Eye of the Tigress
by pstibbons

Rating: PG
Ship: Harry & Hermione
Canon: Books 1 - 6
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama
Status: In progress
Length: 28,060 words in 10 chapters
Published: 30 Jun 2007
Last updated: 24 Jul 2007

AU. Hermione doesn't look human - because she isn't. When she was twelve, she inadvertently discovered that the effect
of Polyjuice on her species was to remove any glamours they wore. When she was seventeen, she and Harry slept with each
other, causing a series of events that resulted in her thrown out of Clan Weasley. Now she's thirty, her race of
half-felines is threatened, and she's been ordered to get Harry's help. Proving that she was innocent is easy - working
with the father of her two cubs on the other hand...

From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/7334/

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1. Revelations

The girl ran, terrified, through the deserted ruins of old houses on the ancient isle. Her red hair, still tied in
pigtails, bobbed chaotically around her face. She could hear its loping gait behind her, noisily crunching old pieces of
brick and twigs. So this was how Amy Potter would die, mauled by an angry beast while escaping from her kidnappers...

She kept running. But the creature was getting closer now. If her heart could beat any faster, it would have sent her
into orbit. Unfortunately, it couldn't, and she remained firmly on terra firma - and in danger.

There was a large orange flash, and then the sounds of a fierce battle. She gulped. Two large animals fighting... over
dinner. Dinner. Her. Dinner. She was dinner. She didn't want dinner. She looked back again, drawn to the torrid scuffle
despite herself. The huge three-headed dog that had chased her was now facing off against a large orange-and-black
tiger. She didn't know when tigers got to Britain, but she didn't feel this was the appropriate time to question such
things. She needed to...

Tree. She needed to climb a tree. Her eyes darted around looking for a good climbee, and found one. She dashed to it,
and was soon over five metres high. She kept climbing. She had no idea how she would get down, but she knew she didn't
want to get down, so that problem solved itself.

The battle grew fiercer, and then slowly died down. She peered down, and could faintly see one of the animals down on
the ground, unmoving. The remaining animal had just one head. Amy was relieved, though not by much. She'd read the
Jungle Book, even though the only Muggleborn grandparent she had was long dead. Her father had made a few attempts to
show her Muggle stuff. Like the Jungle Book. Which featured a human child and a tiger that wanted said child for dinner.
Or breakfast or lunch or dessert, it didn't really matter, did it?

Then the tiger changed ... into a cloaked, but definitely human, figure. Now she breathed a huge sigh of relief. Tiger
Animagi didn't eat children. Admittedly, that didn't automatically make Tigerman a friend. Her father had many enemies,
and not all the enemies were friends with each other. This could be another kidnapper trying to get her.

One of the heads of the dog moved. Her rescuer turned back into a tiger, slapped the head with a huge paw, and returned
to its human self.

"Hello!" shouted Tigerman. Amy's eyes widened. Tigerman was female! And she sounded worried. "You were being chased by a
Cerberus," she continued, looking up at Amy's tree. "I've taken care of it. My name is Jane. Will you show yourself,
please? I don't want to hurt you. I want to help you get home."

Amy considered her options. Tigerwoman - no, Jane - knew where she was. In other words, Jane could get her whenever she
wanted, whether Amy cooperated or not. Right, then. Amy would go with Jane. Which then led to another problem...

"Can you help me get down?" she asked. Then she added, "Please?"

Jane took out a wand as she kept her eyes looking up at Amy. "I can levitate you down, dear. Would you like that?"

Amy nodded. Soon enough, she was on the ground and able to get a closer look at Jane. But there wasn't much to look at,
since Jane was wearing one of those cloaks that covered everything, face included. But Jane had a ... was that a tail?
Yes, definitely a tail.

"If you tell me where you live, I can make a Portkey for you," said Jane, holding up a Muggle torch. "Do you live around
here? And don't worry about the tail. My two boys finally managed to prank me."

"I'm from England," said the girl, smiling slightly. "My name's Amy", she added.

"Oh?" said Jane with a smile. "I grew up there. What brings you to this part of Ireland then?"

"I was kidnapped," said Amy.

"What?" said Jane, her voice growing harder. "Who?"

Amy's face paled as she began to remember her ordeal.

"Right, right," said Jane, starting to pace. Her tail followed her, but clearly had a life of its own. It kept pointing
at Amy, as if trying to get a closer look at her. Amy found it slightly unnerving. "Did they send that bitch after you?"
Amy nodded. "Before you go telling your mum n'all, I'm not swearing - that Cerberus was female. Now, do you think her
masters are still searching for you?"

Amy looked uncertain. "Probably," she said.

"Did they feed you alright?" asked Jane.

Amy shook her head. "They gave me stuff. But I didn't want to eat it in case it had stuff in it."

"And drink?"

Amy winced, and nodded. "I drank water from the tap."

"You're probably alright," said Jane. "I better send you home though. Where's home for you?"

"Potter Manor, 18 Merlin Lane, Godric's Hollow, Wales," replied Amy by rote.

"Potter?" Jane's face turned ashen. "What's your surname?"

"Amy Po ... Smith," said Amy, backing away in fear at Jane's sudden change of behaviour.

Realizing this, Jane seemed to recover somewhat. "I am sorry to have scared you," she said. "I suppose you're Harry's
daughter. And Ginny's. I should have guessed. Weasley hair, emerald Lily Evans eyes. You don't look like your
grandmother though. Wrong shade of red."

"You knew my father?" asked Amy, surprised. She made no effort to move forward, though.

"I - no. My cousin did. She was a friend of your father's. And of your uncle Ron's. At least she thought she was. She
helped them a lot, though I suppose she could have been a bit ... bossy. But they betrayed her, and cast her away when
they didn't need her any more."

Amy backed away slowly.

"Don't worry," said Jane with a sigh. "You're probably in shock, hearing bad things about your parents. But they're
human, remember? They make mistakes. And I don't judge people by what their parents did. You're innocent. I'm still
going to get you home. But I think I better get you home myself. If you're Harry Potter's daughter, there's no telling
how many people want to kidnap or kill you. And your home probably has all kinds of wards against incoming Portkeys and
stuff. I'll take you to Hogwarts myself. That's okay with you, right?"

Amy nodded cautiously.

"Good. Let's go. I'll make a Portkey to the gates. I'll leave you when I've left with someone I trust." She cast a
Portus spell on her torch. "Hold it."

Amy put her hand on the torch tentatively, resolving to ask her parents several questions about their past friends when
she got back.

"Just one more thing, Amy. Hermione Granger was innocent. And she's dead now. Tell your parents that. I was there when
she died."

* * *

It didn't take long for Harry and Ron to find the island where the kidnappers lived. They had found the house from their
daughter's memories. She'd also drawn a makeshift map. A few charms later, they had narrowed the criminals' hideout to a
lonely old cottage between some rugged cliffs and a forest. They figured it was the one Amy had run through.

After placing anti-Apparation and a host of other wards on the building, they carefully entered. Their caution turned
out to be unnecessary. There were three men there, lying bound, gagged, and in bloody pools of blood. Upon closer
inspection, all the bloods were coming out of the same parts of their body. In male sympathy, Harry and Ron winced...

"Bloody hell," said Ron for the umpteenth time after they had Portkeyed the bodies to Auror Headquarters and cast the
standard preservation spells for the investigators to document later.

Harry nodded. They left the house, and looked in unison at the forest, then at each other. Without a word, they both
wanted to find Hermione's cousin. They hadn't seen Hermione since she had slept with Harry after giving him a Lust
Potion. And while she was dead now, it felt right of them to pay their last respects. Even to someone who thought that
their old friend had been innocent.

They were halfway towards the woods when they saw the tiger. It looked at them calmly, not worried that they both had
their wands out. It turned its back to them and began walking towards the woods, turning its head to look back at them a
couple of times. Warily, they followed, Harry going first, Ron covering him. They walked about ten minutes before they
saw the house in the middle of the woods. The tiger looked at them, then disappeared in it. They approached the house
cautiously. They were both surprised when a woman and two boys came out of the house.

"Mr Potter? Mr Weasley?" said the woman brightly. "I'm Jane, and these boys here are Brian and Chris. I thought you
might turn up soon enough. Please, have a seat."

Mutely, the two men sat down on the proferred deck chairs. Their hosts looked human, if one overlooked their tails, cat
ears, whiskers, and the stripes on their arms and necks. One of the boys was wearing shorts, he had stripes on his legs
too. The stripes on the boys were not as pronounced as those on the woman's - they could have been mistaken for ordinary
cat stripes... suddenly Harry remembered where he had seen similar stripes before.

"Ron?" he hissed. "Did Millicent Bulstrode really have a cat?"

Ron looked at him dumbly.

"Remember Hermione and Polyjuice in second year?"

Ron suddenly got it, and then his eyes widened as he got it even further.

"Right!" said Jane, noting the men's realization. "Boys, I'll roar when I need you, alright? Now transform and shuffle
off."

To the men's astonishment, the two cat-boys turned into young tigers in an instant and scampered off.

"They're just happy not to get back to their Transfiguration lesson," said Jane. "Rather like their father that way,"
she said, looking at Harry. "Not that it should matter much, I suppose. We were doing advanced stuff," she said like a
proud mother.

"What are you?" blurted Ron.

Jane looked at him with an amused look. "I'm a Felician, Mr Weasley. A catwoman, tigress in this case. And Hermione
Granger's cousin. Yes, she wore a glamour for seven years. And yes, both of you have seen her true form, when you were
all twelve. She was lucky to be able to return to your world after that incident with Polyjuice. Turns out it works
differently on Felicians - it reveals our true appearance. It took Dumbledore's fervent intervention at her trial by our
council to get her back to Hogwarts."

"She got in trouble for that?" asked Harry.

"Pity she didn't go back to where she belonged," muttered Ron.

"I quite agree," said Jane pleasantly. "Because if she had stayed away, then Mr Potter would have not have gotten the
vital clue of what Slytherin's monster was, and your sister would have been dead and she wouldn't have fed a Lust Potion
to Harry five years later while you fed one to Hermione."

Ron jumped up furiously at this, while Harry pointed his wand at Jane. Then two orange flashes happened. By the time
Harry had pointed his wand at his friend's attackers, it wasn't in his hand any more. And one of the tiger cubs was
standing on Ron's prone body while the other held his wand proudly in his teeth.

"Of course, Voldemort would have arisen two years early and probably won without my cousin there to keep saving your
arse," said Jane, twirling the wand in her hand smartly before turning to her boys. "Good job, kids. Now Brian, stun him
with his own wand please, and then you can get off him Chris. Mr Potter will take him back to his home."

She looked directly at Harry again, watching his mind think furiously. "Hear me out, Mr Potter. I do not wish to hurt
anyone, I just want a chance to tell the other side of the story. The side you never allowed Hermione to tell. Besides,
would you want to hex me in front of your sons? Yes, your sons. Hermione never told you she was pregnant, did she? Of
course not, you had kicked her out of your life before she had a chance to. And she was a victim as well. Even if you
don't believe me when I say who was responsible for the Lust Potions - I admit I don't have proof - I do have proof that
she was given a Lust Potion at the same time you were. I don't think the perpetrators planned that you would act on the
potion with each other."

"I don't believe you," said Harry.

"I can give your samples of their DNA if you like," said Jane, gesturing with a nod to the cubs. They had got a ball and
were busy playing some variant of volleyball with it using Ron as their net.

"Huh?" asked Harry, confused for a moment. "Oh! No, I wasn't talking about that. I meant the Lust Potion."

"What do you think about your sons?" she asked.

Harry looked at the two cubs again. They both had messy black hair with a few orange streaks in them, but they were not
identical. Neither had glasses. They also seemed to be hitting their ball into the net quite often.

"I don't know what to think," he said. And honestly, he didn't. "Do they miss their mother?"

"She died when they were young," said Jane. "They don't remember her much. I'm all the mother they know."

"Oh," he said. "Tell me about them."

"They both go to Hogwarts under glamours. They're quite smart, but they seem to have got their grandfather's Maraudering
spirit. They ... " She halted, giving him a second look. "I'm not sure I can trust you. If I give you too many details,
you'll figure out who they are, and that's bad for their safety. Their mother trusted you and you screwed her."

"Look," sighed Harry, "it was ten years ago. And I never meant to push Hermione away forever. Have you got any proof?"

"You didn't mean to push her away? Really? You just stood aside as all the Weasleys pushed her away. You didn't look
over your wife's shoulders as she sent my cousin Howlers telling her to stay away from you? You cast away the letters
she sent you telling you she was pregnant?"

"What?" asked Harry, shocked. "I didn't know -"

"Face it, Potter. Your adopted family has kept too many secrets from you. Your wife lied to you. I don't expect you to
believe me, of course. But when you go home, ask them."

Harry shook his head adamantly. "You're lying."

"Alright," she replied, unfazed. "Why don't we just ask your friend Ron? With Veritaserum?"

"No!"

"Don't be silly, Potter. We'll Obliviate him afterwards if I'm wrong. And if I'm right, well, you decide."

He shook his head, but it was clear that he was considering it.

"Alright, don't do it for me. Do it for Hermione, for the girl you once called your friend. Before that incident, did
she ever betray you? Do this for the girl who spent hundreds of hours looking for spells to help you, the girl who
helped you save Sirius from the Dementors, for the girl who trained you with Summoning spells for your First Task
against the Horntail, for the girl who started the DA for you and placed Skeeter in Azkajar. And helped you on the
Horcrux Hunt. And ..."

"Fine! I'll do it!"

She grinned, punched a hand in the air and disappeared into her cabin.

Harry took the opportunity to look at the two tiger cubs who were - allegedly - his. They had already left their little
game and were both looking at him stonily. One of them snarled a bit. He fought down the instinct to go for his wand,
having seen how quickly they had taken down his friend. It was clear that whatever they had been told of him wasn't
particularly complimentary.

One of them turned back into a boy. He was naked for a moment, and then the clothes he had been wearing earlier
materialized onto him. He was still barefoot though, and Harry noted that both his hands and feet were human, though
they were, like much of the rest of him, a pale brown-orange.

"Hello," said Harry slowly.

"Hello, father," said the boy. He said it like a curse.

"Brian Granger!" yelled Jane, coming out of her house holding a vial of transparent liquid. "You leave your father
alone!"

"Mum!" he moaned. Harry looked at Jane quickly, before recalling that she had said that Jane had died so long ago that
the boys saw Jane as their mother. He also noticed that while Brian had Jane distracted, Chris had changed back into a
boy and had taken over the job of glaring at his father.

"Come on, Potter," said Jane. She pointed her wand at Ron. "Enervate. Petrificus Totalus." Harry winced at the betrayed
look that Ron cast him. Jane efficiently pulled his friend's head back and dropped three drops under his tongue. "Care
to start the interrogation, Potter?"

Harry sighed, and asked Ron the basic opening starter questions. Satisfied by his answers, he gestured to Jane to take
over. She stepped forward.

"Did you know of anyone involved with ever subjecting Hermione Granger to a Lust or Love Potion or magical coercion of
any kind?"

Ron clearly struggled for a second or two before answering affirmatively. Harry's eyes widened.

"Were you involved?"

"Yes."

"When Hermione Granger slept with Harry Potter, was she under magical coercion?"

"Yes."

"Who gave it to her?"

"My mother."

"Did you and Ginevra Weasley know of it?"

"Yes."

"Was Harry Potter ever given any form of magical coercion since to have positive romantic feelings towards Ginevra
Weasley?"

"Yes."

"Is Harry Potter currently any form of magical coercion to remain with Ginevra Potter?"

"No."

"Did you or anyone you know interfere with, or discourage in any way, Hermione Granger's attempts to communicate with
Harry Potter after she slept with him?"

"Yes."

* * *

Weasley Wizarding Wheezes, Main Branch, Diagon Alley

"Eye of Newt."

"Here."

PLOP!

"Don't drop it in, Fred!"

"Porcupine quills."

"Here."

Plop.

"Blood of a virgin rabbit."

"Here."

Plip plip plip.

"Peanut butter sandwich."

"Go make your own, Weasley."

Fred and George looked over at the cauldron, which was a pale shade of vomit green. Experienced Potions brewers as they
were, they were well past the gag reflex.

There was a ring from the front of the shop. Apparently someone had arrived there asking the front door staff for them.
Fred stepped up to the charmed Barbie doll that was used as an intercom.

"Gred here."

"Hey Fred," said a crackly voice through the doll's unmoving lips. "It's Harry. Get up here, he looks a right state."

"We'll be there," he said, as his twin already vanished with a crack. Fred cast a stasis charm on the cauldron and
followed suit.

* * *

Jane walked purposefully on the main street of Felixity, the primary Felician city in Ireland. With her were Brian and
Chris, who were arguing incessantly. Not that she was listening.

"Control your tail, Bee, it's wagging like a bloody dog's!"

"You Hexed it! It's not recovered yet!"

"Then why is it trying to pick my pocket?"

"Coz my hands are occupied, occupying my pockets!"

"Bro, you're a ..."

"Shush, the two of you!" hissed Jane suddenly, breaking out of her reverie. Her sons looked at each other with an amused
glint. They had been worried about her ever since their father had turned up. She had gone into one of her introspective
moods again and they had to get her out of it. "You're behaving positively canine!"

They put on their best abashed expressions. Had she been her normal self, she wouldn't have believed them for a moment.
For now, she couldn't care less.

"Right," she said, "you two go and explore. I'll meet you here in three hours. Alright?"

"Mum," Brian pleaded, "please don't go drinking again!"

She could see Chris next to him, nodding vigorously. She sighed. "Look, I feel like shit. I need a bloody drink. Just -
just go, alright?" She turned and headed towards one of the bars in town. Her sons watched in dismay.

In public, Brian was the twin who did the talking, the assertive twin, while Chris provided backup. In private though,
his brother was usually in charge, even if Brian still did most of the talking. So it was no surprise when Brian turned
to Chris with a What Do We Do Now? expression.

"Alyx," said Chris after a couple of moments. "We get Aunt Alyx here."

* * *

"Get me a drink," said Harry as he walked into the semi-living quarters of the twins above their shop. They each had
their own homes, but this space had served as their trusty bachelor pad when they were younger and less innocent.

Fred tossed him a can of chilled firewhiskey. Harry looked at it dubiously, wondered for a moment when non-beer
alcoholic beverages got placed in Muggle cans before noticing the "Made in Ireland" small print on it. Ah, Irish. That
made it safe, as far as alcohol was concerned. Bad alcohol in Dublin would lead to riots.

"Cheers," muttered Harry as he opened the can and held it aloft. Then he downed the alcohol... and concluded that the
reason Dublin remained riotless was that the bad alcohol was exported.

"What is this shit?" he yelled before the aftertaste kicked in. Then it kicked in and he felt his liver taking a Portkey
to his colon before returning via Floo and getting lost along the way.

He took a second gulp that was larger than his first. Fred smirked at George, who handed over a galleon.

"Hermione's dead," he said. "Ron and I met her cousin. Jane. That's her. That's her cousin. Her cousin's called Jane.
She never told us about Jane. Jane saved Amy from the kidnappers and sent her home to us. Jane said Hermione's dead and
that she was also under a Lust Potion."

The twins looked expressionless. Fred made a small Go On gesture. George nodded slightly too. They weren't particularly
close to Hermione, but it was hard to believe that she'd get caught using a Lust Potion. Sure, she might use it - they
didn't know her enough to say she wouldn't - but getting caught? Hermione had one of the highest ratios of Number of
Rules Broken (hundreds) to Number of Detentions Served (one, in first year) at Hogwarts.

"She got pregnant."

Fred and George exchanged looks.

"Twin boys." Harry looked up with a wry, albeit small, grin. "You'd probably like them. She says they take after their
Marauder grandfather. And with their mum's brains..."

Indeed, Fred and George were rapidly contemplating the possibilities. Their current generation of Weasley nephews and
nieces hadn't produced worthy enough heirs to their nefarious legacy, much to their disappointment.

They considered asking Harry how he was sure the kids were his, but opted not to. If Harry was interrupted now, he might
realize he was talking and clam up for good.

"Brian," continued Harry, "and Chris. They didn't like me very much." He shrugged. "They liked Ron even less. Disarmed
uswithin seconds."

Fred blinked. George was surprised too. Ron might be their stupid kid brother, but he was still a trained Auror. And
Harry! Disarmed by a couple of teens - which they would be given how many years had passed since they had last seen
Hermione.

"They are ti - " Harry found himself unable to speak, and soon realized he was under some kind of secrecy charm. This
wasn't unusual in his line of work, so he ignored it and ploughed on. "Jane gave Ron Veritaserum. She said it was, maybe
she lied. Said I owed it to Hermione to hear her side of the story. That's true, you know."

He looked up to see if they were upset at him for his lack of faith in their little brother. They weren't. He realized
they had probably forced Ron to drink far more harmful stuff. Then again, they didn't know much harm his next words
would bring to Clan Weasley.

"Ron said Hermione was under a Lust Potion too. And that he knew who gave it to her. He said it was Mum."

There was a crack. When he looked up, Harry saw only Fred in the room.

"He also said that Ginny and Ron knew. And that Gin gave me a Love Potion."

The look on Fred's face was not encouraging, and Harry Apparated out with a loud crack.

* * *

Like most Felician pubs, the atmosphere inside The Stunned Herring was smoke-free. Beings with a fine sense of smell did
not like to spend time in a place that smelled like cat's piss or rancid smoke. The owners paid good money for cleansing
charms.

There was a jukebox in the corner; some female Slavic-accented singer was crooning a lovelorn ballad, comparing her past
men to spilt milk and fishes that got away. Hermione, having grown up in both Felician and Human society, appreciated
that humans might find it funny. But phrases like 'not crying over spilt milk' really entered human society from the
Felician one.

Not all feline-associated phrases, though. For example, take 'curiosity killed the cat'. That was definitely a human
invention. Cats were too smart, too fast, and too prone to letting dogs test new things for them, to get killed by a
mere investigation of the unknown. And of course unknowns would be investigated. Felines were allergic to unknowns, and
dealt with this by making them cease to be unknowns.

Which explained why Hermione Jane Granger spent so much time in the library.

And why she was currently deep in the investigation of the unknown that was her fifth glass of Guinness. She didn't even
notice of they were spiked with catnip or not.

A woman walked into the bar. The music didn't stop, though a few eyes did glance her way to take not of her slightly
canine features (indicating that her Felician half was a cheetah) and her long legs. She was wearing, like all
Felicians, Muggle clothes. Of a distinctively summer kind. But she wasn't in heat, and everyone's noses caught that.
Heads returned to their beers.

The cheetah woman walked up to where Hermione was sitting.

"Greetings, Granger."

"Go cuff yo'self, Alyx," slurred Hermione. "All three of you."

Actually, that wasn't the effect of the alcohol. Felician pubs had as many mirrors as they had scratching posts, which
was quite a lot.

"Your boys sent me," said the shorts-clad cheetah, flicking her tail in the barkeeper's direction in a No More Beer Over
Here gesture. "They're worried. Said they met the f--ko called their da."

"'Arry's not a fu-fu-that thing."

Alyx shrugged. She'd never met Harry Potter herself, but what she'd heard of his personal life hadn't been positive.
Still, he couldn't be that much of a dog if Hermione cared for him. "Will you come quietly, or do I have to drag you
out?" On the other hand, Hermione hadn't been this down since Crookshanks had become a bumper sticker on a moving lorry.
(Small animals stuck very well on lorry bumpers.)

She considered her options. A cheetah couldn't drag a tiger out physically. And Alyx was one of the ninety five percent
of Felicians who were Muggle, so she couldn't Levitate or Portkey Hermione out. She'd have to go with the persuasion
thing.

"There's a tub of ice cream in my freezer with your name on it."

Hermione grimaced. Even if her extra-hard stomach could handle five Guinnesses better than a human stomach, it couldn't
fit much new stuff.

"I've got three new books for you to read."

Hermione didn't think her eyes could remain in one place long enough to read any words.

"I'll get you a sobering Potion."

Hermione would have stuck her tongue out if she could remember the correct muscle movements. She didn't want to be
sober. That would mean facing reality, and who on earth wanted that?

At that precise moment, somewhere elsewhere, a Weasley twin was approaching his little brother with another vial of
Veritaserum.

* * *

A/N: The picture of Alyx is really Cheetara from the 80s cartoon Thundercats. No, this isnt a crossover. Jane's pic was
made with Free Morphing 2.1.6. I've not forgotten about Wrath, but it is on hold. And those of you who don't mind
Hermionecentric fics with Harry bashing can read my Betrayed!Hermione fic I'd rather be a Mudblood than a Mudbrain on
GrangerEnchanted. It's 15 000 words and complete. Reviews would be nice for both this chapter and that story.

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2. Drinks for All

Ronald Belligerent Weasley had a good life, he reckoned. True, he wasn't wealthy beyond his wildest dreams, but he was
willing to attribute that to the wildness of his dreams. An Order of Merlin, second class, made up for it. It certainly
got the birds into his bed easily enough, that and his glamourous Auror job. He was married to Lavender, but they were
long separated as they both preferred seeing lots of people. Presumably they'd get back together in a couple of yours,
have a kid to shut their respective mothers up, and then separate again. Or maybe they could swing... now, there was a
thought.

Auror work was very different now. There hadn't been much Dark activity in Britain for a while, so they did a lot of
travelling when requested by foreign governments. His night life didn't mind. He pitied Harry sometimes, being married
and unable to sample exotic delights and all... then again, Harry had always been the Quiet Observer type - unless it
was a high pressure situation.

Funnily enough, they hadn't got a foreign post for about three months now. There were rumours around the Auror cubicles
that there was a new threat in Britain, but no-one had heard anything about it. Other than Harry, of course. Harry knew
everything. Or could know everything if he wanted to. But Harry said nothing. He was content to go home and play with
his three kids. Sometimes Ron thought that Harry only became an Auror to keep Ron company, or because he didn't know
what else he was good for. He felt Harry would be happier being a house hubby, taking care of the kids.

Amy was the oldest. Her kidnapping had been strange. It had been very well organized - clearly by highly professional
kidnappers - and yet she had escaped from them once she got to Ireland. And been saved by some unknown witch who claimed
she was the cousin of Hermione Granger. He and Harry had gone back to check, but had found nothing other than their
charred remains and, in Ron's case, a splitting headache and a dizzying nausea. Ron had even thrown up once, though that
might have been due to a dodgy lamb korma.

Hermione's cousin... that brought back memories of his old crush. It would never have worked out, that was obvious. He'd
just wanted her because she was the first girl he was friends with apart from Ginny. He breathed a sigh of relief that
his mother's old plan to ensure One Big Happy Weasley Family hadn't worked out.

Molly's plan was simple - slip Lust Potions to Harry and Hermione, and they'd sleep with Ginny and himself. Coupled with
the Love Potions she had already been discreetly dousing the duo with, that would be enough to cement their true
feelings. At least, that was the theory. In practice, an unfortunate error had led to Harry and Hermione screwing each
other, both literally and figuratively.

Fortunately, the situation was not irrecoverable. In a finely concerted effort, they showed that Harry had been doused
with a lust potion. Hermione was the immediate suspect, of course, and it wasn't hard to make sure - in the court of
public opinion - that her denials were not believed. She figured out later what had happened, which was why they kept
her away from Harry. So Ron lost out on Hermione while Ginny got her Harry. And Ron was very grateful - unlike Harry,
Hermione was not easy to control. Since she'd grown up with a non-abusive family, she was less vulnerable to emotional
blackmail and manipulation.

Twin cracks just outside his doorstep signalled only one thing. Wondering what the twins wanted, he walked to the door.

* * *

Thanks to the intervention of a helpful witch waitress, Alyx managed to persuade Hermione Jane to sling an arm around
her shoulder and allow herself to be dragged out of The Stunned Herring. There were a few cheers from the audience; it
wasn't unusual for someone to be dragged out. There was a flash, someone taking a picture. Alyx looked to the barman,
indicating that she'd like a copy of it later, for blackmail purposes in happier days to come.

Now she just had to drag Hermione to a Floo Centre. Unlike Wizarding pubs such as those in Diagon Alley, not every one
had a Floo-enabled fireplace - that depended on the preferences of the owner. Most Felicians could not use Magic and
preferred to come by car. Muggle Felicians like herself could not use the Floo by themselves; they had to be in the
company of a Mage (a witch or wizard) who could speak clearly. Currently, Hermione failed to satisfy that last
requirement.

"I found this maaaarvellouuus thing I could do with my tail yesteerrrrday," slurred Hermione into Alyx' ear. "I came
soooo many times!"

"Right, right," said Alyx patiently, fiddling in her pockets for her cellphone so she could call Brian and Chris. "You
can tell me all about it later." Besides, if her suspicions were correct, Hermione was merely trying to tell her
something that Alyx had taught her earlier. She found her phone and dialled Brian's number. He picked it up quickly.
"Hey, cub. Yes, I got her. Can you get here? We'll be sitting in Tubby Square. Oh shit, she's going to - just get over
here, now!" She shoved the phone in her pocket and went to drag Hermione from scooping out the charmed plastic fish (any
real ones were quickly eaten) from the fountain in the centre of the square.

Unfortunately, Hermione was already in full Tiger form, so forcibly persuading her to leave the fake piscines alone
would be a bother. Alyx opted for giving her a different distraction - she morphed and stepped on Hermione's twitching
tail. The tiger roared, and was soon chasing the cheetah around the Square.

As it was quite normal for cats of all sizes to frolic in public areas of Felixity, no-one raised an eyebrow.

* * *

The interrogation session with Ron was over. Unlike his earlier brush with Veritaserum that day, this one was not
followed by an Obliviation, so he was painfully aware that an old secret had just been unearthed. The pain could be
localized to two places - the left side of his jaw and his right shoulder. They were where Fred's fist and George's
roundhouse kick, respectively, had connected.

He realized, ruefully, that the other two participants - the primary instigators and beneficiaries, in fact - of the old
conspiracy would not receive such physical retribution.

"You f--king bastard!" yelled Fred. "Harry is your friend! How could you do this to him?"

"Are you saying," hissed Ron, getting off the floor, "that our own sister is not good enough for Harry?"

The twins looked at him warily. Ron was taller and better muscled than either of them, and the beneficiary of much
training. He wasn't to be trifled with, especially when he was angry. Which he now was, in spades. They moved so they
were on either side of him. He could not strike both at once.

"He should have been given a choice," said George.

"What about Mum and Dad?" Ron pointed out. It was a well known fact within the Weasley household that Molly had
`encouraged' Arthur's initials attentions using potions. "Or the stuff you sell?" That was a low blow, as Ron knew very
well. The twins had stopped selling love potions after Fred had got dosed by a witch - an incident that had cost him his
then girlfriend.

"Dad should have been given a choice," countered Fred. "And what about Hermione?" he said, suddenly remembered the other
guilty party. "We kicked her out! She was innocent! And now she's dead!"

"Hermione's dead?" asked Ron, genuinely shocked. He held his head again as the headache spiked for a moment. "Blast! How
do you know?"

"Stop pretending you care," said George. "You helped Mum and Gin chase her away."

"I do!" shouted Ron. And he did - even if their split had been far from amicable, time had caused him to forget that,
and remember the good times they'd had at Hogwarts. The nagging she'd given him for his homework had proved useful in
his Auror career, after all. "And you chased her away too."

"Yes, we're guilty of not listening," replied Fred heatedly, "but your crime far outweighs that. And we're going to tell
Harry now. You may want to take a medical leave of absence now, because you'll need it when he's done with you."

Ron gulped as they Disapparated.

* * *

Harry was back in Ireland, in the forest where he had found Jane. He had been hunting for her place for an hour now, and
could find nothing. He wondered if he was simply lost or if the only way someone could find her house was if she led
them to it.

He didn't doubt Ron's confession. In fact, he was going through a lot of memories of his to see what made sense and what
didn't, and things made a lot more sense now. His marriage with Ginny was comfortable enough, but it was more inertia
and their three kids than anything else. The kids made all the difference.

Speaking of kids, he was no clue what to do with the two that had just popped up ... right in front of him.

Ah. He hadn't expected that. Not so literally, at any rate.

One kid was in tiger form, while the other - Brian, he thought - was in his biped form.

"What are you doing here?" asked Brian.

"I'd like to see your Mum," replied Harry as confidently as he could. He wasn't nervous that they could beat him in a
duel - now that he knew not to underestimate them, he was on his guard. Emotionally though... he was a man facing a
child he had just discovered, a child whose opinion of him was barely higher than used dishwater - where the use was
cleaning out dog kennels.

"Why do you want to see her? She's not feeling well."

"I'd like - I'd like to ask her where Hermione - your birth mother - is buried." Harry wasn't sure what he had come for,
but he did now. He felt it was right to pay his respects, and he ... well, it had been years, but what he remembered of
Hermione was that she gave good advice. Perhaps he'd know what to do once he was where she was, even if she couldn't say
very much.

Perhaps Brian saw some of this. After a quick visual check with Chris, he said to his father, "Come." Meanwhile, Chris
ran off ahead.

* * *

Blast the Felician Council! Blast the job they had ordered her to do with Harry Potter! She had never wanted to see him
again, and now she had to do it. And they weren't even going about it the right way - the kidnapping had almost
certainly traumatized his daughter. True, Amy was Ginbitch's daughter as well, but ... she was innocent. Hermione knew
she wouldn't want Brian or Chris facing a Cerberus alone, even if it was never a threat. They wouldn't know that, and it
would be the subject of nightmares in days to come.

And what on earth had they done to the kidnappers? Hopefully they got some bigoted House-Elf-abusing wizards to frame
and flame, instead of some innocents. She'd need to ask O'Neill about that. Or some Muggle rapists; that would explain
the castration they got before they died.

Gain Potter's trust, they said. Show him you were innocent, they said. Tell him of his connections to Felician society,
they said. For our society's sake. We'll give you a shiny medal if you do. And a ball of yarn and a new scratching post,
no doubt. Hah! Why couldn't she leave Harry in his Amortentia-based little Weasley bubble if he was happy about it? And
at some point, she'd have to explain to him that she wasn't Hermione's cousin at all. She'd need to take an umbrella -
he'd probably go all rabid with rage and spew her with spit and lose control of his magic and cause a thunderstorm.
After all, he'd been hanging out with Ron for a decade.

No, she decided. She would have to come clean with Harry. True, he was part of an old life of hers, and he had betrayed
her, but... he was her first friend. In a way, he was a victim as well. And if that screwed up her mission ... what was
the worst thing that could happen? Two societies destroyed? She could live with that. But ... Brian and Chris hurt? No,
that was a non-starter. Not even the Felician Council or the Wizengamot or their oblivious father was going get between
this tigress and her cubs.

Maybe she'd leave the bottle alone for a while.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

3. Meetings

As Harry trudged through the forest with his two sons - rather, the two young men for whom he had provided sperm - he
wondered why he hadn't heard of Felicians before today. He couldn't even recall Luna ever mentioning them, though it was
certainly possible he hadn't been listening at the time. He was well aware that there were several sentient beings on
earth other than humans. Centaurs, goblins, House Elves, pond demons, werewolves, vampires, giants, trolls, dwarves,
merpeople, leprechauns, dolphists, and ents all came to mind. But ... cat-people?

"Do you know what happened to Crookshanks?" he suddenly asked. "She was your mother's cat. Half Kneazle."

"Dead," said Brian.

"Ah," said Harry. So much for the conversation going places. He glanced at Chris, wondering if the quieter twin would
offer any more words.

"Lorry," added Chris.

Well, one word was better than none, Harry supposed.

Perhaps in subconscious memory of their mother, Harry had actually stopped by a library before he came to find her
grave. (Assuming she was dead, of course -- he hadn't failed to notice that Jane bit her lower lip in the exact same
manner as her cousin.) It said a lot for his flustered state that the library was in a house that he'd sworn never to
return to. It was a dusty room deep inside the dingy spider-ridden house that was 12 Grimmauld Place. And like any
respectable Pureblood Family library, it had a copy of The Encyclopaedia of Sentient Creatures in Europe by Ann Thropic.

Felicians. Half-Breed: Human/feline. Estimated Population in Europe : 800 000, mostly in Prussia, Eire, Portugal, and
Serbia. Origins unknown, suspected to be as a result of a curse widely used in the 1100s....

... Like werewolves, they have extremely fast reflexes, agility, and a keen sense of smell... their strength depends on
which feline they embody...

... All Felicians are Animagi, though nearly all are Squibs. ...

... their society is loose yet well organized; it is run by a hierarchy of councils...

... Felicians are given a necklace or ring that changes their appearance to human when in human society; the magical
spells underlying these glamours are unknown, though they are believed to be Goblin or House Elf in nature...

... Felicians are prone to rebellion, and were expelled from Britain in 1381 and from France in 1744...

At least, that was what he could remember from it. He had wondered why Hermione would have come to Britain when she was
banned from there; he wondered why Dumbledore allowed her.

Meanwhile, he was still walking with his children in an uncomfortable silence.

"I don't recall the journey with your mother taking this long," said Harry.

No answer.

"Do you like any sports?"

No answer. He sighed inwardly. He was rapidly getting tired of this. Then again, his other kids weren't as close to
their broody teenagers years as these ones. Oh, and his other kids didn't hate him either.

"Would you like to hear of some stories of your mother when we were at Hogwarts?"

The cubs' ears betrayed them as they perked up at once. He began wracking his brain for a good Hermione story.
Eventually he settled on the one where they had rescued Sirius Black in their third year.

"... Your mother stepped in front of me ... They cast a spell - and it turned out that Ron's rat, Scabbers, was really
an Animagus! And he began to beg..."

Both twins were enthralled, to Harry's delight. He had become an expert story teller to satisfy the three kids he had
watched growing up, and did voices and impressions and intonation rather well. Then he realized something.

"Wait a minute," he said, interrupting his own story. "Can you Felicians sense if someone is an Animagus?"

The boys' moods turned grim instantaneously. "You still don't trust our mother?" spat Brian.

Chris looked disappointed as well. "Scabbers would have smelt like any other rat to her. So would Mr Black as well.
Animagi smell like animals. According to Ernest Harroway's book on Felicians, There are some really doddering ol' cats
who can sometimes sniff the difference, but even they are rare."

Harry nodded, then winced as Brian began muttering about how he could possibly think that his mother would have hidden
her knowledge of Scabbers' non-rat-ness from him if she'd known.

"Why didn't Hermione tell us?" asked Harry in frustration before he could stop himself. He couldn't say, 'She could have
trusted me!' because as the aftermath of the Lust Potions had shown, she clearly could not. He had long realized that he
always put the feelings of the Weasleys, particularly Ron, ahead of Hermione's - even before any Potions had entered the
equation.

Brian huffed, doubtless thinking the same thing. Harry had no way of knowing that his twin sons had perfected the
routine of Good Cop, Bad Cop (and several variants thereof) to a fine art.

Chris deigned to explain. "She couldn't have, even if she wanted to." The implied rebuke still hurt, Harry noted.
"Felician children have a charm placed on us when we're toddlers so we can't tell anyone who doesn't already know about
us. It's removed when we're older. Eighteen, I think."

There was silence. It seemed no-one was interested in the conclusion of the Black Rescue story now.

"What does Jane do?" asked Harry after a while. "For a living?" He could not contemplate her being a simple housewife. A
complicated one, perhaps, but ...

"Research," said Chris. "At the Dublin Magical Institute. She got her Transfigurations Mastery three years ago. We
delayed it a bit," he admitted. Still, Harry was impressed. She had finished at the same time as most other people would
have, and she'd had two kids to take care of. His kids.

"We helped with her final project!" said Brian excitedly, proving he could say more than two words unaccompanied by
bile.

"Not on purpose," clarified Chris, shooting his brother a quick look.

Harry observed as Brian returned to his surly self, and for the first time realized that the dynamics of power between
the brothers was more complicated than he had been led to believe.

* * *

"Mistress Granger." The speaker was an old lynx who was a member of the High European Council. She had been summoned to
their Headquarters in Heidelberg. She was completely fine with that, since it gave her a good excuse to hang out with
German researchers working on projects similar to hers. And as she was a promising young researcher and Transfigurations
Mistress at the Dublin Magical Institute, they were glad to see her too. Besides, Southern Germans made the best
sausages in the world.

"Elder Munsch," she said with a slight inclination of her head. Cats didn't stand for much ceremony. That was for pack
animals like dogs and male humans.

"Please, come with me," he requested, though it was clearly an order. He began walking along one of the underground
corridors that criss-crossed the city. "I knew your grandparents," he said after a while. "Your maternal grandmother in
particular. One of the finest leopards I've ever met."

Hermione followed him, her curiosity piqued. Her grandparents had died before she was born, so all she had to remember
them by were photographs.

"She could strum a most exquisite waltz on her cello. Do you play? No? Pity. She had a fine sense of humour, Francesca
did. I'll never forget the time she filled our clique leader's shoes with dog shit." He chuckled, as did Hermione.

"Clique leader?" Hermione asked.

"We were in the resistance together," said the Elder. "In Holland. Good times. She introduced me to my mate, Delilah. I
owed her several favours. It was one reason I asked Dumbledore to accept you into Hogwarts. You learnt more there than
you would have learnt anywhere else. Your grandmother would have wanted it. She would have been very proud of you, you
know. Not just because you were the first non-Squib in her family in generations, but because you made good use of your
talents."

"Thank you very much," said Hermione with a slight blush. "I had no idea you were the one responsible for getting me
into Hogwarts."

"I wasn't the only one," he said. "I also know of your later ... problems with those who once called friends. And in
about, oh, twenty minutes, you will be calling me a dog."

Hermione grimaced. "Well, as long as I don't have to work with them or anything, I'm fine."

Munsch looked pityingly at her, the look on his face clearly indicating the conversion of minutes to seconds.

Hermione shook ahead to get rid of the memory. She was very close to being out of her depth here. She supposed she
wasn't the only one who had been giving the task of protecting Felician society from the rest of humanity, but that was
scant comfort. She was rapidly becoming allergic to threats.

And this would require working with Potter - she was looking forward to that like a drunk looks forward to a hangover.

She glanced at the window of her empty house (Alyx had returned to work) and then at the drinks cabinet (empty, damn you
Alyx!) because she was going to need one very quickly. And she had sworn never to cast 'alcholomenti' again...

Blast! Her treacherous cubs were bringing him in! She suddenly realized that large Animagus forms weren't built for
subtly getting away.

The door opened. The twins entered with their father. Chris was leading, causing Hermione to wince. Chris only led when
things were deadly serious.

"Hi, Mum."

Hermione nodded, her eye focused solely on Harry.

"Tell him."

Hermione sighed. She supposed it was alright for her twelve year old son to give her orders that she was going to give
herself anyway. She nodded, and then indicated to him that he and his brother should leave.

"Sit down, Potter," she said, standing up and walking around. "Drink? I've got no beer here, since my friends think I'm
an alkie."

He shook his head. Standard Auror procedure meant not drinking from strangers' houses. Or - as he was starting to
realize - from friends' houses as well. He walked around, looking idly at the things on Hermione's walls. He spotted a
painting on the wall of the Hermione he used to know, with her fully human glamour. He wondered who drew it. 1

"Hermione Jane Granger never died."

There was silence for a moment.

"I figured that was a possibility," said Harry after a while.

Hermione's eyes widened for a moment, and then she shrugged. "Figures," she said. She was still clearly shocked at the
fact that he hadn't blown up at her.

"I don't suppose a sorry at this point would suffice," said Harry after a while.

"Not really," she said with a shrug. "Would be nice, though."

"I apologize, Hermione."

She gave him a look. He tried reading it, and failed.

"How are your mustelids?"

He blinked, confused.

"Your weasels, Potter."

He knew better than to complain about either appellation.

"Good kids," he blurted before he could stop himself.

"Yes, I suppose they got the best of everything, didn't they?" sneered Hermione.

"Merlin, Hermione! If I'd known, I would have - "

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You would have gone all noble and shit. Maybe even married me or some such shit. I didn't need you,
Potter. I had funds, I had my mum delighted to babysit, I had Alyx and Kevin, I had my people. You had killed Voldemort,
you didn't need your bookworm and chief researcher any more. So don't bother mentioning the word alimony."

Harry said nothing for a while. "Should I divorce her?" he asked. He really was confused.

Hermione sighed. "You can come to love someone when you share enough experiences with them," she said, looking away.
"You're not under any coercion now. If you love her, stay with her. Forgive her."

Harry said nothing. He wanted to say something, but didn't know what to say. He figured that this wasn't the time to
mention that there were a few holes left in her whole story.

"You got a cellphone, Potter?" she asked suddenly.

"Yeah," he said. He didn't use it much, but kept it around. It was a useful device that most Muggle-borns and
half-bloods used at various degrees of frequency.

"Good. Glad to see you haven't been totally polluted by Weasley Pureblood ignorance." She scribbled a number on a
notebook and handed it to him. "That's my private number."

Harry looked at it. It was, indeed, a phone number. Plus the words, 'Bigger shit going on. Like how I learnt about the
love potions last month - and your daughter's kidnapping. Need your help. 3pm tomorrow. Cafe Socrates, Cork.' He was
surprised, but kept his poker face on. He thought she gave him an approving look. He wrote his number on a napkin to
give to her.

"I better go," he said.

She nodded. "Yeah, I suppose."

He left the house, and she heard a crack as he Disapparated.

* * *

Ginevra Molly Potter looked at her charmed communication device in dismay. It was a short message from Ron.

"Harry knows about the potions"

She sighed.

* * *

A/N: Some incredible reviews so far - thanks very much. I've not caught up to answering all of them yet, but some of
them have influenced the details of this fic.

The picture of the Elder is that of Thundercats' Lynxo, while the pictures of Harry and Hermione are from the Face
Transformer program from St Andrews.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

4. Nefertiti's Chalice

When Harry got home, his wife was waiting for him. They had a large house, with several rooms. He didn't care how large
it was, but Ginny said they needed it. And with all the people who dropped in, he could see why.

She was dressed elegantly, and looked more beautiful than ever. There was a difference between beauty and
attractiveness, Harry noted.

The positive emotions underlying their marriage had long disappeared. Harry had wondered about this sometimes, though he
had not fully understood it until today. They were together for the sake of the kids, for the sake of society. They had
separate bedrooms, though they sometimes slept together. After all, they were both virile and attractive
twenty-somethings. Both saw other people on the side by a once-spoken agreement, though they kept it discreet. Harry
thought she made more use of the agreement than he did, but he wasn't one to judge. The glamour of being married to the
Boy Who Lived had been good for Ginny, though she had soon realized that the Boy himself was far removed from his public
image.

"Guess you want me to explain, huh?" she said without preamble.

Harry looked at her, trying to discern if this was another game.

"Where are the kids?" he asked.

"Sent them away for the evening," she replied.

"To your collaborator?"

"To mum's, yes."

"So she can dose them with something to make them start hating me?"

His voice was cold, slow. Ginny shivered, though part of her wished he would show this side of this more often. Power
worked wonders as an aphrodisiac.

"When did you start dosing me and Hermione?"

Ginny blinked. Hermione? Harry knew about her? That added a new complication. Had he somehow made contact with the
brunette creature? And Hermione definitely was a creature, whatever she was. Those bloody scratches and bruises on Harry
after Hermione had shagged him couldn't have come from a human.

"Fifth year, you were in sixth," she began before Harry stopped her.

"Save it," he said. "You cannot be trusted. You'll have to take Veritaserum."

"Harry!" she cried, horrified.

"Quiet!" he hissed. He approached her, standing in front of her, unwittingly turning her on by the magic and male
strength rolling from him. "Love Potions on a member of an Ancient Family. Do you know what the penalty for Line Theft
is? What they'll do to you?"

Ginny took a few moments to get control of herself, to remind herself that while watching Harry showing his power was
all well and good, it was, well, bad when the power was aimed at her.

She stood up. "Alright," she said softly, assenting to be interrogated under truth potions later, "but come with me
first. There are some photographs you need to see."

He moved up to follow her, before stopping himself. The smell of her perfume was starting to mellow him, and he wasn't
sure if she could trust her. He didn't know if Love Potions could be sprayed but he didn't want to find out.

"Fine. Get your photographs. Be here in an hour. And wash off that stupid perfume. Don't try anything, unless you want
to be a Weasley tomorrow."

He Disapparated.

Ginny looked at the spot her husband had occupied. Her perfume merely had a calming effect. But this meant that the
Potion-filled dart that she had set up in a room upstairs wouldn't have any chance of being used.

She swore, loudly and with great variety.

* * *

Molly Weasley looked fondly at the three Potters playing in the living room with a couple of their cousins. No trace of
her internal agitation was present. She had been informed by her youngest children that her son-in-law had somehow
figured out that his marriage had been based on magical coercion.

There was a pop, and said son-in-law appeared in her doorstep.

"Harry!" she cried. "How delightful to see you! Here, you must try these cookies. I've just baked them, and they are
really good."

Her jovial demeanour was not contagious.

"Forgive me if I refuse," he bit out. "Please, explain -- Molly." That would hurt, he knew. He usually called her `Mum'.

Molly looked at him, genuinely hurt. "It was for your own good, Harry," she replied in pleading tones. "You needed love
in your life! Ginny loved you! The Dursleys starved you of it, you couldn't recognize it! All you needed was some
encouragement! It worked with Arthur!"

"Do I look like Arthur to you?" he asked. "Your daughter never loved me. She loved the Boy Who Lived. It is our choices
that make us what we are. And you took my choices away from me." He moved as if to say more, but stopped himself.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but it was for your own good. And you will realize that one day. We've provided all the love
you've ever known, haven't we?"

Harry looked at her, slowly comprehending that she genuinely believed she held the moral upper hand. While he was still
blinking in disbelief, there was the sound of an owl in the window.

"Oh, it's Groucho!" yapped Molly as she theatrically rushed to the window. Any distraction from their unwelcome
confrontation would be good at that point. "I wonder what the twins have to say!"

Harry winced. He wasn't too keen to hear from them either, if their reaction at him accusing their mother of dosing him
with Amortentia (or whatever variant thereof) was any judge.

If he had been watching the Marxist-named owl more carefully - or at all - he would have noticed the scarlet colour of
the letter.

"MUM! HOW DARE YOU DOSE HARRY WITH A LOVE POTION! AND HERMIONE GRANGER TOO! HE HAS DONE SO MUCH FOR OUR FAMILY AND THIS
IS HOW YOU REPAY HIM? WE ARE ASHAMED TO BE CALLED YOUR CHILDREN! WE ARE CALLING A FAMILY MEETING FOR TOMORROW AT 7PM AT
FRED'S HOUSE AND YOU WILL BE THERE! HOW COULD YOU, MOLLY IMPEDIMENTA PREWETT WEASLEY?"

There are some moments in life that are meant to be treasured. Harry had a few, like Dudley's arms flailing madly as he
vainly tried to stop himself falling into the boa's zoo habitat, Hagrid telling him he was a wizard, his first sight of
Hogwarts, Hermione's entrance in the Great Hall after being woken up from being Petrified, Draco doing his ferret
impression, Remus' shocked expression when Tonks proposed to him ... and now Molly receiving a Howler from Fred and
George.

Not to mention that the twins' support was a pleasant surprise.

With his mother-in-law still in shock, he walked out of the house into the backyard, hoping to get some time to think.
His feet unconsciously took him to the back of the garden shed, and from then on, the sound of children led him on. His
subconscious hopes that his day would get better - or at become less eventful - were rapidly doing their Saharan Ice
Cube impression.

Childhood bullying is something no parent wants their kid to come into contact with. Harry was no exception, having been
the victim of Dudley et al's unwelcome attentions in primary school and at home.

In front of him, a child lay crying on the ground, while two children laughed at him and held a ball out of his reach.
The child's sister was crying too, trying to help her brother, but she was held back by another girl... a girl who was
supposed to be recovering from her own ordeal at the power of others stronger than her.

Perhaps the only thing worse than discovering your child is being bullied is your child doing the bullying.

The seven year old on the ground was Kenneth Weasley. He was a stiff, small, bespectacled boy, as one would expect of
the son of Percy Weasley. He wasn't the most popular of the young Weasley clan either. His sister, Katherine Weasley,
was quickly released by Amy Potter, and rushed to his side.

Harry turned slowly to look at Amelie, Nicholas, and Nigel Potter. Amelie looked flustered, Nicholas looked embarassed,
and Nigel defiant.

The temperature dropped.

Amelie began hugging her shoulders. Nicholas stepped back, suddenly realizing why his father (who was normally a quiet
bloke who was fun to play with) was called The Man Who Conquered.

Even Nigel began to look a tad uneasy. He was even more ill at ease when his father stepped to him, lifted him up, and
looked into his eyes. He felt himself recall the events that had just happened, his taunting of Kenneth and Katherine,
taking their ball, knocking Kenneth's glasses off with a quick fist, laughing at them because 'No one would believe the
children of Uncle Percy over those of Harry Potter', and ...

... and then he was frozen, Petrified in place. He had not seen his father say anything or take out his wand. If his
bladder hadn't been petrified as well, he would have lost control of it.

Amy began to cry - silently, with tears streaming down her face and her Petrified mouth unable to say anything. Harry
quickly released her, but and also released Nicholas' Petrification above the waist. Nigel, the ringleader, was left
alone.

There was a pop, signalling Ginny's arrival. Like Harry, she had a charm that activated whenever their children were
Hexed.

She was clearly surprised to see her husband there, and soon realized that he had been the one doing the Hexing. As Amy
rushed sobbing into her arms, she gave Harry an interrogating look. His upheld palm silenced her.

He walked over to the two victimized Weasleys, who were looking rather bewildered by the turn of events.

"Kenneth? Katherine?" he asked as calmly as he could. "I am sorry that my kids bullied you. I'll make sure they don't do
it again. Now, why don't you go back into the house and tell Grandma Molly that us Potters have gone home. And yes, you
can tell anyone you want about this, alright? If my children have been bullying anyone else, I'd like to know."

The two wide-eyed kids nodded nervously and scampered off in the direction of the Burrow dwelling. They looked back a
couple of times, and Harry soon realized that while they were scared of his son, they were terrified of him.

Harry Potter gritted his teeth.

He turned to his family. Fortunately, his soon-to-be-ex-wife seemed to be on his side, if the glare she was casting at
Nigel Potter was any judge.

* * *

As Hermione knocked on the door of the Egyptian curse breaker that was also on her team, she recalled the first time she
had heard of Alisha El Masri. They had met a couple of times since, and had a lot in common, including a begrudging
respect (a.k.a. respectful loathing) of their Felician Elders.

"Have you heard of the Golden Paw movement, Mistress Granger?" asked the member of the High European Felician Council
that she had internally dubbed Throaty.

Hermione nodded. But no-one spoke up again, making her realize that they wanted her to say something. It had taken years
for her to wear down the urge of displaying her knowledge; being surrounded by knowledgeable researchers instead of two
academically lazy boys certainly helped.

"They are a group of Felicians who believe that we are superior to humans and should not be hiding from them. They
allied with Grindelwald seventy years ago, a move that greatly backfired on them within our community. They now believe
in somewhat forceful reintegration of Felicians within Wizarding society, with us near the top of the food chain. They
are still very much a minority group, but their message has a certain appeal for the younger generation."

She halted, and then raised her eyebrows to silently ask if that was adequate.

"Quite so," said Throaty, "well summarized. Textbook-like, really. You did miss one point, though. You were a
dues-paying member of the Golden Paw about twelve years ago, is that not?"

Hermione stiffened. "I was young and angry," she said stoically. When their faces remained unexpressive, she added, "The
Irish Council had forbidden me from trying to make further contact with my best friend, with the father of my cubs. My
other human friends had betrayed me or thought I had betrayed them. I had a right to be angry!"

"Calm down, Transfigurations Mistress Granger," said an ancient lioness that hadn't spoken so far. Thinking of her
former teacher, Hermione dubbed her Mini. "We all made errors when we were young. You just happen to be closer to those
years than we are."

"She withheld information!" said Throaty, raising her voice. "And she is still doing so!"

"Indeed she did," said Munsch. "Perhaps," he pondered, scratching his chin, "she could tell us why"

"I was testing you," offered Hermione rashly, the qualities that had thrown her into Gryffindor coming to a fore at an
inopportune moment. "For all I know, you are going to ask me to jump into a vat of acid or sell my cubs into slavery. I
wanted to see how much you knew."

"On a matter of semi-public record?" questioned Mini. "Surely you know that we keep close tabs on such matters. No, I
think you were so ashamed of your membership that you did not wish to admit to it."

"Or you're still a closet member," muttered Throaty. "And she has not admitted to everything!"

Hermione winced, figuring that they knew about her past relationship with Martin Riordan, one of the current leaders of
the movement. She had ended it when she realized just how militant he was.

"We have dwelt upon this long enough," intoned Munsch. The other two members of the Council, who had remained silent so
far, nodded.

Throaty agreed, with obvious reluctance, and looked condescendingly at Hermione. "Our sources indicate that Golden Paw
members are searching for Nefertiti's Chalice."

Hermione blinked. Her knowledge of Egyptian relics was rusty. The Chalice rang a bell, but it was a very small bell and
she had no clue where it was within the inner reaches of her mind. She did recall that Nefertiti was a very powerful
Egyptian Witch, possibly the most powerful. She was an expert in both Dark and Light Magic, and Egyptologists were still
investigating her work.

"I see you are in need of some education," gloated Throaty. Behind her, there was a thud as an old lion placed a large
collection of tomes and probably-classified files on top of his table. "Suffice it to say for now that her Chalice is
really a Cauldron. She infused it with a small part of her soul, so that it is by far the most Magical Cauldron in
existence, so I often call it Nefertiti's Cauldron. You can use it to brew nearly anything you can think of."

"It's a Horcrux?" blurted Hermione.

Throaty motioned to the old lion with the books. Hermione dubbed him Librarian, though it did not appear he would be
saying Oook anytime soon.

"It is not a Horcrux," answered Librarian, "though Nefertiti certainly knew how to create one. It is suspected that
Cleopatra was her reincarnation in that sense, but --- I digress. It is a complex soul spell that has not been found in
any of her known journals." He then looked at Throaty for permission to explain further. She replied with a curt nod.
"Now, there are several possible Potions that can be brewed with it. In particular, Potions to turn Felicians into
Wizards and vice versa."

"What?" shouted Hermione, in full Researcher Mode. "That's impossible! And how would you know? Did she document it?"

The Librarian nodded. "She did. It's in one of her newer notebooks, written in High Felician." He held his hand up to
quell her protests. "We are well aware that this is a few thousand years before High Felician was supposed to have
existed. The best theory at the moment is that Nefertiti created High Felician. And possibly, Felicians."

It was an intriguing theory, Hermione knew. Given the high regard with which cats were held in Egypt, she could easily
see a brilliant experimental witch like Nefertiti investigating the possibility of infusing humans with feline
qualities.

"How old is the journal?" she asked suddenly.

Librarian was clearly impressed with the question. "Yes, I should have know you would ask that. The answer is that we're
not sure. At least several centuries, say a thousand years, old. There are several preservation spells on it that we
cannot fully analyze."

Throaty took control of the floor again. "Perhaps we should tell you what your mission is, Mistress Granger."

Hermione blinked.

"You will lead a group of three other individuals to find Nefertiti's Chalice. We will give you our best research on the
question of where it is, and you will find it and destroy it."

"Destroy it?" asked Hermione. "You lot don't want it?"

"That is not your concern," said Throaty. "Suffice it to say that we have had much animated discussion on that topic,
and the final conclusion was that such power was too much for any one to wield. Including ourselves. All power corrupts,
and we are not exceptions to that rule."

Hermione bit back the words `And what makes you think you can trust me?' Instead she asked, "Who are my team members?"
She did not bother mentioning that she would accept the task. Her Researcher self would kick herself for the rest of her
life if she refused.

"Potions Master Petr Ivanovic from Serbia, Curse Breaker Alisha El Masri from Egypt, and Harry Potter."

"WHAT?" cried Hermione. "POTTER? WHY?" She sent a particularly scathing glare at Munsch, who shrugged. He HAD warned
her.

"Nefertiti was a Parselmouth," countered Throaty. "And it is highly possible that you will need a source of Magical
Power to draw upon on some occasions.

Hermione considered this. They were both valid points --- too valid. On the other hand, Harry would never work with her,
so she didn't have to worry about anything, right?

"We are well aware of the disagreement you had with Mr Potter and his adopted family a dozen years ago," said Mini,
taking over the floor. "We have investigated it ourselves, in fact."

Mini went on to describe the series of potions that Hermione and (mostly) Harry had been subjected to many years ago.
Hermione listened in disbelief.

"How did you find this out?" she spluttered eventually. "And when?" she added more suspiciously.

"That is none of your concern," responded Mini, though a box appeared in front of Hermione. "You'll find all the proof
you need in that box. Take it home. Show it to anyone you please."

Hermione looked at the box, making no attempt to touch it. But her resistance was wearing down, even if eventual
agreement on her part was more likely to be the result of exhaustion and Hobson's Choice than anything else.

"You'll have a tough time getting him to listen to me though," she sighed.

"Don't worry about that, Mistress Granger," said Throaty with a wide smirk. "Now tell us, how good are you at
Transfiguring large scary-looking animals?"

* * *

A/N: Thanks to all who've reviewed so far - I really do appreciate it! Especially the longer reviews that tell me what
I've done wrong (or right), or cut-and-paste their favourite lines, etc.

Also, I do hate Ginny, but it's too easy to portray her as someone who does everything wrong or Harry or Hermione as
people who do everything right.

Hermione could be more forgiving of Harry, for example, since she knows he was not quite himself.

Also, I'm doing my best to avoid the cliched fic where people are all hung up on each other after a decade. That doesn't
happen in real life - at least not for as long as ten years. People move on.

That said, Hermione's really not ever gotten over Harry's betrayal of her. She thought for ten years that he had
betrayed her; two weeks of knowing that there was more to it doesn't change that overnight.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

5. The Curse Breaker

A/N: Amy, Nigel, and Nicholas really are Harry's kids - it would be too easy and convenient to do otherwise.

* * *

"Alisha El Masri?"

The woman who answered the door was human and middle aged. She shook her head when Hermione repeated the Curse Breaker's
name to her. She said something in Arabic and, upon realizing Hermione didn't understand her, pointed to herself and
said her name.

"Salaam, Mrs Huskipa," replied Hermione to the older woman. "Thank you," she added upon being invited in. She made sure
to take her shoes off. She was led to a spacious living room that was furnished in both Western and Egyptian styles.
Being a Curse Breaker paid well - no surprise there. It occurred to Hermione that she was probably the poorest of her
team members. Well, at least no-one would be approaching her for a `loan to tide me over till next payday'.

"Mistress Granger?"

Hermione looked up to see an amply padded raven-haired witch with a beaming smile. El Masri was dressed simply, and for
the weather. The interior of the house was pleasantly cool, despite the intentional lack of air conditioning.

"Breaker El Masri," replied Hermione with a smile. She stepped forward to exchange a chaste kiss and two sniffs with the
Egyptian Felician. The greeting was standard between two female Felicians who had never met before. "You have a nice
home. And please, call me Hermione."

"Alisha," responded the Curse Breaker, who then added a tad uncertainly, "I have been told that the proper action right
now is to show you where my library is."

Hermione grinned. She didn't mind certain reputations preceding her.

"Follow me," said Alisha with a grin.

Alisha's apartment was, naturally, larger on the inside than on the outside. Even so, Hermione was surprised at the many
corridors they walked down, and remarked upon this.

"Hunh?" asked Alisha, not comprehending at once. "Oh, I see! That's easily explained. Let's see if I can show you - ah!
Here we are!" She opened a door, and then shut it very, very quickly, yipping out an apology in a language that sounded
a lot less guttural than Arabic. The yelling coming from behind the door didn't sound like Arabic. Hermione didn't have
much time to analyze it, however, since Alisha had desperately grabbed her hand and dragged her into another room two
doors away.

"What are you -- "

"In here!"

Hermione looked around. She was now in a dark grim cell, with a dripdripdrip coming from some danky looking corner.

"You've got a Portal Corridor!' Hermione cried excitedly. "I've been trying forever to get hooked to one of those! How
did you get onto it?"

"Old family," mumbled Alisha, who was still wondering if they were safe from the amorous couple she had so rudely
interrupted. "My great something grandfather was good with the bribes."

"Good with the bribes?"

"He knew who to bribe. You can waste an awful lot of money bribing the wrong people, you know. Or bribing dishonest
people who then sell you out to someone who bribes them more afterwards. Got to make sure you bribe honest folks, you
know."

"Ah," said Hermione, who clearly did not know. She supposed it made sense though - she had read Huntington. Bribery was
alright as long as it was done systematically. She was a great believer in systematicity, even if the word was too long
to be of much use to Scrabble players. "Where are we now?"

Alisha shrugged. "No idea," she said. "Though if this is how they receive visitors, I wouldn't want to be a visitor."
She peeked outside for a moment. "It's safe. Let's go."

Hermione blinked, and followed her. As she found herself back in the corridor, she looked at the door Alisha had opened
earlier. She didn't ask what Alisha had found - the blush on the Curse Breaker's face was enough.

"Shouldn't you have knocked?" she asked. "And why wasn't it locked?"

"I thought it was a different door," admitted Alisha sheepishly. Hermione refrained from saying, `That much was
obvious'. "As for the locking," she shrugged, "it's every occupant's responsibility to add their own locks. Knocking is
optional, in an optional sort of way."

The witches looked at each other, mutually declared the topic closed until further notice, and continued on the way to
the Library.

"Where we're going," asked Hermione, "this library, it's public then?"

"It's a family library," answered Alisha. "I'm not the only El Masri in this Corridor."

The Curse Breaker cast a spell that was surprisingly familiar. Hermione figured she'd learnt Muffliato from Bill
Weasley, who had learnt it from Harry or Ron. Her research on Alisha said she had worked with Bill for a few years in
the past. "Who else is on our team?"

"Petr Ivanovic," replied Hermione. "He does Potions. Educated at Durmstrang and the Magical Sorbonne The second youngest
Potions Master this century, after Severus Snape. He's a tiger like me. I've never met him though. He writes good
popular Potions articles."

"Oh yeah," said Alisha. "My brother reads that stuff. I can't stand it myself. My boggart's a cauldron, and it's usually
melted."

"You would have been great friends with Neville Longbottom," said Hermione wryly, thinking of the long deceased
Herbology whiz. "Snape was his boggart. Literally. Saw it myself."

"Ah, boggarts! Well, on other days, my boggart is a saucepan. Not fair, really, it ought to be all the eggs I burnt
while trying to boil them. Thank goodness for Ernest and Benni!"

"Benni? Ernest?"

"Benjali Ahmed. My housekeeper. You met her, actually. She's a nice Squib, comes once a week to keep up appearances for
the neighbours. The real source of order in my life is Ernest McNamara. He's the House Elf who turns up every day other
than today." She didn't bother saying how much she paid him. Free (and paid and happy) House Elves were the norm in
Felician Society.

"Your housekee - oh!" said Hermione, slightly embarassed at having thought that her name was Benjali Huskipa earlier.

Alisha didn't enquire as to the cause of Hermione's flushed face. "So, who's number four?" she asked instead.

Hermione grimaced. "Harry Potter."

Alisha almost stopped walking in shock. The look on her face moved from shock to awe to adding two plus two to make four
to realization to sympathy.

"Does he know yet?" she finally asked. Hermione was grateful for the lack of questions.

"That he's on our team? No. I'm telling him tomorrow. That I'm innocent? Yes, he's seen the evidence now."

Alisha said nothing, but gave her team leader a good one-armed hug and vowed to pummel Bill Weasley for information
later on.

* * *

"I hit the freak! I get two points!"

"But you didn't knock him down! You only knocked his glasses off! That's one point!"

Meanwhile, the object of their attentions was still running. It was a little messy-haired runt, clutching his dirtied
broken glasses for dear life. Nigel Potter watched, shocked, as the boy who was clearly his father ran from half a dozen
boys and girls intent on using him for target practice.

"Why didn't you fight back, dad?" Nigel asked, though he realized it was a silly question.

"I did, a couple of times," replied his father. "Managed to get Piers' nose bleeding. Uncle Vernon broke my arm when I
got home. I'll show that to you another day, if you like."

Nigel said nothing, clearly having great difficulty reconciling the victimized boy in the Pensieve memory with the
mighty wizard that was his father.

"There will always be people weaker than you and people stronger than you," stated his father. "If you must fight,
choose the latter, because the former is too easy. Only a coward takes the easy way out."

Nigel hung his head, chastened.

"Your grandfather - my father - was a bully too. But he got over it, otherwise Grandma wouldn't have married him. It's
in your blood to be a bully and a coward. You have to be strong to get over it."

Indeed, the further memories Harry had obtained of his father had not been completely favourable to the Marauders'
memory. He wondered, especially with the most recent revelations, if James Potter had used a Love Potion on Lily Evans.
He hoped not.

On the other hand, if that had been the case, then he'd have one more thing in common with Amy, Nicholas, and Nigel -
and Tom Riddle. Child of a Love Potion.

No - his kids were different. They had parents who lived and loved them, even if said parents didn't love each other.

* * *

After a few extra identification tests (based on magic, blood, and DNA) and a couple of oaths (one by Hermione when she
stubbed her toe), Alisha looked at the information packet Hermione dumped in front of her.

They were both in the El Masri library (where appropriate oohs and aahs had been uttered by the impressed Tigerwitch)
and had cast numerous privacy spells to augment those already present in the room.

"I had envisioned a situation where you gathered the four of us in a room and told us everything at once," commented
Alisha, "though I'm certainly not complaining. Did you make copies of everything then? Or just of the stuff we need to
know?"

Hermione gave her a wry grin. "This isn't Mission Impossible... you know."

Alisha began humming, perhaps in response to the last two words.

"Urgh, no! Schifrin's tune is great, but if I hear it one more time I'll go nuts! To answer your question, this is most
of what I know. I'm not telling you everything until we get one more binding oath in. No offence, but I'm low on trust."

The Egyptian witch shrugged. "Don't blame you. This is enough to keep me going for a while. Got any clues as to where
we'll begin our search? Or what curses you expect me to break?"

"The Bastards," Hermione responded, referring to the Council who had ordered her on this mission, "have been following
Golden Paw groups searching for it. Two are in Egypt, one in Giza, one in Alexandria. There's a third group in Berlin
and a fourth group in Yemen."

"A large spread," commented Alisha, surprised.

"Quite. And there will probably be more groups tracking us. Say, you've got Emergency Portkeys and all?"

"Of course. Never leave home without it. Might get stuck inside a tomb or in my lover's closet when his wife gets home."

Hermione blinked, and decided not to press that issue further. "Right. Now, the Chalice has a wee part of Nef's soul in
it. There must be magic on tracking that."

"That's ... optimistic!" countered Alisha, deciding on a word more polite than `bloody f--king stupid'. "You have no
clue what it's like. Her soul fragment, I mean."

Hermione shook her head. "I read a lot about soul pieces and how to destroy them. That was a long time ago, but I went
back and checked some of it. I also read some of her journal. She had to do some experiments before she created the
Chalice. Using ths souls of slaves. She created other objects. If we could find those, we might find out something about
how the soul is warped in such spells. Then use that to create a better tracker."

Alisha considered this. "That makes sense," she said slowly. "The Council has other people tracking the Paw people? Oh,
good. "But you still need to find one of these experimental pieces, don't you?"

"Ah!" said Hermione triumphantly. "But I have!" She placed a photograph down. "It was in her journal. With some
deductive reasoning."

"I don't believe it," said the wide eyed Curse Breaker. "I really don't. Can you show me how you got to this
conclusion?"

"Certainly," replied Hermione, getting a few more papers out of her files. The two witches settled down to a nice
session of intellectual argument and detective work.

* * *

Bill Weasley was now the Head of the Weasley Family. It wasn't a gender thing; his mother could not have been Head since
she wasn't born a Weasley. His father had died in the War, as had Charlie and Percy. And from what the twins had told
him, he was rather glad his father and favourite brother - Charlie, not Percy, even if the latter had been a spy for
Dumbledore on the Ministry - was here to see this.

They were gathered in Fred's house. Harry had offered Pensieve memories of what his youngest brother had said under
Veritaserum, and then had Ginny take some as well to answer further questions. They did not subject his mother to the
same indignity, but was primarily because they did not need to.

"The Weasley Family has done you a great disservice," said Bill formally, aiming his contrite words at Harry. Around
him, Fred and George nodded. Ron was silent and staring elsewhere. Molly was still furious, but Bill had Silenced her a
long time ago. In truth, he was rather horrified at her adamant insistence that Harry and Ginny were very much in love
and that no harm had been done. He wondered if she was the only one who had not realized long ago that the Potter
marriage was more like a traditional loveless Pureblood arranged marriage than anything else.

"What do you wish of us?" asked Bill. It was an open-ended question. Theoretically, Harry could ask for the Weasley name
to be wiped off the earth.

"A divorce," Harry replied promptly. Molly jumped up, her maw open in a silent wail. Bill stunned her, which caused even
Fred and George to gape. "Ginevra loses the Potter name. The children keep it. I get custody of them. Visiting rights by
their mother are at my discretion, and can be none."

"WHAT!" yelled Ginny. "They're my kids too! They need me!" She had expected the divorce. Now she was just a mother - a
mother who had made a huge mistake a long time ago - fighting for her children.

"NO!" Harry yelled back. "Not any more! You tricked me! You're lucky I'm not sending you to Azkaban for this! So just
shut up!"

An awkward silence descended on the room.

"Who's going to mother them?"

"Nobody," replied Harry. "I'm quitting my job. I'll take care of them."

This time it was Ron's turn to protest, though he quailed when Harry turned his icy gaze towards him.

"Say something, Ronald?" hissed Harry. "I thought you were my friend. You're no better than Scabbers. Is it the lot of
all Potters to be betrayed by their friends? Just - stay away. After today, if I ever see you near me again, you'll be a
testing bed for every scrotal Hex I know."

Bill coughed. "Would you like an official restraining order on certain individuals, Mr Potter?" he offered. "To prevent
them from ever trying to communicate with you?"

"Yes," mused Harry. "Good idea. Gin, Ron, and Molly. Now, what about Hermione? We tore her reputation to shreds based on
what these liars here said.

"How do you want this to play in the Press?" asked Fred.

Harry paused. He had thought long and hard about this. The problem was that whatever public punishment he laid on Ginny,
it would reflect on his kids. Did he want his kids to be known as the children of a Love Potion? No -- but then he
remembered what he had seen in Nigel's memories, of his kids saying that they could do anything since they were Harry
Potter's kids. And he remembered the other two sons he had, who had grown into kids he'd like to know better despite (or
was it because?) having a single parent.

"What about if we just say that I was dosed till I got married?" suggested Harry. As everyone at the table knew, he had
been dosed until the birth of Nigel and Amy. But this way, only the marriage would be blamed on the Love Potions.

George and Fred looked at each other, then at Bill. He was already nodding thoughtfully. They did likewise.

"Good," said Harry. "I'll have to have a press conference to that effect." His Auror work had made such public
announcements more common, though not less palatable.

Ginny was relieved. Despite all this, her children would still be the primary Potter heirs...

"Hermione has two twin boys," continued the Boy Who Lived. "They are mine. When that lot made us f--k each other, she
fell pregnant. She tried to tell me about it, but Ginny intercepted her letters. She raised them by herself. They are my
oldest, my Heirs."

The Weasleys' jaws - other than those of Fred and George (and a still stupefied Molly) - dropped. Ginny made a small
sound that sounded like a horrified 'No!'

"She could have found a way to contact you without Ginny's interference, could she not?" said Bill after he'd recovered.

"She didn't want to," replied Harry, who had no idea that the Felicians had stopped Hermione from trying to contact him
afterwards. "After what we did to her, I don't blame her. I don't even know if the kids will accept being called
Potters. They think I'm dog shit."

"You've talked to Ms Granger recently, then?" asked Bill, still keeping his salutations formal. "And your other two
children?"

"Yes," answered Harry. He thought for a moment, and then smirked. "You know, she has the right to challenge Ginny and
Ron to a duel in public, for screwing her reputation. I'd pay to watch that."

* * *

A/N: Regarding the whole bribery issue, some may have noticed the reference to the quote "An honest politician is one
who, when bought, will stay bought." Hermione has read Samuel Huntington's 1968 work Political Order in Changing
Societies, which suggests that the way bribes 'grease the wheels of commerce' in overly bureaucratic societies is a good
thing. This isn't always agreed with (or true) but it's an interesting viewpoint. As someone said about football (the
real version, not Aussie or Yankee Rules), 'If both sides decide to cheat, then cheating is legal'. But we digress...
(and no, I've not read it myself, so let's not get into a discussion of it).

The next update may be a while. Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing, particularly Cateagle ;) In the meantime,
Hermione fans can enjoy these lists of Betrayed!Hermione fics and Buffyverse/Grangerverse crossovers.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

6. Cafe Socrates

A/N: Btw, some readers have got the impression that Hermione is a stay-at-home mother. Perhaps it's because she lives in
the middle of nowhere? In any case, it's not true. She's a working mother. She studied for years, got a Transfigurations
Mastery, and is now a researcher. She has friends and family (her mum's alive, not her dad) who helped raise her cubs.
She's had boyfriends and stuff, even if her issues at Harry's betrayal (both real and perceived) of her were more buried
than gotten over.

* * *

Cafe Socrates was one of those student-run places where the coffee was cheap, the scones rivalled Hagrid's, and the
salad was a microbiologist's paradise. Naturally, Hermione loved it.

Harry got there a minute early, but he found Hermione already there. She was wearing her human glamour, and looked like
an older version of the teenager he remembered, her hair proud and bushy as always. She had no makeup on other than an
attitude. Her white shirt was loose and billowy, while her black-jeans-clad legs were folded and placed on the table.
Half the males in the cade cast occasional glances her way. So did the staff, but whenever they approached her to tell
her to get her feet off the table, they remembered something else they had to do.

Harry watched her for a while before going to the cafe counter. After placing an order for a large black coffee, he
headed to her seat. She didn't look up from the newspaper she was reading.

"Manchester United won again," she said with a small smile. "And here's the cryptic crossword, nine letters, `Insult a
dead head', any ideas?"

"Er, what?" asked Harry intelligently. "And since when do you follow footie? More important, why United?"

"I think their manager's cute," she replied. "Ah! Numbskull!"

Harry chose not to comment on the timing of that particular clue. "You think Alex Ferguson is cute?"

"Of course not," she said with an alarming giggle. "That would be wrong." She gave a mock shudder. "I was just checking
how Mugglized you still were."

"Pub Nights with Dean, Justin and Seamus," he replied. "And Ron, though I doubt he'll show up any more. We usually go to
Muggle hangouts, there are so many more of them."

"Ah, how is my favourite dickhead?" she asked sweetly.

"St Mungo's," replied Harry. "I Hexed his balls off." He looked around suddenly, wondering about their privacy.

"Muffliato," she answered in response to the unspoken question. "Now, details, please."

It might have occurred to them that nearly twenty years ago, three little Gryffindors met on a train and became thicker
than thieves - then it was two against one, and now the identities of the two were changing. Fortunately, their minds
remained blissfully free of such nostalgia.

"I told you already," he replied with a smile. "I really did Hex Ron's balls off. He's at St Mungo's trying to get them
reattached. He tried to explain things to me before the restraining order goes into effect. Something about how I
couldn't divorce Ginny because I owed it to the Weasleys."

"Divorce already?" asked Hermione, her eyebrows raised. She ignored Ron's balls, which were probably small and
definitely irrelevant. "And the sprogs?"

"I'm getting full custody," he answered. "She'll never see them again."

Hermione frowned at him, but said nothing.

"What?" he said.

She shrugged. "Nothing. Obviously, the Love Potion also affects her love for her children, right? Meaning that she
doesn't love them at all. And they don't love her either. And they won't miss her or ever need her. They won't ever look
at you and spit on you and scream that they want their mu --"

"Alright!" he cried in exasperation. "I get the bloody point! I'll give her visiting rights!"

Hermione thought of saying some more, but desisted. She needed to see more of the situation herself before she could
pass certain judgement. Part of her hated Ginny, part of her didn't care because time had healed many wounds, and part
of her said that no matter what sins a mother had committed, keeping her from her children was to be avoided unless she
was an unfit mother.

Besides, Harry might be needing a babysitter soon.

"I'm part of the group who kidnapped Amy." She had been holding this in for a while, debating how to say it. Eventually
she decided for the direct approach. Now she waited for him to blow up. And, his face was turning an odd colour, but he
hadn't slapped her yet. Perhaps it was the location, though he would hardly let that stop him if he wanted to. No, the
more likely option would be that he would leave. Which was why she had been ordered by the Felicians never to tell him
this. But she was unwilling to keep a secret of this nature away from him.

Harry's face returned to his normal pale brown colour. "Explain," he said stonily.

Apparently Harry had grown up at least a bit, willing to hear an explanation before jumping to conclusions. She focused
on trying to explain the story in as few words as possible.

"First off, she was never in any danger. But she had to think she was in danger so that I would be the heroic rescuer
who her daddy wanted to thank. And her daddy would come with his Auror partner, hopefully. In which case I would get to
explain my side of the story, with proof. It wasn't my plan, but I did go along with it. I didn't have more than a
couple of nightmares about Fluffy when I was eleven, so I figured that the mental trauma of seeing a Transfigured Fluffy
wouldn't be too much. Can't say I feel good about it, but my mission required you to believe in my innocence."

"You knew about the Love Potions?" asked Harry after an angry silence. Evidently he'd decided not to call her on scaring
his daughter. "And who are you working with? Or for?"

"I learnt about them two weeks ago," she replied. "I wouldn't have let you alone for years if I'd known before. All I
knew was that I'd been given a Lust Potion by someone. I was flattered enough to think that you wouldn't need one to
f--k me, but evidently you did." She went on before he could say anything. "I'm working for the European Felician
Council. That's the bunch of old biddies who are like our mini-Wizengamot for Europe. We keep our society even more
secret than yours, but you probably know that already."

Harry nodded, saying nothing. He had always been a good listener, Hermione recalled.

"There's a weapon out there that needs to be destroyed. They decided I was to lead it. And that it would be useful to
have a powerful Parselmouth on it too. In other words, you - the rest of the team are Felician. They know of our history
- who doesn't? - and did some investigation. They found you were a victim of Potions and shit, and told me. Believe me,
I would never have approached you otherwise. You hurt me, Potter."

"And you weren't the only one hurt," he countered. "We're both victims here. And how does that give you the right to
scare my daughter?"

"It doesn't," she responded. "No right at all. They didn't want me to tell you about their role in that, but I'm telling
you anyway."

"Why? To gain my trust?"

"Harry," she said, her frustration preventing her from noticing her use of his first name, "I'm not in favour of having
you on this mission." This wasn't wholly true, but she ignored that little detail. "Yes, I'm glad you're away from the
Weasels, I'm glad you finally have a chance to find love, a chance you should have had yonks ago. I'm also happy with my
life, and my kids, and -"

"What's the mission?" he asked, interrupting her rambling and self-justification.

She shook her head, a tad embarassed at having been caught out. ""A cup. It can - maybe - be used to turn Wizards into
Felicians and vice versa. It was made several thousand years ago by a powerful Parselmouth."

"Ah," he replied. "I see. And I'm the only Parselmouth you know?"

"There are a couple others in China and Argentina," she replied, "but the Council thought that they might need a magical
source of power as well."

"Wonderful. I always wanted to be a battery when I grew up."

They were silent for a while, sipping their coffees in silence.

"Explain to me some more why I should give a shit about this," said Harry. "I'm resigning as an Auror so I can spend
time with my kids - the three I've known about. Why should I go gallivanting off on some mission?"

Hermione nodded in understanding. "Some Felicians think all Wizards and Witches should be killed, or at least that we
should be treated equally - though it's usually as superiors. Nobody wants to be treated like Werewolves. Anyway, those
Felicians are looking for this cup too. If they find it, they'll have enough power to hunt your lot down, maybe convert
witches and wizards to Felicians. The elders don't want that."

Harry considered this. He had to admit, the case was more compelling now. "Screw the elders," he said, noting that
Hermione didn't appear to be much of a fan of them either. "What are you in for?"

"Curiosity," she said. "It's possible that this cup was used to create Felicians in the first place. It's from ancient
Egypt. I've not yet considered the other implications. But the Golden Paw gets it, your world will be changed."

"The Golden Paw?" he said suddenly. "That name sounds familiar." He took out a small device from his pocket and began
using his wand subtly with it. "Yeah, we've got listed under Organizations To Watch." He looked up, hoping to see
Hermione looking curiously at the device. She was trying hard not to, but a few subtle glances gave her away. "Yeah,
we're not as backward as you'd like to think. It's standard Auror issue now."

"Touche," she replied. "Delighted to see you lot catching up to Muggle technology."

Harry shrugged. "You really hate our guts, don't you?"

Hermione toyed with her cup, and decided to empty it. "Do you know when I found I was pregnant? It was in hospital. I
was in hospital. I had tried to commit suicide, but mucked up my silencing charms and my friend Alyx found me and
slashed the rope I was using to try and hang myself."

Harry got the message. Yes, he'd been wronged. But she had been wronged even more than he had. He could have tried to
find her, to hear her side of the story, in the past eight or so years since he'd received his last dose of Love Potion
- but he didn't. "Alright, fine," he said, grimacing. "I owe you. Not that I didn't owe you before, for saving my arse
at Hogwarts a zillion times, but I owe you again for believing you would give me a Lust Potion and for rescuing me from
my ex. I'll come on your bloody mission!"

Hermione lifted her empty coffee mug in mock salute. "Yippee," she remarked. After a few moments, she sighed. "Thanks,
Harry. I do appreciate it." She held out a hand. "New start?"

Highly relieved, he shook her hand with a broad grin. "Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."

"Hermione Granger. Charmed," she drawled.

He looked at her for a while, and then remembered their first meeting - even if those words weren't addressed to him at
the time. He chuckled. "Walk?" he asked.

Hermione looked at her empty mug for the fourth time. "Yeah," she replied. She got up and placed her chair back under
the table. "I really do appreciate it, you know. We've got a Curse Breaker - Alisha El Masri, an acquaintaince of Bill,
I think - and a Potions Master too. Name's Petr Ivanovic. And me, a Transfigurations Mistress. But we're almost
certainly going to be followed, and having an Auror around will be helpful. It's not going to be just a Parselmouth
thing, though I can guarantee that Alisha's going to pummel you with questions on that. Hey, maybe I can set you up with
her!"

Harry gave her a mock glare. She giggled.

"Awww, poor Harry. No worries, I'll protect you from the big bad cat." They crossed the road and began heading towards a
park where Hermione knew there were always some ducks waiting to be chased, no, fed. "Siamese. Alisha is a Siamese cat.
And Ivanovic is a jaguar."

"There's something I don't understand," said Harry, taking a detour in their conversation. "Why aren't there more...
mongrels? I mean, if a tiger Felician marries a lion Felician, do you get a tigon Felician? Everything I've read says
you lot always have a - er - pure feline form."

Hermione glanced at him, not failing to notice the reference to research. "Nice question, Harry. Quite simply, we don't
know. It's got something to do with magic - our feline selves don't show up till the child is about three or four
anyway. If only one parent is Felician, the kids take that parent's form. Otherwise, they usually take one parent's
form, but they can take a grandparent's form as well. Or a completely different form. Only about fifty forms have been
noted, including some extinct ones, like sabre-toothed tigers. Lots of domesticated cat species aren't available as
forms since they are the product of human breeding."

Harry nodded, though he was disappointed in the answer. He expected more from a Transfigurations Mistress.

"Don't worry, Harry," she said, patting him on the head. "We'll find out one day. Now, perhaps we should talk about
babysitting, since I have two kids as well. Not that they need much watching but -"

"Our two kids," he corrected. "I'd like to be part of their lives, no matter how long it takes."

She looked at him, as if to try and discern how serious he was. She was glad he was interested, though she wasn't sure
if it was a good thing she was glad, and -

"I'd like to make them the primary Potter Heirs. They are the oldest, after all."

She stopped walking, and shook her head. Then she spied the duck pond in the distance, and began heading in that
direction. "I'd like to leave that choice up to them. I have no right to interfere. Why don't you teach them how to - I
dunno, fly or something?"

Harry looked as if Christmas had come early. Hermione couldn't help but grin -- and there was the slightest tremor in
the cage of ice she had long ago built around her heart.

* * *

A/N: Excuse the rushed chapter : I wanted to get the Hermione Vs Ron & Ginny Duel chapter out before I took off on a
break, and this chapter had to come first. I figured you'd rather have two small chapters instead of one large one.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

7. Hermione Vs Ginny

Ginny Weasley - and it was back to that old name now - was in hiding. She had been in hiding ever since the press
conference Harry had had with Bill and the twins to announce the divorce and her use of Love Potions on him. She was
currently staying in a cottage that Bill and Fleur owned. She hadn't seen her children for three days now, and she
missed them terribly. But she was too ashamed to face them. How could you discipline your own children when they knew
that you cheated and lied to their father?

Her reputation on the social circuit was chilly enough to make Antarctica look like a promising holiday destination. She
might salvage it, after another ten years. With another hair colour, hair style, husband, and identity.

There was a knock at the door. She wondered who it was - had Harry come to take her back? She got up and walked quickly
to the door. She opened it - and tried to close it at once. She even succeeded, but when she turned around, she found
that Hermione had already Apparated into the living room.

"Get out of my house!" screamed Ginny. "You - you - you - "

Hermione cocked her head, amused. "Yes? Do go on, Weasley. Me - me - me - what?"

"You framed me!" cried Ginny. "You took my husband from me! And my kids! Everything! Why couldn't you just leave things
alone?"

Hermione stopped laughing. "I framed you? Listen to yourself, your poor excuse for pond scum. Did I spike the
Veritaserum you and Ron took? Harry was never yours to begin with. Harry belongs to Harry. You trapped him. And what
about me? What about all the Mudbloods at Hogwarts who came after me, who were accused of being Amortentia-using harlots
like Hermione Granger? Look at you? Broken. Stupid. Pathetic. You never even loved Harry! You only loved the Boy Who
Lived. He saved you from Voldemort - twice! And this is how you repay him. You were my friend, and you betrayed me, you
threw me to the dogs."

Ginny was weeping now. Hermione walked over to her and helped her up. When Ginny was standing, Hermione slapped her so
hard that she flew a couple of metres into the air before hitting the floor with a loud thud. Several hundred miles
away, the crowd in Diagon Alley, watching the three-dimensional live projection of the confrontation, gasped. Bill,
watching a smaller projection at the Twins' flagship shop, made to Apparate to his cottage, but a shake of the head (and
an Anti-Apparition Ward) from Harry stopped him.

"That, my dear," said Hermione, walking over her, "was for the Sectumsempra you cast at me when I was trying to explain
myself twelve years ago. You left me - and I was pregnant, you bitch! - bleeding on the floor, though not before you'd
got a few kicks in. Just because you were jealous that the Lust Potion that you'd slipped to Harry made me sleep with me
instead of you! As if I had any choice in the matter! You knew your dick of a brother had slipped me a potion to sleep
with him!"

Ginny scrambled away, and sent a stunner at Hermione. It was well aimed, and Hermione had to jump a metre into the air
to dodge it.

"You fight like a girl," sneered Hermione. "Oh, wait - you are a girl! You always were the delusional little
Amortentia-needing fangirl, weren't you? Be a woman, damnit! Duel like a witch!"

"Serpensortia!" cried Ginny, causing a snake to appear and hiss menacingly at Hermione.

If there hadn't been an audience, Hermione would have just stepped on the snake with her heightened reflexes. (A tricky
task, but she had managed it with the serpent-based pranks her cubs sprung on her from time to time.) As it were, she
simply Transfigured the snake into a colony of worms and banished them into Ginny's knickers.

The growing crowd in Diagon Alley was unsure whether to laugh or gasp. Many tried to do both simultaneously, causing
more of the same. There were several leers as Ginny screamed and stripped her knickers off.

"Aguamenti!"

Ginny gasped as she was hit by a powerful stream of water.

"Are you alright, Gin?" asked Hermione with mock concern. "You seemed to need some help cleaning up. Oh, and look,
you're all wet now! How did that happen?" She kept up the verbal barrage while dodging more Hexes from the now furious
redhead. "Well, you need new clothes." Another complicated set of wand movements and Ginny's dress was Transfigured into
a hairy cloak -- with the hairs facing the inside.

Ginny squealed, but had enough presence of mind to reverse the Transfiguration - and to realize that an overconfident
Hermione had left an opening in her defence.

"Expelliarmus!"

The Hex connected, and this time Hermione was in the air, flying into a glass-fronted mantelpiece with a horrifying
smash. But by the time Ginny had managed to get up and aim another curse at Hermione, the brunette had Apparated behind
her and punched the back of her head.

Ginny crumpled, holding her head. Hermione walked over her (literally), picked up her wand, and snapped it theatrically.

"I expect an apology from you to all Mudblood witches and wizards in Britain," she said to the softly moaning witch,
"for adding to the insults we've had to face in this backward society of yours. I'm glad not all Purebloods are like
you, Ginevra Weasley, because if they were, then this society would be doomed. How on earth did you get sorted into
Gryffindor anyway? Is the only reason you didn't get sorted into Slytherin because you weren't cunning enough to get
away with it? You clearly don't belong in Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaws are smart enough to know that love doesn't come
from Love Potions."

Ginny continued to moan. Hermione picked her up and half-carried, half-dragged her to the sofa. She lay her out on it,
and took off the younger witch's shoes. Then she walked around the room, casting Reparos and various other spells to fix
the damage.

Back in Diagon Alley, the crowd was silent. The points made by Hermione about Muggleborns had struck home. Many heads
turned towards the front of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, where Bill, Fleur, Fred, Angelina, George, Lee, and Harry had
just exited. Bill walked towards a makeshift podium that Harry had conjured up. It had the Potter and Weasley crests on
it.

"The families of Weasley and Potter," said Bill after casting a Sonorus, "wish to make reparations to the family of
Granger. What you have just witnessed is part of our reparations. By wizarding law, Hermione Granger had the right to
request a duel to the death with Ginevra Weasley. She turned it down. She also has the same right against Ronald Weasley
and Molly Weasley. She has refused both, but she has requested a duel with Ronald Weasley. She will receive it once we
track him down."

Bill stepped back, and Harry stepped forward. The crowd was silent. It wasn't just his reputation as the Boy Who
Conquered - he really was a good speaker now. Ginny had forced him into a lot of publicity stunts, since her reputation
depended on his maintaining a high profile.

"A lot of people," began Harry, "including myself, have forgotten how much we owe to Hermione Granger. For my part, she
was the only person who was always by my side - until I cast her aside. Let us return to the war against Voldemort. I
tend to get all the credit for it, because you, the public, and you, the press, are stupid. You want a single hero, when
there were lots of people who played bit parts. Without Albus Dumbledore, Voldemort would have won. You know that. Good.
Without Severus Snape, Voldemort would have won. I hated him, but his role as a spy was crucial. Without Ron or Ginny
Weasley, there would have been little difference, even if they got Orders of Merlin. But don't forget - without Hermione
Granger, Voldemort would have won as well. Who do you think came up with the final series of spells that destroyed
Voldemort? And that's just the stuff I'm allowed to mention."

"Magical Britain," Harry concluded, "owes a debt to a Muggleborn witch that we cast out of our society, and don't you
forget it! If you ever see her on the streets of Britain again, treat her and her family with respect."

* * *

Hermione had finished casting a set of Healing spells on her fallen opponent. She watched Ginny staring at the ceiling,
fully conscious of her sins, with tears streaming down her perfect cheeks.

Revenge was a lot less satisfying than Hermione had expected. She'd justified it to herself in many ways - Pureblood
society lived on the Eye For An Eye rule, and for the sake of her Muggleborn compatriots (though she wasn't really
Muggleborn, she considered herself such) she had to show Magical strength that way. Pureblood society judged a person by
their Magical strength - the stronger you were, the more respect you got. It was a Dog Eat Dog world, which was highly
offensive to her feline tendencies.

She would have enjoyed breaking Ron, because his mere existence asked for it, but there was little pleasure in breaking
a mother who had lost her children.

In fact, there was a great danger that Ginny would try to commit suicide. Unlike Ron, Ginny had a shred of honour in
her, and hara-kiri was the honourable thing to do. Hermione wasn't sure what to think about this. She didn't want to
leave Amy motherless, and eventual reconciliation with Bill, Fred, and George would be hindered if Ginny died. They
would indirectly blame Hermione for it, simply because of the human tendency to find a scapegoat. Their heads would say
Hermione was innocent, but their hearts...

In short, it was in Hermione Granger's interests to help Ginny rehabilitate herself - and her bloody conscience said so.
Trouble was, she had no idea if that was even possible.

"I forgive you, Ginny," said Hermione. This was true - it was hard not to forgive a creature that had been brought so
pitifully low. The saying about time healing old wounds could also be taken into account.

Ginny said nothing.

"Harry's giving you visiting rights," continued Hermione, "and hopefully more."

Ginny said nothing.

"Oh, bugger this!" muttered Hermione in frustration. She walked to a different corner of the room, out of Ginny's view,
cast a silencing spell, and called Harry on his cellphone. He picked it up after a couple of rings.

"Harry? It's Hermione. Look, is Luna there? Gin needs someone non-judgemental to talk to. She's really broken. And she
needs her kids. No, I don't care what you - just get her children here. What? Fine, just get Amy then. You just monitor
them if they try anything. Look, I don't give a shit - oh, that's nice, thanks - what! Chris crashed into the roof? You
utter - oh, you fixed it? And he's okay? Good, now get Amy over here - "

There was a crack, and Luna Minkovic (nee Lovegood) was in the room. She gave Hermione a little wave and good-naturedly
shooed her out of the room while she attended to her childhood friend.

* * *

A/N: Next up : Ron. Incidentally, I don't claim that Hermione or the 'good' Weasleys did the right thing (or the wrong
thing) in this chapter. Nobody's perfect. It's all a mess. I also don't expect everyone's definition of honour to be the
same.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

8. Hermione vs Ron

A/N: Thanks for the reviews - Portkeyers are rapidly catching up with ffnet readers of this fic in terms of number of
reviews. Seventeen for the last chapter - ta!

* * *

Ron sat in a corner of the Muggle bar in Leicester, meditating on the nature of hops. And gin and tonic and sex on the
beach and fish and chips.

It was her fault. He didn't know how, but she had popped up at the same time as the bottom had dropped out of his life.
Logically, or whatever, Hermione Granger was responsible. He wished he'd never gone to rescue her from the troll. His
life would have been so much simpler.

And shorter, but he conveniently ignored that minor qualification.

He'd lost his reputation and his best friend. The rest of his treacherous family was against him - they had always been,
he reminded himself. He was the one who had befriended Harry, who had brought Harry into the Weasley clan, and this was
how they rewarded him? By keeping Harry close and casting him away?

At least he had money. Quite a bit of it, actually, with his job, decently-invested award money that came with his Order
of Merlin, and free rent at one of Harry's houses - a house he didn't dare return to.

He'd been following the news, so he was quite aware of the way his baby sister had been taken to the cleaners by
Hermione. The news reports had been very descriptive. It was clear that Hermione's aim had been to humiliate, not merely
win. She toyed with Ginny like a cat playing with its food.

Ronald Weasley did not like getting humiliated.

She'd challenged him to a duel, and if any of his brothers got hold of him, he'd be forced to accept.

And now he'd clearly drunk too much, because Harry Sodding Potter was standing right in front of him.

* * *

Unlike the previous duel, this was well and truly public. Betting was heavy, and mostly in Ron's favour. After all, he
was a Dark Wizard catcher and not a socialite hostess and housewife like his sister. On the other hand, the press had
been on Hermione's side this time, printing biographies of her that were actually close to the truth. She'd been
surprised at that, but figured they'd get over their Grangerphilia soon enough.

The Weasley twins had - after appropriate consultation with Hermione and arrangement of royalties - done a roaring trade
selling souveniers and gimmicks. Buttons with "Weasley Sucks!" and "Welcome Back Hermione!" were quite popular, as were
the placards that said "Ban Love Potions!" and the bushy-haired dolls with a heavy book under one arm and a wand held
menacingly in the other. There were also fireworks that exploded into an animation of a Hogwarts uniform-clad Hermione
bashing an equally young Ron over the head with a thick tome.

The duel was on the Quidditch Pitch of, by Hermione's request, the Chudley Cannons. She hoped that if Ron associated his
favourite team's home ground with bad memories in future, he might give up his addiction to anything orange.

There was a contest for Most Interesting Placard, which was won by a group of recently graduated Hogwarts Muggleborns.
Theirs simply read "Mudbloods Rule!". In their well publicized acceptance speech, they said that they were all planning
to leave Magical Britain because of the discrimination against Muggleborns, and that they didn't expect the current
Granger hysteria sweeping the land to translate into long term cessation of such discrimination. That said, they were
very proud of her and hoped to meet her later.

It was a straightforward duel, no Unforgivables, no physical damage that lasted longer than a week. The winner was the
one who was conscious at the end of it.

Ron turned up in impressive Auror Battle robes. Ever since Harry had tracked him down and slapped an anti-Apparating
collar on him, he'd actually knuckled down and prepared for the duel. Now he was brimming with confidence.

Hermione turned up in a yellow Muggle tracksuit. She wasn't too thrilled about her attire, but she'd lost a bet to Alyx.
She hoped Ms Thurman would approve if she ever heard of it. Her sons were with her, stony faced and with heads held
high. They didn't mind the spotlight, though they were getting tired of the questions about being the Potter Heirs.
("What's so special about Potter hair? We know all about it - it's hell to comb!", "Change our names? Why? Unless it's
to Granger-Evans, we might consider that -")

Harry was surprised to see Brian and Chris there, seeing as their half-siblings had been made to stay at home. He
thought Hermione had said that she would be doing the same with her boys. Perhaps they'd won a bet with her or something

He had been giving them flying lessons for a week now, while Hermione, Petr and Alisha did research. Harry tried to
help, but his knowledge of runes was limited to the Nordic symbol for "Here Be Dragons" and the Han symbol for beef war
mein, so the two witches had chased him off while Petr looked on in amusement. Their mission was still in the early
stages as all four of them had to slowly get their affairs together before being able to devote their full attention to
it.

He could see Ron scratching his head, as he always did when nervous. Hermione was biting her lower lip as well.

Even if Ginny and Molly had been the ones who were most responsible for the Lust Potions plot, he knew that Hermione had
reserved most of her ire for Ron. He had broken the most important covenant of their lives - the Trio. Even if it was
childish to expect that that triad of friendship could have survived unchanged into their adult years, it was a memory
of a simpler time, when it was them against the world, where no-one came between them. Time had made them forget the bad
times (which were mostly Ron's fault, come to think of it) and remember the good times.

The knowledge that Ron had used Potions on her cut deep. She told Harry it was practically rape. And unlike Harry's
situation with Ginny, she had no reason to treat her rapist with any leniency due to kids or shared family.

Now the two faced each other, both only half listening to the rules as described by some Ministry duelling referee. They
knew the rules; they were on the alert for either of them pulling off an early move. Mutual trust was in short supply.

The match started soon as soon as the referee Apparated out. There were two other referee assistants - or duelwatchers
as they were called - watching to see that nothing happened in the fraction of a second after which the referee left the
arena before he could actively begin his job. Each was assigned to watching one contestant, to see that they were
remaining within the limits of the duel.

Hermione threw up a shield immediately, followed by a mass Transfiguration of hundreds of grass in front of her into a
tall three metre high wall. She could hear several Hexes from Ron blast into it.

The audience cheered wildly, watching the giant three dimensional projections of Ron and Hermione above the pitch.

Apparation wasn't allowed in this duel, by Ron's request. She was fine with that, and had modified her tactics
appropriately.

Ron finally blasted through the wall - a quadruple spurt of Reductos took care of that - only to see a crowd of
yellow-tracksuited Hermione simulacrums staring at him. They all waved coyly in unison, causing a huge guffaw to erupt
among the crowd. Ron looked at them, then around him. Hermione was impressed at how quickly he cottoned on to the fact
that she was more likely to be disillusioned than be one of the crowd.

She had only created half a dozen simulacrums while Ron was behind the wall. The rest were illusions. She dropped the
illusions and transfigured the Hermione clones into a flock of hawks that flew noisily towards Ron.

He responded with a huge fireball that fried half of them. It was an impressive fireball actually, and several oohs and
aahs could be heard.

She Transfigured several more and sent them towards him from other directions. While he frantically created more
fireballs to swipe them off - and the birds were definitely aiming to wrest his wand from him - she Transfigured the
ground around him to quicksand. This was a rather difficult move since it involved a change of state; half the sand had
to be changed into water.

She kept moving, maintaining shields as best as she could in case a stray Hex from him headed in her direction. She was
surprised that none of her birds had managed to wrest his wand from him.

Then one of the birds gave a triumphant shriek and flew upwards, clutching a thin stick in its beak ... before it was
enveloped in a well aimed fireball from Ron. He had also managed to get around the quicksand by conjuring a plank that
was levitating just above the ground. If that was a plank - Hermione couldn't quite see - he also could have
self-levitating shoes.

Well, Hermione thought, raising her eyebrows. She'd definitely destroyed his wand - so either Won Won had developed
wandless magic or he had a hidden wand.... what a magnificent opportunity to get in some more practice.

* * *

For his part, Ron Weasley was tired. Only ten minutes into the duel and he was surprised he hadn't run out of sweat.
He'd done quite a bit of research into the duelling styles of other Transfiguration Masters and Mistresses, so he wasn't
entirely surprised by some of the moves Hermione had pulled, but he hadn't expected her to be so damn fast. Or for her
birds to have talons that sharp and beaks that foul.

He'd stretched the rules of the duel quite a bit by bringing in some of the stuff he had. They normally allowed battle
robes - but they were archaic enough to not take into consideration some recent developments in battle robes. The
duelwatcher who had inspected him was, fortunately, one of those old Pureblood types who wasn't thrilled to see a
Mudblood beat a Pureblood. Or so Ron suspected; he didn't particularly care.

He'd been on the defensive long enough. It was time to make use of some of the surprises in his robes.

* * *

Hermione saw the two balls as soon as they left Ron's armour. She recognized them immediately as the Magical equivalent
of hear seeker missiles, and swore loudly. How on earth had they been allowed in the duel? Unfortunately, they were
probably keyed in to the source of the magic that had created the birds - her. If she was correct, they would explode on
contact, and that kind of explosion would get through her best shields. She didn't have the raw power of, say, Harry
Potter.

The first task was to keep Ron busy, as he was busy firing a series of Hexes at her. His aim was annoyingly good. She
had all her remaining birds fly up, and Transfigured them into a huge flat cylindrical slab of concrete above Ron's
head. The shield he would undoubtedly put up would protect him from serious injury. And she'd get time to deal with the
bloody missiles.

As she had with the birds before her, she pointed her wand to the ground, dug out some of the pitch with a quick
nonverbal digging spell, and then Transfigured the clods of earth and grass into small dragons that she then sent after
the missiles. With any luck, they would be faster, and who cared if dragons exploded? It would be dust to dust, after
all.

Ron was still under the slab of concrete, trying to get out. She had, by her estimate, about a minute before he'd get
out, considering that it was steel-reinforced concrete.

She began placing wards around him. They were designed to strip the clothes off anyone who passed through them. They
were normally used in Japanese bath houses, and she hadn't heard of anyone using them in a duel before. Then again, most
duellists didn't bother stripping their opponents.

After another five minutes, Ron was still under the slab. She - and much of the audience, though she couldn't hear them
thanks to the silencing wards around her and Ron - wondered if perhaps he hadn't got a shield up in time after all. But
he must have, since the duel was still in progress. The ref and his team would know if either of the contestants were
knocked out or otherwise incapacitated.

She heard a soft hum behind her as a spell approached, but before she could dodge, it hit, and all she knew was pain.

* * *

Ron was pleased. He had spent the past several minutes burrowing under the pitch of his favourite Quidditch team in
Hermione's direction, using various location spells to ensure that he would emerge behind her. The burrowing was thanks
to some interesting devices he'd picked up in Borneo and secreted in his cloak.

And now she was at the end of one of his favourite pain curses, the Nervatus curse. It was an Unforgivable in most South
American countries where it was better known, as well as Spain, where he had learnt it the hard way. It was not as
painful as the Cruciatus, but its effects lasted longer.

He hadn't realized Hermione could scream so well. It was small payback for what she had done to him, but still good to
hear.

After a couple of minutes of screaming (and the horrified silence of most of the crowd and much discussion in the
referees' booth) he stopped the curse. Only up to a week's damage was allowed, after all.

He walked over to her and kicked her in the side. Her face was still kissing the ground, so he turned her over with his
feet.

A basic rule of Auror training is never to write off an opponent too early.

The most basic rules are the easiest to break.

Ron realized this shortly after she swept his feet from under him with a flash of an arm that was far stronger than he
had expected.

The first Hex he felt was a bone breaker that shattered most of the bones in his left arm.

The second Hex threw him several feet into the air. An Arithmancy teacher in the audience would later use the fine
parabolic arc Ron traced out as a teaching guide in his lessons.

The third Hex missed.

The fourth Hex caught him by surprise - it hit his pelvic area but broke no bones. Had he been in a less pained state,
he might have recognized it.

The fifth Hex broke all the bones in his lower left leg.

The sixth Hex missed.

The seventh Hex caused him to fly through the air again, this time through the wards that Hermione had created for him
earlier. By the time he hit the ground, his battle armour was separated from his body (and quickly banished by
Hermione). The rest of his clothes weren't present either.

The only reason he still had a wand was because it was part of his arm. He'd placed it there in a special (and painful
and expensive) operation three years earlier. It was one of his most closely guarded secrets.

It was probably a good thing he couldn't hear the crowd baying. Ron Weasley was an A List Celebrity in Britain, and much
of Europe for that matter, and the photographers were loving his naked self... particularly as he appeared a lot less
well endowed than his playboy reputation had suggested.

No, it was definitely a good thing that he hadn't recognized Hex Number Four as a penis shrinking curse.

He had enough presence of mind to conjure a pair of orange shorts for himself. The Chudley Cannons board members and
die-hard fans were impressed, though few else were.

* * *

Hermione could still feel the effects of the Nervatus, and knew she had to end the duel quickly. She had planned to cast
a Lust Charm on Ron and have him f--k a Transfigured sheep, but it looked like that wouldn't be happening. Bugger, she
thought, followed by a 'No Pun Intended' thought.

She had considered using her tiger form. After all, she could always write off as being her Animagus form since her
Felician self was still banned in Britain. But she'd decided against that prior to the duel.

Ouch... her nerves still hurt. She was angry now, very, very angry.

She was going to get drunk, once she had Transfigured Ronald Weasley into a bottle of single malt.

She cast a few more bone breakers at him, at his remaining arm and leg. This also had the effect of breaking his
interior wand. Surprisingly, the referees still didn't declare the match over, even though they must have - like
Hermione - realized that he had had one of those wand-in-arm operations and would now need a new one.

She debated whether chopping his arm off would fall in the 'one week damage' category.

She settled for transfiguring the grass around him to spiders and then, after a disappointing realization that he'd
gotten over his most of his arachnophobia, transfigured his shorts into a chloroform-filled cloth and moved it to cover
his nose.

The referees finally ended the duel.

She considered going over and stamping on his exposed groin, but decided against it. One, he wasn't conscious to notice.
Two, she'd left her stilettos at home.

* * *

------------------------------------------------------------------------

9. The Third Amulet of Akenhaton

A/N: Thanks for the reviews - it's nice to have crossed the 250 review mark when one puts together all reviews from
Portkey, ffnet, and GrangerEnchanted. I've not caught up replying to them. I will - it's on my List Of Things To Do
Before 2015.

I haven't watched OOTP yet, and still don't plan to. It's hard to follow anything new and `official' when canon is so
wrong. (And yes, I'm obviously not going to read DH either.) It's strange, really - I just watched PoA on the telly here
in Sydney - you can see a couple of places where RHr moments are forced in, and yet the HHr is so natural that it needs
no anvil-sized hints for anyone to get it. Kinda like the pre-HBP books.

* * *

The aftermath of the duel was straightforward enough. Ron was taken to St Mungo's, and news agencies haunted the Press
Room there awaiting the bone count. They were disappointed when the medics announced that Ron only had sixty three bones
broken, as that was well short of the British record, let alone the European and world records, for number of bones
broken in a single duel. On the other hand, it was a new British record for number of bones broken in a duel that last
less than one hour, so that gave at least the local press some headlines.

Hermione collapsed about a minute after she was declared victory, though she would later argue that she was merely
`taking advantage of a prime opportunity to have a kip'.

Harry and Alyx and the two Felician medics Hermione had brought with her (she couldn't risk her secrets being revealed
at St Mungo's) were the first by her side, taking full advantage of the anti-Apparation wards going down as soon as the
duel ended. For once, Alyx didn't glare at Harry.

"Is she alright?" asked Alyx worriedly.

"Is there anything we can do?" asked Harry, who was a lot more used to dealing with medics in injury situations.

One of the medics, an older witch who reminded him of Madam Pince, was efficiently running a scan of Hermione's body
with her wand. The other, a young wizard who was an apprentice of hers, looked up from the bag of medical equipment and
potions vials that he was examining.

"Yeah," he said, noting the need to keep the onlookers out of his way, "actually there is. It would help if we knew
exactly which curses Weasley used on her. Especially that one." There was no need to specify which curse he was
referring to.

Harry nodded curtly and Apparated to St Mungo's, where Ron had already been taken.

"And me?" asked Alyx.

The medical apprentice nodded to the rapidly approaching forms of Brian and Chris. "Keep them out of the way. Please."

Alyx nodded. "You better come up with a quick assessment to keep them satisfied, though."

The old witch looked up. She looked a lot calmer now. "She'll be alright. Mostly exhaustion. Hardly surprising, that.
That curse was nasty though. Either Vernius or Nervatus or some variant. Hope it's the latter."

Brian and Chris had gotten there by now, and were hanging on her every word.

"So we don't need to take her to St Francis, then?" asked Alyx, referring to the Irish equivalent of St Mungo's, where
Hermione's Felician origins wouldn't cause any problems with the Healers.

The old Healer shook her head. "No. You mentioned that her mum has a room all ready for her? That'll be fine."

Brian, with more than a touch of relief, muttered to Chris, "Gran will be chuffed. She's been wanting mum to visit her
more often for aaages!"

There was a small crack then; Harry had returned. The twins had their wands in his direction by reflex, and lowered them
when they saw who he was. Tensions between them had dissipated somewhat during the two flying lessons they'd had so far,
although he was still far from being considered a father in their eyes.

"Nervatus," said Harry, looking at the old witch. "Ron cast Nervatus on her."

She nodded back at him. "Good. She'll recover fine then. We'll get some potions together for her."

"How on earth did you find out anyway?" asked Alyx.

"He had a wand in his arm," replied Harry. "No, I didn't know he had one. Don't look at me like that, we both had our
secrets. Anyway, Hermione broke it when she broke his arm so we couldn't do Prior Incantato on it. So I woke him up and
ripped the memory of the duel from his mind."

The two medics winced. "The folks taking care of Weasley must be cursing your name," commented the apprentice. "That's
not particularly conducive to recovery."

Harry shrugged. "I've hurt Hermione enough by always supporting Ron." He added, in a lower voice, "Even at school."

Brian glanced at Chris, who looked thoughtful.

* * *

Ginny Weasley looked at the anonymous letter she had just been sent. 'Granger is Felician,' it said. She blinked. That
couldn't be, could it? Unlike her ex-husband, she didn't need to look them up. She was well aware who cat people were;
she'd heard of them while growing up, and had even written an essay on the last Felician Rebellion in Britain in her
seventh year for History of Magic.

The first thing that came to mind was the way Harry's body had looked like after Hermione had f--ked him. He was more
mauled than scratched, particularly on his back.

The strange thing was, when she had shown the photographs of his abused body to Harry, he'd simply widened his eyes for
a moment, and then laughed wildly. She'd even worried slightly about his sanity for a moment - until he'd sobered up and
told her that she - Ginny - had cut him a lot worse.

The nerve of the man! Ginny had rescued Harry from Hermione's claws, and now she was the one getting cast away like
yesterday's stale merchandise! And the concern that he had shown Hermione after the duel with Ron - when it was his best
mate who had dozens of bones broken - was a scandal.

Something had to be done to bring down Hermione Granger. And all it would require was someone who knew Magical British
society inside and out. In other words - herself. And she knew some Purebloods who would be delighted to help...

* * *

Petr stood by Alisha beside the door to Hermione's room. The brunette witch had not woken up yet. She'd taken some
potions, which were directly sent into her body by the medics. They had now gone, and Petr - having the most medical
training of anyone present - was now officially designated as her watcher. In the unlikely event than anything happened
to her, he would be the one who looked after her for the first few minutes while the others summoned the Healers.

Since they knew Hermione would be fine with time, the atmosphere was fairly relaxed for a room that was acting as a
makeshift infirmary. Hermione's mother was downstairs making mince cupcakes, while Brian and Chris were doing their
Transfigurations homework outside. It was just their summer homework from Hogwarts, which meant it was easier than the
stuff their mother gave them. It wasn't as fun though - at least she gave them tasks like turning blocks of wood into
dinky cars and then charming the dinky cars to play robosoccer. Petr was rather impressed by that idea, and was already
planning how to modify it to use with his rambunctious nieces. They would probably charm their Barbie dolls to throw
kicks like Buffy.

Most interestingly, Harry sat by Hermione's bedside, watching. Petr and Alisha had got the story of their new
colleagues' past - both ancient and recent - history from Alyx and Mrs Granger.

Petr watched the look on Harry's face and soon placed the Boy Who Lived high on his list of people never to play poker
with.

"He's confused," commented Alisha.

Petr blinked, and then looked at the Egyptian witch. "What?" he said.

"Harry," she said, inclining her head slightly in the British wizard's direction. "He's confused at the way life has
turned upside down for him. He remembers simpler times where she was the rock he held on to, and now he wants her to be
his rock again."

Petr blinked again. "How do you know?"

"Can't you tell?" she asked, genuinely curious.

He shook his head.

"Oh," she replied. "Oh well. Never mind. He probably doesn't know it himself either." She shook her head, as if clearing
cobwebs from it. "We need to have a talk about the mission. I'll create a table here, you go bring him."

The Potions Master nodded, and went over to Hermione's bed. He first made to touch Harry's shoulder, then stopped
himself. One of his cousins was an Auror in Slovenia and had once punched him when he tried approaching from behind.
Paranoid folks, Aurors, even ones that had just retired. Instead, he walked over to the other side of the bed, opposite
to where Harry was. The messy-haired fighter glanced up towards him. Petr inclined his head to where Alisha had already
set up a table and three chairs and some files. Harry nodded and got up, giving a final glance to Hermione's prone form.

Alisha had set up the three chairs around the circular metal table so that two of them had a good view of Hermione. She
took the third. Petr nodded at her in appreciation; this way he could keep an eye on the unconscious witch should she
stir. Harry said nothing, and made no inclination that he'd noticed. It was entirely possible that he hadn't.

"Muffliato," cast Alisha. "You alright there, Harry?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Just worried about my ki - never mind. Say, Petr," he perked up suddenly, "is there a Potion that
one can take to make you immune to other Potions? You know, like love and lust and loyalty Potions?"

Petr thought for a while. "No," he eventually replied to Harry's disappointment. "Not against all of them. There are a
couple of reliable potions against love potions. And some good immunity charms against most other types. Use them both,
and you should be mostly covered. But they aren't foolproof." He didn't ask who they were for, but figured that Harry
had a long list.

"Safe for kids?" asked Harry.

Petr raised an eyebrow. "Some modifications will be required, but in principle, yes. Shall we meet after this and talk
about it?"

Harry nodded gratefully and turned to Alisha. "Sorry," he said. "You were saying?"

She brushed his apologies aside. "Right then. Yesterday I Flooed to Chicago and stole Akenhaton's Third Amulet from the
Field Museum. Akenhaton was Nefertiti's husband, remember? I had to see some folks at the Oriental Institute in Hyde
Park anyway, so it was on my way." She took out her handbag and started to empty it.

Petr and Harry watched open-mouthed as she began placing things from her handbag on the table. It soon became obvious
that it was a bottomless container, containing various empty and full potions vials, a packet of owl treats, innumerable
brands of chocolate, a video ipod, an Uzi, a magnetic wizarding chess set...

"She's got more stuff in there than my sister!" gasped Petr in disbelief. "She's got four daughters!"

Harry looked at Alisha curiously, and then at Petr.

"My sister, I mean," clarified the Serbian wizard.

... a plastic cutlass, a framed and signed photograph of Matthew Macfadyen snogging some doe-eyed beauty, two table
tennis bats, three broken table tennis balls, and - finally - an amulet.

"Aha!" cried Alisha triumphantly. "Here we are!" She held the amulet up. "Behold!' she cried theatrically. "The Third
Amulet of Akenhaton!" Then, as if realizing that the old trinket looked somewhat unimpressive, she added a sparkly charm
to it. "There. Isn't he a beauty?"

Petr peered at it closely. "There's a bit of someone's soul in that thing?"

"Hang on a moment," said Harry. "You said you stole it from the Field Museum? Didn't they notice?"

"Oh, they didn't. I left a copy behind," replied Alisha. "Hermione made it earlier. She's really good at it. If she ever
gets tired of this research lark, she can always make her living ruining the economies of Muggle countries by creating
perfect counterfeit currency."

"And the cameras?" asked Harry, ignoring his old friend's less legitimate career options.

"Security's gotten worse over the centuries," replied Alisha with a shrug. "When you've gotten past cursed tombs that
could turn your blood to iron, getting past a few recording devices and lasers is child's play." She gestured at some of
the items on the table. "And child's play is something I've had a lot of practice at."

Petr was still looking closely at the amulet, though he made sure not to touch it. "Is there really a bit of soul in
that?" he asked again. He then cast a spell to project a larger three-dimension projection of it in front of them.

"Beats me," replied Alisha. "Hermione's the expert on that. We'll have to wait for her to wake up." She began placing
things back in her handbag. It was particularly enlightening to watch the Uzi fit inside. Bottomless bags were truly
remarkable.

While watching, Harry had a sudden realization. "You use Sequential Wards in your handbag!" he cried.

Alisha grinned at him.

"I wondered why you had to take so many things out of your handbag before you got to the amulet!" exclaimed Harry,
impressed. "I didn't know you could place those wards on something so small - oh, it's bottomless, that's why. It's not
small at all. Very nice."

By this time, Petr was watching with interest as well, and making a note of what to buy his sister for a Christmas
present. She could use the wards to stop her kids digging through her handbag for chocolate. "What would happen if
someone tried to take something out without taking stuff first in the right sequence?" he asked.

In response, Alisha conjured a small wooden pole and poked it into her handbag. After a few pokes, it snapped shut with
a loud crunching sound, leaving the pole even smaller.

Petr reminded himself to investigate handbags with wards that his sister would find less ... offensive.

"Right," said Harry, "You won't find me ever digging in your handbag for loose change."

As Alisha continued putting things in her handbag, Harry joined Petr in examining the large projection of the amulet
above the table.

"Can you make out anything from those verses written on it?" asked Harry.

Petr turned towards him in bewilderment. Alisha stopped her movements as well. She hadn't seen anything written on it. A
few funny squiggles and designs, but nothing else ...

"What verses?" asked Petr. "And where?"

Harry pointed at a point on the projection. "There!"

Alisha exchanged a look with Petr, who then said in an awed voice, "Parseltongue..."

"What?" asked Alisha. "Oh. Oh! It's a written language! Wow! This has so many possibilities! Harry, you're going to have
to come back to Egypt with me! We need to drag you to some tombs and see if you can see any more Parseltongue written
anywhere!"

"Er," said Harry, who had also realized what had happened. "These would be the cursed tombs you were talking about?"

"Yes! Yes! It will be so exciting!" She clasped her hands together in anticipation.

"Never mind that," interrupted Petr, saving Harry from their friend's nefarious plans to turn him into a Archeological
translation device. "What does it say?"

"Oh, right," said Harry. "Got a paper?"

Alisha grabbed a notepad and pen from her somewhere on her voluminous robes, and nodded at him.

He read the words out.

His companions sighed.

"Don't read them out," said Petr. "We don't understand spoken Parseltongue any more than the written version. Translate
it."

"Ah," replied Harry. "That could be difficult."

* * *

Amy Potter sat by the fountain in the backyard of the Potter Manor, waving her legs in the pool. This was her Official
Thinking Place, and even Nigel didn't actively bother her when she thought here.

Adults everywhere teach children that truth is an important and precious thing. And like other precious things such as
TV remotes and china plates and firewhiskey, it must be kept away from children for as long as is possible.

Children everywhere know that they are far stronger and more resilient to the burdens of truth than adults perceive them
to be. (This knowledge is rapidly forgotten as they become adults themselves, but that is another story.) They wish that
adults would just tell them the truth, instead of leaving them to rely on methods such as eavesdropping, watching body
language, eavesdropping, reading old newspapers, and eavesdropping.

If there was an association called Overhearers Anonymous, its average age would be nine and three quarters.

It was obvious to Amy that her parents had had an Argument. With a capital 'A'. They had only had arguments - with a
little 'a' - before, over things like some interviews she wanted him to attend or that she was spending too much on
shoes. But those were small, those were fixable. This one though, this Argument didn't fit in that category. It sounded
awfully Final. With a capital 'F' that needed no explanation.

It was also clear that the argument didn't just involve her parents. Uncle Ron was in on it too, and Grandma, and they
were both on her mother's side. Which was why she hadn't seen either of them in a week. She had seen her mother a couple
of times - she had been crying a lot and looked like she had just been in a fight. Mostly though, she'd been seeing an
awful lot of her aunts and uncles.

And her dad, of course. He'd quit his job and was now staying at home a lot. And he still refused to give her a straight
answer whenever she or Nigel or Nicholas asked him where their mother was. The best answer, which Nigel had managed to
pry out from him, was that their mother had done something very, very bad, and that she would have to get punished for
it.

She sighed, and suddenly noticed that Nigel was also sitting at the fountain, watching her.

"How long have you been there?" she asked him.

"Some time," he replied with a shrug. "Five minutes, maybe."

Amy raised her eyebrows like her father had unknowingly taught her. She was surprised he was that patient with her. He'd
been behaving differently ever since Harry had showed all of them, individually, some memories of his childhood. She'd
been horrified herself, and vowed never to bully anyone again, or stand by idly while someone was bullied. She knew
Nicholas felt likewise, but she wasn't sure about Nigel. Even though he was her twin, she couldn't always tell what he
was thinking - they weren't like their Uncles Fred and George.

"Mum managed to get us a letter," he said, holding it out for her. She grabbed it at once.

Dearest Nigel, Amy, and Nicholas,

I miss you three so much! I wish I could see you right now, but I can't. Your father has been tricked by an evil witch.
Her name is Hermione Granger. She has placed a spell on your father, and all your uncles except Ron, and made them
believe that I tricked him a long time ago. I need your help to rescue your father. For now, pretend to do what he
wants.

I must go now. I will contact you later.

I love you all!

Mum

Nature abhors a vacuum. The absence of truth creates a vacuum. Anything can fill a vacuum.

* * *

A/N: Hope you enjoyed the reference to Pride and Prejudice.

Also, I have a list on my LJ page of Grangerverse fics I'd like to see, like Hermione/Lily or Hermione=Lily or
Medusa!Hermione (she sees the basilisk and the snake gets petrified) ...

Honestly! With the fanfiction universe as diverse and good and thriving as it is, who cares what happens in canon any
more? I'm sick of all this Deathly Hallows hooplah. Can't we just treat Jo as one of the more important Potterverse
writers and leave it at that? Okay, maybe she's not just any other writer, but you get my point...

------------------------------------------------------------------------

10. Secrets of the Past

A/N: Right. I hear a new Heron fanfic was released last weekend. Thank goodness the hype is over and us fanfic writers
can get on with what we do best, namely working on the wonderful couple that Jo created but didn't realize she'd
created. DH had no surprises, really. It ended like we all thought it would. Not that I actually read it. I don't read
RHr fics, period. I boycotted it. But there was a lot of discussion of it on Portkey Chat, primarily of the dismissive
persuasion. (Go chat. It's fun. I made friends and met other authors. I sometimes call myself LordStibbymort.)

This isn't really an update, though I have thrown in a thousand words of the next chapter. It's really an advertisement
for an anti-DH game I wrote while experimenting with a new programming-for-kiddies language. It's called Hermione
Detests the Deathly Hallows. There's another game there too (Saving Potter) but this one is more fun. Enjoy! And write
your own games!

* * *

Harry returned home at around six in the evening, after a productive talk with Petr about protecting his children and
himself from any magical coercion his ex-wife might try on them.

He had Apparated directly to his bedroom, which now had a lot more space since Ginny had taken all her stuff with her,
clothes included. He hadn't realized how much stuff she had, particularly since most of her apparel had a room of their
own.

He walked to a chest of drawers and retrieved a parchment from the second from bottom drawer.

"I solemnly swear that my sprogs are up to no good," he intoned dutifully, tapping it with his wand. A map of the Potter
Manor appeared. He tapped it again to zoom onto his children. Normally this was the limit of his invasion of their
privacy - it was a lot easier than yelling the house down looking for them - but he'd been rather worried about how they
were taking their separation from their mother. Therefore, he activated an aural charm on the map that only he and Ginny
knew about. It allowed them to hear anything that was said in most rooms around the Manor, including the playroom where
it appeared that Nigel and Amy were in the tail end of one of their endless debate.

Harry grinned; Nigel may be the leader of the Trio that was his kids with Ginbitch, but Amy could certainly hold her
own. Listening to their arguments was always entertaining...

... except when those arguments mentioned their mother and the 'dark witch Granger'.

Worried now, he decided to invade his children's privacy even further, and asked the room for the transcript of
everything that had been said in the previous hour. Since that all conversations in all rooms were transcribed as they
happened, it appeared in his hands in a couple of seconds. It only took a couple of minutes of reading before he shook
his head and swore.

* * *

Three small figures crept silently in the room. It was dark except for the three shaky cones of light from the Muggle
torches each of them carried. There was a slight thud as one of the figures put its toes to their natural
obstacle-finding use.

"Ow!"

"Make the torchlight go in front of you, you twat!"

"Why can't we get electricity down here?"

"Coz you kept blowing up the light bulbs when you was little!"

"Sez the person who blew the telly when Bambi's mum died!"

"Twasn't my fault! Poor Bambi!"

"Quiet!"

The dynamics between the three children was quite simple. The twins argued and their younger brother played mediator.
Unfortunately, since Nicholas was the youngest, his siblings usually waited till they had exhausted themselves before
they listened to him. He'd tried stepping on their toes, but they'd just stepped on his back. But yesterday he'd asked
his dad if he could cast a spell on his shoes to make them really hard - on both the top and bottom sides.

"Ow!"

"Yaaa!"

The twin exclamations were followed by a scuffle where they tried to step on his feet in retaliation, which ended up
with Amy's foot sandwiched between her brothers, causing a loud yelp and a dropped torch.

"Prats! Now we've only got two torches!"

"Wait, it's not broken. See? It just got turned off."

"Oh. I knew that."

The trouble with traditional gestures such as Eye Rolling is that they are of little use in near darkness.

"Hey, this box says 'Old Wheezes'!"

"Cool! Let's open it!"

"No! Keep it for later! We're looking for something else now!"

This was true. They were looking for Clues To The Past. It was Nicholas' suggestion. Not that he believed it himself,
but he had suggested that they do so when his siblings couldn't agree on how to deal with their mother's letter. Nigel
thought his mother could do no wrong, while Amy allowed for the possibility. Besides, Nicholas was curious about his
parents' past - all three of them knew that they didn't hear all of it. And from what they had overheard from the media,
this Granger witch was a large part of it.

"Hey, isn't that Dad's old broom?"

"Naw, think it's Mum's."

"Hey, this says Firebolt!"

"Told you!"

"I thought dad's first broom was a Cirrus?"

"Nimbus!"

"My memory's all cloudy."

"Shut up. Just - shut up!"

More shuffling and scuffling and searching for boxes followed. Then they squinted their eyes as the door to the basement
opened and the room was suddenly filled with light.

"Bloody hell," said Nicholas.

"Busted," muttered Nigel.

Amy said nothing, but dived behind a convenient carton.

Their father came down the stairs, his face impassive. He smiled slightly as he watched his kids try the innocent look
while squinting hard at the extra light. They had learnt it well from their mother, who had learnt it from having six
brothers. Harry had never had to learn it himself, having learnt from an early age that innocent people often got
punished.

"Hi, dad," said Nigel. He had already noticed his sister's disappearance but didn't intend to rat her out - yet.
Besides, he didn't think he needed to.

"Hello, boys," replied Harry. He raised his voice and added, "You can come out now, Amy!"

Nicholas giggled as his sister's hair, and then eyes, popped up from behind some boxes. His older brother merely
smirked.

"No need to explain anything," said her father. "I can tell that all of you were playing hide and seek and that your
brothers were just about to find you anyway."

The kids dutifully nodded. This was tradition. They knew he was joking, and that he knew that they knew he was joking.
And it wasn't as if visiting the basement was actually verboten. It wasn't even discouraged. It was merely... not spoken
of.

Harry walked ahead of his children in the direction of a large charmed teddy bear that Amy had got for her third
birthday. She'd been scared of it then, which explained why it had been exiled to the basement. He pointed out as much
to his daughter, who looked rather abashed. Nicholas, on the other hand, seemed rather interested in the animal, so
perhaps it would be making a return to polite society in the near future.

"Ah, here it is!" he said brightly - too brightly, really - as he dragged a few boxes aside manually before finding an
old weatherbeaten trunk. He lifted it out easily, muttering about how it had got lighter over the years.

"Is that your school trunk, dad?" asked Nigel, his eyes wide. His father rarely talked about the past, so if this was
his trunk, something had clearly changed. A glance at Amy suggested she had similar thoughts.

"Yep," replied Harry, dumping it in the centre of the room. He said something in Parseltongue, which was followed by a
loud click and the sound opening with an ominous creak that Nosferatu would have admired. He looked a tad sheepish, and
mumbled something about it being a fun cliche to copy at the time.

The kids approached the box gingerly. It looked about as exciting as ... one of their own trunks. Still, their father
looked a lot more excited than he had of late, so that was worth watching for novelty's sake.

Harry took out various old books and clothes in succession, and it was soon clear that he was looking for something
specific.

"Aha!" he cried as he found an old battered book. He rubbed the dust off it and opened it. "Now," he said to his
children with a large smile, "this is my photo album from school, and there are a few things I need to tell you..."

* * *

A/N: By the way, Hermione Detests the Deathly Hallows needs Java to work.

Anyone still feeling depressed about the DH Epilogue should read The Writer.