Unofficial Portkey Archive

A/N: So sorry for the lateness.

Standard disclaimers apply.

Chapter Fourteen - Heart-shaped Secrets

All in all, things weren't going as oddly as Hermione thought it would. The initial normalness of what Harry's arrival seemed to have wrought brought a storm of explosive to awkward meetings between his nearest and dearest, and that, to Hermione, was strangely settling. Things weren't going on as if nothing had happened, yet the disruptions caused by his arrival seemed comfortingly average: Just the level of chaos Hermione had expected-on hindsight, at least. The meeting of Angelica, Ron, and Harry in her kitchen the previous day was definitely more than she could've handled at the time, but as far as catastrophes went, all victims seemed to be recovering from their injuries quite well.

Hermione found herself humming that Monday morning she was getting ready for work, and she didn't feel like tying her hair up in a tight bun. She went for wild and free, throwing a banana-clip in her purse in case she needed to get her hair out of the way through the course of the day.

She was in a decidedly good mood, and when she popped out of her bedroom to wake Angelica, she could only see her day getting better when she found Harry standing outside Angelica's door.

"Good morning," she said, mildly surprised.

He seemed more surprised than she was, actually. "Well, don't you look nice for work?"

She flushed. "Yes. Big surprise, isn't it?"

He looked slightly chagrined. "I always think you look nice. Just never seen you in business wear before. It suits you. Exceedingly."

She turned even redder. "Thank you." She wondered briefly what he was doing there but remembered what he said the previous night. "Came to wake up Angelica?"

"Yes. I said I would. You go on ahead. I've got a pot of coffee going. Also popped some of your breakfast biscuits in the oven and fried up some bangers to go with it. Hope that's alright."

"Alright? Harry, you're heaven-sent. I can get used to this; waking up with breakfast ready."

He seemed pleased. "Go on, then-"

Angelica's door opened and her head popped out. She looked drowsy, but she was smiling up at him. "Morning dad. Did you come to wake me up?"

Harry smiled. "Yes. Looks like you don't need help, though."

"Your voices woke me. I'll go get ready now. I'll be down in a bit."

"Right then, baby girl. Hurry along."

"I will." She disappeared behind the closing of her door.

Hermione didn't know when this pet-naming started, but she was feeling all gooey inside about it.

"She made that awfully easy for me," Harry said, leading the way down the stairs.

She sat with him to a hot breakfast. He even had scrambled eggs ready. She could definitely get used to all this.

Things were always a rush in the morning and even with Harry taking care of breakfast, Hermione still found herself bustling hurriedly about. Over her unfinished plate, she looked over the morning paper-Harry wasn't on it. She braided Angelica's hair when Angelica came down for breakfast, sent messenger spells to Olivia, and a Howler to Draco.

Olivia replied back with a messenger spell of her own, saying, "Director Shrews-Whats-His-Face has sent you a Howler, just so you know. I'll wager it's about what he thinks you did to Mr. Malfoy. Do you want me to make his coffee extra special for him today?"

Knowing Olivia that probably spelled Diarrhea for Mr. Shrewsbury.

Hermione shrugged. "Why not?" She sent her reply back immediately.

Mr. Shrewsbury's Howler arrived just after Olivia's message and it was quite awful. There were no swear words, which Hermione expected, but he managed to call Hermione a "stubborn, selfish shrew." He threatened to fire her, at which point Hermione rolled her eyes and assured Angelica that Mr. Shrewsbury was full of bull you-know-what.

The Howler was still going when Harry peeked cautiously from behind it. "He's in a foul mood, isn't he?"

"I wouldn't worry about it," Hermione said, stuffing the last piece of toast in her mouth. "He'll be leaving work early today. Real early."

Harry eyed her suspiciously. "Olivia's… his assistant?"

Hermione wondered if Harry actually caught on to what Olivia had implied. "No, she's mine."

"And she makes coffee for Mr. Shrewsbury, too?"

"Only for today."

He stopped asking questions then.

Hermione checked her watch. There was still time to spare. It was then she got hit by an idea. "Got any plans for today, Harry?"

He paused visibly. "I might, but I don't expect that it would take very long. Why?"

"Oh," began Hermione, giving a nonchalant shrug. "Just thought we'd meet up for lunch. I don't want you getting lonely here."

"Lunch?"

"Muggle London," she added hastily. "Little danger of you getting spotted, and really, it's nothing a little charming couldn't mask. I promise. No one will recognize you. They all think you're dead, anyway."

Good Lord, how morbid.

His brows seem to knot, and she wondered how she could possibly mess up asking Harry out on this semi-date. It shouldn't have been this difficult, even if she had never quite asked a man out on a date before, but he shouldn't have to feel that this was a real date, because she didn't, otherwise, she'd have chickened out already.

On the other hand, wasn't arranging a time and place to be together-because you wanted to be with a person-considered a real date?

No, not when it was lunch. Lunch is casual, and easy. No strings attached.

She had to stifle a groan at that.

"Lunch sounds good," he said.

She tried not to sound excited. "I'll see you at noon then, at the Elfin Oak at Kensington Garden…"

The blank look on his face had her almost slapping her face at her idiocy.

"Right," she said contritely. "Because I'm sure the priestesses liked having tea at the Broadwalk Café…"

He laughed softly. "You know what? It will be easy enough to find. I grew up around here too, remember? I just didn't get out much. I'll be there."

She felt instant relief. "The nearest tube is High St. Kensington. Wear something I'll recognize if you're going to charm your appearance."

He smiled. "Don't worry. I'll find you."

She didn't know why that sent a little thrill down her back.

Angelica tugged at her sleeve. "Come on, mum. I'll be late."

"Oh, right!" Hermione hastened to gather her things. "Harry, just dump the plates into the sink-"

"Go on ahead. I've things under control."

"Alright then. Here's a spare key to the house just in case. Erm-" Should she kiss him goodbye?

Oh, go ahead. Why not?

She leaned over to kiss his cheek. He shifted and her lips almost landed on his. It was still an awkward thing.

"Oh!" she gasped. "I mean-erm, goodbye!"

He was blushing visibly. "Um, yeah…"

Angelica came out of nowhere and threw her arms around Harry's neck. "Bye, bye, dad! See you later!"

Harry looked way too surprised to respond. Angelica, bless her, was too much in a hurry to worry about that little detail. She rushed out of the kitchen and called out for Hermione to hurry.

Wholly embarrassed by the kissing mishap, Hermione did hurry and bustled right out the door after Angelica.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry peeked out of the kitchen door and saw Hermione's hurried figure walk by outside through the large bay windows of the living room.

He had, possibly, never seen her more in her element. Office wear, unfettered hair, career mother. She looked quite stunning. It was impossible to refuse her anything.

Snape, of course, would have something to say about him going on lunch dates. The man abhorred the common ceremonies of relationships-on any level. The priestesses always seemed to joke that the day they get Severus Snape to appreciate the dynamics of human affection would be the day Avalon would cease to exist.

The sound of fluttering wings caught his attention and he saw Imogen on the windowsill. The crow held its foot out, a note dangling from its claw. The tell-tale sign of dark twine made Harry hurry to get the note.

He grabbed a treat from Hermione's supply in the corner and fed it to Imogen, stroking her dark feathers before letting her go. He glanced out of the window and saw Hedwig flying overhead.

Assured, Harry opened the note and saw that Snape wanted to meet him at the nearest park, as soon as possible.

Harry looked at the clock. There were at least four hours before he had to meet with Hermione. He searched Hermione's office for paper and quill and wrote a note back to Snape, saying that he would be at the nearby park in two hours. Harry made Imogen take the note back and Harry quickly set about to search through the house for the very reason he left Avalon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The attic seemed like a good place to start. With all the boxes labeled, he thought it would be easy work.

It did not go as quickly as he planned.

There were many distractions, among which were Angelica's baby albums. Sorted by year, Harry found himself flipping through all those "firsts" he had missed. He was fascinated by the broad, unfettered, and mostly toothless smiles of his daughter.

Angelica had been a happy baby. She seemed curious about everything, and all things seemed to have gone into her mouth, usually resulting in that amusing look of horror on Hermione's face while Ron seemed greatly delighted.

Angelica had pictures with everyone. There was no shortage of affection.

As Angelica got older, more evidence of her genius was captured by photograph. Her paintings and clay sculptures were amazingly advanced, she apparently wrote music, and she liked Muggle science, particularly pertaining to the use of Microscopes. She was photographed playing the piano, and her tiny fingers were fast and sure over the keyboard. It appeared to him, though, that the arts were not her forte. Her genius and greatest interests were on the academe: Theories, methods, formulae, and literature.

After a long while, Harry felt he'd taken up too much time and moved on to the other boxes.

He pulled out the boxes labeled "Gifts" and saw that many of the items in the box had remained in their packaging. Spell-o-taped to them were what Harry could only assume was the card that went with each gift.

"To baby. With thanks, the Munsleys," or "To Ms. Hermione Granger. My sincerest gratitude, Alberta Tilde."

Harry always wondered if the Wizarding world knew that Angelica was his daughter. From what Harry could make out, Hermione might never have confirmed it publicly, and everyone just assumed. It wasn't so hard to figure out if they knew how he looked, and everyone probably did, not to mention the vultures in the Daily Prophet could have easily gotten proof from the Hall of Records-except that records like that couldn't be published legally without the consent of the owner, or the owner's guardian, and Harry couldn't fathom Hermione giving up information about Angelica to the papers.

Hermione and Angelica received many items from strangers, and some of them looked quite suspect, but Harry didn't feel anything from these objects, so none of them were what he was looking for.

He took one last turn of the attic and found a hatbox filled with his pictures. They were all small photos of him and he couldn't help the twinge of insecurity that asked why Hermione kept them hidden away instead of being framed or posted somewhere in the house.

He pursed his lips at his own absurd thoughts and put the pictures away. He had already spent a bit over an hour in the attic.

He put everything back in order before heading to Hermione's bedroom.

It was difficult to walk past the threshold of her door, knowing what he intended to do. He felt he was being dishonest to her, but asking her about it was out of the question. Asking her would mean he had to tell her the whole truth, and he didn't know if he was ready for that yet.

Mustering his determination, he pushed through her door and surveyed her bedroom.

It smelled like her-the flowery scent of her hair and soap; that morning's perfume. It was almost intoxicating. His eyes roamed to her bed.

It was a platform in dark wood. The headboard was cut through with squares and rectangles that were pleasing to the eyes. Her bed-sheets were a soothing shade of green and beige, with her pillows and comforter neatly made up-like in those furniture magazines. The rest of the room was designed just as perfectly. Nothing was out of place. So typically Hermione.

A soft mewl had Harry turning to the door and Crookshanks padded in, hopping on top of the bed and curling in the center of it contentedly. The beast purred loudly enough for Harry to hear it a few paces away.

Sighing, Harry sat on the edge of the bed nearest to the balcony. He stroked Crookshanks head to tail and the beastie liked it exceedingly, rubbing his head against Harry's hand.

"Where's she keeping it, boy?" Harry asked. "Tell me if you know."

Crookshanks's soft meow did not help. He just curled into a tighter ball and slept.

Harry turned to the bed-stand and hesitated momentarily before pulling it open.

The drawer had a few books in them-mostly fiction. There was a notebook, a folder with papers in them, and receipts. There was nothing unusual. He went to the other bed-stand and it contained a few more personal items.

Taking a deep breath, he plunged his hands beneath the mattress. He braced himself for the worse. People hid their most personal, most embarrassing possessions under the mattress. He remembered how in their dorms at Hogwarts, Seamus and Dean would keep their dirty magazines between their mattresses. Neville kept his contraband Herb fertilizers in his. Harry never asked what Ron kept.

He had never kept any secrets between his mattresses. All the secrets he had were in his head and his heart.

Harry was a little afraid of what he might find. What kind of secrets would Hermione keep? Or worse, what if her secret were… sexy.

He shuddered. He didn't think he could stand it at the moment.

At what he had already assumed was her side of the bed, he felt something on his fingertips. Without thinking, he pulled it out and he stared at it.

It was a picture of him and her, sixth year.

He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.

Did she really keep his picture that close? That private?

He plopped back on the edge of the bed, the photo in his hand. Crookshanks didn't stir.

This was wrong.

He couldn't just come into her house, settle back in with her and her perfect trust and her perfect daughter and sneak around hoping to find something…

Growling, he shoved the photo back between her mattress and got up. He rearranged whatever crimps he left on her bed and resisted the urge to rummage through her dressing cabinets and her walk-in closet.

He had to ask her-and so that meant he would tell her.

But I couldn't. She'll know, and she'll- What? Turn you out? Tell you to leave? Hermione would never do that. She would never-

Back then she wouldn't have. Back then she didn't have Angelica to worry about. Things are different now, and if I were Hermione, I wouldn't want me getting near Angelica, either…

That brought a whole world of dread to him-the thought that he would be prevented from seeing Angelica again. He never realized that a person could get so attached to someone in just one day.

It almost made him feel silly. He had lived his entire life without a daughter, and really, things were less complicated without Angelica, and yet the thought that he might be told, "Don't ever come see her again. Ever," especially in Hermione's voice…

It would be the heartbreak that just might kill him.

He passed Angelica's bedroom door, and the mere idea of going in there and rummaging through her things sickened him.

He needed to get out of the house. He needed to see Snape, or else he was going to go insane. Snape's poisonous derision for his failures that morning was much more welcome than the filthy feeling he had, searching dishonestly through the things of two of the most important people of his life…

He threw on his coat, cast a concealing charm, and pulled the hood of his jacket over his head. He pocketed the house keys Hermione gave him and set out of the house toward the nearest park. It wasn't a very long walk. It was about five long blocks to the park, and there seemed a vast enough amount of grass and woodland for the park to be a considerable size. When looking for the portals to Avalon, it was always best to go to the thickest and darkest part of the woods.

There weren't a lot of people in the park. There were toddlers and their babysitters, but they didn't mind him at all. He sat himself on one of the benches and meandered a bit, waiting for the time to pass. After a long while, he resurveyed his surroundings. He eyed the nearby woodland and proceeded to walk to it.

Overhead, he could feel Imogen and Hedwig following, flying ahead to the trees where they perched. His strange connection with them was highly unusual, Snape had said, but since it was only a mild link, nothing at all like seeing through their eyes or reading their thoughts, Snape didn't think it was cause for much concern. It was an echo of Voldemort's abilities with Nagini, but an echo faint enough to be ignored, and in some cases, like when Imogen and Hedwig frantically alerted him of possible danger to Hermione's home, it was a good thing.

He looked up at them, seeing them circle upon something ahead and over the trees.

Harry hurried.

He saw the mists from a distance but refrained from stepping through them. He sat on a nearby tree stump and waited, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The mists always made things a tiny bit colder.

Moments later, the black-robed figure of Severus Snape materialized through the soupy fog. He did not step beyond its swirling clouds. He conjured a foot stool and sat with perfect dignity. While the man was as cantankerous and insufferable as ever, his years in Avalon have been kind to him. The crinkling of his brow was less pronounced, the frown on his face less embedded, and sometimes, when Snape thought Harry wasn't looking, Harry would catch a glimpse of actual relaxation on the Potion Master's face. Whether Snape wanted to admit it or not, he agreed with Avalon.

"And did you do as I instructed, Potter?" Snape began.

Harry gave a half-shrug. "Yeah."

Snape glared at him. "What does that mean? That-" He imitated Harry's shrug in a most unflattering manner. "Speak up, Potter. You know I hate it when you speak as if you cannot put two sentences together!"

Harry's lips pursed in irritation. "Yeah. I did as you instructed."

Snape's pale cheeks purpled with suppressed annoyance, but he did not rise to the bait. "Did you look hard enough?"

Harry didn't answer immediately. "I didn't ransack the house, if that's what you're asking."

Snape's lips bowed downward. He was severely displeased. "I see. Might I remind you, Potter, of the great importance of this? Somewhere out there, a fragment of Voldemort's soul still exists. Whether anyone knows this or not, it is a dangerous, dangerous-"

"I know how dangerous it is," Harry said through grit teeth. "And I know how important it is for me to find it. It's why I took this risk, remember? And by God, if not for this, I wouldn't have! Do you think I want them to see me when-"

Snape made a tutting sound, dismissing his words with impatience. "Are the potions working? Have you had no episodes since you last took-"

"The potions are working as expected," snapped Harry. "But they've been tested these last two days. They held out. Don't know what it cost me, though."

Snape sneered. "You absolutely cannot take your time on this, Potter. The efficacy of those potions will only last as long as you try to make them last, and if you start getting addicted to the stuff again, we will have to haul your behind back here-"

"I know all that!"

"Then stop dilly-dallying-"

"For fuck's sake, it's been less than two days, Severus!"

"Again, you absolutely cannot take your time-"

"Well, if someone had told me I had a daughter maybe things would've gone more smoothly from the get go! So excuse me if I was the tiniest bit unprepared for that little detail!" Harry yelled.

Snape fell quiet. He didn't look the least bit surprised.

Harry shot him a sardonic smile. "And of course you knew. I'll bet my arse the priestesses knew, too. Did you and Morgana conspire to hide this from me?"

"We did not conspire to hide it from you. We were waiting for you to ask-"

Harry's jaw dropped and he sat up, outraged. "Ask? How was I supposed to ask you about my daughter? I had no idea she existed!"

"If you weren't being such a dunderhead, you would've known to ask. Did you not figure it out? The clues were being paraded before your very eyes every day you were in Avalon."

"What the hell are you talking about, Severus?"

"The pendants. The crystal pendants. Did you never wonder why some were given them and some were not?"

Harry threw up his hands and pulled at his hair. "What does that have to do with it?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "You are positively-you are so disgustingly idiotic that I am amazed you got through the first six years of Hogwarts-"

"Just tell me already, alright?"

"Think hard for once, Potter. The only ones who wore that pendant had children-"

Harry shook her head vehemently. "No. Not all the mothers had pendants-"

"Well, not all of them, surely, but only those with children had that pendant, and you could've figured it out from there. If you had bothered to ask the mothers where their children were conceived-"

Harry reddened. "What! I couldn't ask that. That's too feckin' personal!"

"Well, where did you reckon your daughter was conceived?"

That finally got Harry to shut-up, and he felt the heat rising in his face. "I-well that's… holy Merlin…"

"You see, Potter, the brain can be a useful tool if you try to exercise the use of it."

"Shut up. Hermione's pendant was given way back-are you meaning to tell me they knew the moment she-"

Snape made a gesture of surrender. "These women know of womanly things better than anyone. It is not inconceivable-pardon the pun-that they would have known that you'd knocked Granger up at that very moment-"

"Don't talk about her that way."

"Pfft. Fine, then. That you'd impregnated her-"

"Ugh. Just stop talking about it. You're awful. You still should've told me about Angelica. I had a right to know. Hermione had to deal with all that by herself. D'you even understand what that meant to her? Of course you wouldn't understand-"

"I am not in the habit of getting pregnant, if that's what you mean."

Harry shook his head. "Cold son of a-"

"If we had told you, would you have stayed in Avalon-the only place you could have gotten better? Would you have striven to get better before wanting to see them?"

Harry frowned. "I might have! I might have had more motivation to want to get better and-"

"Granger and Weasley were not motivation enough for you to stay put and get treated?"

Harry fell silent. "You don't understand anything…" he said, weakly. Of course he would've wanted to come back for Angelica, whether or not he had gotten better, and truly, he didn't know what that would've caused.

Pain and chaos…

Snape did not push. "Do you even know what you are looking for in that house? Are you even sure it's there?"

"It should be there," Harry said, wrenching his thoughts back to the mission. "I felt it to be around Hermione when it made its presence known in my dreams. I just know it's the only place to look-"

"And the object? What would it be?"

"The pendant. It couldn't be anything else. She was wearing it at the time, and if the soul fragment is near her, I could only suppose it's that one."

"Has she shown any signs of-well, evil influences?"

Harry shot Snape a glare. "No. Wherever the pendant is, she probably hasn't been wearing it. She has it kept-hidden."

"And is that not a sign that she knows-"

"She could've kept it for a dozen other reasons, Severus. She could've kept it out of sight because-because she was wearing it the day she thought I died."

Snape's eyebrow arched but he said nothing to contradict. "And I suppose you simply cannot ask her where this pendant is?"

"I-I might." Harry fidgeted on his seat. "I just-"

"You are afraid she will ask more questions and find you out?"

"She's Hermione. She'll never take things as they are. She'll find me out."

"And you are afraid of what the consequences are."

"Afraid, yes. There's shame, too. Many horrid things. It's different now. Hermione has a daughter to think of. I have a daughter to think of. I don't know how she'll take it, and I'm afraid of what I have to do to protect Angelica from me…"

"Good Lord," Snape grumbled, sounding disgusted. "You are attached to the sprout. Typical!"

Harry scowled. "You've no idea how it feels, Severus. I look at Angelica and she's-she's perfect and-"

"Oh, please spare me."

"She's my daughter."

"And that means what, to me?"

"Excuse me for caring about something other than myself!"

"I suppose her mother has nothing to do with all this meandering."

Harry could feel his face growing hot. "Did you seriously think I can do this without having to deal with my feelings for Hermione?"

Again, Snape rolled his eyes. "God forbid."

"Just give me a bit of time, won't you?"

"Oh, I have all the time in the world. It is you that's pressed, remember?"

Harry sighed. "You're never a ray of hope. You just bring gloom and dread wherever."

"It is my nature. Now please, if you have nothing for me to work with, I have to go back to my lab to brew more of those potions of yours. Perhaps I can find something that can do less harm… if you do not go insane first."

Harry stood to leave. "Goodbye, Severus."

Snape made a dismissive gesture with a silky wave of his hand, and without even leaving his seat, the mists swallowed him and disappeared from the forest.

Harry checked his pocket watch. He had about a half hour to spare before going off to meet Hermione.

After his meeting with Snape, he certainly needed something to soothe his wound-up nerves.

Shoving his hands back into his pocket, he ventured to get to Kensington Gardens.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione arrived at Kensington Gardens by tube. The nearest Apparating point was at least a train-ride away and it seemed silly to Hermione to Apparate then take a train anyway. She had gone ahead and journeyed to the Gardens by public transportation.

When she reached her destination, she found a spot where she could groom unimpeded.

Taking a quick glance around her, she whipped out her palm mirror and smoothed down the misplaced strands of her hair. She had made sure, before leaving the office, that her overall appearance was alright. She had a relatively easy morning, what with Mr. Shrewdbury leaving the office in a hurry early on, but at least three of her copyeditors dumped her with pageproofs and two authors came back with author amendments, not to mention Draco's agent constantly Flooing her to basically kiss her arse. The morning had been a busy one and it was disheveling. However silly it may seem, she wanted to look presentable for her "non-date" with Harry.

When she put her mirror and rubbed on a tiny bit of her perfume, she set out to look for him around the Elfin Oak. She searched around the oak and was slightly perplexed when she saw no sign of him. She checked her pocket watch and saw that it was only two past noon. Perhaps he was a bit late.

She walked around a bit more and spotted what looked like a young man in grubby jeans and a loose jacket. He had his hood pulled over his face and his hands were shoved into his pockets. His trainers were slightly dusty.

Aha.

She walked over to the boy and saw that his face was different, but she was almost certain it was Harry, with his height and build matching. Harry must have cast a mild glamour.

Hermione gave Harry's arm a nudge. "Hullo there. Been waiting long for me?"

He looked and was surprised for a moment.

She flashed a smile and he smiled back.

He didn't say anything, and that's when Hermione started to suspect.

"H-Harry?" she asked.

"Darling, you can call me anything you want!"

Oh, for…

She heard someone snickering behind her and she looked over her shoulder and saw Harry. He had cast no glamour to his appearance, or so it seemed to her. She could detect a faint glimmer of magic around him.

"Glad you enjoyed that," she said, dryly.

He was still laughing softly. "Oh, don't let me interrupt you. Though I ought to caution you about picking up fifteen year olds. There's a little thing called the age of consent…"

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the boy. "Move along, dear. Just a misunderstanding."

"I'll be sixteen in four months," said the boy. "And I rather like older-"

Summoning her best prefect tone, she gave him a stern look. "Go before I turn you in for cutting classes, young man."

"Yes, ma'am," he said in a chastised tone, scurrying away in a hurry.

"So heartless," Harry said as they watched the boy go. "He'll forever remember you as the one who got away."

"Shut it, you," she said, taking his hand to lead him to the Broadwalk Café. "Did you have any difficulty finding this place?"

"Your directions were spot on. Probably got here sooner than you did."

She hoped to Merlin he didn't see her preening, earlier. She finally gave him a proper look and saw that he had changed into his old, but better looking jeans, most probably from his trunk in the attic. His collared shirt looked a lot less worn and he had used his best pair of shoes. He had dressed up for their lunch and she couldn't help but grin about it.

There were far too many people crowding the restaurant, but the take-away counter was quick, so they ordered out and took their food and drink to one of the many park benches, further away from the bustling activity.

Hermione could still hear the distant shrieks of children playing in the Princess Diana Memorial Playground while she peppered her vegetable wrap. The distant noise was soothing. She didn't mind having people around, so long as they kept to the paths. She liked being on the benches, amidst the vast patches of grass. It was about as tranquil as it could be in the busy city of London.

"Do you come here often?" Harry asked, seasoning his sandwich.

She nodded. "It's a nice place to be. It relaxes me, strangely enough."

"I like it. Food's not bad, either."

They fell silent, but Hermione had expected that sort of thing, which was why Kensington Gardens seemed perfect. Their silences didn't have to be terribly uncomfortable. In a park like this, they could sit and watch other people. The silence wouldn't be so pressing.

"Hermione, I was just wondering… " He sounded so serious and he seemed hesitant, too, like what he was about to say pained him. He even began to pale, but then color rushed back to his cheeks, and he relaxed. "Remus said something about you letting him observe Angelica."

She was mildly surprised. She had thought about broaching that subject with Harry, but she hadn't anticipated he would broach it at lunch.

At any case, now seemed as good a time as any.

"Yes," she replied. "Nothing invasive or anything like that, and nothing that could hurt Angelica in any way. I'm sure you have questions, Harry, and I'll be more than glad to answer them."

Harry nodded. "Remus explained a bit of it, to me. He documents all his findings, yes?"

"He gives me copies of everything. Would you like to read them?"

Harry seemed a bit embarrassed. "Yeah, sure. Seems like a good idea… but what I'd really like to know is… why? Why did you feel the need for all that?"

Hermione felt confused at first, then a bit nervous. "What do you mean? You know why. Angelica's very special, Harry. I thought you understood that."

"I do. She's brilliant, and she's powerful, but… I feel like you have other reasons for all this…"

She pursed her lips. "Why do you say that?"

Harry stared at her a moment before he spoke. "Because I know you."

She frowned and she felt inexplicable anger well inside her. "It's been seven years, Harry. A lot of things about me have changed. How can you be sure you still know me?"

The moment she saw the stricken look in his eyes, she felt instantly wretched, but she also suddenly understood where her anger was coming from. Harry had spent the last seven years alive, and away, and he refused to explain to her why. In spite of what she had said about changing, it seemed she hadn't really changed all that much. She still said the harshest things, in her cold, seemingly detached way, when her anger, insecurities, or both got the better of her. She instantly wanted to take back what she said, but as usual, her mind told her that she couldn't, so she didn't.

Harry paused a moment before taking a deep breath. "I remember what you used to be. Surely most of that part of you hasn't changed? If you really thought this was just about Angelica's genius, you would've gone to some worthy scholar of magic who has the certificates and years of experience to back him up-a professional, but you asked Remus to do this. He's brilliant, and methodical, but he isn't a pro. You chose someone close to you-to us, because you needed someone you can trust completely, particularly with your-our daughter. You needed someone who would understand… whatever it is that is beyond Angelica's extraordinary I.Q. What is it? What are you looking for?"

Hermione realized that her heart was thudding quite strongly. She hadn't expected Harry to go to this extent at all.

He seemed to be watching her face intently, and whatever he saw, it prompted him to take her hand and squeeze it reassuringly. "You know you can tell me these things."

It suddenly occurred to her that as much as he knew her, she knew him, and that she felt a kind of insistence in the way he was asking these questions. Harry wasn't a pushy person. Whenever they had to find things out in the past, Harry wasn't the one to go around snooping and nosing around for facts. That was her department. Yet now it was as if he needed to know.

Maybe they had both changed. Maybe now, with a daughter to think about, Harry had decided he should be more inquisitive, particularly with regard to Angelica's welfare.

But still…

"Why does it seem so important for you to know?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. Now it sounded silly. Of course it would be important to him. Of course he needed to know, but something nagged at her, even while the warmth of Harry's hand coursed through her entire body.

His brows knotted before the warmth of his hand disappeared. He withdrew from their closeness and Hermione felt terribly empty.

"It's fine," he said in a resigned tone. "You're right. You don't have to tell me anything."

She felt terribly guilty. "Oh, Harry… it isn't like that, and I do want to tell you-"

A ringing sound jumped out of her purse and she realized it was the mobile she kept. She kept the phone for two reasons: Her parents and Angelica's school.

Harry seemed surprised and he followed the sound with his gaze as she scrambled to take it. The small screen on the device told her Angelica's school was calling.

Hermione groaned. "Oh, God, what sort of trouble did that girl get up now? Hello?"

She heard the familiar voice of Ms. Falco, the receptionist at the Headmistress's Office. "Ms. Granger? This is Terri Falco speaking, from Headmistress Kenly's office?"

"Yes, of course. What did she do this time?"

"Nothing, actually. It's what's been done to her. Please don't be alarmed, but Connor Wilson seemed to have pushed Angelica down the stairs-"

"What? Oh, my God!" Hermione scampered to her feet, grabbing her bag. "Is she-"

"She didn't break her neck!" Ms. Falco interrupted hastily. "Nothing terribly serious, I assure you! But she did fall on her arm rather badly. She may have broken it-"

"That brat Conner Wilson broke it! I'm coming over there right now." She snapped her mobile shut without even saying goodbye.

She whirled to face Harry and found herself in the rather alarmed grip of his hands.

"Is there something wrong? Is Angelica alright?" he demanded.

His worry, surprisingly, lulled her into a reassuring calm.

"It's Angelica," she said. "She's had an accident in school and she may have a broken arm-"

Harry's face tensed with worry. He turned and took her hand, pulling her along with him. "We'd best get to her school, then. How did it happen?"

She explained all she could, little as she knew about it. They hopped into the nearest tube as they talked, hand in hand the entire way. She took comfort from his touch. Even his urgency made her feel reassured.

Hermione wondered if they should head back to the house to get the hybrid, but decided she would much rather get to Angelica already. They made quick time of the nearest Apparating point and were soon walking up the steps of the school with Hermione leading the way.

The nurse's office was not difficult to find and the nurse led them to Angelica who was seated on a cushioned examination table, her arm in a tight sling. Her cheeks were streaked with tears and lined with pain.

"Oh, sweetheart!" Hermione cried, hurrying to her side.

Angelica's lip trembled as she leaned against her mother and fell into the embrace of Hermione's arms.

"It's going to be alright," Hermione said softly. "We'll make it feel all better in a bit. We just have to bring you to Healer Chang."

Angelica nodded mutely.

Hermione was mildly startled when Harry's hand was suddenly upon Angelica's head, stroking it soothingly. It was even more surprising when Angelica pulled away from Hermione's embrace and opted to lean against Harry.

"It really hurts, dad," she wailed, tears spilling from her glassy green eyes.

Harry laughed softly. "Well, it ought to. Broken bones have that effect. I had that same injury once when I was twelve. Arm got smashed by a Bludger, then some silly charlatan pretending he could fix it on the spot accidentally made my entire bone disappear."

Angelica looked horrified.

"I reckon a healer would do a better job of it," Harry added hastily. "You'll be patched up in no time. So be brave, baby girl, and dry those eyes." He pinched her nose affectionately.

Angelica actually smiled.

Hermione stared at them, her heart doing all sorts of gooey things. She had dreamed of such a moment for years, and it always hurt her to think that it could never happen. Now it was happening, she felt like bursting into tears of her own.

It was the nurse, calling her name, that snapped her out of her thoughts.

"I'll need either you or Mr. Granger to sign these release forms," said the nurse.

"He's not-I mean, I'll do it." Still in a bit of a daze, she went to the nurse's station to fill up the forms, glancing up every now and then to watch her daughter, with her father, conversing softly.

When Hermione was done, the nurse handed over Angelica's school bag and lunch box.

"Are we done, then?" Harry asked from where he stood.

Hermione nodded and tried to control her emotions when Harry picked Angelica up in his arms to carry her. Angelica looked so secure and comfortable that Hermione didn't doubt that to be in Harry's arms seemed like the best place in the world.

They hastened out of the school and its grounds, quickly heading for St. Mungo's to see a healer about Angelica's arm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry's face was easy to Glamour. When no one expected to see something, Glamour charms were at their best. The bustling staff and patients on the floors of St. Mungo's didn't even give Harry's face a cursory look. Everyone went about their business and Hermione found it quite easy to have Cho Chang fix Angelica's arm.

Hermione conversed freely with Cho while she put Angelica's bones to rights. Cho neither asked nor glanced Harry's way once. She was pleasant and gentle, easily going about her business as if nothing was amiss.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Harry slinking as anonymously as he could on one of the waiting benches. This wasn't comfortable for him in the least. She could still remember the look of panic on his face when he found out that Angelica's healer was Cho Chang.

Cho put Angelica's perfectly fixed arm in a sling. Angelica was rewarded with a Sugarquill and like new, Angelica hopped off the examination table.

They thanked Cho profusely before heading out of St. Mungo's, Harry following close behind them.

Hermione laughed at the relief on Harry's face. "She wasn't going to recognize you."

"I wasn't worried," he replied rather curtly.

"Sure you weren't."

Harry turned his attention to Angelica. "All better?"

"Much. Healer Chang's the best there is."

"I reckon so. Now can you tell us what happened with you and this lad that pushed you down the stairs?"

Angelica frowned. "I hurt him the last time. Accidentally. I s'pose he wanted revenge. I kept my temper, so he was able to push me down the stairs. Wouldn't have happened if I had let my anger loose."

"You mean if you let your magic loose," Hermione muttered.

"Oh, mum, you know I never mean it when I do."

Hermione did not reply.

"He said that my dad never loved me," Angelica went on. "And that he left because he didn't want to be bothered, but it was easier to keep my temper this time. I knew what Connor said wasn't true. Dad loves me lots. Don't you, dad?"

Hermione braced herself for whatever answer Harry would have.

The tenderness in Harry's eyes was devastating enough, but when Harry put his hand on Angelica's head and said, "Of course, baby girl. I love you very much," Hermione thought she would faint into a coma.

Angelica smiled smugly.

Hermione struggled to compose herself. "You just try to avoid that young man as much as you can, dear. No more fights with him. Understand?"

"But he started it! He always does!"

"Yes, I know, but heed your mother, anyway."

Angelica pouted but nodded.

They Apparated back home and Angelica ran on ahead of them up the walkway to the front door with Hermione's key.

"Lord knows," Hermione muttered as she watched Angelica moving at full speed, as if she hadn't broken her arm that day. "I'm beginning to feel sorry for that Connor boy. Probably has issues of his own, the way he acts."

Harry shrugged. "He could choose to act better in spite of it."

Hermione smiled knowingly. "That's true, of course." She looked at her watch as they stepped into the house. "Ordinarily, I would bring Angelica with me to work. I can still do that…"

"I'll watch over her," said Harry. "You needn't bring her to work."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you. I'll be leaving in a bit, and-"

A messenger spell slipped in from the flue. It was Tonks's.

"I'm afraid we have a bit of a problem. Draco wants to file charges against the man who attacked him on your stoop. He's going to want the perpetrator brought back in. Just a bit of a warning. Not like I can stop the little ferret from doing what he wants. Floo me."

The messenger spell dissipated.

Hermione sighed. "Bollocks."

Harry didn't seem all that bothered. "Hasn't changed a bit, that Malfoy."

She frowned. "I'm glad to see you taking this calmly, considering you're the perp. Even if Tonks lies for you, Malfoy's going to want your head no matter what it takes, and it won't be long before he figures out that we're protecting you for some reason. All Draco has to do is examine his memory in a Pensieve and he'll see your face, then he'll make a big headline out of it, just to be an arse. 'Ministry Protecting Potter Imposter-or is He?' Oh, he'll just love stirring up the pot, and I suppose the prospect of that little circus doesn't faze you."

Harry sighed. "Fine, then. How do we make this right?"

"We don't make this right. I make this right."

His protests were forestalled by her warning look. He had no say in this matter and he knew it. He instead shot her a suspicious look. "Exactly what do you have planned?"

"Nothing elaborate. Azkaban has made Malfoy more tolerable if you'll believe that. Hopefully more reasonable. Leave it to me. Anyway, I must go. You and Angelica take care. Don't baby her more than you ought to. She's going back to school tomorrow whether she likes it or not."

He scowled. "I don't baby her…"

She laughed softly. "Oh, don't you?" She touched his face. "Well, maybe you can baby her a little bit."

He smiled and leaned into her touch.

Her breath caught and with great difficulty, she pulled her hand away. "I'll see you both later."

She headed back to work. She would contact Tonks from there and see what she could do about Draco Malfoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco Malfoy was recovering from his injuries at his country home in Hertfordshire. It was a large Wizarding estate easily hidden among the bohemian Muggle residents. The Malfoy Country Manor was so exclusive that it had its own Portkey privileges, both in issuing keys to guests, and receiving them.

Hermione's Portkey privileges, she found, were processed long before she ever thought of dropping in for a visit. It irked Hermione that Draco was expecting her. She had hoped she could put off seeing him by reason of red tape. She should've known the Malfoys were adept at cutting through such things.

A House Elf named Raggedy received her atop a hill overlooking what appeared to be a ranch, except instead of prancing horses, Hermione could see Crups, those dog-like creatures so loyal to Wizards but ferocious to Muggles.

Typical, thought Hermione with a disapproving sniff.

Raggedy Apparated her and himself to the front porch, from where she was led through the great doors and into the rich hallways of mahogany wood and crystal lights.

She finally came upon Draco in the receiving room. He was on his feet, leaning on an oddly familiar cane of black wood and silver engravings. He was dressed in perfect country casual wear and his hair was properly wind-blown. He was fixing himself a drink at the mini-bar.

"Care for some bourbon, Granger?" Draco asked, rattling the ice in his glass.

"No, thank you," Hermione replied, arching her eyebrow at the gigantic portrait of Draco in all his Slytherin glory.

Draco smirked as he watched her take his portrait in. "Wine, maybe? Loosen you up a bit. You seem awfully tense." He sat on the couch and offered her the space next to him.

Hermione took the sofa-chair across from him and placed her brief case on the floor by her feet. "No wine, thanks. I don't even want to ask for water. Who knows what you'll put into it."

"You're no good to me dead or incapacitated, Granger. I need my editor to be of clear and sound mind. So did you come here to tell me you've edited my manuscript?"

She ignored his question. "Tonks tells me you want to press charges against my intruder?"

Draco's eyebrow arched. "I want to press charges against my attacker, yes, and how is that your business?"

"It's my business because it happened at my home. I don't need that kind of publicity. Not now, not ever."

Draco began to smirk again. "Does this have anything to do with my attacker looking like Harry Potter?"

Hermione held her ground. "Yes. It's just the sort of sensationalism the Daily Prophet could sink their teeth into, isn't it? I can do without that media circus. I thought perhaps you'd agree-respectable Malfoy that you are."

Draco threw back his head and laughed. "Respectable now, am I? Looks like Hermione Granger isn't above kissing arse."

She glared. "Oh, don't flatter yourself. I am the last person on this earth willing to give your family any sort of undue credit, but one would think you'd rather not have your name plastered on tabloids, for whatever reason. It's revolting, or perhaps I overestimated the Malfoys' overblown sense of… 'nobility.' And I use that term lightly, too."

Draco chuckled. "So what is it that you want me to do, exactly? You want whoever perpetrated this heinous act upon me to go unpunished?"

"I hardly consider it to be heinous."

"Well, there's a surprise," he said, dryly.

She smirked. "You were trying to invade my home, Malfoy. How would you like it if I pressed charges against you for that?"

"There can't be two ringmasters in a circus, you know."

Hermione took a deep breath and swallowed her gorge. "How badly do you want me to be your editor?"

Draco's eyebrow arched. He seemed greatly interested in her thinly veiled offer. "Badly enough that I might not press charges against Potter. His impersonator, I mean."

Hermione's lips pursed, noting the deliberate way Draco had tacked that last bit on. She plucked Draco's manuscript from her briefcase, turning the pages so that he would see that she had, indeed, finished marking up his manuscript for author revisions.

Draco tried to take it but she pulled it from his reach.

She glared at him and tossed him another document. "There's no such thing as a Waiver of Rights to Press Charges of course, but I can make you keep promises. You will get your edited manuscript when you sign this contract. It says that you will, as per our agreement, refrain from causing me, and my family, undesirable publicity-detailed in various legal gobbledegook. I assure you, what we talked about in particular falls into this legal filter. I urge you not to breach this contract, Malfoy. I'll have you know that I've been hexing contracts since I was fifteen."

"You're talking about Marietta Edgecombe's rash in fifth year, aren't you? I knew you had something to do with it."

"Imagine what I've learned to do since then."

"And what's in it for me?"

"I'll edit your book from start to finish, from frontmatter to endmatter, from front to back cover, to the best of my abilities."

"Is that it?"

"Well, how much do you think all this is worth?"

"There will be book launchings. I want you to be in them, sitting beside me on the autograph table."

"How many will there be?"

"At least four. One in Diagon Alley, one in Hogsmeade, one in Ulger's Square in Bulgaria, and last in Petit Villet, France. There may be more, depending on the popularity of the book."

"I'll go to one of those four book launchings."

"Three."

"Two. I'll even let you pick."

"Done!" Draco took the contract and signed it without even reading its contents.

It didn't matter to Hermione. All she needed was his signature. She gave him a copy of the signed contract and then the manuscript. He took it greedily and began to flip through its pages.

"You have to trust me with editing your book, Malfoy," she said as he read over the corrections. "I don't intend to write this book. You're the author, not me, but if there's anything there that's a bald-faced lie, I'm calling you on it, understand?"

Draco made a dismissive gesture, barely looking up from his pages. "Yes, yes… whatever. I'll have these revisions done by next week. I see you rather liked my preliminary revisions." He smirked.

Hermione got to her feet. "Yes, well, you're not as bad a writer as I thought. We'll see how you do with the rest of it. Floo me if you have any questions about the edits. My fireplace is always open for your writing inquiries."

"Office hours?"

"Preferably, but I do let my authors Floo me at home, if it's important enough. Don't abuse the privilege, Malfoy."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He stood and tentatively extended his hand.

Hermione stared at it, confused.

He seemed relieved and shoved his hand back in his pocket. "We're done, then?"

She nodded in a crisp, business-like manner before turning and letting Raggedy escort her out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dark forest was as dense and oppressive as ever. He watched as the vines slithered around him, much slower this time, and he saw that he could get away from it easily. He pushed back thorny branches and prickly leaves.

The more you resist, the deeper you go.

He closed his eyes and shook off this thought, plowing further into what he hoped was his salvation.

When he heard the faint strains of music; that familiar melody that had always drawn him, he paused and listened. He had always tried to follow that sound. Had always tried to find its source. The answers have eluded him.

The forest closed in. He would never find his way out. He would never know for whom that music played.

~~

Harry hadn't realized he had fallen asleep until he woke to the faint sound of cartoon explosions.

He sat up quickly, looking around for Angelica in a mild panic.

All he could think was that he had left a six year old unsupervised for God knew how long. She could be hurt, or worse.

His panic quickly receded when he found her curled up on the nearby sofa-chair, a thick book of fairytales open on her lap, as she slept.

"Some babysitter you turned out to be," he muttered to himself. He had fallen asleep on the couch watching Angelica watch TV. He remembered talking with her for a bit, and he even asked her if she was hungry-that he'd whip something up if she was.

She had been satisfied just watching TV, her arm in a sling.

The inactivity had no doubt lulled him.

Angelica stirred and cracked her eyes open. "Hullo. Is mum back from work yet?"

Harry looked at the clock. It was only a bit past five. He supposed Hermione wasn't the type to leave work at exactly five. "No. What time does she usually get back?"

Angelica yawned. "Mondays to Wednesdays, mum picks me up from school at three, and Thursdays and Fridays, Uncle Ron does it. He drops me off at Aunt Fleur's sometimes, but usually he brings me back here. A few times, Aunt Ginny picks me up and brings me to her office. Aunt Ginny always gives me free stuff, but they're all clothes. Don't care much for those. I don't tell her that, though. Clothes seem to be important to her, and everyone in her office goes to her for their clothes questions. Even mum turns to her for clothes."

Harry gave her a fond smile. "Aunt Ginny works in a fashion magazine. Clothes and which of them go together is her livelihood."

She smiled. "I got Aunt Ginny to admit that you and she used to be together."

Harry was quite used to children embarrassing him, but never quite more so than now. "Oh, did you?"

Angelica began to giggle madly.

"What's so funny?"

"Mum gets that same look on her face when I ask her about it!"

Harry sighed. "And where, pray tell, did you learn to be such a gossip?"

She grinned. "I didn't learn it. I just am. Grandma said I was the first in the Grangers, so I must've come by it from your side of the family."

Harry frowned. "I'm not a gossip, and I think my mum… your other grandmother, wasn't a gossip either."

Angelica stretched like a cat. "I eavesdrop, and my eyes can see things." She said this in a comically spooky way. "I can't keep secrets, either. I used to blab like mad, but mum tells me it's not a good trait, and that people will eventually hate me for it."

"She's right."

"So I just tell Julien everything. Too bad he can't keep secrets, either, but only because Aunt Molly can bribe him with food. Aunt Ginny abhors her for it."

"Ginny got secrets to keep, eh?" Harry joked.

Angelica gave him an uncannily curious look before shrugging. "Aunt Ginny is always a lot of fun. Like Uncles George and Fred without the pranks. She always has games for me and she draws things for me…"

"I didn't know she drew."

"Oh, she usually uses it for work, but she draws things for me when I ask her nicely. I could draw of course, but she's much better at realism than I am. Would you like to see them?"

"Why not?"

Angelica hopped off her sofa-chair, and she was, presumably, about to take off to her room, when the jingle of keys sounded at the door and Hermione's "I'm home!" caused the mission to be aborted.

"Mum!" Angelica shot off to meet her mother at the door.

Harry found that Hermione's arrival home elicited almost the same bustle as the morning rush. It was as if coming from work, she refused to unwind, running to and fro, sorting owls and the Muggle post, watering her herbs, disappearing into her bedroom for a good twenty minutes, before emerging again in relaxed house clothes and heading straight for the kitchen to cook that evening's dinner.

Harry could only help make dinner, and he listened to her and Angelica chatter on about absolutely nothing and practically everything. It was fascinating, but Harry also found himself lost in it. He had a feeling that this was some kind of diversion, so he stubbornly reminded himself of this when he felt he was getting swept into the rather comforting warmth of its embrace.

After dinner, they lounged in the living room, finally settling into a calming silence as they immersed themselves in their own individual activities. Angelica was, of course, reading. Hermione knitted as she watched the late-night news. Harry, feeling he had to keep his hands busy, took out his small hobby and continued on his current project-carving tiny dragons from small blocks of wood.

Hermione's eyebrow had arched questioningly in his direction the slightest bit, though she seemed to let Angelica ask all the questions.

He had taken up the hobby for no particular reason. He had needed something to do during his quiet moments in Avalon. Reading could only hold his attention for so long. He needed something to do with his hands; something requiring precision but was relatively meditative. It was Brigit who suggested woodcarving. He immediately discovered that he found that he could manage smaller models more, and enjoyed it far more than chipping away with hammers and picks. He liked holding small precisions knives and being able to pocket all his materials wherever he went.

With his penchant for it explained, Angelica went back to her reading and silence fell upon them once again.

It took several more minutes before Hermione told Angelica to get ready for bed, and that she would be retiring in a while, as well.

When Angelica left, Harry hastily put his carving away.

"Fancy a spot of tea? If you tell me where the brandy is, perhaps I'll trickle some into the brew," he said.

She seemed to ponder it a moment. She clicked off the televisions and said, "Better yet, we could do away with the tea altogether. I could use a nightcap."

He chuckled. "Is that all you lot do here in London? Drink yourselves to sleep?"

She laughed softly, but she got up and fixed their drinks herself. She returned with two brandy glasses clipped between her fingers in one hand, with brandy on the rocks. Her other hand held the bottle. She simply handed him his glass.

He couldn't stop looking at her, an enticing image of a lady with spirits and cups. His hand lingered on hers as he took his glass, just before he pulled away.

She sat on the ottoman nearest to his sofa-chair and set the brandy bottle down on the floor. She held up her glass. "Cheers."

He clicked his rim against hers and they each took a sip.

The orange light of the lamp cast a glow on her, similar to that of hearth-fire from common-room nights of the past. Perhaps she had that same glow in Grimmauld Place, and then later in outdoor campfires.

He remember that one night in the forest when he looked at her smiling face and found himself needing to kiss her.

The need felt almost as strong now. Perhaps if it didn't work out as well as the last time, he could blame the brandy.

His gaze traveled to the graceful curve of her neck and throat. The memory of tasting her there, long ago, had him swallowing nervously as he made a conscious effort not to lick his lips.

He had to take a long gulp of his brandy.

She smiled and refilled his glass. He didn't know if it was wise to drink more, but he hadn't the will to stop her. She looked rather lovely pouring him a drink.

"Whatever happened to that crystal pendant Morgana gave you?" he asked, trying to get his mind to think about more sensible things. "Did you keep it?"

She paused and she suddenly seemed lost in thought. "Yes, I kept it. I-I never wore it again, since that night you disappeared. It's cracked, anyway. Right at the core. It's lost its brilliance."

"But you didn't throw it away?"

She shook her head. "Angelica takes a fancy to it every once in a while, but I haven't really seen her wear it, either. Why do you ask?"

He tensed a moment, wondering if this was the moment he had to come out with the truth, but he remembered his conversation with Snape that afternoon and inspiration struck. "Have you figured out why Morgana gave you that crystal?"

Just as he thought, this piqued her curiosity. "No. I never thought about it. I just figured it was some kind of souvenir. A reminder that Avalon exists."

He smirked. "Well, you took home more than one souvenir of Avalon that time. Women in Avalon are given that pendant when they conceive there."

She visibly reddened, but she laughed. "That makes quite a bit of sense. I've figured out a long time ago that we-that Angelica was conceived there, of course. We never had enough time and privacy after Avalon to… carry on the way we did."

Her knowing look met his for a moment before she hid it drinking from her brandy glass.

He wondered if the heat in his body came from the brandy or her.

"Never reckoned the crystal marked me as a member of some club, though," she continued.

"Now you know. It's a rather elite club, at that. Men show up in Avalon seldom enough, having them knock-up a priestess is rare. Contrary to popular belief, the priestesses aren't sperm bandits."

Hermione seemed to find what he said hilarious.

"They're really picky about their men," he continued. "Just because there's a scarcity, it doesn't mean they jump every man that wanders into the mists."

"Hence your 'alleged' celibacy."

He cocked a grin. "It's true. I wouldn't lie about that."

She shrugged, grinning. "Of course you wouldn't."

Her rather saucy tone was inspiring that primal part of him once again, and he took an obligatory pause-to wonder whether they were having just a bit too much to drink. Both their glasses were empty again.

"Would it matter if I were?" he asked before he could stop himself.

She looked slightly embarrassed, now, but not so badly that he'd apologize to her for it.

"Do you want it to matter to me?" she asked, throwing the ball back to him.

"Maybe."

Her gaze seemed to darken and it fired his need for her. His desire blazed, so when she leaned over to kiss him, he wasted no time being surprised. He took her in his arms while their tongues tangled in an unbelievably heated kiss. He pulled her to the sofa-chair, shifting her beneath him.

His breathing deepened in an instant and for a moment, he could think of nothing but her lips and the feel of her body braced against his. The curls of her hair between his fingers, silken but textured, triggered memories of her that were so powerful that he couldn't possibly resist having the real thing now.

She moaned and offered her throat. He kissed it, wanting to see how she reacted to his touch. He kept his eyes open.

The arching of her body was lovely, the gentle swell of her breasts temptingly close to his hand. Her leg shifted and a bit of her house skirt shifted to expose a golden patch of skin. It was a feast for the eyes. It was sensual art.

It was a mistake.

His eyes fell on the picture standing upright on a side-table. It was a picture of Angelica and Hermione, and for some reason, it triggered that familiar strain of music in his memories. He couldn't explain why. He didn't know how that music was associated with them, but suddenly it was, and he recalled why he was there, and he wondered whether he should be doing this with Hermione while he hadn't told her the truth-the entire truth.

Hermione pulled away to look at him, her eyes searching his face. She was breathing deeply, and her lips were enticingly swollen and red, but her gaze was questioning.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked, breathless.

He didn't know. Or rather he knew, but was too confused to comprehend it yet.

"Harry?"

"I-I don't..."

That was all he could say. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but he felt his desire draining away, and suddenly, it was all wrong to him. He couldn't. He shouldn't. She must have seen it in his eyes, or maybe she just felt it through his trousers, because she seemed mortified all of a sudden and she pushed him off rather forcefully before she scrambled off the sofa-chair.

He wanted to cry out that it had nothing to do with her, but he couldn't find the words.

She turned to him, her breathing deep, probably from anger now. She was going to say something, or shout something, but she must have thought better of it, because she just pursed her lips and turned away, stomping up the stairs.

He listened to her leave. Listened as her unsettling quiet assaulted him, and then she was walking again, slamming her bedroom door.

He could only suppose that Hermione had checked on Angelica first before retiring to her own room.

Running his fingers through his hair, his frustration couldn't overwhelm the weight of his guilt. He wished he could talk to Brigit, non-judgmental Brigit with her wisdom and mysticism.

"Bollocks," he muttered. He took his discarded brandy glass. The cubes of ice had spilled on the rug. He picked them up and tossed them into Hermione's glass before he refilled his own glass with a last shot of brandy.

He took it all in one gulp before he put glasses and brandy away. He took his carving things and righted the pillows that had fallen to the floor. Evidence put away from the scene of the crime, he took himself to bed, dreading the coming morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TBC