Unofficial Portkey Archive

Disclaimer: No, I do not own anything of the 'Harry Potter' universe, nor do I make any money from playing with the characters. I make no claim on the lyric bits, either.

A/N: I know, I know… I really thought I could fit the final battle into this chapter, but the fun I was having with Vernon lasted longer than I intended. I cut this chapter off at a point as to not leave it at a cliffie. But on the bright side, this means that there will be an additional chapter to the story! Next chapter will start the final battle, and after that, the final chapter will be some sort of bizarre epilogue… thingy… you'll see! I apologize in advance for any typos in this chapter that I've missed… I really do try to put out quality writing. (Whether I actually do or not is up for debate!) For now, sit back and enjoy the Vernon torture! (Word Count: 6793)

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Chapter 51: A Mistress and a Mission

Should have taken warning…
It's just, people mourning,
running… hiding… lost…
You can't find, find a place to go,

leaving red eyes alone… (red eyes alone…)
oh, no…

Excerpt from the song, 'Red Skies,' by the band, The Fixx. (Extended Live Version)

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It really couldn't be argued that Vernon Dursley had just lived through a simply dreadful night, and the morning didn't look very promising, either. His dinner of take-out sandwiches from the local deli, which, as it appeared they knew exactly who they were catering to, left much to be desired, as it was mostly bread and condiments with the barest amount of real substance to it. He was used to meals with a bit more… 'more…' to them.

However, what he was being fed was the least of his worries. He knew he was in trouble. As he lay on the cold, stainless steel shelf that the constables called a bed, he reflected back upon the last twelve hours of his life.

As his car was totally inoperable, he was seeking to hitch a ride amongst the fleeing denizens of London and finally found a mini-lorry filled with young hoodlums who were more than willing to give him a ride to his home in Brentwood. As it turned out, that wasn't the best of decisions, because just before he was forcibly ejected from the van, he was relieved of his wallet, jewelry, and most of his rather large and expensive clothes.

Adding insult to humiliation, when he had reached his home wearing nothing but his stained boxers and a sweaty wifebeater, he found it in shambles. As he stared disbelievingly at the burned-out husk that was once a very expensive manor home, he was approached by a rather oddly dressed woman.

The eerily attractive woman had fluorescent lemon-yellow hair, an impossibly beautiful, heart-shaped face, and an equally impossibly large bust that was threatening to burst free from the silken, obscenely thin halter top she was wearing. Vernon found that it was impossible for him to speak with the woman eye-to-eye, as his gaze seemed magnetized to the outline of the nipples on her more than ample, scarcely-clad bosom.

To his absolute horror, the vixen before him turned out to be one of the oddballs, just like his freak of a nephew. With a jab of that 'stick thing' of hers, he was covered in one of the odd cloaks their kind used. The woman had informed him that his family was 'safe' inside of the freak school that his freak of a nephew attended, and then had the audacity to suggest to him that he accompany her to that 'magic school' of theirs.

One good thing came of that little confrontation… he was able to take that freakish harlot completely by surprise and punched her square in the nose before he ran away, leaving her spitting and swearing as she lay on the street.

It took him a few more hours to return to London, begging and hitching rides. He really had nowhere else to go besides the 'friend' he was seeing on the side. He hated to think of her like that… having a mistress… a 'thing on the side…' but he wasn't getting any at home, and he hadn't been for a very long time… and a man 'has his needs,' as the saying goes. If truth be told, he was nearly ready to abandon that shrewish wife and their, as he recently discovered, thug of a son… bad blood and whatnot… 'her' side of the family… he just wished he had realized it sooner. If he had listened to his sister, Marge… if there's 'freak' blood in the wife's family, then there's 'freak' blood in the wife, and their son, too.

What had put the final nail in the coffin of his life was when he finally reached the home of his 'friend.' He found the door shattered and her somewhat run-down basement apartment in total disarray, as if a herd of elephants had recently stampeded through. It was only when he discovered his mistress's mangled body in the disheveled bedroom did he start to panic. There was his lover of nearly ten years, Petra Pettigrew, lying dead on the floor. He had barely made it a few steps after discovering her when the police arrived.

Now he was sitting in a cramped cell on a cold, stainless steel bed, awaiting whatever was to become of him.

He had been questioned throughout night. He had explained again and again why he was there, and adamantly denied having brutalized his lover under the mask of the surrounding chaos caused by the terrorists, but as he didn't have any identification on him… due to his very recent mugging… the authorities had no choice but to lock him up as one of the marauding terrorists.

"Freaks!" he muttered to himself with wide, crazy eyes, "it's all their fault! That ruddy queer nephew and his ruddy freakish friends are what's causing my misery! If I ever see that vile, loathsome oddball again, I'll…"

Vernon's whispered ravings were interrupted by the sound of the scraping of the cell door opening. There stood a bobby along with the welcome sight of a tall, thin girl with long, straight, reddish-brown hair surrounding a slightly pudgy, yet not unattractive face. Carol Taylor, the secretary of the Sales Director of Grunning's Drill Company was looking at him through the bars with a somewhat disgruntled face, although Vernon wasn't looking at her expression, rather his eyes drifted southward to her quite ample bust straining her white buttoned shirt. At least his one phone call to the head of personnel didn't go to waste.

"Is that 'im, miss?" asked the bobby to the young secretary.

Carol, poorly hiding the look of resigned disgust at seeing the obese, scantily clad Vernon, replied, "Yes, he is who he says he is."

"Well, that's that, then… come along, Dursley," said the policeman as he opened the cell door and held out the traveling cloak to him, which was initially taken away from him to prevent the possibility of the prisoner using it to attempt suicide. With a sneer, Vernon roughly snatched the cloak from the officer's hand and quickly covered himself to hide the fact he was still only in his boxers and t-shirt.

Carol just rolled her eyes and began walking down the corridor towards the station lobby and the exit.

Upon leaving the station after being officially released on personal recognizance, Vernon stopped Carol and said, "I can't be seen in public like this!"

Carol shrugged and looked around, "There… there's a haberdashery. Go fix yourself up and I'll motor around up front, and be quick about it, I'm preparing an announcement for the boss and I'm already behind."

She hadn't made it two steps when Vernon's sausage-like fingers gripped her elbow. She snatched her arm away from him, turned angrily towards him and hissed, "For pity's sake, what now?"

Vernon abashedly muttered something under his breath, causing his walrus-like moustache to flutter comically.

"Speak up, ya daft git! I canna unnerstand a word ya said!"

Vernon dropped his gaze, which happened to stop where her shapely legs emerged from under her rather short, brown skirt, and said embarrassedly, "I don't have any money on me. When I went home last night, I found my whole neighborhood burned to the ground by the terrorists, my family was missing, and on my way back to London I got mugged by a pack of ruffians, which is how I came to be like… this."

Carol's eyes narrowed. She could plainly see that he was ogling her legs, but still took pity on the old lecher. She reached in her purse and after a short search, pulled out a credit card. She handed it to Vernon and said, "Now you listen to me. There's only a few 'unnert Quid left on that card, an' I still hafta buy petrol an' groceries for the next few days until I get paid on Friday… Don' go an' spend alla it, you 'ear?"

Carol didn't even bother to wait for a reply, she just spun on her heel and clattered down the stone steps of the police station and crossed the street to the parking garage. Vernon wrapped the cloak tighter around himself and shuffled as quickly as he could towards the clothing shop. As it turned out, it wasn't a haberdashery at all, but a second-hand charity shop. Fifteen minutes and thirty Quid later, he walked from the shop wearing a garish lime-green, decidedly ill-fitting suit, complete with a pair of nearly worn out tan wingtip shoes that had gone out of style about thirty years prior. They were the only things in the entire shop that even came close to fitting his bulging form.

Still, at least he was clothed.

Upon exiting the shop, he saw Carol sitting in her auto, a nearly twenty year old MGB that had certainly seen better days. He halted in his steps and briefly considered not even getting into such a shoddy car. Its paint was faded, there was rust showing through in places, and from what he could see, there didn't seem to be a section of the body that wasn't marred by dents and scratches. If anyone he knew were to see him riding in that contraption, he would surely be mortified… but then he looked down at what he was forced to wear and sighed miserably.

Vernon sat heavily into the passenger seat and heard the grinding sound of the weak springs and rusted shocks that were protesting under his added weight as the car noticeably leaned to the left. Carol wore a very odd expression as she snatched her credit card from his hand and roughly shoved it in her purse.

Soon they were motoring their way towards Grunning's on the far side of the city. Vernon was slouched down in his seat, obviously trying hard not to appear noticeable, and just stared morosely out through the passenger window. Every few seconds he would feel the car shudder slightly as they traveled. It was only when his eyes drifted over to Carol's thick, curvy legs did he realize what was making the odd, shuddering vibration. It wasn't the car itself, but rather the poorly contained laughter coming from the young girl driving the car. She had her eyes fixed upon the road, but every now and again she would glance over to Vernon's clothes and start snickering anew. When she finally noticed that he was looking at her, Carol burst out into riotous laughter, so much so that she had to briefly pull over to the side to wipe the tears that were blurring her vision.

Needless to say, the remainder of the ride was quite uncomfortable for Vernon, but the real embarrassment came for him when they finally arrived at work. The halls were buzzing with conversations about the previous day's 'terrorist' attacks, but when Vernon stepped off from the lift, the area became painfully silent. He was met with disbelieving stares from most of the male coworkers that he encountered, and blatant snickers and finger-pointing from most of the ladies. When he finally made it to his office, he slammed the door shut and parked himself behind his desk, pushing mounds of paperwork in front of him to hopefully block one's vision in case anyone entered through the door.

He didn't notice the window washer standing on the scaffolding just outside his window, holding his sides as he laughed himself into a coughing fit. The man was barely able to pulley himself away from the outside of the window. It looked as though if he laughed any harder, he surely would have fallen from his perch.

Vernon was muttering under his breath as he perused that morning's memos. Among the papers in the stack, he noticed the memo announcing the staff meeting and saw that it would begin in just a few minutes. The memo also mentioned that one of the subjects of the meeting was the anticipated visit of the company's owner. He had planned to miss this meeting the moment that Carol mentioned it, seeing that he was so absurdly dressed, but now knew he had to attend.

He needed all of the information on the owner that he could get if he was going to make a good impression. Obviously, he couldn't offer a home-cooked meal, seeing that his house was currently in ruins, but that didn't mean he couldn't treat the owner to a lavish dinner in an expensive restaurant.

The meeting went just as Vernon had anticipated. The moment he entered the conference room, he was met with stares, glares, guffaws, and a stern, verbal reprimand from the general manager. It was only after he explained about what had happened the previous night and what Carol Taylor had kindly done for him that he was offered any modicum of sympathy at all… most of it given sparsely and grudgingly.

He didn't really notice that a good portion of the sympathy was for Miss Taylor.

Still, the meeting told him all that he needed to know. The owner's representatives sent word that he would be meeting with the upper management and touring the facilities early in the next week. Vernon hardly paid attention to the instructions to get the various departments in order. He was sure his charm and charisma would carry the day when it was time to meet this mysterious owner.

'Yes, next week would be one for the scrapbooks!' Vernon thought fondly to himself, 'It will surely make up for these past few dreadful months!'

Obviously, Vernon was in for a most unexpected surprise when the first week of August arrives.

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Harry let Hermione lead him through the door into the beach house. As always, the strange, soft lighting came to life, illuminating the very white interior of the house. Usually, the soft glow from the neon-like, glass tube felt comforting to him, but given the mood that he was in, it made the room appear strangely empty. Immediately, his eyes focused upon the slightly matted indentation in the soft, polar bearskin rug that was roughly in the curled-up shape of Kotone's slight body.

When he walked through the door, he almost expected to find her there waiting for him, but something inside of him just knew she would still be on that 'task' for the Oni.

'At least they allowed her to leave a note…' thought Harry morosely.

Harry did, however, catch the odd expression on Hermione's face as she glanced at him looking at the rug. It almost appeared that she desperately wanted to say something to him, but then her gaze dropped to the floor as she led him to the stairs leading to the loft. At first glance, he thought she looked sad, but there was something in her pained expression that hinted at something more secretive. If he didn't know better, he could have guessed it was guilt that flashed across her face, but he immediately dismissed that notion. He had other, more serious matters to think about.

He was dealing with the situation the best he could, but there were too many things demanding his mind's attention. The enormity of what Ragnok was trying to tell him didn't really hit him until he saw the colossal number of letters and gifts. He had always hated his celebrity status, thinking that all those fickle witches and wizards shouldn't feel that way towards him for simply having murdered parents. He realized that there truly were thousands upon thousands of people out there who actually loved him… who he was… without ever having actually met him. Seeing the plethora of gifts and cards made him realize that their affection towards him went beyond mere gratitude or sympathy. He was absolutely floored by the huge stack of marriage proposals and the sheer number of letters and cards that were sent to him throughout his life.

As he perused the vast number of boxes containing the thousands of toys and games he could have had during those years of loneliness and neglect at the hands of the Dursleys, he couldn't help but to feel that, not only his happiness, but his entire childhood was kept from him… stolen from him. Well, he had plans for that particular issue once he attended the meeting with the current heads of Grunning's Drill Company.

Then there was the issue with the orphanage and the suffering those kids went through. He distinctly remembered seeing in the memories that Kotone had shown him fleeting images of a dirty chamber filled with kids emptying and cleaning chamber pots by hand, attaching wrought-metal handles on cauldrons, sanding and polishing broomstick handles, sorting through piles of disgusting potion ingredients, and other such unpleasant tasks. He had no idea at the time that those memories were from her time in Haversham's. What bothered him the most was that it was perfectly acceptable to the pureblood-controlled wizarding world… actually condoned by the ministry that was supposed to promote the welfare of all wizarding peoples, not just the pureblood elitists.

To top it all off, he was told, in no uncertain terms, that wizardkind was on the brink of yet another goblin war due to the prejudice and bigotry of those same pureblood elitists. What Hermione had told him struck a chord deep within him… 'You do realize that almost ninety percent of the wizarding populace are either half-bloods or muggleborns… there are very few true pureblood families left.'

With that vast majority of the wizarding population being subverted and oppressed, how was it that nothing was ever done before?

The answer struck Harry as he reached the top of the stairs… because there was never anyone in a position to lead them. If he really did hold that much sway with the rank and file wizarding community, then he could see why Ragnok chose to confide in him, and suggested that he would be in a position to influence the magical world for the better… if he survived, that is.

When Hermione laid him back onto the bed, he hadn't realized how tired he was. All of the other conflicting emotions that were buffeting his psyche kept him from really feeling the exhaustion until then.

Hermione helped him off with his shirt, shoes and socks as she told him, "I'm going to get the nursery room set up for Ron, I think it would be more appropriate for us if he wasn't practically in the same room with us."

Harry fidgeted slightly when she mentioned changing Kotone's room, but he really didn't have the energy to complain… it's not like she ever spent the full night in there, anyway.

"Once Ron's settled, I'll make us a quick bite and bring it up here," Hermione smiled nervously and added with a deepening blush, "after we eat, I can put you to sleep properly… it is your birthday, you know."

Before her meaning registered in his brain, Hermione had already turned and was hurrying down the stairs. His eyes were focused on her shapely behind when what she implied finally struck him. Although a crimson blush flashed across his own face, he couldn't help but to smile broadly at the idea of being 'put to sleep properly.'

Harry laid back in the bed and stared up through the now spotless skylight above the bed. He briefly wondered how it had become so clean, then remembered that Hermione had cleaned it as he was sleeping the morning before… then he realized that he was sleeping on top of the bed completely naked during that time. His smile returned as he thought that she must have had a good show up there.

His smile faded, however, as his thoughts turned to the task at hand. They got the general directions from Hagrid on how to get to his house in Godric's Hollow, but since none of them had ever been there, they couldn't Apparate directly there. They couldn't make a portkey for the same reason. He briefly considered broomsticks, but it was much too far to travel, and they would only be able to do it at night then they couldn't readily be seen by the muggles. Then the thought struck him…

He listened for a moment and heard Hermione chanting off spells in the downstairs nursery, transfiguring the baby furniture into something more suitable for Ron. She said that she would make up some food after that, so he had some time.

Harry settled into the mattress, making his body as comfortable as possible, then stared straight up into the dark, early morning sky. He didn't even have to close his eyes before the familiar septagram appeared as a ghostly, translucent image before his eyes. He felt his soul lifting up from the bed and the sensation of being able to 'see' all around him. He still didn't have that sense of extreme awareness that he had during his interrupted enhancement ritual, but he'd have to worry about that later… he had a job to do.

In the blink of an eye, he was soaring over the ocean at an impossible speed. The growing lightness of the eastern horizon, the swells of the ocean below him, even the clouds and stars above him seemed to be a blur as he sped along towards the southern coast of Great Britain.

The closest place to his ultimate destination that he knew of was Ottery St. Catchpole in central Devon County, so he focused his concentration on the Burrow. Even after the southern shoreline of Britain had passed, he found that he was having a bit of trouble finding the small community. He had to stop entirely once or twice to get his bearings, and he wished he paid more attention to his surroundings when Ron and the twins rescued him from the Dursley's house in the old Ford Anglia. He finally caught a landmark and knew which direction he had to go.

A heartbeat later he was hovering above the small town of Ottery St. Catchpole. He knew the area had been attacked and the Burrow had been destroyed, but what he saw there wasn't anything close to what he had expected.

Harry vaguely remembered glancing at the small town in the darkness from the window of Mr. Weasley's Anglia, the quaint little village nestled between wide, rolling hills. The small shops lined along the main street, the scattered, picturesque cottages and farmhouses seemed to be what defined a small Devon town.

What he saw was nothing less than devastation. The surrounding farmlands, that once promised to yield a full year's staples laid in blackened ash. The charming farmhouses that dotted the landscape were now nothing but charred, caved-in timber lying in their respective foundations. The main street appeared to be no better off than the outlying homesteads. There wasn't one building left standing. Each side of the main thoroughfare held burnt-out husks of what once was a pleasant, bustling community, a mere shadow of what once was. Scattered along the street, the decaying bodies of the fallen villagers still lay where they fell. Nothing was stirring at all in the early morning sunlight… apparently, even the muggle authorities hadn't caught up to the devastation that had been spreading through the land.

Harry knew that the Burrow lay just to the west of the village proper. He hovered along above the wreckage of the town towards the wooded hills across the Otter River.

As soon as the familiar area of the paddock came into view, he stopped dead in the air. If he had been in his body, he knew there would have been tears in his eyes. There was no other way to put it… the Burrow was gone. Just gone. The barn where Mr Weasley kept all of his muggle artifacts, the broom shed in which Dumbledore had spoken to him, the gnome-infested garden, and the house itself… just charred, scattered timber and scorched, barren land. That was all that was left of what he nearly considered his true home amongst the Weasley family. No wandering chickens… no pesky gnomes…

Just gone.

He found it hard to believe that werewolves could have caused that much damage, especially when the full moon wasn't due for a few more days. He made another of his mental notes, the ones he never seemed to remember, to ask Hermione if there was anything that could explain what might have happened.

Hagrid had told them that Godric's Hollow was in northern Devon, a short way to the north from the town of Cheriton in the Exmoor Forest. With fresh determination, he climbed up into the air where he could see a good distance, laid his bearings due north, and darted away from the desolate waste that used to be Ottery St. Catchpole.

As he flew, he could see the sparse areas amongst the hills that denoted another community. He'd stop just long enough to get his bearings, and then dart along the winding routes northward, searching for the rather large town of Cheriton.

After a while, he left the hilly terrain behind and was gliding over a vast expanse of forest. Harry had just swooped down to view a roadsign along the highway just outside of what appeared to be a substantial town. As he came to a halt just before the sign, a ghostly silhouette, one that he certainly did not expect to find, instantly appeared before him, casually leaning on the signpost, but undoubtedly giving him a rather stern glare.

He did notice that the sign read, 'Welcome to Cheriton.'

He couldn't 'hear' the words, they just seemed to echo in his mind, 'You scared the life out of me, you know,' said the ethereal golden eagle standing before him, 'At first I thought you were angry with me, the way you were staring at the sky! Then, when you didn't even move, I thought you were dead!'

'I'm sorry,' answered Harry in a similar fashion, 'I thought I'd be back before you returned… how did you find me so quickly?'

Harry could almost see the smirk that would be on her face as she answered, 'I put myself into my state while making your dinner… which is getting cold, by the way… I didn't want you waiting too long, and I was quite anxious to get the meal over with, myself…'

Harry suddenly remembered her words before she descended the stairs to the loft. The hormone fueled fog didn't descend entirely over his consciousness as he asked, 'How did you find me at all? We're over 3000 miles away from the island!'

'Look at yourself,' was all she said.

Harry didn't realize it until just then that he never really took stock of his own soul's appearance before. It always seemed that his disembodied soul was the source of his entire perception, but the moment Hermione's soul mentioned it, he suddenly became aware of his own soul's form. Looking inwardly at himself he took in his appearance. The first thing that met his awareness was a golden silhouette of a proud, stately cat, standing confidently upon the side of the highway they were on. He noted the golden aura that seemed to encompass his form, then, just as he had noticed when it had broken during their first kiss, he saw the golden, ribbon-like thread connecting his soul with Hermione's… the bond that they both were most desperate to restore. It suddenly occurred to him that he noticed the ribbon-like filament when he had achieved that 'total awareness' state during the failed ritual, but it seemed a minor point at the time, given the massive influx of information about his surroundings. The realization was lost amidst the totality of what he was then experiencing.

One thing that neither Harry nor Hermione noticed was the fine, silk-like, silvery thread that connected from the center of his soul and stretched straight upwards into the cloudy sky, right to where a pair of sad, violet eyes were looking down upon the pair standing along the road.

Seeing that they were already out and about, they decided to scout out Godric's Hollow. Once they were familiar with the area, Harry could Apparate them there whenever they were ready to find Nagini, Voldemort's final horcrux. They quickly passed through Cheriton and followed the main road north into the heart of Exmoor Forest.

Very soon after they cleared Cheriton's populated area, they discovered some very odd things happening within the large forest. If they weren't in their soul forms, they never would have noticed the unusual number of wizard sentries hidden and disillusioned along the roads. The pair could only tell their presence by seeing the wizards' various soul forms, which of course, couldn't be hidden or disillusioned from them. Harry then understood how Kotone could see him when he entered her hospital room while wearing his father's cloak.

The continued along high above the roadway northward until they spotted a tiny village nestled in the woods some distance to the northeast. The village appeared to only have a few dozen houses sparsely lined along a long central road. They could see the tall steeple of the local church, and a few larger buildings that were probably stores or maybe a town hall. As they neared, it soon became apparent that the village was indeed Godric's Hollow, as the place was swarming with Death Eaters. Most of them were hidden or disilluaioned, but there were still quite a few moving around the otherwise deserted community.

It quickly became apparent where the old Potter house was located, as there was one seemingly empty clearing in the woods that was entirely encircled by hidden Death Eaters. Harry and Hermione both concentrated on the words that Peter Pettigrew had written, 'The Potters are living at Number Seven Aerie Green, Godric's Hollow, Devon,' and 'Nagini is hidden at Number Seven Aerie Green, Godric's Hollow, Devon.'

No sooner had the words come to mind, an old, ramshackle cottage seemed to inflate out of the ground in the center of the clearing. It looked as though it was once a quaint little brick home, though the elements and neglect had certainly taken their toll on the building. The area of the second floor where a good portion of the right front corner of the house appeared to have been blown apart from the inside, revealing the interior of a small, debris-littered bedroom.

The instant the house came into existence, Harry glided through the front door with Hermione following hesitantly behind him.

Harry was surprised with himself that he felt none of the anxiety that he expected he would experience, although he could feel the tension coming off of Hermione's soul in waves. With a quick, reassuring glance, she seemed to understand that he wasn't going to suffer any ill effects from being in the house where his parents were murdered. It was like he was merely entering an old, abandoned building.

The interior definitely looked its age. The parlor took up the entire front of the cottage, and it had a large, pane-less bay window next to the cracked and warped front door. The paint on the walls was cracked and peeling in places, the carpeting was musty and discoloured, areas of the ceiling had spots where the decaying plaster had fallen, and all the furniture held a definite air of neglect and age. There was also a large fireplace along the right wall, its mantle supporting aged framed photographs and various knickknacks that revealed that the house was once a home.

They were surprised to see Voldemort himself, standing before the fireplace in the front parlor with Nagini coiled comfortably upon the old, musty sofa along the left wall. In their accelerated state, Voldemort appeared frozen in place, like some hideous, serpentine mannequin, but they could see his head slowly turning as he perused the age-worn photographs on the mantle.

It was apparent to them that Nagini was indeed a horcrux, as they could see the smoky, ethereal serpent that was Voldemort's soul shard wrapped around the large snake. They also noticed that Voldemort had two of the misty serpents writhing within him, telling them that the soul shard that had been released from Harry had finally returned to try to reunite with its counterpart. The two smoky snakes were entwined around each other, as if trying to meld back together, but they would never truly combine… once a soul is torn, it can never be repaired.

'He knows,' said Harry into Hermione's mind, 'he must have discovered that Pettigrew had betrayed him… this isn't good.'

'We're going to need help,' said Hermione, 'There's no way we can handle this all on our own… there are just too many of them, and if they're expecting us…'

'I know,' said Harry tiredly, 'but he doesn't know that we know he's here, so I don't think it's totally hopeless… We've lost the element of surprise, true, but we still have a few tricks up our sleeves. We'll discuss it once we get back. Let's look around for now, we need to have a good idea of what's around here.'

Harry and Hermione spent, what was to them, a few hours mentally mapping the layout of the village and non-verbally discussing how best to get Nagini away from Voldemort, and then how to finish the Dark Lord off for good.

The pair of souls ended up in the old abandoned church that was just about a hundred meters from the former Potter cottage. They drifted throughout the building, looking at the broken, moldering pews and the tarnished, forgotten relics strewn around the toppled altar. They rose up into the rafters, passing by the nearly completely dismantled pipe organ, then made their way up into the steeple and the bell tower enclosure.

They found that from that vantage point, they had a very good view of the clearing in which the Potter cottage lay. They could even see directly through the broken bay window into the front parlor of the cottage. It was there, in the bell tower, where Hermione thought up her plan to both banish the horcrux fragment in Nagini, and to create a situation where Harry stood the best chance of vanquishing Voldemort and living to tell the tale.

With a final nod of agreement to each other, the graceful eagle and the proud lion moved so quickly that they seemed to vanish, appearing a few heartbeats later back on the small island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

-----~-----

Harry blinked a few times to get his bearings. His body was, of course, right where he had left it, but now he found he wasn't alone on the bed anymore. Lying beside him was the similarly dazed looking Hermione, and on the bed beside her was a tray with grilled ham and cheese sandwiches and two plastic cups of cola.

He didn't realize how hungry he was until his senses met the aroma of the food. Hermione had noticed him looking longingly at the sandwiches. She lifted up the tray and placed it on her lap.

"You don't have to ask for any… I brought this up here for the both of us."

Harry smiled at her gratefully and grabbed a sandwich as she did likewise. Hermione quickly wolfed down half of her sandwich, then drained her drink before she placed the remainder of the tray in Harry's lap and stood up from the bed.

"Finish this up," said Hermione as she picked up the bag that Harry had carried into Ollivander's, "I'll check on Ron, and then there's something I need to take care of."

Harry watched her pull Ravenclaw's wand out of the bag before she turned and descended the staircase. With everything that had happened in Godric's Hollow and in the vaults below Gringotts, he had almost forgotten that they had retrieved the fifth horcrux.

Thoughts of the wand drew his mind back to the ordeal in Ollivander's shop. Suddenly, he wasn't hungry anymore. He placed the half-eaten sandwich back on the tray, laid it aside, and sank back into the bed. He closed his eyes as the vision of Kotone's lifeless stare came unbidden to the forefront of his mind. He knew that it wasn't really her… he might have even known while it was happening. He could somehow feel her presence in his very being. Deep down, he knew that she was still safe… for how much longer, he didn't know. He just wished she was back with him.

Harry must have fallen asleep, because when he next opened his eyes, he could tell that it was late in the afternoon by the condition of the sky outside of the skylight. That wasn't nearly as much of a surprise as finding Hermione fast asleep and cuddled up next to him on the bed, hugging his arm in a death grip. She was wearing a simple, white cotton nightdress, the one he vaguely remembered picking up for her, along with the rest of her clothing, from her house a few days before.

Harry didn't fail to notice that the nightdress had ridden up Hermione's legs as she slept, exposing the modest pair of white knickers that she happened to be wearing. Her knickers weren't like the large 'granny pants' that his aunt Petunia always wore, which he had seen more times than he'd care to count while doing the Dursley's laundry, but they were narrow and lacy and he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from them.

"See anything you like?" whispered a soft voice in his ear, which understandably startled him.

Harry turned his head and was met with a pair of smouldering, brown eyes. He was momentarily embarrassed by being caught ogling her knickers, but it quickly passed as he saw that she actually seemed to enjoy him looking at her. His mouth went dry as he found himself getting lost in her penetrating gaze, but his subconscious wouldn't allow him to be distracted for long.

With a heavy sigh, Harry said, "We have to do it tonight. We don't know how much longer he'll stay there, and if he decides to find another hiding place for Nagini, we may not get another chance."

"We still have a few hours before it gets dark in Britain," said Hermione with a sly smile.

Harry tried to smile back, but his mind was too busy worrying about what was to soon come, "You know, chances are that neither one of us will see the morning…"

Hermione's smile only faltered for a second before she ran her hand across his bare chest and said, "Let's not worry about that right now. If we're going to die tonight, then let's make the most of what time we have right now."

Harry noticed the rosy flush colouring Hermione's cheeks, and at the same time felt his own face heat up as what she was suggesting became immediately apparent. He glanced through the railing supports towards the downstairs living room and whispered, "What about Ron?"

Hermione slid her hand down to his stomach, sending a curious, involuntary shudder throughout his body as she said, "While you were sleeping, I told him the plan. He flooed out to see his father to find out if we can get the Order involved, and then he's going to Hogwarts to talk to Benjamin Bones for us to see if we could get some support from the auror corps, and yes, I warned him about the trip. Now quit stalling and make love to me."

Harry remembered their first, heated encounter. The overwhelming desire and lust that they both were feeling at the moment their bond was reestablished drove all modesty and restraint from their minds. They hadn't had the opportunity to discuss that first encounter, so he expected that things would be awkward if they were going to do anything again.

As his hand snaked up to cup one of her breasts, and her free hand snaked its way under the waistband of his trousers, awkwardness was the very least of what he was feeling. As he leaned in to kiss her, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to him. He felt like he was home.

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A/N: Fun Fact! There's no point in telling you 'the plan.' You'll see it played out in the next chapter, and you'll be able to tell where things start to go awry!