Unofficial Portkey Archive

I want to express my sincere thanks for the feedback engendered by Chapter 7. I think the best way I can show my appreciation is to let everyone off the hook. The previous chapters were overflowing with -- what did JK call them? -- oh, yes -- anvils. Time to clear the skies. Meet you at the bottom.

The suddenness of the change that came over Hermione was as startling as the change itself. She exploded to her feet as if the floor underneath her had been electrified. In one terrible instant, all of her self-pitying despair was swept away by an overpowering tide of pure, white-hot rage.

"Down and dirty?" she rasped, feeling her gorge rise. "Honey-Boy?"

Her eyes flashing in a manner to cow a Hungarian Horntail, Hermione drew her wand with a savage jerk, flinging aside the Invisibility Cloak so that it draped over her left shoulder, its descent arrested only by the string tying it loosely around her neck. Slowly, with deadly purpose, she glided toward the doorway from which the voices had come, her lips moving soundlessly as she sorted through her vast store of magical knowledge for a Curse sufficient to express the hurricane fury of her anger.

"A rat," she muttered venomously. But she shook her head immediately, the action sending her bushy hair flying. "No, not a rat. For all that it's a vile piece of vermin, a rat still has a backbone. A cockroach! Yes! That's what you'll be, Harry! A slinking, scurrying, filthy, disgusting insect!"

A thin smile of steel-hard resolution etched onto her face, Hermione strode through the doorway, tensed to thrust her wand before her and hurl her Attacking Spell in a single lightning stroke. Her knuckles showed white as her fingers tightened convulsively, her arm fairly trembling with anticipation -

Hermione froze as suddenly as if she had been petrified by a Stunning Spell. An expression of indescribable astonishment burst over her face, leaving her jaw slack as her eyes bulged to the size of a house-elf's.

Hermione had expected to find herself in an ostentatious boudoir of some kind, with silk tapestries of lavender or shocking pink, mirrored ceiling, surrounding a grand bed - round - draped with satin sheets of blazing crimson. What she found instead left her nearly numb with stunned amazement.

She was standing at the edge of a garden! She shook her head, blinking repeatedly as if to wipe away what must surely be an illusion. But when she brought her Knut-sized eyes back into focus, the scene was not altered. It was real.

Or at least, she reasoned as her encyclopedic mind wrested control once more, as real as magic permitted. For this was surely the work of magic. The open patio lay behind her. She was unquestionably in an enclosed room. This in itself was not difficult to explain. She had seen many examples of such enchantments as this, beginning with the ceiling of the Great Hall at Hogwarts that mirrored the weather outside the castle. Standing here now, she was reminded of a sudden of Firenze's Divination classroom at school, which had been enchanted to emulate the trappings of the centaur's former home, the Forbidden Forest. This was unquestionably an enchantment of like nature.

But what did it all mean?

Abruptly, Hermione caught a snatch of conversation…punctuated by soft laughter. Lowering her wand and wrapping the Invisibility Cloak around herself once more, she crept forward, taking care not to snag either the Cloak or her clothes on the assorted shrubs which littered the area in a very natural disorder. She found that she need have no concern over her footsteps, for her stockinged feet encountered only a soft loam that was strangely comforting underfoot. In spite of herself, she found the tempest of her anger melting away, replaced by the omnipresent curiosity which had been both blessing and curse for her for as long as she could remember. The voices were growing more distinct as she drew nearer, and at length she knelt down behind a shrubbery and peered through the leafy branches. And her mouth fell open once more.

She saw Harry and herself - no, Harry and Cassandra - kneeling in the fresh, black earth of a flower bed. Each wielded a spade in a gloved hand, and they appeared to be turning the soil carefully around the base of a large bush that was oddly familiar to Hermione. In fact, the entire scene was disturbingly familiar. The squared-off dimensions in which Harry was working...the position of the flower beds, the shrubbery, the small elm tree in the left-hand corner...Realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. This was her garden! Hers and Harry's! It was as if the small, now sadly neglected garden just beyond their back door where they had spent so many simple yet wonderful Saturday afternoons in the days preceding their marriage (when the little flat had been Harry's "bachelor pad") had been plucked from her back doorstep and deposited in this enchanted setting. Hermione's heart fluttered in her chest as her eyes roamed over the familiar contours of the small square, fond memories flowing through her like an intoxicating draught. She was living with her parents in those months between graduation and her wedding day. It was a hectic time, she recalled, with her internship at the Ministry having just begun, and the thousand-and-one details of a wedding to plan and execute. In spite of that, she could not recall a Saturday when she did not Apparate into Harry's - now their - bedroom, stuff him into a pair of Muggle overalls (the very ones he was wearing now?) and drag him into the tiny back garden before he could so much as pour himself a glass of orange juice or catch up the morning paper for a glance at the rugby scores.

They had been so happy then, both before and after the wedding. Hermione's shoulders sagged under the Invisibility Cloak. They were not even married a year now, yet those days seemed a thousand years away…a million…an eternity…

Hermione's head jerked up, her reverie shattered like a fumbled tea cup hitting a stone floor, as Cassandra, using Hermione's usurped voice, cried out shrilly. She was plunging her hands down the neck of her overalls while Harry looked on, his face a mask of feigned innocence. A single hot tear ran down Hermione's cheek. She had forgotten how Harry would always catch her unawares (her concentration in the garden, as with all things, being one of singular focus) and playfully dump a trowelful of dirt down her neck. It always played out the same, like a late-night re-run on telly. She would scold him, threaten to Curse him - even threaten to call off the wedding before that threat was erased forever by the exchanging of their vows. Harry would hang his head contritely, then lift his eyes very slowly, brush his bangs aside, and flash her his best puppy-dog look that could melt her steely resolve like butter. They would laugh, exchange a playful slap or two. And in the end, they would hug…Harry would caress her face, lift her chin with a finger and kiss her so tenderly that the blood would leave her brain…

As she watched Harry with her counterpart now, his hands rose, and she feared for a terrifying instant that he was about to enfold Cassandra in a hug that should be hers alone. Hermione felt her own hands jerk, her fingers clawing the air, aching to run themselves through his untamed hair, to hold him to her as she had not since that night in the cabin a million eternities ago. She expelled a sobbing breath of relief as Harry merely brushed the last particles of dirt from Cassandra's shoulders before taking up his spade and turning back to his gardening with a chuckle in his throat and the ghost of a smile on his lips. But his expression softened into one of deep thought as he spoke without taking his eyes off his work.

"Only a month now," he said in what Hermione thought was a strained, apprehensive voice. "Exactly one month from today, in fact. There's so much more work than I thought. Neville makes it all seem so easy. We used to tell him at school that his Outstanding O.W.L. in Herbology was the easiest grade he ever got. I've wised up a lot since then, let me tell you."

"Don't worry," Cassandra said, her face alight with Hermione's brilliant smile. "We'll get it just right. That little witch of yours is going to get her best birthday present ever once this is all transplanted."

"I hope Neville doesn't forget," Harry said without looking up. "Maybe I should stop off in Diagon Alley and get him another Remembrall. Or better yet, I'll send him a Howler every day for the entire week preceding the 19th. If I try to do this without him, I know I'll muck it up."

"Don't worry!" Cassandra repeated in a tone that was so dead-on Hermione that the original recoiled slightly. "Now, I think that's enough of this. I think the base is properly aerated, don't you?" She nodded toward the earth surrounding the base of the bush, which Hermione suddenly recognized as a hydrangea. Harry was looking at the bush with a secret smile which only the real Hermione understood. It was in such a bush as this that Harry spent many a hot August day in the holiday preceding his fifth year at Hogwarts, his ears perked for word on the Muggle news of any sign of the newly-resurrected Voldemort. And it was in that very same bush, located at the front of the Dursley house at Number 4 Privet Drive, where a scandalized Aunt Petunia found her and Harry in a very compromising position nearly two years later. The memory still made her blush, even though nearly a year of marriage had left her as far removed from that innocent 16-year-old as the Earth from the Andromeda Galaxy.

"You're the expert," Harry replied as he rose to his feet, revealing knees black with fresh earth (Down and dirty, Hermione recalled Cassandra's words with a silent, acrid laugh). He set his trowel on the seat of a small bench, made of wooden slats framed by wrought iron sides. It was just wide enough for two people to sit snugly side-by-side.

"That I am," Cassandra agreed as Harry gave her a hand up. Unlike Harry, she did not relinquish her trowel. "I'm going to have a look at that little maple tree over there," she said, gesturing with the implement toward the far corner of the squared space. "I'm not keen on the color of those leaves. And I believe you have your own little job waiting for you. Right, Honey-Boy?"

Hermione's ears instantly perked up at this address. Looking at Harry now, she saw that he was going a very deep shade of pink that any member of the Weasley family would have envied. Grinning foolishly, Harry turned and disappeared out of Hermione's sight. Remembering now that she was invisible, Hermione rose and tried to determine the direction Harry had gone. It was no use. Plants of every variety grew with abandon, and it was impossible to tell in which direction Harry had vanished. Cassandra ducked under the branch of a sapling and was instantly lost to view, and Hermione stepped cautiously forward. She was certain that Cassandra's eyes had flickered in a particular direction as she dismissed Harry to his mysterious task, and she gambled that this was the direction in which Harry had gone. There being nothing better for it, Hermione slunk through the brush, careful to keep the Invisibility Cloak snug around her, and, her eyes being essentially useless, relied on her ears for a clue to Harry's whereabouts.

She was quickly rewarded when she heard a distinct "Protego!" in a masculine voice. Hurrying toward the sound, Hermione emerged into a small clearing to find Harry standing before a small, rounded object that was roughly the size of a sidewalk dustbin. There was a soft humming pervading the air, and a cloud of tiny pinpoints which appeared to be insects swarmed around both the object and Harry.

"It's a beehive," Hermione gasped with sudden realization. "What in the name of Merlin's grandmum - "

As Hermione continued to ponder, Harry pointed his wand at the hive and said, "Accio!" A honeycomb emerged and flew toward Harry, followed at once by a protective escort of bees. Hermione feared momentarily that Harry would be stung, but almost immediately she remembered his chanted, "Protego." A personal shield surrounded Harry, and the bees, no doubt angry at the "theft" of their golden treasure, bounced harmlessly off the unseen barrier as they sought in vain to exact toll on the culprit. Though he could not touch or hold the honeycomb from behind his shield, Harry inspected it easily enough as it hovered before him, all the while "guarded" by its apian escort. He nodded with what Hermione interpreted as satisfaction before dispatching the honeycomb back to its place of origin, the small cloud of bees following in its wake.

"All done, Honey-Boy?" came a voice from Hermione's right. She shrank back instinctively as Cassandra (still wearing Hermione's face) appeared, a pair of pruning shears having replaced the trowel in her hand. Hermione saw Harry blush again. Clearly, he was not at all comfortable being addressed in this manner. But, in typical Harry fashion, he merely grinned good-naturedly as Cassandra approached - and suddenly rebounded as if she had hit a wall. Hermione nodded to herself immediately. Harry had undoubtedly erected two magical barriers, one around his person, and another, larger shield around the entire area to prevent the bees from straying too far from the hive. With an apologetic smile, Harry turned and pointed his wand at the beehive. He twirled his wrist, and the bees all flew back into their home like specks of iron to a magnet. Harry's wand snapped sharply, and the beehive vanished, along with the protective barriers. This last was demonstrated when Cassandra strolled forward and approached Harry, who was now slipping his wand into a pocket of his overalls.

"I'm still waiting for you to explain what this is all about," Cassandra said, a curious smile twisting her (Hermione's) face. "Quidditch doesn't pay enough that you have to moonlight as a beekeeper?"

Harry laughed. "It's very simple, really. You see, Hermione absolutely loves honey in her tea. And I promised her after we were married that she would never run out -- of honey, not tea," he chuckled. "Well, that's quite a promise, as I soon found out. Hermione's been known to put in more than her share of overtime for the Ministry, and during an all-nighter she can easily go through two pots without blinking.

"But, as he so often does, Dumbledore had the answer."

Harry paused. His eyes, trained to spot a Golden Snitch moving at breakneck speed, had spied a bee that had eluded his Attraction Spell. He flicked his wand, and the bee vanished, presumably reappearing back in its hive.

"Anyway," he continued, "Dumbledore is rather fond of honey himself - though not in his tea," he added with a grin. "So I owled him and explained my predicament, hoping he'd find a way for me to drag my arse out of the hole my tongue had dug for me. And straightaway he told me about a little old wizard in Sussex who retired about sixty years ago and became a beekeeper. That solved the first part of my problem. The next step was getting the honey from point A to point B. I had an idea I wanted to try, but I didn't know if I'd be allowed -- he's a fussy old bloke, and his bees are the only family he has, so he's protective of them. But Dumbledore can be very persuasive, and together we convinced him to let me put an enhanced Protean Charm on one of the hives. That hive you saw is magically linked to a little clay pot in our kitchen. The moment the level of the honey in the pot falls below the rim, the link is triggered and honey from the hive is instantly transferred to the pot. The real trick," he said with a short laugh, "is keeping the hive full. Like Herbology, beekeeping isn't as easy as it looks. Constant tending is required, and the old bloke is a bit forgetful sometimes. I usually Apparate over every day or two to make sure that the honeycombs are at full capacity. But I've been coming here all this week, haven't I? And this is the time of day when the hives have to be checked -- chap is adamant about that, says the bees' schedule is thrown off if the inspection is made at odd hours, and that compromises the quality of the honey. Besides that, he turns in early every evening -- I think he must have been in the same class with Griselda Marchbanks, he's that ancient -- and he keeps his grounds protected with special wards to guard against theft -- Dumbledore says his is the best honey in Britain, which is one reason I wanted it for Hermione -- and he won't lower them for anyone. So with all that, how was I to check the hive regularly if I'm working here for the next month on Hermione's garden?

"But once again, Dumbledore came up with a solution. He has a friend at the Portkey Office in the Department of Magical Transport, and he wangled special permission for me to enchant the hive as a portkey. There are two types of portkey, you know. The one activates when you touch it -- that's how it was with the Triwizard Cup at Hogwarts -- you probably heard about that -- I reckon everyone did. The other kind is pre-set to vanish and appear at a certain time, kind of like setting an alarm clock to go off -- we used one of those to get to the Quidditch World Cup from Ottery St. Catchpole, the year Ireland beat Bulgaria. That's the variety I used here. The spell is timed to bring the hive here at the same time every day, and when I send it back, I automatically renew the portkey spell for the next time. When we're finally done here, I'll cancel the spell and the hive will revert to its normal state. Then I'll just go back to checking it spot-on like I did before."

Hermione covered her mouth to stifle a sob. Here at last was explained the mystery of the ever-full honey pot. For a moment, she was torn between her professional admiration for Harry's exemplary spell-work, and the immeasurable love she felt for a husband whose devotion could extend to so fine a degree as this. In the end, it was no contest.

"That's an awful lot of trouble to go to so the Little Witch can spoon honey in her tea," Cassandra observed. "I hope she realizes how lucky she is to have a bloke like you sharing her bed."

"I'm the lucky one," Harry said. He did not elaborate, and Cassandra cocked one of Hermione's eyebrows probingly. Harry looked into her eyes for a moment before his gaze fell abruptly. He stared at the ground between his feet, and Cassandra took a step toward him.

"Something on your mind, Honey-Boy?"

Harry lifted his head slowly. "Why do you do this, Cassandra?" he said in a small, apologetic voice.

"What?" she grinned expansively. "Gardening?"

"You know what I mean," Harry said, his eyes meeting hers. "And being as you brought it up, I think you'd make a smashing gardener. And I'm not the only one. I'm told you left quite a legacy at Hogwarts -- that is how I found you, you know."

"How?" Cassandra said now with genuine interest.

Harry looked both surprised and embarrassed. "I never told you? Funny, I thought I had. Anyway, it all started with Neville. I mentioned him, remember? Herbology was his speciality at Hogwarts, and when he graduated he started his own little magical nursery in Hogsmeade. When I got the idea for the garden, I went to him first. Like I said, this is very important to me, and I don't want to muck it up."

"What's so important about a back garden?" Cassandra interrupted.

"It's more than that," Harry said. "You see, our flat is kind of cramped. There's nothing beyond the front door but a welcome mat, and the so-called back yard is a box twenty feet square with an eight-foot fence on three sides and a broom shed in the right corner. Hermione and I used to do some gardening back there, but it was more of a lark, really -- we never managed to do much with it, just mucked about together, you know. But I started thinking about how Hermione spends all her time in a cramped office, never seeing the sun and the sky. I'm lucky, being outdoors all the time playing Quidditch, and it wasn't fair that all Hermione ever got to see was the walls of a cubicle. So I got the idea to convert the space beyond our back door into a sort of Japanese garden, with trees and bushes blocking the fence, and little twists and turns that make it look bigger than it actually is. There'll be a little pool, even, fed by the outside tap. We can sit together, a million miles from the world and its troubles, on that loveseat bench I bought in Diagon Alley. I tried to Transfigure one," he explained with a small smile, "but it didn't come out right. Transfiguring iron is simple, but wood is trickier, being organic. Hermione could have done it properly, of course - but that would have spoiled the surprise, wouldn't it?"

"Whenever you say her name," Cassandra said quietly, "it's almost like you're saying a prayer."

Harry shifted his weight uneasily. "Um - as I was saying, I went to Neville, but he's just getting his business going, and he had a load of clients he couldn't afford to offend by taking time off to help me. He did promise to help me on the 19th - that's a Sunday, and he'll be able to put everything in order while Hermione and I are having dinner at her parents' house. But that still didn't help me now, so I asked him to recommend someone to step in for him. That's when he told me about Professor Sprout's Honor Scroll. She gave him a copy when he graduated, and he keeps it hanging in his shop, just behind the counter where everyone who comes in can see it."

"She doesn't add names to that scroll lightly," Cassandra said knowledgably.

"Only two in the last fifteen years," Harry said. "His - and yours. Neville said it was seeing all the names on that scroll that inspired him, and I gather that Professor Sprout always held you up as an example for him to emulate, since you were the most recent addition to the list. So when he couldn't spare me the time I needed, he suggested I contact Professor Sprout to see about engaging you."

Cassandra nodded, a hard smile forming on her (Hermione's) face. "Of course, he had no idea that I was making my way in the world by another profession when he recommended me, did he?" She laughed, somewhat bitterly, it seemed to Hermione, who was taking in every word.

"But why are you - you know - " Harry said stumblingly. Cassandra laughed again.

"It's not like I have too many options."

"I don't understand," Harry said.

"That was a nice bit of Charm work you did on that beehive," Cassandra said in a somewhat distracted way. "What did you get on your O.W.L.'s? Outstanding?"

"Exceeds Expectations," Harry murmured.

"As good as," Cassandra smiled. "I got a D. Some of my mates said I was lucky old Marchbanks didn't give me a bloody T. Anyway, it's moot now, innit? Good or bad, a witch needs a wand to do magic." Harry looked confused, and Cassandra's borrowed lips essayed a crooked smile. "Tell me something, Honey-Boy - in the week you've been coming here, have you ever seen me use a wand? Even once?"

Harry paused. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen Cassandra use a wand, not even to perform a simple spell. Less than an hour ago, when he had Summoned the bottle of Polyjuice from the cupboard, Cassandra was in the process of fetching it by hand. Standing invisibly to one side, Hermione now understood why the penthouse's kitchen was outfitted with Muggle appliances in addition to standard wizarding apparatus.

"What - what happened?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"Chalk it up to sins of youth," Cassandra shrugged. "A few of my mates and I got caught doing a little Muggle baiting, and when we went before the Wizengamot, damned if my boyfriend didn't have the bloody Dark Mark on his arm as grand as you please. I never knew - swear to Merlin I didn't. We weren't all that close, really. Just a quick shag now and then, know what I mean? And when the candles were out, I couldn't have seen the bloody thing on his arm if I'd been looking for it. And I had other parts of his anatomy besides his arm on my mind then, didn't I? Ah, well. Long story short, I got three months in Azkaban - and they snapped my wand for 'conduct detrimental to the wizarding community.' "

"That's hardly fair," Harry said with a touch of restrained indignation. Cassandra merely shrugged again.

"I wasn't much of a witch, even with a wand. Fortunately, my two - and only two - O.W.L.'s came in subjects that don't require a wand. One, as you already know, is Herbology. And I'm sure you can guess the other one?"

"Potions," Harry said dully.

"Right in one," Cassandra said. "So, as I say, my options were extremely limited. That being the case, I played to my strength, as it were."

"You could have played to your other strength," Harry offered weakly.

"Ask your mate Neville how many Galleons a month he takes in," Cassandra said with a mirthless laugh. "I can make that much or more in a day - or night. All the same to me.

"Look at this room," she said, her arm sweeping grandly about her. "This is my refuge, my sanctuary. I paid a wizard a small fortune to Charm all this - and without it, you'd have no place to piece together the Little Witch's birthday garden. Work like this is medicine for the soul, but it does bugger all for one's bank account. That's one reason I agreed to be your personal gardener for a few weeks. Business isn't what it was, what with the Ministry cracking down. I figured a few extra Galleons wouldn't go amiss, and I spend most of my free time in here anyway. Figured I might as well do a favor for the grandest teacher at Hogwarts -- until just now, I thought she was the one who sent you to me. Always made me feel special, Sprout did. I ought to pop in on her some time, just to see how she's getting on."

Cassandra turned about, surveying the greenery all about her as a sovereign might regard her palace grounds -- but when she shifted her weight, her left leg abruptly folded up as she winced, her breath hissing between her teeth.

"What is it?" Harry said worriedly.

"Nothing," Cassandra said with a wave of her hand. "Tripped on a tree root and bruised my knee on a sharp rock. Sometimes I think that wizard Charmed this place too bloody well."

Hang on," Harry said, drawing his wand. "Accio bench!"

The small bench to which Harry had alluded only minutes earlier flew through the magical sunlight, stopping fast at a crisply issued, "Impedimenta!" He eased Cassandra onto the narrow wooden seat, squeezing in beside her in a manner that made Hermione's heart flutter as she stood silently, eyes and ears alert.

"Thanks, Honey-Boy," Cassandra said with a sigh of relief. "Like I said, nice wand work. You ever need a few Galleons for a Christmas present for the Little Witch, look me up. The spells on this flat need refreshing every few months, and I can always use a good wizard who knows how to keep his pie-hole shut."

Harry shifted uneasily, and it seemed to Hermione that he was not enjoying his close proximity to Cassandra on the narrow bench.

"Now," Cassandra said in a silky purr that made Hermione's skin crawl, "it's my turn to ask you something. If all you wanted was my magical 'green thumb,' why did you go and nick this - " she tugged at the bushy brown hair falling about her shoulders, " -- from your wife's hairbrush after your first visit to 'tickle the potion,' as it were?" Harry's eyes went wide, and Cassandra laughed. "That's where they all get it from, lover. Easiest place in the world to pick up a stray hair or two. So, what about it? If all I am to you is a stand-in for good ol' Neville - " she leaned in closer, her voice dropping an octave, " - then why am I sitting here now, talking to you in your wife's voice - looking at you with her eyes? What do you say to that, Honey-Boy?"

Harry turned away from the eyes which looked exactly like Hermione's, yet were not. And when he turned, unbeknownst to him, he was suddenly looking directly into the eyes of the real Hermione. The pain in Harry's eyes pierced his wife's heart like white-hot needles. Harry mumbled something that Hermione could not make out. Apparently, Cassandra, though she was sitting right next to him, could not decipher Harry's reply either.

"A little louder, Honey-Boy. Didn't catch that."

"I miss her," Harry said softly.

"How's that?" Cassandra prompted. "A little louder?"

"I miss her," Harry said raggedly. Cassandra twisted the lips she had appropriated from Hermione into a knowing smile.

"I get a lot of chappies like you," she said liquidly. "We have a saying in this business, Honey-Boy: Busy wives make busy whores."

"It's not like that," Harry said hotly, his head jerking up. In a calmer voice, he said, "Being busy is Hermione's way of living life to the fullest. That's one of the reasons I love her. She never does anything by half measures. Did I mention she was the top student at Hogwarts for seven years? But in the end, all anyone remembers is that she was one of Harry Potter's friends. The spotlight was always on me, leaving her and Ron and everyone else in shadow. Well, I'm done with that rubbish. I never wanted it, and I'm well shut of it. It's time for Hermione to stand in the light. She deserves it. And I'm going to do everything I can to make it happen. It's past time everyone realized how special Hermione is. She's brilliant...and incredible...she's...the most beautiful person I've ever known..."

Cassandra snorted disparagingly, her disdainful expression entirely unsuited to her borrowed face. Wordlessly she ran her hands over her - Hermione's - small breasts, her short legs…ran her fingers through her head of bushy brown hair. "Beautiful?" she said tartly. "Mate, if this was my body, I'd be out of business in a month, Polyjuice or no."

"Hermione is the most beautiful witch in the world," Harry said evenly, though with the merest hint of a dangerous edge to his voice."

"And when's the last time this 'beautiful witch' of yours worked a little 'special magic' with you, Honey-Boy? You know the type I mean." Though Harry did his best to keep his face inscrutable, Cassandra read the answer in his eyes, and she licked her illusory lips suggestively. "The potion lasts for an hour, and by my reckoning we still have fifteen minutes left. Seems a shame to waste it all on hydrangeas and honeycombs when there's a big, warm bed waiting just across the parlor. I might even do it as a special favor…off the clock…"

"No," Harry said sharply, bolting up out of his seat. His voice softened almost immediately. "I'm…sorry. It's my fault. If I wasn't so bloody stupid - "

"You're not stupid," Cassandra said very softly, all trace of cynicism gone from her borrowed features. "You're a wizard in love. Trouble is, you're in love with a witch who, in my opinion, isn't fit to press your robes. You told me once that she's the smartest witch at Hogwarts in a century? That's as may be. But from where I sit, she gets a D on the most important O.W.L of all - love."

A tense silence reigned for at least a full minute. When Harry turned around to face Cassandra once more, he reached into his pocket and pulled out something that Hermione could not see. He handed this to Cassandra, who took it and angled it so that its surface was bathed in the magical sunlight filtering through the branches of the surrounding trees.

"'Justin Finch-Fletchly,'" she read from the business card. "'Solicitor-at-Law.'"

"He's new," Harry said. "Graduated last year, same class as mine, different House. He's good. He was down for Eton -- that's a first-class Muggle school -- before he got his Hogwarts letter. Doesn't miss a trick. If you don't have your Apparation license, you can take the Floo or the Knight Bus to his office. Mention my name and he'll see you straightaway -- and don't mind if he winks at you," he added with a repressed chuckle. When Cassandra continued to look at Harry with blank, uncomprehending eyes, he grinned, "You do want your wand privileges restored, don't you?"

"Eton," Cassandra repeated carefully, a trace of suspicion lurking in the careful pronunciation. "He's Muggle-born, then?"

"Yes," Harry said, having planned for this question. "Who better to defend you on a charge of Muggle-baiting? Trust me, you'll be standing in Ollivander's with a full pardon in hand before you can say, 'Peskipiksi Pesternomi.'"

"He's that good?" Cassandra said cautiously, not daring to believe.

"Better," Harry said, his smile broadening. His eyes had taken on a strange, unearthly glow which Hermione could discern even from the distance of her point of vantage.

"You look like a cat with a mouthful of pixie," Cassandra said genially. "Give it up, then. What's this bloke done for you?"

Appearing fit to burst, Harry said, "I told you about our flat? If it were any smaller, a house-elf would have to bend over to walk through the door. We've been trying to find a proper house for ages, but everything we like is either too expensive or too close to Muggles. We wanted to live in Hogsmeade - "

"Good luck with that," Cassandra chirped. "They haven't allowed a house to be built in Hogsmeade since my gran was in nappies."

"That's right," Harry said, fairly bouncing with suppressed excitement. "In Hogsmeade. But what about outside of Hogsmeade?"

Hermione started so that she nearly lost her balance.

"What?" Cassandra said with renewed interest. "You mean outside the Muggle-repelling barriers?"

"Exactly," Harry said.

"They'd never allow that," Cassandra said with a shake of her head, which sent bushy brown hair flying in all directions. "An unprotected wizard house outside of town would draw Muggle attention like blood draws thestrals."

"Who said it'll be unprotected?" Harry countered.

"Do you know what it takes to Muggle-proof a building?" Cassandra challenged. "It took a dozen wizards three months to secure this place, even without the Invisibility Barrier around the penthouse."

"I have a few friends who can help me there," Harry said. "The same ones who stood up for me in front of the town elders, actually. Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick…"

Cassandra's mouth was open now, mirroring that of her invisible twin.

"Justin handled all the paperwork," Harry said. "The land itself was cheap enough, but there were permits, registration, legal fees - a few Galleons even changed hands, um, under the table, if you know what I mean." Cassandra grinned cat-like, indicating that, given her chosen profession, she was no stranger to spreading gold around to achieve a desired end. "All told, it came to nearly a thousand Galleons. It was a dodgy thing getting the money without Hermione knowing. I used a bit of spellwork in our vault to make it look like nothing is missing. My godfather helped a bit," he added with a smirk. "He's good at that sort of thing, and he knows as well as I do that if Hermione spots anything out of place, she won't rest until she puts all the pieces together -- like I said, she doesn't do anything by half measures. She's working her way up through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and at the rate she's advancing, she'll be sitting in Madam Bones' chair before Amelia can clean out her desk."

Hermione felt her eyes burning. Cassandra stood mutely, studying the card in her hand.

"Of course, all we have now is the land," Harry said. "I'm going to hide the deed in one of her birthday presents. I bought this black lace teddy for her last week - " Harry caught himself, his face going crimson. "I don't know if it would be better to buy a house we like and move it there with magic," he said quickly to cover his embarrassment, "or build our own, just the way we want it. Arthur Weasley could help there, if it comes to that -- he built his family's house, and Hermione's always loved the Burrow -- but that's something we'll decide together, after I - " Harry choked suddenly. He had cast a casual glance at his watch, and his eyes nearly popped. "Blimey! I have to go!" He pulled his wand from his overalls and waved it once. In the wink of an eye he was wearing his original Muggle clothes.

"I say again, Honey-Boy" Cassandra smiled, "nice wand work. Definitely an O."

"I have to see Neville before he closes his shop," Harry said as he turned away from the doorway leading to the open patio, leading Hermione to suppose that there was another doorway leading directly to the parlor alcove and the magical "lift." "We're almost out of dragon dung compost, and he gets it for me at cost."

"Good to have mates who stand by you, innit?" Cassandra smiled brightly. "So, same time tomorrow, Honey-Boy? Workday for the Little Witch, right? No chance she'll do a skive-off, make an early week of it?"

"Hermione?" Harry smiled warmly, his eyes brimming with love. "Never."

"She's a lucky witch," Cassandra said in a low, throaty voice as Harry turned and left the enchanted clearing and disappeared through the trees. She rose from the loveseat-bench, wincing slightly as her knee twinged. She rubbed it, noting as she did so the fresh earth blackening her overalls. Smiling whimsically, she pointed her finger in a wand-like gesture and said, "Scourgify!" She immediately threw her head back and laughed, slapping her still-grimy overalls. "If wishes were broomsticks," she said as she turned and walked haltingly toward the doorway debouching onto the kitchen, "Squibs would ride." But even as she spoke, she tucked the business card into a pocket of her overalls. Shaking her head, she laughed again, the sound following her out of the enchanted garden.

Unheard over her laughter was the sound of quiet sobs from behind an Invisibility Cloak.

One chapter to go. No more anvils will be falling from the sky, but that's not to say there won't be a surprise or two. See you then.