying out too?”

She walked past them to Philippe who looked very near faint.

“I'm-I'm a G-Gryffindor…” he replied, feebly.

Aimee's interest was Professor Weasley and Ginny though; both were staring at Hermione with very curious looks on their faces. When she turned to point this out to Maia, she noticed that she too had gone rather pale.

She nudged her in the side, “Reay ouyay kayoay?” <Are you okay?>

Maia nodded, unconvincingly, but there was no time to question this as a voice sounded over the grounds, “WILL ALL STUDENTS WHO WISH TO JOIN THE HUFFLEPUFF QUIDDITCH TEAM PLEASE MAKE THEIR WAY TO THE QUIDDITCH PITCH, CAPTAIN CHRISTENSEN IS WAITING FOR YOU!”

She swayed slightly, Hermione, who had turned round just then, gently steadied her. Bending slightly towards her, she asked, “Are you alright?”

This helped little, Maia went paler and Aimee replied for her, “She will be, she's just a little nervous, she really wants to play.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, and released her, “Well then, let's get down to the pitch then… I haven't been there in years… gods, I sound so old!”

“You're not,” said Aimee.

Hermione gave a little laugh, her cheeks deep rose, “What can I say to that?”

~*~*~*~

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” two words he never thought he would utter and never wanted to again.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” the Killing Curse, it took life: his parents, Cedric Diggory, Professor Dumbledore…. And then for him it also gave, destroying Voldemort it saved the world… destroying Voldemort, it gave him memories of a past he couldn't believe he had.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” an act of mercy, the Dark Lord fell, the pain was intense, blood trickled from his scar, eyes, ears and mouth… and then his life went flashing before his eyes: his parents' deaths… the dark cupboard… Hagrid bringing him from the Dursleys… displaying the sword of Godric Gryffindor for Professor Dumbledore… reaching for the Triwizard Cup with Cedric… his first kiss with Ginny….

He had to be dying, that was how they usually described it. This was his life, his past….

Hermione's greedy kisses… her tears in the rain… tiny movement in her stomach under his palm… her nervous smile descending the stairs of Grimmauld Place, the veil in her hair swinging slightly… two, tiny, fidgeting, screaming infants in a bassinet… “Hey Harry, look at this!” the babies rolling over unto their stomachs and trying to lift their heads… “Maia can sit up!” a laughing child sitting up beside her slumbering sister…

“NO! You can't make me do this; I'm not going to choose!”

“Then I'm leaving you here, because you can't come with them, with the memory of them!”

“You… how dare you do this! You can't make me choose! I won't do it Harry, I don't have to and I won't!”

“I'm not making you do anything! You don't have to… just stay with them, stay here, don't come back with me!”

“I can't…”

“Then you've just let them go.”

“You know what hurts me the most…? The fact that you can do this to me…”

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” he yelled, Voldemort died, and he scampered away from the fallen body in the middle of the darkened forest and ran. He didn't know why he was running then but he did.

His heart racing, ragged heavy breathing, stumbling and tripping over the undergrowth, sweat, both warm and cold, flowing down his back…. He had to go somewhere… get away… something was wrong… he needed help….

What he had just seen… what… what was that…? Where did it come from? He forgot all about winning the war, he had to find out… he didn't understand… what… what was that?

To this day he still could not understand why his legs took him there. He needed answers, of that he was sure, and that he understood, but why there? Personally, he was quite sure that he was not in charge of them that night of Hallowe'en.

He was not in control of anything.

But still they led him there, he went and after ten minutes of insistent rapping, the door swung open, and he dove upon the occupant, “What did you do to me? WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO ME?”

“Calm down Mr Potter, it is merely a simple memory potion—well, not that simple—but all you have seen are your memories returning, it is wearing off… release me,” said Snape.

Harry did so at once, only to grasp his collar again and demand, “WHY THE HELL DID YOU GIVE ME A MEMORY POTION?”

“Release me… (Harry reluctantly did and stepped away) some of your memories… are a little too 'precious' to allow the Dark Lord, or his supporters from what your condition suggests, to know…. Your wife's should be returning shortly,” Snape told him, straightening his collar.

“My… what?” asked Harry, and was greeted by the feeling of his head swimming. He swayed slightly and backed into the door.

“Your wife,” replied Snape, “Miss Granger… my apologies, the young Mrs Potter took the potion as well, her memories should be returning soon enough.”

“Hermione? Hermione married me? She's Ron's girlfriend, why would she marry me?” asked Harry.

Snape sighed, “I have no time to help you navigate the mass confusion of your relationships… but I do suspect her pregnancy had something to do with it.”

“Her what? She wasn't… we didn't… I'm not…” protested Harry.

“Think! Your memories hold all the answers, for the first time in your life, think!” Snape snapped. “I have no time to lie for you, to lie to you! The fact of the matter is that after your friend foolishly got hurt, you slept with his girlfriend, I found you out, Mrs Weasley had you married and then you decided to put away those memories for safekeeping. Now they're back, think and you'll see that I'm not deceiving you!”

It took a while but presently the images that had first swirled in his head on the cold forest floor came tearing back in frenzy. He fell back unto a nearby seat and let his head fall into his hands. The fury with which they went through his mind in blinding, flashing lights and a mixture of cries and voices made his head hurt almost as much as his scar did usually. He opened his eyes when he could take it no more and looked up at Snape.

“When… when will she remember?” he asked.

“I don't know… it could be hours, a matter of days… or worse… it depends on how you regained yours… or a trigger of some sort…. Tell me, how did you regain yours?” Snape asked.

And it was then that Harry realised what had just happened. After running all that way, all that way to the hiding place of Severus Snape, Harry realised that he had killed the Dark Lord. His mouth fell open and he stammered, “I… I uh… I killed him… Voldemort's dead…”

Snape gave a slight nod as if this were common knowledge and then asked, “Did your friends see you… do they know that it is over and you are alive?”

Harry shook his head, “N-no… I uh… um, I didn't stick around to tell them… I just came here…. Wait a minute, pregnancy? Wuh-where's the baby…?”

“Babies… at Grimmauld Place, I have not been there in weeks so I do not know how they are, but both girls are walking now… what exactly happened when you killed the Dark Lord?” asked Snape in reply.

Harry did not answer, instead he rose at once—which he instantly regretted—and made for the door.

Snape watched him stagger a moment and said, “I fear, that at this late hour they are both, and their guardian, asleep. If you wish to see them in the morning I can take you, but first Mr Potter, let's make sure that we've won.”

Harry continued to the door, ignoring him, then fell to his knees and grasped the doorknob until his knuckles were white to support himself.

He was weak, thoroughly exhausted, but he had to go on, he had to see them, find the others and go home. He had to get up….

He was going nowhere though.

The last thing he knew before he fell into the welcome vacuum of sleep, was Snape coming over to lead him away, saying, “Come away from there Mr Potter, it will all be sorted out shortly, but I think you need to rest…”

He would “rest” for four days, then awaken to a world that thought him dead, or as the Daily Prophet proclaimed, “The Death Eaters' Triumph: Harry Potter Sacrifices Self to Save the World!”

If only, that was true.

Save for exhaustion, the remnants of malnutrition and a few cuts and a scratch, Harry Potter was very much alive. His current condition was “for their own good”, it allowed them to “have the lives they deserved”, to “give them peace”… or so it was claimed.

How foolish he was to believe that.

Hermione, Ron, forgive him.

In those first hazy days after the battle too, he was so weak that he depended heavily on Snape in his little shack home in Spinner's End. With Peter Pettigrew dead, and many of the other Death Eaters unaware of his home, Snape managed to keep him rather secret. This eased Harry's mind—at times deep in paranoid dreams—little.

More than once he imagined that Snape was trying to kill him, and especially when he advised him that it was best to maintain his “death”. That it was quite dangerous for him not to do so, that it would only bring harm to his friends and his children, that it was best. Weak in mind and body, he agreed… but he was suspicious. If he killed him in his sleep, who would know?

Then Snape took him to see his daughters.

Maia and Aimee, only seventeen months old, toddled over to him with wide, curious eyes and smiled. He picked them up, couldn't sustain them, and put them down again. How beautiful they were, how innocent of the world around them, how fortunate—added Snape—that they didn't resemble him or their mother too much.

With Amaranthe's coaxing, and Snape's disapproval, the twins even called him “Papa”. He doubted they could connect the face in the album they had with the man they saw before them though… another luxury according to Snape.

Amaranthe told him everything she could of her ten months with them. They walked on their first birthday, their first word was “Quidit”—which she assumed to be “Quidditch”—she was already starting them on their potty-training and Aimee was showing signs of an academic mind—she had her own little library in the nursery and was always found in a pile of books. She was honoured, she said, that she could take care of the children of the man who saved the world.

She wouldn't know yet that she would be caring for them for much longer than those ten.

Snape ended their visit early, Harry protested, but his weakened state meant that he went nevertheless. He promised the twins he would see them again, that he would relieve Amaranthe as soon as he could and that Hermione would be with him. She smiled sadly as she closed the door behind them.

He wondered if she knew it then, for he would never see the twins again.

As a matter of fact, the next time he would see any one of his world again, would be the night before Hermione married Viktor Krum. He travelled all the way to Bulgaria determined to stop the wedding… and couldn't. Snape's words echoing in his head: “Let this be, the only thing you can give her now is pain. She will not forgive you for leaving in the first place, she will never for ruining her chance at a normal life. And especially, Mr Potter, when you know full well that you can only bring her and everyone else their deaths.” Snape had been there waiting for him in the hotel when he arrived and talked him out of it. It was just like when he had talked him into going away for good years before.

“You must make arrangements to leave, find a house somewhere… remote, somewhere they cannot find you, somewhere you will not be recognised.”

“Why? After the war, who's not going to recognise me?”

“Because it is dangerous for you to go back to your friends now, and folly for you to dismiss the threat of the Death Eaters, Bellatrix will stop at nothing until you're dead!”

“I don't care about Bellatrix, I killed her master, and I'll kill her too!”

“When… after Miss Granger or Mr Weasley is dead? Miss Granger was almost killed in that attack on her home, you read about it, and if I'm not mistaken you were there. I told you not to go. Do you wish to have her join them again so soon?”

“I can protect them! I will protect her!”

“Get away from here Mr Potter, get away or you'll soon be burying them!”

“I can protect them; I've done it before…”

“And what, of your daughters? Unlike Mr Weasley and Miss Granger who at least may be able to resist, those two children cannot protect themselves. You do them more harm by returning than staying away, and you'd be a fool to forget that!”

What a fool he was indeed.

But now, the world was righting itself. He wished he could be there with her when it did.

~*~*~*~

“A Silver Arrow II, wow! Um… I mean… whatever, probably a cheap knockoff…” said Philippe from his place in the stands, comfortably seated between Ron and Hermione, looking on as the Hufflepuff team tryouts began.

Down on the field, the twins had just unveiled Maia's broom. Half of the line turned to look at it.

Hermione looked at Philippe and turned to Ron, “What's so good about that broom?”

Ron gave her an incredulous stare, “Are you kidding? That broom is the best since the Firebolt under professional level! Isn't your son Caspar Krum?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, sighed, and asked, “Forget that, where did she get that broom?”

“Her father,” Ron replied.

Immediately, Ginny beside him started choking on her drink, Hermione dropped the Omnoculars in her hands and had to nervously scramble for it before it tumbled out of the stands altogether. Philippe, a world away in his thoughts, noticed nothing.

Ron hastened to explain.

“I think it was their 'Tantie Marie' who bought it, I mean, he must have made some kind of arrangement so they had money… she just bought it and told them that he sent it.”

“Why not tell them the truth?” demanded Ginny, her tone barely concealing her anger.

“Sometimes, it's not that simple,” said Ron. The dark look in Hermione's eyes then told that she disagreed, he did too, but it was true.

A lanky, white-blonde haired, blue-grey eyed Fifth Year, Captain Ethan Christensen appeared from the changing rooms flanked by his team and trailing a large trunk behind him. In the trunk were the Quidditch balls: the Quaffle, for scoring, the two Bludgers, to knock players off, and the Snitch, for the Seeker to catch. Today they only needed the Snitch, Ron tended to think they should use all, find a new team… but he dare not say that aloud. Hermione surely had a Hufflepuff bias now.

Attention diverted from Maia's broom, a quiet descended over those lined up. Aimee took the time to slip off the field and find a place in the stands. Ron called her up to them, she hesitated a while, as if unsure if it was really okay, and then went on up.

Helping her into a seat directly before them, he asked her, “How's your sister doing, Miss Black?”

“She'll be fine,” Aimee said, “Tantie Marie said Papa was a Seeker, so it's in our genes… if I want to believe her that is. She wasn't really our aunt…”

“He was…” said Hermione, suddenly, her voice insistent.

Everyone, including Aimee turned to her, she quickly amended, “I'm sure he was… she was protecting you, I don't think she would lie about that.”

Aimee shrugged, “For Maia, I hope she wasn't.”

The Captain went to the centre of the field, set down the trunk with his team-mates, and freed the Snitch, taking care to hold it tight. Turning to the line, he looked around a while and then began, “Quite a number we have out today… (There were actually about twenty students in the line, the news of Mrs Viktor Krum had brought the rest) but all I want is for one of you to catch the Snitch. Almost anyone can, actually, but if you want to play Quidditch you better be the first, faster than the other players, so… hop to it!”

He raised his arm and released the small winged golden ball to the air. One by one the students gathered mounted their brooms to chase and capture it. The end result was somewhat entertaining.

One boy zoomed around the pitch for nearly half an hour, every few moments or so shooting off after a flash of gold he thought to be the Snitch. He had one of the faster brooms, a Comet Five Hundred, but handled it as if he had never flown before. Ron tried his very best to stifle his calls for Christensen to call him down. And then, finally, he descended empty-handed, only for Captain Christensen to release the Snitch that had flown past him some moments before and he caught without moving an inch.

Another student, a girl, gave up early. After the Snitch had flown past her a few times, on one occasion almost dancing on her nose, she flew down crying and ran off the field. Ron chuckled a bit, and Hermione glared at him.

Still another girl flew in a straight line, and not more than a few feet off the field. She looked so afraid to display whatever flying ability she had that Captain Christensen called her down, or rather, over, and told her to come back later when there was no one else around.

There was a mild intermittence, where the students flying were passable and sent to the sidelines to wait for a second try, and then it was Maia's turn.

Both Ginny and Hermione straightened in their seats. Ron just stopped himself from doing the same. Aimee gave no outward sign of anxiety but there had to be something. Maia Jae Black was the daughter of Harry Potter, and though he wasn't the best Seeker in the world (that honour still belonged to Viktor Krum), he was good enough that his daughters had to have some talent.

Philippe yawned, stretched and dropped an arm behind Hermione. She barely noticed, Ron removed it with a pointed look and returned his attention to the field.

Like the Firebolt before it, the Silver Arrow II, once Maia had set it down, rose to hover beside her, ready for her to mount it. Streamlined, sleek and made of willow, the broom boasted of the latest anti-jinx, braking, steering and cushioning technology. Not a stalk was out of place; no errant twigs could be spotted on the handle and handwritten at the tip in real silver was the name underlined by the pictograph of a hunting arrow.

Though they had all seen it before, they still had to look at it again.

Maia climbed atop the broom, settled herself, and Captain Christensen released the Snitch. It vanished almost immediately, and then she rose after it, but slowly.

If she was marking the position, Ron could not tell, and nor did she give any indication that she was really pursuing it. She climbed first to the height of the others' heads, then the goalposts, then the stands, and close enough so that she could look at the small crowd gathered, and then finally above them all with her eyes scanning the sky and then the stadium round.

Philippe muttered, “I knew I would have a laugh, what does she think she's doing? You can't do that when they're other players on the field…”

“But there aren't any now,” said Aimee.

“That's not the point; can you two really play Quidditch? Even when there aren't other players…” and he was suddenly drowned out by the roar of the crowd.

They turned to find Maia diving at a speed that had Hermione rise from her seat to watch her go while Ginny gripped Ron's arm so tight he felt it going numb. She disappeared into the ditch that ran round the stadium and possibly did a lap before shooting up again by the goalposts and soaring as high as she dared above them all. That earned her a rousing applause that died as she settled into scanning the air again, having lost the Snitch once more.

Ron felt like applauding the broom though. It turned at the drop of a hat, the speed it accelerated to in a matter of seconds was certainly not for the faint of heart and though Maia handled it expertly—no doubt having well learned during the summer—it seemed to need no direction from her when it came to pursuit. With one of those on the Gryffindor team, once he convinced them that they needed a new Seeker, they would be unstoppable. Aimee surely flew as well as her sister.

And then she was off again, leaning forward, arm outstretched, concentration firmly on the little golden ball just flitting out of reach… and then it was over. She slowed again, straightened up and casually descended to Captain Christensen and handed him the Snitch.

Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Aimee delivered a standing ovation. Ginny actually screaming above the crowd, but amazingly out of Aimee's hearing, “She flies just like Harry!”

Hermione concurred, Philippe and the others were less enthusiastic, and a few muttered complaints about the broom.

Maia didn't care.

She grinned at them in the stands and went across to the others lined up for a second turn; Ron didn't see the need for one.

Hermione turned to look at him then with a smile on her face that he hadn't seen since she proudly displayed the newborn Caspar to the world. He returned it as best he could and whispered, “My belated Mother's Day gift, now what do you say?”

She looked puzzled a second and then shook her head, “Thank you, Ron.”

~*~*~*~

When Maia finally left the Quidditch field after her first practice with the team it was sunset. Long rays of golden light, lancing through the hot pink and violet of the evening sky, followed her across the lawns and into the castle. The cool air whipped at her sweat-suit and now messy ponytail, and put a deep blush to her cheeks. Her tired limbs barely supported her and her broom all the way down to the basement past the kitchens to the Hufflepuff dormitory. But it was with a victorious smile that she uttered the password that revealed the trapdoor to the Hufflepuff Common Room, and climbed down to find Lixue, and Aimee, waiting for her.

She gave them both a weary smile, and then collapsed onto one of the couches.

Aimee grinned, “You did it! You actually did it!”

“I know…” replied, Maia lazily. For some reason though, she could barely keep her eyes open.

Aimee plopped unto the chair beside her and whispered, “Amamay awsay ouyay oday tiway ootway!” <Mama saw you do it too!>

This brought a fresh grin to her face and she turned to her sister with her brightest smile, “Ego nowkay!” <I know!>

Lixue joined them on the chair, “I heard about it when I was in 'le bibliothèque'. Are you ready for your first match? Rhiannon is Slytherin Seeker and now that you two aren't talking—why is that, by the way—you better be prepared for their attack.”

Maia gave a weak shrug, “I don't care. Quidditch is in my blood, our grandfather, and father played, so I should be reasonably good…”

“Reasonably good…? You were great, and even when they made you go on the Captain's broom! I wish I had that kind of talent!” said Lixue. “Both my parents played Quidditch here and I'm horrible!”

Maia smirked, “Horrible? Well, that's putting it mildly. And besides, even if you were any good you would waste the entire game staring at Christensen. We all know you fancy him!”

Lixue blushed, and looked the other way.

Aimee took over, whispering, “Amamay ightmay omecay otway eesay hattay amegay, nday hetay omanway ithway erhay aidsay ouyay lyfay ikelay Apapay!” <Mama might come to see that game, and the woman with her said you fly like Papa!>

Maia snapped round to face her at that, “Hesay idday?” <She did?>

“Oui, nday Amamay greeday!” she told her. <Yes, and Mama agreed!>

“What do you two talk about when you do that?” asked Lixue, finally turning back to them, and looking anywhere but at the door. (Captain Christensen had just entered the Common Room.)

“Nothing,” replied the twins, together.

“Yeah right, you only do that when you don't want anyone to know what you're saying. Is it about Philippe, I know he fancies one of you,” said Lixue.

At this both girls made gagging sounds, and Maia gripped her throat as if she were choking. Lixue was not amused.

“You think you're so funny, but you're not!” she muttered, grumpily.

Her grumpiness would fade into a nervous, embarrassed silence though, when Captain Christensen suddenly appeared before the couch and said, “Good job, Miss Black—Maia is it?—Well, yeah, good job, see you next practice Tuesday afternoon.”

The twins nodded, Lixue tried not to look at him, and once he was gone, disappearing to the boys' dormitory, Aimee said, “She did it again!”

“What? I didn't do anything…” started Lixue.

“You're right, you just sat there trying not to look at him… hey, now that I'm playing would you mind if I told him about you…?” asked Maia.

“Don't you dare…” she protested.

The twins began as if they didn't hear her, “Ooh, can you imagine the wedding?”

“She could have it in Marseilles… or Versailles, Versailles is always pretty…”

“But Marseilles is warmer…”

“How about Monaco, remember when we went there?”

“Yeah…”

Lixue rose with a huff and stormed away, which made them burst out laughing behind her while calling apologies in between.

Once she was gone though, Maia turned to her sister and asked, “Idday Amamay skay nythingay boutay suay?” <Did Mama ask anything about us?>

“Otnay eallyray, hesay ustjay… tiway asway trangeway, ikelay hesay idntday nowkay suay…” Aimee replied. <Not really, she just… it was strange, like she didn't know us…>

“Owhay… idday hesay entionmay Apapay?” asked Maia, her brow furrowed slightly as she puzzled over Aimee's reply. <How… did she mention Papa?>

“Onay, nlyoay henway hesay aidsay ouyay lyfay ikelay imhay, hatway oday ouyay akemay foay hattay?” she told her. <No, only when she said you fly like him, what do you make of that?>

There was a moment of silence, and Maia began in English, “I don't know. Tantie Marie always told us that it wasn't safe to talk to Mama or Papa. But then Papa always had her buy things for us anyway, and when she died she left us his address in that letter…”

Aimee continued, “And Mama never did, and then suddenly we get this visit today, and she doesn't even mention him. I always thought they spoke to each other?”

“Me too,” replied Maia. “But maybe they didn't. And then you said that it was like she didn't know us, how could that be? How can you forget your children?”

“You think she forgot?” asked Aimee.

“I don't want to say that she doesn't know us, I don't think that she could not know something about us…. Unless Professor Weasley and that woman—Ginny—doesn't know… but…. Oh, this is all too confusing! And we have more important things to worry about than trying to figure out if Mama remembers us or not,” said Maia.

“She said we could write to her, even gave me the address, which is also why I'm down here,” Aimee added then.

When her sister looked to her in surprise, she drew a slip of parchment from her robes. Scrawled on in a neat script were the address of a house in Wiltshire and the name of the owner, Hermione Granger.

Maia snatched it from her and looked it over in shock, and then her face fell, “Oh, but this makes it worse now.”

“What, how?” Aimee asked, now confused.

“Like I was going to say, it's not going to change that we still have to go to school here, and that news spreads fast in this place. If anyone saw her give you that, and since everyone saw us talking to her, it won't take long before the whole school knows. And when the whole school knows, the press will, and it will be just like when that woman came. Tantie Marie always complained that Uncle Sirius' family would be trouble for us,” Maia explained.

After a time to swallow this bit of information, Aimee said, “At least we get to speak to her and Papa now, and that makes it all worth it.”

“But we don't have an owl, and using a school owl isn't safe enough as it is,” said Maia.

At this, Aimee said, “I told that to Mama, and all she said was to look to the skies at sunset on All Hallow's Eve, whatever that means….”

-->

A/N: In some reviews, some of you said that Harry's reasoning for leaving is kind of weak, and saying that there is more to it than that might be weak too, but there is more. The original plan for this story consisted of 28 chapters—though it is doubtful it will be that long—and that was just chapter nine. However, I do know that there are some weak points in this story too; I am trying to fix them. I apologise for that, there are far too many mistakes so far already and I'm not sure that I should pull the entire story altogether and start over.

Hopefully this chapter answers some more questions.

Thanks to all who reviewed, constructive criticism keeps me on track when I slip up sometimes.

One more thing, sorry for the banter between the twins, I just cannot do them well, I love them but I can't do it.

Disclaimer: I would love to own this stuff; I would know what happens in book 7 rather than having to wait two years or more like everyone else. But I don't. *sigh*

~*~*~*~

Hallowe'en

As it always was every Hallowe'en, Hogwarts' Great Hall had been prepared for a grand feast. Spider-webs and floating candles, Jack o' Lanterns, fake bats and curious fairy lights, tables lined with sweet treats, meats and drinks, and of course, a grand, pumpkin-garlanded, animated portrait of Harry Potter pursuing the Snitch against the back wall, it was very grand indeed. The enchanted ceiling above revealed a clear starry night, the school ghosts weaved their way between candles and pointed hats just under it, and most wonderful of all, and probably to Professor McGonagall at least, as the staff took up their places at the main table the students rose for a rousing rendition of the school song.

Ron searched for, and found, the twins at their tables with their friends, singing as loudly as the others. He wasn't too sure they properly knew the song, but amidst the voices of their thousand-strong schoolmates who could tell the difference? He smiled at them both, they grinned back, and he continued on to the main table.

Once the song had ended, and all were comfortable in their seats, Professor McGonagall rose to speak.

“First of all, I would like to say, thank you. Thank you, and goodnight, to all of you wonderful students, and especially for that welcome just now. I have never been so honoured.”

Smiles appeared on almost every face; she smiled back, and continued.

“Now, tonight, as you all well know, is a very important night for us all, and when I say all, I mean Wizards and Muggles alike. On this night, eleven years ago… and maybe, twenty years before that, Harry Potter defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort. We have always celebrated this night, but since then we have had twice the reason. We toast his victory at the same time that we commemorate a special night for Wizarding kind, and I am glad to see that you all hold it in as high regard as it rightly deserves.”

There was slight applause, Philippe and friends took a few bows, much to Ron's disappointment, and then he realised that they were all standing, staring at him and applauding louder.

His face went as red as his hair, he was sure of it, but if they noticed, they didn't care. They had actually done the same thing every year since his arrival at the school, and did not seem likely to tire of it any time soon. He was a hero, like Harry and Hermione, like that Mr Nicolas had pointed out, and as long as he was alive, he was probably going to have to endure being treated like one.

Funny, a lifetime ago he would have revelled in it.

Professor McGonagall allowed the applause to continue for some time, before raising her hand for silence, and when it fell, gravely began again.

“But on this night that we celebrate a victory… we must also remember a defeat. For, as you also well know, when Harry Potter saved us, there was a cost… his life. He courageously and selflessly paid it, thinking only of his friends, of his family, of you…. So, when we feast tonight, we also feast in his memory, and I beg all of you to remember that, to acknowledge it and Hogwarts' treasured son, Harry Potter.”

Every head in the hall, and that included the ghosts, and with some ease, Nearly Headless Nick, bowed for a moment of silence. Even Peeves the Poltergeist gave it a rest.

Then one by one they rose and began to applaud again, this time turning to the animated portrait.

Whistling, clapping and then eventually, singing the school song once more, Ron thought it the finest honour anyone could give Harry. No fancy speeches, select guests, fireworks or songs, it was perfect. Harry never really liked that stuff anyway.

Professor McGonagall then waited until an encore of the school song was finished to say, “Now that we have honoured and remembered, I believe it is time to eat!”

One more round of applause, this time punctuated by calls that they concurred, and the feasting began.

Professor Theoden leaned over then and said, “I wonder if the Ministry of Magic can top this… though Gilderoy Lockhart's speech should be a laugh.”

Ron growled, “If I catch him alone in a dark alley it will be, that git almost cost me my sister!”

“We know Ron,” said Padma, “but I heard that your brothers are going to be there, they'll take care of him, and knowing Fred and George, they'll provide the dark alley too.”

That brought a smile to his face; Professor Theoden leaned over again, “Are the lovely Miss Granger and son going to be there too, it is her first Hallowe'en back with us, isn't it?”

Ron shook his head, “Hermione has… other plans for tonight, or so she told me. And she's gotten over Lockhart so she won't be too disappointed that she missed it.”

“Here's missing something… why didn't you tell me that she and your sister were here last week?” asked Theoden, a mischievous look in his eye. “I only found out from the Prophet that evening, 'Reunion: Hermione Granger Makes Surprise Visit to Former School!' I thought we were friends.”

“It was exactly what they called it, a surprise visit, even I didn't know about it until they came through the fireplace,” lied Ron. “They said they wanted to see me teach… on a Saturday. If they just wanted to spend a day making me miserable all they had to do was say that Mum was swearing off cooking for Christmas…. Hermione did promise to come back again though, soon, but I don't know, she's missed a lot of work, they're going to let her go if she misses any more.”

“Any idea why that is?” asked Padma, though her tone wasn't an inquisitive one.

“No,” said Ron, lying again, “gods knows what happened to her in Bulgaria, she's not the same person I went to school and war with. Krum is very lucky he's dead, or I'd be killing him now.”

He refused to feel guilty about lying to them; they weren't as close to him as Harry and Hermione had been. He could tell them the truth a little before Hermione planned to announce it to the world, but not much more than that.

Hermione still had no memory of everything though she had the pictures, and a few stiff conversations with Mrs Weasley and Lupin. The potion they had given her had no antidote, it either naturally wore off or there was a trigger. The brewer of the potion, apparently Severus Snape, also suggested that Hermione was suppressing something, which prevented the potion from wearing off.

Ron did not like or trust Severus Snape, therefore he did not believe any of that.

Theoden was speaking again, “I hear that Maia Black is the new Hufflepuff Seeker, I hope she knows that when Hufflepuff plays Slytherin we will not be merciful. Gryffindor hasn't won since Harry Potter left and they reopened Hogwarts, Hufflepuff hasn't won for longer than that… I would hate to see her have a bad first year at a new school.”

Ron smiled, “But she flies well, shame she isn't a Gryffindor, her sister doesn't seem interested…”

And then suddenly, the twins rose from their tables and hurriedly exited the Great Hall. He allowed his voice to trail off watching them disappear, and then asked, “Are they… are they allowed to do that…? They just ran off…”

The other two turned with him, but only to see Philippe rising from his place as well, and darting off behind them.

Padma began, “Well… there is no rule that says you have to attend the Hallowe'en feast…”

“I think we should follow them,” suggested Professor Theoden as Philippe's head finally disappeared through the doors.

“Are you insane?” demanded Padma, “If the three of us leave we'll draw attention… we need a spy…”

Ron sat puzzling a moment and then looked up with a smile, “I have one—Dobby!”

At once, and behind them with a small “pop” appeared the tiny, leathery, bug-eyed, knit-hat-wearing house-elf of his childhood. Padma turned with a gasp, Professor Theoden looked less startled, and Ron ignored them both to ask, “Dobby, how's it going? Good, no time to catch up but I was wondering… would you be interested in doing some work for me like you did for Harry in Sixth Year?”

“What work…?” asked Padma.

Dobby's bright green eyes lit up as if by lanterns, he stood almost on the tips of his toes and said earnestly and excitedly, “Yes sir! Anything for Harry's Wheezy! What is it?”

He ignored the snickering of his companions at “Wheezy” to say, “I want you to follow my nephew—you know him—and a pair of girls, the French twins. You may not know them but…”

“Oh Dobby knows lots about them, sir! They come to visit Dobby sometimes in the kitchens, sir!” started Dobby, cutting him off.

Ron suppressed the urge to wonder aloud the deepening enigma of the twins, and said, “Good Dobby, that's very good…. Here's what I want you to do, find them, wherever they are right now in the castle, and follow them—out of sight—see what they're up to, and then come back and tell me later… can you do that?”

In reply, Dobby vanished with a barely audible “pop”.

“Well then, that's that, now we wait,” said Padma.

Ron nodded, “Yeah, wait.”

~*~*~*~

“Reunion: Hermione Granger Makes Surprise Visit to Former School!

For the first time in fifteen years, and just months after her return to Wizarding England, Hermione Granger has re-visited her alma mater, the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Long-time friend, Ron Weasley, is Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at the prestigious academy and is rumoured to be the reason for this week's visit. But this did not hamper Miss Granger from joining the intrigue surrounding the Black twins. She reportedly was also a spectator at the school's Quidditch tryouts and was seen in the company of one of the sisters.”

Closing and folding the paper, Paul casually discarded it before joining the line going into the stadium.

When exactly had the Daily Prophet become a tabloid? Not one report in the entire paper was actual news anyone could care for. Well, there was that one thing about the Minister for Magic's plans to award Hermione, Ron and himself with yet another Order of Merlin commendation.

He scoffed at that, it and the ceremony today was just another way for the Ministry to serve their own interests. Whether he liked it or not he was still their “poster boy”.

The stadium being used today had been erected deep in the Welsh countryside on rented land much like had been done for the Quidditch World Cup in his Fourth Year. The customary Muggle-Repelling, security and secrecy charms had been set up, the Aurors at the gates went over everyone entering with Secrecy Sensors and once beyond them, they were hurriedly ushered to their seats.

They were taking no chances for trouble, the Death Eaters or supporters (so called “neo-Death Eaters”) would certainly love to get their hands on an opportunity.

Drawing his wool robes closer round him, Paul strolled lazily up to his seat in the stands, the ones closest the Minister's box. It was cold out, stars dotted the moonless sky like sequins on a black, velvety gown and he had to wonder why he was really out here. A chilly night wind whipped across the stadium, and he turned his gaze down to the main stage where last minute decorations were being added to a large, animated portrait of him.

Why had he come here?

He could have been at home, in his warm bed or before the fire reminiscing. Reminiscing about a past where maybe it was all simpler, just the straightforward find and stop Voldemort and go home the hero. And waiting, waiting for the not-so-simple present to come crashing down around him.

But he wasn't. How many could boast of attending their memorial?

A familiar voice, a flash of red hair tossed in the wind, and Paul turned to find that he was being deluged by the Weasleys making their way to their own box in the stands.

How lucky was he?

Sons, daughters-in-law, children, Mr and Mrs Weasley… when last had he seen them? There was Ron, but never like this, never all together and so close that they were bumping into him as they passed. He stepped back out of their way… and then spied Ginny and Neville.

At this he paused and dared to hope, would she come too?

It was a desperate thought, but she had to be there. Ginny had been with her at the school, so surely she would come here with her now. Hadn't Hermione and Ginny been close friends before? It wouldn't take long for them to be as they were then again. They could fall out and still be friends; there was no way that they weren't together now. And with Ginny getting married… she had been with Hermione every step of the way with Viktor….

But the last up the stairs, and the others had to pause and wait for her, was Luna and her son. And he barely had time to swallow his disappointment before she turned her gaze directly to him and said, “Mr Nicolas? Come out to see the Minister praise himself?”

The others all turned to him at once. He froze, caught off guard, then smiled and stammered, “Y-yeah… n-never been to one of these things before… um… hello, goodnight… so this is the entire Weasley family is it?”

Luna smiled, “They're hard to miss… where, are you sitting?”

When had Luna…?

Never mind….

“Over there, as close to the Minister's box as I could get, I heard a rumour that if you sit close enough you can actually see his lips move,” he told her with a grin.

It was an old joke, and a few cracked smiles, Fred and George as well. Good that he broke the ice, bad that he could see where this was going now.

Mrs Weasley, who had stopped at the head of the group and turned back, asked then, “You're the Mr Nicolas that Harry told us about…? Why don't you sit with us? That box looks pretty lonely there, and quite cold, I'm sure the Minister won't mind…”

Yep, he definitely didn't like where this was going.

He tried to refuse, “It would be an honour, believe me, but I don't think I should… I mean…”

In classic Mrs Weasley fashion, she refused to hear it, “Nonsense, you're new around here, what better company to be with, we won't mind.”

Her husband agreed, “Yes… Harry said you came from South Africa… how's Muggle life down there?”

And before he could protest further, he was being dragged away and led to the Minister's box. How ironic was it that they were yet again going to show him the workings of the Wizarding world.

A Weasley, one he recognised as Charlie, said, “We sit with the Minister tonight, which will be fun… I'm Charlie, by the way.”

Paul took his hand, “Paul Nicolas, nice to meet you… you're sitting in the Minister's box?”

One of the twins replied, “Yes, we want to see if his lips move too.”

“You mean they don't when he lies?” asked the other.

“When he 'speaks', George,” corrected his brother.

“Oh that's right, 'embellishes',” said George.

“'Exaggerates',” said Fred.

“'Takes liberties with the truth'?” asked George.

“Stop it, you two!” commanded Mrs Weasley.

Paul suppressed a smile, and tried his best to look mildly embarrassed.

The Minister's box directly faced the public entrance to the stadium, and yet had a panoramic view of the seats all round. Already, many of the crowd had taken to their seats, some waving small green flags with white, lightening bolts in the centre, or holding up large squares that together revealed an animated image of him taken from Bill and Fleur's wedding. How they had gotten that, he would not know, but he found himself held fascinated by the sight of Hermione in the background, smiling shyly at some unseen photographer.

And then he was snapped out of his reverie when he was pulled aside by someone to allow the children and Luna to get into the box. The children, he counted five, went into the box hurriedly calling and whispering greeting to all they met already there, and taking up the foremost seats. The adults followed after, George found him a seat and unfortunately next to Luna… and then one of the children started, “Maud?”

Some of the adults turned sharply, Paul looked with them to find a girl of ten seated just before them all beside her very familiar mother.

When last he had seen her it was Third Year, but before that it had been in the hospital wing petrified. She had been a prefect then, and caught in the library by a basilisk, along with a bushy haired girl of thirteen with a circular mirror clutched in her frozen hand….

The girl, with a head of long, wavy red hair and dark brown eyes, smiled slightly, “Hello. Hi Grams, Grandpa…”

Her mother, Penelope, turned then, and said, “Oh, hi… um, Percy will be coming back soon… goodnight Mr and Mrs Weasley…”

She turned back to the child and whispered something to the girl, Maud, and she got up at once and went up to her cousins.

Bill leaned over to Paul and said, “Don't mind that… just a little family problem…”

Paul knew the problem quite well, but couldn't say that, so he replied instead, “No matter… um, where is Mrs Krum? I thought she would be here as well… and Mr Ron Weasley…?”

“Oh, um, Hermione has other plans tonight, something just as important… and Ron is at the school. Hogwarts has its own Hallowe'en tribute; I think we'd be much better off at that one though…” replied Charlie.

Paul asked, “Is it that good?”

“Better than listening to politicians lie,” said Bill.

But that was to be the end of the conversation as just then a sound of trumpets and some bustling behind them announced the Minister for Magic's arrival. Paul turned back to look at him arriving, and found himself ready to agree. He would be much better off at Hogwarts, everything was much better off at Hogwarts.

In the company of the Minister, and speaking in low voices that abruptly silenced at the sight of the others, were Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson.

For a time they all just looked at each other, and finally one of the twins broke the silence, “My, isn't this awkward…?”

Paul rose at that, “Well… I can see that this box is filled, I should be leaving then…”

“You'll do no such thing,” said, or rather, commanded Mrs Weasley. “There's plenty of room, I'm sure those three would love the foremost seats, a bit of night air would especially do Mr Malfoy there well, he seems rather pale.”

Draco turned sharply to her at the mention of his name, before quickly looking away again and saying, as haughtily as he could manage, “Shall we, Mr Minister?”

They began to move again—the three former Slytherins with upturned noses, the Minister whispering profuse apologies—but the effect was not quite there. Draco truly looked little like the boy he had loathed from the first day he met him in Madam Malkin's. Paul felt a tiny stab of pity again, but did not allow it to last before turning his attention back to the Weasleys… and once again found that he was under Luna's penetrating gaze.

She leaned over and whispered, “Don't mind them; they don't know you so they can't hurt you… right?”

“I'm not afraid of them…” he protested, feebly.

“Oh no, of course not,” she said quickly, “but the way you looked at them just now, I just thought it would be good for you to hear…”

Luna, Luna, Luna… if Voldemort had ever known of her, he would have won the war…. By her side tonight, he had best be on his toes.

And then he forgot all about that when he saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming to the stage in robes of brilliant turquoise, hair slicked back and his trademark grin. He shook his head and sighed.

This was going to be a long night, he should have stayed home.

~*~*~*~

“Come on, Caspar, I don't want us to be out too late,” called Hermione up to her son.

In reply, Caspar came bounding down the stairs in his blood-red Weasley jumper and said in Bulgarian, “I was waiting for you…”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and, in English, replied, “Very funny, let's go, Mr Lupin is waiting for us and you have school in the morning.”

“I can stay home with you,” he protested, still in Bulgarian.

“No, Harry and the others may be home-schooled but you're not, I have work,” she told him.

“But you haven't gone there properly in days!” he whined.

She handed him his cloak, put on hers and pushed him out the door ahead of her. He grumbled all through her securing the house, walking down the path and through the front gate. But after she locked this gate, he silenced himself and took a tight hold onto her arm as they Disapparated.

They were going on a special trip tonight and he didn't want to be left behind. Tonight, they were going to number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

With a “pop” and his eyes tightly shut, Caspar felt himself jumping away from his mother slightly as they appeared in the dingy, dark street of their destination. It could not be helped, after being squeezed through that very narrow invisible tube that brought him here, it was almost as if he had burst free.

Hermione looked down at him and laughed, “Just like when you were you born… come on now, I've never liked being out in these streets for long.”

Opening his eyes quickly, he composed himself and took her hand again as they began walking down the street. She began as they went, “I first came here when I was fifteen, some weeks after your father and I—well it should be “separated” when you think about it—but basically after I met him in my Fourth Year. The wizard who killed Harry was back, officially, and no one wanted to believe it, but here… here was our hiding place. Your sisters were born here, and grew up here for six years… I want to know why no one found them all that time…”

“When do I get to meet them?” asked Caspar, suddenly, cutting her off and almost ignoring her speech.

She halted temporarily, was silent a while, and then asked, “You want to meet them?”

“You did,” he replied. “And I know you told me everything about it, but I want to see them too, for myself.”

Hermione exhaled slowly, studied him in the white glow of the street lights for some time, and then said, “Okay, soon, I promise… but now, tonight—as I was saying—tonight we're going to do some research on them. (They began to walk on again.) I have to warn you though, this place, this house… when last I remember seeing it, still looked a bit… frightful. The Black family, where your sisters got their surname, used to support that bad wizard, Voldemort. There are things in this house you should not touch, I don't want you wandering about on your own, and most important of all, avoid the umbrella stand on the landing, there's a painting there that we can't remove and it screams in some very naughty language.”

Caspar nodded to all of this, and stopped with her on a spot of lawn between two large houses with almost no visible space between them. As a matter of fact, the spot of lawn they were on connected to the house numbered eleven; if he looked to his right he would see thirteen, there was no sign of number twelve. He looked up at her confused, and in reply she produced a piece of paper he had to read quickly before she destroyed it: “The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix can be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.”

“You remember that well now, and concentrate,” she said as she burned the paper.

Caspar asked, “But I don't see the house…”

“Remember what it said,” she instructed, staring directly ahead of them.

Shrugging, he did as he was told… and his jaw dropped in surprise when the battered black door, grimy windows, dirty brick wall and finally the entire exterior of the house that was number twelve appeared—or maybe inflated—before his eyes. But he barely had time to question this before his mother was dragging him up the stairs and tapping gently on the ghastly old knocker on the door. Repeating, “I'm a wizard, this is magic… I'm a wizard and this is magic…” in his head didn't help much too.

And then the door opened before them to reveal Remus Lupin who gave them quick looks and said, “Come in, this is not a night to be out in the dark.”

But it was darker in there, and once the door was closed, they quickly walked down a strange, noisy and very musty old hall before any lights came on. And immediately Caspar wished them off again.

The threadbare carpet was almost turned to dust, most of the aged wallpaper had fallen off, the serpentine chandeliers and gas lights were almost buried in cobwebs making them dimmer, the smell of decay and the sounds of strange and inexplicable noises permeated the air and… Caspar buried his face in his mother's side. He had just spotted the house-elf heads on the wall above the stairs.

Hermione barely noticed, as she asked, “Have you found the room?”

Lupin shook his head, “No, but Severus has been here longer than I, maybe he knows… he at least suggested that it might be higher. How was your first visit with the twins?”

Hermione absently massaged Caspar's head, “It was… I was so happy to see them… but I couldn't allow myself to feel it until I was home. I wanted to… from the moment I first saw them all I wanted to do was take them in my arms and go home. It was so hard letting them go, and they're so beautiful… so… they have his eyes you know? But brown instead of green, golden brown like honey—we have to find that room.”

Lupin, who had been studying her expression and nodding all through her reply, said, “We will, I doubt they had a Secret Keeper for that. Surely, it's in the upper floors… I thought you were letting him go with the Weasleys?”

He was looking down at Caspar, who now peered up at him and tried his best to ignore the wall.

“I couldn't… he has school in the morning, and because I didn't take him when I went on Saturday I'm hoping this is compensation. But to bring him here, I must be a bad mother,” she replied with a half-smile.

Lupin smiled back, “You probably don't need to hear this, but you're not—now let's find that room.”

They began to walk again, up the stairs past a pair of moth-eaten curtains and a curious looking umbrella stand, past the house elf heads where Caspar shut his eyes and nearly fell, to the second floor landing. Lupin shook his head at Hermione's silent question and they went up again, and this time with thankfully only the smell of must and curious, glowering portraits on the way.

Third floor, fourth floor, fifth, and still Lupin shook his head. Hermione looked up above them, Caspar too, and asked, “You don't think-you don't think that the room is up there do you, in the attic?”

“I don't know. No one went up to the attic after Buckbeak went back to Hagrid… it would have been perfect… and it's so far up there…. A few Silencing Charms, maybe a Foe Glass or two, a Repelling Charm… no one would ever know, Grimmauld Place keeps her secret,” replied Lupin.

He began to ascend the stairs before he was even finished speaking, Hermione and Caspar quickly followed after.

“Young children like to explore… do you think there was anything to keep them in as well?” Hermione asked behind him.

“Probably… but it wasn't long before we abandoned this place and they had the run of it. Only Mrs Weasley would know, it was thought to be unsafe for Severus or myself to know the specifics of their location, and even though they were in the house, that any of us know exactly where,” Lupin told her.

They had come to the attic and stopped on the landing beneath a trap door in the ceiling. Pointing his wand at it, Lupin commanded clearly, “Alohomora!”

Immediately, it fell open before them, its ladder descending to their feet.

They walked up under it and looked up, but the air that rushed out at them was not as musty as the rest of the house. As a matter of fact, it felt rather fresh.

“I think this is it,” said Hermione.

“After you, my dear,” said Lupin and he took Caspar's hand to allow her to climb the stairs.

The two remained below, watching her vanish above them into a darkness that seemed rather solid. They heard her utter “Lumos!” and it softened, then she gasped, there was silence, and she said, “I-I I found it… y-you can come up now… this is it… oh gods…”

Lupin let Caspar go before him, but when he got up there as well the reaction was the same: complete astonishment.

In sharp contrast to the decay below, the attic had been transformed into one full of life. The walls had been painted a light colour indeterminable even under the added light of Lupin's wand and Caspar's torch. The windows had been changed, by whom they could not be sure, and clearly painted white. The carpet on the floor was relatively new, the cedar furniture in the room, consisting of separate cribs, cradles, beds, and single everything else, was as well, there were stuffed and other toys spread about on the floor and in shelves, a small library, a night light that was on but not working, animated posters, one entire wall painted with a Quidditch scene and a faint perfume that teased their noses despite years being locked away.

Hermione smiled.

For a time they all just stood there, looking around at the perfect little bedroom-nursery that had been set up for the unexpected children. In the war it had been the safest place to hide, why not use it for this as well? For six years this place had done its duty, and if it were not such a place of darkness, it could have been for much longer. Or maybe the proper excuse would be that the person sending off their school letters, if they knew of the Order, would have had a bit of a shock. And all they could come up with to describe it was that it was perfect.

Eventually, slowly, Hermione stepped further into the room, daring to go to the beds last slept in by her daughters at six. She traced her fingers along the headboards and had a seat on the bare mattress, displacing a tiny bit of dust.

Caspar walked away from Lupin to an arrangement of toys nearby. They had been set up on a settee, a small tea table with set before it, and on poufs and cushions on the floor the other attendant toys had been placed. It was an immortal tea party, and left just as its mistresses had arranged it six years ago. He didn't dare touch it.

Lupin went to Hermione on the bed, and asked at once, “Are you alright?”

She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, “I don't remember this… I mean, I know I wouldn't remember this, but the room… I don't remember the room. Not the toys, the cribs, not the changing station, not their little wardrobe… I remember nothing! Why?”

“Again Hermione, I apologise, I cannot apologise enough for this, but we thought we were protecting you,” Lupin hurriedly replied.

“It changes nothing! You could have told me before and still I would not remember! How can I not remember my own children? What am I suppressing that I can't? What is this?” she demanded, slamming her fists into the mattress.

Seeing her distress Caspar made to come over, but halted when the black, greasy head of one Severus Snape appeared through the trap-door and said, “I found it! Or it seems you found it…?”

Hermione and Lupin turned to him as he raised his wand to look at the room around him. He paused when he came to Caspar, carefully scrutinised him from head to toe, and said, “The spitting image of Viktor Krum… except for the nose, and the feet… congratulations Miss Granger, you continue to do wonderful work….”

When Lupin made to protest this, Snape said quickly, “But like I said, I believe I've found a room downstairs that might interest you… did not the paper say something about the father's letter arranging for the twins to stay at a home in London for the summer?”

At once Hermione rose, “Take me to it!”

Through the trapdoor to the sixth floor, down a begrimed, rotting hall and the first door at the end, led them into a room that was very out of place in the old house. Well, not exactly.

The room had been restored to what it must have looked like in the late-Victorian Gothic era: over-embellished, cluttered and heavy. Large and high-ceilinged, the furniture was of polished mahogany, with two canopied, four poster beds and identical dressing tables, armoires and study desks on opposite ends of the room. The windows were adorned with heavy drapes, the carpeting was lush, the wallpaper dark, and the lighting, as with the rest of the house, was supplied by gas. The one thing that defined this room as the twins' though were the photographs of them that lined the walls, which sat on the shelves or nightstands, and a letter addressed to them both on a table near the door.

Without thinking about it, Hermione opened it and went to a bed to read, barely hearing Snape saying, “Every room for two floors is like this, restored by someone—I believe the aunt—and set up for habitation. She must have done this when she realised she was dying… but how? Without us knowing it seems impossible, and not to mention, rather foolish. Who would take care of the children while she lay disintegrating in the earth?”

Absently, Hermione replied, “A trusted house elf…?” and turned her attention to the letter.

The script was unfamiliar, but feminine, so this could only have been done by Amaranthe. There was only one letter, and it wasn't long, but a quick read told her why. It was doubtful they would want to read a long letter after her beginning. When she noticed the two men and her son staring at her on the bed, she read it aloud.

“Mes belles petites jumelles, you've heard a variation of this so many times from me, but it is not appropriate here. In my last Will and Testament I think we should begin on better footing.

If you're reading this, it means that I have died, and for that I am sorry. I always promised that I would be around for the day you finally met your parents again, but I know that this will not happen.

At least, not without some help.

Do not allow yourselves to believe that they did not love you, that they do not love you, for I was there the day they gave you up and if your mother's reaction alone is any indication, they loved you both more than the lives they lived. I have always told you this, but I have to tell it again, I want you to know and understand that. Nothing I can say after this will make sense if you don't.”

Hermione abruptly stopped reading, and read over the next paragraph again. A hand to her stomach, she swallowed a sob, and read on.

“You know who they are, you will not remember them but you know them and what they did. This was why they gave you to me, an Auror handpicked for the purpose by friends of theirs—I am not your aunt. I am sorry, and my belated apology may be meaningless now but I had to say it, I am truly sorry that I deceived you but if I didn't you could have been harmed. If anyone ever knew of you, the same wizards responsible for the deaths of many would come after you. You are too precious to them both for me to have allowed the complete truth.”

“They know who you are?” asked Caspar and Lupin in unison.

“Oh my… they… they gave no indication that they ever… that they… they know?” said Hermione, herself in shock.

Snape gave no indication of surprise, and said, “There must be more, what does she say next?”

Hermione could not speak though, and with a theatrical roll of his eyes, he walked on over to her, took away the letter and began to read.

“If you are still reading now, you must want another question answered, why is it that they never came for you. There was a potion—and you both know well of potions by now—brewed by a former teacher of theirs that sealed their memories away. The intention was to protect you, but it does not easily wear off and I fear that your mother is still under the effects. I wish that she could be with you, but she does not remember and I can only hope that by the time you read this she would have. But just in case, I have arranged for her to receive your baby things, little memories that might unlock the secrets in her mind as soon as my death is confirmed. It is all that I can do, everything else is left up to her, and you.”

Now it was Snape's turn to pause, but unlike Hermione, he quickly continued.

“Your father is a little tricky, you know his story, and you know what happened in the war. As a matter of fact, you are one of the very few who know that Harry Potter is still alive.”

Hermione, Lupin and Caspar looked up at Snape in alarm. Hermione rose quickly and snatched the letter back, rapidly scanning the rest of it. She did not attempt to read it aloud, and Lupin doubted he needed to know the rest. He had already heard the important part.

When Hermione stopped reading though, she looked back at him and stammered, “He's alive… he didn't… he's still alive…” and promptly fainted.

Snape caught her as she collapsed, Caspar rushed to her aid as he laid her out across the bed, and asked, “Harry Potter is alive, but where is he?”

The two men looked down at the boy and his mother, and Snape replied casually, “I wonder that myself….”

~*~*~*~

Ron was halfway to his office, long after dinner had ended, when Dobby finally reappeared with a “pop”, in the hall before him. He nearly fell over at the sudden arrival, but recovered quickly, to ask, “What did you see?”

“Dobby sees them in the Owlery sir, they were writing a letter,” replied Dobby, quickly.

Ron stared at him curious a second before realisation hit him and he laughed, “Oh yes, to Hermione, they were writing to her, she said she was going to let them do that. Where was Philippe?”

“Oh no, sir!” spoke up Dobby, shaking his head, “They were not writing to her.”

“What?” Ron asked, once more confused. “Who were they writing to?”

“Dobby saw two letters, sir; they give them to an owl, a new grey one, sir. They sent them to “Mama” and “Papa”, sir, and Dobby found this after they left, sir,” the house elf told him and then presented a piece of crumpled paper.

Ron took it, and then nearly dropped it. It was a draft of the letter they had written, with a series of scratches where they had removed words and put in others. It must have taken them quite some time to do it, and since he had left the Great Hall before they returned, he was sure that it did.

Dobby was speaking again, “Mr Wheezy was watching them, sir, he left just before they sent the owl away…”

But the reason that he nearly dropped it lay simply in the first paragraph: “We have to ask a question though, why didn't you recognise us when you saw us Mama?”

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A/N: Hi, school has begun and with it enough internet access to bring this to you. Hope you like and that it clears up more.

Disclaimer: Can't be bothered to write it… check earlier chapters.

~*~*~*~

Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin

Hermione Granger was having a very strange dream.

It was snowing.

Large white flakes falling in flurries tumbled from a dark grey sky unto an already blanketed earth and the trees around her. She was standing in the midst of it in a wooded area, dressed warmly, but still feeling the chill as icy winds cut sharply through her woollen robes on their way through the trees and twirling the flakes round her. She extended her arms and opened her palms allowing the snow to fill them before sending it up again.

She liked when it was snowing.

She didn't know why she was standing out here though, she couldn't remember how she got here or if she was going

somewhere else in the first place. It was quiet, it was cold, and all she had for company was a vaguely familiar black dog.

And then suddenly someone came up behind her and she was being swept up into his arms.

“Harry!” she squealed, laughed and fastened her arms round his neck.

He laughed as well, “Miss me?”

“Of course I miss you! Where have you been? We've been waiting for hours!” she replied, and tried her best to look cross.

The black dog with her barked its agreement.

He laughed again, “It's only been eleven minutes, it's not like I was gone forever.”

“Oh Harry, whenever you're gone it feels like forever,” she told him, and this time she was serious.

He put her down, turned her to face him, looked her directly in the eyes and said, “I'll never leave you forever, sometimes for a little while, but never forever. And besides, you said you needed a break, and I got you this…”

Suddenly, a loud buzzing sounded through the air and Hermione started out of her sleep to find herself lying in the dark of her bedroom, alone. She had been dreaming again, the same thing for five days so far, and she couldn't tell whether it was her first actual memory, or the result of that letter.

“As a matter of fact, you are among the very few who know that Harry Potter is still alive.”

When would it stop?

No, she stopped herself; she didn't want the dream to stop if it was really a memory. There was the possibility that more would come if she kept up like this. She could soon enough have all of her past restored from this one little teaser torn from the depths of her mind by the revelation.

She scoffed at that.

She would sooner see Harry again. He was alive, he had been this whole time and not once did he make an attempt to contact her.

Maybe it was just her shock that she hadn't reacted with anger yet. Or maybe it was because she hadn't come face to face with the twins to interrogate them on how much they knew. Or maybe still, she just… didn't know what to do, but since that night in Grimmauld Place she had been rather numb.

After waking up in the bedroom that had been set up for the twins—some hours after she collapsed—she immediately left for home. She couldn't, she didn't want to, she… she just had to leave, go home and pretend that she hadn't read that letter.

But the words stuck with her and repeated themselves in her mind when she finally fell into her bed and tried to go to sleep.

“Your father is a little tricky, you know his story, and you know what happened in the war. As a matter of fact, you are among the very few who know that Harry Potter is still alive.”

The rest that she hadn't read aloud was there too.

“But you must keep this quiet. The danger that could come to you and your mother should anyone ever find out… there is no telling what could happen. There are those still capable of doing great harm on the loose, the Aurors have not captured everyone and there is the possibility that they never will. Your father once attempted to tell your mother the truth, eleven years ago, shortly after the war. He had taken the same potion but his memories returned, scattered, but there and he was determined that your mother know the truth too. But someone must have seen him on the way to the house and there was an attack. She escaped, barely alive, but your grandparents were not so lucky. We should be thankful that Severus Snape was keeping an eye on him or you would truly be motherless.

Do not contact him unless you have to, and this is especially to you Aimee, do not do it! Whatever you may receive from this may be short-lived.”

Who was this woman to keep her children from Harry, or herself? What was Harry thinking to leave them behind? Even if he was trying to protect her, he at least could have been there for his children. Wasn't the only thing he ever wanted a family?

She rolled over in her bed and tried to ignore the first reaches of light from the rising sun coming through the window.

She did not want to think about it, she couldn't allow herself to. It would make today especially harder.

Today, as soon as it was a reasonable hour, she was going down to Hogwarts and having a long conversation with the twins. She had to talk to them, find out how much they knew, and most important of all, she had to be calm when she did it.

She hadn't even told Ron yet, and though his reaction to the twins had been good… she really needed to be calm for this.

The one thing that was actually helping was the rational understanding that this wasn't their fault, that they didn't abandon themselves in France while their father ran away like a coward and their mother was deceived.

Okay, so maybe she wasn't that numb, but she wished she was.

If she was she wouldn't feel hurt, she wouldn't feel angry, or betrayed, or alone, or wish that Viktor was still alive so she could safe in Bulgaria with him, being treated with more respect than these people she thought her friends had given her.

She knew she should at least be happy that he was alive, and she was, very much so.

In the seconds after she heard the words she couldn't remember ever feeling so elated, so euphoric, so… happy. It was as if the floor had fallen away and she was standing on air. She was so happy she felt light-headed—which was probably why she fainted—and on the inside she nearly started giggling like a giddy schoolgirl.

But if he was alive, since he was alive, why wasn't he here?

She snatched a pillow from beside her on the bed and flung it against the door.

She must have loved him, didn't he understand that, didn't he care? But even if he did he just… he just threw it away and headed for the hills.

Gathered his skirts and headed for the hills….

Why did that sound familiar?

“Ugh…” she groaned and rolled unto her back. She was grasping at straws, she was trying too hard to remember, to understand why….

She paused when she heard sounds of movement from the next room. She didn't want Caspar to wake up yet.

In the days since they found out about Harry, he had woken up early to be with her as long as he could before school. Her little champion, all he wanted was to protect her.

If she ever saw Harry again, she would never forgive him for what he was doing to their children. She doubted they would too.

First their daughters, now her son, all of them were being and going to be affected by this. The girls surely had no idea of what it was like to be Harry Potter at Hogwarts, so they couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like to be his daughters. The attention this was going to garner… and even for Caspar too, he already had a famous father, but now…. What was it that Rita Skeeter had written?

“Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy.”

She gave a mirthless laugh.

Hadn't Harry properly thought through this plan of his before he executed it? If he thought she was ever going to forgive him… he would… he would probably be right.

She… she was angry, so very angry, but somewhere inside, she believed he had a very good excuse. There had to be a reason for what he did, he would never just run off and leave her behind, leave all of them behind if he didn't think it was for the best.

Oh gods that was ridiculous.

This was madness.

Poor Viktor, she should have loved him more. She said it once and many times before, and she would do it again. He would have never done this to her, though, granted he would never have been put in a situation where he might have in the first place. He was never on the same level with Harry, no matter how much more experienced he might have been. But he deserved better than her, the castaway bride of the Man-Who-Triumphed.

Oh, that's right too, Harry allowed her to marry Viktor Krum even though she was still married to him. She had been a bigamist for five years. How lovely.

“Mummy, are you up yet?”

She was pulled from her bitter musings by the sound of Caspar's voice.

Lifting her head off the mattress, she spied Caspar in the doorway. He immediately ran to her, clambered unto the bed until he lay beside her and wrapped his arms round her as best as he could go, his head lying on her breast.

“Why aren't you sleeping? It's Saturday, you can go to the Weasleys…” she began.

“No, I can't,” he protested, and cut her off. “Today I go with you, to meet my sisters at school.”

She had forgotten about that. But then, she didn't really want him to be with her today, not if she lost control and yelled at the twins when they didn't deserve it.

Thank goodness they didn't look like him; she wouldn't be able to stand it.

“Caspar… I don't…” she began again, trying to convince him otherwise.

“No, Mum, you promised, you said that I could meet them when you went again and you're going today. I don't care about Harry, I want to see them!” he insisted.

A sigh, a moment of silence, and then she replied, “Okay, I shouldn't punish you, or them, for something they're not responsible for. They've been writing to me all week and it's been fine, why should today be any different?”

She felt Caspar smile, she bent forward and kissed his head, and then dropped her head back unto the mattress with her eyes closed and tried her best to believe it.

~*~*~*~

The crumpled letter was spread out on his desk before him, and as he had for every day in the five since Dobby gave it to him, Ron just sat there staring at it. He hadn't spoken of it to anyone. He hadn't even attempted to question the twins or his nephew about the finer points of the night in the Owlery. As a matter of fact, he had decidedly avoided them, not even bothering to call on them in class when he usually would.

He couldn't.

He feared what might slip out if he did.

He wasn't mad at them; there was no way that he could ever be mad at them for knowing and not telling him. He was sure that they must have been told some cock and bull story to keep their knowledge a secret. But after all that Hermione had been through, the torture of their meeting that was visible in her eyes, someone could have said something.

There, was another sticking point for him.

He hadn't heard a thing from Hermione since last Sunday when she told him that she was going to Grimmauld Place for Hallowe'en. Oh, he had heard about her visit, his mother said that Lupin told her that they had found the twins' room, and even another that had apparently been set up for them for the summer. But then nothing, no news from Hermione on how she felt, how this affected her, when she planned on telling the twins the truth… there was nothing but a blank wall.

It was annoying, frustrating and had been bothering him for days, and Ron Weasley greatly disliked being left out.

Rising from his desk, he walked to the window and looked out at the still slumbering castle grounds where lights lit at nightfall the day before still twinkled. The sun was just rising, the sky palest blue-grey and large white clouds were slowly traversing it. But already blustering winds were picking up, and he knew the air to be quite chilly. Even the weather was in a foul mood, he hoped Maia was ready for it.

In a matter of hours Hermione should be arriving again, to see Maia's first Quidditch match and introduce the twins to Caspar. Hopefully, there would be an explanation for her silence. If all went well, she might even learn what the twins knew and something could happen between them. But knowing their luck at times, something could also go wrong and the world might know their secret before they wanted them to.

The Quibbler's presses were already on standby for the official announcement they planned to make once the truth was out. It would be terrible if they were denied the right to release it first.

He scoffed and massaged his eyes, what was he thinking about?

This was far more important than petty press rivalries. A mother had been forcefully separated from her children for the past twelve years. Their reunion was the only thing that anyone should care about.

But no, there were other things. There were the secrets that were destroying what had once been a simple and deep relationship between them all. There was the betrayal that Hermione was quite unlikely to forget anytime soon no matter her forgiveness. There was the fact that Harry was still not here, and would never again, to help raise the children he had so reluctantly given up.

What on earth had they been thinking?

Who had they really been protecting in all of this? Him…? Ginny…?

Surely neither, for by the time the war was over Ginny had almost completely begun to move on, and he and Hermione had realised that whatever they were doing was simply not working.

The twins, perhaps…?

No, since Viktor's death Hermione had been raising Caspar quite fine on her own, first with Viktor's relatives in Bulgaria and now here with them, as she could have raised her daughters, and she was doing quite fine. The only disruption this single-parent situation had had was when his mother's guilty conscience had become too much for her at Hermione's birthday party.

So who then, who really had benefited from this? What was the point of separating…?

Oh, that's right… of course, why didn't he think of it before?

Harry had always been this perfect human being. He was flawless, nothing could touch him. Mistakes—pfft—they were cool as long as he made them, he could be forgiven. He was the Chosen One, he could do no wrong.

Well, maybe he went too far this time. A pre-marital sexual relationship with a friend that spawned illegitimate children was a scandal Witch Weekly would have had a field day with. They couldn't let anybody know that, they couldn't let anyone know that he was just as human as the rest of them.

Oh, who was he kidding? They already knew that, they more than everyone else already knew that.

So what were they thinking?

What would have been so wrong in letting Hermione raise Aimee and Maia without Harry when there was already the very strong possibility that he would have died anyway? He would have helped, even if it meant marrying her, he would not have left her alone. He was their friend, how could they have denied him the chance to prove that?

Suddenly, he was drawn from the window by the sound of his office door opening behind him. He turned at once, and was quite surprised to find that his early morning visitor was none other than Maia Black.

Well, he really should start calling her Maia Potter now.

“Um, bonjour professeur, I don't mean to bother you, but… I…” she began, could go no further and then said, “I don't know what I'm doing but… I…”

He smiled at her, and came away from the window, “You're worried about the match today?”

“Well, yeah… I mean, I've never played Quidditch on a team before in a competition… what if I… if I don't catch the Snitch…?” she asked, and her eyes revealed no end to her concern.

Ron tried his best to be reassuring, “Then you'll be just another footnote in the long sad history of Hufflepuff Seekers, don't worry, it's a house tradition. But beware of Slytherin; they have a house tradition of underhanded tactics that Professor Theoden cannot dream to reverse.”

“Thanks Professor… I think…” replied Maia, and for a moment—and only just a moment—she looked the perfect reflection of Harry.

But there was no scar, thank gods there was no scar.

She walked to his desk and drew from the pocket of her teal bathrobe, a small brown paper package. Without waiting for his question, she untied it to reveal her canary yellow and black Quidditch uniform.

“I just got it yesterday, Mercury brought it—that's what we named the owl, seemed right, “winged messenger”—anyway, he brought it, but with something extra… what do you think anyone would say if I wore these?” she asked and drew out two pairs of ribbon, one pair, yellow, the other, black.

But instead of the apprehension he expected, he saw… barely contained excitement.

“Ribbons… where did you get them?” he asked, taking them from her. They were silk, and a quick glance to the uniform confirmed their expense as well. They had to have been provided by the same high-end clothing store that made the girls' school uniform.

Well, at least he was spoiling them like every good parent should.

“Oh… um… I asked for them too, I wanted to wear them, I have this idea to have my hair in pigtails, with…” she explained but he didn't have to hear it. He didn't believe her, he didn't know why, he couldn't come up with a better explanation, but he didn't believe her.

“Well, I don't think they'll mind too much if you wear them, as long as they don't distract you while you're playing… you have quite a fight ahead of you, Hufflepuff needs to win by at least eighty points,” he told her.

“I know, I know!” she said, clearly exasperated, throwing her head back and groaning, “That's all Captain Christensen has been talking about… I think I dreamed about it last night.”

He was glad someone had had a good night, his dreams, and this was for the past eleven years, mostly consisted of watching his best friend disappearing into a forest to die. This past week, there was a corrupted variation where he was being dragged into the shadows while reaching towards a very pregnant Hermione who was being held prisoner by his family and friends.

Lucky girl, Maia, blissfully unaware of the evil of men, all she had to worry about today was Quidditch.

“Stop thinking about it so much, my first match… is still a blank to me, but maybe someday when it comes back I'll tell you about it. What I can tell you, is just stop thinking about, just go out there and fly your best,” he told her.

Wow, that sounded like something a father would tell their child before an important moment of their life. See, he could have helped Hermione just fine.

“How was Harry's first match?” asked Maia, her honeyed gaze showing that he had her full attention.

“Um, well, he didn't… he was kind of scared, but he was younger than you, only eleven… you're twelve, there's a difference. But if you really want to know, it was great, he liked flying so much he forgot all about the rest of us while he tried to catch the Snitch, you do that, everything will be fine,” he told her.

“I'm probably going to suck,” she said.

“No, you can't, according to your sister, it's in your genes,” he said with a smile.

For a second, and only a second, there was something like alarm spread over her face. But before he could be sure, it had been replaced by a half-smile and she said, “These things can skip a generation you know…”

Just then, the clock in his office began to chime. They both looked up to it and checked the time. Ron spoke first, “Seven o' clock, the match starts at ten…. Get some breakfast, get dressed and spend some time with your team—no detours—you'll be fine.”

Maia gathered up her package, “I don't think so.”

“None of that, now get out of my office, I have to prepare myself for the shock later when I support… H-H-Hufflepuff… in a match,” he ordered.

Without skipping a beat, Maia replied, “Aimee said that Mrs Krum has to do the same thing every time you take her to a Chudley Cannons game.”

~*~*~*~

With less than an hour to the time that the match was slated to begin, the weather's ill temper had little improved. In fact, one could say that it had gotten worse.

It was still a blustery morning out, but now large dark-grey clouds began to appear, quickly moved by the wind but ever so often releasing a shower to drench the stands and the gathering spectators. In gaps between these clouds, one could find brilliant blue sky with patches of smaller, slower white clouds and ever so often a faint rainbow. But in the distance all round, there was the rumbling of the thundershowers, and if one was high enough, they could even spy white lightening blazing across the sky. And of course, it was rather cold.

It was going to be one of those days.

Hermione barely noticed.

Seated in the teacher's box with Caspar, Ginny, Ron and Professor McGonagall, she first searched the stands for Aimee. It took her a while, but sure enough there she was, seated with friends, Dean and Parvati's daughter, Sarmistha, and Cho and Michael's, Lixue. As Gryffindor would never support Slytherin in anything, they, some of Ravenclaw, and of course, Hufflepuff, were lost in a tide of yellow, gold and black streamers, banners, flags and other supporting paraphernalia.

The Slytherins made a point of ignoring them. Making as much noise in support as they could, they cheered under a large banner of an animated green and silver serpent slithering its way over to a nest of cowering infant badgers.

Hermione wondered if they knew that traditionally, badgers killed serpents.

Turning away from them though, her eyes desperately searched the field for the players. In the teacher's box, the student commentator, Gavin Bennett, was getting ready to begin, annoyingly testing the loudspeaker every five minutes. Madam Hooch was already out on the pitch, and discussing something with the young student assisting her with the equipment at the goal posts to their left. Very soon the players would be coming out, and all Hermione wanted was to see Maia.

Caspar seated beside her, leaned over and asked, “I'm bored, can't I go sit over there?”

He pointed at the Gryffindor stands where Aimee was.

Professor McGonagall answered for Hermione, “Unfortunately, young man, you can't. Not until you're sorted, and according to your mother… that won't happen for another three years.”

Caspar looked away muttering to himself. Ron bit his tongue to stifle his snickering.

And then they were brought to rapt attention when Gavin's voice sounded over the field, “ONCE AGAIN, WELCOME ALL TO A HOGWARTS QUIDDITCH MATCH! TODAY WE HAVE HUFFLEPUFF VS SLYTHERIN, WE ALREADY KNOW WHO'S GOING TO WIN BUT WE NEED A LAUGH! ANYWAY, HUFFLEPUFF IS SHOWING OFF THEIR NEW SEEKER, MAIA JAE BLACK—AND YES I HAD TO GIVE HER FULL NAME—HER SISTER'S MY FUTURE…”

He was abruptly cut off when one of Caspar's gloves whacked him upside the back of his head.

He turned back furious and searching for the person who hit him. Seeing Hermione though, left him stuttering, and he forgot all about it… until Professor McGonagall hissed, “Gavin! Gavin, the game, have you forgotten something?”

He started, and turned back to the loudspeaker, “RIGHT… SO HERE ARE THE TEAMS! FIRST ON THE FIELD, SLYTHERIN! CAPTAIN THATCHER IS KEEPER, AND THE REST: BENTHAM, DICKINSON, GREAVES, GREAVES, MERLOT AND ZABINI AS SEEKER!”

In green and silver uniforms, the seven Slytherin players marched out unto the field, formed a serpentine “S” and did a very theatrical bow to their supporters.

“AND HERE'S HUFFLEPUFF! CAPTAIN CHRISTENSEN IS A BEATER, AND THE REST OF THE TEAM: ANDREWS, BLAIR, BLACK, DAVISON, THORNE, AND WOODS! BLACK IS NEW SEEKER.”

In black and yellow and a “V” like migratory birds in flight, the Hufflepuff team joined their opponents on the field. Their Keeper and Seeker were in the back, and Ron was quietly amused to find that Maia had indeed put her hair in two long, braided pigtails with her little silk ribbons. Once with the Slytherins, they bowed to their supporters.

“ON THAT SILVER ARROW II, BLACK'S STIFF COMPETITION FOR ZABINI, BUT SHE'S NEW AND FRENCH, SHE DOESN'T STAND A CHANCE!”

This time, Caspar left his seat and went down to where Professor McGonagall and Gavin were standing. Somehow, his voice came over the speakers, “DOESN'T HE EVER SHUT UP?”

Most of the stadium erupted in laughter.

Gavin laughed nervously, “UM, OH YES, AS SPECIAL VISITORS FOR TODAY'S MATCH, WE HAVE MRS HERMIONE GRANGER-KRUM AND HER SON, CASPAR. THAT WAS… CASPAR… ANYWAY, ON TO THE GAME, HUFFLEPUFF HAVE TO WIN BY EIGHTY POINTS IF THEY DREAM OF SO MUCH AS SNIFFING THE QUIDDITCH CUP! HEY…! PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL HE KICKED ME… YES… HE DID… EVERYBODY SAW HIM! ALRIGHT, AND THEY'RE OFF! BUT HERE'S A BIT OF TRIVIA, BOTH SEEKERS WERE FRIENDS UNTIL RECENTLY, MAYBE THEY CAN SETTLE THEIR DIFFERENCES OVER A GOOD GAME OF QUIDDITCH!”

Across the field in the Gryffindor stands, Aimee turned her Omnoculars to the sky and searched for her sister. She found her quickly enough, and by account of the Slytherin Seeker tailing her broom.

She took them off, sighed and said, “Rhiannon's following her, a good idea since Maia has the faster broom, but it won't help her if she wants the Snitch.”

“Oh is that so? Experts on Quidditch now?” asked a voice behind her.

The three girls turned to find Philippe seated behind them, and as usual, flanked by a number of friends. He waved at Aimee, grinned, and said, “Because I'd be found hanging if I ever supported Slytherin, I'm doing your sister a favour. I'm not going to hold my breath though.”

“… AND SLYTHERIN SCORES! SORRY HUFFLEPUFF, BUT WE SAW THAT COMING A MILE AWAY!”

Philippe shrugged, then snatched away her Omnoculars and searched the air for Maia.

“Hey look, I think she's seen the Snitch… of course, it could the light on the goal posts…”

And then the rain began to fall again.

The players donned their goggles and drew tighter robes that allowed in way too much of the biting cold air than necessary. Spectators drew up umbrellas and raincoats. Hermione searched the air for Maia, and found that the two Seekers had vanished from view.

Alarmed, she turned to Ron and asked, “Where are they? Where are the Seekers?”

He looked up as well and found nothing but twelve players where there should be fourteen.

The game went on, the commentator's voice ringing over the field: “AND BLAIR PASSES TO THORNE… BENTHAM STEALS… DUCKS A BLUDGER, CAPTAIN CHRISTENSEN MUST HAVE MISSED… SLYTHERIN IS MAKING AN ATTEMPT TO SCORE… KEEPER ANDREWS SAVES! WHAT A THROW… HUFFLEPUFF IN POSSESSION… THORNE PASSES TO WOODS… DAVISON TAKES OVER… HE SCORES! HUFFLEPUFF SCORES, SLYTHERIN MUST BE SLIPPING!”

No one noticed the missing Seekers until….

“WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT? THE SEEKERS ARE COMING DOWN… SPIRALLING! CAPTAINS, WHAT ARE YOUR PLAYERS UP TO? THIS MIGHT END IN COLLISION… SOMEONE SHOULD HAVE TAUGHT BLACK THE FINER POINTS OF THE GAME BEFORE LETTING HER ON THE FIELD…”

Sure enough, the two Seekers were descending from the cloud-covered heavens in what were hopefully controlled spirals with no sign of the Golden Snitch to lead them. It looked very much like Maia was trying to shake Rhiannon off her tail, or maybe they were having a very strange fight, and no one could reach them to stop them.

Then suddenly, Maia broke the spiral and both girls shot up away from each other, before disappearing into the skies again… just as a bolt of bright, hot, white light tore out of air behind them.

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT…?” demanded Gavin.

Even Professor McGonagall was in too much shock to notice he had sworn. The teams were still trying to score of course, but with noted weakened enthusiasm. They were as distracted as everyone else as to what had just transpired.

Hermione looked at Ron, then up at the sky, and asked, “Are they fighting?”

“I doubt it… or at least I hope not, that could go on forever…” he replied absently, his eyes searching as well.

In the Gryffindor stands Philippe was doing his worst. He would not, or seemed incapable of, shutting up about it, and he didn't even know what it was in the first place.

Aimee did her best to ignore him, but her patience was wearing on thin and if he didn't let up soon there were a list of hexes, curses and jinxes she was yet to try out. Couldn't he see that they were trying to watch the game?

“THAT WAS A FOUL CAPTAIN THATCHER! YOU KNOW IT! YOU KNOW IT! THERE IS NO WAY THAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED IF YOU WERE AT THE POSTS! HUFFLEPUFF TAKES ADVANTAGE OF THE DISTRACTION TO SCORE… HONESTLY, WHO WOULDN'T? ACTING LIKE SLYTHERINS MORE AND MORE THESE HUFFLEPUFFS! OW! WOODS ALMOST TAKES OUT THAT SLYTHERIN CHASER!”

High in the sky, oblivious to the confusion they had caused, the two Seekers were once more on a search for the Snitch. Their spiral had been as much a move to shake the other off as it was an attempt to escape the bolt of lightening that had suddenly ripped off behind them.

Once they were back in the sky, Maia had actually called “Thanks!” to Rhiannon for starting the spirals in the first place. But they couldn't escape this dark grey world of terrifying close noises, driving rain that stung against their wet faces, and brilliant, blinding flashes of light until they caught the Snitch and soon they were off on their own again.

Maia had quickly found though, that she had forgotten all about the other players, the spectators and even the commentator once she had mounted the broom and soared over the stands. Professor Weasley had been right; once she was flying there was nothing else that mattered.

Robes, pigtails and ribbons whipping out behind her, eyes peeled while hands gripped the broom handle until knuckles whitened, she couldn't remember ever feeling so alive.

Maybe it was just the adrenaline, but she doubted it. Surely it couldn't make someone feel like they never wanted a game to end despite the horrible weather they were playing in could it? Or even make her feel like laughing as she soared amongst the clouds or speedily descended whenever she caught a flash of gold? Or even still wish that she could go further than the air above the field in pursuit of that elusive little, winged ball?

Okay, maybe it could, but she didn't care, this was the most fun she had ever had.

And then she realised that she was alone. And that she had been that way for quite some time actually.

Oh no.

Dropping into a dive, Maia descended as quickly as she could to catch up with Rhiannon. And at first there was nothing. She went for quite some time without the barest hint of green and silver or a spot of gold.

The commentator's voice appeared again: “SLYTHERIN SCORES! NINETY TO SEVENTY! HUFFLEPUFF IS PUTTING UP A FIGHT!”

Then there was the roar of the crowd. They were cheering something; she hoped it wasn't the Seeker's victory.

That would be disastrous. She had no explanation for what she was doing while Rhiannon caught the Snitch.

She began to wonder though, if Rhiannon was not still up above her.

And then suddenly, as she dropped back into the visibility of the stadium, her robes flapping in the wind as the standards and banners of the supporters, Rhiannon appeared beneath her. She was coming up out of the trenches… and just out of the reach of her gloved hand was the Golden Snitch. With the rain cleared up, a radiant rainbow appearing just out of the stadium against the grey sky and the sun's light spreading over its drenched subjects there was no denying what it was.

Maia grinned, and swooped down immediately, cutting right across her path and closing her fingers round the tiny ball as she went.

She did it! She caught the Snitch!

It was only a matter of seconds then, before Gavin noticed and announced it as well: “OH GODS! THE SNITCH'S CAUGHT HUFFLEPUFF! I MEAN, HUFFLEPUFF… BLACK'S CAUGHT THE SNITCH! HUFFLEPUFF'S WON! AND BY MORE THAN EIGHTY POINTS! TWO HUNDRED AND FORTY TO SEVENTY… HUFFLEPUFF WINS! THAT MEANS THEY GET TO PLAY RAVENCLAW AGAIN… AND AFTER THAT… HEY… HUFFLEPUFF'S GOING TO PLAY AGAINST US IF THEY BEAT THEM! OKAY, NOW CAPTAIN CHRISTENSEN REALLY NEEDS MEDICAL ATTENTION!”

The cheer that erupted from the stands all round threatened to shake them out of their foundations. Philippe was staring on in silent shock, but even if he had said anything it would have been lost in it. Aimee screamed her sister's name and willed her to see her. Hermione, Caspar, Ginny and Ron in the teacher's box were standing and screaming with them.

She did it! She actually did it!

The two teams descended to the centre of the field and stiff handshakes were exchanged. Well, until Maia reached Rhiannon. She threw herself unto the girl to give her an almost bone-crushing hug, screaming excitedly in French and forgetting all about the fact that they were opponents and had stopped speaking to each other.

She was quickly pulled off by Captain Christensen though, who hoisted her unto his shoulder, mounted his broom, and along with the rest of the team, dared to parade her around the entire stadium to show off their victory.

“CONGRATULATIONS TO HUFFLEPUFF! NEXT MATCH: GRYFFINDOR VS RAVENCLAW! SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS! THIS IS GAVIN BENNETT SIGNING OUT! HAVE A GOOD DAY, ALL OF YOU! WE KNOW HUFFLEPUFF IS!”

She was wet, suddenly tired, her clothes and hair were sticking to her skin, but she was so jubilant she didn't care. There was nothing to bring her down from that high now, absolutely nothing.

Boy was she ever wrong.

~*~*~*~

It took most of the afternoon, but eventually Ron managed to find the Hufflepuff team—and the party they were having in their basement Common Room—to steal Maia away. Aimee was with her, as were their friends, and surprisingly, Philippe—happily downing butterbeers in the corner. She hadn't even had the chance to change out of her uniform, arm and leg guards included, but it didn't matter. Not to him anyway, her mother had insisted that they be brought to her “as is” as soon as he found them, and so they were going.

Climbing halfway down the stone steps, he cast “Sonorous!” on himself, and said, “WILL MAIA AND AIMEE BLACK—AND YOU TOO PHILIPPE WEASLEY, THIS ISN'T YOUR HOUSE COMMON ROOM—PLEASE FOLLOW ME TO MY OFFICE, YOU HAVE VISITORS!”

He didn't need the spell, but he just wanted to annoy. Captain Christensen immediately protested, once he and everyone else took their hands from their ears, “We're celebrating sir, couldn't this wait?”

“NO! COME ON YOU THREE, LET THEM THROUGH!” he replied, and went back up the steps to wait for them.

Eventually they appeared above with him, and he shut the trapdoor. Removing the spell, he said, “Philippe, go back to Gryffindor Tower and sleep off those butterbeers, you two come with me.”

“Where are we going?” asked Maia, loosening the ribbons and freeing her hair so it fell still wet and stringy down her back.

“To my office, you have visitors… Philippe, don't go back in there,” he said and led them away.

Before he was out the door that led back to the halls and steps to upstairs, he heard the trapdoor open and shut again.

Well, they'd put him out eventually.

“Visitors?” asked Aimee, “Who's come to see us, Mrs Krum again?”

He tried not to grit his teeth at hearing her call her mother “Mrs Krum”, and replied, “Yes, she wants to talk to you again, and personally congratulate this one on her spectacular display. Don't tell her this, but I loved how you stole the Snitch right out of Rhiannon's hand, that was bloody brilliant!”

“You think so?” asked Maia, eagerly.

“Yes, I do. If Harry could've seen you do it I know he'd agree with me,” he replied.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile widen and Aimee tugged sharply on her robes.

Oh, they knew, there was no way around it, they knew.

It seemed like forever before they were standing before his office door. And it surely was for they were occasionally stopped in the corridor for someone to congratulate Maia, or for a Slytherin to sneer, or a Gryffindor to offer a warning. Maia took them all in stride, with a perpetual smirk on her lips; she recounted for them all the way there how she managed to catch the Snitch.

At his office then, he stopped and said, “I'll be back shortly,” and went in, leaving them in the hall.

He had to speak to Hermione, and quickly, before letting them in.

Without care for all else with her, he began immediately, “Couldn't we do this some other day?”

“What?” Hermione asked, looking up from her conversation with Professor McGonagall, shocked and confused.

“You know what, you should see them right now, they're… I know you've waited more than enough but, just one more day. If you could just see them now,” he continued, not bothering to directly answer her.

Hermione sighed and shook her head, “Ron, you know I can't. I want… I want to know them, I want to talk to them, I can't wait… and… and if what you told me is true, then they can't either. No more waiting, I think eleven years is enough; for goodness sake they're almost thirteen!”

That was all he needed to hear.

He looked around at the others now with them, Lupin, Tonks, Mr and Mrs Weasley and Hagrid, at Caspar, Ginny and Professor McGonagall, and said, “Okay, here they come.”

Walking back to the door, he opened it and said, “Come on in, I hope you don't mind, there are some more people with us than before.”

The twins walked in still smiling, Aimee was saying as he closed the door behind them, “Professeur, did you see what happened to the Slytherin banner, someone stole it and enlarged the badgers… they put it up in the Great Hall someone just told me, they're eating the snake…”

Her voice trailed off when she turned around and saw their audience.

Mrs Weasley gasped. Hagrid seemed very much as if he was fighting against saying something, Lupin was staring at Maia slightly open-mouthed and the rest plainly just stared.

“Here they are,” said Ron, “Maia and Aimee Black.”

No one moved at first. Only Hermione spoke, saying, “Hello again girls, I've brought some friends, but you should know your teachers.”

The girls nodded and replied, “Bonsoir,”

An uncomfortable silence had fallen, as if everyone knew that the game was up but no one was willing to speak first. Ron went back to his desk and had a seat, the twins remained where they were… and then finally Caspar freed himself from Ginny and went over to them.

“Caspar Krum, nice to meet you,” he said, shaking both their hands.

The girls smiled at each other, and then at him, and replied in unison, “Nice to meet you too, Caspar, your Dad was the best Seeker in the world.”

“Yours was the best in the whole school, and the youngest in a hundred years according to them,” said Caspar, and without waiting for their alarmed reactions, he continued, “Are you going to come home with us for Christmas or are you staying here?”

Well, if no one else was going to do it.

Maia spoke first, “What?”

“Mum's forgets everything nowadays, so I had to choose your room. It's just opposite mine, right across the hall, and it's large enough for two beds or if you want a bunk. You can decorate it any way you like, we don't mind, but don't make a mess, Mum hates that,” he told them, ignoring her question.

Aimee put a hand on his shoulder to stop him, “What did you say?”

“Mum keeps an eye on the sugar, but Mrs Weasley gives you anything you want if you ask nicely. I have fish, but I want a toad, do you think the cat will eat it? Aunt Ginny is getting married for New Year's Day; do you have clothes for that? Knowing her she'll drag you into it, or at least, that's what Aunt Fleur says…” he went on, still ignoring her.

Ron, as alarmed as everyone else and also unable to stop him, looked across to the others for reaction. Hermione, Tonks Hagrid, Professor McGonagall and Mrs Weasley had tears silently streaming down their cheeks, though Hermione was smiling. Lupin looked pensive, Mr Weasley was smiling as well and shaking his head, and Ginny was staring at them with her mouth open. And seemingly oblivious to them all, Caspar went on babbling.

The twins' reaction though, and at least to him, was best. Their alarm, once they realised what was happening, melted away to bright smiles that did little to curb Caspar's mouth but clearly revealed their joy. At any minute it looked as if they would silence him with a hug, Aimee's hand was actually trembling on his shoulder.

“We have house elves, but they're free, Mum wouldn't have them if they weren't, and every month she gives them something in appreciation. You can have anything you want really, we have lots of money so you can live with us and don't go back to that creepy old house. Please say that you won't, I promise you'll like it, Uncle Ron says Mum's a swot but she's not that bad once you get to know her. So please? Please come with us…”

Caspar finally stopped, but it was only to look up at the twins and plead with his eyes as well. For a time then, the world stood still, neither twin saying a word or moving. And then they looked up at the others, and each other and finally Aimee said, “If you'll have us… I guess…”

Caspar's face lit up as he grinned. He turned back to Hermione, and said, “They'll come, Mum, they said they'll come!”

The twins looked up at Hermione, but there was apprehension in their eyes. Caspar turned back to them then, and said, “One more thing… please?”

They allowed their gazes to fall back upon him, and he said, “Um… would you… would you let me be your little brother? Would you mind if I was…?”

The girls looked at each other again, grinned—and mischievously at that—and enveloped him in a hug, and Maia said, “Why wouldn't we?”

“We've always wanted a little brother…” agreed her sister.

“Someone to beat up…”

“And lock in the closet…”

“And experiment potions on…”

“And play games with…”

“And love…”

The sound of Hermione's stifled sob ended their banter, but didn't stop the embrace. She rose from her place beside Professor McGonagall, walked over to the trio, and after a moment's hesitation, carefully wrapped her arms around them. Caspar freed himself then, just to let her and the twins have a moment, and grinned at Ron, properly proud of himself.

But slowly, eventually, the embrace ended and Maia started away from Hermione, saying, “Oh no, your robes… I'm wet and dirty…”

“I don't care,” said Hermione. “I've never really cared that much for fashion… I just… you flew really well today, just like Harry….”

“We know, we heard,” said the twins.

At her puzzled expression, Aimee said, “I heard you… the last time…. Sorry we didn't say anything… but you didn't, you acted like you didn't know us…”

And here was the dark cloud to rain on their parade.

“I… I didn't…” she said.

Now it was their turn to be confused and they stepped away from her slightly, but visibly.

Hermione's face fell, and she began, “This is going to sound strange but… I… I don't even know where to begin…. Um, you know you were born in the middle of the Second War right?”

The twins nodded, Maia replied, “The fifteenth of May, 1999, Tantie Marie told us that it was at sunset on a really bad day, someone ambushed Papa and some people were killed.”

Hermione nodded, “Okay… oh gods, I don't even remember that…. But, you were born in the middle of a really dark time, and it wasn't safe for you to be around, or for anyone to know about you. Not even… not even your father and me, so we… we gave you away and drank a memory potion to forget… to forget you both to keep you safe. M-my memories never came back… ever…. I still don't have them, now… my first memories of you are of right now, when I met you the first time last week, and now today… thank you Maia.”

The twins didn't move, but Aimee asked, “You don't… you still don't remember… but how come?”

Hermione closed her eyes a moment, exhaled slowly, and replied, “The potion… the memory potion, it works much like how people can sometimes. You know how sometimes-how sometimes you smell, or taste, or see something, and you have a flash of a memory? (They nodded.) Well, it's like that. The memories are there, no-no memory potion or charm can actually ever really take them away—look at Gilderoy Lockhart—but they can suppress them. Just like after a while you can “forget” things, things that you were too little when they happened that you would remember now, it basically sped up that, and put them deep into my mind so that, even if I drank Veritaserum if you asked me about them I could deny it and be telling you the truth. But-but, I know that you are my daughters, they said it, and a test could prove it, I can't remember you, but I know who you are…. And I've missed you from the moment I heard about you, and possibly for longer still, I just didn't know it yet….”

She had come to sit on the floor before them, and as she finished speaking, they sat too. They looked at no one else, just at her, as if trying to find a lie in her face. Finding none, and once they were satisfied that they wouldn't, Maia said, “Tantie Marie always said that you couldn't contact us because it wasn't safe… are you in danger now? Were you always in danger?”

Something that could have been anger, flashed across Hermione's face temporarily, but disappeared too quickly for Ron to be sure. She shook her head, and when she spoke her voice broke slightly, “Not that I know of… but maybe at first…. I'm so sorry that I wasn't with you growing up… if only I had known, I had remembered… I would have come for you at once. I wouldn't have ever waited, not once….”

The twins gave little reaction, and then Aimee asked, “What about Papa? He remembers us; Tantie Marie always gave us his presents. Was it very dangerous for him too?”

Ron spoke up, “Aimee… Harry's-Harry's dead Aimee… Tantie Marie was lying. This might be hard for you to believe but she bought those things. According to my sister-in-law she was withdrawing money from his account to raise you, and whenever she could, she would buy you something and say he sent it. He's gone… Voldemort killed him.”

The girls turned to him, and went as white as death. But Aimee protested, “No… no, he's not. That's not true… we wrote to him when we first came here… see, I have his address….”

She dug into her pockets and drew out a crumpled piece of paper and read, “See, Number Seventeen, Turret's Lane, Blackpool. Tantie Marie gave this to us, and she's dead, so there's no one else it could be, this is Papa's address…”

Ron summoned the paper from her and read over what she had written in complete shock. He looked up to his mother and the others and found their expressions to be the same.

Ginny began, “No… he's dead… he died in the forest fighting Voldemort…. They never found his body, but he died when he did it….”

Both girls shook their heads, Maia began, “And he wrote back… he sent back a letter asking us about our trip and if we were alright, and said that if we needed anything we just had to ask. He even asked us if we knew if Mama was okay, and how Professor Weasley was doing in classes…”

“And if the Weasleys still lived in The Burrow in Ottery St Catchpole, but we didn't know that. And about the Headmistress, and Hogwarts and Professor Hagrid, and Professor Dumbledore's tomb…” continued Aimee.

Ginny snapped, “Stop it! It's not true! He's dead!”

“No… he's not,” a voice replied, calmly.

Silenced, and even more stunned, they all turned back to Hermione on the floor. Lupin looked out the window at the sun beginning its colourful descent into the horizon.

“They're telling the truth… he's not dead…. When we went to Grimmauld Place… I… we found a letter, from Amaranthe that they were supposed to receive in the summer. It explained everything. She was telling them the truth because her last wish was that they know, and that they know why… why we couldn't be with them… and how they might change that…. Harry's alive… he didn't die with Voldemort eleven years ago… and he knows everything…” she said.

-->

A/N: I had two weeks and this is what I come up with, I hope you like it but it seems I've been struck by a case of 'unlucky thirteen'. Thanks to all who reviewed, I hope you like this one.

Disclaimer: Whatever.

~*~*~*~

To Right a Wrong

“Interrupting the evening's programme to bring you this breaking news report… information has just come into the WWN News Centre that a statement has just been released on behalf of the family of Mrs Hermione Granger-Krum by Mr Ronald Weasley in weekly newspaper The Quibbler, concerning the parentage of a pair of identical twins.”

“The twins, Aimee and Maia Black, known for the stir created last October by their meeting with Miss Pansy Parkinson, girlfriend of known former Death Eater, Mr Draco Malfoy, are now being claimed for the family of Harry Potter, and not the House of Black as was earlier alleged.”

“In the statement that appeared in a late, special issue of the paper, Mr Weasley declared: 'My only intention here is to settle an outstanding issue concerning the twins known as Maia Jae and Aimee Jean Black. I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, acting on the permission of my friend, Hermione Jane Granger-Krum, declares that the twins, Maia and Aimee, are the biological, natural-born daughters of Hermione Jane Granger-Potter and Harry James Potter, born the fifteenth of May, 1999. The twins are not relatives of Mr Draco Malfoy, Mr Sirius Black or Mr Regulus Black.'”

“There has been no information on whether there will be a name change, arrangements on where the twins are to stay for the upcoming Christmas vacation or whether they have met the surviving blood relatives of their father, the Muggle Dursleys.”

It began with that late evening news broadcast via the Wizarding Wireless Network reporting the shocking statement that had been released in The Quibbler just hours before. Within minutes their headquarters were inundated with owls from anxious listeners demanding answers they could not provide. By the next morning, the Daily Prophet had scrapped its original Sunday front page to declare in bold, “Heiresses of the Chosen One: Meet Maia and Aimee Potter!” with a vivid photograph of the triumphant Maia hoisted on her team-mates shoulders and reaching down to her sister after her Quidditch victory. No one knew how they got the picture, and every headline and article for four pages after featured some mention of the twins.

And it had only just begun.

The Evening Prophet continued to build the momentum, adding its own, “French Connection: Transfer Students Potter's Secret Family!”

Somehow, they managed to procure a photograph of the twins in their first year at the Beauxbatons Academy, pale blue robes and all, and an interview with two of their friends, Constance Sauvignon and Lisette Betancourt. The two girls had little to provide in terms of what the reporters sought, and a third, Aubrey Huppert, actually asked, “Who's Harry Potter?”

Their former teacher, Madame Gwendoline Fontaine—much more informed than her students—had nothing but praise for them both, and doubly so when she was told the identity of their parents.

No one could reach Hermione, Ron, the Weasleys, or even the Dursleys, for comment.

Monday morning in the Great Hall (and it had to be Monday for the twins hid for much of Sunday), was an awkward affair. Aimee and Maia walked in for breakfast and immediately all conversation ceased and all eyes—and this included teachers—turned to them.

Taking their seats at their separate tables they smiled shyly at Ron, Padma and Professor Theoden, then tried to eat without looking up… but couldn't. Even Philippe was looking at them, an unreadable expression on his face, but staring nevertheless.

Inevitably, the intense scrutiny quickly drove away their appetites and they gave up. Snatching up a few sandwiches, they rushed back out of the hall and away to their weekend hiding place, Hagrid's hut, until classes began. The Daily Prophet headline today encouraging the attention, “It's In Their Genes: Researchers Claim Potter Twins as Magically Gifted as Father!”

But when classes did begin, it was more or less the same thing. As soon as they walked in they were stared at, and even if they turned to look the person directly in the eye. Ron could do little to stop it in Defence, Padma gave up after a few attempts and Professor Theoden didn't even try. Of course, that all came to an end in Charms when Aimee “accidentally” spelled a few of her classmates. That earned her two hours' worth of detention, but at least they stopped staring… now they whispered.

Hagrid welcomed them back to his hut before bedtime, but only for a short time, and just to tell them with an encouraging smile, “Don't mind yer little heads about it too much, same thing used ter happen ter Harry… it'll clear up after a while.”

“What if it doesn't?” asked Maia, clearly worried.

“No, it will… yeh'll see,” he told her. “Can't keep staring forever, now can they? And they won't when there's nothing to see.”

Yes, and that worked quite well for Harry.

Tuesday, Hermione had their names officially changed to “Potter”. Ron couldn't dissuade her, she refused to give them her late husband's name and she would not accept the suggestion of “Granger”. The person who did it was still smarting from his wounds well into the night. The Evening Prophet spread the news with the headline, “It's Official: Twins Take On Father's Name!”

It was a welcome change from that morning, “Shh! It's a Secret: Wartime Affair Spawns Twins, Secret Marriage for Chosen One!”

It wasn't soon enough though, to stop Maia earning herself a detention after one too many people harassed her on the way to Quidditch practice: “Psst! Hey there! You… Potter! I mean Black! Granger! Whatever… ready for Ravenclaw Part Two?”

She had let everything slide until that one, it was just too lame.

Her detention was noticeably light, only a half-hour, but no one would dare accuse Professor Theoden of it—he was no Snape but he inspired as much fear as the real thing. And once she was free Ron called the twins into his office and gave them something he had kept since he left Hogwarts fourteen years before: the Marauder's Map and James Potter's Invisibility Cloak.

When they saw them on his desk, they didn't seem awed or even mildly surprised. And at their reactions neither was he, he guessed that Harry must have told them about that too. He ignored the twinge of annoyance at the loss of momentum, and that he probably didn't do it in person, and desperately tried to hold onto the moment. Harry may have told them about them, but he was giving them over.

Toying with an edge of the almost liquid silver of the Invisibility Cloak's material, Aimee turned to him and asked, “Why give it to us? I don't think Lord Voldemort's still alive and waiting to kill us… lead us down into the Chamber of Secrets or by some deranged accused murderer who's really our godfather…”

He smiled, “I know he isn't, but… this isn't mine, I can't give it to my son, and I won't give it to Philippe… it belongs to you…. Wait a minute, who's your godfather?”

She took the Map and spread it out on his desk, while Maia threw the Cloak round herself and went before the mirror, “You are… supposed to be—I think I'm going to be sick…”

Ron laughed, “It's not that bad… but maybe you shouldn't let Nearly Headless Nick see you like this, he might—”

He stopped mid-sentence when he heard Aimee utter, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

It was the clever pass to the map's secrets courtesy Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs.

She looked back at his startled expression, and giggled.

Wednesday brought Witch Weekly into the fray with, “Forbidden: Secrets of Clandestine Potter-Granger Love Affair Revealed!”

All copies of the paper were immediately seized.

The so-called eye-witness accounts detailed some rather fantastical and sordid tales that were unbelievable as they were untrue. But a few copies still managed to slip past the censure, and it wasn't long before almost the entire school was buzzing about it. Ron threatened quite a few with detention, which quieted most of the buzzing, but it was much too late. He had to be grateful though, that at least no one mentioned it to the twins.

Of course it probably had something to do with the fact that Maia had sworn loudly at breakfast that she didn't care about detention, suspension or expulsion if it meant that they would leave her alone. No one in authority may have openly agreed with her, but they could not pretend that they didn't.

At lunchtime Ron took advantage of the scandal to rib a rather red-faced Hermione until she cried. To be fair, she was already upset about it so that she didn't take too well to his attempt at making light. Unfortunately, that only made him call over his mother to spend some of the day with her—much to her displeasure—and she ended up laughing herself to get her to leave.

That night after Astronomy, the sisters both received anonymous star charts, clipped from the paper, which apparently charted the romance of their parents. Undecided as to whether it was well-intentioned or not, they kept it anyway and put it up in their trunks.

Thursday morning, Maia and Aimee Potter received a visit from the Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour—which Professor McGonagall ended quickly—and a number of interview requests. But it was not ended fast enough to prevent him, in the presence of a number of reporters and before the entire school for that matter, from presenting the twins with a number of their father's posthumous awards.

As he handed them over, he said with a smile, “Standing up here with these two lovely young ladies, I cannot help but wonder upon an infamous newspaper headline in the early days after the war. 'The Death Eaters' Triumph' it had declared when we found ourselves without a hero to praise. But no more… here we have his children, concealed—as so many others during those dark times—for their protection, or maybe it was 'kept'…. Kept until we were ready for them, the symbols of our triumph, we have been vindicated!”

The look on the twins' faces spoke volumes. Much like Harry they weren't too thrilled by the attention brought by their newfound and somewhat ill-gotten fame… or the idea of being Minister Scrimgeour's poster-girls. And much like he had taken to doing during later days of the war, the Minister made a point of ignoring them.

Fresh off the morning's misadventure then, there was a minor misunderstanding with Philippe—though they didn't much care to correct his view that they were actually revelling in the attention—which was ended by Ron threatening to tell his parents. But Philippe had been irrationally moody—not that they were paying attention to him for any reason whatsoever—since that Monday. The thought of his parents' scolding should they learn of his behaviour may have silenced him, but did little to change anything else.

Gilderoy Lockhart sent them autographed copies of his autobiographies, and Memories in Magic. Ron offered to dispose of the books for them, but was left thoroughly scandalised instead when Maia declared that she and Aimee were “great fans”. No amount of assurances after that they were merely joking seemed to convince him that they hadn't been bewitched.

There was some hate-mail—which they never opened for Ron had all of their mail confiscated—and fan-mail, from which he gave them the cards and toys sent by well-wishers. They couldn't conceal their embarrassment at receiving them during a break between classes. Maia's sweet smile concealed the whispered threat to “make him pay” to her sister after.

In the press, the only headline that concerned them was in the Daily Prophet's, “Potter or Krum? Family of Viktor Krum Want Answers on 2004 Marriage!”

It took much of the lunch break for Hermione to assure them that it was not their fault that her in-laws were upset. When they went back to their classes though, it was clear that they didn't entirely believe her, but how could they? The Krum family weren't too pleased that the virtuous bride they thought Viktor had married hadn't even been one to her first marriage… it was bad enough already that she was Muggle-born.

The highlight of the day then, came when Ron introduced them to Rosalie Dursley. He would never forgive her family for what they did to Harry but they were still their family and he couldn't deny them the chance to hate them on their own.

After a somewhat uncomfortable start, the three girls spoke for nearly an hour and then left Hagrid's hut on far better terms than Harry and Dudley had possibly ever had. The hut had been chosen as it was now the most private place in school, one too many students had seen them going in to Ron's office… and it was neutral ground in case of trouble.

There were some surprises though, Rosalie knew quite a lot about Harry, and in fact, had been told about him by Petunia the day she received her Hogwarts letter. The twins confessed that they had known about Rosalie before they came to Hogwarts, and that Amaranthe had even arranged for them to go to the Dursleys if anything happened to her before they began their formal Wizarding education. Thankfully, of course, nothing had allowed that to occur. And at the end of the meeting there was a promise to visit each other during the Christmas vacation, Number Four, Privet Drive clearly excluded as a location.

Proud of himself then, Ron sent a letter to Petunia, carefully explaining to her about the twins and reassuring her that she would never have to see them.

A last surprise before bedtime, Petunia sent back the owl with a note, on which were scribed three words: “Okay, thank you.”

Friday, was thankfully uneventful all the way to Potions. No one stared, whispered, joked, pointed, or even bothered with them much. News headlines had gone back to the usual, the twins had been relegated to the third page and they weren't even mentioned in all the day's WWN broadcasts. They had slipped into the background again, and though being addressed as “Miss Potter” would take some getting used to, it was over.

Well, for the twins at least.

For Hermione, Ron, Lupin, Mr and Mrs Weasley, and Snape, the search for Harry had just begun.

~*~*~*~

Saturday, began sunny.

The sky was clear, a deep cerulean touched only by faint wisps of white clouds as the day progressed. With most birds gone on their annual migration, and some animals lost to hibernation it was quiet. But then it was also rather cold, the bright sun mocking all who dared to step out of the warmth of their homes. Thankfully though, the small party of Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Lupin, Mr and Mrs Weasley and Snape gathered at Malfoy Manor for the meeting (yes, Malfoy Manor) had arrived before the contemptuous sunrise. The purpose of their meeting was important but not entirely worth freezing to death for.

No one had been more surprised than Draco Malfoy when he was roused from his bed at dawn by an insistent knocking and upon answering the door found the unlikely visitors awaiting him, warmly bundled for the early morning trip. He had come down angry, prepared to give the rude ne'er-do-wells a piece of his mind and when he saw them the words died in his throat. Never, not once ever, in his wildest imagination had he dreamed that he would ever see them there… and yet they were, all bundled up and waiting to be invited in from the cold.

He couldn't even speak, just stood looking at them until finally Ginny pushed past him saying casually, “Thank you, I thought we would freeze to death standing out there in the cold.”

The others followed her lead, muttering greetings and depositing their cloaks, coats and hats with him at the door before continuing on into the living room and making themselves quite at home.

Ron ordered some cups of coffee and tea of the house elves, Hermione scolded him for it, Ginny laughed. Mr and Mrs Weasley took the time to survey some of the antique vases in the room—he made a mental note to check if anything was missing after they left—and then took the chairs closest to the huge fireplace—as everything in Malfoy Manor, exaggerated, over-embellished and old—where Mrs Weasley immediately started a fire. And the last through the door, the ones responsible for the whole thing, Severus Snape and Remus Lupin walked in and took up positions in the corners—though noticeably not looking in the other's direction or at him as they went. After all, one was the reason he was now under house arrest instead of in Azkaban, and the other was his perpetual guardian and therefore had unlimited access to the Manor and its sole occupant.

Confused, but quite aware that no protest he could come up with would get rid of them, he closed the door, dumped their cloaks on the floor and went into the living room after them.

In his house, in this house, something that would probably have never happened were his parents still alive, now sat Mr Arthur and Mrs Molly Weasley, blood-traitors, two of their blood-betraying brood, Ron and Ginny—also former schoolmates and nemeses—the werewolf Remus Lupin, and of course, worst of all, the Mudblood—now also to be known as Potter's mistress—Hermione Granger. Snape was a traitor to the cause but a common visitor, his freedom assured by the 'services' he had provided in the war while Draco was imprisoned for a 'dangerous' interest in the Dark Arts.

His parents were well and surely turned over in their graves.

Smoothening his silken pyjamas and hair, and settling into his armchair at the fireplace, he yawned and asked, “Okay, wonderful, I now see that it's 'walk-all-over-Draco' season and you all have finally decided to join the fun, desecrating the home of my ancestors in the process…. What's this about; I'm missing beauty sleep….”

Ginny groaned, “Don't tell me you've decided to give the great Zabini a run for his money in the posing department, I thought you had more self-respect than that….”

He glared at her, “Listen Weasley, I don't have time for nonsense, you all come to my house at five in the morning without invitation and settle in like we're all here for a spot of tea… I'll be what I like, thank you very much.”

Hermione cut in before Ginny could retort, “Malfoy, please, we wouldn't be 'bothering' you if it wasn't important. And before you start we're not accusing you of anything or trying to… but it does involve you and therefore we've come here for our meeting. I'm sure you've heard the announcement earlier this week?”

In the face of such sweetness how could he be anything other than himself?

He scoffed, “Heard it? It's all I can bloody know in this place seeing that I can't leave without permission. Potter knocked you up in the middle of the war while Weasley here was busy recuperating from serious injuries—great friends you two were by the way, how'd you take it Weasel?”

Ron grunted but gave no reply, and Draco shrugged, “Fine then, be that way… so what does that have to do with me? I had nothing to do with Pansy's visit and I certainly don't care for the hate-mail I hear some have sent your kids. If I wanted to hurt you, I'd hurt you, not them.”

“I've already explained that to them, Mr Malfoy, but Miss Granger here wanted to speak to you…” explained Snape.

“Yes,” began Hermione, taking over, “I wanted to hear it from your mouth, your words that your aunt is no longer after Harry.”

He looked at her stunned. Then he turned to look at Snape and the others, and then back to her… and finally burst out laughing.

“You come here, all of you, at five in the morning to ask me that? To find out if my dear aunt is after your late husband? Have all of you forgotten Owl Post? Are your owls sick? Are they dead? Well anyway, rest assured that she isn't, but she and my father must be having kittens waiting for the chance to get him in hell. She died two years ago.”

“T-two years, did you just say that she died two years ago? So what was that load of crap Snape's been feeding us since we found out that he's partially responsible for Harry still being out there? She's been dead this whole time?” asked Ron, clearly shocked and none too amused.

“Harry is still out… you mean Scarhead is… Scarhead is still alive?” asked Draco, his turn to express surprise.

Ron made quite of show of trying not to roll his eyes, “Yes, yes, don't act like you don't know… you just said about your aunt waiting to… well, whatever, this is done, let's go.”

Ron rose at once, heading for the door, but halted when no one followed, and turned back to them annoyed and impatient.

“It was worth the shot…” muttered Draco, giving him a sympathetic but clearly condescending smile. “But seriously, you've got what you wanted, why aren't you leaving?”

Lupin spoke up quickly, “There is more, and yours is the most private place to discuss it. Was there, is there still a plan of action to kill, injure or in any way attack Harry, Hermione or their children should he ever show himself? Severus here refuses to answer—”

“That is because there is nothing to say, I know nothing. When last I saw Potter it was maybe nine years ago when he was finally well enough to leave my care entirely. He went off to Aberdeen as Kent MacLachlan, and then the last message was shortly before the children went to France, then he was James Anderson of Scarborough—”

“Yeah, and I was a bloody queen—” cut in Ron, crossly.

“If Potter ever shows himself, and now that my aunt is in the 'beyond', I doubt they'll try anything. But if you don't believe me, talk to Pansy Parkinson—no she's not my girlfriend anymore… you know, you all really should screen my visitors, I think she's well in with them now and those 'neo-Death Eaters'—anyway, talk to her instead, she might know. And maybe Blaise Zabini too, he's always with her though I doubt he's as stupid as he has to be to associate with them-narcissistic little upstarts. Until then, please leave, like I said before I was sleeping when you came in,” Draco told them and yawned for added effect.

They ignored it, Hermione asking, “But there is a possibility that they might try something still… right?”

“Maybe, but since no one's seen him properly in years, and there have been some 'unexplained' attacks on Death Eaters in the past, there may not be. He killed the Dark Lord, and apart from my mad aunt to them that says something. The Dark Lord was one of the most powerful Dark Wizards they had ever heard of… or at least bad enough that you respect the person who stops him, even if it was just Scarhead,” Draco replied.

At this answer, Hermione was silent a moment and then turned to the others. Ron read from her face what she was thinking: There is nothing keeping him from us, not anymore at least, hasn't been for two years, we can be a family again.

But she did not say it, instead she began, “So how do we know if this Blackpool address is his current?”

“The children said he wrote back didn't they, the letter had to have come from somewhere…” said Mr Weasley.

“Yes it did, but it didn't have to be there, remember what I told you about him moving about, why don't you ask them if he left a name in the letter?” asked Snape.

“He's their father and they know it, he wouldn't need an alias,” protested Ginny.

“He would if he didn't want his secret discovered. Find out to whom the letter was addressed and if this person is still in Blackpool and you have him. Going without an alias when you don't want to be found is foolish, but hiding in plain sight, and especially under some name like Henri Black or whatever his simple mind could come up with isn't,” Snape told her with an annoyed air. “Honestly, how did any of you survive the war?”

“We didn't have you to help us fake our deaths,” said Ron, glaring at him.

There was a protracted silence where this continued—Ron glaring, Snape ignoring him—and then Draco yawned again, “Well children, this was all lots of fun, but if you'll excuse me, Uncle Draco has to sleep….”

“Oh no, you don't Malfoy,” said Ron. “We're not done yet.”

“I think we are. I've already told you what you wanted to know. Bellatrix is dead and not after Scarhead, and I've just confirmed that I don't care about the existence of his offspring. The only thing you could possibly want now is to threaten me to keep it secret, well, done. I solemnly swear that I have nothing to say, that I won't tell anyone about them or this meeting here and that if anyone contacts me with any plans on hurting them you'll be the first to know,” said Draco, with a hand to his breast and standing to come to attention.

“With our meeting… so who's going to Blackpool to confirm the address?” asked Ron, ignoring Draco's action. “I'll do it, but I have school, Hermione has to go to work or they'll dismiss her, the rest of you really don't have much to do, and I don't think Snape would—”

“I'm going, alone,” said Hermione, cutting him off.

“What?” Ron asked, turning to look at her, clearly shocked.

“Of all of us—I'm sorry—but I think I'm the one who needs the explanation most, he left me and our daughters behind, I deserve an answer for that,” she replied.

“Yes, you do, but so do the rest of us, how can you expect us to just sit by and let you go on your own?” demanded Ginny.

Draco settled into his chair again to listen in.

“I don't, but I… I want to speak with him first, alone… you have to understand, I-I need to do this…” Hermione tried to explain.

“Ron, tell her this is crazy, that we go together…” she turned to her brother and pled.

Ron looked at both women a moment, and then replied, “I can't Ginny, and you know Hermione never listens to me…. If she wants to see Harry, then she should, alone… they've got some personal stuff to sort out before we kill him.”

Draco snorted.

Ginny at once turned to their parents, “Tell him to listen, please, I need to see him too! I need—”

“You need to focus on your wedding,” began Mrs Weasley, cutting her off. “Hermione really should see him first, alone…. After what we did, you all were really just an unintentional audience… and with Mr Malfoy's confirmation here that it should be all right… they have children together, you two broke up before he went to—”

Lupin cut in quickly to silence Ginny's coming protest, “Actually, I think it would be good for someone to accompany Hermione to Blackpool. You would appreciate the heightened threat to your safety since your announcement, Miss Granger. We may find nothing in Blackpool but an empty house, or a trap, and your children need you—something we should have remembered—so it is only right that you not go there without some escort.”

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh, “Fine then, Ron can come with me.”

Ron shifted nervously in his seat, “H-Hermione… I don't think that would really be a good idea, if you want to talk to Harry you should know that I may not be too keen on talking when I see him. It's hard enough talking to them here as it is….”

Mrs Weasley dropped her head slightly, Lupin looked apologetic, but Snape merely settled himself further into his seat. Draco yawned again.

“Okay, okay… I'll take Caspar. He has to meet him anyway, and I'm sorry, but I don't want anyone here with me when he does. I really need to speak to Harry alone, I need… I don't know, but I want to hear it from him that he didn't just up and abandon us on some flimsy excuse of Snape's,” replied Hermione, seriously.

“Miss Granger, do you wish to hear the details of the night your parents died?” demanded Snape.

“Severus…” began Lupin and Mrs Weasley, warningly.

He ignored them.

“Flimsy excuse…? If your husband hadn't decided to be his usual chivalrous self and tried to help restore memories that… well, if he hadn't been there they wouldn't be dead now. He and every one he dared go near after the war's end was a target, leaving you was the best move he made. You may have always been targets but not like this, you can't imagine what they could have done to you had he not left. He was in no position to help you and you all could not help yourselves, and especially since there was a war between calling you heroes or vigilantes. That last battle took a toll on you and you all know it, Mr Weasley here could barely walk for months!”

“As long as I wasn't dead I would done something!” declared Ron.

Again Snape ignored the protest.

“As a matter of fact, the first mistake you made was carelessly rutting in the middle of a war when there were people around you dying. Some ridiculous prophecy may have claimed that Potter was the saviour of us all but I always knew that he was the same arrogant fool his father was—” he continued over Ron's interruption.

“That's ridiculous!” snapped Hermione, her voice rising. “You hated Harry before you even got to know him; you hated his father and just transferred that to him the day he stepped into your class. I know Harry and I made a mistake, but you took advantage of the consequences in some idle revenge plot you must have planned the day they asked you to make the potion. Harry left on your word, the word of a man he does not trust! I was given a potion you well knew the effects of and possibly more than Harry's dosage despite weight difference! You helped them, probably even convinced them to keep our children away from us well after it was safe again and I'm sure for the simple purpose of getting back at James Potter for years of humiliation. You can't get him, get his children and grand-children… but I have to know, what did we really ever do to you?”

Snape nearly roared, “This has nothing to do with that! Leave the conspiracy theories to the young Mr Weasley here's wife. The danger was very real, even Molly knew that the minute she walked into that kitchen and saw you in all your expectant glory. The Dark Lord could have killed you, or at worst raised your beloved daughters into the same madness you were supposed to be fighting against. In fact, you were a distraction to Potter that at least ensured that that madness dragged on unnecessarily longer than it should have, and for all your intelligence you still don't seem to have noticed that. You want to blame someone for your family being split up, blame yourself and Potter. You were irresponsible, conceited and excessively foolish, and the worst part of it all was that you knew exactly what you were doing was wrong.”

“We had no idea that it would have gotten that far, I had never even thought of him in that way until that night,” protested Hermione, fighting a rising blush.

“Quite a leap, no wonder you didn't want to marry him after you found out your little surprise, was it only supposed to be a temporary fling?” demanded Snape.

Ron wanted to cut in but could not wholly bring himself to. The others could say nothing either, other than Mrs Weasley's faint protests at Snape's argument, and Draco didn't want them to. This was the most excitement he had had since Hallowe'en.

“I will not apologise for any action I've taken since I met you and Mr Potter in that forest that winter twelve years ago. I did what I had to as the situation required. I found out you were pregnant I informed the others to help keep it quiet. They realised the danger of the Dark Lord invading Potter's mind and finding your secret, I brewed the potion for him—not you, you should have stayed with your children as any good mother would, so you really can't blame them for that either. Potter defeated the Dark Lord; I concealed him so that he wouldn't go the way of the Longbottoms, his parents and the hundreds of others who had ever dared to cross the path of one Tom Marvolo Riddle the wrong way. Every danger you faced was real, surviving them must have gotten to your heads and made you think you were invincible, but you weren't and neither were those two little girls.”

“It was still our decision to make, all of it,” said Hermione.

“Yes, it was, but as Dumbledore reasoned the day he took Potter to the home of his relatives: No matter how unpleasant it was going to be, in the best interests of those involved and in the absence of good judgement and reason, it had to be done,” Snape told.

“You bastard,” Ron growled, finally coming to her rescue, rising from his seat.

For a time Hermione had nothing to say after this, and then she turned away and headed for the door, “I'm going, and taking my son with me. You will all be the first to know how it went. Good day to you, don't forget to Obliviate Draco on your way out.”

Ron sighed, but Draco was up in an instant too, and repeating, “Yes, it is time for you to be leaving, and don't forget to… hey, what?”

~*~*~*~

“Mischief Managed,” was the soft whisper in the darkness of the Owlery, followed by a gentle rustling and the twins stepped out of the shadows to find a familiar roost.

“Lumos,” said Aimee, the tip of her wand lit up and she held it above their heads, “Where's Mercury?”

“Probably out hunting, we may have to use a school owl,” replied Maia, after a moment's scanning revealed nothing but his empty place.

Aimee sighed, “Where is he? It's cold up here… but we haven't finished with the letter yet anyway… so we could wait a while.”

Maia lit up her wand and drew the small envelope from her pocket, “What more are we going to put in it? This is all that's happened to us this week, me winning for Hufflepuff, meeting with Mama, Caspar, and Rosie… hey! Oh no, you don't, we're not going to tell him that, he and Mama have to talk now.”

“I know, but we should at least give him some warning, what if she shows up and he thinks it's a trap? Polyjuice Potion, remember? It's what all the impostors are taking, he might stun her,” said Aimee.

“Funny. Stop being so dramatic, and besides, if you're going to get yelled at it's best to get it quickly and over with than waiting for it to get worse. They might hex him,” reasoned Maia.

“Papa's not a coward; he's not going to run away. Now who's being dramatic?” asked Aimee… with an echo.

Both girls immediately froze and turned to the doorway, just as Philippe stepped into it, dressed in his pyjamas and a heavy robe. He had followed them, all the way from Gryffindor Tower without Invisibility Cloak or Marauder's Map and hadn't been cornered by Filch, Mrs Norris or noticed by them on the map.

How perfect was that, why didn't things work for you when you needed them to?

But now that he had them, instead of gloating, threatening to tell or otherwise smirking, he looked rather sheepish and muttered, “I was studying when Aimee went out with you, and when you didn't come back in I went looking… first place I thought you'd be too… I saw you here before on Hallowe'en.”

Neither replied, nor moved for that matter, staring at him in muted surprise and alarm. He had followed them, and this wasn't the first time.

He stepped away from the doorway and came over to them, lighting up his own wand. As soon as it did though, he noticed the envelope in Maia's hand. He paused at once, “You're writing to him again, aren't you? Your father…? You did it at Hallowe'en and now you're doing it again… going to tell him that Aunt Hermione's coming to him?”

Aimee quickly regained her speech, “So what if we are? We always write to him, just because we have Mama now doesn't mean we'll stop.”

“I never said you should…” said Philippe, defensively. “But… why didn't you tell someone something sooner, like when you first came here… why'd you wait this long if you really are who you say are?”

Both girls looked at him open-mouthed in astonishment. But astonishment swiftly turned to anger.

“Would you have believed us if we had just come in and said we were Harry Potter's long-lost children? No, you wouldn't, and Tantie Marie had already warned us that Mama didn't remember us either. And this too, your grandmother and Mr Lupin knew about us, why would they help our little scam?” demanded Maia, irritably.

“Sorry… I was just… anyway, so are you really going to tell him that your mother's coming? Don't you think he knows that already?” asked Philippe, attempting to change the subject.

“He doesn't know when,” replied Aimee. “If you two won't believe that he might think she's an impostor, what if he isn't home when she goes there? She might think that he's gone again or something. If he's going to be yelled at and get it over with then he at least should be there when it happens, or it could really go to hexes…. Or what if it's too dangerous for her to meet him at the house, and something happens when she arrives? We've just gotten her again; I don't want to lose her.”

Maia exhaled heavily, “Here's the quill, just scribble it in as a P.S., pick an owl and we can go before Filch catches us. And hurry, s'il vous plait?” <Please?>

Aimee took the quill, spread the letter out on her knee and quickly scribbled: “Mama is coming to see you next week, Saturday night. When she spoke to us, we had to tell her where you were. We don't know if she'll be alone but Professor Weasley Uncle Ron said that she doesn't want them with her and he doesn't want to go. Sorry. Bonne nuit,

Aimee, Maia.”

Maia then took the letter, refolded it, sealed it in the envelope and scanned the roosts again for Mercury. He was back, and carefully preening himself with the remnants of what could have been a mouse still stuck in his beak.

Grimacing slightly, she called him down to them and attached the envelope to his foot. He nipped at her fingers and took off at once to the night.

With him gone, the girls turned back to Philippe. He was still standing in the doorway, looking at them, and said now, “Aren't you two going to go to bed now… you know, you didn't have to sneak up here after hours to send a letter, no one would care.”

Aimee gave a slightly sarcastic smile, “Except that we're 'Potters' now, we couldn't get up here unless we went after hours. You see the paper this morning? Here's a copy—Unsolved Mystery: How Did Potters Keep Their Secret? I heard the first few words and I don't care anymore, I don't want to know why they weren't with us, I just want us together again.”

“Your Mum does, and Uncle Ron… they had a meeting this morning, Aunt Ginny told me, and she's probably going to go look for him tonight. She was going to take your brother but she decided not to, something about her in-laws… if she sees your owl she might get mad,” he told them.

“We're just making sure he's there, she'll be madder if he isn't,” said Maia. “Wait a minute, did you say 'tonight'?”

No sooner than had the large grey owl descended into the window of the shabby old beach house than did the snowy white strut over to it, snatch free the small envelope on its leg and take off into the night to Wiltshire. The grey owl waited until it had disappeared, pecked at an owl treat on the table nearby, took up the letter the white owl had brought and left as well, heading back the way it came.

This was the pattern it had come to know from the first day it had been given a letter by the twins. Whenever it arrived at the beach house the white owl would be waiting and she would take the letter away, apparently to a master that no longer lived there. In turn, there was always a letter to be taken back to the school, as he was delivering now, soaring over the firefly lights of the blackened, slumbering earth while determinedly ignoring the call of the hunt.

Why this was so was not for his concern, and if there was another letter to be delivered the snowy owl would bring it, his job for the night was done.

But there wasn't another letter to deliver, that was not the plan, not at all the plan for tonight.

Inadvertently, unintentionally, the message he had brought had ruined it. And neither he nor those who had sent it would know how much. For as it was, the snowy owl had not really been waiting on him to deliver a letter, it was awaiting another.

A woman, who arrived soon after both had left and knocked and called and searched in vain until realising no one was home. A woman, who instead of reacting with the expected anger, simply dropped onto the steps of the back porch facing the sea and cried to the waves breaking on the shore.

All this way, at this late hour for nothing, all that argument, all that yelling for no one, he didn't want them to find them. He had run away because he wasn't ready for what she had forced him into, he didn't want her, he didn't want them….

And then, once she had determined that she had been there long enough, and that no one was coming, walked back round to the front of the house, away to a grove of trees near the property and Disapparated.

How like cruel irony then that she had arrived too late and would leave too soon. For, as the soft “pop” of her departure dissipated to the sound of the sea, the snowy white owl appeared again. Back again, this time, to stand silent guardian in a now hopeless watch.

-->

A/N: Quick update here, hope you like, understand and forgive me for. I have the complete plan for the rest of this story but it just refuses to let me write it.

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, not mine and whatever.

~*~*~*~

Moonlit Rendezvous

It would be a week and two nights before Harry would notice that something was amiss. With the twins' letter in hand he had carried on blissfully unaware that his elaborate plan had gone prematurely awry. As far as he was concerned that Saturday night Hermione would go to the Blackpool beach house, meet Hedwig and receive the letter that would lead her to Wiltshire. Once there, he would be awaiting her as Paul Nicolas, but not having taken his potion that day, he would transform into Harry Potter before her eyes. And if, after that she needed further proof of his identity, he had a Veritaserum-laced butterbeer chilling in his refrigerator.

Unnecessarily elaborate, yes, but the belief was that it would throw off anyone who followed her, and absolutely convince her that he was who he claimed to be. Snape had told him that she wanted to see him alone, and he was going to let her have that, and the truth.

But when Saturday night came and went, and his only visitor was the grey owl Hermione had given the twins, now with the direct address he had decided to give them after their letter, he realised something was wrong. But because he was Harry, he simply decided that something else must have come up to side-track her.

Luna had given birth earlier that week. Ron and Luna Weasley were now the proud parents of a baby girl, Matilda Astrid Weasley. With Ron away at school for the while—though he had come home the first three days after the event—Hermione and Caspar were at the Weasleys to help her. She had probably just decided to stay over that night too and put off meeting him until later in favour of her friend. She was always a kind, caring person, why wouldn't she do that?

There was also the possibility that her son was sick. The little boy could always be found playing in the front yard in the cold after school. Surely that would make him ill, unless he had inherited some of his father seemingly chill-resistant Bulgarian genes. Of course, Hermione was a Healer-in-training and had access to Pepper-Up Potion, so whatever illness would not have lasted too long.

But still, he gave her the benefit of the doubt. Hermione would come to find him soon; he didn't want to scare her into thinking that he was an impostor if he went to her.

Monday morning though, he gave that up. Splashed all over the “entertainment” section of the paper was some rather curious news: On Saturday, Hermione had been at Hogwarts to watch the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match (Gryffindor won 320-170) and then spent the rest of the day with the twins. Sunday she took the twins to visit her Muggle relatives and spent the entire day with them until the twins had to go back to Hogwarts late in the evening. It was apparent she was acting as if she had never heard the news that he was alive and he wanted to know why, and throwing caution to the wind he went after the only probable source.

Snape was rather easy to locate. He no longer lived in Spinner's End, but an equally squalid, abandoned set of flats just like it in a new area, the aptly-named Last Stretch. Forgoing all pretence as to his identity, Harry simply donned an old pair of robes—it wouldn't do to get mugged—and went. And when Snape met him at the door he was not pleased.

“Have you completely lost your mind? Many may consider those 'neo-Death Eaters' a joke but it wouldn't do to cross them. Quite a few meet regularly here, one sighting and they will do your friends' job for them,” he snapped as he hurriedly ushered him in and closed the door.

Harry ignored it, choosing to demand instead, “What's going on with Hermione, why didn't she come to the house?”

Snape gave him a confused look, “She didn't come to see you? After that entire ridiculous argument, wasting hours of my time, and every one else's she didn't?”

“Don't act like you don't know anything about it! I waited, for two nights, and she didn't show up. I should have gone to her directly, as soon as I came back… before that even!” Harry ranted.

Snape sighed, “Not this again, you well know why you couldn't—”

“Yes, yes, the Death Eaters are after me… do you know the hell I've been through in the past two days? Of course for them it must have been worse when I didn't come back after the war,” said Harry, cutting him off.

“By the time you were awake they were convinced you were dead and the fraudsters had already started to appear, I am not going through this with you again. I haven't seen Miss Granger since the night she left Malfoy Manor, I assure you, and if I had you would have been one of the first to know. But surely you understand that there is now yet another Weasley in the world, she must have rearranged her priorities accordingly… seeing that she and your former girlfriend aren't really talking anymore,” Snape told him.

“I know that, I tried to believe that, but Luna has the Weasleys to help her! Hermione was at a Quidditch game and then she was taking the twins to see her relatives, not once was there the slightest indication that she had other plans! She just never went looking, as if she had completely forgotten, or was convinced that—” his rant came to an abrupt end as he slipped into his thoughts, his brow deeply furrowed as he went over something in his mind.

Snape sank himself into a rather uncomfortable-looking old armchair by his small fireplace in the dingy flat and then asked, “Tell me, is there anything that might have happened to prevent her from going? The night she left the house… Miss Granger is a very determined young woman, she has patience but sometimes… what if she did go that very night, and something happened to prevent her from going further than Blackpool… did you leave the owl as I told you to?”

Harry snapped out of his thoughts suddenly, then nodded impatiently a moment later, “Hedwig was there, she was supposed to keep watch, and then late in the night she brought me a letter from the twins. If Hermione had been there before she would have seen the… oh no….”

Snape showed no surprise as he said, “Thwarted by your own children, don't tell me your offspring have taken after you….”

“Oh no…. But they could not have known… if she went that night then she would not have met Hedwig, and especially if she went late. It was only Monday night that I gave the twins the Wiltshire address to write me directly…. I'm so stupid! Perfect, this nonsensical plan of yours…” said Harry, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

“Nonsensical…? Well then Mr Potter, why don't you write her a letter directly? See how far that goes…. You need to pace these things, you've been apart for twelve years,” Snape told him.

“Yes, I know, but tell me, how do you? Have you ever done, ever been through something like this?” demanded Harry, angrily. “I don't think you have, this was all just a colossal waste of time!”

“Fine then! But know this; I at least tried my best to spare the both of you the public humiliation instead of veneration you would have received had this occurred eleven years ago instead of today. If I—” began Snape before he was cut off again.

“If you think that I would have been ashamed of my daughters, of Hermione, you would have been seriously mistaken… as a matter of fact, I think you are mistaken. Is this your excuse now that Malfoy's broken the real story? I never wanted fame or praise or any of the crap that came with it! I wanted to be normal instead of the Boy-Who-Lived, (Snape rolled his eyes) but even Ginny, the first girl I ever had a stable relationship with couldn't entirely see past that! Hermione… Hermione was different, she gave me that normalcy, she never saw the Boy-Who-Lived, she saw me… for goodness sake she was even afraid to tell me she was pregnant instead of parading for the entire world that she was. (Snape stifled a theatrical yawn) I would never be ashamed of something like that, and I'm not. Thanks to you I've ruined it now, and she might be so mad she might leave and take the girls with her, I'd probably be better off dead to her… but I'll always have that. I'll always have the memory of what she gave to me; (at this Snape turned up his nose and looked very much as if fighting the urge to gag) it was the only thing keeping me sane anyway…” Harry told him.

“A false memory,” said Snape, coldly.

Harry turned to him incredulous, “What are you talking about? Are you saying I imagined this whole thing?”

Snape rose from the armchair and asked calmly, “No, of course not, but did Miss Granger show any interest in you of any kind before that night? According to her she didn't—I'd like to hope so—and that first time was truly that. So, did she?”

“What's this nonsense now?” asked Harry, refusing to answer.

“I would take that as 'no' then… now tell me Harry Potter, why would she, after months of being your friend's girlfriend, and even three months after his attack, with him still lying sick in St Mungo's, suddenly turn to you?” pressed Snape, taking a small step forward and folding his arms.

“I don't know why, I don't want to know why, that's past and done with. But I do know that what I had been feeling for her for months before Ron got hurt was real, if you are implying that I or someone gave her a love potion of some kind I suggest you stop it before I do,” said Harry then, glaring at Snape.

“But what if what she felt wasn't? Maybe that's why her memories haven't entirely returned yet, that's the past she's repressing. She never loved you to begin with; she wasn't in love with you at all. She got a taste of a potion though and thought she did, and you were more than happy to play along. You were both still heavily employing the use of those twin troublemakers' joke shop weren't you?” asked Snape.

“Stop it! Every time I see you it's something new!” nearly shouted Harry.

“I've suspected it for some time, it may not have even been intentional, an accidental slip of one of their experiments and she can't get enough of you. Imagine if you had gone back twelve years ago and she realised that she didn't love you, that she never did… and now it was too late to do anything about it. Stuck in a love-less marriage with two young children…. I couldn't prove anything though, so I kept you away from them for as long as I could, with the best excuse available. But neither twin showed any signs of malice… don't you see, that subconscious memory she mentioned last week was the clincher, she didn't love you when you let your predatory ways get the best of you, she was bewitched,” said Snape, suddenly grasping his shoulders and shaking him slightly as if trying to shake it into him.

Harry surprised himself by not shoving him off, instead asking feebly, “How long have you suspected that?”

“Since the day I first laid eyes on you two again in the forest, there was something different, wrong…” Snape told him.

It was then that Harry shook him off, one hand going to the rings round his neck and he turned his back to him. A moment of silence fell before he turned back and said, “I don't believe you, this is nonsense. If you think that I'm going to fall for some nonsense of yours again….”

“Frankly, it doesn't matter now whether or not you do. I did what I thought best under the circumstances, even to the point of actively suggesting you stay away from the children—”

“You did…?”

“—if the person responsible for Hermione's dosing was up to something, your children could have been used against you. Bellatrix Lestrange saw Hermione pregnant, told the Dark Lord and he did nothing? Since when would he not take advantage of such an opportunity, the further you were from them the less he could harm you,” said Snape.

“I don't believe you,” repeated Harry, still not looking at him.

Snape sighed, “Like I said, it matters little—”

“IT DOES NOT! What you're implying changes everything! Now who's being ridiculous in an argument?” asked Harry. “It means that she was really Ron's girlfriend, that she was really Krum's wife… and that you are a bastard.”

Without warning then, he suddenly drew back a fist and punched Snape in the face. He was so startled by the surprise attack that he stumbled and fell back. But Harry merely looked at him a moment thoroughly disgusted, and then turned and quietly left the flat.

~*~*~*~

“Oh, she's beautiful! I mean, I saw her the day she was born, and the day after, and the day after that and every time I do she just seems more beautiful. Look at that red hair, hello Matilda… hello sweetheart. Come to Hermione a little bit won't you?” said Hermione, reaching into the bassinet to lift the baby out before she had even properly discarded her cloak at the door.

Luna, who had let her in, smiled and then asked, “Have you been to see Harry yet?”

Hermione tried to ignore her, making faces at the baby and kissing her soft, rosy cheeks. Luna came over and took the baby away, “Why didn't you?”

“I did,” said Hermione, going back to the door to remove her cloak.

“And?” asked Luna, prompting her.

Hermione looked up at her, tears beginning to prick at her eyes as she fought the clenching at her throat, “He wasn't there, the house was locked, it looked old, shabby, abandoned, he wasn't there… it must have been some kind of letter drop point….”
Luna put the baby back into the bassinet and went to comfort her. Hermione allowed the younger woman to draw her into an embrace and she cried, blubbering like a child, “I don't think he wants us to find him… he's gotten used to being away and he doesn't want that ruined… I'm a millstone round his neck, first that night and then—”

Luna suddenly released her, “Oh you remember what happened then?”

Hermione looked at her puzzled a moment, and then gasped as she realised what had just happened. For a moment there was a flicker of excitement in her eyes and then it died away, “No, I think it's just that I get a little bit every now and then, like that recurring dream of snow…. But what good are memories if he doesn't want us, doesn't want me?”

Luna said nothing for a while and then asked, “Have you invited that Mr Nicolas over for dinner yet, I saw the way he was looking at you. It was as if you had just walked right out of his dreams.”

Hermione had often made no secret that she thought Luna was crazy, and she was continually given reason to believe it, but this just took the cake. Of course, she had also just had a child; her hormones were obviously still out of control. She did her best to conceal this thought though, as she replied, “No, with everything that's happened, it just slipped my mind… and I'm not exactly in any condition or even ready to start dating again.”

“I think you should invite him over, you never know,” said Luna, settling herself into a chair beside the baby's bassinet.

Hermione dropped into the seat beside her, “I hardly think that's a good idea. The twins' room isn't finished yet, Viktor's relatives would start uproar, the press—”

“It's just dinner, maybe you could eat in, I wasn't suggesting anything else,” said Luna, smiling encouragingly at her.

Hermione blushed, slightly embarrassed, and then replied, “I can't do it, I can't just ignore the fact that the father of my children seems to be running away from me. I can't act—”

“You're already acting as if nothing has happened, what's the problem now? All you've thought of since you been here is Harry and your children, you need something new, a nice, neutral dinner wouldn't hurt, would it?” asked Luna.

Hermione could fast see that this was a losing battle, she shook her head.

Luna smiled, “Perfect. He was really nice when I spoke to him at Hallowe'en, I've already sent an owl and he should be at your front door this evening at seven. He also said he has a pair of twin daughters of his own, maybe your twins and his could be friends.”

Hermione didn't hear her though; she was too busy registering the shock of her first sentence.

“You already sent him an invitation? What if I hadn't come to see you today and he just showed up at my house? What if I wasn't going to be home today?”

Luna shrugged, “Then he would try again the next night, you're bound to be home eventually.”

“No one is that persistent for someone they don't know,” Hermione told her quietly.

“He looked at you as if you had stepped out of his dreams,” repeated Luna.

Hermione made a long, slow exhale, but just as she began to resign herself to the rest of her visit, Luna asked, “Just out of curiosity, exactly how long did you wait for Harry? You were home the next morning….”

“I waited for over five hours, I'm sure of it, for as long as I could take and he never showed up,” Hermione replied, trying her best to act nonchalant.

Luna's reply though, destroyed that.

“Hmm,” she said, stretching her legs out over Hermione's lap.

“Hmm?” asked Hermione. “His absence bothered, is still bothering me, and all you have to say to that is 'hmm'?”

Luna shrugged, “You could have waited longer, what if he was out doing something?”

“What could he be doing out on a Saturday night?” asked Hermione, immediately regretting it.

“Anything, he's a grown man who lives alone in a resort town, surely you didn't expect him to live the complete hermit while he was away?” asked Luna.

“If our marriage vows meant anything to him—since he apparently remembered them—if he was in as much danger as Snape said, I'd like to believe he did,” said Hermione.

This time, Luna had nothing to say.

~*~*~*~

The owl had been in the study awaiting him when he came in at last from his afternoon's wanderings through much of London. It was amazing the damage that had been done in the years of his absence by those pretending to be him. He had actually comfortably travelled through Diagon Alley without one person approaching him, something he could not clearly remembering happening since he was eleven years old. But it also reminded him of how difficult it could be for Hermione to believe that Paul Nicolas was actually Harry Potter. They had all become rather used to impostors.

So he was greatly shocked when he stepped into the study to check on the day's deliveries, and found the invitation from Luna to dinner at Northbridge Manor.

That he had not been expecting at all.

So, Luna did know who he was. How, he would never know, and even if she didn't really, she had a pretty good idea of who he might be. Honestly, were there truly no other free compartments on that train?

For a full ten minutes he had stood at his desk with the letter in his hand, reading and re-reading the invitation, before finally, quickly, scrawling a reply and sending it off to her. He was stunned, but he was not that stunned.

However, no sooner than had the owl vanished to the air than did it hit him the implications of what he had agreed to. Yes it was an opportunity that he would be a fool to pass up, but it also meant that he had no idea what he was walking into. Despite the last weekend, he was not prepared for something like this, he had no idea what could happen.

What if he showed up at the house and Hermione wasn't alone? Should he still risk revealing himself when the original plan was that they be alone? Should he let her do all the talking and just go along with any decision she made whether he wanted to or not? Should he keep up the ruse with the hope that another opportunity like it would present itself in the near future?

Or, what if he showed up and she was alone? How would he go about telling her the truth? Should he start immediately and hope for the best? Should he wait a little, see how she felt about the possibility of seeing him again and then tell her? Should he have even agreed to go at all?

It was too late to change anything though. The owl was gone, Hedwig was not up for intercepting anyone, and he had to prepare for dinner. The only thing he was clear on, the fact that he would go to the house as Paul Nicolas.

She had to see the transformation in order to believe it.

For the rest of the day then, with nothing but spare time on his hands, Harry found himself under the constant assault of his thoughts. It was probably what a man about to be executed felt. As his life was about to end, every past deed presented itself to torture him to the very moment.

But his thoughts were not exactly on his misdeeds, rather, the misdeeds of another, one Severus Snape to be exact.

For the past eleven years he had lived in the belief that if he ever returned to his family they would die. That if they were ever together, truly together as they should have been, they would have been killed… and that was something he was not prepared to allow.

One of his first memories after waking up was the sight of the twins' faces just hours after they were born. Never had he thought it possible to love so much, it was insane the feeling, but he felt it. In that moment and without a second thought he swore that if he would die, he would die for them—cliché as it was—and their mother, of course. The promise Hermione had made to him, that he had made her make, was negated instantaneously, there was no way he could deny them life if he went.

Not that he thought she would kill herself, but there was more than one way to die.

When Snape came to him three days after his and Hermione's marriage with the news that Bellatrix may have seen Hermione's pregnancy, he was alarmed. When Snape came to him again, just days after the twins were born with news that Bellatrix was actually taking note of Hermione's absences, he was absolutely terrified. It was easy then, despite Snape himself, to fall under the belief that leaving them was the best way to prevent his nightmare from coming true.

But not once had Snape divulged his concern about how the twins came to be… not that, if he really thought about it, it mattered anymore. Whether or not Hermione loved him the night they slept together was irrelevant next to the fact that since that night he knew, without the shadow of a doubt or fear that she did now. It didn't have to be daily said, constantly repeated or even casually alluded to, it was just there with them and they felt it.

Obviously though, if Snape had said something, they would have been concerned, more cautious, and more observant of everyone and everything they interacted with. If this was a grand scheme of Voldemort, Fred and George or the Loch Ness Monster he would have made sure they paid for it… after thanking them, of course.

They had benefited more than were they actually harmed by the entire experience and he was already thinking of more children, with names lined to match.

But no, the constant hell that came with being him meant that he was to be denied that.

So he had Snape make the potion, prepared himself to part from them… and then Hermione discovered him.

He had never seen her so angry—and he was probably going to see her angrier that afternoon—but then it was a new experience for him. She was so furious she had set off a spectacular display of wandless magic that sent various objects, food supplies and ornamentation flying from the shelves and cupboards in the room with them and those around. But eventually, and reluctantly at that, he had broken her down to an agreement: If she wanted to come with him she would have to give up the twins, a compromise was too dangerous and he firmly wanted her to remain behind.

In reflection, maybe he should not have been so surprised that she chose him. What good was life raising the twins if he was dead and she had done nothing to help him? It was a pity that that action had then unwittingly set off a chain of events that would lead them here.

And all the while Snape had suspected something and kept it to himself.

And he was right too, it mattered little. When he met Hermione at last and told her the truth, she would not care what Snape's reason was, she would only want to hear his. It was wonderful how life seemed determined to screw with him.

By the time the sun had set over Wiltshire though, Harry had fully composed himself and consumed the first dose of the potion that would turn him in Paul Nicolas. He would not take the other, and having decided on it firmly, poured the rest down the sink. It was the time to face his fate and he was going to take it like the Gryffindor he was.

He went to his wardrobe and selected his best casual suit, and could not escape the feeling that it was also his funeral shroud. But surely this was exaggeration, Hermione wouldn't kill him… just maim him within an inch of life, but not kill him.

Showered, dressed, and then cloaked for the short walk in the cold, he let a study window open for Hedwig, made sure to secure his doors, and then stepped out into the cool, quiet night.

By contrast, just over at Northbridge Manor, Hermione was cursing the day they stepped into the train compartment that would introduce them to Luna Lovegood. Didn't she understand how much Hermione didn't want to meet this Mr Nicolas no matter how charming—and somewhat overly enthusiastic—he had been when she first met him? Yes, she understood the importance of getting to know her neighbour, but she didn't really want to know him that well… at least, not now.

Right now, she wanted to carry on much as she had that first night, and the one after, and the one after that since her ill-fated trip to Blackpool: pretending it never happened. Her theory was that if she pretended she had never gone, that she didn't know that the twins conversed with their father, that he was really dead… then she would not hurt over his apparent decision to avoid her. And that had been going really well too… but oh Luna, she lived to contradict Hermione's every belief.

But Hermione did have some control over this evening. As it was going to happen at her house, she had no intentions of meeting Mr Paul Nicolas alone. Caspar was going to be with them, despite Luna's objections, and she had already set up the dining room with pictures of the twins. If this man wanted to get to know her, he would have to get to know her children—all three of them—too.

She had just finished ordering Caspar, for the hundredth time so far, to put on his proper shoes instead of the old, worn trainers he had decided on for the evening, when there was the sound of two, low quick buzzes. Mr Nicolas had arrived.

Deciding she had no time to argue with Caspar when he was clearly determined to be difficult this evening, she drew her wand and quickly transfigured his trainers. As he protested, she went over to the door and pressed the button to open the front gate.

She was barely back into the living room—now discovering that Caspar had abandoned the prospect of shoes altogether and discarded the pair under the coffee table—when there was a knocking at the door.

Mr Nicolas must have speed-walked the path, he was making it so difficult for her to turn him down gracefully.

With one last warning look to Caspar, she walked back to the front door and opened it, saying, “Good evening Mr Nicolas, sorry about the wait in the cold, my son is… well, he's a boy, why don't you….”

Her voice trailed off and she stopped absolutely still.

It became very quiet very fast in the house, and when Caspar realised he could no longer hear his mother's voice he hurried to see what was up at the front door.

There was his mother; clearly, she was the one in the white shirt and navy skirt holding the door open to admit their guest. But the person standing there was not Mr Nicolas. He knew Mr Nicolas; he was a tall, suntanned man with light blond hair and grey eyes. This man though, was not. He had messy black hair, bright green eyes, a lightening-bolt scar on his forehead and the expression of someone who had been caught red-handed in the act of something mischievous.

Caspar tested the name though he wasn't sure he wanted to, “H-Harry Potter?”

The man's eyes flicked past Hermione to the small, dark haired boy standing in the foyer behind her. He took a moment to survey him before replying, “Hello Caspar.”

That snapped Hermione out of her daze, “Don't talk to him! Is this some kind of sick joke? Did Luna think I'd find it funny?”

Harry turned back to her, “No, Hermione, this isn't a joke; Luna didn't set me up to this….”

“Then who are you? Because I was supposed to have dinner with a Mr Paul Nicolas who lives just across the street, if you're one of those con-men trying to get—” she started angrily.

“I'm Harry, Hermione… Luna… she-she figured it, she saw right through my disguise the first day she saw me in the street—” he tried to explain.

“No, you're not, Harry's dead! Harry died eleven years ago on Hallowe'en! You're just some trickster… you're not really him…” she protested, and then began to back away from the open doorway to her son who had not moved.

Harry took a step into the house after her. This was not going as planned, why did the potion have to wear off so quickly? Better yet, why did it?

“Listen Hermione, I know that… I know that you're angry right now, that you probably want to hurt me, or scream or something, but please, give me a chance to explain—”

“NO! Get out of my house! You're not him, he's dead! He never came back after he went to kill Voldemort! Voldemort killed him in the forest—” she screamed.

“—near Godric's Hollow,” he completed for her, calmly. “But he didn't kill me; I ran out of the forest alive and went to Snape. Snape who warned me that if I even tried to look at you Bellatrix would kill you, and our daughters…. I am so sorry Hermione, but I couldn't… I couldn't let them die because of me; I couldn't let you die because of me. You barely survived the search for that bastard's Horcruxes in the first place, I couldn't lose you then. Your parents… if I hadn't been there—”

“No, no, no-no, you… you… Snape set you up to this. That's it, I don't know why but he obviously wants to hurt me…” Hermione protested, backing even further into the house.

“I'd kill him first,” said Harry, seriously.

For a moment, and the slightest of them at that, Hermione stopped still and looked at him, really looked at him.

Maybe it was what he said, or how he had said it, but he was sure that she must have realised then that he was telling her the truth. Seeing him again, mentioning Horcruxes, explaining himself with details Snape must have backed up didn't do it, but threatening to kill Snape did. He had to wonder at this woman.

And then she was back again, and though her eyes revealed barely contained fury her voice was small as she asked, “Why… why weren't you there Saturday night?”

“What?” he asked confused.

“Saturday night, where were you when I went to Blackpool?” she asked again.

He realised what she was talking about immediately and replied, “I don't live there anymore, I came here as Paul Nicolas… the idea was that you'd meet Hedwig there and that she would lead you here…. But the girls sent me a letter and you must have just missed her—”

“Why didn't you come directly to me the moment you got back?” she demanded.

“Would you have believed me if I had?” he asked.

“Have you so little faith in me?” she asked.

He tried to correct immediately, “I never, have never, will never, have little faith in you. I trusted you with my life! What would it take to convince you of that? Wasn't the war more than enough?”

He couldn't believe her, now she was getting him angry too.

Hermione refused to be embarrassed by it.

“You clearly didn't trust me enough to come back to me, to come back to our children! You left Maia and Aimee with a nanny while you went gallivanting to gods know where—”

“I didn't want them to die! Didn't you hear me when I told you that I didn't want them to get hurt? Snape told me that if I went back you'd die, and then your parents were attacked. If they couldn't hurt me directly they would do the next best thing, attack you. You were safe as long as you were away from me… as you probably would have been if you and Ron had gone back to Hogwarts like I wanted you to from the beginning!” he nearly yelled.

“But you'd be dead! And I would have lived the rest of my life wondering 'what if?' I couldn't do that Harry, I was only seventeen but I knew what it meant when the very thought of you seemed to suck the air from my lungs. (Well that answered that question.) I would have stood by you, with you all the way to hell if I had to!” she yelled back.

“Yeah, you'd 'die with me' right? But you see I couldn't let you do that with the twins. They changed everything, before they were born it was fine, they weren't physically there for me to be constantly worrying over, but once they were…. Hermione, I was wrong for listening to Snape, I was wrong for leaving you, I should have fought to stick with you to the end, but I will not apologise for trying to protect you,” he told her.

Her eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in fury, “Everybody wants to protect me—do you know that Mrs Weasley's, Lupin's and Snape's idea of protection was to take them away from me too?”

He dropped his head, “Snape said… I didn't know much about why they weren't with you other than they wanted you to remember rather than be shocked. (She scoffed.) But today he told me that… he suggested the idea because he was thought that… that someone must have slipped you a potion the night we… the night we… the….”

He looked down at Caspar; she glanced at her son too and as if suddenly realising he was there, and then replied almost mechanically, “I'll say it once, not one moment of that night was not me. I loved you, thought you loved me too, and you hurt me, and then… and…. I don't know what to think anymore….”

He quickly looked up at her and said, “Hermione I did-do love you… I'm sorry Hermione…. I should have… I….”

“Don't bother… as a matter of fact, I think you should leave now,” she replied, brushing it off.

“Hermione please…” he began and took another step in towards them.

But she had nothing more to say, she shook her head at him and took hold of Caspar's arm.

He tried one more appeal but Hermione had had enough, “Goodnight Mr Nicolas, I don't think we should continue this evening, it's distressing my son.”

He looked down at the boy again, who was very silent but with eyes that revealed an internal fright, and replied, defeated, “That's okay, we can-we can talk later… I'll be… I'll be next door if you need me….”

And then with one last, longing, apologetic glance, he turned away from her and left.

Strangely, the first thought that came to him as the door shut solidly behind him was, at least she didn't hex me.

The first action for Hermione was to break down right there and cry.

-->

A/N: As per usual, I struggled with this chapter and apologise immediately for all incoherency that may appear. I think I have it right though, so um… read on then.

Disclaimer: I'm severely allergic to lawsuits, none of this is mine.

~*~*~*~

Mend

He put her down, turned her to face him, looked her directly in the eyes and said, “I'll never leave you forever, sometimes for a little while, but never forever. And besides, you said you needed a break, and I got you this…”

“What is it?” asked Hermione, immediately looking down to his hands that had disappeared into his pockets.

“You'll have to close your eyes,” he told her with a grin.

Okay, this she had no time for. It was cold, she was freezing, a little hungry… surely he wasn't serious.

“I hope that was a suggestion,” said Hermione, irritably.

Harry sighed, “Exactly how does being pregnant give you the right to take the fun out of life?”

“It doesn't,” Hermione replied, smiling lightly, “but it's freezing out here, I don't want to play games.”

“Fine then, here's your dumb present,” said Harry, sullenly and thrust into her hands a fist full of snow.

“Harry Potter!” she shrieked, realising the ruse and made to throw it into his laughing face. Since when was winding her up fun? Had he lost his mind? Was he somehow channelling Ron?

She would pause though, when her gloved fingers grazed something stiff within the crushed snowball.

Ignoring his laughter for a moment, she cleared away the mess of snow in her hand till she came to a small red box. She looked up at him suspicious—his expression was carefully blank—and then opened it.

She gasped at the sight.

Lying atop a blood-red cushion of velvet was a long silver chain with a pendant replica of a Time Turner. It was an almost perfect copy of the one she had had in Third Year, so much so that for a second she looked up at him and asked, “I thought the Ministry's stock was destroyed?”

He patted the top of her head with a pitying sigh, “My poor, poor Herm-own-ninny, the stress must be getting to you, you can't tell the real thing from a fake anymore?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, ready to retort, when both were startled by the sound of branch breaking under someone's foot.

At once Harry whipped out his wand, “Who's there?”

“Put it away before you hurt yourself, Mr Potter,” was the reply, and into the clearing stepped Professor Severus Snape. Well, the former Professor Snape anyway.

As always, he was dressed in black, a few stray snowflakes spotting his shoulders, and stood out starkly against his white and evergreen background. With his pale skin though, he could as easily blend right in again, comfortably camouflaged in the dead of winter. How fitting.

Hermione instinctively drew her cloak around her tighter, but she knew it was probably useless. At the rate she was growing it was getting harder and harder to conceal the fact that she was pregnant and she was barely into her third trimester.

Harry stepped in front of her completely and replied, “I don't think I will actually, what are you doing out here?”

“Doing what you two should, looking out for trouble. Miss Granger has been standing here quite some time alone, I noticed,” he told him.

Hermione swallowed another gasp.

Oh no, he could not have seen her could he? Please let it be that he hadn't seen her, please….

“Hermione can take care of herself,” said Harry, fiercely. It was with pride that she noted the defensiveness in his tone.

“I would hope so, after all, we are all in the middle of a war,” he told him. “There are enough innocent victims lying about already.”

“What's that… why, you've seen something?” she asked, lamely covering her real question: “What's that supposed to mean?”

Snape looked very much as if he knew full well what she had stifled but replied instead, “No, I was merely saying that not all of us can protect ourselves, it's not a matter of weakness, just… defencelessness….”

“Weasley House, Ottery St Catchpole!” bellowed the Knight Bus conductor, startling her out of her dreams and lazily, unsteadily, Hermione rose to her feet and headed for the door.

Stan Shunpike, officially reinstated years ago during the war, actually extended his arm to help her out, “Easy there ma'am, wouldn't want to slip in this weather, icy out.”

“Thanks, I'll be fine,” said Hermione, slightly embarrassed, and then drawing her robes tighter round her, made her way up to the path to Ron and Luna's house.

Since the night Harry showed up on her doorstep she had been repeatedly visited by dreams, nightmares and visions of a long-forgotten past. They were coming back to her, finally coming back to her, in a tumultuous deluge that had denied her sleep, food and sometimes simple concentration for the past week and a half. Every moment she closed her eyes it seemed that she was going back to another world, another life where despite the danger she had found… well, something like happiness.

Hadn't Dumbledore said something about that a lifetime ago?

“But you know, happiness, can be found in even the darkest of times…”

She remembered flashes, every now and then, of moments: her and Harry asleep on the sofa; her and Harry walking out of their apartment with the Order and a stone faced Mrs Weasley; standing before a mirror in a white lace gown with a generous waist and sighing softly. There was a particularly vivid one of delirious joy and a blazing sunset punctuated by the cries of something tiny, nearly bald, naked and pink. There was another of her looking down into a cradle bathed in the light of a full moon where lay two tiny bundles, their hands tightly clasped as they slept. And then another still, not so happy, not so joyous, not so peaceful where she screamed through tears and pleaded against a solemn-looking Harry trying to deny her the right to help save his life.

They were linkages to a once solid stream of memory, but so muddled now that she could make no sense of them, something very foreign to her. Everything had to make sense, even in magic, if there was no order, no rules or restraints nothing would get done. But it would seem from the moment she first let her lips brush ever so lightly against his, all of that ended.

Curiously though, that memory seemed to have no problems with uniformity.

So this was why she was here now. When faced with a situation where nothing made sense where it should, she had to turn to the person she could now hold responsible: Luna. After all, it was Luna who had arranged the meeting, Luna who had somehow figured out that Paul Nicolas was actually Harry Potter and Luna who had some serious explaining to do.

How dare she figure this out and not tell Hermione? How dare she shock Hermione like that, weren't they supposed to be friends? How dare she do that to Caspar, who was probably so very upset no matter how much he appeared only concerned for her?

She actually had to leave him with Mrs Weasley today just to make sure he would be alright. She couldn't put him through anymore surprises.

Or rather, to that annoying part of her that knew the truth, she couldn't allow herself to vent her frustrations when he was around. Like that one question that kept burrowing into the back of her mind and she had fought against herself from asking. She could barely bring herself to think of it now, but there it was still: Why, if Harry loved her so much, hadn't he prevented her marrying Viktor Krum?

Before she was at the door, Luna had opened it and was standing on the front porch waiting for her.

“You saw him didn't you?” she asked.

Hermione stopped in the middle of the path, “You knew.”

It was a statement, not a question, but Luna shook her head anyway, “No, I didn't know… I just… call it instinct or something, I just thought, something was wrong. At Hallowe'en, well, the more he told me about 'himself' the more I realised that he wasn't this Paul Nicolas. He slipped up a lot and thought I had missed it under the noise of the crowd.”

“You could have told me before you sent him to me, at least give me time to—” Hermione began to protest.

“Given you time to do what? You jumped the gun the last time, I couldn't let you do it again,” Luna cut her off.

“What if he wasn't Paul Nicolas or Harry either?” demanded Hermione then, trying to ignore the stung feeling she got from Luna's rebuke.

“I would not have let him meet you, but I knew it was him. From the first time I met him, he was taller, darker, but somehow he just still looked like Harry without the eyes, hair colour or scar,” Luna replied.

“What are you, Professor Trelawney now?” asked Hermione, coldly.

Luna let it slide as she replied quietly, “No, but the way he looked at you, it could only be him. He had that look on his face whenever he saw you from the first time I ever met him.”

“Harry liked Cho then, and after that Ginny—” Hermione began.

Luna smiled, “And all the while he had that look only for you. I thought it was Nargles at first. I thought that they must have gotten to him before he got on the train… but no, it was the other thing you were all too blind to see. Is he at home now, waiting for you?”

It was such a sudden change in topic that at first Hermione just stared blankly at her. When it came to her though, she shook her head, “No, I… he upset Caspar.”

Luna looked unconvinced, “Where's Caspar today, at school?”

“No,” replied Hermione, “he's still upset; he's not doing too well in his classes so I left him with Mrs Weasley.”

“Then why aren't you talking to Harry now?” asked Luna. “Caspar's not around for you to upset him.”

“It's not going to change the fact that he's upset. I'm not talking to Harry again, not as long as it upsets my son,” said Hermione.

“What about your daughters? Aren't they going to be upset too when they find out that you don't want to talk to their father?” asked Luna, poking a hole in Hermione's plan.

Hermione sighed and gave up, “It's just… if I go to see him, if I go over there and talk to him… I have every right to be angry, but I won't be. I won't be able to stand it. I won't be able to spend ten minutes with him and not want to… just hold him and never let go. I would never let him out of my sight again, ever.”

“Then what's the problem? I think your daughters would be right pleased, and Caspar, well, he'll come around, as long as you're safe, he'll be just fine,” said Luna.

“His father won't come back from the dead,” Hermione told her.

“That's what stepfathers are for,” Luna replied, and then involuntarily shuddered. “Um… I think we should go in now, it's a bit… cold out here.”

Hermione looked around surprised, as if suddenly realising that they had just carried on this entire conversation out in the cold. It was early afternoon, with the bright sun above brilliantly flooding the now painfully bare front yard of the Ron and Luna's home—comfortably larger, and more ordered, than the Burrow—with gentle white-gold light and no heat. The leaves had all deserted the trees, and though some determinedly held on by the first snow fall they too would succumb to the deadly chill.

In one of her dreams she had seen the Burrow like this, a memory plucked from the depths of her mind that surprised her. She had been to the Burrow even and no one beyond Lupin, Mrs Weasley, Snape, and apparently, Fleur, had known? How come they could not have employed their talents to keeping the entire family together?

Those were bitter thoughts to have but she could not help herself. Forgiveness for them would be slow to come, very slow to come.

Now, why couldn't she have those same thoughts with Harry?

Luna was speaking again, shaking her from her thoughts, “Aren't you coming, or do you like the cold? Father always said—”

“I'm coming,” said Hermione, cutting her off before she began, “I'm just wondering since when I became your best friend.”

She met Luna at the door and began to head inside as she replied, “Since your Sixth Year I think, you and Ginny just weren't as close as you used to be, anymore. I wonder why, you were going after her brother at the time.”

She had a feeling that Luna was going to make it very difficult for her to stay mad at him as she wanted. By the time the door shut behind them she knew she didn't stand a chance.

~*~*~*~

With only days to the Christmas break, the lists for students going home were passed round during dinners. Among those departing, Ron was much pleased to find, were Maia and Aimee Potter. It was not that he didn't expect to find them there, Hermione was just dying to get them home with her from the day she met them. No, it was more than that, for the first time in what was surely years a Potter was actually going home, and not just to the Burrow.

Looking down at their table then—a newly formed habit of his just to catch a smile or two—he instead found a curious sight. The twins were nearly lost amidst their classmates, tonight sitting together at Aimee's table, but something was making them stand out.

Strutting comfortably about on the table before them was something he had last thought he had seen in the height of delirium shortly after the end of the war. A majestic white bird of snowy-white with eyes of amber and a stern nature that made her an excellent guardian for a boy often mistreated or misbehaving (with the best of intentions of course).

It was Hedwig.

He nearly started out of his seat at the staff table at the sight of her.

But before he could have a proper second look, she hopped off of the table and took to air. For a moment though, she soared just above the floating candles under the enchanted ceiling and then she was gone through a high open window to the dark night sky without.

He could barely believe his eyes but he knew it had to be real, that was Hedwig.

Aimee (or it could have been Maia, they were out of uniform) looked up at him this point and noticed his expression. Immediately she turned and whispered something to her sister. This prompted her to look at him then, and he somehow summoned the presence of mind to mouth, “What's going on?”

It was not as if he didn't know that the twins were in contact with Harry. He had been there when they showed Hermione the address. It was not as if he wanted to care about what they told him. He was a bit (or rather, very) angry with Harry for not physically being there for them, all of them. But the sight of Hedwig casually delivering a message as if nothing was wrong was an act of arrogance he could barely stand.

Maia mouthed back, “You have a letter.”

Hermione had found Harry? Was that why Harry had so boldly sent Hedwig with a letter to the school, and more importantly, for him?

Somewhat stupidly, Ron asked, “What?”

“You have a letter,” Maia mouthed again, clearly believing he had not understood.

Deciding that that would not do it though, Aimee took the small rectangular white envelope from the table, waved it and pointed at him.

“For you, this letter is for you,” she mouthed.

Professor Theoden at the side of him said, “I believe the dear child is trying to say that you have a letter. Don't just sit there; tell her to bring it for you.”

“Why, so that you can read his mail over his shoulder?” asked Padma.

“No, so he can get it, I wouldn't like to think he'd want her to mouth all of it to him from the table,” he replied.

Ron glared at them both, and beckoned the twins. They came at once, together, and attracting attention as they did so. Realising this, Maia stopped and went back to the table, no need to draw unnecessary attention with something that was clearly private.

When she was at the table, Aimee handed him the letter and said, “Apapay entsay histay orfay ouyay.” <Papa sent this for you.>

He had to wonder whatever made her think he would understand her pig Latin, but she obviously thought it more private than French in conveying the message. He also had to wonder if she knew Padma was half of a pair of twins as well. Nevertheless, she had nothing more to offer and simply slipped away from the table back to her sister while he fingered the edges of the small envelope in his hands.

Professor Theoden barely waited until she had re-seated herself before he asked, “What is it? Who is it from?”

Padma though, looked strangely pink, and turned to Ron slightly wide-eyed. She had understood what Aimee had said, and what was worse, she also knew what it meant. There was probably not a person left in the entire Wizarding world who didn't know who “Papa” was.

However, she kept anything she might have had to say to this to herself as she asked, “What's it about?”

Ron quickly pocketed it, “I think I should read it later, 'my-eyes-only' kind of thing. Possibly some junk mail as well.”

“Why send it to the girls then? It must be important,” said Professor Theoden, clearly curious.

“It's from Hermione,” Ron lied. “Personal stuff, you know… the girls are going home for Christmas, and she's always worried about them now.”

Padma looked unconvinced, but Professor Theoden, as desired, was.

“Oh, make sure and send her my regards, will you? And while you're at it, mention my open schedule, I'll be more than willing to help her out during the vacation,” he told him.

“She doesn't want you, she was married to Harry Potter and Viktor Krum, her next husband might be the future Minister for Magic,” replied Padma, without malice.

“We'll see about that, when I debut on her arm at the union of Neville Longbottom and Ginevra Weasley—just received the invitation—we'll see,” he said with confidence.

Ron scoffed, “Believe me, the furthest thing from Hermione's mind right now is a husband, past, present or future.”

Hours later, in his office, Ron drew the letter from his pocket and read it quickly.

“Hey Ron,

I've met with Hermione, and before I do anything else I need to talk to you too. I know you're not happy with me now, and I understand that, but if only just to hear my side then I would appreciate it if you came to my house when you come home for the vacation. For obvious reasons I can't include the address with a letter delivered by Hedwig, so the twins will tell you.

Even if you're going to hit me, I want you to come.

Harry.

For a time he just sat at his desk staring at the letter, and then he crumpled it and threw it away.

It wasn't necessarily a good idea for him to meet Harry right then. Not in the mood he was in at the very mention of Harry's name, or even the slightest thought of him. Hitting him was mildest of the things he wanted to do.

Sitting through Snape's rant had been hard enough. He had been right about some things and then very wrong about others. Ron had even allowed himself to be silent all through it, but only because a part of him still held on to a hurt he thought he long let go. But Harry hurting Hermione was crossing a different line.

He could stand being hurt as long as they were happy. Heck, he stood it knowing that they now had the twins to serve as mementos of that great friend they both knew and loved.

Harry's intentional absence though changed everything.

He could only hope that this letter didn't mean that Hermione had forgiven him. After all they had been through to just let it go like that was unthinkable.

And then he heard a soft rustling.

Quickly, he turned and followed the sound of it. In the absence of curtains and a night wind to flutter them, he knew of only one thing in his office that could produce such a sound and he had given that away weeks ago.

There was the rustling again and this time the top of it slipped away to reveal the twins curled up fast asleep on his sofa. They had slipped in under the Invisibility Cloak and quite possibly it was to talk to him about their father's letter. Their determination to have their family together, now that everyone knew the truth, was admirable, but there were some wounds that they may not be able to heal.

He loved the little midgets, honestly he did, and could ignore their conception altogether just at the sight of them. But he could not, could never try to ignore the fact that thinking that Harry was dead almost killed him.

Harry was his brother, as close to him as he could be without being his real brother. They had quarrelled, ate, played and lived almost as he had done with his five elder ones. So Harry's behaviour was not just something they could talk him into forgiving. Brothers didn't just let each other think they were dead.

One of the twins snuggled closer to the other and the cloak fell off of them completely. Rising from his desk, Ron started over to them undecided as to whether he should wake them and send them to their dormitories or cover them with the cloak again.

They looked so peaceful asleep, much more peaceful than Harry sometimes did and especially so during the war. But they could have that; they were innocent of the things he had known. And more than that, asleep like this he could finally pick out the features that made them at once strongly resemble Harry or Hermione and then still neither. He could see those things on his son's (who he would have to start calling Henry now… or maybe “Little Harry” like Caspar) face sometimes, the features that identified him as his parents' child and yet still with his own face. He had to wonder why he didn't see it before.

Oh right, he didn't have a reason to then.

As he finally decided to leave them there, and drew away the cloak to replace it with one of his own, there was a soft knocking at the door.

He immediately checked his clock. It was nearly midnight, which possibly accounted for why the twins were asleep; he had taken his time to get back to his office. But who could it be at this hour?

The person knocked again, and this time called, “It's me, Padma.”

Quickly changing direction, he went over to the door instead and let her in, asking, “What are you doing here?”

“Don't play with me, Weasley, I heard what that girl told you, Harry's alive?” she demanded, rounding on him as soon as she was inside.

He looked across to the sofa and she started, “Oh, I didn't… wait a minute, why aren't they in their beds?”

“They came up here to talk to me, got tired of waiting apparently,” Ron replied. “So, what's this you're on?”

“I heard what she told you, 'Papa'? Unless there's been a serious mix-up somewhere I do believe that Papa is Harry Potter,” she said, her voice a loud whisper.

“So what if he is?” asked Ron.

“'So what', he wrote to you, he sent you a letter… that was Hedwig wasn't it?” she asked.

“Whatever Harry sent me is private, this is none of your business,” replied Ron, hastily.

“The hell it isn't, this is everybody's business! For the past eleven years we thought he was dead, the self-sacrificing hero, and instead he has kids and not only that, but is still breathing?” she exclaimed.

“You can't tell anyone, you know that right?” he asked then, deciding to give up on blocking her out.

“Of course I won't tell!” she snapped. “But you have a lot to tell me.”

“Oh ho?” asked Ron, shocked.

“Yes, you do, I thought we were friends?” she said.

“I see I'm not the only one who made that mistake,” he muttered.

“What?” she asked.

He sighed, heavily, and stood silent for a moment contemplating whether or not he should answer. Finally deciding that the truth would come out eventually he turned to her and said, “You'd better had a seat, this is going to take a while.”

~*~*~*~

Harry had barely properly opened the door before Hermione was charging into the house and demanding, “Why didn't you stop me from marrying Viktor?”

It had not yet been two weeks since their ill-fated meeting at Northbridge Manor and he was rather surprised when he parted the curtains to find her standing at the door. After she had put him out, refused to call him by proper name, ignored questions an owl he had sent the next morning apologising for just barging in, here she was finally coming to him. He had to be forgiven if he didn't have high hopes for this evening's meeting.

He did not reply, choosing instead to slowly close and re-lock the door before turning to her in the foyer.

She looked as if she had just come back from work—though it was much too late at night for that—standing there dressed in her heavy winter cloak, scarf and hat. Her cheeks were flushed bright pink; her eyes sparkling slightly in the dim light of a nearby lamp and her stance clearly showed that she had come here for answers and that alone. Two weeks from that night and she had come here for nothing else.

He sighed, “Snape told me you would be happy, that it still wasn't safe… I went anyway and only got as far as the gates… I saw you going out in that dress and… I couldn't do it.”

“I was still your wife! You let me break my vows—” she began to rant.

“Do you think I was happy about that? The thought of you marrying him made me sick to my stomach, Hermione, but I… you were happy with him…. He was someone who wouldn't die on you, he wouldn't make you cry, he would do anything to please you, I couldn't promise you that, not all of it anyway,” he told her.

She gave a bitter little laugh and looked away from him, visibly twisting Viktor's ring on her finger.

She had just come here to talk, and argue. Two weeks of worrying about Ron angrily storming in and breaking his jaw. Two weeks of fearing that she would announce her divorce from him, in absentia, and a suit for full custody of twins. Two weeks of just hoping she would come back… and she just came there to argue.

“Would you have ever come back, ever at all?” she asked finally, and this time slightly dropping the harshness from her tone.

“Yes, when Amaranthe died… I had thought that once the twins had settled, once they were with you again… as that would be the inevitable result of their return… then I would come back. I wanted them to be with you first…” he replied.

Again she said nothing for a while after this response, seemingly pondering his answer. He had a sneaking suspicion that no answer would do though, that his replies were futile in the face of her anger.

They were both victims in this situation, but she was his victim too.

He continued speaking, “I never intended to hurt you, but Hermione, the day you and Ron decided to come with me I couldn't stop that. That night… I wasn't expecting anything to happen, or for it to go as far as it did, and once it was done… I did… I did regret slightly… that I had made it worse for you….”

“Worse for me?” she asked. “Worse for me would have been to watch you die, worse for me was thinking you had. Why didn't you fight to be with me, with us…? Since when, is Snape your most trusted advisor? And you were only considering returning after Amaranthe died? Why not before that when things had quieted down as much as it did?”

“I trusted Snape because I had no other choice. Your parents died, just like he said they would, when I tried to reach you. I could barely stand on my own two feet and St Mungo's was out of the question if I wanted to live long enough to have our family back together again. I loathe him almost as much as I hated Voldemort but I could do nothing without him, he knew potions and spells the Healers and the Order knew little to nothing about. I had wounds inflicted by curses from Voldemort, damage beyond anything they would have been dealing with. He knew it; I knew it and he took advantage of that. As for coming back, I would have before Amaranthe died but there was no guarantee that it would not have resulted in your murders and I couldn't risk that. There's still none now, but—” he explained, but was cut off.

“Your life was never guaranteed Harry, you could have died in Godric's Hollow and you know that. Being your wife was always going to be a risk, still is, and I know that. Our children will always be in danger of some vengeful person, but that's no reason for us not to have a family. You told me once that you always wanted a family—I'm starting to remember a lot of things now—I remember you saying that, but was it the truth?” she asked.

Harry looked at her a moment and said firmly, “Absolutely. But I—”

“No, no 'but', you wanted it and when you had it you let someone take it away from you, as if you didn't deserve it in the first place. I thought you had outgrown that mind-set but you didn't. You deserved us and you let us go, and frankly, I shouldn't be here talking to you after that…” she said and her voice faltered to a whisper.

When he dared to look into her eyes he found them tear-filled, and this time it had nothing to do with cold. This time it was the sadness and the pain he never wanted to see in them but had twice so far.

As if a stated fact, he said, “You're leaving me.”

She took a deep breath, and was silent a long while before finally shaking her head, “No, I'm not leaving you. I… I can't leave you. Not after today with Luna, and after these two weeks… knowing that you're alive… the one before that where I couldn't wait ten more minutes to get out of that meeting and find you… I can't leave you. Not because of the twins, not because of what the others may say, not because of anything else… but that I love you.”

He tried to stifle a reaction to this but couldn't, he just had to look at her and say, “I love you too… you have to know that, have to understand Hermione, I do and have always loved you. But… what does this mean… you're not leaving me, what does it mean?”

Without hesitation, “What I said, I'm not leaving you… but nothing is alright between us either.”

“I'm not expecting it to be…” said Harry, but just barely able to contain the flare of hope that had surged through him at her words. Her not leaving him wasn't a leap back to him, but it was a small step, a step more than he had actually thought he would get.

It was then that Hermione crossed the floor to him and pulled him into an embrace so tight that he nearly couldn't breathe. More than that, she buried her face into his chest and said, “I thought you were dead, for eleven years I thought you were dead. For months now you were right here… do you know how terrible it was for me and Ron and everyone else to live through that? Do you know what you did to me when you just showed up on my doorstep? Do you know how hard it was for me these past two weeks trying to understand all this? I've been through hell.”

“I'm sorry Hermione… but I suffered too, I made mistakes and I'm so sorry for—” he apologised before she cut in.

“Don't, I'm tired of hearing people say they're sorry, you have to tell that to the twins, to the Weasleys, but I don't want to hear it anymore,” she told him.

“I want to say it, I have to,” he insisted, daring to secure her in his arms.

The feel of her, the scent of her, so long had he waited for a chance to do this again. Releasing her hand before in the street had been difficult, but he knew that if she pulled away then it would be impossible. When last he had held her like this was shortly before they took the memory potion and she whispered into his ear: “You know what hurts me the most…? The fact that you can do this to me…”

Surprisingly though, when she did she slipped free of his grasp as easily as air. She stopped there before him, just free of his arms and stared up at him and asked, “I'm going to have to tell Ron, you know?”

He nodded mutely, his arms and chest desperately missing her contact.

“And once we tell him, we, we're going to have to tell the others. When the girls come home, they're going to want to see you,” she said.

He nodded again, but this time asked, “Do we… do we have to tell anyone else too?”

He meant the media, and she nodded, “I'm tired of being a widow.”

He had not been expecting her to say no really, and then asked cautiously, “When will we be okay again? You've had two weeks of it, but I've had eleven years… I don't think I can stand it….”

She smiled sadly, “I'm not ready yet—despite what Luna thinks—and neither is Caspar. The twins' father seemingly rose from the dead, but his won't.”

“I had nothing to do with that,” said Harry quickly, anxiously. “If you're wondering, I had nothing to do with that….”

“I know, you're not a murderer Harry, people you hate only end up dead because they deserve it,” she replied.

-->

A/N: What can I say about this chapter? Well, long, didn't go as I thought it would, *hmm, interesting* and more importantly there's a bit at the end that seriously didn't go as planned. Oh well, this was rated R for something, and if it ain't violence, or obscene language… well, you'll see.

Disclaimer: Why should I even bother?

~*~*~*~

Home for Christmas

With horns blaring and a blast of white steam the Hogwarts Express at last pulled into the London station half-filled with students returning home for Christmas. Their anxious parents had been gathered for more than half an hour now, and breathed a collective sigh of relief. It was a cold afternoon out; the icy winds of winter mercilessly bearing down on the station, blithely slicing through woollen robes. It was already threatening snow; frost lined the train's windows and the ground round them, and the beginnings of icicles seemed to line the roof of the platform. To complete the image, the mocking sun had chosen to hide behind the pale grey clouds that covered the sky while a gentle mist hung low over the earth.

Normally, this would be a wonderful sign of a white Christmas, but when you were standing in the midst of it, there were only so many such Christmases you could stand.

Among those waiting, shuffling about to keep warm and whispering to each other, Hermione stood with Luna and Mrs Weasley. They had only just arrived, come to collect Ron, Philippe and the twins, and Hermione broke into an unwilling smile while Mrs Weasley and Luna just exchanged knowing looks.

The Hogwarts Express was almost always on time, there was no need to rush.

They were actually given a comfortable space at the front of the platform too, and nearest to where the doors had stopped. The other parents actually stepped out of their way as they approached, and a few gave looks that lingered.

It was clear that they weren't the only ones waiting for their family.

For Ron it had been like this since the first time he went off to Hogwarts. As best friend of the Man-Who-Triumphed and war hero he could always expect a welcoming party and throng of fans wherever he went. It was just too bad that for the past eleven years that had been a privilege most bittersweet.

Hermione could only hope though, that the faces of the children of the Man-Who-Triumphed wouldn't be plastered over all the papers the next day. She'd given them more than enough time to get used to them and her daughters hadn't been there (thankfully) when Harry finally faced off Voldemort. They deserved to have the normal life they had gone to war for.

She was distracted from that thought though, by Luna, and as usual, she was up to trouble.

“Anything special planned for them when you go home? I have dinner for Ronald, just him, me, and our children—you?”

Hermione gave her a warning look, and hoping Mrs Weasley had missed the hint, replied, “We'll just go home, the girls will probably be so tired that they'll just want to go to sleep when they get in.”

“Pity their father couldn't join them,” said Mrs Weasley, stiffly.

Knowing that Harry was alive and had intentionally kept his distance didn't go down too well with her. She was almost more upset than Hermione.

“How was that meeting you were supposed to have, by the way?” asked Luna, as if that was a cue to press on. “Weeks ago was it, you never mentioned anything? Was he there?”

Hermione looked at her with a narrowed gaze. She always knew befriending Luna Lovegood was going to do them no good. She was good if you needed a connection to the media, if you needed an extra in a fight, if you needed help every now and then, but for discretion at times….

You would probably do better to go ahead and tell everyone and get it over with.

Hoping Mrs Weasley would brush it aside too, was a bust. Molly Weasley loved to meddle, and mother, and with her curiosity piqued, she joined in, “Was he?”

The doors of the train had finally opened and the students, bundled for the cold so that they were almost unrecognisable, began to file out. All anyone could really see though were wisps of hair or the flash of a face peeking out beneath their scarves, or if they were lucky, the entire face of a brazen child. Unfortunately, Ron, Philippe, Maia and Aimee, weren't among them.

She replied, “No, he wasn't.”

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the complete truth.

“Did you go back after, to make sure that he wasn't just out?” asked Mrs Weasley.

Still no sign of the four, and the train was half-filled for the goodness sake!

“No, he… he kind of… came to see me…” said Hermione.

Mrs Weasley at once rounded on her, nearly forgetting that they were in public, “He came to see you, and you didn't say anything? Well it's true then, he's alive… but you didn't say anything. You saw Harry and you didn't tell us? I know you're upset with us dear, but don't you think this isn't a bit cruel?”

Hermione exhaled heavily and glared at Luna, “He wants to… I want… he needs to speak to Ron first. He has to, before anyone else—he does want to see the rest of you, of course, just not until he speaks to Ron….”

“Where has he been all this time?” asked Mrs Weasley, somewhat placated but still clearly upset.

Padma Patil left the train, with a curious look on her face when she spotted Hermione and the others, after clearly scanning the crowd for them. Hermione wasn't too bothered; practically everyone who left the train and those on the platform kept glancing over at them.

“All over the place, really… but he has a nice little house now—” explained Hermione, but she was cut off.

“He isn't living with you yet?” asked Mrs Weasley, surprisingly shocked.

“We're not… I'm not ready for… we can't just pick up where we left off, and Caspar… he isn't just going to fall in love with the idea of the twins' father living with us when his father can't,” Hermione replied.

“That's not his decision to make,” said Mrs Weasley.

“My son will not be made to feel out of place for others' mistakes, he did nothing wrong,” snapped Hermione, coldly.

She felt no remorse for the colour that rose to Mrs Weasley's cheeks, and her next sentence began insincerely.

“I'm sorry but… when we work out what we're going to do, I'll have more to tell you. Until then, I just want to take my daughters home for the holidays and pretend that we're a nice normal family.”

Mrs Weasley gave no reply, but Hermione had no time to wonder on it, or glare some more at Luna, for just then, finally, Maia, Aimee, Philippe and Ron appeared. And what was more, they brought company.

“Hello my beautiful wife, the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen,” said Ron, coming up behind Luna.

She turned to greet him with a smile, but instead he drew her into his arms and dipped her for a deep kiss. A few people around them actually whistled, and while she and the children made a show of gagging, Hermione was aware of a number of brilliant flashes.

That was going to make a page in the paper, right up there with her greeting her daughters, she was sure of it.

Mrs Weasley gave no reaction, but when she had had enough, said, “Hello Ron, welcome home dear.”

He broke the kiss to look at his mother, “Oh, hi Mum, Hermione, didn't see you there, vision was blurred for a moment… oh and I brought the sprogs—say hello to your respective owners.”

Maia and Aimee immediately pushed past him to rush at Hermione and envelope her in a tight embrace. (The flashes were positively blinding now.) Their voices were muffled slightly by their clothes, but one squealed nevertheless, “Bonsoir mama, Joyeux Noel! Oh, how we missed you, we couldn't wait to get off the train!” <Good evening Mama, Merry Christmas!>

Hermione smiled and kissed their heads and cheeks, “Bonsoir, mes petites jumelles, Joyeux Noel! I've missed you two so much! Oh, how your brother just wished he could come out here with me!” <Good evening, my little twins, Merry Christmas!>

They grinned up at her and she looked over to Philippe being smothered and run over by his grandmother and said, “And Merry Christmas to you too, Philippe. You look absolutely handsome in that jumper.”

He blushed crimson, but before he had to suffer more, one of the twins, Maia, pulled away from her and said, “Oh, there's someone we'd like you to meet. Mama, this is Rosalie, Rosalie Dursley.”

Even Mrs Weasley froze as the small, plump girl appeared beside Maia. She looked slightly embarrassed at the sight of them, also buried in her winter clothes, but said kindly enough, “Good evening, hello Mrs Potter, Mrs Weasleys….”

Hermione was sure she had seen her somewhere before, but was rather pleased to find that her features—apart from the eyes and hair—bore little to no trace of her grandmother or father. What was more; she was a witch, which was surely something that hadn't gone down too well with the family. This child though, looked well-fed, well-treated and healthy, and Hermione surprised herself when she replied sweetly, “It's nice to meet you too, Rosalie… who's picking you up this evening?”

“My Mum, she can't wait to see me, but I can't wait to tell Dad all about Hogwarts, letters don't do anything justice,” she replied, grinning broadly.

“He'll love that,” said Ron, sarcastically and Luna surreptitiously kicked him in the shin.

“Well, we shouldn't keep you waiting then, it's time for us to go home too,” said Hermione, glaring at him as well and hoping the child had noticed little.

It didn't appear that she had as she replied, “My Mum and Grandma are waiting for me on the other side—it's out the same way I came in right?—so bye. Bye Maia, Aimee… maybe I'll see you two for Christmas….”

The girls smiled back at her, Aimee waved slightly, and then she was gone, disappearing through the crowd to the barrier.

Hopefully no one had noticed that exchange; her family weren't exactly everyone's favourite Muggles.

Hermione looked at her go, and then turned back to her daughters, “What's this I hear… 'See her for Christmas'? I'm not so sure that that's a good idea.”

“Oh, we don't have to go to her, she can come to us. She's really nice, and she's our cousin, our real cousin. It's good to know that we Potters aren't completely alone in the world,” replied Aimee.

If only she knew the horrors behind that family…. But she didn't, and without her father to tell her about them it was perfectly logical for her to see the situation that way. Hadn't Ron told Hermione about sending a letter to Aunt Petunia reassuring her that she wouldn't have to see the twins and she thanked him for it?

But again, without their father….

“Okay, I'll think about it, but we really should be going, it's freezing out here,” said Hermione.

“Oh, right, but wait—here's this for you Uncle Ron, I almost forgot,” said Maia, and she dug into her pocket for a small folded note and handed it over.

He took it with a stiff, “Thank you.”

When the others looked at the exchange puzzled, Aimee cut in, “Let's go, let's go, that's done, we've met, we're here and its cold out!”

Hermione tried to give her a stern look, but was interrupted by a familiar, albeit unwelcome, voice, “Well, look at this now, taking the children home?”

It was strange how she didn't have to look to know her enemies' voices as well as her friends.

“Beat it Parkinson, you have no children here,” snapped Ron, coldly.

Hermione turned to find her former Slytherin tormentor standing behind her attached to a very pretty black girl in fairly expensive winter robes. She had a feeling she knew who that was, and then it came to her.

She had been the opposing Seeker in Maia's match, it was Rhiannon Zabini.

Funny, she thought him smarter than someone who would trust Pansy to their children. Even Draco Malfoy, Merlin forbid he have any, would probably think twice about doing it.

The girl gave no indication of embarrassment, but visibly tried to draw away from Pansy as she replied, “Doing a friend a favour, I'm surprised you didn't all those long years ago.”

Ron's face immediately turned a dark, angry red.

When she spied the twins beside Hermione though, she added, “Oh, now I remember why. Raven-haired Weasleys just wouldn't convince anyone, Potter's brood through and through—hello again, girls.”

Hermione drew her daughters behind her, “Leave us alone, Pansy, I doubt Blaise would be too grateful to you for allowing his daughter to freeze to death, the poor child looks rather cold.”

Pansy glanced at her young charge, now sporting a rather familiar bored expression, staring off to the side. As Hermione mentioned her, she flicked them all a fleeting, albeit discomfited, look, and then turned longingly to the parting crowds.

Pansy turned back to them and said, “Oh, we're leaving, just saying hello and goodbye.”

“Goodbye then,” Ron prompted, impatiently.

She sneered, tightened her grip on the girl's hand and stormed away, Rhiannon looking murderous as she stumbled after her.

“I don't trust that witch as far as I could chuck her,” said Luna, suddenly, surprising all.

Ron though, quickly agreed, “Me neither, but let the chucking to me, I've been waiting on my chance for years.”

~*~*~*~

The sun had not yet properly risen before Caspar was awake and tip-toeing across the hall to the twins' bedroom. He had been asleep when they arrived from Hogwarts the night before, his babysitter having sent him to bed early after a bit of misbehaviour and boredom had done him in. He tried to stay awake then, until they did, but somehow the drive to Wiltshire took longer than usual and he nodded off just as they finally pulled up. So it was perfectly understandable now, that he was anxious to meet his sisters, and especially their first morning at Northbridge Manor.

With a start as if his alarm clock had gone off, he opened his eyes, sat up, threw off the covers and slipped off the bed. The carpet was cold to the touch against his sleep-warmed feet; he found his bedroom slippers and made for the door.

Out in the hall it was still. The house was so silent a clock on the wall at the end of the hall ticked deafeningly, his breathing sounded louder and he found it difficult to move without making a sound. It was a bit early to be out, again, the sun was yet to rise, but he had to be forgiven. After weeks of waiting his sisters were finally here for longer than one day.

This was no time to be wasting asleep.

Their door was shut but not locked, and gave with a soft creaking that temporarily halted his advance. Just because he was up and ready to go didn't mean that they were, and if he woke them when they weren't ready his mother was sure to be upset. But after a moment of silence had passed he decided that he had not and continued through the door in the dimly lit bedroom.

The girls were asleep in their double beds, wearing matching pyjamas and with their hair in loose ponytails. As they were he could not tell them apart, it was so much easier when they were dressed in different uniforms. But still, both looked rather peaceful, comfortable, and for that he was glad.

He didn't want them to not like it and leave; their mother would be very sad if they left and especially if they went back to Big Harry.

At the foot of one bed a silver-grey cat lay curled, on a cage near the window was the owl his mother had sent and on the floor before the beds were their school trunks. The room around them, chosen by him but mostly decorated by their mother, was filled with furniture taken from the Black house. Hermione had decided against letting them rot and since she didn't know the twins' taste found it easier than trying to fix it herself. He was sure they liked that at least, how could anyone not like something his mother had done?

There was a shuffling and a yawn and as Caspar began to back towards the door one of the twins opened their eyes, sat up and looked down at him.

“C-Caspar? Quelle heure est-il?” she asked, slouching a bit, still trapped in sleep with half-closed eyes. <What time is it?>

“Good morning,” he replied, halting again but after a moment stepping forward.

“Bonjour, what are you doing in here? Did Mama send you to wake us?” she continued, turning to shake her sister awake.

He quickly shook his head, “Mum's still sleeping, I think, and I just wanted to see you, I didn't last night. Welcome home!”

She smiled, “Thank you, it's good to be here, and especially for the next three weeks. We can go skating, and skiing, and sledding… we couldn't do that in Nice… oh, and there's Tante Ginny's wedding….”

Her voice trailed off as she looked down to find him grinning broadly at her. She rolled her eyes and continued with dignity, “Well then, we should get right on that, help me wake up Aimee. I have to warn you, she doesn't wake up—”

Before she properly finished the sentence though, Caspar replied, “Okay,” and suddenly broke into a run. With an excited whoop, pyjama-covered limbs and hair flying, he landed heavily atop the sleeping girl, who woke up screaming.

“—easy,” finished Maia (as this twin had to be) and promptly burst out laughing.

Quite proud of himself, Caspar bounced upon the shrieking, writhing Aimee, and loudly sang, “Wake up! It's time to wake up! We have things to do!”

And it was a while before, between giggles, Maia managed, “Shh, you'll wake Mama.”

That, of course, did nothing to stop Aimee's shrieks (no one had moved to free her of Caspar), which woke the cat that hissed and spat at them before diving off Maia's bed and hurrying out of the room. This woke the owl, which began hooting loudly and Maia had to abandon her efforts to calm her sister to let it out the window. The cold blast of wind that rushed in before it sharply reminded her that they clearly weren't in Nice anymore and she shrieked too.

And all this loud activity in what should have been a quiet house brought Hermione rushing into the bedroom to find out why.

“Maia? Aimee? Are you girls alright? What's going on? Did something happen? Who opened that window? What's all the noise for?” she demanded, alarmed, before spotting Caspar on the bed with Aimee. “Caspar… what did you do?”

He became solemn at once, the laughter dying in his eyes like a candle flame in the wind, but Maia quickly answered for him, “We were waking Aimee, she's a heavy sleeper.”

“He jumped on me!” declared Aimee, scandalised.

“Well it worked, didn't it?” Maia pointed out.

Hermione frowned, “You shouldn't do that. You all gave me a fright; I thought something horrible had happened in here with all the noise.”

Caspar apologised, “Sorry Mum, we didn't mean to, we just-I just… I'm sorry we woke you.”

At the look on his face her expression immediately softened, and she said quickly, “Oh, don't worry about it sweetheart. I wasn't going to be able to sleep long anyway, we have so much to do today, and since you've met the family, it means that I have you all to myself!”

She gave them her most encouraging smile; it was a while before Caspar returned it.

An awkward silence descended then, and strange since this was not entirely how Hermione had imagined their first morning officially home. She honestly didn't mind coming in to see the three of them playing together, it was a hopeful sign. But when Caspar's face fell at her scolding, she thought she saw the flicker of something that looked like shame in his eyes.

This was definitely not what she planned.

But since she was not known for “winging-it”, Hermione quickly began, and enthusiastically as she could manage, “Now, since we're all awake, we should get started on the first part of today: breakfast!”

“What's so special about breakfast?” asked Caspar, clambering off the bed to her and stubbornly forcing himself into her arms.
“Yeah, what's so special about it?” piped in Maia, as Aimee sat up in the bed beside her.

“'What's so special about breakfast?' Are you kidding me? Three hours of sitting around, all three of us, eating cereal in our pyjamas while watching cartoons, me reading the paper and pretending I don't have to go to work? What's not special about it?” she asked with feigned shock.

The twins looked at her with arched eyebrows, but Caspar was smiling.

“Well, when you put it like that…” he said, happily, “I'll meet you downstairs, and I want lots of sugar!”

He bounded out of the room almost immediately, and Hermione rose to follow, but then stopped and turned to the twins, asking, “He's very happy to have you both here; you know that, don't you?”

“And we're happy to be… as long as he doesn't jump on me again, he's small but heavy!” declared Aimee, and rather seriously at that.

Hermione smiled, and then continued, “I know this is a lot to take in, but he just wants you two to accept him. I think he's afraid that you won't want him…”

“Why wouldn't we?” asked Maia, absently making her bed. “He's our little brother, and Papa's going to like him too.”

“Maia!” hissed Aimee, and Hermione stifled a sigh.

She hadn't spoken to them about seeing Harry yet, either, and wasn't too keen on it. They clearly had high hopes for them though, and if she wanted to keep Harry at arm's length while she sorted things through, she would have to do faced with that. Why couldn't this be simpler, like only Caspar being the one to worry about?

But the mention of Harry reminded her of something and she asked, “Wait, what was that note you gave Ron yesterday, the one you said you'd forgotten? What was that about?”

There was no apprehension as Aimee replied, “Papa wanted us to give Uncle his address, so he could come see him, alone if he wanted to. He didn't think it would be a good idea if he just went to his house. You didn't tell us that he'd come here…”

Both girls stopped and turned to look at her, and Hermione, after two failed attempts at an excuse finally confessed, “I don't want you getting your hopes up; your Papa and I aren't exactly on stable ground right now.”

“He didn't do anything wrong, he was protecting us,” protested Maia, quickly. “He loves you, he told us.”

Hermione sighed, the words escaping her lips before she could stop them, “I know, I love him too….”

“Then what's wrong?” asked Aimee.

Hermione chose not to answer, instead rising from the bed, saying brightly, “Come on, let's go, not a day for long faces. Let's go downstairs and prove that I'm not the boring swot Ron and everyone else thinks I am!”

She left the room without waiting for them, but didn't fail to catch Maia whispering to her sister on the way out, “I can't believe I'm going to say this but, Uncle Ron was right, Mama is mental….”

Despite herself, she smiled.

*****

Hours later, Hermione would find herself seated awake, the only one, in the living room of Northbridge Manor. The twins and Caspar were arrayed on the loveseat before the television—one of a few Muggle devices she had—the remnants of their breakfast and a half-hearted game of Wizard's Chess scattered with them. It was decidedly uncharacteristic of Hermione Granger to have a messy house, but every once in a while a girl had to be rebellious. Her children, all of them she hoped, were home with her, she could afford it.

But not everyone was home.

She didn't want to think of it but Harry lived just mere feet from her door. More than that, she hadn't quite forgotten Mrs Weasley's curious first question upon learning that she had met Harry. How could she just expect her to pick up where they left off?

She stopped that train of thought quickly. Her mind was being rather traitorous nowadays, and especially since her memories were still returning. The very thought of him brought an unnatural flutter to her heart that she was quite sure hadn't been there the first time they met. Her reason for going over to his house the second time over, hugging him, all of it was coming from somewhere deep inside her. Somewhere she just wanted to touch and hold and see him for no particular reason other than the fact that he was alive.

At least today with the children she had other concerns. As soon as they woke up she would get right into the next item on her list: baking cookies over long conversations in the kitchen.

At least that used to work at home when her mother felt left out of her life.

She shifted and settled herself into the sofa. Alternating her attention between the paper before her, (“Home for Christmas: Potter Twins Vacation with Family!”) and the sleeping children, waiting for them to wake up, were not easy work. Worse still, she was very much on the verge of waking them intentionally (how on earth could they sleep now, lazy children) to get to the baking.

Okay, so maybe she wasn't into complete rebellion today, but is Hermione Granger ever?

And then she heard the knocking.

She rose and went to answer, wondering all the way who it was. She had told the Weasleys that she wanted all of today to her children. It was most certainly not Ron either, for he was so excited about the new baby that it was doubtful she would see him all holiday. Of course, they could have decided, in classic fashion, to disregard her wishes and come anyway. Honestly, Hermione didn't really expect them to listen to her, did she?

But when she opened the door she would stop cold, stunned, before quickly stepping out with the arrival, demanding angrily, “What are you doing here? I told you that I—”

“I want to see them. I haven't for almost as long as you. I made my mistakes, I know, but don't punish me like this Hermione,” pleaded Harry, cutting her off.

He was dressed lightly, despite the weather and season, in just a coat and scarf over a jumper and jeans. He had clearly only intended to come as far as her house and back again, and irrationally, it irritated her. Was he so sure of himself that he believed she would just let him in if he came over?

“You can't be serious, you can't just show up here, I told you about Caspar—” she continued to protest.

“I know you did, I know, but maybe they can come out and see me, or come over today. Your son can stay here where he doesn't have to see me… and be bothered…” said Harry.

She was pleased to note that the last part came bitterly.

“I'm not separating them. You should have seen him this morning, he was so excited to have them here, if you want to see them you have to see all of them and frankly, Caspar is not ready for that yet,” Hermione replied, stubbornly.

“Hermione, please, don't do this to me. If I had known for one moment that there was some kind of set-up, some kind of sick plan to keep you from them I would have done everything in my power to change that. I wish I could go back in time, go back to that day and never take the potion, anything to keep you all together, but I can't. So please, please Hermione, don't do this,” he pleaded, his eyes intensely imploring her.

For some time after this plea, she said nothing, just standing there staring at him. He could see her internal debate, the warring sides danced in her eyes: should she let him in or not. And then finally, one side won.

Stepping away from the doorway she said, “They're your daughters too, but be quiet, they're all asleep.”

Harry's worried expression changed into a brilliant, disarming smile and he quickly said, “Don't worry, I'll be quiet, I just want to see them.”

He had come through the door and to the living room during this speech and halted just as he spied the three of them. The look of genuine astonishment, mingled with surprise and joy told that he hadn't been lying. Harry looked at the twins with a look that was surely an exact copy of hers weeks before. More than that, it was a perfect reproduction of one like it years gone when he first laid eyes on their tiny sleeping forms in the cradle.

She had been standing behind him then. She had been babbling, rambling ceaselessly about her own experience when she first realised that there were two of them instead of one. He said nothing all through her speech, and when he thought she had had enough, turned and kissed her into silence.

It was a kiss so filled with his joy, with excitement, fear, and passion, that she had no other choice. And then, when he was sure she could say no more, he whispered, “I love you, forever, I love you.”

Somehow, she strangely wished he would do that now. That he would just turn her round and kiss her and proclaim that he loved her forever. But he didn't.

He just stood where he was staring at them, and then slowly, quietly, walked over to the closest twin, Maia, and knelt before her.

Well, a girl could dream.

With a gentleness that had once caressed the hair from her face while she pretended to sleep, he drew Maia's hair away from her face, exposing her forehead, and kissed it.

It was not a strange act, many parents did it, but for Harry, she knew, the sight of that bare, unmarked forehead was almost more precious than the life that bore it.

She stepped closer, and whispered, “I haven't… I haven't had much time with them since they got here, you know, they got in late and I just wanted to let them rest.”

He gave no indication that he had heard her, but she knew he did. Whether he liked it or not, he had once told her, he always heard what she said.

“I… um, this morning… I thought that we should just stay in, spend the day in,” she continued. “As you can see, they took advantage of my good mood. Thankfully, the sugar did the opposite of what it usually does and put them to sleep—not soon enough for the chess pieces though.”

At this he turned slightly, looked over the chess board, and then turned back to the children, but this time stopping his gaze over Caspar.

She was suddenly, unreasonably nervous, and walked over to him whispering quickly, “He's warming to them so nicely, he's been crazy about them since the first time he heard they existed, but I… I'm a bit worried. He might think, he probably does think that you… that they won't want him if you—”

“Why wouldn't I want him?” asked Harry, turning away from the boy momentarily to look up at her. “I should be more concerned that he doesn't want me. Like you said, his father won't be coming back. I know what it's like to grow up without parents. It's worse when you have relatives like mine.”

“I'm not saying that I'm worried, it's just… children can have the strangest thoughts sometimes. I would never push my son into the background because you come back into my life—if I let you—but to him that's a very real possibility. The twins liking him, you… that's all that matters right now,” Hermione explained, not sure why she was still nervous about it and rather annoyed at herself now.

“It's mostly my fault that he's in that position, but I can assure you, and him, that I will raise and love him as my own. It's all I can offer, if I could apologise for what I've done, I would raise and love him (he turned back to Caspar and stroked his hair) as his father would… if he would let me, of course,” he said.

Hermione smiled and knelt beside him before the loveseat. He shifted slightly, and she found herself wondering whether for fear of a violent reaction or that she still had the power to unsettle him.

That movement though, made her notice something that had her ask, “Harry… what became of our wedding rings?”

He looked at her surprised, and then reached a hand to his neck and drew out a chain on which dangled two solid bands of gold.

She reached for them immediately, drawing them over to her so that she could properly look and pretending not to notice when he choked slightly. When she spied the inscription, she twisted it over to properly read it and his head jerked uncomfortably.

“Concedere vita ipse ego, 'die with me', you made me promise and then you didn't give me the chance,” she said, softly, her voice almost childlike.

He pulled them from her hands, and slipped the chain back into his shirt.

“Maybe I should have, but then you actually might have. Everyone I love leaves me—though this time I actually helped it along—I think I should have accepted that fact a long time ago,” he replied.

To this she had nothing to say, instead looking down to her own hand and Viktor's ring. Not sure why she was doing it, she twisted it off her finger and set it down on the table.

Harry did not look at her as did this, but heard her when she said, “About time that I… that I took that off….”

Then, he replied quietly, “You shouldn't, if you don't want to… he was more husband to you than I ever was, than I could ever be.”

“Not legally, can you imagine the furore when they find out you're still here, alive? Viktor's mother will have a heart attack, his father's not really my biggest fan, and to find out that his son married a married woman…?” said Hermione, with a mirthless laugh.

“That is not your fault or his, I will take it all for you,” said Harry, seriously. “I've never really cared about what they thought of me, but you… I'll tell them anything you want. I will go to them and let them know that I'm responsible.”

“They won't hear you,” said Hermione.

“I'm Harry Potter, I don't care what they do or don't want to hear. I made a mistake that left my wife innocent of her actions, Hermione Granger is no callous adulteress,” Harry told her, firmly.

She was sure she almost felt her turncoat heart flutter again. But before she had a moment to properly muse over it, Harry was rising from his place on the floor and heading for the door.

“Are you… are you leaving… already?” asked Hermione, suddenly flustered.

“I have to, you wanted the entire day for you and them and I'm… so I'll see you later, maybe…” he replied, securing his scarf and buttoning his coat.

He was out of the living room and had his hand on the doorknob before she called him, “Harry…?”

He stopped and looked back at her and her original reason, whatever it was, died away. The look in his eyes, one of purest pain, and knowing she had caused it, filled her with such guilt that it left her with the lame question, “Later, maybe…?”

“When we meet Ron, whenever he plans to,” he explained.

“Oh,” she said, and he turned back to the door again.

It was barely open before she called again, “Harry….”

He did not look back, but replied in a strangled sort of voice, “Hermione, if I… if I don't leave now….”

It was all the answer she needed.

She walked up to him, put a hand to his shoulder and turned him to face her. He moved with little resistance, barely flinched as her hands came to his face and responded eagerly as she drew his lips down to hers for a small, brief kiss.

But brief for them seemed impossible.

The moment his lips pressed hers it was as if a flame had ignited itself deep within him and he quickly deepened it, deftly slipping his tongue into her mouth as she took a breath of air. Instead of pulling away sharply, as surely her more rational side would have if it were in control; she tilted her head to allow him. Then her hands left his face, slid down his arms and went up to his back. He did the same to her, drawing her into him while fiercely resisting that part of his brain that told him he needed air.

Eventually, they stopped to gasp for it… only to plunge into another, more passionate one after while her hands went to his chest and began to force off his coat.

And then common sense hit him like a bucketful of ice water.

He had to stop her, had to stop this, they couldn't.

Not when their children were in the living room barely asleep merely feet away. Not when they were on shaky ground in their relationship and Ron had to be met. Not when, no matter how much he wanted to, he was sure she would regret it later.

He reluctantly drew his hands from her back, savouring the feel of her bare skin through the nightdress and dressing gown and gripped her own and then pushed them away. It was even harder to break their kiss.

But once he did, he knew he had done the right thing.

She looked down at her feet in shame, instead of him as he said, “We can't.”

Then her question surprised him, “Why not?”

Temporarily disarmed, he actually had to search through his mind before coming to, “You don't want to.”

She looked up at once, and said seriously, “I do, you're scared.”

He almost could not believe it, but said quickly, pointing to the living room, “Our children are right there.”

She looked where he indicated, suddenly snatched his arm, and Disapparated them to her bedroom upstairs.

“They're not up here,” she replied.

He took a quick glance around the room, and was surprised at how much it looked very much as he had imagined it. Practical, neat, filled with books, and then just a little touched by her femininity.

There were pictures of her and Caspar everywhere in there, not one trace of Viktor, and then one of the twins she had obviously gotten from elsewhere. They were much too young in them for it to be recent. It was a soft pastel colour, like an eggshell, with no extra frills, not even on the bed, and the drapes on the tall windows were plain. Her St Mungo's uniform was neatly ironed and hung against the wardrobe, her clothes for that day were laid out on the chair nearby and the book she must have been reading the night before sat on her nightstand.

All it really missed were his shoes, his clothes, his pictures… him….

He snapped out of it quickly though, remembering where he was, to protest, “We really can't do this, what if they come up here? What if they wake up and look for you? What if you regret it?”

She looked away from him to the window and the now somewhat dull day without. Unlike the day before the sun was up and the sky was mostly clear, beautiful, but uninteresting compared to what was going within. But still, for a while she just stood there staring, before finally saying, and looking back at him, “I won't.”

Without another word she drew the band from the waist of her dressing gown and let it slip free of her, crumpling at her feet. Kicking it aside, she stepped over to him, and slowly unwound the scarf from his neck, then removed his coat, and finally his wand, which she used to lock the door before discarding it to the rest of the pile.

And never once did she break the gaze she had held with him since looking back from the window.

Realising that further protest would end in failure, and no longer wanting to, Harry drew her close and gave in. With his hands on her shoulders to steady her, he brought his lips to her neck just below the ear for a first gentle kiss, letting his lips linger as he savoured her, before continuing on with a line of butterfly kisses to her jaw. She tilted her head to let him, but brought her hands from his arms to his neck and finally into his hair as he carried the line of kisses down again to the nape of her neck. Then she let her head fall back as he sucked at her throat, and released a sound that for the past eleven years had been relegated to his dreams, her first real moan.

He responded immediately.

Releasing her neck, he captured her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss that effectively silenced her. Her hands dropped to his neck again but her fingers ran through his hair as she willingly allowed his tongue to explore the deeper recesses of her mouth. It was an action that made him want to get closer to her, much closer to her, and tightening his arms round her back just wasn't going to do it.

And then, almost exactly as it was more than twelve years before, he allowed himself to lose control.

He was no longer nineteen, but thirty-one. He was her husband now, the father of two of her children and just as deeply in love with her as he had been before that night long ago. He had every right to claim her as he wanted to, and was going to do right then.

And besides, at her first moan all blood had rushed south and was making a rather apparent bulge in his pants. Nothing short of Voldemort himself, resurrecting from the dead and charging into the room slinging curses right then, could stop him now.

His hands left their place at her back, slipping, slowly, purposely, down her sides and then up to her breasts. He could feel the nipples stiffen almost automatically beneath the material of her nightgown and he gently squeezed them. She groaned into his mouth, he groped them harder and then broke their kiss to suck at one through the shirt. She stopped him though, pushing him away tenderly, but firmly, before gripping the hem of his jumper, and with it the t-shirt beneath, before pulling both up and over his head.

And then she paused for real.

A remnant of a battle, a deep cut healed to a thin, somewhat diagonal scar traced a path across his chest. The memory of how it came to be there had come to her almost immediately and she froze. He was sure it was that memory that had come to her, because he remembered it too.

A dark forest, the sharp scent of pinewood, the biting cold winds of an autumn night, someone yelled warning, she screamed and Harry fell, blood staining his Weasley jumper. It was the night Ron got hurt, long before this whole fiasco began but almost a contributing factor to it. For more reasons than one neither of them would ever forget it.

Hermione looked up at his eyes then, away from the scar and ignoring the infamous one on his forehead, and saw the pain hedging their desire-deepened pools. He never really liked to think of that night never had and never would, but she could not help herself. Seeing that scar reminded her of all that had been taken from him, all he had had to give up, all he had and would continue to suffer for… and even though she had just cause, was perpetuating.

How could she say she loved him when she knew she was hurting him?

Almost unconsciously, she put her hands to the thin straps of her nightdress and drew them down, allowing the dress to fall to a heap at her feet. His eyes lost the pain, but gained a hunger as they consumed every inch of her, and strangely, she felt self-conscious. The cotton, boy-shorts didn't help either… not that her knickers had been anything fancy the first time they did this, but still….

Harry though, seemed to notice nothing wrong.

He reached for her again, and when she came into his arms he lifted her up and laid her out on the bed behind her. His weight was welcome, and for the fact that it indicated his apparent arousal. She was the thirty-two year old mother of three children and she could drive him wild with just a flash. The thought seemed so strangely absurd that she actually had to stifle a giggle… and replaced it completely with a gasp when she felt Harry's mouth close, warm and wet, around the nipple of her left breast.

She wrapped her legs round his hips and moaned softly as he assaulted her it with his tongue, chewing and sucking at the teat until it was stiff and aching, and then moving over to another. And when both had become reasonably taut, his hands once more replaced his mouth as he trailed hot, wet kisses down her sternum, stomach and just to the tip of her knickers. The sensation made her flesh twitch and she squeezed her thighs against his side. He kissed his way back to her mouth while his hands slowly began to roll down her knickers.

She brought up her knees then, put her toes to the tip of his pants and pushed down, trying to force them off. He stopped her, stood up and quickly discarded them, and his underpants, before coming again to rest flush against her. She almost instinctively bucked her hips as his warmth came to rest against her inner thigh and ran her hands up his sides into his hair.

Instead of reclaiming her mouth though, he began to line kisses again, down her jaw to her neck, from her neck to her stomach, from her stomach down the side to her hip and then finally the tip of her knee, all the while slowly pulling off her knickers. As before he kissed his way back up to her mouth and this time as she tasted him, along with the last salt of her own sweat, she did buck her hips. Every inch of her was primed and anxious for their union and the wait was severely testing her patience.

With mouths occupied then though, hands did the exploring, and it was as if they were lost territory being examined for change. But change was not easy to find.

The scars of war were thankfully few, and he was grateful that the only new one was the line from her navel down from where some barbarian had removed her son. She had gained some weight, but barely that it was noticeable and in just the right place so that it wasn't regrettable. She still gave a small gasp, as if surprised, if he sucked at the top of her shoulder, smiled when he finally removed his glasses (when they got in the way for the millionth time) and indicated her readiness with a determined look, though pleading look.

When he filled her centre, slipping in as if he owned her, he still did so with the tentative nervousness of a shy virgin. He still let her make the first move and each thrust, each grind, each movement in their performance of the ancient dance after was hers to lead.

She grunted into his ear, broke their kisses to flip him unto his back and then sat up bending backwards slightly and gripped his knees. He lazily opened an eye and was struck by the fact that she looked some exotic porcelain goddess atop her thrown. But more than that, apart from the rhythmic rocking of their hips, (put to sound by the bed beneath them) he almost could not tell where she ended and he began. They were complete, whole, as they were always meant to be, and now, more than the first time they ever made love, they could thoroughly enjoy every moment of it.

His hands ascended her chest then slid down as he rose with her to where their bodies were joined and stroked at her heated core. She gave a frighteningly audible groan, while her hands went to his shoulders and her fingers groped and released them with each push. Their pace quickened, she wrapped her hands round his neck as she fell completely against his chest, pushing him into the bed again, and broke a gasp into his ear. He rolled them over, raised her hands over her head and held them fast to the mattress as he took over the regulation of the rhythm.

She reached for his lips and he acquiesced, she freed her hands to run them through his hair and he brought their hips to almost painfully slow grind. She brought up her back as if trying to force him deeper and breathed against his mouth, “I love you, I have always loved you.”

Almost as the words escaped her lips he felt her body shudder beneath his as she came, turning her head to the covers and burying her mouth in a sheet to stifle a scream.

No matter how many times he saw her do it he would never tire of it. As long as he knew he could make her do that, and believe that Viktor never could, he would never, ever tire of it.

But he was not done with her yet.

He could feel himself still tight within her, her body had not yet come down from its high and he was not willing to let it either. He slowed his movements, drawing each buck and thrust out for as long as he could, and almost desperately so. He moved as if his life depended on pleasing her, as if he could pour all the desire of the past eleven years into that one act, as if he would never have her again, and she let him. She tightened her arms round his back and squeezed her legs round his waist, curling her toes at his shin. He took her arms from her back and held them down over her head again, and descended to her breasts where he teased the nipples firm once more.

She groaned pleasurably, and whispered huskily, “Leave me alone, you sadist.”

He grinned against her chest and kissed his way back up to her neck. The pressure at their junction was building though, the wonderful heat spurring his thrusts until he felt the beginning of the familiar wave. He quickened the pace, she stifled small cries and finally nearly bit his shoulder when finally he burst free within her and collapsed weary, sweaty and satiated over her form.

Her body fell limp too, though she was most certainly aroused once more, and her voice was strong as she whispered then, “I could never regret this… you owe me, Mr Potter.”

“I owe you?” he asked, sensing the playfulness in her tone.

“Eleven years worth of debt, I'll count this as one, though you're not done here yet, and if you ever want to be on good terms with me again you best keep up with your instalments,” she replied.

He looked down at her, at the glint of gold in the corners of her eyes, at the tangled mess of her bushy hair, of the pleasant flush of her face, and asked, “What about Ron?”

She frowned, though their still seemed a hint of a smile in them, and said, “No outside parties, he can't pay for you.”

He narrowed his gaze, “I was talking about what he would think if he knew about this?”

She looked away a moment, again her eyes going to the window, before replying, “It's almost Christmas, a time when families should be together… he'll just have to get over it. Not that I've forgiven you, this is just a start, but I want, I need you all home for Christmas.”

“Changed our minds have we…? But just for Christmas?” he asked, and dropped a kiss to her neck.

“Did you miss the part about your debt? No one, not even the Man-Who-Triumphed, can pay that back in a matter of weeks,” she replied.

He slipped another kiss to her ear, and asked, “Is that a challenge?”

Almost on cue, he hardened within her and she smiled naughtily, “Do what you want, it won't work….”

“If you say so,” he replied, huskily, and bent to kiss her neck.

But just as his lips closed onto her neck and he started bucking their hips again, a familiar and now rather annoying voice sounded from the hall, “Mum? Are you in there? Why is the door locked? We're done with breakfast, what are we supposed to do now?”

Harry whispered as he reluctantly withdrew from her, “How the hell did Molly and Arthur have seven children again?”

“Like this,” whispered Hermione, before continuing louder, “I'm changing Caspar, why don't you and your sisters have a bath and you give them a tour of the house, you've been dying to ever since the first time they visited. I'll meet you all halfway.”

“The house is not that big,” protested Caspar.

“To us it is,” replied one of the twins.

Harry turned to the doorway at the sound of her voice.

“Yeah, and you can show us the Quidditch collection, a little Weasley told us it's the best he's ever seen,” continued the other.

“Okay, come on, we'll see you Mum, don't hurry, I'm the guide today,” said Caspar.

Hermione grinned at Harry, “Don't worry sweetheart, I won't.”

-->

A/N: Please forgive me for any and all mistakes in this chapter, I have a test this afternoon and frankly, I think I've gotten to the point where I'm tired of looking over the same words. Bad, I know, but again, please forgive me… there shouldn't be that much though.

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Never was and never will be. *cries*

~*~*~*~

The Trio Reunited… To Some Extent

Hermione would awaken to the sound of her children's voices in the hall, and frankly, it was the most precious sound in the world. So long had it just been the sound of one, so long had it been so sad and lonely sometimes.

She just had to lie there for a moment and listen.

Someone ran and squealed, from what she could hear they were playing a noisy little game, and probably had been before. Another bossily demanded they behave, normally something she would agree to, though now she relished the activity. She could listen to them all day, for the rest of the day, if she had to.

But just as they came to her door they hushed abruptly, apparently not wanting to wake her. Their footsteps were muffled on the carpet, their loud whispers floated in under her door a somewhat incomprehensible murmur and she could almost sense mischief. Strangely though, she could not bring herself to find out what.

That could be done later.

Just as she settled herself back into her bed though, not at all concerned for their scheming, she heard something that brought her out of her maternal haze and furrowed her brow. Was she hearing things or did one of three just say, “Papa”?

She sat up quickly, and immediately regretted it as the much cooler surrounding air rushed against her bare skin. Goose pimples arose at once, and with them the memories of earlier activities. She blushed, but redirected her attention as she distinctly heard another child say, “Are you only here today… Harry?”

It was Caspar, and her breath caught. Harry was here, and he was talking to Caspar, awake and playing Caspar. She had forgotten all about her son before… what kind of mother was she? What had she been thinking?

“I think so… I upset you the last time I was here, she told me… I was actually planning to sneak out when you all caught me…” Harry replied.

Hermione wrapped the sheets tighter round her and rose off the bed heading for the door. She stopped at Caspar's next question.

“You didn't upset me, but you made Mama cry… after you left, she cried,” Caspar replied.

Harry paused for a painful silence before telling him, “I'm sorry about that, that's the last thing I wanted to do. I've made a lot of mistakes that hurt her, and the biggest one of all… I am truly sorry Caspar. You're a good, brave boy, just like your father, a much better man than I'll probably ever be.”

Then he seemed to turn to his daughters, and said, “And you two, I'm sorry too. For not being there, for not allowing you to know personally the love she has for Caspar—you know she loves you right?”

“We know that Papa, Tantie Marie told us all the time, and in your letters—” replied one.

“Letters…? You shouldn't have had to depend on letters, after what I… my children deserved better, and instead, I let someone else make my decisions for me, take you away from me. But it was so easy, too many people I loved had died because of knowing me, the two of you… my children, they would have… I never wanted you to know that life, but instead you had worse,” he told her.

“Believe it or not, but not every child resents their parents for not being around. We know why you couldn't,” said another twin.

“You shouldn't have had to, if I hadn't left you we would have been a family like we were supposed to be,” Harry insisted. A moment later he added, “I'm sorry Caspar, I… I'm just very sorry Caspar, for what this must be doing to you. I'm sure your mother loved your father; Hermione's never been one to do these kinds of things halfway. She wouldn't have married him if she didn't; I barely know why, with all the trouble I was bringing, she married me.”

“We were coming?” asked a twin who could only be Maia. If it was one thing that Hermione had seen in the short time that she knew her, it was that she had adopted a lot of Harry's wit.

Hermione could hear him blush as he replied, “Well, she didn't have to….”

“Grand-mere Weasley would have had a heart attack,” said the other, Aimee. All she needed was her sister to start her up.

“Well, I guess so, maybe not a heart attack but… if she hadn't married me you all would at least have known her love, like your little brother here does,” Harry replied.

“But we do know it, and now especially,” insisted Maia. “And we'll get to know it again with you, here, as a complete family.”

Harry noisily cleared his throat, noticeably discomfited by his daughter's confidence.

“Listen, girls… I don't want you to get your hopes up—”

Hermione cut him off, calling through the bedroom door, “Can somebody please tell me the time, I stayed home today to spend time with you and everybody here let me sleep?”

At once she could hear them starting away from it, but Caspar replied, “Its two-fifteen, did you know Harry was here?”

The twins snorted, though they abruptly halted a moment later at what was surely a look from Harry. But nothing could stop Caspar's question and Hermione had to reply, with much embarrassment, “Um, yes… I knew he was here… we talked while you two were sleeping.”

Again the twins snorted, and Hermione had to wonder when they had grown above innocent meanings to answers. When she was twelve she didn't read the innuendo in adults' sentences… often.

At this point though, Harry spoke up, “You're awake… sorry about trying to—”

“I understand… Harry Potter might be Paul Nicolas but nobody else knows that yet. But you could stay with us for the rest of the day… you don't have to leave yet. No one else is coming by for days… or rather, for the rest of the day, considering Mrs Weasley…” she told him, and let her voice trail off for him to consider it.

The twins though, would not give him the chance.

“Come on Papa, we'll have fun, all five of us,” began Aimee, excitedly.

“Yes! We can have dinner together, and Caspar can show you his Quidditch room, you should see it, I wish we had one!” added Maia.

“And we have to tell you about school, everything we couldn't tell in the letters,” Aimee continued.

“And you have to tell us where you've been this time—Paul Nicolas?” asked Maia.

Hermione smiled at the door, they were wearing him down and she had a very strong feeling that he would never have the will to refuse them.

Sure enough, moments later, he caved.

“If your mother will let me…” he replied, feebly.

The three around him immediately released a triumphant, “Yay!”

*****

For the next three days, despite the chill of a determinedly frosty winter tightening its hold upon Wiltshire, Northbridge Manor was filled with warmth. There were the fireplaces and radiators for heating, of course, and warm woollen jumpers and hot chocolate where there was a short-coming, but this warmth came from something else. After nearly twelve long years of absence, the Potter family was finally together again, and this time hopefully for good.

Harry alternated his time between his house across the street and the manor carefully. To any who saw him he was just a friendly neighbour paying a visit to a lonely widow and her three children. It was almost Christmas, the perfect season for such gestures, and a few of them vowed to pay a visit as soon as they could.

Well, the few who hadn't gone away to warmer refuge for the holiday that was.

Hermione made as many excuses as possible to be at home when he came over too. It was not that she didn't trust him alone with them, or that she was worried for Caspar—who apparently wasn't bothered by Harry after all—but that she wanted to spend as much time with them as he did.

And she did not too much mind the time they spent alone together too.

As much as it was wonderful for her to see her children playing together, a game of Wizard's Chess, Exploding Snap or Monopoly charmed to animate the pieces like Wizard's Chess, it was even more so to just sit with Harry as they did it. To see him smile, to touch his face, to hold his hand, to know that when those beautiful green eyes turned their gaze on her they filled with nothing else but love for her… that was more than anything she could ever want. After eleven years of living in a dark world where he was not, that was all she could ever want.

Well, that and watching him play with Caspar.

Something told her that as soon as the world once more knew that Harry lived they would immediately begin to speculate about his and Caspar's relationship. She had horrifying images of their faces plastered across front pages all over the Wizarding world under banners that proclaimed possible spats. Wedges, real or imagined, would be the theme of their every report, their absolute belief. How could the son of Viktor Krum accept Harry Potter as adoptive father when his would never return?

If they could see them, they would know how.

But then, before they got through all of that, they had something far more formidable than the media to contend with: Ron.

As it was at the moment, she had clearly forgiven Harry… somewhat. Her traitorous heart insisted that she had, but her stronger mind was determined that their relationship be conducted at some measure of arm's length. As much arm's length she could before he dared to kiss her, of course.

Ron though, had never spoken to him. Not once since he had finally received the twins' message, had he sent an owl to Harry announcing an intended visit. Harry did try his best not to show his disappointment, but he had never been able to lie to her. They both understood that Ron had every right to be angry, as she had, but they had hoped that maybe, somewhere inside him, he would be happy to have Harry alive as she did. It was probably asking a lot, but Ron had, technically, been Harry's friend for just a little longer than Hermione, so surely he would be glad to see him, right?

Well, at least they hoped so. But just in case he accidentally misplaced the address, or didn't show up, at the end of this week they would go to him.

Ron though, saved them the trouble.

Four days into the Christmas vacation, he arrived at Northbridge Manor unannounced, with Luna, Matilda and Little Harry. And how fortunate was it that the person who opened the door to admit him, was none other than Harry himself?

Harry had arrived at the Manor shortly after breakfast; Hermione finally unable to stave off work any longer had to leave and didn't want to find a sitter. Harry was more than happy to oblige, and was treating Caspar and the twins to a light rendition of his Fourth Year experiences at the Triwizard Tournament (he took care to avoid mention of Cedric Diggory and Voldemort's rise) when the doorbell rang.

“Expecting company today?” he asked Caspar.

Maia replied for him, “Nope, Mama's not home and no one knows you're here.”

“So who is it then? Are there wizard telemarketers too?” he asked with a grin.

“Just answer the door, you're not funny you know that?” said Aimee.

He rose from his place with them on the floor and headed for the door, “I'm coming, I'm coming, sorry about the wait, these three and I…”

His voice trailed off when he saw the four standing out in the doorway and for quite some time they all stood staring at each other, shocked.

Assuredly, neither had expected to find the other there. Ron's apparent blanket dismissal of Harry seemed to extend to Hermione as well since the week had begun. He had not written or Floo-ed, had mentioned neither of them in a surprise interview with the WWN about his reactions to the twins (on whom he had mostly declared “surprise and pleasure knowing that they actually did have something of Harry left”) or even when the Weasleys visited and asked about him. (Hermione learned the last bit one evening after Harry left.) It very much appeared that as far as he was concerned they didn't exist.

For Ron, it was just the fact that he had been hoping Hermione was not so quick to forgive. He honestly had hoped that she was as angry as he was, that she felt as betrayed as he was and so much so that it would be months before they both decided to let him back in. But instead he would find him standing here, in the foyer of her home as if he belonged there and the past eleven years had just been a twisted nightmare.

And he was quite content believing that too… until Caspar, Maia and Aimee, apparently realising that Harry had gone to answer the door too long, appeared behind him.

Aimee began, “Oncle Ron, Tanta Lune? Bonjour! Why are you standing out there, come in, its cold outside…. Oh Maia, look, they've brought the baby, and Little Harry… come in….” Her voice trailed off as she realised the strange silence and her sister's lack of movement, and then she made a mistake, “Papa, what's wrong?”

Almost immediately Ron launched himself threw the door and slammed his fist into Harry's face, knocking away his glasses. Aimee screamed, Little Harry, Caspar and Maia rushed to part the two men and Luna anxiously hurried into the house pleading with Ron to stop.

“Ron, please! Ron don't do this, please stop… Ron… someone will hear this… Ron!”

Ron though, was seeing red and too furious to care, he merely shrugged away the two boys and Maia. With a violence he had only on rare occasion let others feel, he pounded Harry like a rag doll. Harry made no attempt to fight back though, which unfortunately urged him on, and added words to the assault.

“For eleven years! ELEVEN YEARS! You let us think you were dead! YOU LET US! And even though you weren't with us you left them behind too! YOU BASTARD! YOU SON OF A BITCH, YOU LEFT US!”

Aimee continued to scream, “Stop it! Please! No! Daddy, fight back! Uncle, leave him alone! Please, stop it! Please!”

The fight carried on as if neither man had heard her, but the one who did, Matilda, immediately began crying loudly so that Luna had to rush to the living room to quiet her. Aimee followed her there too, but only to rush to the fireplace and anxiously Floo St Mungo's to call her mother.

Back in the foyer though, as the other children rushed back in for a second attempt at stopping the fight, Ron's arm flung out wildly and collided with something soft. He halted immediately and drew off of Harry as the victim, Maia, crumpled to the ground beside them and unto Harry's glasses. They broke as she landed on them, sending a splinter up against her face, cutting a thin, red line across her forehead.

The fight was over.

Ron quickly scrambled across the floor to the limp girl with Harry on his heels, though gingerly so. It was with horror that they quickly noted three things: one, that Ron's punch had apparently broken her nose, a tell-tale thin line of blood trickled out down her cheek to the carpet below; two, he had also apparently knocked her unconscious, and three, there was a cut across her forehead that had potential to become a scar.

With life that had not been apparent moments before, and apparently forgetting that he had just been on the receiving end of a beating, Harry shoved past Ron, scooped Maia up into his arms and raced to the living room. Luna and Aimee looked up as they came in, but he ignored their horrified gasps at the sight of Maia in his arms as he headed for the fireplace.

Ron cut him off as he got there, and without waiting for permission snatched up the bowl of Floo Powder. Harry gave no resistance, and Ron poured some of it into Harry's open palm under Maia's knees and then climbed in with him to give the command, “ST MUNGO'S HOSPITAL FOR MAGICAL MALADIES AND INJURIES!” In a violent roar of towering emerald flames, that were they hot would have badly scorched the ceiling, they turned and vanished.

As soon as they appeared in St Mungo's though, on the Spell Damage Floor, they nearly collided with Hermione on her way out to answer Aimee's call. She took one look at them, as she tried to steady herself from their near-miss, and gasped. It then took her only a second more to snatch Maia from Harry and hurry her over to a gurney near reception. There, she was quickly joined by Healer Abbey and another who hurriedly made sweeping waves of his wand over Maia's body before declaring, and with a noted sigh of relief, “Nothing, nothing… just a broken nose and a cut on her forehead.”

“That's not nothing, why is she unconscious?” demanded Hermione, anxiously, tears already spilling down her face.

“It's from the blow,” replied the Healer, and then he asked, “Wait, who brought her here? Maybe, they can answer your question?”

Hermione froze at once, realising with alarm the answer to that question, but thankfully Healer Abbey mistook her pause for hesitation and said, “Go, find out what happened, we'll take care of her, and if you want we'll send for the Aurors.”

“No! No, that's not necessary… I'm sure there's a very good excuse for this,” she said, quickly, hoping that he would not pick up on her anxiety.

He seemed not to, and pushed her away again, “Okay then, go on, she'll be all better by the time you get back.”

She stopped a moment then, to stroke Maia's hair and clear it away from her forehead, before turning away and hurrying back to Ron and Harry standing in the hall. But when she stood with them she asked no question, and promptly slapped them both.

Ron said nothing, but Harry finally lost his footing and collapsed before her.

Before they could stop them he was descended upon by a passing group of Healers, who lifted him unto a gurney and set their wands to work over him. Harry could do nothing to stop them; the beating had finally taken its toll. Hermione and Ron were left to stand for a few tense moments then, hoping against hope that he would not be recognised. The Healers seemed not to though; they were more concerned with discovering the source of his injuries.

It felt like forever before finally one of them turned back to them and said, “He looks like he was just in a fight….”

One of them turned to Hermione and asked, “Was he the one who brought in your daughter?”

Ron replied for her, “Yes… um… he was in a fight… with me….”

Hermione turned sharply towards him, but he ignored her as he replied, “I… I accidentally hit Maia… she was trying to stop the fight….”

The Healer looked him over for a moment, as if trying to decide whether he should trust him or not and then finally replied, “Well, this is not exactly our area of expertise, but we'll fix him up as best we can… should we call the Aurors, by the way?”

Ron shook his head, “No… um, he's a friend… we just had a misunderstanding….”

The last thing they needed was for the Ministry to get involved, it was bad enough that Harry's natural instinct to protect his child had sent them rushing into St Mungo's as it was.

The Healer nodded, and then wheeled him away to Healer Abbey and Maia, who themselves were heading towards a room out of the hall. Ron and Hermione quickly hurried after them, but not before Hermione angrily whispered to Ron, “We have to talk!”

He angrily whispered back, “Yes, we do!”

By the time they had settled Harry and Maia into a room, separated only by a curtain, Maia was awake and trying to sit up. Ron and Hermione came in just as she began to ask, “Where's Mama?” and at the sight of them she tried to hop off the gurney to go to her.

Healer Abbey held her back, “Oh no, you don't, lie back, this pain-stopping charm might have taken out the sting but we still have to attend to your nose.”

Almost instinctively, she reached a hand to inspect the damage, but Hermione and Healer Abbey both rushed to stop her, Hermione saying soothingly, “No, no, just wait a bit and let him work, this will only take a second.”

And it did.

One muttered charm (“Episkey!”) and a moment of hot and cold later, and Maia's nose was set. A quick “Tergeo!” cleaned the blood from her face and the cut on her forehead, which had already begun to heal, and with a grin Healer Abbey announced the good news, “There, all done.”

Ron breathed a silent sigh of relief as Healer Abbey continued, “Nothing to worry about, no scars here, not deep enough… I can confidently say it will not ruin her wedding day.”

Maia scoffed, and they all laughed… until Healer Abbey asked, “What caused it?”

At the sombre mood that seemed to descend round them, Healer Abbey dropped his voice and repeated, somewhat sternly, “What caused it?”

Ron swallowed before replying, “Glass, (his voice faltered slightly as he looked past them to the curtain) she fell on a pair of a glasses. They broke and cut her.”

“Glasses? What happened to the owner, are they alright?” he asked, frowning slightly at Ron.

“He's behind the curtain there,” Ron replied, “we had a little disagreement.”

The Healer turned to Hermione, “You had a gentleman over?”

Not entirely sure why she was doing it, she replied, “Yes, I did.”

At once he smiled, “About time, you're too pretty and far too young to become a twice-widowed spinster. Who was the lucky… or should I say, unlucky, young man?”

“My father,” replied Maia, casually.

Hermione and Ron looked to her in alarm, but refrained from speaking. Ron was wondering though, if his blow had done more damage that the Healers knew. Or was it that she was having a bad reaction to her medicine? How could she just admit to something like that?

Thankfully though, Healer Abbey had taken it for some form of strange joke and was laughing… until he realised that they weren't. And not only that, but were staring at him with looks of interest, though Hermione's and Ron's were alarm.

His laughter died slowly as he glanced at the three and his eyes widened in surprise. A moment later, he silently walked over to the curtain.

Almost immediately he sent the other Healers out, waited until they left, drew back the curtain and asked one question, “Is he?”

“Her father…? Yes…” replied Hermione. “Duncan, this is my husband, Harry Potter.”

Harry feebly turned and looked at him, but Healer Abbey said nothing, and just stared right back. It took him a moment or two more then to quietly set to work cleaning and mending some of Harry's injuries, which were mostly bruises, save for one broken rib.

Not once did Harry take his eyes off of him, though it was doubtful that he could actually see him now that his glasses were broken. It was a wonder alone that he had come all the way through the fireplace with his daughter in his arms.

Finally, Healer Abbey said, “I can't be sure that anyone out there didn't recognise him, so be prepared for anything. I will want to keep the child; she has a slight concussion from the blow, and him as well—you have very strong fists, Mr Weasley.”

Hermione breathed her gratitude, “Thank you….”

He stopped and looked back at her almost incredulous, “It is I who should be thanking you, all of you…. I don't need to know why… I've never asked, and I won't… but they will. For me, it is enough that I can see you, sir (he returned to Harry) and know that that bastard didn't take you with him. That is all I need.”

And with that said, he smiled at Maia and nodded at all of them and left.

As the door shut firmly behind him, a silence fell over the room broken only intermittently at the sounds of hospital activity without. There wasn't yet, the sound of frantic footsteps, but they were surely to start soon.

How innocently had today begun?

And then finally, Hermione asked, “What happened?”

No one else said a word immediately, but before she could repeat her question, Ron replied, “I hit him—”

“I deserved it,” Harry spoke up, quickly.

Hermione looked at the both of them, and replied, “I don't care. If your excuse is that you were mad at him and his is that he deserved it, I honestly don't care. You have every right to your beliefs, and I respect that, but wasn't it you, Ron, who said that you didn't need to know what happened when I came to tell you about Maia and Aimee?”

He carefully avoided her gaze, but she put her hand to his chin and made him face her.

“Now I love you both, I do with all my heart, and will for as long as I breathe. And yes Ron, I do love Harry more still, even after all that has happened, and mostly because I had long before I even knew it, before we let each other know it. I know you are angry, and have every right to be… but if you can't even look me in the eye as I acknowledge that I know that, you don't hate him as much as your anger wants you to,” she declared.

He still would not look at her, trying to keep his eyes anywhere but on her face.

She continued, “So, knowing that, I expect that we never have something like this happen again. I truly do, because I swear to you both, Harry James Potter, and Ronald Bilius Weasley, that if anything ever happens to my children again because you just want to work out your anger, you will both wish that Voldemort had killed you.”

Maia inhaled sharply, but said nothing. Harry and Ron were silent too, but only for a moment before they both nodded.

Hermione studied them a while, as if trying make sure that they weren't lying, and then asked, “Now then, where are the others?”

As if to answer her question, the door suddenly burst open behind her and in poured a deluge of red, blonde and brunette. Someone must have called Mrs Weasley, for she marched in at the front of the group with Aimee, Caspar, Little Harry, Luna and the baby. Behind her were Mr Weasley, Ginny, Fred and George and a sheepish-looking Neville. They crowded in as best they could, shut the door solidly, and after taking a moment to process the sight before them, Mrs Weasley said, “I guess I deserved this… but what about them?”

Hermione stubbornly refused to feel guilty as she replied, “We wanted to speak to Ron first, you must understand.”

Aimee detached herself from Luna and brought Harry his glasses, “I fixed them as best I could…. But Maia's got a big head, so it was missing a piece.”

“I found it!” cut in Caspar, “Your big foot was covering it.”

Maia smiled while her twin scowled, “Thanks Caspar.”

The children's temporary distraction did little to change the tone of the adults' conversation, not even Fred and George seemed capable of comment.

Ginny protested, “We must understand? We must understand? How can you stand there and expect us to—”

“The same way I had to understand that I lived eleven years without anyone bothering to tell me that I had two children, or for that matter, was married!” snapped Hermione, angrily.

Mr Weasley put a hand on his daughter's arm to stop her retort, and when she reluctantly fell silent, said, “Well, we know now.”

“Yes, we do,” repeated Mrs Weasley, sadly.

*****

Hours later, they were all quietly seated in Hermione's living room determinedly not looking at each other. Maia and Harry were released early, but on Hermione's and Mrs Weasley's insistence, were both sent up to bed with a Sleeping Draught. At the last check father and daughter were both comfortably spread out on Hermione's bed, held captive in the dreamless world of their potion-induced deep sleep.

The other children weren't there either, sent up to Caspar's room so that the adults could talk, and were not happy about it. Hermione had cast a charm at the stairs to prevent eavesdropping.

Bill and Fleur had been summoned no sooner than had they arrived at the Manor, and arrived while Hermione and Mrs Weasley attended to Harry and Maia. They immediately went up to the bedroom to verify the report they had received, and returned shortly after white-faced and disbelieving. When they came down Hermione recounted the last few weeks (carefully omitting the afternoon of the twins' arrival) and Ron explained his little bit (taking care to omit the part about telling Padma) and that led to now, where all were quiet and unable to look at each other.

Harry was alive, and for some reason, that changed everything.

Finally, Bill began the discussion, “How long until the WWN make their announcement?”

“As long as it takes for the Healer who may have recognised him to tell them, complete with the fight we had and the injury to Maia,” Ron replied. “I didn't mean to hit her, my arm just swung out—”

“I know,” said Hermione, silencing him.

“What are you going to tell them?” asked Ginny, when a short silence fell again.

“Well, the truth is a good place to start… or at least most of it,” Hermione told her, though not as harshly as Ron irrationally expected her too.

“At least your children will be out of the spotlight now,” Ginny replied.

“Oh no, I don't think so,” said Hermione, “I'm quite sure that there'll be a serious demand for pictures of Harry and his daughters. Or Harry and Caspar, just to see if the son of Viktor Krum will rebel against the step-father he never knew he already had.”

Again there was silence, and then Mrs Weasley asked a question that broke it, “Are you going to renew your vows soon?”

Hermione, and all for that matter, looked at her as if she had lost her mind, but then she replied, “I don't know. We've barely begun to reminisce, to catch up yet, there's no need to rush. Besides, Neville and Ginny are getting married, we're not going to overshadow their wedding, you've all been planning it for months—don't give me that look; you know full well that the press would be all over Harry and me the moment they find out.”

And just then, as he had actually been doing since Hermione had first recounted Harry's story, Ron cut in, “He said that Snape's behind most of this? Snape didn't know much about separating you and the twins but he had thought for a long time that you two had been under a love potion? What the hell for?”

And as just as she had all those times before, Hermione sighed, and replied, though with a noticeably red face, “I was not under any love potion, and if you want the answer to the last part ask Snape. Harry told me that that was Snape's motive the whole time, he suspected something and chose not to warn Harry, but thought action was necessary anyway. No doubt some nonsense about Harry being like his father and not trusting him to make a mess of it. It seems that he made the bigger mess.”

“I hope you two are planning to send him to Azkaban then?” asked Ron.

“He'll find some way to argue that he had only the best of intentions, not to mention that technically it wasn't illegal… but anyway he will be the least of our worries in the next few weeks. I can imagine what's going on outside now that they probably know about Harry. The Ministry will want to see him, the school will want to see him, and goodness knows my former in-laws will want answers…” Hermione replied, with an exasperated sigh.

“Are you complaining then?” asked Ginny, making no attempt to conceal her disdain.

Hermione looked up at her with an arched eyebrow and shook her head, “No, I'm not, but they will. I'm an adulteress, Caspar's illegitimate… he might be their grandson and they love him, but if there's anyway to cut him out of the Will, I'm sure they not going to have a problem finding it.”

“You shouldn't have married him, I warned you,” said Ron, with a distinct look of displeasure.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “You've been 'warning' her since your Fourth Year, but you were still wrong because he treated her rather well didn't he?”

“His parents aren't though,” he replied, stubbornly.

“Okay children, pointless argument—” started George before he was cut off at the sound of footsteps hurrying down the hall above to the stairs and a child called, “Mum, take off the charm, you have to hear this!”

Another cut in, “She won't, just tell her.”

“Fine then—Mum, switch on the radio, you have to hear this…” called the first.

With furrowed brow Hermione rose from her seat and headed over to the end table where her little radio was and switched it on. Mrs Weasley began to call up, “What is it?” but her question never left her lips as it crackled to life and the announcement filled the room:

“Shock, disbelief and pandemonium, those are just a few of the reactions reverberating the Wizarding World in light of a claim made by a Healer at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. We are unable at this time to completely confirm this, but according to the Healer, Harry Potter is alive. Not only this, but was just treated in the hospital for injuries of unknown origin along with twelve year old daughter Maia. Friend, Ronald Weasley, and wife, Hermione, was with him. They left before reporters could arrive, but we promise to get to you confirmation of this claim as soon as it is available. Again, Harry Potter is alive…”

Ron cut in then, decidedly unhappy, “Just great, we've just met him again and already they're on his tail.”

Despite herself, Hermione had to fight a smile at his choice of words.

-->

A/N: Hi, I know I've been away for a long time, but I've been busy with school exams. However, I was able to write something, and I have to say that as it is, there seems to be something missing from this chapter. The good news though, is that this chapter is somewhat filler for the next chapter, which so far is the penultimate one of this story. It's been a long, twisting ride, I know, but I hope you've all enjoyed it.

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine, wish it was, but it still ain't.

~*~*~*~

Double, Double, Toil and Trouble

It took various members of the Wizarding media, curious onlookers and the odd neighbour or two less than three hours to descend upon Northbridge Manor, determined to confirm themselves the truth of the WWN report. It took the Weasleys and the Potters less than that time to flee, first to the Burrow only to discover that they had gathered there as well, and then to number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

They had been waiting for the announcement, preparing for it, but they hadn't for the result, and the speed with which it came.

Harry and Maia were not awoken for the trip, Hermione deciding against it at once for the fact that they had been given Sleeping Draughts and also that they needed the rest. With a pair of stretchers, a Levitating Charm, and a little help from Ron and Mrs Weasley, they were taken to one of the lower floor bedrooms. They didn't intend to stay there for long, but for the night they would share the room.

Once the family was settled though, the others took this as their cue to leave. As much as they would have all liked to stay with Harry and Hermione, and especially take advantage of the opportunity to speak to Harry, they had their own families to attend to. Ron opted to remain; Luna and their children were already accounted for and made for ready help in case Hermione needed it. At that Mrs Weasley wanted to join him, but Hermione firmly and politely refused.

“We're only going to be here tonight, there's food in the kitchen if we need it, running water and clean blankets. We're going to be fine, we just… I think we need to talk, to each other first… and then tomorrow—”

Mrs Weasley waved away her excuse, “I'll check back on you in a few hours, with food and more blankets—behave yourself Ronald Weasley. And you children too, Harry and Maia shouldn't be disturbed.”

Rather quickly, a little too quickly, Little Harry and Caspar voiced their concessions. Aimee looked at them suspiciously, and then returned her attentions to Matilda, who lay in her lap staring up at her. None of them, in sharp contrast to their parents, appeared concerned about spending the night in the creepy old house. In fact, with Little Harry at his side Caspar seemed mischievously optimistic.

Mrs Weasley took one last look at them, and then followed her husband and the others out of the house. As soon as they were sure they were gone, Hermione, Luna and Ron took heavy seats on the musty old furniture about the living room. There was nothing left to do now, than wait out the storm.

As they were doing this though, the WWN was issuing an evening report:

“We can now confirm that Harry Potter is alive and was a patient of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries along with one of his twin daughters. The specifics of their injuries are not clear, but reports are that both may have been involved in some sort of fight. Accompanying Mr Potter and his daughter was wife Hermione Granger, and best friend Ronald Weasley.

Our reporters have been attempting to secure an interview with the Potters or Weasleys, but so far none of the families appear to be at home. Also, calls to the Ministry of Magic have gone unanswered, and curiously, Minister's aide Percy Weasley has disappeared. We did discover though, that the Minister himself has been informed of the revelation and may be cutting a trip to France short if it can be conclusively confirmed.

We here at the WWN can confirm this claim for the Minister though, two Healers, including the young Mrs Potter's superior have admitted to treating her husband and daughter. But this certainly has raised a number of questions, such as, how long have Hermione Granger and her family known that Mr Potter is alive? Where has Mr Potter been all this time, what has he been doing and why did he leave in the first place? We can only hope that in the next couple of days we will have answers to those questions.”

Somewhere in Wiltshire, Draco Malfoy nearly fell down the stairs at hearing the report on his way up. Pansy Parkinson dropped a delicate glass ornament she had been admiring in an antiques shop in Diagon Alley. Blaise Zabini silenced his daughter, who had been loudly arguing with a house elf over the state of her socks, and turned up the volume. Cho Chang-Corner nearly fainted but could not help the smile that formed the longer the report went on. Dean and Parvati Thomas just looked at each other in complete shock, while Padma silently continued her Wizard's Chess game with their daughter. Professor McGonagall, Hagrid and Lupin forgot they were having tea, and Tonks just coming through the door with son, Connor, remained frozen where she stood; hand on the knob, one foot in. Severus Snape switched off his radio, and in a sharp departure from his usual manner, sank his head into his hands, as if in shame. And while the rest of the Wizarding world continued to register reactions, one riotous meeting in progress fell into complete stunned silence. If their bronze cast statue of the Dark Lord Voldemort, standing tall under a banner of the Dark Mark, fell over then they would not have noticed.

When Mrs Weasley returned as promised hours later, it was to find Harry and daughter awake and sitting with the others while he recounted the past eleven years. She had a copy of the Evening Prophet under her arm, “Almost Too Good to be True: The Boy-Who-Lived… Again!” and the also promised hot supper spread out on the kitchen table below awaiting them. No one noticed her as she came in though, and for quite some time she was able to stand and listen to Harry's tale.

“… Bellatrix nearly got me then. I was being too brazen, I allowed my frustration at being locked out of your lives just get the better of me and I charged headfirst into an ambush. I was lucky—I can't believe I'm saying this—but I was lucky that Snape was there because he pulled me out of it before she got the chance. He should have let me though, because that was the last time we would nearly meet each other, and then she died unpunished the next month. Well, at least according to Malfoy anyway.”

“If he had let you she would have killed you,” whispered Aimee, eyes wide with fear, voice reproachful.

“I know that, I do, but I wasn't really concerned. I was dead anyway, without all of you,” he replied sadly.

Hermione looked on the verge of tears, “Harry….”

“I know, I could've come back, I should've, but what if I had and something happened to you?” he asked.

They had gone over this argument already, hundreds of times in the days since they had first spoken again, but for Ron and Luna, and secretly Mrs Weasley, this was the first they were hearing of his defence firsthand. And, as was expected, Ron looked less than convinced. Where Hermione could be easily won over, Ron could not, he would not, but for the time at least, he said nothing.

It was Hermione who spoke then, and once again repeating the response to his excuse, “I don't care, I do remember a contract that read something along the lines of 'as long as we both shall live'?”

“My life was never supposed to be long, I accepted that the day we first set off to stop Voldemort,” he replied, “but for you… you were supposed to have that, a long life in research, house elf rights and a happy marriage with plenty of children.”

Maia and Aimee looked up, Aimee asking, confused, “House elf rights?”

“I had one son, was widowed and am still a junior Healer at St Mungo's, my in-laws hate me, for the first time ever I'm not organised, I thought you were dead for the past eleven years… I wouldn't exactly consider that a happy life. My happy life now has these three children, you, me and our nice house in the country where they can play and we can retire quietly,” Hermione told him. “Even if Voldemort didn't kill you, he ruined my life… because I lost my heart at sixteen… he ruined my life.”

The twins looked at each other and giggled, making her blush deeply and twist her fingers in her lap. Harry felt like blushing too, but instead muttered to his daughters, “What's so funny, if that hadn't happened before you wouldn't be here now.”

Actually, no, but Maia wasn't going to correct him, the real reason was gross enough not to be voiced. Now that was the stuff of nightmares, goose pimples and lost appetites.

And then Ron finally spoke up, “I'm sure that's not going to continue now… as soon as we get those reporters off your back, or I'll finish what I started today.”

The threat seemed to suck all mirth from the air. There was no humour in it and Ron's expression was decidedly cold.

Harry quickly reassured him, “I intend it to, but when will they leave us? I have so much to answer for.”

It was then that Mrs Weasley decided to make her presence known, “They've already begun… (They all turned to her) Bill managed to get a copy of the Evening Prophet. Since the house is empty they've been speculating.”

She unfurled the paper in her arms and presented it to them. Harry took one look, his expression clearly pained, and looked away.

The next morning The Quibbler would run the confirmation first, and complete with a large photograph of Harry and his daughters carefully captured at number twelve by Hermione, “Our Vindication: Meet the Man-Who-Lived!”

Within hours the campsite out front of Hermione's mansion was expanded by a literal hundred, international reporters joining the fray. Thankfully, that left Paul Nicolas' mansion clear, and the family relocated. The only others who were informed of this move were the members of the Order they were closest to: Tonks, Lupin, Professor McGonagall, Hagrid, Mad Eye Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Lupin, Tonks and Professor McGonagall immediately took advantage of this news, and shortly after Harry and family arrived, they did.

In the usual burst of flame, they stepped out of the fireplace dusting off their clothes, looking about the magnificent living room of the Nicolas mansion. Harry had only just gone up with Caspar and the twins, but Hermione was still downstairs and stepped back in as they appeared. Almost at once, Professor McGonagall asked, “Is he here?”

Hermione nodded quietly, almost guiltily.

That was all the answer Lupin needed. With an almost reluctant urgency, he walked past her heading for the stairs. But he would only make it halfway up them before Harry appeared at the top, and then for quite some time the two men stood just staring at each other.

The first to regain his speech though, Lupin asked one question, “Why?”

Harry dropped his head, and replied much like naughty schoolboy finally caught, “I thought I was protecting you.”

“You didn't need to,” snapped Lupin, sternly. Then he softened his tone, and his demeanour, “I know that you were conditioned into that years ago, but you didn't need to. I know we deserve this for what we did to your family, but Harry, you really didn't need to.”

“You all say that, and I know you believe that… but I had to,” he replied. “How could I have been sure that nothing would've happened to you? How would I have been able to live with myself if I had stayed and the attacks on you all just continued? I know I was foolish for letting Snape take advantage of me, something was clearly wrong with me for even trusting him after all that he had done but… I couldn't have been sure that he was wrong either, could I?”

Meanwhile, upset at being trumped at the scoop, the editor of the Daily Prophet had a two hour, one-sided shouting match with Luna by Floo. It ended when Ron decided he had had enough and dared to step through the fire to “straighten it out”. But when Harry learned of the incident some time after, he immediately Flooed their offices and promised an interview to “explain himself”. And when the editor sufficiently recovered from his near-heart attack, the headline of the Evening Prophet for that day read, “Twelve Years of Hell: Harry Potter Speaks Out, Tomorrow!”

“Tomorrow” actually brought Witch Weekly first, determined to trump the Daily Prophet interview no matter that they got it from the horse's mouth, so to speak. Their bold headline said it all: “Something Stinks In the House of Potter: Is Harry Potter Really Back?” and the article following went on to properly denounce the claim that Harry was alive. As a matter of fact, it declared the Healer who “outed” him, as a liar and a fraud, and that Hermione and the Weasleys were merely perpetuating the story to generate publicity.

Of course, they were completely ignored.

Both The Quibbler and the Daily Prophet ran interviews with Harry, Hermione, the Weasleys and the Krums, though the last without Hermione's knowledge. Harry did his best at explaining his absence but at the end of both no one could clearly say what that explanation was. He was not in hiding, he was not working for the Ministry, he was not on a “journey of self-discovery” and he was no coward, he just “had other things to do”. Needless to say, that wasn't to suffice and by that evening the headline ran, “Ministry of Magic Seek Potter For Questioning: Public Protests Expected!”

No such questioning ever occurred. The Minister returned from his trip to France as scheduled and it was only to announce, “We are, of course, all shocked by this revelation. For the past eleven years we were led to believe that our victory had come at a terrible price, to find now that that was not the case… an early Christmas present, if you wish…. I would still like to speak with Mr Potter, of course, but, as we spend this time with our families, I am sure that he would like to do the same.”

On reading this at the table at breakfast, Harry scoffed, “That didn't stop him the last time.”

Hermione gave her best sympathetic and encouraging smile, “He doesn't where we are this time.”

Friday, the day before Christmas Eve, Hermione decided to take the children out shopping for presents, and to get robes for Ginny's wedding. Despite, and in the face of, everything that had happened in the past few days it was still on, and they had to be properly dressed to attend. As a matter of fact, Ginny was even thinking about drafting the twins into the ceremony. Though she now had a slightly cold and bitter front to Hermione, and would not speak to Harry, to their children she was full of sunshine.

Unfortunately for Hermione though, her shopping trip idea quickly became a disaster.

Diagon Alley at Christmas was a beautiful place. With the snow fall already beginning, the sidewalks, rooftops, window ledges and even the lampposts were coated white. Shop windows were frosted, pedestrians warmly bundled—though in dark clothing—and everywhere they looked there were festively decorated garlands, trees, wreaths and a sprinkling of mistletoe.

On spotting the mistletoe, Maia whispered to her sister, “Eway houldsay aketay omesay orfay Ixuelay; hesay ouldcay utpay tiay otway oodgay seuay.” <We should take some for Lixue; she could put it to good use.>

Aimee giggled, and slipped a sprig from a shop window, Hermione pretended not to notice.

It was not long before the first reporter got wind of the excursion though, and as soon as they did they were swamped in the midst of the main street. The cameras were everywhere; the reporters behind them shouted questions, and sometimes the same one, repeatedly. Curious pedestrians, and a number who had intentionally positioned themselves along the main street once word reached them, jostled, stumbled and crashed into them. Ministry Aurors, all of whom seemed to materialise just as quickly as the reporters, did their best to act as buffers, but it was all they could do to stop the three children from being wrestled away. And then, when it seemed it could get no worse, someone shouted, “Death Eater!” creating instant panic.

Hermione was forced to retreat to the safety of the store from which they had just emerged, and from there, Floo them back to Paul Nicolas' mansion. The minute they were all standing in the living room again, Caspar and Aimee burst into tears.

That evening Hermione released a statement on the WWN: “It was Harry, Ron and I who went to war with the Ministry against Voldemort. (The announcer nearly bit his tongue at the name and finally declared “You-Know-Who” instead.) Maia, Aimee and Caspar did not. As a mother, as a parent, I appeal to you, I implore you to leave our children alone. Harry and I are trying to enjoy our first Christmas together as a family again and I know that if you were in our position you would want the same. Please leave our children alone.”

Surprisingly, despite all the reporters and onlookers in Diagon Alley the day before, Christmas Eve's headline of the Daily Prophet ran: “Minister for Magic Releases Special Christmas Message Today!” Hermione got her wish.

Christmas and Boxing Day was spent at the Burrow with the Weasleys. With Harry home, nearly all of the Weasley children returned and the house was packed almost beyond capacity, though Percy, regrettably, was still a no-show. But still they hardly noticed, for from the moment the sun rose on Christmas morning to when it was time for bed Boxing night, there was no silence at the Burrow in Ottery St Catchpole.

Just as wonderful as it had been to wake to the sounds of her children playing that first day, it was even more wonderful to be awoken by them Christmas morning. She and Harry were sharing with Ron and Luna, a minor inconvenience of their lack of space. The children barely noticed though, and Maia, Aimee, Caspar and Little Harry, came bounding in as if the door wasn't there, and launched themselves unto the adults.

Harry woke with a start, and nearly tumbled from the bed. Hermione was slower, and from past experience with Caspar, had been slightly expecting it so that she shifted at the last minute.

He immediately groaned into the pillow as he landed, “For once don't move, Mum!”

“Uh… I don't think so, you're not as light as you used to be,” Hermione replied, and then drawing him into her arms, smoothed his hair away from his forehead to kiss the bare skin. She came away from the action to find Harry staring at her with barely contained surprise.

“What?” she asked innocently, though already beginning to suspect just what.

“Nothing,” he replied, and climbed back unto the bed with a little help from the twins who both promptly kissed his cheeks. A deep red blush rose quickly, and Hermione laughed until she was light-headed, and then flopped back into her pillow slightly embarrassed.

When Harry leaned over to kiss her, there was a collective “Eww!” fuelled in part by Ron and Little Harry, who had somehow managed a quieter form of waking his parents. Harry gave them all a dismissive wave.

Deciding then that they had had enough, Maia and Aimee separated the pair and Maia declared to the room, “Bonjour, Joyeux Noel, where are our presents?”

Hermione, still light-headed, sat up again and stared at the two with an arched eyebrow. But then she and the others noticed that all of the children, including Harry, were looking at them the same, and she asked, “Oh, after all we've been through in the past few months you all still believe you deserve presents?”

There was a unanimous simultaneous nodding, and Hermione scoffed, “All of you?”

Harry nodded even more vigorously than the rest and extended his palms to her, the children taking just a moment to do the same.

Hermione looked to Ron and Luna, and finally, defeated, drew her wand and said, “Accio presents!”

Within seconds most of the floor of the bedroom was carpeted with what looked like hundreds of multi-coloured, oddly shaped and even weirder wrapped boxes. Every child present shouted, “Yes!” and dove off the bed to them, but Hermione held Harry fast and whispered, “Yours isn't in there.”

Mischievously, he whined, “But I want one from there!”

“Oh, well, but you can't open it in from of them, I don't think they would appreciate it too much… not to mention, it's not exactly for you…” she whispered, just as mischievously.

He looked at the presents now being violently attacked by the children on the ground, and then back to her smile and after a moment's consideration said, “Well, I'm sure I could wait, we've got nothing else to do today.”

As if to prove him wrong, Maia immediately replied, “That's what you think, but we have eleven Christmases to make up for and Aimee and I aren't going to let you get away with it.”

“Excuse me, mademoiselle?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

Maia looked unimpressed, “Eleven Christmases, this was only one… what, you didn't think you were going to get off that easily do you? We already overheard Grandma Weasley talking about it this morning.”

“Yeah, and Uncle Fred and Uncle George, so I would be worried if I were you, I think I saw some boxes stamped WWW, and that's never good,” added Aimee.

Harry continued to stare at them shocked, and with it, slightly amused. Were they giving him advice about Fred and George Weasley?

But before he could point out this little fact, Aimee whispered with a sympathetic smile, “Don't worry Papa, we'll protect you.”

*****

In sharp contrast to the Weasley home at Christmas, the meeting hall on the same day was ominously silent. There was nothing to be, that could be, that needed to be, said. They had all heard the news. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Man-Who-Triumphed, the Chosen One, was still alive, had been alive all this time and was now sitting pretty with his family for Christmas.

To anyone not as vested into this as they were, the only irritation could be that his friends, and dare they think it, the Wizarding world had allowed him to slip back in with them as if nothing had ever happened. Considering what he had been through, what they had been through, maybe there was something to be understood from that. It was enough that he was alive and sod the details.

But not to them, never to them….

Their only comfort these last eleven years had been that Harry had not been there. That Harry had died with their great leader and was not around to be paraded. They even ignored his children altogether just because of it, for to them, the children, like they, had no father and that was enough.

But now… they didn't even consider him a coward for being in hiding all this time. He had told them next to nothing about what he had been doing while he was away and they just let it slide. That sort of thing just couldn't go along unpunished.

Standing tall before them, as yet to fall, Lord Voldemort's benevolent statue held silent court. Since they had all come to the decision, even before they all assembled in the room that Harry was to be punished, they were turning to him for direction. They were trying to think, not as he would, but rather as he would direct. If the Dark Lord stood before them, his unworthy and yet still faithful servants, what would he command? What would he want them to do?

And then finally, it came. As gently as the wind fluttering through the banner above his mute effigy, the decision came to them all.

As punishment for his cowardice, for his rebellion, for his crimes, Harry Potter would pay the ultimate price. At the first opportunity, once he had secured into himself the belief that he was invincible, safe, they would kill his children. And better still, with a little help from a friend; they knew the perfect place to do it.

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A/N: Hi, this was supposed to be a double, but instead will be a single. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: You know the drill.

~*~*~*~

The Taking of Aimee Potter

He knew he should have been used to it by now. It was months since that first morning in his classroom, since that first night when they came running round Hagrid to greet him, since he learned the truth, but Ron couldn't help it. Maybe it was some of that Beauxbatons refinement, he couldn't be sure, but somehow Maia and Aimee always appeared the daintiest, most elegant perfumed little ladies he knew.

And for the fact that they were the biological daughters of the two most genetically messed-with people he knew, and had only been included in the ceremony at short notice, it was a wonder how they pulled it off.

Standing at the top of the stairs in Northbridge Manor, they both wore identical sea green princess-line, duchesse satin bridesmaids' gowns with matching faux fur-lined woollen short capes, their hair in a single braid laced with ribbon and tiny flowers, and bright smiles that lit up their honey brown eyes. Apart from the obvious bias in favour of his wife and own infant daughter, they were the most beautiful things he had ever seen. And apparently, Harry thought so too.

He stood frozen, struck dumb at the sight of them beside him, and just stared. If it wasn't for the faint sound of his breathing he would have thought he had died right there.

But presently he did make another movement, to walk up the stairs to them, kneel and after taking their little hands, kissed them both. The sisters blushed, and Maia playfully whined, “Dad, you're embarrassing us in front of Uncle Won-Won!”

“What?” demanded Ron, slightly startled at the mention of his old nickname, but they ignored him.

Harry reached up to fix the buttons on the front of her cape and said, “I missed so many things, you're both almost all grown up… forgive me one day.”

Aimee gave her sister a scolding look, and then turned to Harry with a smile, “We can forgive you more than that, you—”

“—just don't do it at the wedding—” cut in Maia.

Aimee gave her a glare this time, and continued, “You don't look too bad yourself, as a matter of fact.”

“I agree,” cut in a voice from Ron's left, and they all turned to find that Hermione, dressed in a sky blue gown, had just come in with Caspar. “To me he looks just perfect; Neville is going to have to chuck you out.”

To Ron, between her and her daughters, and especially in that beautiful gown with its plunging neckline and form-fitting cut, it was a toss-up. He was only her best friend, he was a happily married man, but he still could not quite draw his eyes away from where the Time Turner pendant of her necklace came to rest. A Christmas present from Harry, he had presented it to her at dinner Christmas night, to the sheer joy of her daughters and his mother. Everyone took it as a symbol of their possible reunion, that, and when they left for an evening out later on.

Harry stood at once when he saw her, gave an awkward little bow, and said, “I think maybe Ginny will be doing the chucking.”

“Don't be silly, I've had three children, I—” Hermione began to protest but Ron cut her off.

“—don't look like you've had any… I think Luna might be a bit jealous too… Harry, keep her out of sight will you?”

“Gladly,” said Harry, giving his wife a sly grin.

Caspar caught it, rolled his eyes, and said, “Well then step away from my escorts, here's yours.”

He unceremoniously dropped his mother's hand and ran up to his sisters, and once there pushed Harry away. When Harry gave him a slightly amused look, he simply said, “Shall we? Aunt Ginny will be waiting,” and led them down the stairs.

Before they were at the last step they were startled by a loud croak, and Ron noted the presence of another Christmas present. Caspar had finally received the toad he had so desperately wanted and talked about. Named Ivan, he was never to be found far from his young master since he was delivered, and in keeping with that, Caspar was apparently attempting to take him along. Hermione though, did not agree.

Almost immediately she declared, though in Bulgarian, <Ivan stays here!>

Caspar tried to protest, <Oh please Mama, he's not going to be any trouble, and he'll be in my pocket the whole time—>

<He stays here!> she said again, and the look on her face plainly showed there would be hell to pay if he disobeyed.

With a groan he dug into his pocket and let the toad free. It hopped away at once, and when it was gone Caspar turned back to his mother scowling. She was unmoved though, and he took on a rather haughty pose, took his sisters' arms and stepped past the adults with his best superior air.

The three adults were left to watch them disappear into the foyer and then took turns looking at each other before bursting into laughter. And when they were finally able to control themselves again, Ron said, “I hope he hasn't forgotten that he's going to a wedding with his sisters, at least I had a proper date for the Yule Ball.

Hermione shrugged, “Well yes, you did… and she'll be here tonight too so I'm sure you two will have fun catching up… but I should tell you, if Neville hadn't asked Ginny you just might have.”

“W-what?” spluttered Ron, shocked. Harry immediately started smirking.

Hermione continued nonchalant, “Oh honestly Ronald, I don't think she would have been able to stand the sight of you entering the ball dateless either. It almost broke my heart knowing that I long had a date and you two didn't, until you asked Padma and Parvati.”

The two men exchanged surprised glances before Hermione could take it no more and started laughing again. But she did not wait around to hear their protests.

Walking quickly to the foyer and the waiting children, she called back to them, “Come on, you two, we don't want to be late. This day has been long in coming and absolutely nothing is going to ruin it for Ginny, and especially not you two!”

Feeling distinctly peevish and disgruntled, they had no choice but to follow.

But oh, how wrong was she.

Not wanting to take chances with the Floo Network in their fine clothes, and not at all willing to brave the heavy snow that had begun that morning, the small group Apparated from the foyer to the hotel ballroom that had been rented out and decorated specially for the ceremony. And the moment they appeared, they were quickly split up.

Maia and Aimee were dragged away by a very anxious-looking Mrs Weasley and thrust into the company of a strangely sullen Philippe. Ron was descended upon by Luna, in a set of rather conservative but nevertheless splendid empire-waist silver dress robes, and then his brothers who were the rest of the wedding party. Almost immediately after this, Hermione was sought out by Angelina and Alicia and escorted up to the room where Ginny was getting dressed, apparently summoned by the bride to “save” her from Fleur. This left Harry and Caspar alone, but not for long, for it seemed that once his attendance and arrival was confirmed, every other guest took the opportunity to “wander” over to meet him. To save the child from being lost, or worst, trampled, Harry had to scoop Caspar up into his arms… and that started a flurry of flashbulbs that made him question the strength of the security measures the Weasleys had taken for the event.

If he had had it his way he would not have attended the wedding at all. Today was Ginny's and Neville's day, and considering his relationship with the both of them, known and unknown, he did not want to do anything to ruin it. But with the cat already out of the bag, so to speak, he had had no choice.

After Christmas, there had been a short burst in the papers again when it was learned that Caspar had left after Boxing Day for a two day holiday in Bulgaria with his grandparents. Already closely eyeing Harry and Caspar's relations since the day they learned of Harry's presence, it set the media tongues wagging about the possibility of a rift. They were to be greatly disappointed though, when Caspar returned with gifts in hand and “happily” greeted Harry at the Ministry office.

However, for the family the holiday had been ruined. The rumours made Hermione worry that her relatives were planning to sue for custody of her son, and before the first day was finished she joined him in Bulgaria. That left Harry and the twins alone with the Weasleys, a time that though somewhat wonderful was made difficult by the Daily Prophet exclusive with the Montgomery family. Its headline, “Montgomery Family's First Christmas without Beloved Daughter Marred by Potter Cold-Shoulder!” told its direction. But to Harry, though Amaranthe had provided the protection his daughters needed, and to her he would always be grateful, their public desertion of the twins cut off whatever sympathy he felt.

But then he could not have snubbed the event. That would have probably generated more publicity than he intended, and completely overshadowed everything. He could imagine Witch Weekly's headline if he did it: “Harry Potter Snubs Ex-Girlfriend's Wedding! Love-Triangle at Work?” So this was the price he had to pay, and was he ever paying it.

The thousand and one voices, flashes and hands all coming to him at once was almost too much. Harry could barely make out the decoration of the room, to say the people coming at him, but once or twice he thought he saw someone that looked rather like a Ministry official. They even formed a crushing circle round him, completely blocking his path, and Caspar, alarmed by the attention, immediately buried his face in Harry's shoulder.

At this Harry became defensive, and shouted over their heads, “Back off, you're scaring him! Back off, get out of my way! You're scaring him, for goodness sake! Aren't you here for a wedding?”

They barely acknowledged him… until someone came struggling through the crowd, took hold of his arm and dragged him away. He did not fight them, and they quickly cleared the area, seeking refuge in a side room with the groomsmen. Harry turned to thank his rescuer then, but he sheepishly shrugged it off. And with good reason, it was Neville.

“After what you did, Harry, that was nothing,” he told him earnestly.

Harry insisted though, “I shouldn't even be here, I'm ruining your day.”

Neville quickly shook his head, “You're here, you're back, and she's still marrying me… if anything, you're making it a whole lot better.”

He surely didn't entirely mean it the way it sounded, and Harry smiled, “You're a very lucky man, Neville, congratulations.”

Neville blushed nervously, and then noticed the boy still in his arms, “Is he alright?”

Harry seemed just to remember him too, and they speedily separated. Caspar dropping off of him and turning to congratulate Neville, while Harry helped straighten his suit and said over his head, “I think some of your guests out there might be undercover reporters, and I might have just supplied them with some award winners….”

He was right about one of those things. There was someone undercover in the room, and he had just given them something. But it was not what he thought.

From the moment they had arrived at the hotel, he had given them their target.

~*~*~*~

With a little help from the Polyjuice Potion, a Confunded wedding invitation and a mind firmly set to the task at hand, it was with considerable ease that Pansy slipped past the heavy wedding security. It was almost too easy really, but then no one was really expecting any trouble today. The age of the Death Eaters terrorising Wizarding Britain were long gone.

Or so they thought.

As soon as she arrived too, she was greeted by the sight of her target and his Mudblood whore's bastard son, surrounded by a throng of overexcited guests. To avoid suspicion she had joined them, and then was nearly knocked over by him when that bumbling buffoon, Neville, came to their rescue. She would let it slide for now, the sight of him crying over the cold dead corpses of his beloved daughters would be enough later.

Almost as soon as he disappeared from sight though, and the guests began to disperse, Hermione appeared. Someone must have told her about the commotion, for as she emerged her eyes began to scan the room for husband and son. Despite seeing nothing, she made to head out anyway, until someone from behind summoned her and she was forced to retreat.

Mummy, Daddy and son, but no sign of the girls, and she was sure that they were there. There was no way they would invite them and leave the children behind; the reporters in this room were selected especially for their discretion. And then she spied them.

Standing just outside the room where the rest of the rather large wedding party were preparing themselves, the two girls were with Philippe Weasley and a plump little girl Pansy did not recognise. They were having a little discussion of some sort, and speaking so loudly that it didn't seem to matter that they could be overheard. From where she stood, surely over twelve feet and in a room filled with the low buzz of incessant conversation, the band tuning their instruments, loud children, and the almost rhythmic drum of tens of shoes scraping, chairs grating and glasses clinking, she could clearly hear them.

“Why do you always have to be so difficult, you're just so full of yourself!” exclaimed one of the twins, clearly exasperated.

“I'm not the one who's full of himself, why is your father here? Doesn't he care about Aunt Ginny?” asked Philippe, and he looked distinctly disgruntled.

“Of course he cares about her! He cares about your entire family, if he didn't then he wouldn't be here, and everyone would think he was snubbing them! Do you even know your aunt? She doesn't like Papa that way anymore! You saw them at Christmas, did anyone look uncomfortable?” demanded the other.

“Uncle Neville didn't look too comfortable, did he?” he asked, avoiding a direct reply.

Both girls gave him a dark look, and the first snapped, “You stupid git! I can't believe you have the gall to stand here and say something like that! You know our parents would never do anything to hurt anybody intentionally!”

“Are you sure about that? Your Mum didn't look too keen on telling the rest of us about your Dad when he first came back, did she?” he asked, sounding rather bitter.

The second twin simply scoffed and asked in return, “Where is this coming from? You were fine all through Christmas and now all of a sudden you're worried about your Aunt Ginny?”

The little girl stuck with them looked suddenly rather uncomfortable.

Pansy smiled though, she always liked the sound of trouble. Any sign of dissension in the supposedly tightly-knit family was a little victory. But again, she had a bigger one coming today, and as long as she could help it, nothing was going to thwart it.

She took one last sweeping survey of the room, and then with a nod to a rather stout, middle-aged wizard who had been eyeing her from across the room, she blended lazily into the crowd.

~*~*~*~

As wedding ceremonies went, it had been a beautiful one. The excitement began the moment Harry and Hermione came down the aisle with the family, an expected and yet still highly anticipated moment. It then heightened when the Potter twins, on Philippe's arms, were discovered in the wedding party, and finally exploded when the breath-taking bride made her grand entrance on her father's arm.

Once the ceremony began, under the blinding glare of cameras, fairy lights, rare and beautiful flowers, a snowfall from their own enchanted ceiling, Christmas decorations, and accompanied by a house-elf band, an almost reverent silence fell. Harry quietly took Hermione's hand and interlaced their fingers. She looked over at him, and smiled.

When it was over, they all stood with linked hands and greeted the newly married couple as they took their first walk as husband and wife. Saturday, December 31^st, 2011, was definitely a day few would forget… save for the regrettable absence of Neville's still-living parents, it had been perfect.

And then it was all completely ruined.

When the bride and groom went off to prepare for the reception and the guests began to disperse, chatting amongst themselves and snapping photos here and there, Harry and Hermione found their children with the wedding party. Maia and Aimee were teasing Philippe, tempting him to test one of their free WWW samples (a Christmas gift from Fred and George that Harry and Hermione could never approve of).

His mood had improved considerably, but still, Rosalie, who had been allowed to the wedding at the twins' insistence, took care to stand a little way off from them.

Caspar was whispering deeply with Louis, Christian and Little Harry. He had recovered well from the earlier attack, and now that he was in the company of his favourite cohorts, it looked completely forgotten. When they met her, Mrs Weasley made no attempt to conceal a pleased smile at the sight of Hermione's necklace, and said even before they were properly with them, “My goodness Hermione, you're simply glowing. I can't tell if it's because I haven't seen you so happy in weeks, or if it's that dress… and gracious, you've gained a little weight haven't you dear?”

This made the others turn to look and Hermione reddened. Embarrassed, she replied, “I think it's because I'm happy, but I think Ginny has a brighter glow than I… she's Mrs Neville Longbottom at last.”

Lupin, Tonks and Professor McGonagall, on loan from Hogwarts for the evening, just joined them then when Mrs Weasley replied, “Oh no, I don't think she has this one yet. It's a special glow that women only achieve when they're happiest… when they're involved in something truly… exceptional.”

Hermione didn't quite know what to say to that, but rather timidly looked down herself and straightened her dress a bit. With her speech over though, Mrs Weasley directed her attention to the twins, and said, “And you two! Whatever is Harry going to do with you? You looked so beautiful, you are so beautiful! The luckiest men in the world will be the ones who marry you two!”

“Now Mrs Weasley…” began Harry, playfully becoming over-protective.

And then suddenly a little house-elf appeared in their midst. At first they didn't notice him; he was smaller than Dobby and much more timid. But he got their attention still, when he began loudly, “Forgive me masters, I am terribly sorry for interrupting most benevolent masters, but the Mistress Longbottom… she wants the little Misses Potter….”

Aimee and Maia, as surprised as the others at its sudden arrival, exchanged perplexed looks with their parents and the others. But they were her bridesmaids, and though she could have called anyone else, if she wanted them they had to go. They watched them disappear through the throngs of guests around them, and then they were all distracted by Fleur and Luna's arrival. And mainly because, upon seeing them Fleur gushed as her mother-in-law had, “Why `Ermione, you look incredible! You must tell me your secret!”

Then Luna looked her over and concurred, “You do look incredible… and a little pregnant….”

Harry had just been taking a drink, and promptly expelled it.

But before she could answer they were abruptly derailed by the sound of shouting. And then the cameras started again, and then there was a gathering at the door and as the men with them began to move to find out what was going on, they were all given the answer.

Two men shoved their way out of the crowd, or rather, one stumbled out as if pushed and the other purposely strutted. One was Severus Snape, and the other, Draco Malfoy.

At once Harry drew his wand, and the room fell silent as all eyes snapped in their direction. What was he doing? Had he gone mad? Was there something about to happen that they needed to see?

Snape was unfazed, “Put that away Mr Potter… actually, keep it, you're going to need it.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” demanded Ron, and one look at him showed that he was on the verge of inflicting serious damage. He had pushed through the others to stand beside Harry and had also drawn his wand. The last two people he wanted to see on any day were in the last place he wanted to see them. If they didn't have a good excuse, they were going out, the very hard way.

“Mr Malfoy has something to tell you,” said Snape, casually. Or maybe it wasn't casually. As a matter of fact he seemed decidedly on edge and there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes that they had not seen in years.

Hermione instinctively gripped Harry's hand, at once a sign of her alarm and then also a plea for reason. Harry gave it to him.

“What does he have to say, I don't think there's any—”

Draco cut him off impatiently, “Don't talk about me as if I'm not here, I have something important to tell you!”

“Then spit it out and leave!” Harry snapped, as angry as Ron at the intrusion.

“Pansy Parkinson is here!” declared Draco, rather proud of himself.

“What?” the others asked in unison, shocked.

“She's here. She and her little friends, I'm sure you've heard of them Potter, the Neo-Death Eaters or whatever the hell the little snots are calling themselves… they don't know what they're getting into—” he began to explain.

Harry swiftly cut him off, “Of course I've heard of them! What do you mean 'she's here'? Why are you telling me this?”

Draco looked at him surprised, “Because I thought you needed to know? Besides, I'm keeping my promise; I'm telling you all what I've heard… Pansy's come here with her little friends to hurt your children! Blaise practically came running to my house when he heard—”

But Harry never heard the rest. Once he heard her intentions he took off across the room, heading determinedly to the side room where Neville and Ginny were with Ron and the others at his heels. Guests turned to them confused, and especially as Harry barrelled through them, brusquely shoving men, women and the occasional child, out of his path. A house-elf dropped his serving tray, Harry skidded, and then side-stepped another before it happened again.

They were not yet to the doors when they heard Neville suddenly call out, “What are you doing? No! NO!” and then there was a sharp thud. Seconds later it was followed by a scream, and the “pop” of someone Disapparating.

Harry nearly tripped over another guest as he pushed past them to the doors, but when he got there he froze.

Lying on the floor before it, protectively spread over a twin, and both stunned, was Neville. A quick look at her forehead revealed it to be Maia, and apart from being stunned they were both alright. Nowhere to be found though, was Ginny and the other.

They didn't want to think it, they didn't want to believe it, but it was true. Ginny had taken Aimee.

~*~*~*~

Technically though, that wasn't exactly the truth. Undeniably it had just been Ginny, Neville and the twins in the room before the attack. Ginny had summoned the girls to help her, and as they were her bridesmaids this wasn't an unusual request. The problem was, that the Ginny who entered the room in the first place was, was not the same Ginny who had just walked down the aisle.

When Ginevra Weasley-Longbottom suddenly drew her wand on her new husband and the twins, she was under the effects of an Unforgivable. When she stunned Neville, and accidentally, Maia as well, the tears that welled in her eyes was the only indication that something wasn't right. When she stunned Aimee as well to prevent the girl's escape, and then opened the closet door where Pansy was hiding, she was merely unwillingly obeying a magical command. And when Pansy forced her to Disapparate with them away from the hotel, into the freezing cold of the snowy evening without, all she could do take hold of the girl, pull the hood of her cape over her head, and disappear.

Once they were outside though, Pansy released her from the curse, and then stunned her. She fell into the snow with a soft “plop”, and in her white gown nearly perfectly blended into the blanketed earth. If not for her hair, splayed out behind her like a splash of blood, she probably wouldn't have been found at all.

Pansy then turned her attentions to Aimee, the only twin they could take as her screams and Neville's shouts had shortened the available time for escape. The girl looked so peaceful, so harmless, so vulnerable that it was almost a curse itself what they planned to do to her. But then, so was what her father had done to theirs.

She revived the girl, twisted her arm painfully behind her back, and as she screamed, protesting her rude awakening, promptly Disapparated.

~*~*~*~

Harry barely allowed himself to fully recover from the shock of the sight in the side room before he turned on Draco. And when he turned on him, it was with more fury, more pure rage, and more violence than even he knew he had.

He literally pounced on him, knocking him flat, and bellowed, “Where the fuck is she? Where the fuck did Pansy take her?”

Ron was right behind him, but as Harry already had Draco down he could do nothing but stand with his wand drawn and aimed at the sleek, white-blond head.

Someone nearby gasped in alarm, the newly revived Maia cried, “Papa!”, someone else fainted, and out of the corner of his eyes he saw a hint of sky blue flutter and then pool as it fell. Hermione had apparently fainted. More gasps followed this, though this time joined by Mrs Weasley's anxious cries, and Fred and George stumbling over the others to help her up. Harry wanted to turn to her, he knew that he should turn to her, but in his rage he couldn't. He had to find Aimee.

Draco, beneath him, was having a little trouble helping him with that though. When Harry had attacked him, he had managed to fist the collar of Draco's robes and draw them tightly round his neck. This, of course, meant that he was being strangled, and as Harry shook him in his fury, the noose-like grip tightened.

But at least someone was thinking. Snape swooped down on them and tried to pull Harry off, “Let him up! You're choking him, Mr Potter! If you don't let him up he'll die and you won't find out anything! LET HIM UP!”

Maia began to scream now, and with terror that no one had ever known her to have.

Harry, with a little help from Ron, shrugged him off, but when he came back again, this time Bill and Charlie went with him. But Harry went ahead choking Draco as if they weren't there, and every now and then shook his shoulders as if ridding himself of a bothersome fly. And all the while he continued his yelled interrogation… that is, until Draco released a burst of wandless magic that sent him flying off.

And the moment he was off Draco scampered to his feet, hair and robes ruffled, face red with fury and spat, “The bitch just came to my house and told me the plan! I don't know where your fucking child is! This is what I get for trying to help you, I should have just let her… but no, I'm not some coward killer. I want you dead, not your child….”

He took a few moments to compose himself while the others tried to hold Harry off, and then continued, “All I can tell you, is that she just showed up at my house this afternoon looking like the cat who got the canary, blabbing about how you were going to get what you deserved. When I asked her what the hell she was talking about, she said that her friends had decided that you were going to get what cowards like you deserve, and then went off on some nonsense about taking this back to the beginning—”

“Are you in this with her, is this why you're telling me this?” asked Harry, sceptical and even more incensed.

Draco looked amused, “What would I gain? I can't leave my house without permission; it would be pretty stupid to try to trap you when you all can always find me.”

“Did she give you any more than that?” demanded Ron, who still had his wand drawn beside Harry.

“No… well, yes… something about fire. I suggest you hurry, Potter, she's out of her bloody mind!” Draco warned.

At this Harry finally turned his attention to Hermione. She had been revived by the others, and was being attended to by Angelina, Alicia and Fleur while she tightly cradled Maia and Caspar in her arms. He did not need to go to her; one look conveyed all she had to say: “Find our daughter and bring her home.”

-->

A/N: Finally, this is the penultimate chapter and I can leave you all alone to read the tons of better fanfic out there. The epilogue is well underway, I hope you will like it, and I especially hope you'll like this one. Since there wasn't much of a fight scene in Aftermath, I thought I would put one here. But… well, it isn't much of a fight scene either.

Plus, though you probably don't care I have two new stories in the works, and the next chapter of Knights of Walpurgis. Just a hint to read if I post em soon.

Disclaimer: Not mine, JK Rowling's and she clearly does it best.

~*~*~*~

The Burning of Godric's Hollow

In a move that would have done her wizard grandfather proud, the moment Pansy had released her after they Disapparated from the hotel parking lot, Aimee swung out her free leg and tripped her. The witch, temporarily distracted by her search for her companions, fell easily, landing face-first into the snow. Aimee didn't wait around to see her land though, the moment she felt her blow connect she was up and racing down the slick ice-covered street in a vain attempt at escape.

She didn't know where she was, but she did know that she had to get out of there.

Around them, wherever she had taken them, the homes were silent, dark and apparently empty. They were also all apparently Muggle, which further deepened the sinking feeling Aimee was developing. If there was someone home in one of them and she ran to them for help no matter what they did they would be useless in a fight against a wizard.

Who on earth designs bridesmaids' gowns for witches and forgets to include a place for her wand?

Apart from the lack of residents though, the area was also slowly being coated by the heavy snowfall. It was difficult enough trying to find her way when she didn't know where she was to begin with; it was harder to do it when she couldn't see where she was going.

And, as if to prove it, her little shoe slipped on a patch of ice in the middle of the street.

All too quickly her legs went out before her and she landed on her back, heavily. Almost immediately her vision was blurred by the blinding sight of literal thousands of tiny stars and spots. As the pain shot through her back and skull in the midst of her blinding, she cried out, but she was not allowed to dwell on it before she was being pulled upright by the collar of her cape.

Pansy screeched nastily as she tightened her hold on her, “And where do you think you're going? You're the guest of honour this evening; it would be rude of you not to show up!”

“Let me go!” Aimee screamed, struggling furiously. “Let me go, you crazy witch!”

Pansy slapped her, “That's not a nice thing to say, little girl! Have some respect for your betters!”

Aimee ignored it, and gripping the hand clutching her hair sank her nails into the skin, “You-are-not-better-than-me! You're crazy, just like your crazy master was! But Papa killed him, and he's going to kill you too!”

She tugged and pulled on Pansy's arm, dragged her feet in the snow, and failing that, stuck her leg out trying to trip her again. The cold, her fear, the fact that she didn't know where she was, kept her going. She had no plan of escape but she would not stop trying.

Ignoring the girl's wild struggling though, Pansy retorted, “How? I have you and we're both in the last place he would think to look! Unless Draco's told him what I fed him… it's vague but not so that he won't know where to begin. I'm sorry it had to come to this, but your father, a worthless half-blood, refused to bow like the rest of them. He killed my beloved master and for that he is going to pay!”

“He'll get you first!” screamed Aimee, desperately fighting against Pansy's unnaturally strong grip.

“No, he won't. You can't kill the dead,” Pansy replied simply.

“You're not dead, everybody knows who you are! You're Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy's stupid ugly ex-girl—AHH!” Aimee cried out as Pansy suddenly twisted her ponytail into a knot and pulled. Aimee bent her head into her hand to try to lessen the strain, but that brought her to look at Pansy's face, and when she saw her she immediately stopped.

She was not fighting against Pansy. The woman, who had taken her from the hotel, had bewitched Ginny to stun Neville and Maia, who had apparently gone through all this trouble just to capture her was not Pansy Parkinson at all. Pansy was a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman who liked and wore expensive things and heavy perfume but had a face like a pug. This woman was also dark-haired and dark-eyed, but was so pale she looked like death, and yet had a faint hint of the beauty of her youth. With no reason for thinking it but unable to stop herself, Aimee exclaimed, “Bellatrix Lestrange? But, how…? You're dead; you're supposed to be dead!”

As if it was the most natural thing in the world Pansy—Bellatrix, calmly began to explain as she dragged Aimee back up the street, “I saw your mother, you know? That filthy slut, thirteen years ago when she was going to have you… round as a pumpkin, and still trying to hide it. Did she think we were blind, or didn't know… or wouldn't have told the Dark Lord the minute we found out? But then she disappeared, and so completely that we had no choice but to let it go, and when she reappeared it was as if nothing had happened…. She did the one thing your grandmother could not have done; she protected you and your sister from us completely. And if your father had not come back she would have gotten away with it too… well, at least until I got my chance again. No matter little Aimee, as they say, `revenge is a course best served cold'… and this is as cold as it's going to get.”

She suddenly stopped dragging her and dropped her down into a pile of snow near an old, crumbling stone wall. Her head still throbbing from the abuse of moments before, Aimee quickly scrambled to her feet and looked around her. It only took her a second to come to a complete standstill.

This was also apparently as clichéd as they were going to get. Bellatrix had taken her to the ruins of her grandparents' house in Godric's Hollow. And from the looks of her companions, now appearing slowly from the shadows round them, she was going to make sure that what happened before was not going to happen again. Unlike her famous father, Aimee Potter was quite sure that she had no chances of surviving the Killing Curse.

~*~*~*~

And unlike Draco, when found Ginny had much more to tell.

The first to reach her was Neville. Once he had been revived and had been informed of what had transpired he took off before the rest of them, running out of the hotel into the cold, snowy night. Harry and the others gave chase immediately, but only came upon him just as he was returning with Ginny's limp form in his arms, her long hair swinging loose over his arm, the hem of her full skirt trailing in the snow.

He took her all the way back to the hotel, but this time to the room they had planned to share that night, where instead Mrs Weasley and her daughters-in-law were waiting ready with towels and blankets. She was revived immediately, and when she came to, as she was hurriedly run over by her sisters-in-law and mother Harry anxiously questioned her.

“She's taken Aimee, Ginny. She's taken my daughter and I have no idea where they are. So please, did she-did she tell you anything, did she give you any idea of where she might be?”

Mrs Weasley tried to stop him, “Harry, please, she's been through a lot….”

Hermione took over. Releasing her children, she rose and went over to Ginny and asked simply, “What happened in the back room?”

At once Ginny began to cry, “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry… I tried to stop her, but I… she's….”

Hermione gently hushed her, and by the default the room, as she continued, “This isn't your fault… you're not responsible for this… we know what Pansy did to you…. But now that we know this, we need to know something else… did she tell where she was going? Where she planned to take my daughter?”

Ginny only said two words, “Godric's Hollow.”

It was out of Ron's mouth before he could stop himself, “No way.”

The others ignored him though, and Ginny continued, “When we went into the back I went to my closet to find my dress for the reception and she was waiting there for me. She used a Silencing Charm before I could react and then used the Imperius Curse. I tried to fight it, I thought I would have been strong enough to… but I couldn't….”

She looked down at her hands in shame, and Hermione wrapped her arms round her shoulders, “It's okay, not many of us can throw it off completely.”

At this Harry cut in again, “How do you know she was taking her to Godric's Hollow, how are you so sure that they're there?”

“After I let her from the closet she said something about taking Aimee to see her grandparents. When she didn't kill her immediately but made me take us out of here instead, I guessed it had to be there. Her Muggle grandparents aren't buried in Godric's Hollow and they want to hurt you,” she replied, and as she said the last bit turned to look Harry in the eyes.

He closed his, but after a moment opened them again and said, “I'll send her to hell and her master first.”

His tone, his expression, his very air exuded his murderous intent.

At once Ron was with him, “You're not going alone, not this time Harry. If Pansy wants to join Voldemort and all his nutters I'll be right there sending her with you.”

“As will I,” said Hermione, standing away from Ginny.

Harry made to protest, “Hermione… you should stay with Maia and Caspar, Lupin and the others will come with me, right?” He looked around at the others and they readily volunteered themselves with a nod.

Hermione would not hear of it though, saying only, “I'm going.”

One look told that she was very serious, and all further protest would end in failure. But then he remembered something and drawing his wand, pointed it at her stomach and murmured an incantation.

For the barest of moments there was a faint blue glow, barely visible but there, and all the room gasped. Luna had been right, she was pregnant.

Hermione looked down at her stomach and up at him in surprise. But refusing to acknowledge it, she insisted, “My daughter is out in the cold with a mad woman, I'm coming with you.”

“You're pregnant, Hermione,” he told her, his voice now traced with shock but still deeply serious.

She narrowed her gaze at him, “I helped you search for Voldemort for months while I was pregnant with the twins, compared to him Pansy is a pushover. Don't even think about saying another word against this.”

He knew when to admit defeat. He turned away from her to Maia and Caspar, but then stopped in surprise.

They were gone. And when a quick sweep of the room turned up nothing, he feared where. They could not Apparate, but there were other forms of Wizard travel… Philippe was gone too… the hotel had spare brooms…. The adults would be there long before the children did, but they were still going there.

For a fleeting moment he thought with disappointment at Maia's irresponsibility in taking along Caspar… but they were already gone.

Gone to Godric's Hollow.

~*~*~*~

The moment the words were out of Ginny's mouth, Maia was up and heading determinedly, albeit surreptitiously, to the door. Philippe was only seconds behind her, with Caspar bringing up the rear, but she did not notice them. She didn't have a plan, she didn't have a clear idea of how she would rescue her sister, but as she was her father's child only one thought was clear, that she had to rescue her.

When she got into the hall and began checking doors for an available room the first to stop her was Philippe. He opened a door behind her with a simple, “Alohomora!” and said, “I'm coming with you, you can't fight off Death Eaters alone.”

She stopped and turned back to him, “You're not any better, and besides, I wasn't planning on fighting off any Death Eaters, there are other ways to rescue people.”

“There's no way that woman will let your sister go just like that, you're going to need help,” he insisted.

And then Caspar came into their path, “I can help you, I know how to get around Godric's Hollow.”

When he had recovered from his surprise at the boy's sudden appearance, Philippe laughed. “You? I know Godric's Hollow like the back of my hand, you've only been there once and you have no wand. You're just going to get in our way.”

“Neither of you are coming with me!” Maia snapped at them both. “You'll both get in the way and I don't need any help. Aimee and I have always gotten in and out of trouble before, this will be no different.”

“Apparently you know nothing of the people who've taken your sister. Do you think they'll just let her go because you want them to? Do you think they're just a bunch of bumbling idiots because they've lost their master? They're evil, they were evil before they joined Voldemort and they're still even after he's gone. Your father did his best to keep you from that, all of us from that so don't ruin it by being stupid!” Philippe retorted angrily.

“I'm going!” she declared, much like her mother was doing in the room they had left right then.

Philippe was more forceful than her father though, and immediately whipped out his wand, “Accio Maia's wand!”

When nothing happened, he looked at her confused, and then it turned to amusement, “You were going after Death Eaters without a wand? Where is it, still at home? Are you crazy Maia Potter?”

She looked away from him sullenly, and he continued authoritatively, “We're staying here until the people with wands, the adults, find and bring back your sister. That woman wanted you too and you'd just walk right into her arms.”

Caspar asked then, his tone heavy with disappointment, “So we're not going then?”

Maia began to reply but Philippe cut in first, “No, we're not. Your parents have way too much to worry about already without you two adding to it. We're going to stay here and wait. They'll bring Aimee back, you'll see… these are the people who stopped Lord Voldemort, and after him nothing else can stand up to that.”

For a moment it seemed as if Maia was going to agree with this, and then, without warning, she yanked open the door he had opened and raced into the room. Before the door could slam behind her again, Philippe and Caspar gave chase, but it was too late. Just as they entered, Maia was vanishing into the flames of the Floo Network, gone off to Northbridge Manor in search of her wand, and after that, to find her sister.

~*~*~*~

For all the fact that she knew she was in grave danger, Aimee made no attempt to go quietly. Without her wand she had little chance of actually successfully escaping, of at least inflicting some kind of harm, not to mention that she had no control over her wandless magic, but she put up her best fight.

She kicked, punched, scratched and bit at her attackers when they advanced on her to set their plans in motion. She screamed and yelled despite the fact that there seemed to be no one around to hear her. When one of them finally managed to wrestle her to the ground a burst of wandless magic expelled him into the wall of a nearby house. And then it seemed to hover over her until Bellatrix finally had enough and bound and dragged her into the ruin of her grandparents' house.

She was then forced to sit silently and watch as she was bound to part of a now iced-over wall in what was once their living room, then as the houses surrounding were set ablaze, one by one, until finally reaching her where they set the blaze in a tight circle round the property. If she didn't asphyxiate on the smoke, she would roast alive, or failing that be burned slowly and painfully to death. And all the while Bellatrix Lestrange would be standing before the house, watching her, waiting for it to happen.

Only then, realising that, did the fight go out of Aimee. Too much time had passed and her father wasn't there yet, she didn't stand a chance. But she would not cry. Harry Potter's children would not face their deaths with tears in their eyes. And it was with this mantra running through her head that she slumped against the cold stone wall with her bowed, waiting for death.

But she had given up too soon.

At the end of the street, masked by the horrific roar of the flames that towered into the dark night sky, there was the firecracker sound of a mass Apparation. Her father and the others had come.

And the moment they appeared Hermione screamed. For as long as they would live, for as long as they had lived, the others were sure that there was probably never a sound more heart-breaking, more gut-wrenching, more blood-curdling than the sound of a mother's anguished wail for a lost child. Or the sight after of her rushing desperately off down a snow-covered street, barely sure of where she was heading, in search of that child.

Unwilling to give up the element of surprise they still had though, Harry gave chase and quickly brought her back. Unexpectedly, she came easily, walking silently back through the falling snow and streets of mush with her head bowed and tears streaming down her face. As he got back to them the others could hear him whispering, albeit unconvincingly, “She's not in any of those houses, she's not there, they'd want to put on a show, not ruin it by acting too quickly. She's not in any of them….”

Ron visibly clenched his fists and looked off to the burning houses. In the background he could hear nothing above the flames and the excited whispers of the others, but he preferred them to the sound of Harry comforting Hermione. Her anguish could have just as easily been Luna's, Harry's pain could have been his… but it wasn't, and with their luck it probably wouldn't. Nobody cared about him when they were there to act as buffers.

Once they stood together then, Lupin began, “The Ministry's sending reinforcements. They should be here momentarily….”

As if on cue there was another set of firecracker Apparation, and Harry looked round them to find that they had been joined by seemingly innumerable dark-robed Aurors.

Lupin nodded to the leader, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and he replied, “The Minister's assigned this top priority; we're here to retrieve the child by any and all means necessary. Our orders are to take no prisoners.”

At this Hermione gasped, and alarmed and disgusted, said, “That won't be necessary; I want my daughter back but not at the cost of… even them.” She looked off towards the homes, now lit up by their orange-gold flames like Roman candles, their burnt embers mixing in with the falling snowflakes, and then back at them. “Get her back by any means necessary, but don't kill anyone… unless you have to.”

“We won't need to,” said Kingsley. “They're mostly stupid kids.”

Lupin took over again, “Right, now that we're all here, as it is you can see that we seem to be undetected, but that doesn't mean that we weren't expected. We're going to split into groups of twelve, going off all around this place. Every house is going to be surrounded, put out and searched until we find her, any resistance is to be brought under control and when we find Pansy I want her, alive. If the child isn't here, she might be our only hope in finding her.”

The Ministry Aurors who weren't Order members looked to Kingsley for command. He barked in reply, “You heard the man, let's find this little girl.”

It took only a matter of seconds for them to disappear into the scenery of Godric's Hollow, and then less than that for the first sounds of a fierce Wizard battle to fill the night. As things crackled, popped, and exploded around them though, Harry walked Hermione determinedly down the main street to the site of his parents' home. Without suggestion the others had left this house to them, and somewhat surprisingly for him, Harry had said nothing. With Hermione's hand tightly clasped in his own, and Ron flanking his right, he simply took off down the street, wand drawn, eyes peeled, looking for the slightest trace of Pansy.

And then, before they were at the house, Ron spied her standing at the gate.

He whispered, “There's the witch.”

Hermione and Harry looked to the gate too, but Hermione's eyes were searching for Aimee, and seeing nothing, asked, “Where's Aimee?”

At once Harry stopped their advance and commanded, “Ron, take Hermione and go into the house. She has to be in there, it's the only one that isn't burning from the inside out. I can't see any guards but I don't have to tell you guys that she's probably not there alone. I'm going to have a talk with Pansy.”

Hermione and Ron did not question him, but simply slipped into the shadows and smoke round a nearby house and began to track their way to the Potter ruin. Harry watched them go, and then continued his walk to Pansy.

But then he stopped and nearly fainted.

He could not believe it, he did not want to believe it… he wasn't looking at what he thought he was… that… couldn't be….

In the shadows on their way to the house, Ron and Hermione found themselves suddenly surrounded by a group. The leader took one look at Hermione and smiled, “Where do you think you're going, love?”

He almost wanted to cry out for Hermione and Ron again, but he didn't. Bellatrix turned to him before he had a chance and smiling evilly, called out to him, “Has Papa come looking for his lost little girl?”

Ron scoffed, “Move it! Hermione doesn't want me to hurt you, but I didn't make any promises.”

He recovered speedily and called, “You should be dead!”

She scoffed, but ignored it, continuing instead and switching to the mocking babyish voice she had used before, “Baby Potter all grown up… with a baby of his own… and just like his father before him with a filthy little Mudblood whore.”

The ringleader had the audacity to laugh, and Ron lost it. Without warning he dropped him with a Stunner, and then almost immediately his companions descended upon them.

Through clenched teeth Harry snapped, “Haven't you got anything better than that? I'm so bloody fed up of hearing the same words over and over again, 'filthy Mudblood whore'… of course, it's probably better than 'crazy Pureblood bitch'!”

“Mind your language!” she snapped in return, glowering at him. “Remember I have your daughter.”

Harry allowed his expression to calm into a smile, “I haven't forgotten, I've come to get her—Crucio!”

Maybe because it hadn't worked the last time or maybe she didn't think he would have done it or maybe still it was because she had aged that she couldn't, but Bellatrix made no attempt at blocking the curse or moving out of the way. But unlike the last time, she was to find, instead of her being able to shake it off and come at him, she was sent to the ground writhing violently while Harry stood watching. Unlike the last time, when he had meant to harm for Sirius' death and was filled with nothing more than righteous rage, this time he meant to harm because he hated her.

When he released her from it, she lay for a moment staring at him shocked, and then she was up on her feet again and shot off the Killing Curse. He deflected it in one swift movement that would have done Severus Snape proud, and snapped, “For years I've chased you, for years I thought you were the only thing standing between me and my family, for years I let something that had never bothered me before trap me… but now… did you for one moment think I would let you get away with it?”

“I'm going to kill you,” she declared angrily.

“Then you should have done it when you met me in the Department of Mysteries instead of incessantly talking!” he told her, and shot a Stunner at her.

She blocked it, Disapparated and then Apparated into the safety of the side of a nearby house and used the smoke as a screen to send off the Killing Curse. The smoke though, seemed to amplify the glimmer of the green jet and Harry, having spun about wildly when she first disappeared, jumped out of the way. Barely waiting to come up bruised, he sent it back at her, and then got up and ran towards her hiding place.

He called to her as he ran, “Don't even think about it, Bella! I want my daughter back and if I have to follow you to hell I'm going to get her!”

Bellatrix didn't wait for him. As he got to her she Disapparated, and Harry was left to search desperately through air until she let him find her.

She yelled from her new hiding place, enraged, “Little Potter with your scar… let's see if your daughter will get one!”

His heart seizing, but his anger building, Harry turned back to the house and ran all the way to it. Ignoring the flames and blinding smoke that made his eyes water and singed his robes, Harry almost dove unto the front lawn. But when he stood up, with beads of sweat actually trickling down his back, Bellatrix was waiting for him with Aimee at her mercy. The girl stood helpless beside her, her arm trapped in a vice grip that drew blood, and strangely did not cry. All Harry cared for at the moment though, was that his daughter was alive.

He called to her, ignoring Bellatrix, “Aimee, are you alright? Look at me, Aimee!”

Aimee flicked her eyes to him, blinked and then coughed. She looked weak though, the smoke must have been choking her for quite some time.

Bellatrix interrupted the moment at once, “Have a last look Potter. I'm going to do what I should have done a long time ago!”

“Oh no, you won't!” declared a voice behind her, and startled she turned to them. And just as she did Hermione shouted, “STUPEFY!” and she crumpled to her feet.

Aimee went with her, but she was up again in an instant and ran into her mother's arms. Harry was with them moments later, lifting his daughter into his arms and pulling Hermione into an embrace as tears of relief and joy escaped his eyes. They were fine, it was finally over, and they were fine.

And this would be how Ron, Lupin and the others would find them when they finally fought off and rounded up the neo-Death Eaters, of which Pansy was a member, and put out the last burning house. It was how Maia, Philippe and Caspar, intercepted by Fred and George, would meet them when they finally arrived, and raced through the growing crowd of Muggles and Wizards to the ruin. They would separate of course, but only to Disapparate off to, first, the wedding to show everyone that they were fine, and then back to Northbridge Manor, to home.

Harry didn't care what happened to Bellatrix or the others, he didn't want to know what the press would say or the Ministry either, he had his daughter back, the wedding was over, and it was time to go home.

-->

A/N: *Hallelujah chorus and BoyzIIMen's End of the Road playing in background* Finally, I have to say finally, it is over. This is it, the last chapter, no more story, yayy!!!

At least something I can celebrate today, England beat my country's team last minute in the World Cup. Heh, at least we put up a good fight before it happened. Dang, now I sound like one my relatives….

Anyhoo, this is the last chapter of this story, so now I'm down to two stories at once. It feels like an interlude, not a complete chapter though, and you know what, I like it that way. Hope you like this epilogue too, it was only when I started writing it that I realised that I suck at endings. Hope it fits with rest of story perfectly, because goodness knows I don't know for sure.

Disclaimer: This story would only be Jo's if she decides to sue for all fanfic written about her characters. I would only get to keep the Weasley, Potter, Krum and other offspring I invented for it. I think we should all be glad that she hasn't decided to do that.

~*~*~*~

5 months later…

~*~*~*~

Epilogue: Hufflepuff vs. Gryffindor

“FIRST ONTO THE PITCH, AND POSSIBLY THE FIRST TO LEAVE TODAY, HERE'S HUFFLEPUFF! ANDREWS, BLAIR, CHRISTENSEN, DAVISON, POTTER, THORNE, AND WOODS! ANDREWS IS KEEPER, CHRISTENSEN IS A BEATER AND CAPTAIN, AND HOPING TO PULL OFF WHAT HUFFLEPUFF LAST CAME CLOSE TO DOING EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO UNDER CEDRIC DIGGORY! WITH MAIA POTTER ON THAT SILVER ARROW II, THEY MIGHT JUST STAND A CHANCE!”

Much unlike her first Quidditch Cup match, the day of her third, ironically also the final, Maia flew out onto a pitch bathed in sunlight under a sky of clearest azure. Her long black hair had again been separated into pigtails, but this time the ribbons drew them back into a ponytail, her Quidditch uniform had been carefully, specially, pressed by Dobby, and she had barely had any breakfast. She revelled in the warmth of the late May weather though, at least at the end of this match she wouldn't have to worry about damp clothes and catching a cold.

But that was not all that was different.

Both her parents were watching in the stands, she was now her house's star player, and most important of all, she and Aimee were now thirteen.

For the first time since they were a year old, they had shared a birthday with their parents. It was nothing special, just the obligatory cake, ice cream, presents and party, but to have their entire family gathered at Northbridge Manor that last Tuesday…. That was special beyond words.

Well, apart from when the Ministry decided to let their father off with a caution for use of an Unforgivable while he chased Bellatrix, and then issued a special commendation for his “years of relentless pursuit in the name of preserving the peace rightfully gained with the fall of the Dark Lord”.

Hermione and Aimee were so relieved they nearly fainted.

For days after Aimee's rescue, the family had remained hidden away in Northbridge Manor while she recovered, awaiting the Ministry verdict and the quieting of the media storm. The papers had had a field day once the news of the incident at the wedding broke. The fact that Ginny and Neville had managed to salvage the rest of the night to go off on their honeymoon and Hermione's pregnancy became a footnote on the end of the page.

The Daily Prophet, as usual, was first, screaming bold, “Every Bride's Nightmare: Weasley Wedding Interrupted by Potter Kidnapping!” It was swiftly followed by the Evening Prophet's “Potter Repays Unforgivable Act with Unforgivable Curse! But What Will the Ministry Say?” And for the rest of the next week both rehashed the details of the wintry night and the speculation over the result until the Ministry finally spoke up.

When he heard it, their father had appeared unaffected by the result to all who knew who knew him. But that night as they prepared for bed, he inexplicably began to cry. Whether for the fact that maybe, just maybe, it was finally over, or that his conscience had caught up with him, they would never know. Their parents chose not to explain it, and “it” went on until they finally fell asleep and heard no more.

School started some days later, and the girls had no choice but to return. Having no one left, or else, to blame, Harry hugged them on the platform until the last whistle. Their mother and Caspar had to forcibly turn him away when finally they were too far to see each other clearly. He could not know how much it hurt them too that they had to let go.

They knew they had spent far too little time together.

Back at school though, after an awkward first few days, life quickly went back to normal. Of course, normal being homework, classes, Quidditch practice and learning of the outside world through the Prophets, Quibbler, Witch Weekly and letters from their family.

Lixue, Sarmistha and Rosalie became their constant companions, and though they could not be considered friends, Rhiannon Zabini did speak with them. It was not her fault her father's friend was a Death Eater, she wasn't. Nevertheless, Ron returned to his former position as their protector, keeping an extra close eye on all of them with Padma and Professor Theoden. The twins were decidedly unhappy about that development; even Tantie Marie hadn't been that overprotective.

From the Prophets they learned that Bellatrix had been sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss. Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy had been arrested as well, but their positions were exchanged in sentence. Under the headline, “Finally They've Got It Right!” the Daily Prophet detailed how, on review of their roles in the war and involvement in the kidnapping, a magistrate decided to put Snape under house arrest for the next two years, and release Draco immediately. The next day Witch Weekly plastered its front page with pictures of a drunken Malfoy being carried out of a pub in Diagon Alley by Blaise Zabini.

Pansy Parkinson was noticeably absent, sentenced to life in Azkaban with a number of her friends.

It would be two months then before the next attention-grabbing headline would appear. From the Daily Prophet, “And Babies Make Four: Neville and Ginny Longbottom Expecting Twins!”

Suddenly, Maia was violently jerked from her thoughts by Gavin's booming voice exploding across the pitch, “HERE COMES THE FIGHT! BRING ON THE NOISE FOR THE ONE, THE ONLY, GRYFFINDOR! AVERY, CAULDER, FELTON, PHELPS, THOMAS, RICKMAN AND WEASLEY! PHELPS IS KEEPER, GRAEME BYSSHE RICKMAN IS CAPTAIN AND A CHASER, AND BEFORE THE MATCH SAID, 'I HOPE MISS POTTER TOOK ALL THE ADVICE HER FATHER COULD GIVE HER TO HEART; SHE'S GOING TO NEED IT!' PLEASE NOTE MR POTTER, ANY AND ALL VIEWS OF THE PLAYERS DON'T NECESSARILY REFLECT THOSE OF THE REST OF THE HOUSE!”

Looking down from her perch, where she hovered slightly above her house's blinding black, yellow and gold stands, barely catching a glimpse of Lixue among them, she just caught the red and gold Gryffindors as they finally emerged. One by one, as Gavin called their name they flew out onto the stadium, pulled a daredevil stunt and then when altogether, formed a line before their house, and bowed.

That sent them into frenzy, and it was brought to fever pitch a moment later when Gavin announced what their captain had said. Maia made a point of rolling her eyes, though she knew they could not see her, and then casually floated off with the rest of her team as they waited for Madam Hooch to start the game.

“IT LOOKS LIKE WE'RE IN FOR AN EXCITING GAME TODAY. TWO BITS OF TRIVIA BEFORE WE BEGIN, ONE, GRYFFINDOR'S CHASER IS PHILIPPE WEASLEY, WHOSE UNCLE, PROFESSOR RON WEASLEY IS MAIA POTTER'S GODFATHER! HE SHOULD BE IN CONFLICT ABOUT WHO TO SUPPORT, BUT REPORTEDLY PROFESSOR WEASLEY GAVE THE TEAM A PRE-MATCH PEP TALK AND TOLD THEM TO SHOW NO MERCY! WE ASSURE YOU SIR, WE WON'T!”

Ron pointedly ignored Hermione's shocked look and Harry's glare.

“ANOTHER, THIS SHOULD MAKE IT OVER ONE HUNDRED MATCHES THAT MADAM HOOCH HAS REFEREED FOR HOGWARTS SINCE TAKING ON THE POST AS FLYING INSTRUCTOR! WE'D JUST LIKE HER TO KNOW THAT WE ARE FOREVER GRATEFUL FOR HER DEDICATED SERVICE AND PROMISE THIS TO BE A MATCH TO REMEMBER! THIS IS WHERE WE SHOW OFF HOW WELL SHE TAUGHT US ALL HOW TO FLY!”

A moment later she was with them, but called the teams down to her in the middle of the pitch when she did. As Maia descended, she couldn't help but notice the Gryffindor seeker… and the strange lurch in her stomach when she did.

Standing beside her “cousin” Philippe, with a considerably slower Nimbus and now settling the goggles on his head, was a tall, handsome, black boy with startlingly bright eyes. It was Garrett Felton, a Fourth Year, and when he looked up at her, sensing her gaze, she discovered why, they were grey. And he levelled them with a piercing, albeit, curious look that made her feel suddenly rather self-conscious.

She was brought back to reality by Madam Hooch speaking and just in time to catch Philippe looking suspiciously between her and his team-mate. She ignored him, and tried to do the same to the stomach lurch as it rippled warm through her.

Madam Hooch was saying, “Now, I've heard reports of some of the comments being exchanged—”

“We had nothing to do with that,” said Graeme, quickly.

“Yeah right,” replied Ethan, just as quickly.

“—but I will not stand for it on my pitch,” continued Madam Hooch, ignoring them. “I want a good, clean game, no funny business or both teams will be cleaning the Quidditch equipment for the rest of the year. Do I make myself clear?”

Both captains nodded.

She drew her whistle from her robes, backed off from them slightly and said, “Good, now shake hands… (they grudgingly complied) TWEET!”

In an instant they had mounted their brooms again and took to the air.

From their position in the teacher's box, Harry and Hermione had not seen the exchange, but they did see Maia's face when she remounted her Silver Arrow II. According to their Omnoculars she was very nearly scared witless, her skin was as pale as death. And yet, just yet, she had a look of slight disdain and disinterest that would make Malfoy green with envy.

Hermione sighed and turned to Harry. For a moment he tried to ignore her, but when he could take it no more (and especially after her stomach gave a slight hiccup) he asked, “What?”

“What do you mean 'what'? What was that expression?” she asked, indicating Maia sailing above their heads.

“Oh, that… well… she is the daughter of Harry Potter, youngest Seeker in a century, granddaughter of James Potter, Gryffindor Chaser, you can't sneeze at that kind of breeding,” he replied.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and turned back muttering something that included the words “cocky”, “nutter” and “not for Caspar”. Harry looked down to his adopted son and mutely shook his head, knowing the boy had heard her.

There was no way she could possibly expect him and Caspar not to exploit his kind of breeding. After Hufflepuff (and he couldn't believe he was thinking this) decimated Gryffindor today, they would need some kind of morale booster. He had just adopted the boy some weeks before, in preparation for their re-marriage after the baby was born in August, and he wasn't going to go to the Durmstrang Institute, so he had to prove himself Viktor Krum's son somewhere. His son, whose sex they had discovered some days ago when he could take it no longer, wasn't born yet.

At this he put his hand to Hermione's stomach and felt Cedric's kick again. He hoped he was taking good care of his hands in there, Seeker, Chaser, Beater of Keeper, he would need them.

Hermione, having felt the kick too, looked down at his hand and gently covered it with her own. When he looked up at her, she smiled gently and said, “Don't even think about. Don't even dream about it. Two Quidditch players are more than enough per family.”

“What? I wasn't thinking about anything… just how wonderful it feels to be with you, our children, here, without fear of anything coming between us,” he replied.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he backed off with his hands in his lap.

He could let it go for now, they were two short of their own personal Quidditch team anyway.

Across in the Gryffindor stands, Aimee had somehow found herself to the front with the clearest view of the field, between Rosalie and Sarmistha.

Since the start of the school year she had been given remarkable leeway by her housemates while she recovered. Through nightmares, just bad days and painful Daily Prophet stories they had been perfectly supportive. At times it had been insufferable, at others, such as now; there were perks she could live with.

She had been alternating her attention for some time now between her parents in the teacher's box, and her parents in the teacher's box. Every now and then she would allow her eyes to be drawn to the Slytherin stands where Rhiannon sat lazily waving a Hufflepuff flag (for, like Gryffindor, they would never support their nemesis in anything) and Lixue lost in the midst of a dazzling Hufflepuff display. They still had the confiscated Slytherin banner, but now it had been further corrupted to include miniscule lions being pounced on by some freakishly gigantic badgers. She could not cheer for her sister if she wished to remain in good standing with her housemates, but the others were more than making up for it.

Of course, her parents were probably positively schizophrenic about now.

She smiled at that thought, and turned her eyes skyward to find her sister. It was good to have parents there and together to have schizophrenic thoughts.

Up in the air, half-watching the Snitch and then half-minding the game, Maia floated in lethargic circles round the pitch. As he had the slower broom, and as was the custom in such a situation, Garrett had taken to trailing slowly behind her. Every now and then he would dart away of course, not to make his actions too obvious, but Maia had already figured him out.

And the somewhat unnatural fact that she may actually… um, well… like him. Just like that, out of the blue, first time in her history she had a crush, and it had to happen today, now, of all days. Concentration was going to be distinctly difficult.

She allowed Gavin's booming commentary to fill her ears, “HUFFLEPUFF IS PUTTING IN A RATHER GOOD SHOWING TODAY, BUT IT IS GRYFFINDOR IN POSSESSION! CHASER WEASLEY PASSES TO CAPTAIN RICKMAN… HE DODGES A BLUDGER TO PASS BACK TO WEASLEY… NEAR COLLISION WITH DAVISON, CONTINUES TO HUFFLEPUFF GOALPOST… SAVED BY WOODS AND IT IS BACK TO THE GRYFFINDOR—OW! WOODS MAY BE OUT OF THE GAME, BLUDGER TO THE SKULL!”

Maia stopped her circling to look down to the flutter of canary yellow and black falling to the evergreen pitch below before he was stopped and floated to Madam Pomfrey and a waiting stretcher by Professor McGonagall. The cheering had stopped, replaced by horrified gasps and concerned looks, but it would not be for long. Even before Woods was to the ground, the substitute, a big-boned, sepia-skinned and henna-haired girl by the name of Madhuri Chandrasekhar had taken his place, and play resumed.

There were after all still points to build and a Snitch to catch.

“CHASER CHANDRASEKHAR IS FRESH OFF THE BENCHES AND READY TO PLAY, ALREADY HAS HUFFLEPUFF IN POSSESSION AND HEADING STRONG FOR THE GRYFFINDOR GOALPOSTS! PASSES TO THORNE… FEINT PASS TO DAVISON, BACK TO CHANDRASEKHAR… AND HUFFLEPUFF SCORES! THIRTY-TEN, ADVANTAGE GRYFFINDOR!”

The roar that erupted then was near deafening, and yet still Maia swore she heard someone yell, “TAKE THAT! THAT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR TRYING TO CHEAT!”

But she had other concerns, like the Snitch for example, and shaking off the Gryffindor Seeker before he snatched the Snitch right up from under her. The problem was, the Snitch was no where to be found.

No matter where she looked as she went back to searching the skies and around the stadium, there was not even the slightest hint of glittering yellow gold. All she got was hot, sweaty and windblown, and every time Garrett invaded her peripheral vision, miniature heart attacks.

Oh she had to get rid of this before Aimee found out. She would never hear the end of it.

Both teams had built up enough points in their previous games so that it was not really a problem, but it was best not to push their luck. If not their Seeker, the Gryffindors at least had the advantage in terms of ball possession and opportunities to score. She had to get that Snitch, she just had to catch that Snitch or they would be in serious trouble.

“ANOTHER ONE PAST ANDREWS, FORTY-TEN, ADVANTAGE STILL TO GRYFFINDOR! COME ON FELTON, BRING US THE SILVER!”

It would be two hours more before anything changed, and that went for score points too.

Fed-up of her useless circling, Maia decided to dip lower, closer to the players and the crush of the game. It was a dangerous venture; one well-placed Bludger could do irreparable damage to her team's chances at the Snitch.

But then, it also gave an unexpected advantage.

As he had been “surreptitiously” following her around the pitch since the match began, when Maia descended to the level of the stands and into the heart of play, Garrett followed. But that was a mistake. He had not been paying attention to his surroundings as he descended, and jerked awkwardly back when a Bludger shot out of nowhere and nearly slammed into his broom.

Instead of laughing, as she usually would, Maia felt that rippling feeling again, and turned her broom to assist him. Only the sound of Christensen yelling at her as he went by, giving chase to the Bludger with his bat held high, “Forget him, he's fine! Get that Snitch, Potter!” stopped her.

She gave Garrett a feeble smile, shrugged, tore off through the players zigzagging their brooms to the centre of the pitch and once there ascended again to survey the grounds.

And that was when she finally spotted it… or rather, when it finally found her.

She was nearly to her previous perch when something slammed into her back with the force of a cork cricket ball and left a stinging like a hundred infuriated wasps. Alarmed, she turned to see what it was, wondering slightly if she had collided with a bird. She was to be rather shocked instead to find the Snitch falling like a stone behind her.

Without a second thought she dropped into a dive after it.

From the corner of her eye she saw Garrett notice her, and then it, and then shoot off behind the Snitch as well. Being lower, he was closer and in danger of reaching it first. She might have played a hand in its run of bad luck, but he would benefit.

But then, the ball suddenly stopped falling, as if it had been temporarily knocked out and had only just regained consciousness. There was a moment where it hovered, flitting about in a lopsided circle between the two advancing Seekers, and then it shot off to their right. Maia swiftly turned after it, leaving Garrett in her dust with eyes only for the gold.

Her path took her over the teacher's stands, and Hagrid, who had just arrived and taken a seat behind her parents, waved at her. She had no time to wave back.

From a distance she could just hear Gavin calling the scores, “WEASLEY STEALS FROM CHANDRASEKHAR, PASSES TO RICKMAN… RICKMAN IS ADVANCING TO HUFFLEPUFF KEEPER… OH NO! JUST MISSES A BLUDGER BUT RELEASES THE QUAFFLE WHICH IS QUICKLY SNATCHED UP BY HUFFLEPUFF THORNE… THORNE IS HEADING BACK TO THE GRYFFINDOR KEEPER… HE'S PASSING… MAKING AN ATTEMPT TO PASS… FEINTS CAULDER AND SCORES! FIFTY-FIFTY, WE HAVE A DEADLOCK!”

It was music to her ears, and she shut it out to focus on the Snitch. There seemed to be something wrong with it, as if the collision with her back had broken a wing. All the easier for her….

She stretched out an arm, gloved fingers just inches from the little gold ball when….

“CRAA-AA-CK!” a Bludger diverted by a Gryffindor Beater slammed into her broom, bounced off onto her outstretched arm, breaking it, and fell away.

The sudden pain was so intense that Maia cried out and dropped her arm, its fingers already numbed by the blow so that she could not form a fist. Thinking quickly though, she dropped forward onto her broom and with her other arm caught the little treasure as it fell free. And only then, when it was secure, and as Gavin finally noticed and announced her injury, “HUFFLEPUFF SEEKER HURT, THAT WAS A DIRECT HIT TO HER BROOM! LOOKS LIKE HER ARM'S BROKEN… HOPE THEY HAVE A SUB…” did she descend to Madam Pomfrey.

In the stands she could just hear her mother's alarmed cry and the sound of Harry and Ron rushing from their seats to the pitch. They seemed not to care for the pandemonium they caused, pushing people out of the way and calling her name. She was in too much pain to look up though, and give them the reassurance that she was fine.

Aimee had vanished from her place among the Gryffindors too, and was hurriedly coming from the opposite direction. Unlike the adults she had a much clearer path, as everyone had frozen when she got hit and now stepped away to give her way. Hot on her heels were Rosalie and Sarmistha.

But no one seemed to notice that she had caught the Snitch. Had this ever happened to her father?

So she was then very surprised when Garrett appeared beside her, put an arm round her waist and pulled her into an upright position, using his broom to guide them down safely. It was then that both teams stopped playing and looked down at them. And it was then, finally, that Gavin asked, “HEY… WHERE'S THE SNITCH? WHO'S GOT THE SNITCH?”

Garrett, still showing that uncommon sportsmanship, even when he could just easily tear open her fingers and claim the prize himself, simply rose her hand into the air above their heads. The snitch barely peeked out, but its wings fluttered wildly between her fingers.

“OH,” replied Gavin, sounding rather dazed, “WELL THERE YOU GO, HUFFLEPUFF'S CAUGHT THE SNITCH…” and then when he realised what that meant, “HUFFLEPUFF W… HUFFLEPUFF WINS… HUFFLEPUFF WINS THE QUIDDITCH CUP! I DON'T BELIEVE IT!”

Their brooms were not yet to the ground when Harry freed her from Garrett with an approving nod, cradled her like an infant in his arms and lifted her arm away from her for Madam Pomfrey to examine. Then he turned to Hermione, finally coming over to them, with a smile, and nudged Maia's head so that she could do the same. When Hermione stopped, relieved, and slowed her pace now that the damage appeared minimal, he looked up to the stands and shouted over their heads, “BELIEVE IT! SHE AND HER SISTER HELPED ME GET RID OF VOLDEMORT, WHAT'S ONE LITTLE SNITCH?”

Gavin went red, the stands went mad, and before they knew it the students began racing from their seats to join them in the celebration on the pitch. The teams slowly descended to the centre of the field, almost forgotten.

But Maia turned to her father then, rolled her eyes and said, “Papa, you're embarrassing me.”

He arched an eyebrow at her and said, “A year ago I didn't know if I'd ever see you again, I'll do as I like young lady.”

Maia scowled, and then it quickly fell away when she managed to spy Garrett smiling at her through the others.

Somewhere above them, looking down with his friends, a tall, handsome man with long, shaggy black hair and charming grey eyes, laughed.

Fin… I think.

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