Sorry for the delay in posting. I expected to update last week, but some unexpected complications arose, leaving me unable to meet my weekly deadline. In compensation for the extended wait, I'm posting two chapters together, and I'll do my best to see that the rest of the story appears on schedule. Thanks for your patience, and for the positive support. Now, let's see if these two chapters can keep you hooked.
Hermione took a few moments to reinforce the metaphorical Locking Charm on the door of her anxieties. She breathed
slowly, calmly, as her mind clicked onto the details of this latest revelation and extrapolated.
There are any number of reasons why Harry took that money without telling me, she argued in her mind.
But as she stood in silent thought, staring into the flickering flames of her magical candles, she could find no possibility that satisfied. The bulk of their savings was earmarked for the down payment on the house they hoped to buy -- assuming they could find something they liked that met the dual criteria of location and affordable price. Their search had yielded a couple of likely prospects in areas with long established wizard habitation, but both were far too expensive for even their combined incomes to manage. The down payment alone would have been more than the entire contents of their vault (the original contents, Hermione thought grimly). It was therefore highly unlikely that the missing money had anything to do with their future living arrangements.
Their anniversary was coming up, of course, followed by her birthday -- but neither of these scenarios seemed to justify an expenditure of a thousand Galleons.
Hermione's thoughts drifted back to Harry's birthday, nearly three weeks ago. As July 31st had fallen on a Saturday, her MLE job did not interfere with them enjoying a proper celebration. They had gone off on a weekend retreat, having found, through one of Hermione's Ministry friends, a secluded cabin on the shores of a remote Scottish loch. The scenery had been breathtaking, in aspect not far removed from the surroundings of Hogwarts. In retrospect, it was a shame that they had not spent more time outside enjoying the pristine beauty of the countryside. As things transpired, by the time Sunday evening rolled around, they were both far too exhausted from their "indoor activities" to Apparate home without risk of splinching. The Floo network was out of the question -- even had the cabin been connected to the Floo network, their flat had no proper fireplace to receive them -- and Hermione's limited tenure at the Ministry made it inadvisable for her risk a reprimand (not to mention a substantial fine) by enchanting an unauthorized Portkey. If one of them were dying, maybe...
Left with no other option, they had journeyed all night on Harry's Firebolt (which, thank Merlin, he never let out of his sight -- Hermione playfully referred to her husband's treasured broom as his "straw-haired mistress"), Hermione sleeping most of the way, clasped securely in Harry's arms. Arriving home more or less rested on Monday morning, she had Apparated straight to work, munching on a piece of toast pressed into her hands by Harry, and looking quite as if she had been trampled by a herd of rampaging hippogriffs.
Hermione smiled now, in spite of herself, at the memory of that romantic liaison. But suddenly she felt as if a ball of ice had settled in the pit of her stomach. Had that weekend really been the last time she and Harry had made love? She cursed herself under her breath. What the bloody hell kind of newlyweds fell back onto sodding birthdays as an excuse to make love? That was for doddering old buggers with barely enough strength to lift a wand, not young, virile witches and wizards in the prime of life. And she was further chilled by the realization that she could not remember their last intimate encounter before then.
Merlin help her -- was Harry being forced to find another warm bed every night because his wife was suddenly too sodding busy to warm theirs? Had her playful reference to his "straw-haired mistress" planted the notion in his head to seek out a more amenable companion to fill Hermione's increasing absences?
Cuffing herself mentally, Hermione jerked herself back to the matter at hand. The money was gone, and no one but Harry could have taken it. That left only one question to be answered: Why? What use could he possibly have for so large a sum -- a use, furthermore, that he was going to such pains to conceal from his wife?
Once more slamming the door on her anxieties, Hermione drew a slow breath and nodded to herself. There was nothing more to be learned here. The answer to her remaining question lay with Harry. Reason dictated that when she found Harry (or, more precisely, discovered where he had been going every day for the past week), she would also find the missing money -- or, at the least, the use to which he was putting it. And that brought her back to the question which had started the Quaffle flying in the first place. Where was Harry? Where had he been disappearing without telling her? And this, in turn, birthed yet another question, perhaps the most ominous of all.
Was she fully prepared to learn the answer?
In like manner as the cart ride to the vault, Hermione found herself walking down the marble steps of Gringotts and into the bustle of Diagon Alley without remembering how she had got there. She walked in a sort of trance for an unknown space of time. She knew what her next course of action was. She had planned for it carefully, methodically, in typical Hermione fashion. But right now, she was not feeling like "typical Hermione." She was feeling -- Merlin, she did not know what she was feeling.
But if her thoughts were confused, her instincts were sharp as ever. Without realizing she had stopped walking, Hermione suddenly found herself standing in the shadowed doorway of a boarded-up shop on the corner where Diagon Alley debouched onto Knockturn Alley. It seemed that her unconscious mind had taken the reins relinquished by her conscious, directing her actions with uncanny precision.
Nestling herself deeper into the shadows, she opened her bag and withdrew a bundle that reflected the feeble light lurking in the doorway like molten silver. Her eyes darting nervously about, Hermione shook out Harry's Invisibility Cloak and whipped it about her shoulders, tugging the hood over her face in a single fluid motion.
"Forgive me, Harry," she whispered into the shadowy gloom. "But I have to know."
Careful not to dislodge the voluminous hood, Hermione raised her left hand to her face so that, even in the semi-darkness, she could see clearly the twin bands of her engagement and wedding rings. As she stared intently at these two earthly representations of Harry's love, she felt her stomach twist into a guilty knot beneath her hammering heart.
Shortly after returning from their honeymoon, she and Harry had forged a pact that if either of them had need of the other, for whatever reason, no power in Heaven or on Earth would keep them apart. To that end, they had used their combined magicks to place an immensely powerful Charm on their wedding rings. The two bands were linked by an intangible yet unbreakable thread whereby a mental "tug" on the one would produce a corresponding response from the other. If either she or Harry were suddenly in danger, it would require but a single thought to alert the other, not unlike a Muggle pager. And once that signal had been sent, all either of them had to do to be united was concentrate on his or her ring, and the one would instantly Apparate to the other's location, no matter how far away. Nor, indeed, was a warning signal required to activate the link. If one of them were unconscious and unable to send a signal, the other need only activate the ring's enchantment by mental command to be joined with the one lost. All that was required was the desire of the one to find and unite with the other, and the ring would do the rest.
It was Harry (with Hermione's glowing endorsement) who proposed that the rings not unite them in the strict sense, but would instead project an invisible barrier so that the "rescuer" would appear no closer than 100 feet from the one in need. Thus, in case one of them were trapped or under attack, the other would not unwittingly jump straight into the the dragon's jaws, so to speak. This was imperative, for, unlike ordinary Apparation, this would be a blind transfer, powered solely by the magic in the rings rather than their own personal magic. Hermione herself added the final touch, a built-in Hover Charm that would automatically suspend them in mid-air should they find themselves Apparating over a body of water, or some more dangerous substance, like acid or boiling lava (they both hoped fervently that this would never be needed, but better to have it and not need it than the reverse).
Once the "rescuer" had arrived, his or her ring would act as a sort of magical compass, pointing unerringly toward its Charmed companion. (This was Harry's idea, inspired by Hermione having taught him the Four-Point spell during the Triwizard Tournament.) In this way, they could come to each other's aid from a safe distance, yet be able to home in on the other without hesitation.
Both of them had fully intended this Charm to be employed as a safeguard against attack by Death Eaters, or some other minion of the Dark forces. Neither could have conceived of it being used for one of them to spy on the other, to track their spouse down like a criminal escaped from Azkaban. Not for the first time, Hermione felt her resolve weakening with every moment she lingered in this spider-haunted doorway, her eyes burning with tears of shame as she stared at the third finger of her left hand.
Could she really bring herself to do this? Could she effectively betray Harry, betray their mutual vows of trust and loyalty, merely to satisfy the beast inside her head that craved always to know, to understand, to learn the truth at any cost?
Despising herself, cursing herself with invectives she would not have spoken aloud to her worst enemy, Hermione concentrated on the pure, white-gold band on her finger. It hummed lightly, like a firefly caught in a child's cupped hand. A moment later, with a sound so soft that none of the passersby in Diagon Alley heard, Hermione Disapparated.