Separated

Separation

Harry knew he needed to get some sleep. He wanted to sleep, really, because that was the only way that he would get to see her. He wanted to see her, didn't he? Harry didn't know. After all, it had been several years since they had all hugged and said their good-byes. The minister had promised that it wasn't going to be forever, but here it was five… no wait, six years later, and Harry was still stuck in this God-forsaken coal mine town, unable to use his magic. He was cut off from the magic world completely now, and hated every moment of it.

Why in the hell did the minister send him to Golden Valley? There was nothing golden about this place. It was grimy and dirty. Harry spent hours upon hours a day deep in the coal mine, wishing that something, anything would happen. It was boring, tedious work, breaking and shoveling the coal. Granted, he had never been in better shape, which is if he could see himself under the layer of grime that covered him head to toe. He had given up years ago trying to clear the dirt of this place from under his finger nails.

Harry rolled over and looked at the clock, barely able to make out the blue numbers without his glasses. It was already two in the morning, and Harry knew he had better try to catch some sleep. He had to be up in three hours now, and he needed to have his beauty sleep. Harry almost laughed at that. There was nothing beautiful about him. Scarred from each of Voldemort's attacks on him through out his life, his body was tarnished and tainted by lines that had healed but never faded. He was like this place. Cast away until needed. Harry tried to fight the bitterness and instead focused on love.

Love had abandoned him too, as he had seen that last night that he and Ginny had been together. She had been given a choice: be with Harry and never see your family again or be with you family. Ginny had wanted to choose Harry, but her family had already lost Fred, George succumbed some time after that, and Ginny couldn't let her mother suffer. Ginny chose her family, and that was fine with Harry. He knew how important family was. He couldn't lie, though. It stung.

He never found out what Ron and Hermione had chosen to do. Once Ginny made her choice, Harry was banished to this coal town with false hopes that it would just be temporary. Weeks turned to months, months turned to years, and yet, Harry remained a prisoner to Golden Valley, not that the town was a bad town, because Harry had oddly begun to think of it as home. He had a small one bedroom flat here, and was completely independent. He glanced up in the dark at the ceiling.

Hermione, while always on about Ron, had become so much more those first weeks after the war ended. She had comforted him as no one else did, and yes, Harry and she had been close. Harry knew that she would never betray Ron, and he would never dare of asking her to, but there was a moment that Harry wondered how far their relationship would have traveled had Ron remained out of the picture. Harry swallowed quite guiltily. Ron was his best mate, and Hermione was Ron's girl. He knew he should never think of them that way.

Yet, as Harry drifted off to sleep, he could almost imagine the way she touched his face and kissed his mouth that first night they lay alone in his bedroom at 12 Grimuld Place. Ron had been forced to remain by his mother's side and had insisted Harry and Hermione wait for him at the house. Ron had never arrived, and neither wanted to sleep alone. He had held her that night in his arms, protectively, as if that alone would keep her safe. He knew he loved Hermione, but it wasn't until that painfully obvious moment that he realized.

Harry had already known that he was too late, though. Hermione belonged to Ron, and he had said so that first night they lay in each other's arms. They were fully clothed, Harry remembered regretfully as his clenched eyes couldn't keep out the vision of Hermione in his bed, in his arms, pressed against him so tightly.

“I am not property to be owned,” Hermione had defended as she initiated the kiss. Harry had been surprised, to say the least, and fully aroused by the thought that a witch as beautiful and smart as Hermione would kiss him with that rawness and unbridled passion. Not even Ginny had kissed him the way that Hermione had kissed him. Harry had chalked it up to survivors' relief, but secretly in the darkest places of his heart, he hoped that Hermione wanted so much more.

Hermione had, and so had Harry, but neither of them were willing to cross that line. They laid there, deep in thought much of the night unable to sleep, much like Harry was now.

Harry groaned loudly and rolled to his side. The clock now read three in the morning and Harry wished upon wished that he would be able finally to sleep. Two hours wasn't enough sleep, no, but Harry would make due. He always did.

He remembered hugging Ron and Hermione before entering the new minister's office, a makeshift tent there on the school grounds. There was a concern that Harry and his friends would be retaliated against, since not all of the Death Eaters had been apprehended. For their safety, they were being sent to various safe houses just until things were repaired, people were captured, and order was restored.

“Son, the wizarding world thanks you,” The minister had said. He was a tired looking man that Harry didn't know. He looked familiar from Harry's visits to the ministry, but Harry couldn't be certain.

“What if I say no?” Harry asked as he thought about the year had already spent far from home. He wanted to settle down, start his Auror training. He thought of perhaps marriage, but then Hermione's face slipped before him instead of Ginny's and Harry got nervous.

`I love Ginny,' Harry thought to himself.

`Yes, but you also love Hermione,' Harry replied. Harry shook his head.

“Harry, we know you have sacrificed a lot for our kind, and you and your friends are all heroes,” The minister said quietly. “We have to do what is best for all, and right now, keeping you safe and out of the spot light is what is best.”

“So, I go alone?” Harry asked as his voice cracked. It was his one true fear, to be alone.

“No, of course not,” The minister said. “You may choose one friend to accompany you, but only one. You will not have contact with the other's while you are in hiding.”

Harry thought first of Ron, but decided that it was not going to be best. Mrs. Weasley had already lost so many of her sons to this. Harry couldn't in good conscious take another one of her sons. Harry thought of Hermione next, and his heart began to race. Hermione and he made perfect sense, and they had already proven that they could live together quite harmoniously. But Harry knew Hermione would say no to him, in stead choosing Ron. Harry knew this but only because Hermione had told him so, even as they lay in each other's arms the night before, acting more like lovers than friends did.

“Ginny,” Harry said as though he was settling on a hamburger. Perhaps this was why Ginny had said no to him. She had been away from him nearly a year, and they had grown apart.

Harry had asked Ginny, but Ginny had declined. Harry understood, but he also understood that would mean he would be alone out there in the muggle world again and this time, he didn't have Hedwig to keep him company.

Harry glanced at his clock once more and got up. It was four in the morning. At this point, Harry knew it was pointless for him to try to sleep. Instead, he headed to take his shower, stripping down naked in the middle of his bedroom. He walked past the mirror, barely able to stand to look at his reflection. No one had wanted to go with Harry when Harry was no longer the pawn in a sick quest to rule death.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Harry told his reflection. “At least you still have me.”

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Owls

Harry hadn't thought much of his work as he walked the two miles from the mine's opening to his apartment. He was thankful, yes, that he had another long and arduous day of picking and shoveling. It kept his mind off the fact that he was completely and totally exhausted. Harry looked down the hill as he walked, certain that had his walk home had been up hill he would have taken up the offer his neighbor and fellow miner David had presented. David always headed to the town's one bar after work, eager to avoid his wife and their son.

Harry shook his head as he walked. He couldn't imagine wanting to avoid his wife or child. There were things in life he could imagine avoiding, yes, but family would not have ever been one of them. David's truck roared past Harry, sending up a cloud of gravel dust. Harry cough and choked, his eyes teary, but waved at his neighbor and continued down the road to where the miner housing was so neatly pressed at the base of the land.

He lived in slight denial every night when he came home from work. He would open the door to the one bedroom apartment and stand there in the doorway expectantly. Even after all this time with out hair or hide, he always hoped that today would be the day that he would open his door to find someone, anyone at this point, standing in his living room waiting for him. In the early months, he thought of how Hermione would have come to her sense and be there, waiting. She would throw her arms around him and they would head wordlessly to the bedroom. Nothing would need to be said, and they would just pick up where they left off.

“You are an idiot,” Harry said aloud to himself as he shut the door behind him. He took off his helmet, having decided it was probably unlikely his roof would cave in on him, and hung it on his coat tree by the front door. Though he had never had a mother, he could hear Aunt Petunia's voice in his head telling him not to track his shoes through the house. Harry pulled free his work boots and left them by the door. Heading straight through his little kitchen, he stood alone in his tiny laundry room that was nearly too small for a house elf. Harry stripped down to nothing and piled his dirty clothes straight into the wash, setting it, before heading to his much needed shower.

Harry tried not to think of anyone while he was in the shower, finding not only nearly impossible but also rather evident as he looked down at himself how Hermione made him really feel. Despite being alone, he felt himself flush with the thought that she attracted his interest so. Harry laughed at himself, thinking of what Ron would say to this interesting turn of events. Harry had never been one to let his body get the best of him, and yet it was clear what his body wanted was something Harry could not give it.

Dressed in his favorite, yet rather old looking pair of pajama pants, Harry sat down at his computer with a bowl of cereal in his hand. He had never been one to throw himself in front of one of these things like his cousin, but found that it was nearly impossible to find out any news from the United Kingdom here in Golden Valley. They had two news papers that came out on either Wednesday or Saturday, neither of them worth the paper they were printed.

“Hey, Brit, you in `ere?” David called as he opened the door to the apartment. Harry looked up at his friend who was looking rather dingy as he strolled into Harry's house.

“Oi, over `ere,” Harry said with a mouth full of cereal. David glanced at Harry sitting at the computer and laughed.

“Please tell me that you are lookin' at porn or somethin', an' not readin' the news,” David begged with a smile on his face. He shut the door behind himself and strolled over to the computer, peering at the screen. “Jeeze, Brit, you are lamer than Betsy with all this readin' stuff.”

David had signaled to the rest of Harry's meager living room. While neat, Harry's living room was cluttered with shelves upon shelves of books. He owned a television, naturally, though it had been ages since he had actually sat down and watched anything on it. Harry had never been much of a reader, except of his Quidditch book that Hermione had given him. He couldn't pin-point when he had started reading. It had to have been a few years ago, not too terribly long after he had come here. He had been lonely, and walking the streets of the little mining town. It was completely by accident that he had turned down the alley and found at the far end the book store.

Harry had started reading as a very vague and distant way of connecting with Hermione, despite having no idea where she was or what she was doing. He knew it was childish and ridiculous to think that by him reading a book, it made her closer but some how, he felt that by reading, he understood Hermione more. When things seemed their bleakest, the words were familiar and comforting. He could imagine the thrill Hermione felt when she opened a new book, like a new world, previously unfamiliar to mind and heart. He hoped to share that with her one day.

“You know, it wouldn't kill you to keep up on current events, Dave. I mean, granted nothing changes here, except of course the day the town drunk is arrested, I bet it will be Wednesday this week, by the way, but things change outside of our sleepy little mining town,” Harry said as he glanced at the screen. He never expected to learn of anything in his world, no, but perhaps a hint in the muggle world that all was as he had left it, rebuilding and calm.

“I know, I know,” David laughed as nodded. David yawned. “Anyway, Bets asked me to stop by an' invite you to Sunday supper again. She says I am not to take no for an answer, so you comin' right?”

“Sure,” Harry said after a stretch of time. Why not? It wasn't as if he ever had any plans.

“Hot damn, good! Means Bets'll be nicer to me t`night,” David grinned as he headed back to the door. “You goin' to need a ride up in the morn'?”

“Do I ever?” Harry asked as his friend headed out the door.

“Nah, but you know I thought I'd ask,” David laughed as he shut the door behind him and left Harry's apartment feeling strangely quiet. Harry finished his cereal, thankful to see there was nothing new to report on the old UK news websites. Harry headed to his bedroom, flicking on the light. His eyes lingered on the picture above his bed. It wasn't the picture that held his interest, but what he knew was behind it. Harry headed to his window, pulling the curtains tight against the pitch dark night.

Glancing around needlessly for Harry was always alone in his bedroom, he climbed on top of his neatly made bed and lifted the heavy picture of a big black dog from the wall. He set it aside and looked intently at the cold steel door that stood like a square blemish on the otherwise unmarked walls. It was nearly a foot and a half tall and wide with a large black dial on it, covered in numbers.

Harry couldn't forget the code had he wanted to; it was something he couldn't dream of forgetting in a million years. He spun the dial until it clicked in release and the door swung open, allowing him access to the contents inside. He reached for his wand, but was distracted by the movement of a picture that was resting below it. Harry pulled the framed picture of the group he had created back when he was at school, the DA, loving coined Dumbledore's Army. Connie Cho was standing next to him, Ginny on his other side. Ron and Hermione were there, George and Fred, Neville and Luna, as well as many others that Harry had called friends.

Harry, even at this point in his life, couldn't help but miss his friends. They had been with him, been there for him, when it seemed like everyone else wanted him to fail. He had seen those he loved perish because of him, and yet that never drove them away. Harry smiled as he looked at Hermione and Ron, hand in hand in the picture. He had never noticed in their fifth year how close they were becoming, and it gad been downright a shock that they were a couple in their seventh year.

Harry knew why they had kept it a secret, and had Harry thought more of it, he and Ginny would have done the same. Secrecy was security. That had been Harry's first mistake, not keeping his relationship with Ginny a secret. It had never occurred to him to keep anything like that a secret, and it had opened them all up to unnecessary danger. Harry was smarter now, but then he thought he was smart enough to keep everyone safe.

Harry replaced the picture and pulled out his wand. It had been months since the last time he had held it, and the wand seemed angry with him for denying himself magic for so long. Harry stroked the wand with his fingers, thinking of all of the great witches and wizards that had held this wand over the years. He held the most powerful wand ever, and by default it made him one of the most powerful wizards ever. Harry was anxious of the power it granted him just because he had won the wand's allegiance from Voldemort.

“Sorry, boy, but I am a muggle for now,” Harry whispered to the wand as he replaced it in the wall safe next to his cloak and other things that hinted to the past he was suppressing. He prayed that one day he would be able to rejoin his friends and the rest of the magical community. His fingers lingered a moment longer on the faces of his dear friends before he retracted his hand and closed the safe. He spun the wheel and replaced the picture of the black dog. A smile crossed his face, as it always did when he thought of how much the dog looked like his Godfather, Sirius, had when he was a dog.

Harry pulled his pants off and climbed under the bedding, willing sleep to come quickly. His body was tired, aching from the lack of substantial sleep from the night before and Harry hoped he would be able to nod off quickly. He sighed as his mind began to kick into high gear.

“Not again,” Harry groaned to the darkness, and instead of fighting another night of sleeplessness, he climbed out of bed and went searching under his bed for his running shoes. He found the left one easily, but the right shoe seemed elusive. Sighing he pushed himself further under the bed, thinking he might need to do something about the endless pile of stuff hidden under there. Seizing his right shoe finally, he pulled it out from its hiding place and tossed it on top of his mussed bed.

Harry pulled on sweats and a hooded sweat shirt, pulling shoes on over his sock-covered feet. He left his apartment quietly and headed towards town. He could tell by the glow of his wrist watch that it was already so late, nearly eleven. It seemed like time sped by when it wasn't welcomed. He turned the corner of the alley his visited so often to find the book store was still open.

“Brit, what are you doing out so late?” The old woman who ran the store asked as Harry entered. She was maybe seventy, possibly eighty, with wiry white hair and nearly blind eyes. It was odd how she always knew he was there, though she had never seen his face.

“Good evening to you, Mrs. Jordan,” Harry murmured as he closed the door tightly behind him. “I was out for a run and thought I would see what you have here in the store.”

“Not much more than I had yesterday, dear,” Mrs. Jordan said as her hand went to his cheek endearingly. She patted it and walked toward the counter. “I did get a miss shipment, though, and I thought I would return it, but perhaps it would spark your interest?”

“What is it about?” Harry asked as the woman held what looked to be an old leather bound book.

“I am not sure,” Mrs. Jordan said as she ran her fingers across the spine. A smile crossed her face wistfully and she held the book out to Harry. “It just feels special, and I knew if anyone would appreciate that sort of thing here, it would be you.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. He pulled out his wallet, surprised he had remembered to grab it. It was as if destiny ensured that he would be able to get the book that night. Harry looked down at his bank card: Britten Donovan. Harry shook his head, thinking that perhaps his name should have been a bit cooler.

“Now, son, don't stay up too late reading that book tonight,” Mrs. Jordan warned with a kind smile, her walking stick clicking on the stone floor as she led Harry back outside into the cool night air.

“Yes ma'am,” Harry said as he held the book in his hand. He waited until she locked up and was safe inside her store before Harry headed back to his apartment building on the other side of the coal mining town.

Once locked safely in his apartment and stripped down to his boxers, Harry climbed back into bed with the new book that he had purchased. Harry ran his fingers over the gold embossed lettering: A Fairy Tale by: J. Longlove. He felt himself shiver though he wasn't certain why. He had never heard of Longlove before, and wondered if this Longlove fellow was any good.

“Hm, Lon-glove? Well, Mrs. Jordan had recommended many books before I would have never read, and they all turned out so well. I am not really into fairy tales, but this is certain to be interesting,” Harry murmured as he opened the book.

There was a prince who was the greatest prince in all the land, who survived when the king, who was not of his blood, wished to kill the true heir to the throne. With the queen slain in a most heinous way, all was certain to end for the young prince, but the evil king who had stolen the throne was thwarted when his evil sword failed to slay the young prince shortly after his first birthday on All Hallows Eve.

Harry stopped reading; a cold chill had overcome him despite the tightly sealed windows. He shook his head, thinking while this sounded very familiar, it just couldn't be. This was a muggle book he had bought in a muggle book store. Harry laughed aloud suddenly. It was just a book after all; a fairy tale the muggles probably all told their children. Harry laughed again at himself, thinking that his friends would think of him as a prat to think he was so labeled a prince in a book.

The young prince, now an orphan was banished to live with the evil half sister of the now slain queen, who insisted the boy never know of his true heritage. Moreover, for ten long years, the boy lived side by side with a cousin that was treated so much better than he was. The boy was ignored and abused, but never knew of his royalty and how truly special he really was. That boy's name was James.

“See, it's not me,” Harry said aloud to himself, almost hysterical. He looked at his clock, seeing that time had seemed to slow down and it was still a bit until midnight. Harry settled against his pillows and pulled the book closer to continue.

James couldn't believe his luck when the master of kings and queens, princess and princes summoned him to come and live in the largest and grandest castle, away from his aunt, uncle, and cousin who had strived to never allow James to know who he really was or what he was capable of. James traveled the usual way and there he met his two best friends, for good measure we will call Jane and Hank. The three fought gallantly next to each other through the years, and finally, when they were seventeen, they killed once and for all the evil king who had once been thwarted in his attempts to kill James.

James had a secret that only Jane knew, though, and while it wasn't clear, it was something that James could never share with Hank. After all, Hank was betrothed to Jane. James was sent far away to a place where hell knows no heaven, alone and scared, while Jane and Hank were married. In addition, for some long years, James thought his friends had forgotten him. It was until an owl arrived, it tapping on James' window, alerting to him something was very wrong back home in their kingdom.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap. Harry's eyes darted up warily to the glass window. He frowned and looked at the window, covered tightly with the drapes. His imagination was playing tricks on him, surely. He laughed at himself again and went back to reading the page.

Thinking his imagination was playing trick on him, James ignored the tapping on the window. It seemed unlikely that after six years that anyone was coming to rescue him or request him from the belly of hell. So he ignored the tapping that seemed to get louder and harsher by the minute until near madness consumed the young man and he leaped from his bed, tore back those hideous curtains that he thought looked good in the window, and allowed the owl to enter.

Harry looked at the curtains and frowned. What had David said they looked like? A mix between poop and vomit? Harry laughed at the thought, but his laughter was cut short by the sound of tapping on the glass of the window, unseen by the aforementioned curtains. Harry let the book slip from his lap, it landing on the floor rather unceremoniously as Harry headed to the wind. His stomach was a bunch of nerves as he reached his hand and gripped the rough material of the curtains. Harry jerked them back and jumped.

He peered out the window, a large finger of a branch from the tree planted in front of his window was tapping rather plainly as the wind kicked up, shaking the branches. Harry laughed at himself, his heart to his chest. He could feel his heart pounding hard. Harry pulled the curtain closed, still laughing as he turned around only able to get a glimpse of a person before a fist collided with his jaw, knocking him unconscious.

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A/N: Sorry it is taking so long to get these chapters up. I am spreading myself too thin I think, but here it is. And I will take this off of pause.

The Morning After

Harry woke up alone some time after, face down on the floor. A scant pool of blood mixed with drool stained his otherwise pristine carpet. His face hurt some, but not nearly as much as it should have for a punch that had rendered him unconscious. He looked around, expecting his assailant to still be there, in his room, but found it to be completely bare. He pushed up off the floor, standing, and grabbed the metal baseball bat from his closet. He didn't think twice, just ran into his living room, wielding the bat and screaming like a banshee. The living room was empty.

“What the hell is going on?” Harry asked aloud as he stood there, holding the bat in his boxer shorts. He looked around his small apartment to find that it was completely ransacked. It was an apparent robbery, he thought, and blind panic welled up in him. Harry ran back to his bedroom and felt his stomach fall to the floor. The picture of the black dog had been snatched from the wall and thrown aside. The frame had cracked upon impact with the closet door. The safe door hung limply from one miniscule hinge. Everything inside of Harry's safe was gone.

Harry rushed to the bathroom and was sick, his sides heaving and aching before he was through. It was gone, all of it. Harry mentally checked off everything he had kept in there: the picture, his important papers, and the key to his vault at the wizarding bank, his cloak, and his wand. The last two hurt the most. The cloak had been his father, and the only life line that Harry had to the man that had fathered him. The wand, the famous Elder Wand, made him a wizard.

“Brit? You in `ere?” David called as he stood in the doorway to the apartment. Harry didn't want to see anyone, but knew that he would have at least attest that he was still alive.

“Yeah, back here,” Harry called as he walked back towards the living room. He felt ill at ease at the thought that his wand was gone.

“What'n the `ell is goin' on?” David asked as his eyes surveyed the destruction. Harry looked down at his watch. More than five hours had passed between his attack and his reviving.

“I think I need to call the police,” Harry muttered as he hopelessly looked around for his telephone. David pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and shoved it into Harry's hand.

“I wouldn't touch nothin' until the cops come,” David said as he remained in the doorway. Harry nodded and summoned the police using David's cell phone.

By the time the police left, Harry felt spent. At David's request, Harry had called in sick to the mine. After the report was made, and pictures were taken, Harry was left alone to deal with the mess. Harry sunk onto the floor rather uselessly, his back against the door, as he surveyed his once cluttered but untainted apartment. Harry sighed and stood, his face twisted unpleasantly.

“I can't believe that someone broke in here to steal my wand,” Harry growled as he gathered the books that were closest to him. He was angry, but not that meaningless anger that sometimes plagued the other miners who were dissatisfied about the way that their lives were going. This was a more direct anger at his permanent loss of his wand, and of his wizard-hood. He would have cried if it weren't for the fact that he hadn't cried since the war.

Harry managed to right most of the wrong in his living room and went to work scrubbing the kitchen by hand, a task he had perfected during his youth spent with his aunt. He made a face and didn't understand the point of completely upending his life if the robber or robbers, as it may have been, knew about the safe. They should have and could have just strolled into Harry's room and made off with the contents of the safe. He or they or whatever had been in his room.

`I can't believe I was laid out in one punch,' Harry growled and he began to scrub harder. Harry looked up at the door suspiciously as he heard a knock. Glancing at the baseball bat now resting against the bookshelf, Harry stood and headed to greet the knocker with extreme prejudice.

“Yes?” Harry asked rudely as he opened the door widely. Before him stood a young woman he was vaguely familiar with, probably from the mailbox or something.

“Betsy told me that you had a nasty little break in,” the woman said as she entered the apartment, her arms burdened with a heavy paper sack. She placed it on top of the counter and began unloading food. Harry frowned at her confused, but moved to close the door. Before he could close it, though, Betsy and another woman entered the apartment.

“Brit, dear, go and relax,” Betsy said warmly. “We'll finish cleaning and put on a stew for you.”

“Who are they?” Harry asked quietly as he guided Betsy away from the pushy woman with the paper bag and the quiet, more timid young woman.

“Where are my manners? This is Mrs. Chistery, she lives on the third floor,” Betsy introduced. The pushy woman smiled lustily and shook Harry's hand. He could see up close that she was not a pretty woman. “This is my friend from college, The University of Arts and Movement, come to stay a spell with me as we say. Brit this is Quinn Rouse.”

“Pleasure to meet you both formally,” Harry muttered. The younger woman, Quinn, nodded and took a bag and headed towards the back of the apartment, Harry's room. Harry followed her, still unable to feel at ease with people in his room. Not after the unknown person or people had invaded his room and knocked him unconscious.

“You must be feeling vulnerable and raped,” Quinn murmured as she stood in his bedroom door way. She headed toward the window and kneeled down, pulling a rag and a small bottle. She went to work cleaning the blood.

“How did you know that there was blood there?” Harry asked suspiciously as the young woman cleared away the small stain.

“David told Betsy you looked as if someone hit you,” Quinn said quietly as she frowned at him. “You have blood on your shirt, and the walls are thin. I heard you had been in the bedroom when you were hit.”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled as he touched the splintered wood of the frame. “I am just a little jumpy and suspicious.”

“Naturally,” Quinn said as she forced a smile and began to pick up various things up off the floor. Quinn lifted the book Harry had been reading just a short time before the attack. “I never took you as a fairy tale kind of guy.”

“We just met,” Harry said as he took the book away from her quickly.

“Of course, yes, but from the brief encounter, still, you don't take me as the type to read fairy tales,” Quinn said as Harry carried the book over to his dresser. He looked in disbelief as he placed the book on the smooth surface.

“I don't believe it!” Harry breathed and Quinn came to his side quickly.

“What?” Quinn asked as she looked at the scratches in the surface of the dresser. The scratches read: Go HOME, Harry, or ELSE! “Brit, who is Harry?”

However, it wasn't the threatening message scratched into the wood of his dresser that had him gasping in awe like an excited child. It was the seemingly unimportant piece of wood resting beside it: his wand, the Elder Wand, untouched and undamaged. Harry reached for wand first but Quinn's fingers closed on it quicker and she held it rather unrefined and unpolished in manner.

“What a queer thing to find left in the apartment,” Quinn whispered, not to Harry so much as herself. She turned to look at Harry with curiosity as she turned the thing over in her hand.

“That is mine,” Harry said as he tried to maintain a nonchalant sort of way about him. He didn't want to raise any suspicions about him and the nature of his relationship with the bit of wood.

“That, I don't doubt, as it is in your apartment,” Quinn said as she still handled the piece of ornately carved wood. She smiled as her fingers caressed the tiny carved bird. “It is a beautifully old piece of wood, I would dare say.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. He was getting antsy as she still molested and raped the secrets of the wood. Harry shook his head, unnoticed by Quinn.

`She is just admiring it as art, not as a wand,' Harry urged himself as he fought to control the blind panic that seemed to restoring itself in his chest. Quinn handed it back to Harry, and he fought not to hug the wand in front of her.

“Well, I must get back to cleaning,” Quinn said brightly as she straightened the book on the dresser.

Harry thanked the women an hour or so later as he let them out of the apartment. There was the rich, warm smell of a stew in the crock pot that Betsy had started for him, and the apartment was spotless. Except for the safe and the frame and of course the missing things from the safe, it looked like the apartment had never been broken into. Harry took his wand, which was never going to leave his person again and headed toward the bedroom. He pulled the curtains tight and fixed the safe and the picture with a flick of his wand.

Harry went to the dresser and tried to erase the writing but with no avail. Giving up, Harry tucked his wand into his pocket and grabbed the book. He thought about reading it in his bedroom, but thought that it was too weird and like before. A bowl of hot stew in front of him, Harry tucked into the table and opened the book.

The prince had misinterpreted the message the owl gave him, for the owl was an enchanted owl that could not speak but could write. The message had meant to be a summons of sorts, but the message had been distorted and the owl was murdered. This was all unknown to the prince, who read the message as a threat once he awoke from his forced slumber, unaffected by the slumber except for a busted lip.

Harry's fingers went to his tender lip and shook his head. This was the stupidest thing that he had ever thought of. It was coincidence, plain and simple. The vague story could have been interpreted in just about anyone's situation; especially if you were as suspicious and bored as Harry had been as of lately. Harry laughed at himself again, and read on.

Little did the prince know that there was a friend among him, there to help him return to his kingdom and to his previous glory. The prince had been unaware, but it would become evident soon. He was to attend a feast in his adopted kingdom, a feast being held in his honor. This Sunday night.

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A/N: Sorry. Took a hiatus to write a story called Wood and Stone for someone named Turtle on the fanfiction . net site, and I have to say it is great. It is a shorter story, but definitely worth the read and review… so, without further ado, here is the next chapter. Now I will say that there are subtle and not so subtle hints as to what is going on, but you will just have to read and take in what you take in. Don't forget to review, since you are reading! Play nice!

The Feast of the Three Kings (Epiphany)

Harry had thought about canceling his dinner with his neighbors. It wasn't that Sunday supper turned him off, it was that damn book. The words were haunting him. It wasn't even the part that had said that there was feast in his honor, though that did bother him some. It was the part of the story that had said in his `adopted kingdom'. Wasn't that what he had considered Golden Valley? His adopted home. He looked at the calendar, and the date bothered him. Tonight, the night of the dinner, was January 6^th, the night of the Three Kings.

There were too many strange things going on and so Harry thought about cancelling. Harry probably would have if it hadn't been for the fact that David and Betsy lived right next door. Harry pulled on his favorite polo shirt, didn't even try to do a thing with his hair, and headed next door. He knocked, and was surprised to see Quinn answer the door. He hadn't really been aware that she would have been in attendance.

“Brit, how are you?” Quinn asked as Harry handed her the bottle of wine he had brought. He had only brought it because manners dictated that he bring something. Wine seemed like a safe thing to bring.

“Good, Quinn, and you? Enjoying your stay?” Harry replied. Quinn nodded.

“I do miss home, though,” Quinn said softly. She smiled as she shut the door. “This is so far from Strattford-upon-Avon.”

“Where is Strattford-upon-Avon?” Harry asked, thinking it sounded vaguely familiar. Quinn's face flushed deep red, as if the question was one the she should have never had to have asked to her.

“Oh, um, Betsy'll want us in the living room, since they have no formal dining room to speak of,” Quinn said busily as she walked into the kitchen. Harry watched her curiously. She seemed nervous at his simple follow question, and the line from his book came to mind:

Little did the prince know that there was a friend among him, there to help him return to his kingdom and to his previous glory. The prince had been unaware, but it would become evident soon.

Harry wondered if this story was true, and if it was to be believed, could Quinn be the friend among him. Harry shivered at the thought, the hairs on his neck standing up in an awkward way. Too much didn't make sense, and yet it all fit. However, Quinn and he weren't friends. They had just met a few days before.

“Brit, thank god you came,” David said hurriedly as he came out from the bedroom. David was holding his son, a little tot, haphazardly. Dribble and spit was erupting in bubbles from his mouth.

“I said I would,” Harry said as he looked at the baby curiously. It wasn't a small baby, and reminded him slightly of his cousin as a baby, pink and fat. It looked at Harry curiously and grabbed at him.

“Ooh, thank god he wants to go to someone other than me,” David said as he dumped the baby into Harry's arms. David retreated to the back of the flat with words of getting dressed.

Harry looked down at his neighbor's baby and tried to imagine what life would have been like to be a father. He couldn't fathom it. He wouldn't even want to try unless he could have a family with Hermione, and he knew that was never going to happen. If he believed the book, she had already married Ron. Who knows, six years is a long time. Perhaps, Ron and she already had half a dozen babies: little bushy brown haired girls and freckly red haired boys. Harry laughed.

“You have a nice laugh,” Quinn said as she reentered the living room. She glanced down at the baby. “You really have a way with babies. Do you have any kids?”

“Nope,” Harry said as he thwarted the small fists from seizing his glasses. “I thought I might want them one day, but I am not sure.”

“Well, you'd be a good dad,” Quinn said as she ran her finger along the spines of Betsy's books. “All those books in you apartment, are they for show or did you really read them all?”

“I read them all,” Harry said. He smiled at the thought. “Some of them I read more than once.”

“Why?” Quinn asked. She continued to look at the books, but it didn't seem like she was reading their titles.

“Why did I read them? It started because I was bored and lonely, but then I grew to love them. My best friend back home turned me on to books, she gave me my first one,” Harry said wistfully deep in thought. “Now I read them for connection and pleasure.”

“What was the first book she gave you?” Quinn asked as she looked at him. Harry swallowed and squinted, as if he was deep in thought. He couldn't very well tell her it was about Quidditch. She was a muggle, she'd have no idea, and he couldn't explain it to her.

“Something about flying,” Harry lied. He smiled. “It was many years ago.”

“Oh,” Quinn said. “Well, she must have been a really good friend for you to want to read for her.”

“She was the best,” Harry admitted.

“What happened?” Quinn asked curiously. Her cheeks pinked, and she shook her head. “Sorry, I know that was personal.”

“No, it's fine, but how do you assume anything happened?” Harry inquired as he watched her face.

“Oh, well, I just assumed that since she isn't with you here in hell, and there weren't any pictures up of her that something must have happened,” Quinn lied. Harry saw how nervous she was and he knew she was lying.

“Nothing bad, she married my best mate and had lots of babies,” Harry lied. Quinn's eyes went wide and she looked like she might say something but then her watch chimed.

“Oh, sorry, have to go take my medicine,” Quinn said as she silenced the watch. “Diabetic,” she murmured, as if that answered that. Quinn disappeared into the kitchen and rejoined Harry, Betsy, and David a minute or two later.

“Well, I saw we eat,” David said as he glanced over at his son sleeping in Harry's arms. Harry hadn't even been aware that the kid had fallen asleep. “Shoot, Brit, we can't never get him to go to sleep. You goin' to have to come an' put him asleep e'er night now.”

“David Joseph King, really. Now, that is just laziness on your part,” Betsy said as she took the baby. She smiled at her son. “He's a good boy; you've just got to spend more time with him.”

“I know, I know Bets, I get it,” David growled. Betsy gave him a look as she walked out of the room that had David clamping his mouth shut. He stood and poured the wine. Quinn shook her head.

“Sorry, none for me,” Quinn said smiling. “Interacts with the medicine I am on, and I don't want to end up in the hospital.”

“Yeah, `specailly since the nearest one is `bout a half an hour away,” David said as he drained his wine in one gulp. Harry didn't drink his as quickly, but he drank it fairly quick still just the same.

Dinner was quiet and uneventful, and Harry begun to loosen up and relax. It didn't even bother him that two times during the three hour dinner and dessert Quinn had to go take her diabetic medication. He thought that it must be awful to have such a condition that required medicine on such a regular basis.

Harry said good night to them after dessert and headed alone to his apartment. He pulled off his nicer clothes and tossed them in his hamper before settling on to the couch with his book and a blanket. He was averse to reading it in bed anymore, but found the words were just as creep.

After the feast of the three Kings, James knew that the time was coming to an end in his adopted kingdom. Though he was still uncertain, he could feel the change on the wind. His enemy, neither new nor unknown, had found him and was coming after him, to finish what the evil king had failed.

His friend, his beloved Jane was near, but her life was in danger, as her husband, James' dear friend, had been slain. The enemy, known as the White Serpent, had slain him in hopes of drawing James from the kingdom. Holding her only child hostage, Jane was forced to seek James in hopes of luring him home.

Jane, a shape shifter by choice, deceived the man she loved to say the child she had bore to the man she had married, but never could completely give her heart to.

The prince, James, in a fit of fury brought about by Jane's deception, went to the gypsy fortune teller and begged her for a potion or spell or antidote, because despite Jane's marriage, James wanted nothing more than to be the one that rescued Jane and her child from the clutches of the White Serpent. Jane had deceived James, but it was a forgivable deception.

“This is ridiculous,” Harry murmured as he pulled on his shoes. He needed to see if Mrs. Jordan still had the shipping crate this book came from. The story was certainly not something that muggles would tell their children. It was too strange. He tried to flip ahead in the book, but the pages acted as if they were glued together. He had found the last couple of times, but thought nothing of it until now. He had to read, and actually read, the book to be able to turn a page. It was maddening.

Harry ran as fast as his legs would take him to the muggle book shop, the leather bound book in his hand. He was panting and thankful the shop was still open. Mrs. Jordan didn't look up, but continued to feel along as she put various books away. She took her seat behind the counter, perching upon a wobbly stool.

“Brit, what brings you out again this late? Surely you are not done with that book I gave you earlier this week,” Mrs. Jordan crooned as she looked out the window.

“Well, no, I am not done,” Harry said quietly. “It's actually this book I wanted to talk to you about. It tells me what is happening. Well, sort of. Like here, it says that the prince in a fit of fury blah blah blah, went to see the gypsy fortuneteller.”

“Did you go see a gypsy fortuneteller after reading this?” Mrs. Jordan asked lightly. Her bright blue eyes sparkled eerily.

“Well, no,” Harry said frowning. “I came here.”

“Sometimes, we see parallels in the stories we read, my boy,” Mrs. Jordan said softly. Harry shook his head.

“No, this is more than parallels,” Harry said.

“Does this book name you by name?” Mrs. Jordan asked curiously.

“Erm, no, but it does use my father's name: James,” Harry said quickly. He felt a wave of foolishness crashing over him. It really seemed so unlikely now that he was saying it aloud.

“Dear, James is common name, like John or Harry. But, perhaps this is your father's story? Maybe you remember it from your childhood,” Mrs. Jordan offered.

“I don't know, I doubt it. I never knew my father,” Harry said frustrated. “And, anyways, the book won't let me read ahead.”

“What do you mean?” Mrs. Jordan asked frowning. “Are the pages blank?”

“I don't know,” Harry said. “They remain fused, glued shut, until I read it.”

“Hmm, interesting, Brit. You have an interesting book their, son, almost magical,” Mrs. Jordan said thoughtfully. Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps, you should read it with great caution.”

Harry opened the book up, resting the book on the counter top. He flipped to the last page he was able to read, and naturally the next page was released to him. He read it aloud to Mrs. Jordan.

Unknown to him, the prince climbed aboard a golden chariot that was enchanted and took to flight among the heavens, in search of the child of his beloved. Hidden among strangers, more transparent then a ghost, was his love, hidden in plain sight. She had been with him for days, haunting his dreams and denying him sleep to open his mind to the possibility that she had always been there, by his side, for three long years. It had been three years since her Hank had died, and Jane had been away from her child, trying upon trying to get James to return.

“Interesting, Brit,” Mrs. Jordan said as she wiped her eyes on a handkerchief she had pulled out of her pocket. “I think it is a tragic love story.”

“But what does it mean?” Harry implored.

“I don't know,” Mrs. Jordan said. She scrunched her face up. “It is queer though that you mentioned a golden chariot.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

“Well, down in Chlorine, there is a new smaller airline that opened up. It does chartered flights on a plane called the Chariot 281. They have nick-named it the Golden Chariot because it is a canary yellow plane. It flies wherever you may want to go. In fact, oddly enough, I am visiting my great grand niece and I am flying from Chlorine to Strattford-upon-Avon,” Mrs. Jordan said with a slow and deliberate voice. It did not go unnoticed by Harry.

“Did you say Strattford-upon-Avon?” Harry asked slowly. Mrs. Jordan nodded.

“Yes, to visit my great grand niece,” Mrs. Jordan said. “She came to retrieve me for a little holiday.”

“I have to go,” Harry said quickly.

“Ok, well let me know how the book turns out when I return, Brit,” Mrs. Jordan said cheerfully.

“No, I mean I have to go with you,” Harry said. He looked around the book store. “She's here, isn't she? Your great grand niece.”

“Oh, dear no,” Mrs. Jordan said smiling. “She went to have dinner with the three Kings, and a boy she called Harry.”

A/N: Ok… so how is that? Did you see the subtle and not so subtle clues? As always, I love to read and respond to your `theories' and such. Don't forget to review!

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A/N: This one is a little short, but it answers many questions. Enjoy.

Lavatory Talk

Flying came as second nature to Harry, though he preferred a broom above and beyond muggle's pathetic means of flight. He hadn't always felt this way, naturally, and had been rather envious as he watched the planes take off down at the airport. He thought only rich people could afford to fly. Harry shook his head. At the price of this ticket, and the risk he put himself in confounding the guys in customs, this flight was one for a rich person.

Harry stored his one carry-on under the seat to the thirty person plane. He looked around for Mrs. Jordan and Quinn, her great grand niece. He hoped that he hadn't come off as insistent last night, and they cancelled their flight. He needed to talk to Quinn, and what better way than on a very long transatlantic flight? Harry wasn't disappointed as the blonde-haired person and Mrs. Jordan walked onto the plane.

“Dearie, these are our seats, no?” Mrs. Jordan had asked Quinn. Quinn had glanced back towards the bathroom to see Harry staring at her. Quinn had nodded at Mrs. Jordan, but the two women seemed to wait a minute before taking their seats, leaving the seat closest to the window free. Harry didn't move to join them, just remained in his seat. He could wait.

The take off from Chlorine was uneventful, and the flight was rather full, if you took into account it held over half of its allotted passengers. Harry read an Autotrader while occasionally glimpsing up at Quinn. Mrs. Jordan had taken out her wooden knitting needles. She was working on a maroon and gold scarf. Quinn looked back at him as her wrist watch beeped.

Harry watched her stand and head towards the back of the plane in a hurry, and Harry rose and followed her. Quinn ducked behind the curtain and into the first lavatory, closing the door on Harry's foot. She looked at him in surprise and horror as her eyes met his.

“Brit, what are you doing?” Quinn demanded as she went to close the door to the closet sized room.

“I need to talk to you,” Harry said. Quinn struggled with the door.

“Please, Brit, I need to take my medicine, then we can talk,” Quinn implored as she tried to push him back.

“No, I think I need to talk to you now,” Harry said. He looked at her. She was sweating, as if in pain or over heated. “We know each other, don't we?”

“Of course, we both had dinner at the Kings' on Sunday,” Quinn said as she continued to struggle against Harry's foot. He refused to move it.

“I mean before that,” Harry pressed.

“Well, of course! I helped straighten your flat after the robbery!” Quinn screeched as she slammed Harry's foot with the door again. She was slamming it as hard as she could over and over again in a panic.

“I mean before that,” Harry said quietly, ignoring the pain that was forming in his foot from her assault on it with the lavatory door.

“Of course not, Harry,” Quinn snapped. Harry jerked his foot back in shock, and Quinn slammed the door.

“You know, you were never very good at lying to me,” Harry said through the door. His voice was even and calm. The door remained closed. “Why didn't you tell me sooner? Why didn't you tell me at all?”

“I don't know what you mean,” Quinn said through the door.

“Polyjuice potion, Hermione,” Harry said. “It has to be taken every hour so that you stay in your unnatural state. Remember our second year? I may not be as smart as you, but I do know some things about you. I wasn't born yesterday.”

“I don't know what you are talking about,” Quinn said through the door.

“Please, Hermione, I haven't seen you in six years,” Harry said in an almost pleading voice. “Don't turn away from me again. Please.”

The silence from the lavatory was deafening, and Harry waited. He would wait the entire way to Strattford-upon-Avon, if he had to, even with a potentially broken foot. He hoped to hell he wouldn't have to, but should he need to, he would. The lock clicked open and the door slid open slightly.

“Get in here,” she told him and Harry never once thought of not complying. He had to get to the bottom of this. He slipped into the cramped lavatory, her back to him. Her hair was no longer blond instead it was that warm honey and chestnut, cascading in delightfully springy curls.

“Hermione,” Harry said, unable to keep his hands off her curls. It had been six years since he had buried his hands in them.

“No, before we go any further, you have to know, a lot has changed in six years,” Hermione said, her back still to him. “I have changed, and not for the better.”

“Hermione, I don't care,” Harry said as he touched her shoulder. She turned to face him, and he had to touch her, to make sure she was really there before him. She looked different, older and wearier, but still beautiful. His eyes went to a small scar at her hairline, straight and thin. His fingers went to it and she brushed his hand away like a vexing fly.

“You can thank Drake for that when we see him,” Hermione said. Harry felt his anger boiling up inside him and she touched his face tenderly. “No, Harry, it isn't worth getting worked up about now. I don't have a lot of time to explain.”

“Hermione, what the hell happened after I left?” Harry asked as he wound one of her curls around his finger.

“The thing is… you should have never left. Do you know how hard it has been to find you?” Hermione asked impatiently. Harry shook his head.

“I am where the ministry put me six years ago,” Harry said. “Where did you go? You married Ron, right?”

“Yes, I married Ron,” Hermione said. She looked pained for a moment. “What happened to me after you left has little to do with why you need to go back. Mrs. Jordan worked for the ministry. She went AWOL a few years ago, and the ministry was never able to figure out where she went to, where you were. She was assigned to keep an eye on you.”

“You know, she is blind, right?” Harry asked. Hermione cracked a smile.

“She has a double set of Mad-Eye Moody eyes,” Hermione said. “Actually, her sight is not her asset to the ministry, it was always you. She has always known everything about you, and when she contacted Neville, she knew he could never be turned against you.”

“Why not you?” Harry asked. Hermione frowned, biting her lip.

“Look, Harry, I have done things that I am not proud of,” Hermione said. “I am not going to sugar coat anything and pretend I have been innocent while you have been gone. I haven't.”

“I know, you have a child, with Ron,” Harry said quickly. Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“No, I don't Harry,” Hermione said quickly.

“My book said Ron was dead and your child was taken, three years ago,” Harry said quickly. The door to the lavatory opened but no one was standing there. Harry gaped as a disembodied fist appeared out of no where and collided with the side of Harry's jaw.

“Ron, what the hell!” Hermione shouted at the disembodied hand. She reached up and snatched Harry's invisibility cloak from Ron's head. Harry looked confused.

“Why in the hell did you hit me?” Harry asked as he rubbed the side of his face.

“For the same reason I hit you in your flat, mate. You kissed my wife,” Ron said as Hermione grabbed Ron by the shirt and pulled him into the already tight lavatory quarters.

“Ex-wife, Ron. Ex-wife,” Hermione reminded him gently. She turned to Harry. “I was in the process of putting a spell on you to knock you out and Ronald decided to hit you right there and then.”

“Explains why the hit didn't hurt,” Harry lied. He looked to Ron and Hermione, wondering if he looked as different to them as they looked to Harry. “Why are you both here, and why aren't you dead?”

“Now you fancy me dead?” Ron asked through gritted teeth. “Was enough that you went and disappeared on us, or haunted my marriage, no. Now you fancy me dead.”

“No,” Harry said as he looked at them. “It's just the book said…”

“Book? What book?” Hermione asked in her usual over-reacting way. Harry smiled and Ron frowned at him.

“The fairy tales book you picked up in my apartment,” Harry said. He looked at her. “I know that my wand was not there before you came in, you put it there. Wait my cloak was in the safe. You broke into my apartment?”

“Well, see, Harry,” Hermione said slowly. “I had to. We needed the cloak, and we couldn't just ask for it.”

“Why not?” Harry asked.

“Because we are bound that we would not tell you,” Ron said.

“Tell me what?”

“That you are the only one that was sent away,” Hermione said. She tried to smile but failed. “The new minister sent you away with no intention on sending anyone else away, or ever bringing you back home.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

“We don't know. He was murdered the week after you left and no one knew where you were,” Hermione said quietly. The lavatory seemed too close for comfort and Ron shifted uncomfortable, which cause Harry and Hermione to shift.

“Is this really the only way we can talk?” Ron complained as he felt the handle of the door digging into his back. “We aren't as small as we used to be and fitting into tight spaces isn't as fun as it used to be.”

“We don't know who is watching,” Hermione chastised Ron. He made a face at her, complete with what would have been a rude hand gesture had his arms not been so tight.

“I don't understand. Who would be watching?” Harry asked.

“Look, Neville was supposed to get a message to you,” Hermione said frustrated. “He and Luna have been working for the Quibbler for about five years together. Mrs. Jordan must have been in contact with them.”

“The book!” Harry exclaimed.

“The fairy tale book?” Hermione asked. “The one you have been reading?”

“Great, now you and she have books in common,” Ron growled jealously.

“Shut it, Ron,” Harry warned. He turned to his friend. “I admit it. I really liked her, a lot, but that was six years ago.”

“And now?” Ron asked.

“Now, I just need to find out what the hell is going on,” Harry said. Hermione nodded in agreement. “Anyways, the book. Mrs. Jordan gave it to me and it was authored by J. Longlove.”

“I see where you are going with this,” Hermione said thoughtfully.

“Do you? Because I don't,” Ron said crossly.

“Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood…Long and Love… LongLove,” Harry explained. Ron made a face.

“I don't think so,” Ron said. “I don't think that Neville or Luna would be that smart to think of something like that.”

“You don't give them enough credit, Ron,” Hermione chastised. Harry rolled his eyes, and for a moment the two were bickering like they had back when they were all in school.

“Anyways,” Harry said finally, loud enough to stop them from talking. “Everything that they have written in this book has been fairly on the mark. Granted Mrs. Jordan was a book store owner and not a gypsy fortuneteller, and you're not dead Ron, nor is there a kid involved…”

“That's not entirely true,” Hermione said. She looked embarrassed.

“What?” Harry asked.

“See, and don't hate me,” Hermione said. “We, Ron and I, took custody of Teddy while you were gone. Andromeda had fallen ill and she needed someone to care for him. So we had him. Well, it got out that he was the son of Remus, a known werewolf, and things spiraled out of hand.”

“What happened?” Harry demanded. This wasn't just some kid. This was his god son, after all.

“What happened doesn't matter,” Ron covered quickly. “All that matters is that Malfoy has Teddy and won't give him back until you and he duel to the death.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed. The were so many questions that Harry had for Hermione, but they would have to wait. A knock came to the door and Hermione pressed her fingers to her lips.

“Be right out,” Hermione called. She threw cloak over Ron the best that she could and then drank some polyjuice potion. She lowered her voice. “It is the only way right now. Too much is at stake.”

Hermione now back to looking like Quinn Rouse, the great grandniece of Mrs. Jordan opened the door. A woman was standing clear of the door and Ron slipped by unnoticed under the cloak. The woman watched as Hermione straightened her shirt as she headed out of the lavatory, followed by a very flustered looking Harry.

“The indencentcy of some people,” the woman quipped as Harry headed back to his seat. Quinn turned back to him.

“Things are different now, Brit,” Quinn said. She glanced around. “Nothing can change.”

“Ok,” Harry said. He sat in his seat and pulled out his book before sitting down and buckling back up. He watched as Quinn sat down next to Mrs. Jordan, who had nodded off with her knitting needles in her hand. Harry opened the book:

The prince, meeting with in private chambers, was debriefed of the situation occurring in his kingdom, but not all information was as true as it could have been. After six years, the princes' closest confidants had returned but shells of the people they had once been. The prince knew he must be cautious, cautious with these people and with the old feelings that were drawn up upon their return into his life.

For James, barely a man, had decided he had to find a way to save his kingdom, to save the child who held a cure within him, and to one day make Jane his Queen. Therefore, upon the ride to his kingdom, James plotted to find a way to be alone with Jane, for now her husband was dead… her marriage in shambles and dead.

`I guess they didn't mean Ron was dead in a literal sense,' Harry thought as he settled back against the seat. He closed the book and closed his eyes, wondering what the hell Neville and Luna had been thinking by sending him this book with cryptic messages. His godson was at the mercy of Malfoy's hands, and while they were distantly blood relatives, Teddy belonged anywhere the hands of the Malfoy. Andromeda surely missed the child.

`I have to get him back,' Harry though sleepily. `For Remus and for Tonks.'

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Sleeping Together

The landing in Strattford-upon-Avon went without a hitch, and Harry moved to gather his bag and head off the plane. Quinn grabbed his hand a moment, squeezing before turning back to assist Mrs. Jordan off the plane. Harry continued walking; squeezing tight the piece of paper she had snuck into his hand. Finding the first bathroom, he ducked behind the door, ignoring the rank smell of vomit and urine that seemed to permeate from every piece of the porcelain thrones.

“God,” Harry breathed, ready to vomit from the stench as he ducked into the first stall, locking it behind him. He hooked his bag up on the metal hook and carefully opened the small square of paper before him.

I am the secret keeper for 28414 West Minster on the Abbey, Strattford-upon-Avon, United Kingdom. Remember this address and destroy this piece of paper. I will be by to explain.

Harry memorized the address and pulled out his wand. He looked at the paper blankly then at his wand, uncertain which spell to used on the very small square of paper. Someone entered the bathroom, grumbling and tried to push open Harry's stall.

“Occupied,” Harry shouted as he nearly dropped the paper.

“Sorry,” the voice grumbled as he continued on to the next stall. Harry could see a set of feet shuffling as a pair of trousers slid to the floor. Harry almost gagged at the sound of splashing in the loo. The stench was too much and Harry hurriedly exited the bathroom, just to have to go back and retrieve his bag from the hook.

The poor man was still in the stall next to the one Harry had been in and seemed to be in labor, the way he was moaning and groaning. It nearly made Harry sick to hear the man carrying on that way. Harry grabbed his bag and headed quickly out of the restroom with the paper still in his hand. He glanced down at his hand, and frowned.

“Shit, where'd I drop it?” Harry growled. He headed back into the bathroom and retraced his steps but was unable to find the slip of paper. Harry ran his hand through his hair. “Maybe I flushed it by accident.”

Harry doubted it, but he couldn't fathom where the small slip of paper had ended up. He didn't want to go back into that bathroom for a fourth time and Harry decided that he must have flushed it after all. Harry hailed a cab to West Minster on the Abbey and paid the driver after he pulled his bag free of the yellow and black cab. The driver left Harry standing alone on the street. Harry headed up the street, glancing at the numbers until he came to 28413. He knew the next one was the right building, and sure enough it lay there looking as decrepit as the others around it did.

“For such a fancy sounding name, this neighbor is the pits,” Harry muttered at he climbed the steps of 28414. The door had no handle, no window. It was just a solid looking metal patch on the crumbling bricks. Harry took out his wand and tapped on the metal slab.

“Friend or foe?” The metal seemed to ask. Harry looked around incredulously, looking for the source of the voice.

“Excuse me?” Harry asked.

“Friend,” a voice said quickly, coming up behind Harry. Hermione was back in her natural state.

“Very good,” the metal moaned. “In your fourth year, who gave you your first real, honest kiss?”

“Viktor Krum,” Hermione said hurriedly.

“Enter,” the metal allowed. It dissolved, allowing Hermione passage into the depths of the building. She took Harry's hand and pulled him inside the entry hall. The door reestablished itself, looking ever more solid than it did before it dissolved.

“What was that?” Harry asked incredulously as he touched the cold metal.

“Protection,” Hermione said. She looked at him, her wand drawn and pointed at him. “Where was I when you found the chamber?”

“What?” Harry asked as he looked at the wand.

“Where was I when you found the chamber?” Hermione asked again.

“You were in the hospital wing. You had been petrified,” Harry said confused. Hermione's expression didn't relax but she put her wand away. “What was that about?”

“You can never be too certain who is using polyjuice potion these days, Harry,” Hermione said as she headed toward the back of the house. Harry looked around.

Where as the house he now owned at 12 Grimuld Place hadn't exactly been cheery, it was right near Disney compared to the funeral parlor turned abandoned transient hobo magnet that he was standing in at the moment. A rat, as large as a cat, ran past them without as much as a pause. Hermione didn't even seem to register the enormous monstrosity. Harry was lead to a small room with a table and a stove.

“Where are we?” Harry asked. Hermione jumped, as if startled. Harry frowned, thinking she was far too young to have forgotten he was there.

“Sorry,” Hermione muttered. “I was deep in thought and I didn't expect you to talk. Not much talking goes on in this house.”

“And whose house is this?” Harry asked. Hermione reached for a dusty kettle and flicked the water on with her wand, letting the brackish water run out and turn clear before she filled the kettle.

“This would be my house,” Hermione said as she absent-mindedly watched a huge cockroach crawl across the counter boldly, its antennas wiggling madly. Harry shivered involuntarily, but Hermione seemed unaffected by the sight of it.

“Yours?” Harry asked. Hermione nodded.

“I know it isn't clean or whatever, but I have been busy,” Hermione said as she sent the kettle to the small potbellied stove. Harry couldn't believe that Hermione would live in such filth. His Aunt Petunia would roll over in her grave to see any house in such a disgraceful state.

“Hermione, what happened?” Harry asked. He watched as Hermione set two cups of tea on the table. He wasn't the squeamish type but he was unable to think that he could eat or drink anything in this house.

“A lot more than I could ever go into at this point,” Hermione said quietly as she sipped her tea. Harry wondered if Ron's place was cleaner. Granted he and Ron seemed to be on the outs, but Harry would mend that in a heart beat just to not have to stay in this dump. Hermione saw his hesitation to drink and became annoyed. “It's not like I like living in this dump. It was convenient to my lab.”

“What did you do in your lab? Malfoy and you were partners?” Harry asked. Hermione nodded.

“We were working together for werewolf rights, and we found a cure,” Hermione said as she sipped her tea. “It was completely by accident.”

“You found the cure for werewolfism?” Harry asked unable to hide his surprise. He smiled, but the smile faded when he saw that Hermione wasn't smiling. “What happened? How did you guys discover the cure?”

“Well, it was four years ago, when Andromeda fell ill. You had been gone two years, and Ron and I were struggling in our marriage. We thought that a child might help, but Ron was unable to have children. Something about a Quidditch accident,” Hermione said squinting at Harry a moment. “Well, we offered to take Teddy into our care until Andromeda was better. We had a sitter come in to watch him while we were at work, but she was sick one day and I brought him to work with me.”

“To the lab?” Harry asked for clarification. Hermione nodded.

“Well, he was two years old and two year olds get into everything,” Hermione said. She smiled slightly. “Draco was a real sport about it and didn't even get upset when Teddy colored all over his research notes.”

“How nice,” Harry said sarcastically.

“No, actually he was a great assistant, really,” Hermione defended. Harry made a face, displeased that Hermione was defending Malfoy to him. He wondered if this was how Ron felt when she defended him to Ron. “Anyways, Teddy cut himself on some slides, just a little slice on his hand. Well, I cleaned Teddy up and dried his tears and it was then that Malfoy asked the little boy if he would like to see what his blood looked like in the research microscope.”

“Ok,” Harry murmured as he watched a pair of large cockroaches start nudging his cup of tea toward the edge of the table.

“Well, it was evident that something was different about his blood compared to the sample of control blood, normal blood of non-werewolf types. The sequences in the DNA were all funny,” Hermione said as she absentmindedly picked Harry's cup up and placed it back in front of him. “Draco and I compared it to the images of the control blood and the tainted blood, and it seemed that with Teddy's variation, it neutralized the effects of werewolfism, but just on a molecular level.”

“So Teddy is the cure?” Harry asked looking away from the cup-hijacking cockroaches to Hermione.

“Well, not exactly, but roughly, yes,” Hermione said. She sighed and looked away from Harry. “At first, I didn't want to tell Ron and I didn't want to do anything with the knowledge. Draco and I were already so close on our own. Nevertheless, Draco insisted that it was for the best interest of all if we explored the new information that was brought to light. I started lying to Ron and bringing Teddy into the lab for experiments.”

“You were experimenting on my god son?” Harry asked angrily. Hermione looked at him, slightly fearful, and shook her head.

“No, no, of course not,” Hermione said quickly. “We just took a little of his blood. Nothing more than if a doctor was running tests. We learned so much about werewolfism from him. With Nymphadora's metamorphism and Remus' werewolfism, Teddy became the perfect little cure. The only downside was that we were unable to isolate the variations and repeat them.”

“Ok,” Harry said annoyed. The thought of his god son being used, even for the greater interest of all felt all too familiar; hadn't the wizard community used him to kill Lord Voldemort? It felt all too familiar, in deed.

“Well, I was lying a lot to Ron, and I think he was catching on to my lies,” Hermione said.

“You were never good at lying,” Harry agreed. Hermione agreed.

“Teddy would cry whenever he thought he would have to go to work with me, it was killing me, and Ron noticed,” Hermione said sadly. “I told Draco that last day that Teddy was not coming back. Cure or no cure, I couldn't do this to him any more. At the time, Draco admitted that he was disappointed but he agreed. I thought things were fine, but then Draco took Teddy from my apartment. By then, Ron and I were living separately. Our marriage was in shambles.”

“Oh,” Harry murmured. Hermione pushed her hair back enough to show him the scar.

“This was an accident, a window blew a framed picture of you, Ron, and me off Teddy's nursery wall,” Hermione said. She let the hair fall back into place. “When I came to, Teddy was gone and Draco had left me a note saying that he and you would have to duel to the death, and that until then Teddy would remain his prisoner.”

“How could you let him take Teddy?” Harry implored.

“I never thought that he would,” Hermione cried. “I thought that he had changed. He was so different after the whole war thing, and he was a good listener when Ron and I were having a row. You don't know what it has been like for the past six years, Harry. While you were out there playing coal miner, we were here, picking up the pieces of a shattered wizarding world.”

“You seem to think I was away on holiday,” Harry charged. “Trust me, it was no picnic. At least you had each other. Whom did I have? No one, that's who, I worked manual labor in a mine and lived alone. I would have rather been here, taking care of my god son or being with you all.”

“Harry,” Hermione said stiffly after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. She rose and placed their cups in the rust-stained sink. “I am going to show you were you will be sleeping.”

Harry dreaded this part, but knew she must have thought that he would understand about the house and Teddy. He was understanding about the house, as Hermione was a brilliant mind and most were too busy to think about things like home, but he could never understand why Hermione would have allowed Teddy to be subjected to a single blood draw, much less multiple. He was angry.

Harry found himself four flights up from the ground floor. Hermione opened the door and the two walked into an immaculately clean bedroom with a large four poster bed, rich thick drapes hanging from the ornately clean rails. The room was as clean and fresh as if it had just been built. Hermione gestured to the bed.

“You sleep there and I am going to take the cot set up in the sitting area through there,” Hermione said. Harry glanced at the cot that was set up between the plush chair and the bookshelves of books. “You needn't worry about the critters up here. I have spoken to their kings and they reside only on the first two floors. Rarely do they venture to the third floor, and they are forbidden in my bed chambers.”

“You want to share a room with me?” Harry asked slowly. Hermione felt heat rising to her cheeks.

“I still like you Harry, even after all these years,” Hermione confessed. She didn't smile. “Ron wasn't lying to you or exaggerating when he said that you haunted our marriage, Harry. I was never able to erase my feelings for you, and I was never able to fully give myself to Ron.”

“What does that mean for us, Hermione?” Harry asked quietly. He hadn't moved closer to her, just stood there looking at her standing a few feet away.

“Right now? Nothing. Our main focus is to get Teddy back from Draco,” Hermione said quietly. She fought back a sob. “I really messed up.”

“Yeah, you did, Hermione,” Harry agreed as he placed his bag on the chair by the bed. The cot looked dreadfully uncomfortable, and Harry almost offered to switch, but then the thought of Hermione sticking his god son with needles erased all guilt for making Hermione take the old camping cot. Harry gathered his pajama pants and his toiletries, heading through to the wash room. He could hear Hermione moving around out side of the room and he frowned. His body seemed aware of the closeness of a perfectly good woman, on that he had feelings for, just with in reach.

Dressed, Harry crossed the room and busied himself in his bag. He tried to ignore the sound of Hermione in the shower, trying to keep the thoughts of Hermione naked with just a door between them. Harry groaned and climbed into her sheets, placing the large book in his lap. He hoped that it concealed his delicate condition. He frowned, not liking the tell of his body.

The prince couldn't believe the horrors that had prevailed while his kingdom was absent of their golden leader. Still, try as he may, he couldn't completely blame Jane. He understood the sacrifices that one makes for the love of a country or for the love of his people. He knew she only did what she thought was best. So, he remained, fighting the poverty that had seemed to plague her. She couldn't fight for a better when she felt the guilt or the lack of love.

James remained in her bedchamber, tucked between the only luxury she allowed herself, and for a moment, he contemplated the implications of a relationship started now in such a trying time in both of their lives. Love waits for no one, and it was already too late for the prince and his future Queen. The years may have passed without a word or touch, but James knew. Nothing had changed between them, though they had changed. The next steps James would have to take on his own.

Meanwhile, the White Serpent's agents had been alerted of James' arrival. They had obtained half of the location for the princes' fortress, carelessly left behind by the prince in the chapel of the porcelain thrones. Though incomplete, the White Serpent drew closer to obtaining all the information. He need only get the remainder, then there would be a challenge for the throne of all James's people.

“What are you reading?” Hermione asked as she stood there, watching him. Harry looked up to see her drying her hair with a towel, the damp locks clinging to her shoulders and neck in an alluring way. She was wearing a small shirt and a pair of boy shorts, her legs more shapely than he had ever remembered, but then again, he never remembered seeing quite as much of her as he did now, even when they on the run from Lord Voldemort. She had been shier then.

“Just my fairy tale book,” Harry said. He watched her cross the room and climb onto the bed next to him. For the first time ever, Harry wished he had a shirt on his body, preferably an itchy one that could distract Harry from the tumultuous feelings that swirled and churned inside him.

“This is the book Luna and Neville sent you?” Hermione asked as she slid her hands around the book. It slammed shut, startling her, and refused to open. She didn't seem surprised, and instead turned the book over and over in her hands. He fingers traced the embossing. “Wow, they have done a marvelous job on this. Leave it to Luna to charm it so that only you could read it. She was always so fond of you.”

“Are they married?” Harry asked as he leaned back to look at her better, propping himself up on his arm. Hermione nodded.

“They married a year or so ago, but only because her father got tired of them living together,” Hermione said quietly as she traced the words on the front tenderly. She smiled. “You should have seen the ceremony. It was so typical Luna Lovegood. I wish you could have been there.”

“Me too,” Harry said quietly. Hermione handed Harry back the book.

“I should head to bed. We have a lot we need to do in the morning,” Hermione said quietly. Hermione went to get out of the bed, hesitating for a moment, perhaps in hope that Harry would ask her to stay with him. Hermione pulled free of the bed and stoked the fire before she retired to her cot. Harry watched her for a few minutes before storing the book on the night table and turning out the light.

Harry struggled for a while, trying to decide what would be less dangerous to his well being: listening to her sleep from across the room, the sound of skin and rough canvas as she audibly tossed and turned or to have her at his finger tips, the smell of her clinging to him as she clung to her? Harry groaned at the prospects, but he had been so alone for so long. He promised himself he would just offer. She was sure to reject his offer.

“Hermione?” Harry called out quietly in the dark. “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” Hermione said as she shifted again noisily. “Are you cold? Do you need another blanket?”

“No, I am fine, really,” Harry said. He hesitated. Once he said what he had to say, there was no going back. He didn't know if he would be able really to sleep with her in the bed with him, but he wasn't able to sleep as it was, anyways. “Listen, Hermione, why don't you take the bed?”

“You won't fit on the cot,” Hermione said quietly.

“I know, I wasn't intending on sleeping on the cot,” Harry said. The room was silent for what seemed like eons, but perhaps only a few minutes passed. “Hermione?”

“Are you sure?” Hermione asked. She was already standing and stretching the tightness out of her muscles.

“Its only sleeping, Hermione,” Harry said gently. “We are adults. We can simply share a bed.”

Harry felt the bed covers shift slightly as she light climbed into bed. Where as before it seemed like Hermione's bed was perfectly large enough for them to sleep without touching, it seemed to have shrunk. Harry wondered if she hadn't charmed it smaller, not remember her needing to be so close to him when she was trying to check out his book. Her arm touched his light and he could feel his skin tingled.

“Thanks Harry,” Hermione murmured as she turned to her side, her back to him. For a moment, Harry desired nothing more than to fit his body against hers. He knew it would be a perfect fit. Sighing, Harry turned his back to her and closed his eyes. He started drifting off when the touch of her icy feet touched the back of his leg, causing him to jump.

“Sorry,” Harry said. Hermione laughed.

“Sorry, Harry. I forgot that most people don't like for feet to seek out the warmth from them. Sometimes cold things have a mind of their own,” Hermione said half asleep. She sleepily draped her arm across his chest and mumbled something, already back to sleep.

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Nothing Like Ron

Harry's arm was numb the next morning. He hadn't opened his eyes or put his glasses on, not quite yet. He was focused on the numbness in his arm, and for a moment he worried that it was some strange jet-lagged induced infliction that had caused it. He went to move it but found that it was firmly pinned under Hermione. She was still asleep for the moment, her face pressed against his chest. His heart began to race in anticipation, though he willed it to stop. She shifted her leg pinned between his. Heat rushed to his cheeks as he realized he was getting aroused with each passing second. He didn't want her to wake and pull away, but if he remained this close to her things were certainly going to happen between them. He knew he wanted to, but he couldn't be certain she would be ok with it.

`Until I am certain she would be ok with this, I am not doing anything,' Harry thought as she snuggled closer to him. Her breath tickled his chest a bit and he desired to taste her lips again.

“Hermione,” Harry whispered wiggling a bit to jostle her awake.

“No, Harry, not yet,” Hermione said with her eyes still closed. “Just a minute more, ok?”

“Yeah, ok,” Harry said. He watched her smile slightly before she sighed and rolled away from him. They didn't say much of anything as they dressed their backs to each other. Harry wanted to peek, but he didn't dare look. If she caught him peeking, she'd blast him right back to the caves at Golden Valley.

`I am never going back there,' Harry thought as he buttoned his jeans. `I will have David send me my books or something.'

The two headed down to the kitchen for breakfast where Ron was already waiting, standing frozen to his spot in the doorway. He looked terrified, and the kitchen was filled with the tiny giggles that could scare no one. Hermione sighed frustrated and pushed past him. Harry peeked in the kitchen over Ron's shoulder to see large spiders crawling here and there. Harry shivered involuntarily.

“They are only Gigiluses, honestly Ron,” Hermione snapped as she scooped a handful up off the table and dumped them out the open window. Harry pressed his way into the kitchen and helped her scoop the giggling spiders out the window.

“Yeah, honestly Ron,” Harry parroted. Ron snorted at him as he entered the room.

“You wouldn't be so flippant if you had woke up to find that you were covered in them,” Ron said as he opened the ice box looking for something to eat. “No roaches today?”

“They sleep in the day time, Ron, and really, it was one time,” Hermione defended as she picked one off Ron when he had his back turned. Harry grinned as she made a face at him and chucked the final giggling spider out the window. “They are harmless.”

“But, you knew I hated spiders, Hermione. Why'd you let them cover me?” Ron whined a moment before he threw himself into one of the chairs. He had a bucket of cold, week old chicken in his hand.

“They liked you, Ron,” Hermione said. She made a face and shook her head. “I have been gone for more than a month. That can't still be good.”

“I am sure it's fine,” Ron said as he sniffed a piece of chicken that was looking a little soggy and gray. He retched and threw the chicken back into the bucket. Ron magicked it back into the ice box to let Hermione deal with it on her own time.

“Why don't we grab something to eat at the corner cafe?” Hermione suggested as she closed the window. Ron nodded and Harry followed the two of them out of the house.

“So, how long have you been divorced?” Harry asked casually as the three of them walked along the street. Hermione scowled but Ron smiled broadly.

“The lovely little witch just recently granted me my divorce,” Ron said brightly. He jabbed his finger Hermione's way. “I filed two years ago, and she just now got around to signing her papers and getting them back. It finalized a month ago, and then she was gone.”

“What took so long?” Harry asked curiously.

“Oh, nothing,” Hermione lied. Harry raised his eyebrow at her blatant lie.

“Now, now, dear ex-wife, Harry is our very best friend, isn't he? He should know,” Ron said maliciously. Harry regretted bring it up, and almost said so but curiosity got the better of him. “She thought that she could fix our marriage. She very nearly did, and then she went called your name out, and well, let's just say that was the last time she and I were together.”

“I said I was sorry Ron,” Hermione snapped at him.

“You know, I don't really need to know any of this,” Harry mumbled as Hermione and Ron began bickering loudly on the side walk. Harry continued walking a few feet ahead of them when a car slammed on its breaks, changing course and heading right toward Hermione and Ron. Harry saw the car, heading at a break-neck speed, but the two were oblivious. Harry ran at them and dove, the three of them rolling out of harms way.

“What the hell!” Ron asked gasping for air at the force of Harry's tackle. Harry jerked out his wand and pointed at the little old man who stumbled from the car.

“S-sorry,” the old crippled man mumbled. “I don' know what `appened to ol' Bessie `ere. You ok, right?”

“We are fine,” Hermione said as she brushed the dirt from her jeans. Ron, Harry, and Hermione continued down the street to the cafe. They stopped and Hermione looked back to where the old, crippled man was just to find that he and his car were gone. Hermione frowned but they headed inside to order coffee and Danishes. The three took a table by the window.

“Thanks, Harry,” Ron said with his mouth full of food. Hermione looked away in disgusted but Harry nodded. “If it weren't for you, I'd have been road kill and that would have really put a damper on my sex life, if you know what I mean.”

Harry smiled politely as Ron jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. Hermione was fuming from her side of the table, not want to hear the details of Ron's life now that he had moved on from Hermione. She hadn't moved on, but then again, she never really moved on from anyone. She certainly didn't want to hear about Harry's escapades while he was abroad. It was enough for her to know that he hadn't married and that he didn't have any kids. The rest was irrelevant in her eyes. She hoped he felt the same.

“You are thinking about Malfoy, aren't you?” Ron asked with a sinister smile on his face.

“Malfoy?” Harry asked. Ron's smile turned smug as heat visibly rose in Hermione's face, her cheeks pink and flushed.

“She hasn't told you?” Ron taunted mercilessly.

“Not yet, Ron, you git,” Hermione said through gritted teeth.

“Told me what?” Harry asked curiously.

“She and Malfoy,” Ron said making a face of pure disgust.

“What?!” Harry exclaimed. He looked at Hermione horrified. She neither confirmed nor denied anything, just continued to stir her tea. “You and Malfoy did what?”

“Nothing,” Hermione said flatly.

“Nothing my arse,” Ron said hotly. He pointed at her. “Don't believe her for a second. She still presumes innocence in all this. She was working late at the lab with Malfoy and he came on to her, and she didn't tell him no, if you know what I'm saying.”

“That's not true,” Hermione said quickly. Her temper flared. “I told him I was married. Damn, he knew. He was there.”

“Always after the pretty Quidditch players, aren't you?” Ron taunted. “You had Krum, check. Me, check-check, almost had Harry, half a check for you there, my dear, and then… ta-da! You and Malfoy, fucking in the lab without a care that your dear, sweet, innocent husband was at home waiting.”

Hermione snorted and laughed with this, her laughter cruel. “Innocent my arse, Ron. I am not stupid. I know about the affair with that hot little nymphomaniac in the Misuse of Magic department. What was her name? Calais? Diriment?”

“Her name was Kate,” Ron said flustered.

“Yeah, well I knew about her,” Hermione said quickly. Harry excused himself silently and headed to the restroom to wash his face. He didn't want to hear his two best friends tear each other apart. He loved them both, as wrong as they may have been, and he would have given anything to have been there at their wedding. What in the hell had happened to life when he left?

`I bet the book would say something like- his top two advisors kept proving to the prince all the more reason not to trust them, or something like that,' Harry thought without laughter as he dried his face. He wondered if the battle was over, and who had won. He didn't dare poke his head out and peek, though, so he waited and read the funny little saying written all along the walls. One stood out from all the others, though it was no more intrusive:

He is watching you, and he will come to you soon. Be ready.

“What a weird thing,” Harry said as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He shivered and pushed his way back into the cafe. Ron was gone and Hermione was crying over her tea. Harry sat down and patted her shoulder.

“It'll be ok,” Harry said soothingly.

“I screwed up so badly,” Hermione said. Harry couldn't disagree.

“You still have me,” Harry said positively as he shoved a bunch of paper napkins into her hand. Hermione nodded and smiled at him with teary eyes. Harry scooted his chair closer to her and lowered his voice. “We all make mistakes, Hermione, even you the brightest and talented witch of our time. We learn from the mistakes and move on. Ron seems to have moved on, so maybe now should you.”

Harry hugged her tightly, and he could feel her fingers pressing into his flesh firmly. It was all new experiences. Before he had a fling here and there to occupy his time, now he had this very attractive woman gripping on to him in such a way that he desired to kiss her. He contemplated it, a kiss. There faces were already so close, he could practically taste her on his lips; he could practically feel her tongue snaking in to his mouth, their tongues caressing. It felt so perfect and so real. Harry opened his eyes to see her eyes wide with surprise.

“I am so sorry,” Harry said as he pulled away. He had kissed her. Heat rose to his own cheeks as he settled back with an uncertain grin.

“Harry, I don't know what to say,” Hermione said in shock. She fought against the pleased smile that threatened to consume her face. Harry smiled and shrugged.

“Nothing has changed for me,” Harry said. Hermione grinned.

“I wouldn't necessarily say that,” Hermione said biting her lip, biting back laughter. “You are so much bigger than you were when you left.”

“Hey,” Harry said patting his firm stomach. “I gained like five pounds. Shoot me.”

“That's not what I meant,” Hermione said laughing. “I guess you working in the mine for the last six years had really defined your chest.” She blushed.

“Ah, well, yeah,” Harry grinned as he scratched his chest slightly embarrassed. “Manual labor will do that to you. I am not too big, am I?”

“Nah,” Hermione said blushing. She turned her head to suppress the smile on her face. She pulled herself together and turned back to him. “Look, I would be more than happy to sitting around and kiss you. But so much has changed since you have been gone and right now, we need to keep our heads straight about why you are back.”

“Teddy, right,” Harry said nodding. He knew she was right. She was always right. The two stood and headed out of the cafe back to Hermione's house. Ron was sitting gloomily on the steps.

“Back?” Hermione asked with her arms cross.

“Yeah, and your stupid door won't let me in now,” Ron said as he crossed his own arms. He looked like a spoiled child when he did it compared to Hermione, who just looked annoyed.

“What did it ask you?” Hermione asked curiously.

“It didn't,” Ron said. “It just moaned and quaked.”

“Damn it,” Hermione swore, running up the stairs to the door. Wand drawn, she tapped on it. The door struggled weakly to speak.

“Friend or foe?” It moaned softly.

“Friend, door, as always,” Hermione whispered to the door. “Who has been in the house since we have left?”

“Mr. Malfoy,” the door whimpered.

“Oh, god,” Hermione said. “Open, door!”

“Who was your first love?” the door asked. Hermione leaned forward, her mouth nearly touching the door, and whispered something unheard by Ron or Harry.

“C-correct,” the door shuddered as it dissolved away again. This time, it did not have the strength to re-establish itself and the hole in the wall remained. Hermione, Ron, and Harry walked into the house in a state of shock. Where Harry had felt his world turned upside down, they were just confused by the state of Hermione's house.

“I don't understand,” Hermione said as she looked around. They hadn't been gone more than half an hour, the house just couldn't have been this dramatically changed in less than half an hour.

“I don't either,” Ron murmured. He looked around. “I don't think I have ever seen this house look so…”

“Clean?” Hermione asked in near hysterics. The house was clean, scrubbed from ceiling to floor, the wood polished bright the painted surfaces fresh. It looked like a brand new home, completely with shiny fixtures. The chandelier in the front foyer was replace to an ornate thing with crystals that reflected rainbows.

“Wow, I wish someone would break into my place and clean it up,” Ron murmured as he looked around. Harry saw a not tacked to the new refrigerator, which Ron had determined was stocked with lots of new food.

“Look, Hermione,” Harry said as he took the note and handed it to her.

He is coming soon, so be ready.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Hermione asked as she looked around her kitchen.

“I don't know, but it seems familiar,” Harry said as he looked at it. He had seen the same handwriting in the restroom at the cafe. Hermione looked at him fearfully. “This seems so… Draco,” Hermione moaned. “He was always trying to do nice things for me. He must know you are in town, but how could he have found out where I lived? I moved after the fact, the house is in someone else's name, and it has the Fidelus Charm on it. Only a secret keeper could tell, and we are the only three who have the knowledge.”

“Don't look at me,” Ron said quickly. “I don't even like this place, well I didn't until it got cleaned up. I wouldn't have told, and anyways Malfoy and I don't run exactly in the same social scene.”

“I-I think it might have been me,” Harry said slowly. “I think I might have lost the paper you gave me.”

“And you are just now telling me?” Hermione snapped. She pulled him and Ron upstairs to gather some things. “We can't stay here, now. It's not safe. Ron, we will be staying at your place whether you like it or not, and it better be clean otherwise I will curse you a hypocrite.”

“Ah, I will meet you there then,” Ron said quickly as he headed back down the stairs, leaving Hermione and Harry alone in the bedroom.

“Hermione, I am sorry,” Harry said as he placed his hands on her shoulders.

“You should have told me sooner, Harry. The minute you realized, because we have been in danger since that moment,” Hermione chastised.

“If he knows where I am and wants me dead, wouldn't he have come and done it already?” Harry charged quietly. “I don't think he wants me dead.”

“Harry, you don't know what Draco wants,” Hermione said as she went to turn away.

“But I think you do,” Harry said. Hermione looked up at him with a little fear in her eyes. She didn't say anything to him. Harry took it as confirmation. He shook his head, dropping his arms from her. “You know, I really do love you Hermione. I wish you would be more honest with me.”

Harry grabbed his bag and his book, heading downstairs. Hermione heard the door to the bedroom slam and every single loud step on the stairs. Each one drilled an icy cold spike into her heart. She sat down on the edge of her bed, tears flowing down her face. She hadn't been honest, no. Hermione wiped the tears from her eyes and stood. She gathered her stuff and headed down the stairs after Harry.

`One of these days, you are going to have to tell him the truth, the whole truth,' Hermione said to her self as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror by the front door. Harry must have magicked it.

“Hermione, you succeeded!” A cold cruel voice echoed the door slamming before she could exit. Hermione knew that voice and she turned but was slow in drawing her wand. She fell lifelessly to the floor with a large thump.

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A/N: In this chapter, I struggled with whose POV it should come from. The previous seven have been from Harry's POV, but I think that there is a lot of back ground information that is important, and I just don't want characters just talking to each other to get it out. If you people completely hate it, I might release the other version of chapter eight (the one from Harry's POV). Just let me know.

Bound by Malfoy

Hermione could hear some humming as she came to, and she wondered if it was a side effect of the hex that was thrown at her. Having never quite been so directly hit, she wasn't sure. Her eye lids fluttered for a moment before she opened her eyes to find that she was in a dimly lit room. She didn't move, not that she could have if she had wanted to move. Aware that there was another person in the room, she closed her eyes and peered out of the tiny slits.

She hadn't seen him in three years, but she knew Draco Malfoy better than most. At the moment, he looked distressed. Hermione could see why. Her wrists were bound together tightly and he was in the process of binding her ankles. She knew she should have struggled, but it was already too late. He had just finished putting the finishing touches on the charmed ropes.

“I hate that I have to do this to you,” Draco said as he took the seat beside the bed she was on, tied. He lowered his head as if he was in shame.

“Draco?” Hermione asked slowly, making him aware that she was awake. He looked up at once, his head jerked back to look at her in a startled way.

“Hermione,” Draco said with a pained expression on his face. His hands were clasped together in front of him, as if he had been interrupted in prayer.

“What have you done, Draco? Where are we? Why did you stun me and tie me up in these ropes?” Hermione asked him. He looked like he was struggling internally for his own answers.

“I never meant to hurt you, Hermione,” Draco said quietly.

“I know that, Draco, but you shouldn't have taken Teddy. Is he ok?” Hermione asked. She tried to look around but was limited because of the velvet drapes drawn around the bed. “Is he here?”

“He is fine, and yes he is here,” Draco said with a sigh. He smiled slightly. “It is good to see you again, Hermione.”

“Why, Draco? Why did you attack me?” Hermione asked. Draco shook his head.

“I was aiming for Potter and you just stepped into my line of sight, the door slammed, I don't know. I don't know why. I knew he was at your house; I followed him from the airport. I tried to hit him with my car, polyjuiced as an old man, but then I saw Ron arguing with you and I wanted him dead. I hate what he did to you, Hermione,” Draco said quietly. He looked away, as if embarrassed by what he felt. “You know, I never stopped caring for you. I should have, but I couldn't.”

“I know,” Hermione said softly. She looked at her hands, resting still on her stomach. She wasn't surprised to see Draco's hands around hers. She had become fond of his touch, once upon a time ago when she was trapped in a loveless marriage.

“We are at Malfoy Manor,” Draco said as he placed his forehead against her heart. She could feel her shirt dampen with tears.

“Draco, hon, what is wrong?” Hermione asked. He shook his head.

“I don't want to do this,” Draco said. He was shaking, and all he wanted was comfort. He had never turned to anyone for comfort, sans Moaning Myrtle in his sixth year. That was until he and Hermione began working on the project together. He had already been affected, and Hermione was the first person he had ever told that didn't recoil from him. She embraced him, warmly, and told him that everything was going to be ok. Wolfsbane potion would keep his condition manageable until they found a cure.

“Drake, sweetie, then don't do it,” Hermione coaxed lovingly. “You don't have to do anything you don't want to do.”

“I have to, Hermione,” Draco said in a pleading tone. He begged her to understand. “My dad can't accept that I am what I am. He thinks he will get back in the good graces of his old chums if I finally defeat Harry Potter. If I can do what Lord Voldemort can't.”

“That's not you, Draco. You are a sweet guy, and though you would like everyone to believe you are a cold hearted killer, I know you aren't,” Hermione said as she slid over, allowing Draco access to the bed she was perched upon. Draco didn't think twice about it, just placed his head on her shoulder, and draped his arm over her.

“I love you so much, Hermione, it hurts,” Draco whispered. “I never knew love could hurt like this.”

“Draco, I wish you wouldn't say stuff like that,” Hermione said as she tried to summon her wand. Where ever it was, it wasn't there in the house with her. She looked over at Draco, whose head had remained on her heart, though the closeness of his face to her breasts sent blood rushing to her face.

“I know,” Draco said quietly. He didn't say anything more.

“How long do you intend to keep me here, Draco, because eventually I am going to need to eat and drink, shower, and use the facilities,” Hermione asked after a while, breaking the silence.

“Not long,” Draco sighed as he climbed from the bed reluctantly. He walked over to the desk and pulled a book out of the top drawer. Hermione watched him curiously.

“Whose room is this?” Hermione asked, though she was certain she already knew the answer.

“Mine,” Draco said as he pulled out a quill and some ink and begun writing in the book. “Dad wanted me to tie you up and throw you in the dungeon for now, but I couldn't risk you getting sick down there. So, I brought you up to my room.”

“What are you doing, Draco?” Hermione asked. Draco looked over his shoulder at her and tried to smile.

“I am sending Harry a message. I know he isn't going to want to leave you too long in his nemesis's captivity,” Draco said quietly. “Perhaps you will be home in your bed with Harry by nightfall.”

“How do you know Harry was in my bed with me last night?” Hermione asked suspiciously.

“The book,” Draco said simply as he turned back to the book he had pulled out.

“You sent Harry the book?” Hermione asked. Draco nodded but didn't look at her. “You made him believe it was from Neville and Luna.”

“I had to make him believe nothing, he did it on his own,” Draco said flatly as he scribed the words in the book that would be read by Harry whenever he next looked to the book, as they cleared Draco's own copy of the book.

“Draco, what has happened to you since we last saw each other?” Hermione asked as she begun to struggle with the charmed ropes that seemed hell bent on keeping her tied.

“I told you then, I can't live with out you,” Draco said quietly.

“And I told you I don't love you like that, no matter how I try, and you know I really did try to love you like that. I really did,” Hermione said emphatically. Draco spun around, anger on his face.

“Do you think I want to love you like I do? Do you know what it is like to love someone so much that you feel like you would rather die than to not be with that person?” Draco asked angrily. He stood up and began pacing. “Do you know what it is like to be looked at by your father as if you are inferior because of what you are and who you love. You were the only one who accepted me as I am; you are the only one who never wanted to change me. All I ever wanted to do was be normal.”

“There is no such thing as normal,” Hermione said bitterly.

“You said you loved me,” Draco said defeated. He hung his head low.

“I do love you, Drake, I do,” Hermione said.

“Just not as much as you love Harry,” Draco said with great understanding. He didn't look at her.

“Even if you went through with this and killed Harry, you and I could never be together, Draco. Don't you understand that?” Hermione said as Draco sat down next to her. Hermione struggled to a sitting position, throwing her bound wrists up and over Draco's head.

“Yeah,” Draco said as he hugged her back. He laughed. “Who would have thought that we would be hugging in my bed all those years ago when we were in school together?”

“Who would have thought that we would have had a year long affair,” Hermione said quietly, wondering whether or Harry was already on his way to save her and Teddy.

“Too bad Ron caught on, it was fun,” Draco teased as he nuzzled her neck slightly. “You still smell the same.”

“Draco, Ron never caught on,” Hermione said as she felt his mouth touch her neck. She shivered, feeling herself slipping under that drunken lust that she felt when they were sleeping together. “I told Ron about us.”

“What?” Draco said pulling away from her. Hermione was thankful for the break of touch between them, before thing got out of control, and she knew they would. As much of a pompous arse Draco had been in school, Hermione had to admit that he was definitely worth the risk to her marriage. He did things with and to Hermione that her imagination could never conjure.

“I told Ron about you and me sleeping together in the lab,” Hermione said quietly. She looked at Draco who looked hurt and betrayed, and guilt washed over her again. It was the same look Ron had given her when she confessed it to him.

“Why?” Draco asked hysterically. He was trembling, from anger or hurt, Hermione didn't know.

“Draco, it was wrong,” Hermione said slowly. She felt that as if she was ending it with him all over again, a tear escaped her eye. “I am sorry, but I shouldn't have ever encouraged you. I shouldn't have come crying to you about a baby and all of my problems.”

“You shouldn't have kissed me back,” Draco said coldly as he crossed the room. He looked at the clock above the fireplace. His face was stony cold, and almost cruel as he looked at her. “Your knight in shining amour will be here soon, Hermione. Let's hope that you love him more than you loved me, and let's hope he kills me because I can't stand the thought of living another moment knowing you ended our relationship. I can't live another moment knowing you and I will never have our `Happily Ever After'.”

“Draco, wait!” Hermione called as Draco stalked out of the room. Hermione went to follow him, but with her ankles bound, she fell hard on the floor, unable to catch herself effectively with her wrists bound the way they were. She struggled to sit but found the awkward position unchanging. She rested her face against the flagstone floor, the cool stone canceling out the hot tears that seemed to pour from her eyes, despite her best efforts not to cry.

`Hurry up Harry, and for Merlin's sake, don't fail,' Hermione thought with her eyes clenched, hoping that Harry could hear her thoughts. She knew it was impossible, but she hope her knew how much she needed him.

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A/N: Yup, the final chapter is upon us. I know that some people are going to read this and be- OMG! What in the hell was she thinking. OH well. I hope you enjoy, and it goes without saying that there will be an epilogue… perhaps. Thank you to all of you who consistently read and review.

The Final Battle

Harry stood outside of the door, looking rather quizzically at the new door that had not only appeared but had slammed shut. It had been ten, maybe fifteen minutes since he stepped outside of Hermione's house, and he was wondering what in the world could be taking so long. She had been nearly done when he had left. Maybe she was just taking a moment to let things cool off between them. They had treaded rather roughly on thin ice, and Harry didn't want make things worse.

“Hermione?” Harry asked as he entered back into the house. He walked down the hall, stepping on something. Glancing down, he saw her wand on the floor. He picked it up and drew his own wand. Of all the people he knew, Hermione was not the type to leave her wand forgotten on the floor. It was then he notice the vase on the table had fallen over, spilling water off the side of its smooth surface.

“Hermione!” Harry shouted nearly hysterically as he searched every room of the house for her. She was gone. Blind panic welled up in him, much like when he had thought that he had lost his wand. This was so much worse, though. You can replace a wand, but there was only one Hermione.

Harry apparated to Ron's place, startling Ron as he hurried to hide debris under the couch. Harry was holding his and Hermione's wands, shaking, unable to speak as Ron rambled on about how Hermione couldn't be judgmental to his place because his bachelor pad was never as gross as her run down dump.

“Ron, Hermione's gone,” Harry yelled at Ron. “Someone took her!”

“Are you sure?” Ron asked slowly as he looked at Hermione's wand as Harry waved it about frantically. “Hermione had a tendency to disappear on me for days at a time after we had a row.”

“She wouldn't leave behind her wand,” Harry said frantically.

“Calm down, Harry,” Ron said quickly as his own fear began to bubble up inside of him. “Wherever she is, I am sure that she is fine, ok? We just need to find out where Malfoy has taken her.”

“We don't know it was Malfoy,” Harry said as he threw himself into the freshly cleared chair.

“Who else would want her?” Ron asked rather uncaringly as he turned his back.

“She was your wife, and she screwed up,” Harry snapped at him suddenly. Ron looked at him mutinously.

“You don't know what you are talking about, Harry,” Ron snapped back.

“I know that we were all best friends, and yes, I loved her,” Harry snapped at him standing. “I loved her, and I could have asked anyone to come with me to Golden Valley, but I know that you and her were close, and I couldn't do that to either of you.”

“Whatever,” Ron said frowning.

“Look, man, I love you and I love Hermione,” Harry said as he lowered his wand. He hadn't even been aware of his pulling out his own wand, but he realized how threatening it looked from Ron's point of view. Harry stashed it quickly and yanked open his bag. His hand closed on the book and Harry pulled it free.

“What are you doing? This is no time for bedtime stories,” Ron said as he looked at Harry incredulously.

“I am not reading a bedtime story, I am checking to see what the book says, ok? I can't explain it, but the book knows what is going on and sometimes gives me the slightest hints,” Harry snapped at Ron as he jerked the book open. Ron sat down on the armrest of the chair Harry was reading.

“The pages are blank?” Ron asked. Harry looked down, seeing the writing.

“No, it is charmed so that only I can read it,” Harry said. “Luna charmed it that way.”

“Um, ok,” Ron said as he retreated to his own chair. “What does it say?”

Laying in the bed chamber of the White Serpent, James' love lay motionless on the cold stone floor, her hands bound. It was an unfortunate situation as she grew cold, for her time in the chamber was limited. James would find her, but it would be too late. He would have to duel and to slay the White Serpent to achieve victory, but James would not be allowed to fight. Powers, greater than the prince, were in play and only one death would happen tonight.

Blood will spill the stone floors of the House of Darkness, but whose blood would spill was still unknown. It was not up to the prince, but up to the White Serpent, for it was he who had always been in control. James would pierce the barriers of the fortress known at the House of Darkness, but it would be the White Serpent who would take life and grant living, not the other way. The prince was just a pawn in a game greater than James.

“Sounds like you can't win,” Ron said as Harry closed the book.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ron,” Harry said sarcastically.

“So, what does this mean? We have to go to Malfoy Manor, don't we?” Ron asked with a shudder.

“Yeah,” Harry said. He frowned, worried about Hermione. He knew she was tough, but he still worried about her. He hoped that she was ok, and couldn't imagine Malfoy hurting her. He had done some pretty low stuff over the years, but Harry hoped he wasn't the type to hurt just to hurt others.

It was already dusk when Harry and Ron arrived outside of Malfoy Manor, finding it suspiciously unguarded. Harry looked at Ron curiously, but found Ron looked as suspicious and uncertain by the lack of guards. The two knew that the wisest thing wasn't to stroll right up the front driveway, but without their brooms, they really had no other option. They began through the heavy iron gates.

“Stop right there, Potter,” a voice said quietly. Harry and Ron froze to see Mr. Malfoy standing there, the moonlight washing over him. He had his wand drawn, and Harry felt Ron grab his arm.

“I know,” Harry hissed at Ron. Both boys had their own wands drawn, but they weren't in a position to fight outside of the manor when reinforcements in the dark arts were sure to appear any moment.

“Draco said that you would be coming tonight for that filthy Mudblood and the little half breed,” Mr. Malfoy said cruelly. Harry felt anger threatening to make him loose control, but he was far too old to loose control. Not now, when Hermione and Teddy needed him to remain in control.

“Draco was right,” Harry said quickly.

“Good, then, come up to the house. He is in his chambers with your little Mudblood friend,” Mr. Malfoy said distastefully. “I told him to lock her in the dungeon, but he desired her in his bed.”

Harry felt anger and jealousy eat away at his insides. He couldn't imagine what it would have been like to have been married to her and found out that she and Malfoy had been screwing around. Ron was stone faced as Mr. Malfoy glanced at him.

“Weasley, ha! I never thought I would see you back here, after your embarrassing little escapade,” Mr. Malfoy croaked. Mr. Malfoy, seeing Harry's confused look on his face, explained. “Your little friend here begged Draco to leave his wife alone, cried to Draco. Pathetic, really.”

“Shut it,” Ron said angrily. “That was back when I thought that she was worth fighting for.”

“How can you say that?” Harry asked Ron sharply. “Of course she is worth fighting for.”

“No, she's not,” Mr. Malfoy said correcting Harry. “All those muggle-borns know how to do is to use us purebloods and trample on our hearts. Trust me when I tell you that no good has ever come from a Mudblood.”

“My mother was a muggle born,” Harry said loudly, his anger etching up inside. Mr. Malfoy nodded.

“She, above all,” Mr. Malfoy said coldly. He pointed his wand to the house. “No, go and face your destiny, boy.”

Harry and Ron had no other choice, but to be sent into Malfoy Manor at the direction of one very resentful Lucius Malfoy. Harry was ready, incase Draco popped up out of the shadows. Mr. Malfoy didn't say anything further, but instead sent his patronous up the stairs. Harry stared at the patronous, seeing it was a snake. Harry felt a chill creep along his spine, though he didn't know why. There were fires blazing in the hearth, and there was no reason for a chill.

“Harry!” Hermione screamed from the top of the stairs. Harry looked up, thankful that for the moment, Hermione seemed fine.

“Hermione!” Harry and Ron yelled stepping forward. Mr. Malfoy shook his head and raised his wand.

“Stay put,” Mr. Malfoy barked at them as Draco helped Hermione down the stairs. Mr. Malfoy saw that her ankles were no longer bound. “What is the meaning of this, Draco?”

“I love her,” Draco said quietly as the two of them reached the bottom steps. Hermione remained by his side, even when Draco released his gasp on her.

“She loves Harry Potter. It is written all over her Mudblood face,” Mr. Malfoy said cruelly to his son. Draco looked away ashamed.

“So what?” Draco said quickly, unable to meet his father's stare.

“So? You have to defeat Harry Potter, once and for all, so that the name of Malfoy can once again hold the power and authority it once did,” Mr. Malfoy said coldly to his son. “You have to kill him.”

“Tell him, Draco,” Hermione said quietly to Draco, touching his shoulder with her bound wrists.

“I can't, Hermione,” Draco said quietly.

“Mr. Malfoy, you have to understand,” Hermione said directing her gaze to the man who stood between her and Harry.

“How dare you speak to me you filthy Mudblood!” Mr. Malfoy yelled, cursing Hermione. Without warning, Hermione was laying on the stone floor, motionlessly in the shadows.

“Hermione!” the boys yelled.

“Stay where you are!” Mr. Malfoy snapped. “You will restore honor to this family, so help me Draco, or I will kill you myself.”

“I love her, Dad. Can't you get that? Just because you failed at your relationship with a muggle all those years ago doesn't make them all worthless. I love her, and I will defend her,” Draco yelled at his father. His face had turned red with anger and Draco had drawn his wand.

“What do you think you are doing, Draco? You think you can take me? I am not the one that would keep you from Mrs. Weasley, it would be Harry Potter. Do what you drew him here for, and kill him, Draco,” Mr. Malfoy taunted. “He is the one who your lover is really in love with. Hermione doesn't love you; she loves Harry. The worthless Mudblood loves your nemesis. She is worthless.”

“No, dad, Hermione was the only one who treated me as a human when the rest of the world turned away from me. She was the only one who loved me as the man I am instead of the monster I have become,” Draco said angrily as he looked at Hermione's lifeless form. He looked back at his father angrily. “She treated me as an equal when even you refused to see me as such.”

“You are a monster, and she encouraged it,” Mr. Malfoy yelled. “Now, kill her! Kill him! Kill them all!”

“No. I am not finished,” Draco said. Mr. Malfoy looked over at Hermione still on the cold stone floor. Draco caught Harry's eye and nodded slightly towards Hermione. “Dad, you blame others for loosing your one true love, but you pushed her away like you push me away, like you push mum away. You could never accept me, but Hermione did. She loved me in spite of my affliction. Something you, as my own father, could never do.”

“You don't understand, Draco,” Mr. Malfoy said tiredly. “You are a child, trapped in a man's body. You don't know what it is like to have a creature for a child.”

“I am that creature! I am your son!” Draco shouted angrily at his father. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Harry hesitantly creeping closer to Hermione's motionless form. “All I ever wanted, no needed, was love and acceptance.”

“I can't, not with you being the way you are,” Mr. Malfoy said. “And loving a Mudblood, no less. Couldn't you have learned from me? Couldn't you have been stronger?”

“It's your fault I am the way I am, Dad,” Draco shouted as Mr. Malfoy turned to Hermione. Harry froze, hoping that Mr. Malfoy was too distracted to see him creeping towards Hermione. Mr. Malfoy spun hard, looking at his son angrily.

“My fault? You were the one who failed the Dark Lord,” Mr. Malfoy said sharply. “You are lucky he didn't kill you.”

“I wish he would have,” Draco yelled at his father, maintaining eye contact with the man to whom he looked so much like. “I wish Greyback would have just ripped my throat out, just so I wouldn't have you pushing me today to kill the woman I love and the man she loves.”

“If you can't do it, Draco,” Mr. Malfoy said frightfully quiet. “I will do it for you.” Mr. Malfoy turned without a further notice and raised his wand.

“Avada Kedavra!” Draco screamed, bright green light flashing in the foyer of Malfoy Manor. Lucius Malfoy, father of Draco Malfoy, fell to the cold stone floor, dead. Everyone froze, uncertain. Harry had thrown himself over Hermione, determined not to let another curse touch her.

“Drop the wand, son,” a voice echoed. Harry glanced up to see Aurors had apparated straight into the foyer. Wands were pointed at Draco from every possible direction. Draco complied immediately, dropping his wand.

“Harry?” Hermione moaned as she struggled to sit up. “Harry, get off.”

“Sorry, Hermione,” Harry said as he pulled himself up off her. She sighed as she sat up, watching Draco being bound and brought out of the house. Narcissa strolled downstairs, Teddy's hand in her hand. He had been well taken care of by his aunt who had given up the evil life her husband led the day she nearly lost her son.

“Is it all over?” Hermione asked. Harry nodded, cutting her charmed ropes and freeing Hermione. She threw her arms around Harry's neck as Andromeda Tonks entered Malfoy Manor and was reunited with her grandson after three long years.

“It's over, Hermione,” Harry whispered as he stroked her hair. She was sobbing, shaking, in Harry's arms. Ron looked at the two of them, sitting on the floor still, holding each other, and nodded at Harry. Nothing else needed to be said about Harry and Hermione's relationship. Hermione kissed Harry, her hands on his cheeks.

Hermione and Harry headed out of Malfoy Manor hand in hand, stepping around Lucius Malfoy's body. As they entered the grounds, Hermione looked up at Draco, who was sitting on the edge of the fountain. His hands were restrained behind his back. Hermione looked at Harry for a moment before dropping his hand. She headed over to Draco.

“Draco, thank you for saving my life, and sparing Harry's life,” Hermione said quietly as she stood in front of him. He looked up at her, eyes bright with tears that threatened, but he smiled.

“I couldn't let him kill you,” Draco said. “Harry, I could have cared less, but I know you love him, and I don't want you to be unhappy.”

“You killed your father,” Hermione said quietly. Draco nodded.

“He would have killed me if my mother would have let him,” Draco said. Hermione nodded once, understanding. She lowered her face to Draco's and pressed her mouth against his, letting him have one last kiss before he was hauled off to Azkaban. She pulled away, breathless and was granted one of Draco's rare, pure happiness smiles.

“Take care of yourself,” Hermione said. Draco nodded.

“I will, and tell Potter he had better treat you right,” Draco said as his smile slid from his face. Hermione began walking toward Harry, but turned back to Draco one last time.

“Hey, Drake, by the way, did you ever isolate the cure?” Hermione asked as the Aurors pulled him to his feet. Draco looked up at the sky where the full moon had just appeared from the clouds. He smiled at the moon.

“I am still human, despite the full moon,” Draco said quietly. He smiled at her weakly. “I guess you will have to wait for me to get out of Azkaban to get the formulary.”

“I am happy you were able to, Draco,” Hermione said. Draco nodded.

“I am sorry, Hermione, for everything,” Draco said quietly.

“Me, too,” Hermione said. She slipped her hand back into Harry's and turned away from Draco Malfoy as the lead him away where he would take a portkey to Azkaban prison. Hermione looked at Harry.

“So, where do we go from here?” Hermione asked as glanced at Ron standing not too far off.

“I would say, you two have six years to catch up on,” Ron said quietly as he hugged them both tightly. “I only want you to be happy, Hermione. I know that you will be happy with Harry.”

“Thank you Ron,” Hermione said as she kissed his cheek. Ron nodded, silently, and then apparated away from Malfoy Manor. Hermione took Harry's arm.

“Shall we head back to your house, Hermione, and catch up properly?” Harry suggested as he kissed her mouth. Hermione kissed him back.

“I think that is a lovely idea, Harry,” Hermione said. She smiled. “I still love you.”

“I never stopped,” Harry said as the two apparated from the grounds of Malfoy Manor.

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A/N: Here, my dears, is the epilogue. It is a little cheesy, but it wraps things up nicely. Read and review, my friends.

The Epilogue

It was almost fall already, five years later, and still it seemed like yesterday that Harry had finally been able to hold Hermione in his arms the way that she was meant to be in his arms. He had nodded a good bye to Andromeda, who had promised to have them both over to get properly introduced to young Teddy Lupin, and the two of them returned to Hermione's house. Harry couldn't deny that Malfoy had done the right thing, killing his own father. Harry would have done the same to save Hermione, though he doubted his father would have ever been like Lucius Malfoy.

“Honey, you have better be going if you want to make it with enough time to not miss the train,” Hermione said from the bed. Harry glanced over at her and smiled. She was a sight of undeniable beauty. She was tired looking, but then again, their new little son was a ravenous beast of a child.

“Are you sure that you and Jay are going to be ok while I am gone?” Harry asked uncertainly as Hermione's eyelid drooped. She jerked awake and looked at the small baby that already looked just like Harry, suckling hungrily at Hermione's breast.

“I will be fine, and Ginny has the day off, so she said that she would stop by with Fleur. Plus Ron and his wife, Carol, are coming by for dinner,” Hermione said sleepily. She looked at the clock. “Really, Harry, you have to go. The train leaves in half an hour and you promised you would be there.”

“I'm going, really,” Harry said as he gathered his coat. “I am heading over to see Draco afterwards, so don't hold supper, ok?”

“I remember, I know, now go, ok?” Hermione said grinning at her husband sleepily. Harry laughed and kissed Hermione on the mouth. He pressed a kiss to his son's forehead.

“Now, Jay, you take care of mum while I am gone, and you be a good boy. No house parties, ok?” Harry told the tiny baby. The baby passed gas in response and Harry laughed.

“Sound just like his Uncle Ron, doesn't he?” Hermione said grinning. Harry nodded.

“See you later, dear,” Harry said. He apparated to a bathroom stall near the train platform nine and three quarters. He hurried through the barrier and looked around until he saw Andromeda standing there with a very eager looking boy.

“Uncle Harry!” Teddy cried, throwing himself at Harry. Harry hugged him tightly.

“I can't believe you are already going to Hogwarts,” Harry said as he released the boy.

“Me, neither,” Andromeda said as she hugged Harry.

“I am so going to be in Gryffindor, just like my dad!” Teddy said eagerly. His smile faded. “What if I am not put in Gryffindor?”

“I wouldn't worry about it, Ted,” Harry said reassuringly. “You will do fine, I promise.”

“The train is going to be leaving soon,” Andromeda said. “I will give you two a few minutes.”

Harry waited until Andromeda was safely out of ear shot and reached into his pocket, pulling out a familiar looking piece of parchment. Teddy looked at it curiously and Harry sat down on a bench, followed by Teddy.

“What is that?” Teddy asked. Harry grinned and lowered his voice.

“Our fathers, yours and mine, joined by Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, made this. It is the Marauders Map, and it made my life at Hogwarts so much more interesting. You need only say `I solemnly swear I am up to no good'. When you are done, you need only say `mischief managed'. Normally, I would hang on to this, but since your dad and my dad were best friends, I think you have every right to it as I do,” Harry said handing him the map. Teddy took it and stuck it in his pocket quickly. “Anyways, it will be some years before Jay will be heading to Hogwarts.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Teddy said.

“I wish your dad could have been here to see you head off to school,” Harry said after a few minutes of silence. Harry looked at the boy, who was smiling at him.

“My dad and mum are always with me,” Teddy said placing his hand over his heart. Harry almost cried, but he was cut off by the blaring of the train whistle.

“You have a good school year, and write me, will you?” Harry asked. Teddy nodded as he headed to hug Andromeda good-bye.

“I will,” Teddy said as he returned to hug Harry on last time before heading toward the train. Harry waited with Andromeda until the train pulled away from the station and disappeared from sight. Andromeda dabbed some tears away.

“You wait, Harry. One day, it will be you and Hermione standing here saying good-bye to Jay,” Andromeda said through her tears. Harry couldn't make her out though, for he had tears of his own in his eyes.

After a while, the two parted and Harry headed to the minimum security prison that Draco Malfoy was being detained. After checking his wand in with the guards, Harry headed over to the table where Draco was sitting. For someone who had been in prison for five years, Draco seemed to be in high spirits. He actually smiled at Harry as Harry sat down opposite of him.

“Good to see you, Harry,” Draco said with his hands shackled in front of him.

“You, too, Draco. You look well, amazingly,” Harry said. Draco nodded.

“So far, it seems, that I am cured,” Draco said. “Did Hermione get the package I sent her?”

“Yeah, she got it, and they are already mass producing the cure for those who want it,” Harry said. He looked away for a moment, guiltily. Harry had been slightly jealous by Hermione's excitement from receiving Draco's notes.

“It is what got me a reduction of sentence,” Draco said. He hesitated. “Is she happy? She never visits.”

“She is, Draco,” Harry said quiet awkwardly. “You know, we married two years ago.”

“Yes, my mother told me. She said it was a beautiful ceremony. You are a lucky guy. Hermione is a wonderful woman,” Draco said quietly.

“Yes, she is,” Harry said. He hesitated again, pulling a picture from his pocket. Harry slid it across the table toward Draco. Draco took it carefully in his hands as if he was handling the person inside the picture.

“This is the two of you on your wedding day? You both look so happy,” Draco said.

“We are,” Harry said. He took out the second photo and pushed it across. “We have a son, James Draco Potter. We call him Jay. If it wasn't for you, neither she nor I would have had our happy ending.”

“Harry, wow,” Draco said as he looked at the picture in awe.

“Yeah,” Harry said grinning. “He was born a few days ago, and already he is a handful, but we love him.”

“Congratulations to both of you,” Draco said as he handed back the pictures.

“When you get out, Hermione and I want you to come by and have dinner with us,” Harry said as he put the pictures back in his pocket. “We want you to meet our son, and we want to thank you properly for giving us what you did.”

“I would like that,” Draco said as Harry rose from his seat. “Send Hermione my love, will you?

“Yeah, I will. Well, then, we will see you in what? Three months?” Harry asked. Draco smiled.

“Yeah, three months. For good behavior,” Draco said. Harry and he laughed.

“We both know neither of us know the meaning of the words,” Harry said. Draco nodded.

“Oh, and Potter? I know I tell you this every time we see each other, but I feel I have to. Take care of her,” Draco said. Harry nodded once.

“I always do,” Harry said. He headed out the doors to the minimum security prison and apparated home. He sought out his wife and kissed her.

“How did it go?” Hermione asked as Harry gathered his son up in his arms and climbed into bed next to her.

“Good,” Harry said. “Teddy has the map, so I am sure Andromeda will thank me for that later.”

“Right,” Hermione said laughing.

“And Draco sends his love,” Harry said ducking his head so that Hermione wouldn't see his jealousy. The motion didn't go un-noticed by Hermione, who laughed.

“Harry, please tell me that you are not jealous,” Hermione teased. She grinned at him, taking the baby.

“I am not,” Harry lied.

“Liar, but that is ok,” Hermione said smiling at her husband. “It is you, not Draco, that I have ever imagined having my happily ever after with.”

“Ok, so we will,” Harry said, smiling as he embraced his wife, his son nestled in her arms.

“I can't think of anything more perfect than this moment in time,” Hermione sighed.

“Me, neither,” Harry said as he reveled in the beauty of his wife and his newborn son. It was the closest thing to a happily ever after that Harry could imagine. Nothing could be more perfect.

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