Unofficial Portkey Archive

(A/N: Some of you have been waiting patiently for this chapter. Some of you, not so patiently.

Thanks again go to MirielleGrey, my peerless beta!)

(Disclaimer: I did not write the Half Blood Prince, it tasted like a moldy quince. I did not write the Seventh Book, the plot gets worse each time I look. I did not write the Epilogue, I don't want folks to diss my blog. I say it near, I say it far, this tale is not by JKR.)

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"Coming Back Late"

by Paracelsus

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XXI: Rubicon Crossing

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"All right, then," Hermione told Dennis Creevey, looking down at Lovinett's bound and gagged form, "if you and Bones will escort our guest to his new accommodations, I'll be along presently." She handed Dennis the Portkey she'd finished charming. "Don't worry," she added to Lovinett, "your new home will have anti-Apparation charms just like here." She nodded to the massive gate rising next to them, where the great winged boars looked over the entrance to the Hogwarts school grounds.

"Not one of the Ministry's official safe houses, I take it?" Dennis asked with a grin.

"Oh, my goodness, no. No telling who might come looking for us there," Hermione replied, in a chipper voice than nonetheless conveyed menace. She spoke for Lovinett's benefit: the information would keep him off-balance from the start. "This is one of the secure locations Lee Jordan used for Potterwatch broadcasts. Alastor Moody'd set them up, a couple of years before his death, and no one could make a place as secure as Mad-Eye Moody. We'll be quite undisturbed."

"Ex-cellent," said Dennis brightly. He looked up from Lovinett at the two young witches, blonde and redhead, who stood a respectful distance away. He kept his smile fixed in place as he lowered his voice, speaking for her ears only: "I still say we could've found a way to divert them."

"Little chance of that," Hermione muttered. "Keeping them close was the most we could hope for." She looked Dennis in the eye. "I'm bending enough regulations here as it is. Did you think I wanted to run a covert operation from Hogwarts?! It was the only way to keep it truly covert."

"Including from spies within the Ministry, you mean," nodded Dennis. His smile turned grimmer. "Thanks for trusting me, then."

"How not?" Hermione watched as Creevey and Bones hauled Lovinett to his feet. The solicitor didn't try to struggle, but his outraged expression spoke volumes. Creevey thrust a bit of parchment in front of Lovinett's face. "Warrant for your arrest," he explained quickly, before putting it back into his pocket. "Must keep things legal." Checking to ensure he and Bones had firm grips, Dennis raised the Portkey - a Muggle biro - and clicked the end with his thumb. The three wizards promptly vanished.

Hermione sighed as the remaining two observers joined her. "Right, you two. I've let you stay and watch, as I promised. You've seen all there is to see - now will you return to Gryffindor Tower, as you promised?"

"We haven't seen him come back safe and sound," Tori pointed out.

"We don't mind waiting a few extra minutes, Mum," said Rose more respectfully. "All the classes were let out early anyway… something about an accident in Transfigurations, and some animals getting loose. Professor Zebulon was pretty upset."

"So was Headmistress McGonagall," added Tori, "with Professor Zebulon."

Tori's hint of blackmail had been well delivered: Hermione did not need to be reminded that the Headmistress hadn't been told of their presence on Hogwarts grounds. A little counter-pressure of her own seemed called for - Hermione assumed the formidable expression that had caused many a Ministry intern's knees to quake. "Now listen to me, both of you…" she began sternly.

She was met with a fierce glare - not from Tori, but from her own daughter. "You said," Rose firmly reminded her, with a righteous air that brought Hermione up short. Merciful Lord, please tell me I didn't act like this when I was her age. Please.

"Yes," she finally sighed. "I did say, didn't I?" Hermione wished she had the luxury of finding a chair in which to slump, close her eyes, and rub her temples to relieve the stress. Once these two showed up, keeping them here was the lesser evil, remember: I couldn't have them telling the Headmistress. The less she knows, the better.

The less anyone knows, the better. Ginny had the right idea, though she was concerned with Zabini. Justifiably, as it turns out. And I've gone to all these lengths to keep him, or any possible spies, from suspecting I've arrested Lovinett. The Veritaserum was a routine requisition; but I did nothing else that anyone could see. I avoided the Ministry safe house. I had Dennis requisition the Portkey Patches, but even that was pushing my luck.

There was a pop of air, and Lovinett stood before them. He grinned and began to speak - then spotted Tori and Rose, and promptly lost the grin.

Requisitioning Polyjuice Potion as well would have raised too many red flags, finished Hermione in her head. "Any problems?" she asked Lovinett aloud.

Lovinett shook his head, without taking his eyes off Tori and Rose. "May I ask what you two young ladies are doing here?"

"'Young ladies' - I like that," said Rose indignantly.

"I suppose you might say," Tori smirked, sidling up to Lovinett, "that we were up to no good, and managing mischief."

"You took my MAP?!" The voice was no longer that of Edwin Lovinett. His features began to morph, until Ted Lupin's face reappeared. It was not a happy face. "You broke into my dorm and stole my Map? How'd you even know about it?!"

"Um," said Rose, suddenly cowed. She swallowed nervously, then continued, very earnest. "That night when you had the Veritaserum? You mentioned Marauders… and I remembered Uncle George telling me about them once, so I owled him."

"He had lots to say," affirmed Tori, unfazed by Ted's black look. "About Maps, stolen property, passwords, everything. He was quite eloquent on the topic, actually."

"So when you left in such a hurry this afternoon," finished Rose, "we, um, well, we only borrowed the Map, just to see what was on. And we saw the dots with your name and Mum's name, and then yours disappeared, and well, we had to check it out, didn't we? Wouldn't you?"

Ted glowered at the two of them a moment longer, before turning away huffily to confront Hermione. "Here," he said curtly, extending the briefcase at arms' length. "I brought it, just as you asked. And I left a false trail. Do I get to know why?"

She accepted it carefully by its sides, not touching the handle. "I'm not totally certain myself," she replied in strict truth. "It wouldn't be fair to share untested theories with you. But when I know for certain, I'll tell you. You… you have my word on it." Hermione drew herself up, fully aware that her daughter was watching her in critical expectation, and took a deep breath. "Mr. Lupin. I deeply regret my actions last week. They were unwarranted… and wrong. My only excuse was my anxiety for, for a certain other person. But that's insufficient excuse. I… I'm sorry."

Ted swallowed the snarky reply that first came to his mind. He could now feel Tori's eyes, watching him as Rose had been watching Hermione. He gained a moment's respite by reaching under his sleeve and peeling the Patch from his forearm. When he spoke again, he'd schooled the surliness out of his voice… most of it, anyway. "Yeah. I, uh… I understand. You were concerned about…" He flicked a glance at Tori and Rose, and continued without missing a beat. "Him. No, um, no permanent harm done, I reckon." He actually managed a wry semi-shrug. "And anyway, a prankster should expect to be pranked."

"Good boy," cooed Tori, while Rose beamed proudly at her mother.

*

Hermione left Dennis and Bones waiting for Peasegood at their "secure location" - he would be able to verify whether Lovinett's earlier story to Hermione had been the result of edited memories, as she'd first assumed, or merely a lie. She'd already confirmed her own theory on the murder method.

She Apparated into the living room at Enthalpy House - and stood speechless in surprise. The room was decorated with festive red and gold balloons and sparkly streamers. On a platter on the table sat a small cake, with a single lit candle planted atop it.

From the kitchen came Ginny's voice. "Happy Birthday, Hermione!" The kitchen door opened to admit Ginny, wearing one of Hermione's aprons (a wedding gift from her mum, which she'd never used), and waving a wooden spoon. "Hope you like pasta carbonara - it was best I could do, given what we had on hand."

"Ginny?" Hermione turned slowly in place, taking in the decorations. "Ginny, what…?"

"Well, technically, your birthday's tomorrow, but since I'm leaving tomorrow… well, I wanted to do this for you tonight." She gestured at the cake. "Spice cake from my stash - Be Ready, that's my motto. C'mon, make a wish and blow out the candle, then we can have dinner."

"Oh. Of course." Hermione sat down on the couch and, with scarcely a pause, blew out the candle. "Your stash?"

"From my overnight bag… well, you saw how much it can carry." Ginny waved her hand from head to feet, reminding Hermione of how she'd been smuggled through the Floo Network. "I keep an emergency stash there, clothes, cosmetics, provisions and such - and I happened to have a cake there, too. And I Transfigured some scarves and stockings into decorations, and presto! Instant birthday party."

"Well, thank you, Ginny." Hermione rose and gave Ginny a quick hug. "Thank you! I truly wasn't expecting this - I'd almost forgotten about my birthday, what with everything that's happened this week."

"I thought maybe," Ginny smiled. "Sorry there's no prezzies, but we'll make do. Now come on and have some dinner. You must be famished."

*

All in all, it was a pleasant evening. Ginny had found a light classical selection on WWN, which they left playing in the background. They'd both steered clear of any discussion of Blaise Zambini or Fire Parties, unsurprisingly, but Ginny shared some amusing anecdotes from her career with the Harpies. Hermione was almost reluctant to cut the evening short… but, as she explained to Ginny, she had much work to do before she could sleep. As well as some very private discussions, she added silently.

Once in her bedroom, she set down her briefcase, closed the door and, almost as a reflex, cast the Imperturbable and Muffling Charms. Thus assured of privacy, she surveyed the bedroom with her hands on her hips. "And how much of that did you help with?"

Harry emerged from under his Stealth Cloak. "Nothing, honest. I came straight here when the wards detected her Transfigurations, but she was putting up balloons and all I could do was watch. I didn't even 'help' with the carbonara, and let me tell you, that showed great restraint on my part."

"Yes, I'm sure you could have done a better job, Monsieur Clayman." She tilted her head as a thought occurred to her. "Unless you… ah, I see. You'd planned to cook a birthday dinner for me."

"You said you wanted to try my cooking. Oh, well, there's always tomorrow night. So much for surprise." Harry shook his head in mimed sorrow, then gave her a mischievous grin. "Mind you, I did sneak a taste of pasta tonight when neither of you were looking." He waggled his hand. "Professionally speaking, not bad at all."

"So glad," she laughed. "And thank you again for delivering the Portkey to Lovinett. I assume you stayed long enough to see the last act of that play?"

"With the second Lovinett? Yeah. That was someone under Polyjuice, I take it? I can see now why you were on such a tight schedule…"

"Not that tight: I didn't send in the substitute until I had Lovinett in hand. No, I couldn't safely get Polyjuice Potion on such short notice. No, that was…" Hermione cleared her throat and gave a nervous cough. "That was Ted. Lupin," she added.

Surprise flitted on his face before it went somber. He sat down on the bed and stared at Hermione. For a minute, he showed no reaction at all, and Hermione began to feel anxious. Finally, he asked, "So, uh… you and him?" He didn't elaborate, but Hermione understood what he meant.

With equal economy of words, she replied, "Better."

He nodded slowly. "Thank you," he said, and meant it. He said nothing more for another moment, before smiling slightly and changing the subject. "Well? Has Lovinett told us anything yet?"

"Not yet. First, we have to make sure his own memory hasn't been tampered with. Once we're satisfied about that, then we question him under Veritaserum. To be honest, I haven't much doubt what we'll learn, but unfortunately, my certainty isn't the same as legal proof. I was right about how Lovinett smuggled a wand into Swivingham's cell, though." She gave him a broad smile that was as good as a taunt.

"Um. All right, I'll bite: how?"

"He didn't," she told him triumphantly.

Harry waited another moment, then let out a long-suffering sigh. "You're evil, Hermione."

"Why, thank you, Harry. Let me put it this way: he did it the same way Hagrid brought a wand into Hogwarts, to engorge the Hallowe'en pumpkins every year."

"But Hagrid hasn't got a wand. Oh, well, he did once, but it was snapped when they kicked him out of school as a kid. 'Course, he still kept the pieces…" Harry stopped and raised an eyebrow at Hermione. "Inside his umbrella."

"Yes! Yes! I was so obsessed with how Lovinett could have smuggled a wand in his briefcase - when what he actually smuggling was his briefcase! The handle has a wand core, like Hagrid's umbrella!"

"Which I assume you tested with Priori Incantatem, or you wouldn't be so happy about it. Very clever, Hermione." Harry applauded noiselessly, grinning. "Does this mean you can arrest Zabini before the Conference starts tomorrow?"

"Not quite yet. We still need Lovinett's verbal testimony - confession - call it what you will, but he has to implicate Zabini before we can move against him. Of course, once that's done, tying him in with the Cartel Lords should be straightforward - the little polecat'll probably turn Crown's Evidence himself." Hermione smiled and opened her briefcase. "So while I'm waiting, I thought I'd indulge in a little light reading."

"Light reading?" Harry craned his neck to see what she held. "Oh Merlin, more ancient runes?"

"Croaker gave me this, a couple of days ago," she explained. "He told me that the runes on the Arch have changed since our last visit. I simply haven't had a chance to think about it before now." She unfolded the parchment and looked it over in silence for a minute.

"Yes," she said eventually, showing him the parchment. "See here, and here?" She pointed to two runes, not to be found in the classic futhark. One was the bisected circle inside a triangle, the symbol of the Deathly Hallows. The other was an ovoid with a long curled tail, like a misshapen letter Q. "That seems to be the symbol for Voldemort… well, I suppose it does look like a stylized Dark Mark. But these gaps in the sequence appear to be new… and there are a couple of new runes included, as well. Hm."

Harry waited without saying anything, but with mounting impatience. Finally, Hermione refolded the parchment. "A warning against something, but I can't see what. The gaps make it harder to interpret. In any case, I certainly won't be able to finish translating it tonight. I'm sorry, Harry… I'm sure it's something to do with that barrier across the doorway…"

"Don't fret yourself, Hermione. I mean, with the Conference tomorrow, your first priority is Zabini." He shrugged and smiled. "I've kept the Hallows for fifteen years - a day or two more won't make any difference."

"I can't help worrying. I worry one day will make a difference. I worry about what the Hallows are doing to you." She sat on the bed next to him and looked him in the face. "I mean, it's all been so gradual, you might not notice any new effects until it was too late. After all, we know the Cloak has tampered with your emotions, and the Stone's made you sensitive to Death currents… when would the Wand start affecting you, too?"

In the instant before Harry's face went perfectly blank, she saw the flash of guilt - and she knew. "Oh, for the love of…! Harry James Potter! Why don't you tell me these things!? How else am I supposed to help you?"

"But it's nothing, honest! I didn't want to trouble you over something trivial, when you've got so much to worry about already!"

Hermione folded her arms across her chest and glared at him, with equal parts incredulity and fury. It seemed to loosen his tongue, a bit. "It's just, well, I've noticed I'm not sleeping as much as I used to. I'm not tired," he hastened to add, "not a bit. I just don't sleep as much."

"Uh huh. How many hours of sleep do you get a night?" Hermione demanded. She saw him about to prevaricate, and added, "On average, Harry. Roughly."

"Erm, well… roughly, on average…" Harry coughed and looked away. "Zero," he mumbled.

She was shocked out of her anger… but only partially, and only for a moment. "And you thought that was trivial!? Don't you see what's happening? Not needing to feel, not needing to sleep… soon, you'd probably stop needing to eat. The Hallows are drawing you into the Nether World, Harry, one step at a time!"

"But, no, they wouldn't be able to do that. I mean, look at the Story of the Three Brothers - none of them were sucked into the Nether World. The Hallows have never affected anyone like that before…"

"No one's ever been the Master of all three Hallows before! Harry, this settles it - you have to get rid of the Hallows!"

He looked at her helplessly, almost despairingly. "You think I don't know that? I'm open to suggestions."

Hermione quickly went through the possibilities in her head. The Hallows couldn't be destroyed by any magic she could conjure: even magic potent enough to destroy a Horcrux had left the Resurrection Stone almost unscathed. The best option was still returning the Hallows to their maker… but how? Necromantic rituals, she was sure, wouldn't work in this case: using death magic against Death wasn't the brightest of ideas. There was the cave in Greece, which legend said led to the Nether World, but it might not exist… might not be readily found if it did exist… and might even have the same barrier across it as the Death Chamber in the Department of Mysteries. As for other portals to the afterlife, none were familiar enough for Hermione to suggest them without more research - and she was now convinced Harry was running out of time.

"We haven't much choice," she said after a minute. "We'll have to go back to the Department of Mysteries. There must be some way to get through the barrier, there must!"

Harry shrugged. "Don't suppose anyone's tried using a house elf to get in… I've never forgotten how the elves can Apparate to Hogwarts when humans can't." He raised a quick hand to forestall her response. "I know, I know, they have a different sort of magic altogether. That's what I mean: maybe an elf can get in. 'Course, with the runes changing…" He hesitated.

"With the runes changing into a warning," Hermione finished his thought for him, "an elf would probably be risking his life if he actually got inside. And," she added, interpreting his unhappy look, "you don't want to endanger any more lives, even elfin lives."

"No… it'd sorta defeat the whole purpose of getting rid of the Hallows, wouldn't it?" Harry sighed dejectedly and ran his fingers through his hair. He leaned forward as he tried to think, elbows on knees and head in his hands. "Maybe, if the barrier's only across the door… I could break through the wall, or down through the ceiling from the floor above? But people would be sure to notice…"

"They might not notice if they were distracted by something else," she suggested. "Like the opening of a very attention-grabbing International Conference, say."

Harry turned his head slightly to look at her out of the corner of his eye. "Especially if the Wizengamot's top gun marched in to arrest the Conference chairman," he said after a moment. "Try to make it dramatic, would you?"

"Of course," Hermione replied gravely. "I'll bring a half-dozen Aurors with me, in matching Hussar uniforms."

"Carrying halberds," he agreed, equally straight-faced. "They stand at the door in two files."

"My honor guard, of course, so naturally they'll precede me. And then I enter the Conference hall, riding my magnificent white stallion."

"Hey, I asked for drama, not fantasy… No, you'll come striding into the hall in your form-fitting leathers, with a billowing cape and bearing Gryffindor's sword. You'll stop in the center of the hall, commanding everyone's attention, and point the sword at Blaise Zabini, crying…"

"J'accuse!" they said in chorus. Hermione struck a theatrically heroic pose and pointed her finger imperiously.

Harry's straight face twitched as he tried to contain his amusement. Hermione saw the twitch, and couldn't suppress a tiny snort of laughter. Within seconds, both of them had burst out laughing. The release of the tensions of the day caused the laughter to redouble on itself - and seeing the other one helpless with laughter caused each of them to laugh all the harder.

By the time their paroxysms of mirth had been spent, Hermione was sprawled back on the bed, helpless with hiccups, while Harry lay curled on the floor holding his sides. "N-no f-fair," Harry eventually managed to say. "You caught me off guard. I'm not used to laughing like that…"

"Me hic! Me either," she said, wiping her eyes. "Are we pathetic, or what?"

He'd struggled to his knees, and now rested his arms on the bed. It brought his head level with her own. Harry started to say something, then paused in the midst of the first word. He was looking Hermione right in the face, and though she could tell he was trying not to show any reaction, he was clearly looking at her in… well, the only word was wonder.

"Yeah," he finally said, his voice gentle, soft, caressing, "pathetic, that's us."

He cleared his throat hoarsely, and got to his feet. Harry smiled - a bit uncertain, it seemed to her - and glanced at the bathroom door. "Er, I can change into my pajamas in there, give you some privacy…"

"Let me use the loo first," she said quickly, rolling off the bed and onto her feet. Hermione flung open the wardrobe, snatched her own pajamas from the bottom, and hurried to the bathroom. She locked the door behind her and turned on the faucet. But she didn't immediate wash her face, or brush her teeth, as she normally would. She looked at herself in the mirror instead.

You saw it, didn't you? Hermione asked her reflection.

Oh, yes indeed, her reflection replied, he was looking at you. With that look. We know what that look means, don't we?

It means he's actually seeing me as a desirable woman, instead of a non-male best friend. She quickly splashed water on her face, then patted it dry with a towel. Which would have been wonderful - fifteen years ago. Before I swore unbreakable marriage vows. There's not much I can do about it now.

Her reflection raised one scornful eyebrow. Oh, so now we're the Witch Who Gave Up, are we?

Hermione scowled at her reflection; its scorn continued unabated. Fine. We'll just see about that.

Quickly she brushed her teeth, finished her nightly ablutions, and shucked out of her clothes. She hesitated only a second before she put on her pajamas - only her pajamas. When she emerged from the bathroom, Harry was standing at the door holding the pajamas he'd brought from the Clayman flat. She gave him an encouraging smile as they moved past each other… and if she misjudged the distance between them and lightly brushed against him as they passed, it didn't seem to bother him.

When Harry returned to the bedroom, the lights were out… but the moon shone through the window, giving enough light to allow him to navigate the room. Hermione was already in bed, eyes closed. He was moving to the corner of the floor where his pillows and coverlet were stored, when she spoke: "I'm sure you'd be more comfortable up here."

"Um, yeah," he mumbled, "comfortable," in a tone suggesting he'd be anything but. She smiled without opening her eyes, and waited.

"It's just…" he started again, and hesitated, at a sudden loss for words. "Sharing a bed? Isn't that, um, not allowed?"

"It wouldn't be allowed," she agreed, "if we had sex in bed. But a snuggle… well, that's just a horizontal hug. We'll simply need to be careful with our hands." Hermione didn't know exactly how her magic would enforce her marriage vows if she or Harry attempted anything more overt - obviously, she had no practical experience on the matter! - but the possibilities, especially when it came to Harry, were too horrible to tempt.

She sneaked a peek through half-closed eyes. Harry wasn't moving, which meant he wasn't moving away. She pulled back the duvet from the unoccupied half of the bed, in open invitation.

He accepted.

Harry slid under the coverlet, settled himself, and turned his head to look at Hermione's face. Her eyes were fully open now, reflecting the bright moonlight, and her smile was tender, warm, and very warming. She placed her hand on his shoulder - and pushed.

He took the hint and rolled onto his side, facing away from her. She moved closer, snuggling up behind him, pressing herself against his back. Involuntarily, he tensed as she put one arm around his waist, carefully resting her hand on his chest.

"Is this all right?" Hermione asked softly. "Do you think you can try to sleep?"

"It's all right," Harry replied, tacitly sidestepping the issue of sleep. He was acutely aware of her breasts pressed against his back - and she seemed to have forgotten her bra when she changed into pajamas. Those pajamas were long-sleeved and opaque, but their silken fabric transmitted sensation all too exquisitely.

"Relax," she urged. "This surely isn't the first time a woman's held you in her bed." There was a hint of interrogative in her voice… rather a strong hint, actually. He ignored her unspoken question, as he had at breakfast on Sunday, but he did seem to relax somewhat. Hermione pressed herself closer, smiled blissfully, and closed her eyes for slumber.

With Harry in her arms.