Unofficial Portkey Archive

TITLE: All Roads Lead Back

KEYWORDS: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. Primarily H/Hr, but a slew of various ships as well. Post-HBP.

SYNOPSIS: Harry Potter always figured that once his destiny was fulfilled he could finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him, he fell in love with his best friend...and everything went straight to Hell! A very gradual, slow moving H/Hr love story told through multiple canon character perspective as well as several flashbacks. Set 7 years after the final battle.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 21,677

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: None! Have fun!

DISCLAIMER: If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is. She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.

Thursday, 06/09/05

That clock is mocking me.

Harry's eyes had been glancing religiously at the double sided wall clock mounted above the door to Interrogation Berth C for the last fifteen minutes. Since entering the sweltering, close spaced room he had been on edge and the belief that the chrome plated chronometer was playing him for a fool was not helping the situation.

The clock had to be mocking him! Really; it was the only line of reasoning. Every time its ivory dial swiveled around in its bracket the alternate side would actually taunt him. FIVE MINUTES SINCE THE LAST TIME YOU CHECKED SHITFACE, it would say in neon green lettering. How pleasant. Really, just whose brilliant idea was it to buy a clock that needed an attitude adjustment, he wondered? Harry ignored the fact that the mind games the clock employed were for the benefit of the criminals and suspects that were led into the room for questioning. Sometimes a perp would think that they had been held for little more than ten minutes when really a whole day might have passed them by.

But all of that barely registered with Harry. His thoughts were too preoccupied with the floo call he was expecting at any moment. The smart arsed timepiece, however, was driving him nutty! And though he couldn't be sure, he had an unrelenting suspicion that the goddamned minute hand had not moved since the last time he looked up. In fact he was almost inclined to believe that it had actually gone backwards.

Fucking clock!

"DO YOU TWO DUNDERHEADS HAVE EVEN THE SLIGHTEST IDEA WHAT ENORMOUS IDIOTS YOU ARE?!"

Harry's eyes drifted away from the clock, and instead of obsessing on the time, he tried to focus his concentration on his partner as the irritable blond laid into the room's other inhabitants. Draco Malfoy's pale complexion was almost ashen and his gray eyes looked like thunder heads had swooped in and replaced the actual pupils. As Malfoy railed away at the two young people seated across the table, Harry casually leaned against the wall, arms folded, and continued to hold his peace while the drama unfolded before him. If the observation window by the door hadn't been spelled to look as though the room were empty, any passerby would have thought that they were being treated to a show of Good Auror, Bad Auror. Thing was Jacoby and O'Shea, the unlucky pair that was getting the business end of Malfoy's sharp tongue, were actually members of the Department themselves.

"No, really," began Malfoy again, "do you even have a FUCKING CLUE?!"

Jacoby tentatively raised his hand.

"Um, sir-"

Malfoy's eyes bore down on him as he rose from his seat and braced his arms against the top of the table. His hands were resting on the Cadmus case file.

"DID I TELL YOU THAT YOU COULD SPEAK, ROOKIE?!"

Jacoby's hand plopped down limply in his lap.

"Do you two great brain trusts even understand the enormity of this situation?! We are on the verge of what could possibly be an International incident!"

Both Jacoby and O'Shea sat by meekly as Malfoy's eyes raked back and forth between them.

"WELL?! DO YOU EVEN HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY FOR YOURSELVES?" he barked.

"Auror Malfoy," O'Shea began hesitantly, her voice coming out as little more than a squeak. She cast a hesitant glance towards her partner, but finding no help there, tried to work up the courage to try again. "Sir, we can exp-"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!"

"Well, alright then," she whimpered haplessly.

Malfoy's hands began to pluck angrily at the bit of hair he had left on the top of his head.

"Do you two useless sacks of shit mean to tell me that you didn't know that all the stupid Muggle-y fairy tales about Father Christmas, Kris Kringle, jolly old Saint-fucking-Nick or whatever other pansy arsed names they've used through out the years, were actually real?!"

Malfoy scanned both of their faces for a moment, eyes narrowed, and waited for some sort of response. When it looked like there would be none forthcoming, he reached for the glass of water that had been sitting in front of Jacoby and threw it against the far wall behind the two Aurors causing each to jump in their seats.

Harry leaned forward a little from the wall.

"I'd answer that one if I were you, mates," he said helpfully before striking his indifferent pose yet again.

"Well, the thing is..."

"Auror Malfoy, if you would just give Peggy and me a chance to tell you..."

"...it's all been an honest mistake really..."

"...we had no idea..."

"NO BLOODY IDEA?!" boomed Malfoy wrathfully.

O'Shea's glass of water met the same fate as Jacoby's.

"WE ARE TALKING SIXTH YEAR HISTORY OF MAGIC YOU DUMBARSES! WHAT DID YOU DO, SLEEP THROUGH IT?!"

Though he tried valiantly, Harry could not stop the ill-timed snort that broke free from him. Malfoy gave him a scathing look before turning back to the younger Aurors, but Harry couldn't help but feel some sympathy for the two kids. Catching a few winks during Binns' class was a long held Hogwarts tradition. Hell, when the shriveled up ghost started droning away even Hermione was known to take a short kip, though she steadfastly maintained that she had merely been resting her eyes. Harry really couldn't fault Jacoby and O'Shea for committing a crime that he or Ron would have easily been guilty of themselves.

The reason behind Malfoy's tirade was currently sitting in Interrogation Berth D being watched over by Romilda Vane as a favor to Harry. Actually the hacked off Bavarian was ranting and raving away in a strange goulash of languages that would baffle any linguist. But with her ears plugged and her concentration focused on her nail file, Romilda hardly noticed. Luckily Zelig Klaussen had been relieved of his wand before he was brought in so all of the threats he was issuing were empty for the moment. However as Malfoy had stated before, they had the makings of a large-scale catastrophe on their hands!

Zelig Klaussen was the descendant of a line of beings whose ancestors had been wizards and who were also closely related to the Eldar; the higher Elves. They called themselves the Álfari. Unlike their Eldar cousins or wizards, the Álfari felt it was actually their duty to assist Muggles. Some chose to fight alongside them in great wars. Others simply would help a poor struggling milliner or shoemaker make ends meet.

The Klaussen branch was a more adventurous sort; they were demon hunters and one demon in particular. The dynasty; which could trace their lineage as far back as ancient Anatolia and would eventually spread to modern day Austria, the Netherlands, Germany, and beyond, was a clan that hunted the villages of Central Europe in search of krampus demons. The red skinned krampus was a cloven footed, two horned beast that possessed a foot long tongue and terrorized small Muggle hamlets. The krampus would crawl out of the pits of Hell each year during the winter solstice to mate with any poor, unprotected woman that crossed its path and spread its demon seed across the lands. He was a horny little bugger, and how! Of course every now and then the creature would find a willing victim; the krampus did possess a foot long tongue after all.

For the most part Muggles lived in fear of him, especially children. When the krampus broke into a home it would often slit open the bellies of any and all small children as they slept, or stuff them up the fireplace before they were fully awake. The sound of a crying child had the power to drive the krampus into impotency. The demon would kill any little ones in the town first, then try to have its way with their mothers afterwards. Wizard families had long possessed the means to ward off the krampus, a well aimed Patronus did the trick every time, but their Muggle counterparts were not so lucky.

For centuries the Klaussen family did their best to thwart the creatures. One night a year Klaussens from all over would journey far and wide looking for the beasts and having found one, its head would be lopped off and thrown in a magical bottomless sack. If some child happened to witness the slaying, the Álfari would buy the child's silence with some sweet or small token before being on his way. Despite the bribery, stories of "The Klaussen", who traveled the world in one single night, still managed to spread from the old world and into the new. Harry never quite understood just how Muggles eventually turned him into the obese bloke with the reindeer fetish and the army of toy making house-elves he was today, but he had come to accept long ago that Muggles were just dotty about most things in general.

The Álfari usually married within their own family groups which led to a few distinct traits emerging in certain clans. With the Klaussens, though higher Elves tended to fall into the tall and willowy variety, due to the strain of human ancestry the Klaussens were a very short, roly-poly branch. Neither did they possess eternal life or youth. In fact a snowy white beard usually signaled the onset of puberty. The women were even known to grow a whisker or two. Zelig Klaussen was a jolly looking old fellow who was nearing the end of his years at 210, and possessed a beard that nearly reached his knees. It was the envy at many a family gathering.

It also gave him a passing resemblance to one Ptolemy Cadmus.

"You see, I just want to make sure that I have the right of it, is all," continued Malfoy, words oozing sarcasm. "I mean, Klaussen just happens to pop off to have some alone time at a spa. Who can blame him for wanting to have a mani and a pedi, what with him usually elbow deep in demon guts. I'm sure that when you two bumbling oafs stunned him from behind, tackled him to the ground, confiscated his wand, and stuffed a bloody sock in his mouth he just thought he was getting the Platinum Package!"

"Aurors Jacoby and O'Shea," said Harry, rubbing at the spot on his nose just under the bridge of his glasses, trying to make some sense out of the whole debacle, "besides forgetting that Munich is outside our jurisdiction, didn't it occur to you that Klaussen didn't speak English?"

O'Shea turned to face Harry.

"Squad Leader Potter, sir, I'm so sorry. I guess...I guess Donovan and I just got carried away. Knowing how important capturing Cadmus is, I'm afraid we got a little ahead of ourselves. We thought we had a clean collar. I honestly thought that Mr. Klaussen was Cadmus, and that he was just trying to throw us off by using a clever ruse."

"A CLEVER RUSE?!"

Judging by Malfoy's disgusted sneer Harry could see that his partner found the woman's answer...lacking.

"O'Shea, I sure hope you're a better lay than you are an Auror, because you have got to be the dumbest cun-"

The rest of the insult was lost in the sound of O'Shea's affronted gasp and the scraping of Jacoby's chair across the stone floor as the younger man stood up from his seat and glared hostilely at the blond.

"HEEL, MALFOY!" said Harry authoritatively, effectively calling his partner off and calming down Jacoby who took his seat again. He had let Malfoy blow off his steam, but enough was enough. When he received the interoffice memo from Jacoby telling him that Cadmus had been brought in, Harry nearly ran over several Ministry employees trying to get back to Level 2.

But as soon as he got a good look at the "suspect", Harry's enthusiasm withered away so fast he felt as though someone had let the air out of him. When Malfoy started tearing into the two Aurors responsible for the mess, Harry let him. Malfoy enjoyed yelling at people and Jacoby and O'Shea deserved a good telling off. Harry would have been lying if he said he wasn't just as hacked off. But he was the Squad Leader; it was his responsibility to rectify the situation. And though Malfoy was basically his second in command, he couldn't allow him to abuse the two Aurors any longer.

Harry pushed himself away from the wall and approached the table.

"I believe Jacoby and O'Shea understand the error they have made," he sternly added.

Malfoy scoffed at this.

"Do you now? Well I wish they would help me understand how they were able to mistake this son of a bitch here," he said as he reached for the file and pulled out a copy of the sketch of the real Cadmus, "for that five foot four fat fuck in the next room?!"

He waved the picture around wildly before throwing it back down on the table. Jacoby and O'Shea both hung their heads in shame.

"I ought to bust you both down to Fourth Squad."

The reaction to Malfoy's threat was instantaneous.

O'Shea's head snapped up and she looked horrified as she spoke.

"BUT SQUAD LEADER POTTER IS OUR DIVISION LEAD!"

"YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" Jacoby shouted belligerently.

"Oh yes I can!" said Malfoy snottily.

"No you can't," Harry said in a world-wearied tone. Malfoy was always threatening to chuck someone off of the team.

"FINE!" he snitted like some spoiled child while crossing his arms. "Potty will do it then."

Harry only rolled his eyes at the statement.

"Potty will do no such thing. The only person with the authority to demote an Auror would be Commander Hanes, but Hanes will never know about any of this because as far as the four people in this room are concerned today's little mishap never happened. Am I making myself understood?"

Harry took a moment to look each and every one of them in the eye just so they could understand that he meant business. His gaze fell on Malfoy last.

"Am I?"

His partner's lips thinned indignantly before snarling out, "What Bavarian?"

"Good."

Harry was smart enough to conceal the smirk that threatened to show itself. Malfoy, however, still wouldn't shut up about the whole thing.

"Just tell me this, what were you two even doing in Erding at that spa? O'Shea, you're supposed to be on medical leave. And Jacoby, I thought Shacklebolt borrowed you for that case his Squad has been working in Dover?"

"Squad Leader Shacklebolt told me that he wouldn't be needing another Metamorphmagus, sir." Though Malfoy asked the question, Jacoby directed the answer towards Harry. "Auror Lupin is b-back from her leave, you see. And...w-well..."

Jacoby went on, stumbling over his words as his eyes briefly held with O'Shea's.

"P-Peggy owled me about how l-lonely she was over there in Munich all be herself and..."

The sound of Malfoy's amused snicker stopped Jacoby from finishing. Both he and O'Shea slunk down in their seats nervously, and at first Harry wasn't sure what had caused their discomfort. Malfoy, being the dear that he was, ended up providing the answer. Something that resembled a grin, but was more like a sneer, spread across his face from ear to ear.

"You two are fucking."

The couple's matching pink cheeks confirmed for Harry the truth is Malfoy's assessment.

"Ok Malfoy, shove off. Leave them alone!"

"Potter, you and I both know how dangerous a situation like this could be!" he argued, turning to Harry.

He then faced the two younger Aurors again.

"ARE YOU TRYING TO GET YOURSELVES KILLED?! There is no fraternization between partners and for good reason! Let's say that Potter and I were fucking-"

"Uh, let's not..."

"The relationship you share with your partner must always maintain a steady balance. When working a case your life is in their hands. You have to trust your partner implicitly and you can't allow petty outside matters complicate that alliance. You're supposed to concentrate on being an extra set of eyes and ears and have their back. Not try to figure out how to get them on their back," he said as he gave Jacoby a pointed look.

O'Shea worriedly looked up at Harry. "Are we going to get written up?"

Harry sighed.

"Look guys, far be it from me to tell anyone who they should or shouldn't love..."

Though Harry was facing the couple, he could see the revolted look on Malfoy's face from out the corner of his eye.

"...but as much issue I take with Auror Malfoy's methods of getting a point across, I can't fault his logic."

Jacoby and O'Shea shared an apprehensive look, then turned back towards their superior.

"I'm not going to put you on report. However I will suggest to Commander Hanes that you two be reassigned to new partners."

It was a fair solution and both Jacoby and O'Shea's relieved expressions reflected this. They both stood from their seats.

"Oh thank you Har-" began O'Shea before her hand clamped over her mouth and she realized her slip. "I mean, thank you Squad Leader Potter," she said as she held out her hand to him. He shook it, then shook Jacoby's hand.

"Thank you for your understanding sir. As always I'm grateful for the opportunity to serve on Potter's Posse," he said. He made sure to look at Malfoy briefly when emphasizing Harry's name.

"GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!!!" Malfoy bellowed, sending both Aurors scurrying for the door and out the room. His gray eyes followed them before falling on Harry.

"WHY DON'T YOU JUST TUCK THEM IN AND READ THEM A BEDTIME STORY NEXT TIME?!"

Harry ignored him. One of Malfoy's constant nitpicks, when he wasn't mocking Harry's hair that is, was that he was far too easy on the Aurors that were under his command. In truth Harry never cared for holding a position of leadership. When he first joined the Department all he really wanted to do was go out in the field, do his job to the best of his capabilities, and not worry about stupid office politics.

However when the Squad Leader position was foisted upon him, one of the things he prided himself on was that he tried to be a fair leader. He listened to what his Aurors had to say and he only used his authority when he felt the situation called for it. Really Malfoy was the only one on their Squad that ever got any harsh treatment from him, and that was only because they were so used to antagonizing each other that it had become little more than a reflex action between them now. It was hardly the battle of wills that it had been one upon a time.

"One doesn't have to be a tyrant to be a good leader."

Harry settled next to Malfoy and turned to lean back against the table. Malfoy, arms still folded, turned so that he could face in the same direction.

"Thank you, oh wise one. Next time I run into Caligula at the baths I'll be sure to pass that one on."

"Shut up, Malfoy!"

For a moment both men stewed in their own turbulent thoughts. It was Harry that eventually broke the silence.

"Dammit! I almost got my hopes up there for a moment," said Harry dismally. "It's never taken us this long to bring in a perp. Cadmus is somewhere having a good laugh at our expense. And with Hermione's picture on the cover of every paper now..."

Harry couldn't even finish the statement, he was that perturbed by the whole state of affairs. He sighed dejectedly.

"If you're so worried, maybe we should just tell Hermione about the case and-"

"No!" said Harry bluntly.

"But if she's in danger from the toe-rag, and I'm not even so sure that she is mind you, at least she would know what's going on and-"

"I SAID, NO!"

Harry wasn't about to add this Cadmus mess to whatever other drama Hermione might have gotten herself into. If only he would get that damned floo call already!

Malfoy looked at him and said, "You know, Hermione doesn't need you to treat her like a child."

"As though you're some expert on what Hermione wants or needs."

The words were spoken arrogantly and punctuated with a flippant wave of the hands. Malfoy's eyes glittered hatefully for a moment and he opened his mouth, on the cusp of saying something. Harry saw it plainly on his face and almost welcomed the reprieve from their current troubles a spirited row with Malfoy would provide. But before the heated words could fall from Malfoy's lips, he clamped them together tightly and swallowed whatever he was going to say.

"What are we going to do about the fat Bavarian fairy?" he asked instead.

The tension in the room dissipated quickly.

Harry folded his arms and looked at the clock over the door. SUCK IT, it read. Well that suggestion certainly wasn't going to help solve matters.

Harry shook his head cheerlessly and looked up at the ceiling. Clock-blocked again.

"That's Álfari, Malfoy. And I don't have a clue. Do you know that there are over thirty-four common Elvish dialects?" he asked tonelessly. "And the Álfari don't even have a name for theirs."

"We're fucked."

Harry couldn't deny Malfoy's succinct observation. Instead he looked to him, hoping to find a solution for their dilemma.

"Don't we have a bloke on our team who is one quarter Álfari or something? Maybe he could talk to Klaussen," he said hopefully.

"Krispens," Malfoy answered. "He claims his great-grandmother was one. Never stops flapping his jaw about it, the plonker," he added for good measure. "Fur-Face is a notorious brownnoser. He'll sell us down the river to Hanes in the Arse in a heartbeat."

"Bugger!"

"That's exactly what Hanes in the Arse will do to us!"

Despite the seriousness of the circumstances, Harry still cracked a smile. He then dropped his face into his hands before asking, "Do you suppose Klaussen speaks German?"

"It's a distinct possibility."

One green eye peeked at Malfoy from between Harry's splayed fingers.

"Don't you speak German?"

"My old Nanny might have taught me how to turn a clever expletive filled phrase or two," he said absently. He then looked at Harry askance. "Why?"

Harry dropped his hands and gave Malfoy "the look". The look that Malfoy hated. The look that told him that Harry was about to make him do something he wasn't going to like.

"HELL NO!" Malfoy told him. "You are not sending me in there with that Bavarian crème puff!"

"Scared you're going to get a lump of coal in your stocking?" Harry joked.

"Funny," Draco said snidely. "Rather I prefer not to have that fucker keep track of when I've been sleeping or when I'm awake. I might get up one morning and find the head of one of his horned friends under my pillow."

"You've been watching too many Muggle films."

Harry pushed off from the table and crossed to the door. He opened it and looked back at his partner.

"However I think ickle Drakeypoo is just going to have to shut it up and take one for the team, now isn't he?"

Malfoy let out an obnoxious growl.

"Fine, fine, fine! I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING AROUND HERE!" he fumed as he stomped towards the exit. "If you need me later I'll be in the Archives!" he snarled as he slammed the door behind him.

As he watched Malfoy storm pass the observation window and barrel through a crowd of startled trainees, Harry exhaled in relief. Although Malfoy was a jackarse, the jackarse had an unfailing talent for browbeating and bending most people to his will that often came in handy in times like these. Harry was sure that if there was a way to clean up this mess with Klaussen Malfoy would find a way to do it. Of course Harry might not agree with whatever methods his partner chose to get the job done; he decided that he would just have to worry about that when the time came. He only hoped that the wanker was smart enough to calm Klaussen down before he gave the Álfari back his wand. Harry's opinion of Malfoy wasn't that generous at the moment.

Though he hated to admit it, Harry was still smarting a bit from the small verbal skirmish he and his partner had engaged in over Hermione. Really, just who in the hell did Malfoy think he was giving him advice on how to deal with his own best friend? Idiot! Harry tried to ignore the little voice of doubt that told him that maybe he didn't really know all there was to his best friend either.

This whole week he and Malfoy had been partaking in similar squabbles. It was starting to threaten the tenuous tolerable relationship that the two Aurors had built these last few years. He and Malfoy could be talking about anything; a perp being held in detainment, just what exactly had crawled up Hanes' arse and died, or whether or not the attractive dark haired new hire down in Transportation, Dorian Greyson, was actually a witch or a wizard. Malfoy swore he knew a bloke that knew a bloke that knew a bloke that had discovered the answer the hard way. But somehow Hermione's name would get brought up in the conversation and the two of them would come out swinging. The worse part was that each time they argued Harry began to think that he had somehow landed on the losing end of things.

The woman was just damned frustrating! She blew so hot and cold, sometimes all at once. He was never sure what exactly was going on inside Hermione's head. But it seemed like Malfoy did. And it irked Harry to think that maybe Malfoy could be right. Maybe he was coddling Hermione. This was a witch who had taken on a slew of Death Eaters when she was still just a girl. Maybe he was letting his romantic feelings towards her cloud his better judgment. That thought made Harry wonder if he was missing a great many things in regards to his best friend because he was thinking with the wrong head ... to put it bluntly. That idea in turn made him irate at the knowledge that it was Malfoy, of all people, who was making him question himself.

The fact that Hermione was hiding something did little to help matters either.

It was the evening that he went to collect her from Lovegood House that really began to enforce this belief. Up until that point everything had seemed far simpler. Sure he couldn't have the woman he wanted because he was already married, but Harry naively thought that all of that could be fixed. It was like that little shot of Hermione he had on that kitchen counter had intoxicated him, and like a drunkard stumbling into the night after last call, he had believed himself invincible. Nothing could touch him! He would be able to have Hermione because he wanted it badly enough; whatever it took to make it happen he would do.

He and Ginny would sit down and both accept the failure of their relationship like the two mature adults that they were. Next he would find the means to dissolve the union. Once that was done he...well...he hadn't thought things out that far yet. But in that bitterly short-lived moment that Harry had held Hermione in his arms he knew he felt a spark, a tingle that told him that there could be something between them; all she would have to do was give it a chance. In order to convince her of this he knew that he couldn't still be married. That wouldn't be fair to her, but more importantly that wouldn't be fair to Ginny.

After leaving the Hollow, he ended up walking around Diagon Alley for hours as he strengthened his "plan". It was nearing midnight by time he Apparated back to the Palace. When he got there he found Dobby waiting patiently with a hot plate of food and a glass of ale. When he asked after Ginny the house-elf informed him that his cooking hadn't agreed with her and that she had retired to bed early. Dobby offered to bang his head with the tea kettle for a few minutes for being responsible for such a grievous infraction, but Harry firmly told him that it wouldn't be necessary.

That night Harry slept at the desk in his study, his head pillowed by a copy of the Cadmus case file.

Early the next morning, before the sun had even fully risen, he was striding out of one of the gilded fireplaces that led into the Atrium of the Ministry. Harry had been in a great mood. He had plans to see Hermione that evening. Of course he had to practically strong arm her into agreeing to it, she seemed reluctant to spend time with just him alone, but as soon as he dangled the promise of meeting the newest addition to the Lupin family she became more agreeable. He even suggested that Ron could tag along, any fears that she was still in love with the redhead seemed ludicrous to Harry now.

Yes, there was a decided pep to his step. Everyone who saw him that morning remarked on it. When he stopped by Tonks' cubicle to see if the three friends could stop by Grimmauld later, she even pointed out his glowing smile and suggestively mentioned, "that it looked like someone's hairy potter had finally been able to make it to the hole". Since this was Tonks he didn't dignify her statement with a response. After checking to see if Malfoy had bothered to show his face yet, he let Romilda know that if he was needed for the rest of the day he could be found in the Ministry Archives. It was around this time that his good mood went the way of the phoenix and burst into flames. Only Harry wasn't sure if it was ever coming back again.

Harry figured that the Archives were a good enough place to start looking for any information he could find on the Olde Rites. Hogwarts might have been a better option, but the sight of Auror Potter lurking around the dusty library on Level 1 would draw less attention.

The Archives was under the supervision of a hag who was a drunk and a distant relative of Scrimgeour's wife, if the Ministry gossip was to be believed. The hag's bleary eyes followed Harry as he made his way to the stacks in the back where the books on old and obscure laws were kept. It was early, but she was already bladdered so he didn't bother asking her for any help. Even if he had it would have been a lost cause. Rituals and Customs of Olde Briton, Blood Magic and the Ties that Bind, Magus Lex Legis; Harry must have searched through over a dozen books that didn't help him in the least.

They all seemed to say the same thing, the Rites were irreversible. He couldn't find any evidence of any marriages that had been successfully overturned. Although he understood that wizards were ambivalent towards the idea of divorce, Harry knew that there had to be at least one on record somewhere. He could still remember Hermione telling him that the Rites could be revoked as long as there were no children born into the marriage. That right there convinced him that there had to be a case that set the precedent. But after nearly going blind reading through several texts in both English and Latin, all hope seemed lost.

Then luck chose to shine upon Harry Potter. While putting a book back on its shelf, he knocked down a larger one by accident. When Harry bent down to pick it up and return the huge tome to its proper place, a battered old pamphlet fell from between its pages. The strange booklet, The Wrong and Right of the Rites, featured a very crude stick figure drawing of a man and a woman chained together at the wrists, both tugging at their shackles. Its brown cover was splotched with dark stains as well as some of the pages and smelled strongly of nettle tea that had been brewed for too long.

Before Harry could study it further he heard Hanes barking his name through out the library as the old crone caretaker threatened to prick the Department Head with a spinning wheel needle if he didn't lower his voice. Knowing it was against the rules; Harry slipped the pamphlet into his robes and stepped out from between the stacks to greet his commanding officer. Without pause Hanes chewed him out for not being at his desk, for breathing, and for not being Malfoy who he really wanted to play merry-hell to. He then ordered Harry to assemble the Second Squad and head out to Woodcroft. For the last day or two the town had endured vicious spurts of Muggle baiting that had finally spiraled so far out of control that it had claimed the life of the Third Squad Leader originally in charge of the mission to quell the disturbances.

Potter's Posse was home before dinnertime with an hour or two to spare.

As soon as all of the proper paper work was filled out and filed, Harry exited the Ministry and Apparated himself into the cottage at Godric's Hollow. He was dismayed to find an empty house and yard; no truck, no dog, and no Hermione. He calmly told himself not to panic. He placed a floo call over to the Burrow and learned from Fleur that Hermione had been over earlier. When he arrived there he found her truck parked outside, Lizzie playing with the children in the back near the pond, and was told that Hermione had walked over to Luna's.

During dinner that night at the Burrow he practically wallowed in his disappointment, discouraged at how fast his world had gone from bright and hopeful to dull and disheartening in less than 24 hours. The fear that Hermione was avoiding him began to blacken his thoughts. He just knew that she had been in Lovegood House when he stopped by there earlier! He could feel it. It wasn't clear to him why Malfoy would lie about it, but when he got the note from Luna later it only confirmed his previous hunch.

Harry then had a furious Ginny to contend with. Harry had let the fact that he hadn't exactly told his wife about Hermione's living arrangements slip his mind. Given the fact that Hermione and Ginny weren't that close anymore, it didn't come as that huge of a surprise that his wife wasn't pleased about the situation. But since she never gave a damn about the cottage before Harry didn't think it should have been that big a deal if Hermione lived there indefinitely. Merlin let it be indefinitely! Since the family was around Ginny didn't express her displeasure. But her stony silence spoke volumes on the subject. Even though they sat next to each other at the family table, neither of them said a word to the other.

After the meal, Ginny Disapparated out of the Burrow in a fit of pique. Harry debated for a moment whether or not he should just follow her back to the Palace and maybe broach the sensitive topic of their failed relationship right then, but he hated the thought of leaving things in such limbo between him and Hermione. He needed to find out if she truly was avoiding him now. After making his excuses to his in-laws, Harry walked over to Lovegood House with Lizzie following at his heels to keep him company.

When he got to the house the atmosphere was tense, Hermione's smiles were forced, and Malfoy was being an even bigger tosser than usual. When Mr. Lovegood invited Harry in for tea, Malfoy made sure that he sat nowhere near Hermione. Every time Harry tried to ask her a question or even just catch her eye Malfoy would rudely interrupt and Hermione would actually ignore him in favor of the Slytherin. And Harry suspected that the Ferret purposely sent him to the wrong room when he asked for directions to the loo. The fifteen minutes he spent locked in that room with all of those old doolally paintings he wouldn't ever get back. And for the life of him Harry almost imagined he'd never get that infernal humming out of his head! Just where in the hell was it coming from anyway?!

Something was definitely up. But when he questioned Hermione and Malfoy about it they denied that there was anything amiss. Harry knew that they were lying though, because whatever was going on, Luna seemed somewhat privy to it. The only ones who appeared to be in the dark, besides him, were Mr. Lovegood and Lizzie. For Harry the only bright spot of the whole evening was that Lizzie did not care for Malfoy in the least. She even barked viciously when she first laid eyes on him and nearly took his hand off when he tried to pet her. The lovable, clownish dog fairly growled every time Malfoy opened his mouth to speak. Hermione apologized to the git profusely and said over and over again that she had no idea what could have gotten into her.

Probably never saw anyone that unnaturally blond before in her life, thought Harry spitefully. Damn, did he love that dumb dog!

~~**~~ ~~**~~

Harry and Hermione walked back to the Burrow side by side, neither speaking to the other. The only sound that could be heard was the brush of the grass at their feet, the occasional screech of an owl making a kill, the giddy yipping and yapping of the dog as she capered back and forth, and the uneasy tension that practically vibrated the air around them.

It was a beautiful night, the sky was dusted with its twinkling array of stars, and the moon hung in the sky as a silver sliver. But the beauty of all of this was lost on the two young people. Hermione walked as though she were on autopilot. Her arms were wrapped around her middle as though that was all that was holding her intact, and her blonde head hung down low. Her eyes studied her feet as she walked at a sloth-like pace. Harry's unfocused gaze was straight ahead, but he was so lost in his own thoughts that he barely acknowledged what direction they were heading in, or that Lizzie had taken off ahead of them. Although Harry would have given anything to know what was in Hermione's mind, his own thoughts were jumbled and distraught.

She hates me.

That could be the only explanation for Hermione's cold treatment of him, he figured. When he almost kissed her the night before he had broken some unspoken trust that lay between them and now she was punishing him for the heinous transgression. He had crossed the line of all lines that she obviously had no intention of ever stepping over with him. She hated him. That's why she wouldn't speak to him, even look at him. That's why she seemed to prefer Malfoy to him. That's why Luna looked at him so pityingly. Hermione hated him. And now, not only had he lost any chance to be with her, he had also lost her in the process it seemed.

"You dropped your book."

The sound of her voice nearly made Harry jump out of his own skin.

"WHAT?!" he asked as he turned back to face Hermione. She had stopped walking a few paces behind him.

"Your book," she said again. "It fell from your robes. Here, let me get it for you."

Hermione slowly bent down to pick up the brown object that lay in the grass.

"NO!" Harry yelled as he dove for the book. In his haste to get to it before she did, the two of their heads collided together in a hard, hollow thwack that sounded like a pair of Bludgers knocking together. The force of it made both fall back on the ground; each grabbing for their own head.

"Ow," whinged Hermione as she rubbed at her forehead.

Harry's response was a tad more colorful as he went through a litany of swear words that would have made his partner proud. Even Hermione was amazed at his dexterous turn of phrase. She gaped at him, an expression of marvel on her face, as she still held her hand to her head. Harry's wild oaths died down as soon as he realized that he had her rapt attention. They both stared at each other in wonderment before that ever present pressure around them suddenly popped and released itself in a spate of hysterical laughter and carefree giggles. Hermione laughed so hard that she actually collapsed on the grass and turned on her side. Harry started hiccupping. He had to pat the grass beside him to find his glasses and that only amused him more. Every time their merriment threatened to die they would each cast side long glances at the other and start back up again.

"From all of those falls you took from your broom I always knew your head had to be made of granite," she said when she was finally able to speak coherently. "I just never figured that I would ever have such intimate knowledge of just hard it is."

A giggle managed to escape behind every other word. She sat up and brought her knees to her chest.

Harry's smile was so large it practically lit up the sky on its own.

"Yes, and I suppose yours is made of feather down of course," he snickered.

"Is that your clever way of calling me a bird brain, Mr. Potter?" An impish grin accompanied the question.

Harry adopted a very serious face, and in affected solemnity said, "Never that." Then he began to laugh again.

Hermione joined him. On all fours, she crawled over to where Harry was and sat up on her knees. Because he had been slipping his glasses back on his face, it took him a moment or two to realize that she had the pamphlet in her hands.

"Your book."

She held it out to him, never glancing down. Instead her beautiful brown eyes were lit up like fairy lights as they held with Harry's. Those eyes were almost his undoing as he fought down the urge to just gather her in his arms and never let go. But realizing that such actions would not solve anything, he opted to take the book from her hands and slip it back into his robes.

"Thank you."

He then asked the question that had been worrying his heart that whole evening.

"Are you ever going to speak to me again?"

Harry could have kicked himself for sounding like such a weepy git, but he needed to know if his thoughtless actions from the day before had cost him the only thing he had ever allowed himself to truly want for himself.

Hermione's cheery smile slowly faded at his question and her eyes began to pool. Her miserable expression made Harry's heart constrict and he started to apologize for any harm he had ever caused her. But before the words could leave his lips, she flung her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. Harry could feel her hot tears sear his skin. Without thought, his arms encircled her waist and he began to gently rock back and forth.

"I'm so sorry, Harry."

Her apology mystified him. She was sorry? What could Hermione possibly have to be sorry for, to apologize to him for? Was she talking about the other day? He was the one who had buggered up their near fourteen year friendship, not her. Harry pulled back so he could look at her and try and tell her this, but she kept her eyes closed tightly. Still, the tears trailed down her face torrent-like.

"I've been such a bitch!"

Now Harry was truly flummoxed.

"Hermione, what? Why would you even say something like that about yourself?" he asked as he tenderly wiped at the tears on her cheeks.

"Because it's true! I'm a horrible, horrible person. I've been so selfish; so bloody concerned about my own feelings when you..."

She opened her eyes to look at him, but quickly closed them tight as her face crumbled and she began to sob again. The only thing Harry could think to do was hold her again.

"You're my best friend, Harry. The very best friend I've ever had or will ever have. And I've been so unfair to you. So unfair."

Then she said something that threw him completely.

"It's my entire fault. Not yours. I'm so sorry."

Before Harry could puzzle the odd statement out, or even deny it, she began babbling so erratically that Harry felt he couldn't keep up with the haste of her words.

"It's all just been too much. I thought that I could handle it. I thought...I th-thought I was stronger than this, but I was wrong. I try to come off as though I have it all t-together, l-like I have all the answers, but I don't! I'm so fucking clueless, Harry! And I'm weak, so weak."

Her voice became so small and wretched that Harry had to strain to hear it.

"But that's not your fault, Harry, and I shouldn't take it out on you. I just don't know what else to do!"

He held her closer then and tried to get her to calm down.

"Hermione, whatever is wrong I can help," he murmured in her ears.

She shook her head violently. "No you can't! YOU CAN'T!"

"Yes I can! I can help if you would just let me. Why won't you let me? I'd do anything for you. Anything!"

He had pulled away again so she could see the sincerity in his words, in his face, in his heart. Her teary face lay trapped between his palms, and he tilted it up just so that his face was all she could see. At that angle the moonlight seemed to make her eyes into twin pools of liquid amber.

Her voice croaked as she asked, "Anything?"

He shook his head to focus it clearly.

"Just ask it," he said.

"Then I need time."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Time?"

"Time to regroup, time to settle in; time to get myself accustomed to the way things are now."

"Time away from me." He tried not to say it as bitterly as he felt in that moment.

"NO! No, no, no. That's not it. Not really." She wiped clumsily at her face, trying to dry it. "I've just had to deal with seven years of baggage in four days and...and it's all been a little too much. I've cried more in the last few days than I have my entire life, it seems. My coping skills are shot. And I'm just afraid that I won't be any good to anyone if this keeps up. I just need some time to be by myself is all," she said pleadingly.

"How much time?"

"Two days. Or...or three," she said, sniffling. "Four at the most."

"Ron's game is Saturday."

She smiled a little.

"That's just perfect then. Two days. In two days this blubbering wreck you see before you will be back to your bossy, nagging best mate of old. Just like old times. Like how we've always been. That should make you happy right?"

Happy? He was almost tempted in that very moment to tell her exactly what could make him happy; the least of which was what she was offering him. He didn't want things back like the way they were. He didn't want "old times". He didn't want to keep pretending that all she was to him was just a friend. He wanted her! And he should have said that. And he would have said it if she hadn't been looking at him...pleading with him so desperately in that wordless language they shared. But because he promised her anything, he now had to give it to her.

"Two days?"

Hermione lifted his hand and held it close to her. Harry could feel her heart beating, almost in time with his own.

"Two days," she said.

She then turned her head from side to side and surveyed the area surrounding them.

"Where's my dog?" Hermione asked him, puzzled.

Harry chuckled dryly. "Probably halfway to Timbuktu by now, I reckon."

Hermione then laughed and the sound of it dulled at least a little of the ache from Harry's dismal spirits.

"Goodness, I would have been a disaster as a mother," she said lightly. "Come on then."

She stood up and offered him a hand.

"Let's not keep her waiting."

The rest of the short walk continued in silence, but the mood was decidedly lighter. A time or two Harry felt himself reaching to hold Hermione's hand, but every time that urge rose up he fought it back. As they neared the stone broom shed a few feet from the Burrow, they could hear Lizzie barking in the distance. As they got closer, Harry could make out the forms of Bill and Fleur sitting in chairs outside the house keeping the dog company. Once Lizzie caught sight of them, she ran pell-mell in their direction, jumping on Hermione first, then Harry. The big sheepdog licked at Harry's face adoringly and he let her. Hermione joked that yet another female had fallen victim to the Potter charm which made him threaten to spank her bottom if she didn't shut it.

After waving at Bill and Fleur, and watching them go back into the house, Harry walked Hermione to her truck. She reached into the pocket of her sports coat and pulled out a set of keys. She then unlocked the driver's door and opened the door to the back seat so that the dog could get in. Harry could see her handbag sitting on the passenger seat and he wondered if she had actually taken his advice to carry his mum's wand with her at all times. Then again it's not like it would have mattered anyway, she hadn't even bothered to bring the bag with her when she went to Luna's, he fretted inwardly. He didn't bring it up, though. He knew that it would only serve to make her cross and he hated to break the easy peace between them so soon. He also made note of her mobile sitting in the cup tray; its little red light blinking rapidly.

He turned his attention from it and back to her.

"So two days, right?"

Hermione turned to face him and bobbed her head in answer.

"Two days. We'll rendezvous at the Cup," she replied.

A frown crossed his face. He couldn't help it.

"What? What's wrong? What's with the face?"

Against his better judgment, Harry once again tried to push the issue.

"Are you sure you want to go to the game?" he asked. "The press will be crawling all over and you don't even like Quidditch."

"No, but I like Ron. And this game is going to be his big moment in the sun; his chance to shine. He deserves no less and I want to be there to witness it. As many times as he stood by and cheered you or I on while we had our time in the spotlight, I owe this to him. Besides, no one will even pay me any notice. They'll be too focused on the game."

"I guess you're right. It's just...I don't know, I have this really bad feeling..."

Hermione's eyebrows knitted together. "Hmm, the Potter hunch, you say? Tell me, what could possibly go wrong at a Quidditch match?"

"Speaking from experience? A great many things."

"I suppose you're right," she replied off-handedly. The corner of her lips then twitched. "Then again I'm not the one with the Harry Potter Memorial bed at Hogwarts."

Harry smiled bashfully. "That was awful mean of Poppy to put that plaque up like that."

Hermione tried not to giggle.

"And it was mean of you to make it for her."

That made her laugh outright. She then turned around and lifted herself into the truck. After putting the keys into the ignition and starting the engine, the hulking beast revved into life. As she pulled her door shut and pushed a button to send her window down, he saw her casually glance down at her phone. Although the inside of the truck afforded him very little light in which to see, he didn't fail to spot the blink and you miss it annoyance that crossed her face.

It was gone though by time she gave him a small smile as she pulled the straps of her seatbelt across her. Harry quietly watched all of this as he racked his brain for something profound and well meaning to say to her before she drove off into the night. Finding nothing that didn't involve him confessing his feelings, asking her to run away with him, and convincing her to be the mother of every one of his nearsighted, hair challenged children; he decided that the less is more treatment would probably work best.

Plus it won't scare the crap out of her, he told himself.

"Two days?" he said as he came closer to the window, his eyes drinking up everything about her to help sustain him for the sheer hell the next forty-eight hours would surely be.

She gravely nodded her head. She then lowered her head out of the window. Harry felt a soft pair of lips brush his cheek. They lingered on his skin for just a moment, just a fraction of a heartbeat really, before she inched back and whispered, "Two days."

As Harry watched the off-roader drive down the lane, his hand absently rubbing at the spot where she kissed him, he couldn't know what the next forty-eight hours would bring. He couldn't see the look on Hermione's face as she thought she was going to die; the sound of his name the last thing tearing from her lungs as she went over. He didn't yet know the burning sensation of his heart leaping into his throat and lodging there as he watched Sirius fall through the veil...no...Hermione going over that railing. He had no inner eye, no crystal ball; no tea leaves of which to speak. At the time he just fervently hoped that the next two days went by without incident and quickly enough so that he didn't end up flying his Firebolt down to Godric's Hollow, storming the cottage, and going back on his promise.

Nobility was a right kick in the arse!

Harry strolled into the Archives as nonchalantly as he could manage. He scanned the large room, and not finding the hag at her desk, headed straight towards the back. He was returning to the scene of the crime; returning the pamphlet he had nicked the week before. Fortunately there was something to return, because after Harry finally got a chance to read through The Wrongs and Right of the Rites he nearly ripped the damned thing to shreds. The good news was that he had found the information he was looking for. The bad news was that he had found the information he was looking for.

There were three unions on record that had been overturned in the UK, even though the Rites had been performed. In all three cases the wizard in the match was the one who petitioned the Wizengamot for the dissolution of his marriage. Although almost 100 years separated each case, the earliest being in 1689, they all had one thing in common. All three wizards claimed that their wives married them in bad faith, thus making the Rites invalid.

After forty-seven childless years together Hezikiah Burnermacher threw his wife Patience out of the house after he learned that she had purposely planned never to have children by him. Even before they officially became man and wife she had been peppering his food with monksroot, a plant that made him sterile. He found this out after he finally questioned his Healer why he wasn't able to get her or any of his five mistresses, for that matter, with child. Since the Wizengamot back then was anything but progressive, he was allowed to get rid of his treacherous wife in favor of her sister Constance, mistress number one. No one was really surprised when Hezikiah and Constance died in that tragic Mountain troll accident a year later. Patience was the one who "accidentally" set the Mountain Troll on them.

Samuel Nott and Wallace Smethwyck each married women who weren't what they claimed to be. Despite sharing separate rooms and never seeing her before six in the evening, Nott seemed to be the last person in his small village that didn't know that he had married a dhampir woman; the child of a mortal woman and her vampire father. True, half the bride's guests at his midnight ceremony were quite pale, and his father in-law did look a bit long in the tooth (literally); Nott just figured they were all so odd because they were foreigners not because they were the living dead! Nott wasn't that bright.

Neither was Smethwyck. When Georgina Boyle walked into his life he often wondered aloud if there was anything that could ever make him stop loving her. Finding out that his bride had originally begun life as George almost did the trick. It took about a year and a half to make Wallace realize that he was wrong, but by then his marriage had already been stricken from the books. Despite the small setback, the couple eventually got back together and lived out the rest of their years as two very old, but very happy wizards.

In all three cases the Wizengamot ruled that the offending spouse had perpetrated a fraud, thus invalidating the blood bond.

After reading this Harry was nearly inconsolable. Although he often questioned it when she was in a temper, Harry was pretty sure that Ginny was human. After five years of marriage, he sure as hell hoped she was a girl. And she definitely wanted to start a family. If anything he was the one who had married her under fraudulent circumstances. It was beginning to become unquestioningly clear that if his marriage was going to come to an end it would have to be Ginny who initiated it.

In the words of Draco Malfoy, "fuck...all".

Since learning that Hermione was living at the Hollow, Ginny barely spoke to him anymore. Oh, when they were out in public the Potters seemed to be the perfect couple. When others were around Ginny was the most loving wife, the most adoring spouse. But behind closed doors it was a different story. When he returned to the Palace most nights, Ginny was already in bed; the door to the room locked. She started leaving the house earlier than he did. In the rare instances that he did manage to get her alone and tried to broach the subject of their marriage she begged off, usually citing a headache as the reason. It was almost like she was avoiding him. If Harry didn't know any better he would think that she had guessed that he didn't want to be married to her any longer.

Oh Merlin!

Had she guessed that he didn't want to be married to her any longer?! Did she know the reason why? Was he that transparent? And if Ginny wouldn't divorce him what exactly could he do about it? Could life possibly get any more complicated?

The answer appeared to be yes.

Because since the Quidditch match Hermione had been sending him such mixed signals that Harry never knew whether he was coming or going most days. Whereas he had begun to fear that Hermione might try to make another run for it, especially after how emotionally wrung out she was when she begged him for some space; these days she looked like that was the farthest thing from her mind.

She was even making the cottage into a real home. Linens, knickknacks, picture frames, state of the art appliances, an enormous bookshelf and a monster of a television set that he and Ron had to shrink down just to get it into the house; with so much free time on her hand Hermione had taken to redecorating the whole place with zeal. There wasn't a corner of the house that didn't have a bit of her personal touch.

When she asked him if he minded it at all, Harry did his best to downplay just how over the moon he really was about the whole thing. He even offered to pay for what ever she needed, but she told him that it wasn't necessary. She did, however, ask him his opinion; what he liked, what he thought the house might need. Harry never thought that the sight of such girlie, frilly throw pillows could make him so happy. You just don't buy throw pillows if you're planning on taking off any day. At least in Harry's humble opinion you didn't.

Hermione's attitude towards him was also maddening. One moment she would be holding him at arms length. In the next, it was like she couldn't keep her eyes off of him. He should know, his were very rarely not glued to her every movement if she entered the same room he was in. When their eyes would make contact she would usually turn red and become flustered. It was cute. It was confusing as hell, but still cute.

And then there was the flirting. Sometimes Harry felt the need to wipe the steam from his glasses. Coy side long glances, sly words; it was bloody verbal foreplay was what it was! If they had never bothered to venture into this forbidden territory before, they were making up for lost time now. Then, right when it would start to get really spirited, she would back off so quickly that it would give him whiplash. The funniest part was that Ron, who was often wedged between them like some unofficial chaperon, acted as though he didn't notice a thing. Either Harry was making more out of it than there really was, or Ron had to be the thickest bastard in all of England.

God bless him.

But what baffled Harry the most were the things Hermione would say in her more unguarded moments. Those were few and hard to come by; she was usually so zealously in control of the situation most times. But when she allowed the mask to slip, the peek that Harry would get made him wonder if this whole shambolic state of affairs he found himself in wasn't so one-sided after all.

Like when she tried to make it seem that what happened on the kitchen counter was all her fault. What was that about? She had almost sounded guilty; like she had wanted it too. Did that mean she had wanted it too? Was that what she was so upset about? Thoughts like that had the power to make him giddy and nauseous, hopeful and scared as hell. It was a wonder he could stand upright. Because these thoughts began to foster in him the crazy, wonderful, unbelievable notion that maybe Hermione could be attracted to him despite the fact that he was her best friend. Maybe even attracted to him because they were each other's very best friend and understood each other in ways no one else ever could.

"The two of them got to marry their best friend. Who wouldn't want that? I know I would."

Even now he could still hear those words in his head. Of course it could have meant nothing, Hermione had been just this side of tipsy when she said it, but Harry wasn't so sure. Maybe Hermione had actually thought about what it could be like to be with her best friend; her very best friend. He was positive she wasn't talking about Ron. As she told him already, that ship had long since sailed. So if she didn't mean that best friend just who was she referring to? Dared he hope?

Where there hell was that floo call?! He really needed to take that call before he allowed his thoughts to go down that road.

Harry was passing through the potions section, heading towards the front of the library, when he caught sight of Malfoy at a desk near a window. A pile of books and parchments were spread out over the table before him. He and the hag were arguing about a book or something and their loud voices were carrying. From the mutinous look on his face, Harry could tell that Malfoy was being his usual pleasant self. Since he wanted to find out how things had gone with Klaussen, Harry waited for the hag to leave before approaching the table.

"Listen you Ogden embalmed bag of bones, either you get me that book or I'll drop a house on you!" he heard Malfoy order her.

The crone merely bobbed and weaved unsteadily as she listened to the blond's empty threat.

"If I didn't suspect that you were already heartless, Auror Malfoy, I would threaten to cut it out myself dearie," she slurred in a scratchy voice. She then cackled wildly at her own joke, drawing stares from those nearby.

As she shuffled away from Malfoy's table, she left the stench and near visible trail of stale ale in her wake. Malfoy made a series of impolite gestures at her retreating back.

"Wooing the witches as usual, Malfoy?" asked Harry as he sauntered towards his partner.

"I hate that dried up old bitch!" he stated, his brow line creased angrily. "She's always threatening to lock someone in a tower or bake them in a pie."

Harry shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. "She's a hag, that's what they do."

Malfoy rolled his eyes in reply.

"So how went things with Klaussen?"

"Swimmingly," he said drolly, lowering his eyes to the page he had opened before him. "I think I might have betrothed myself to him."

An amused smirk played at Harry's face. "I'm sure Luna will just love that."

"Well she's the one always after me to make more friends."

The absurdity of the remark actually made Harry chuckle. The sound caused Malfoy to raise his head and bring his attention back to Harry.

"What are you doing in here, anyway? You rarely come in the stacks. I always assumed you were allergic to books."

Harry ignored the insult.

"The Bulwark Charm I put up," Harry said, lying through his teeth. He wasn't about to tell Malfoy what he was really up to. "I was browsing through one of those how-to manuals looking for some tips. The spell's been messing with the electricity in the cottage."

That part was actually true. The charm was too strong to be used around so many electronics. It was wreaking havoc. Hermione's computer was instant messaging with the dead, the telly was broadcasting what was going on in the houses of the other residents of the village, and though they didn't have conclusive evidence to prove it, he and Hermione had come to the conclusion that the microwave might have tried to eat Lizzie! The poor dog seemed terrified to go anywhere near it.

Draco studied him hard for a second before returning to his book.

"Either you've gotten better at lying or I'm just tired," he said as he turned a page. "For a Ministry designed spell of that magnitude you would have to calibrate the biorhythms of all of the occupants in the house in order to make it work properly," he said in a bored manner. "That includes the stupid mongrel. Any idiot would know that."

"That's good to know," said Harry gingerly, "idiot."

Malfoy scowled down at his book.

Harry began to drum his fingers distractedly against the table. His mind wandered off for a moment as he wondered at the time once again.

"So I suppose you'll be going over to the cottage later?"

Malfoy's query took Harry away from his inner musings.

"I suppose I might."

In truth, since the British Cup, not a night had gone by that he hadn't spent at least an hour or two (or three) at the Hollow.

"Do you suppose that's a good idea?" Malfoy wondered aloud. It was the artful disinterest in which the question was asked that made Harry's teeth grind together.

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" asked Harry, trying to control the instant flicker of doubt coupled with rage that sprang to life inside his chest.

Malfoy didn't spare Harry a glance as he answered him. The annoying prat just dipped his goshawk feather quill in a small ink pot near Harry's hand and began to jot down some notes on a piece of parchment.

"It just seems like you've been spending a copious amount of time around Hermione, is all. I'd be surprised if the woman had been able to put on a fresh pair of knickers; you're always under her so. Besides, don't you have a wife?"

The ink pot exploded sending little shards of glass all over the desk. Funny enough, only Malfoy seemed to get soaked in the indigo goop. He muttered a curse or two as he pulled out his wand to clean the mess up. Malfoy absolutely abhorred having even a speck on his Auror robes.

Harry menacingly bent down over the table as he put his face right up to Malfoy's. Harry's eyes became furious slits, and through his gritted teeth he laid down the law.

"I am going to say this once and then the case is closed, Ferret. What goes on between me and my best friend is none of your fucking business! You could never hope to understand a friendship like ours, so stop trying to! If she wanted me gone she would tell me. She tells me everything!"

Malfoy's silver eyes looked up into his, devoid of malice or spite.

"Does she?"

"You've been keeping something from me, Miss Granger," Harry said teasingly.

He and Hermione had been idly strolling through Piccadilly Circus; looking in shop windows, gossiping about their friends, nipping at food they bought from street vendors. Harry had knocked off work early to spend the afternoon with her. They actually had been on their way to drop in at Remus', but Hermione had wanted to take the detour. She looked completely at ease being around the huge crowds of Muggle London and Harry couldn't be more pleased at that. You couldn't walk down Diagon Alley without seeing her face staring out from every newsstand these days. Even though they had to use old photos of her, some from right after the Final Defeat, the tiny images of Hermione still tried to shield their faces from view.

Thankfully no one knew where she was living or Hermione would have never gotten any peace. Because their owls couldn't find her due to the Bulwarvivivus he had set up around the cottage, people began sending letters, requests for interviews, and more than a few howlers to him and Ron. It seemed like everyone was waiting with bated breath to see if Hermione would stop Ron and Lavender's wedding, and everyone had an opinion on the matter. Harry felt that they all needed to get a ruddy life!

They had dropped in at a record shop and perused some of the CDs. She bought a few disks; some classical, some rock, a few jazz artists that she told him he absolutely had to give a listen to. She threw them in the large camel handbag she carried on her shoulder and then they were on their way. She then pointed out some of the sites to him; he very rarely ventured this far into London if he could help it. When they finally took a moment to catch a breath, they found themselves standing in front of the large fountain with its winged statue atop it.

"Cupid, right?" he had asked her.

She smiled in good humor as she shook her head.

"A common misconception. It's actually his younger sibling, Anteros. Eros begged his mum and dad for a little brother to boss around."

"Alas...The pain of being an only child," he said jokingly.

She swatted him on the shoulder.

"So if Eros is the God of love what is Anteros, anti-love or something?"

"No," she said as her smile died and she turned solemn eyes up at the statue. "Anteros is the God of unrequited love."

Harry looked over at her upturned face and felt the subtle stir of longing flutter some where deep within him.

"Oh."

She turned to look at him then, and Harry felt that longing sensation do a handstand.

"Yeah, oh," she said.

After that they drifted along in a comfortable silence that was only disturbed every now and then when one would catch the other staring, and the guilty party would mumble an apology as they nervously looked the other way. At one point they wandered over to Glasshouse Street. Harry didn't know exactly when her hand had worked itself into his, but even a flagon of Felix Felicis wouldn't have rivaled the feeling it filled him with.

Hermione tilted her head curiously, a small smile on her lips.

"I've been keeping something from you, have I?"

"The name of the wizard who's taking you to the Ball," Harry said as he playfully swung their arms between them.

The Victory Ball was in just a matter of days and all of the women in their little circle had been in a tizzy trying to get themselves and their men ready for it. Ginny had bought him a new set of robes and had hung it up in his study the other night before he got in from work; the note attached to it telling him in no uncertain terms what time she expected him back at the Palace that night so he could escort her to the function.

Fred had mentioned in passing that Glinda had offered to set Hermione up with someone for the night so she wouldn't feel awkward going to the big Ministry function all alone. That news didn't sit well with Harry and he almost said something rude to Fred about his busybody wife, but he figured all was forgiven when the Weasley twin said that Hermione turned her down. He then added that she turned Glinda down because she already had a date. Fred didn't know who it was because Hermione was being secretive about the whole thing.

Although Harry was smiling on the outside as he asked her about the big mystery escort, inside he was seething. Just who the hell was this twat who so obviously had a death wish?!

"So who is the lucky bloke?" So I can rip his spleen out through his ear.

Harry smiled brightly at her.

"I'm not telling," Hermione teased as her eyes sparkled.

"How very Fourth Year of you, Hermione," he said dryly causing her to laugh.

"A girl has got to have some secrets."

Harry had opened his mouth to say something profoundly brilliant, he was sure, when off in the distance he heard a twanging voice call out.

"HARMONY?"

Before he knew what was happening, Hermione had dropped his hand and without ceremony, pushed him so hard that he nearly lost his balance. He felt himself stumbling sideways into a little cramped shop. It took him only a second to get his bearings together.

"BLOODY HELL, HERMIONE! WHAT THE HELL YOU DO THAT FOR?!" he groused as he rubbed at the sore spot on his upper arm where she had pushed him. To look at her one would never know that she was that strong. Son of a bitch, it hurt!

If Hermione had heard him she didn't betray it. Instead she stood at the dirty glass window of the store, furtively staring out at the sidewalk they had just come from. Her head whipped back and forth like she was searching for something.

"Hermione?"

It was as if she couldn't even hear him. He tried again.

"Hermione? What's wrong?" he asked as he walked towards her. "What are you looking for?"

She whirled around; her eyes practically popping out of her head. She looked as though she had seen a ghost.

"Huh? What? Wrong?! W-why would you think something was wrong?! Nothing is wrong!"

She gnawed at her bottom lip as she turned her head to look out the window again.

Now this was strange.

"Well, you pushed me, you see..." Harry said slowly.

"I DIDN'T PUSH YOU!" she protested sharply as she stepped away from the window. "I...we were going to pass this shop and I...uh...I wanted to go in. I didn't push you," she defensively said again.

For the first time since coming into the store, Harry looked at his surroundings. His mouth fell open.

He could hear the soft pounding beat of drums being played from a hidden stereo. He saw shelves of candles with the pictures of various saints on them; the scent of incense wafted through the air. That too was being sold in bins littered all across the floor along with trinkets, amulets, aerosol cans, cowry shells, and wooden statues of various sizes and shapes. Colorful flags and festoons hung from the ceiling. About a year before Professor Lermontant, the Hogwarts Defense professor, had given a special seminar at the Ministry for the Department. The class was to help teach the Aurors the differences between the vast array of religions in Africa, the Caribbean, and other regions that were based on magical traditions, as opposed to real black magic that tried to dress itself up as a faith. Harry could only wonder which one they had stumbled upon in this place.

"You wanted to come in here?" he asked Hermione dubiously.

She nodded quickly as she stepped further into the shop and turned her back to him.

"Yes I...I saw something in the window that caught my eye."

Her head swung back and forth as though casing the place. She began to examine a shelf that held several wooden idols and other bobbins.

"In this store?" he asked her, dumbfounded. Her odd behavior was unnerving him.

"YES, HARRY!" she snapped, her eyes narrowing as she turned to look at him. "IN THIS SHOP! In fact..."

She paused as she lifted up the statue of a beautiful, dark bronze woman with a tiny mirror in her hand. She held it out towards him.

"This is what I saw."

Harry came closer to where she was standing and looked down at the wooden statue. He then looked back at her face, completely stymied by her total change in temperament. Had it only been five minutes ago they had been smiling and laughing together? What happened to kill that?

"Hermione-"

"Yes, I saw this and just had to have it," she said cutting him off. Her voice continued to nervously raise as the shopkeeper, a dark mahogany skinned woman dressed in kente printed robes and wearing an ornate African head wrap with little silver coins hanging off of it, wandered over to them. "I knew that I just had to have it no matter the cos--£350?!"

She had just gotten a look at the price tag. Her outraged expression gave way to a sheepish grin however once she realized that both Harry and the shopkeeper were looking at her oddly. The few other customers in the store also stopped to see what the commotion was about.

Hermione tittered uneasily.

"Do you take traveler's checks?" she asked the woman with chagrin, then lowered her burning face from view and dug into her purse.

As Hermione finished her transaction with the sales lady, Harry tried to make sense out of what had just happened. They had been walking along when all of a sudden Hermione freaked out and pushed him into the store. What had he missed?

"Dere ya go dear 'eart," said the woman in a thick West Indian accent. She had just finished wrapping Hermione's purchase and was handing her the bag. "An' may Oshun grant 'er favor to ya an' ye man dere."

Hermione's hand faltered for a moment as she reached out for the bag. After taking it, in a tight voice she said, "He's not mine."

Harry grumbled under his breath. Did she have to be so adamant about it?

The shopkeeper seemed to find this news surprising. Her dark eyes raked back and forth between the two of them.

"'im not?" she asked. "De way ya went straight to Oshun I figure dis was ye 'usband."

Hermione's lips stretched thinly.

"He's not my husband."

Well!

"But ya do 'ave one, right?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" asked Harry.

The woman turned to look at Harry.

"Well I t'ought ya knew what Oshun was fe'. Ya do 'ave de touch."

Both he and Hermione inhaled sharply.

"Oh don' worry chil'run, Aunt Nancy 'as de touch too," she said as she placed her hand on her chest. "Course not like dis gal 'ere..."

She looked at Hermione.

"An' n'where near as much as ya," she said as she turned back to him. "But it dere."

"What do you mean by, 'what Oshun is for'?" Harry asked skeptically, leery of the answer.

The woman appeared to be offended by the question.

"I don' do nunna dat star," Aunt Nancy chided him. "Ya not g'wine find no 'oodoo or obea' 'ere my frien'. I worship de Orishas of my ances'tas. I bow down before Olodumare," she said proudly, a lift to her head. "And Oshun is my guide," she explained as she stepped near a shelf and picked up a wooden statue similar to the one Hermione bought. She brought it close to them. "Dis is Shango 'oman 'ere. She is de light in ye eyes and de power 'tween ye t'ighs daugh'ta," said Aunt Nancy as she gave Hermione's cheek a friendly pinch.

Hermione timidly smiled. Aunt Nancy's eyes sparkled at her merrily.

"An' best of all, Oshun brings you lots o' babies."

The smile on Hermione's face fell quickly.

"BABIES?!"

Aunt Nancy softly chuckled at Hermione's horrified expression.

"Why yes gal. Oshun is de Yoruban goddess of love, sex, and fertility. Ya place 'er by ye bed an' in no time ya 'ave a 'ouse full a pic'ney."

It was about this time that Harry lost it.

"SHUT UP HARRY! IT'S NOT THAT FUNNY!" Hermione fumed at him as he nearly doubled over from laughing so hard. She even stamped her foot which made him laugh harder. Through the tears he wiped from his eyes he saw her turn back to Aunt Nancy and say, "This is going nowhere near my bed."

Aunt Nancy was not deterred.

"Don' worry ya none daugh'ta. Oshun will work fe' ya in any of de room ya house ya choose. Put 'er in ye show'a. On de kitchen coun'ta, per'aps?"

Hermione's cheeks were aflame at the sly, knowing grin the woman gave her.

"She'll be going on my bookshelf," Hermione primly declared as she dropped the bag in her purse.

Aunt Nancy merely shrugged her shoulders. "Might be a bit uncomfortable fe' ya an' ye man dere, but dat could work too," she said with a wink.

Hermione glowered at Aunt Nancy, but she held her tongue.

"Come on chuckles!" she ordered Harry as she marched off in the direction of the door.

Harry politely waved goodbye to the shopkeeper and turned on his heel to catch up with her. However she hadn't gotten that far. She was hanging halfway outside the door; her head swinging from left to right.

Harry stealthily crept up behind her. He bent down and whispered in her ear.

"Looking for somebody?"

Hermione jolted around and stared at him, eyes wide. She slowly backed out onto the sidewalk and Harry followed her out. He shrewdly studied her face. The skittish behavior, the shifting eyes, the rapid fire breathing; Harry had seen too many suspects not to recognize the telltale signs of someone who was caught with nowhere to run.

"Or are you hiding from them?" he tried again, a little more forcefully.

"I-I-I'm not h-hiding! I don't even know what you're talking abou-"

"Harmony?"

"Fuck," he saw Hermione lips mouth.

She then turned around and Harry witnessed one of the most frightening occurrences he was sure he had ever seen. Right there in the midst of Glasshouse; with the sound of drums still pounding in his ear and a horde of Japanese tourist nearby snapping pictures, he watched his best friend, a woman who up until that point he was sure he knew better than his own self, morph into an exaggerated over the top copy of Lavender Brown-Pye. It was enough to give him nightmares for days.

"Bertina!" Hermione called in a dripping, saccharine voice.

A woman, probably only eight or ten years older than them and wearing an ostentatiously large pale pink hat and matching suit, practically wiggled (there was really no other way to describe it) across the street in their direction. Trudging behind the woman was a squat, balding man in a seersucker suit that was the same color as his companion's outfit, his arms weighed down with bags and packages. The man looked like he would rather be anywhere than where he was currently. Despite their loud clothing, it was hard to miss that both of their suits were finely tailored and that they carried themselves like royalty. The woman herself looked like a Christmas tree; she was covered in so many sparkling jewels.

"Well land sakes!" the woman cried as she reached them. "As I live and breathe, what are you doing here?!"

The woman latched on to both of Hermione's shoulders and gave a fake kiss to each cheek. Harry didn't know what shocked him more; Hermione allowing the woman to do it or that she returned the favor. It was like he had entered some parallel dimension.

"I saw you and I said to myself, 'self, now that looks like our Harmony scampering into that there li'l ole store'."

The woman turned towards the gentleman that was with her.

"Didn't I say that, Hamp? Didn't I say that looked like Harmony?" she asked him.

Before Hamp could give an answer she was continuing on.

"That's exactly what I said!" she answered for the mute Hamp. "Then again it's a wonder I recognized you at all! Just look at that hair! Did Alejandro do it or John Paul?"

"Actually my friend, you remember Benitez don't you, he did it for me in his kitchen sink."

The woman's smile dimmed slightly.

"Oh, you mean Mr. Cohen, that little artistic fellow? Yes, I remember him. That's...nice. However as soon as I saw that purse I knew it had to be you. I still remember when you and I both bought ours. I called out to you honey. Didn't you hear me?"

A phony smile grafted itself onto Hermione's face. Her eyes on the other hand were dead looking. They reminded Harry of a preying shark's.

"I can't say that I did."

"Well that's alright, sugar," she said as her eyes drifted towards Harry's direction. She looked at him with a little too much interest and Harry couldn't fight off the feeling that maybe he should be covering the family goods.

"Harmony, aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

Hermione tittered uneasily and cast a worried eye towards Harry. She then looked back at the woman.

"Of course; how rude of me. Harry Potter," she said motioning towards him, "I would like you to meet Bertina and Hampton Beauregard."

"Of the Houston Beauregards," Bertina said, full of pride, as she stepped closer to Harry and held out her hand to him, practically shoving it into his face.

Harry was lost as to what to do for a moment; Hermione actually looked pale at the proceedings, but Harry decided to play along. He took Bertina's hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it.

"Ooh," she bubbled as she held his hand in a near death-like grip, "I just love foreigners. They are just so European!"

Harry could only stare at the woman. Was she for real?! He very politely tried to get his hand back before he had to result to gnawing it off.

"You can call me Bert by the way," she said once she finally let him go. "All of my friends call me Bert."

It did not escape his attention that Hermione had called her Bertina.

"So what are you doing here Harmony all the way here in jolly ole England? I mean of course everyone knew that you were from 'cross the pond'," she simpered as though she had made the cleverest of jokes, "but you never seemed interested in heading over this way before."

Bertina turned to look at her husband.

"Isn't that right, Hamp?"

Hamp opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Bertina was talking again.

"Are you in town for the Season too? Do you know I went to that li'l ole flower show, and I think I actually met myself a Duchess?"

"Fancy that," said Hermione in the most insincere voice one could imagine.

"The Season?" interrupted Harry, looking between the two women.

"The Castle Season," Hermione explained as a quick aside to him. "No Bertina, nothing as fabulous as all that, I'm afraid. I'm just here for a short spell, visiting some friends. An old school chum of mine is getting married."

Bertina saddened at that news and looked covetously at Harry.

"No, no Bertina dear, not this one. This one is already married." Hermione edged possessively closer to him and Harry was eternally grateful for it. "It's another friend of mine."

"Well doesn't that just beat all? You know, I ran into Laurie and Cynthia at the Babineaux's supper party…you remember what a horrible debut the youngest Babineaux girl had last year don't you, bless her heart…Anyway I asked them where in the world you were and Laurie said that you were off in some clinic somewhere."

"Is that what Laurie said?" Hermione asked in a tight voice.

"Why yes, but I couldn't imagine what you would go away to have done. Of course this is my third nose."

Her laughter gradually decreased as she realized that no one else was laughing with her. She coughed to cover her embarrassment.

"But you should have seen the look on Collier's face, Harmony," continued Bertina. "Hamp, didn't Collier look like that was the first time he was hearing about it? Collier looked fit to be tied!"

"Imagine that. Listen Bertina, my friend and I really have to be running."

"Oh of course, of course, we have got to go too. Hamp has been spoiling me so today. We've been shopping like the dickens! We were just about to hail a taxi and go back to the hotel. I bought about seven or eight different suits I might wear to see the Queen troop the color. I have no idea what that even means, but I'm terribly excited about it!"

"I bet you are!" Hermione said with a smirk. "Say Bertina, why don't we get together sometime while were both still in town?"

Harry peered down at her quizzically, but she ignored him.

"Oh let's!"

"Where are you staying?

"Well everyone says if you come to London that you must stay at the Savoy, so of course Hamp got us a luxury suite," she simpered haughtily. "Isn't that right, darling?"

Harry, Hermione, and Bertina all turned to look at Hampton. Hampton appeared to be sleeping standing upright. His chin rested on his chest and he snored softly in the middle of all of the hustle and bustle.

"HAMP!"

Hampton Beauregard sluggishly came back to life.

"Yes dear," he managed to say while yawning, eyes blinking as they tried to focus.

Bertina turned back to Hermione and Harry.

"Should I give you a ring?" she asked.

"'Fraid not," Hermione said in an exaggerated disappointed tone. "I really can't be reached. I guess I'll just have to drop in on you."

Bertina seemed agreeable to that proposal.

"Sounds like a plan!"

She then leaned in and gave Hermione another kiss on the cheek. Next she turned to Harry and held out her hand to him again. Harry looked at Hermione and she very casually tilted her head. Just do it, the gesture seemed to say. Because Harry wanted the woman gone, he gave in. He bent down to kiss her hand making her giggle like a love struck Third Year. Bertina Beauregard then revived her husband who had fallen asleep yet again, and started down the walk; the poor hapless bastard following in her wake.

"Just wait until I call everyone and tell them who I saw!" he heard her exclaim excitedly as she paraded down the walk.

For a moment he and Hermione watched Bertina and Hampton walk away in silence before she finally spoke.

"You know, I've heard Juan Miguel Benitez Cohen called many things; his personal favorite being Fabulous Diva Jewban, but never have I ever heard him referred to as 'artistic'," Hermione said scathingly. "Honestly, that woman!"

Before she could say anything else, Harry grabbed her by the upper arm, hauled her down the sidewalk until they came to a deserted alley next to a restaurant, and pushed her up against the brick wall of the building.

"Harry! Harry...OW! YOU'RE HURTING ME! Harry?! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" she cried until they were hidden from view behind a large metal skip. Once she was propped up against the wall her pleas quieted. All it took was the look on Harry's face to make her swallow her protests.

He was incensed!

Harry had sat back quietly, for the most part, and played a silent witness to the little show Hermione had been putting on for the benefit of whoever that ghastly woman was, but enough was enough! Now was the time for some answers.

"Harry?"

"That's it, Hermione," he said in a direct and authoritative voice. "That's it! You are going to tell me right now what the hell that was all about!"

The tone in which he spoke to her was deathly calm. It was his interrogation voice. Hermione didn't appear to agree with it. Her brows pulled together harshly and her eyes seemed to grow dark.

"Harry, if you wish to speak civilly with me I advise you take your bloody hands off of me."

Harry's grip slowly loosened. His arms stretched out before him and he placed his hands on the wall on either side of her head. He leaned in to the point that their noses almost touched. He would have been lying if he said he wasn't a bit turned on; having her pressed up against the wall like this, no one for miles to see what they were getting up to, her heavy breathing making her chest rise and fall...rise and fall...rise and...

Focus Potter!

Now was not the time to let his more prurient thoughts about Hermione get the better of him, his conscience scolded. He was starting to suspect that that's what had been wrong in the first place ever since she had come back home.

"What the hell was that all about?" he asked after he calmed down a bit.

She didn't bat an eye. "What do you mean?"

"Who was that woman?"

"Bertina Julia Beauregard; second wife, spoiled rich, and a man eater, if ever there were one. I swear, the woman can't keep a gardener pass a fortnight and-"

"You're trying to redirect me."

Hermione's jaw lowered slightly and she looked hurt at what he said. Or guilty. Harry leaned more towards guilty.

"I assume you knew this woman in Dallas?"

"Well yes, I-"

"How did you know her?"

"Harry, I-"

"HOW DO YOU KNOW HER, HERMIONE?!"

Hermione's mouth closed and she frowned. She then crossed her arms in front of her.

"You saw the husband, Mr. Motormouth? He was on the Board of Directors for the center I worked at."

"Why did she call you Harmony?"

That was the question Harry was really after. Hermione was very particular when it came to people pronouncing her name right. The only person he ever knew her to give a pass to was Viktor Krum, and that was only because the Bulgarian's English wasn't that good.

"Answer the damned question, Hermione. Why does she think your name is Harmony?"

"HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW?!" she finally screeched in answer, losing her well maintained cool.

One of his eyebrows slowly ticked up and she made a small sound of disgust at the sight of it.

"Look, Bertina never took the time to learn to pronounce my name correctly. I was never fond enough of the woman to correct her," she said defensively.

Harry took a moment to thoroughly weigh his options. If he were to try to probe her mind once more, Hermione would probably never trust him again as long as she lived. But she was hiding something and the fact that she was so stubborn, so unwilling to tell him what it was cut him deeply. Just how long had it been since she stopped telling him everything? And just when had he stopped noticing?

"Are you in trouble?"

She looked him directly in the eye.

"No."

Harry's arms dropped to his side, but he didn't break eye contact. His eyes begged her, willed her to tell him the truth. He was almost convinced she had. He wanted so desperately to believe she had, but then she began to speak again.

"And even if I was, it wouldn't be anything I couldn't get myself out of."

It was then that Harry began to believe that she just might be lying.

"Now come on," she said as she took his hand and led him out of the alley and back out to the sidewalk. Harry allowed her to pull him along even though his feet dragged. "We've dawdled enough, don't you think?"

He had begun to say something to that when she cut him off.

"Oh bother."

"What?" he asked warily.

"I meant to pick up a gift for the baby."

"Remus and Tonks won't care."

A rather condescending smile appeared on her face.

"But I will."

"Alright," he said carefully as he took her hand. "Well, I guess we could go to that big store over on Regent." Harry began to walk with her up the street in that direction.

Hermione took a few steps then stopped in her tracks.

"I have a better idea. Why don't I run over there and I'll meet you at Grimmauld?"

Harry almost gawked at her in disbelief, but he controlled the warring emotions that threatened to play out on his face.

"Why don't we both go?"

"Harry, don't be difficult," she said in a lighthearted voice. "Ron has probably been over there for ages wondering where we've been all of this time. You can go back behind that restaurant and Apparate to the house and I'll just pop over to Hamleys. When I'm done I'll just have a cab drop me in front of number 11. Grimmauld is still hidden, correct?"

He dully nodded his head.

"Good. Then I'll meet you there."

"Ok," Harry said in a hollow voice.

Her lips smiled; her eyes didn't.

"Good."

She rose up on her toes to give him a small peck on his cheek. He looked into her face, searching it for some clue as to what was going on, but finding none he turned around and began to walk towards the alley they had been in just a moment before. Before he got too far he turned back.

"Hermione?"

She had been looking in the direction he was going, but it was as if her eyes were glazed over. It took them a moment to focus at the sound of her name. Her face was a blank mask before that shark eyed smile showed itself again.

"Don't be too long," he told her.

"I won't," she promised.

Harry then turned and hastened away.

He reentered the alley. Once hidden in its shadows he peeked around the skip just in time to see Hermione come sprinting by, her mobile at her ear as she spoke hurriedly into it. She didn't see him thanks to a hastily cast Disillusionment Charm. She did look over her shoulder at one point, probably sensing eyes on her, but shook her head and kept on her way.

He watched as she tried to hail a cab.

He watched as one stopped and she jumped into it a moment later.

And he watched as the cab drove off in the opposite direction of Regent Street.

"Here's your book!"

Harry heard the scratchy voice first, before looking up and seeing the enormous reference volume magically teetering over Malfoy's head. There was no inner monologue, no little voice of intuition that told him what to do. He simply put a foot out behind him and stepped back quickly. It was only after the near 4000 pager came toppling down on Malfoy with a cringe inducing thud that Harry's mind began to stir again. As the Slytherin let out an earsplitting yowl and tumbled backwards out of his seat head first, Harry watched him go over and made a mental note to never piss off the hag when she was half-drunk and coming off of a bender.

The wizened old witch in question sauntered over to where Malfoy was lying on the floor and bent over him.

"Will you be needing anything else, Auror Malfoy?" she asked sweetly before shuffling off; cackling all the way to her desk.

The first few times Malfoy tried to get up he kept slipping on the papers and spilled ink that were knocked down during his fall. Harry finally took pity on him and hauled him up by his under arms. He then ended up having to restrain Malfoy when he tried to charge forward and give chase after the crone. Even all the way from her desk her laughter could still be heard through out the Archive room.

"LET ME AT HER! LET ME AT HER!" shouted Malfoy as he tried to break free from Harry's grip. "I AM GOING TO TEAR ALL FIVE TEETH OUT OF HER HEAD!"

Harry practically had to hold him around his middle and lift the bastard off the floor so he couldn't get away.

"You can't do that, Malfoy," Harry tried to convince him. "She's a woman!"

That argument didn't hold water with Malfoy.

"I DEMAND PROOF!!!" he roared.

"Sit your pale arse down!" Harry said as he righted the chair and threw the git into it.

He then took out his wand and quickly tidied the mess on the floor, vanishing the spilled ink and floating the papers and books back to where they had been. There was one sheet of parchment he missed; it was under the table, so Harry got down on his haunches to get it. He then handed it back to Malfoy, not that the prat was grateful or anything! He snatched it out of Harry's hands.

"Malfoy, why are you even in the Archives again?" he asked irritably as he stood back up. "I've had to drag you out of here by your robes for the last few days. What are you looking for? What are you up to?"

"None of your business," he priggishly said. "Shoo fly, you're bothering me!"

He hunched over the parchment and tried to ignore Harry. Harry shook his head, rolled his eyes, and glanced down at the vellum sheet.

"Discordium," he read from the parchment, the tone of recognition clear in his voice. "Hmm… interesting."

Harry then walked off heading in the direction of the exit. He only got a few feet away before Malfoy came bounding up to him in a rush, calling his name. Harry was really tired of dealing with the Slytherin's nasty attitude and he was this close to just pretending that he hadn't heard him, but he relented and turned around.

"What?"

Malfoy grabbed him by the arm and pulled him off into one of the secluded alcoves where they could be hidden from any of the other employees in the room. People usually used the alcoves when they wanted to have a private conversation. The little niches were sound proof; once inside no one could hear what they were talking about.

"What did you mean by, 'hmm … interesting'? What does, 'hmm ... interesting' mean?" the blond asked in a harried voice.

"For starters, Malfoy, you are standing far too close to me. Secondly, you might want to look into a breath mint. And third, what's it to you?"

Malfoy growled in aggravation.

"POTTY, STOP BEING SUCH A TIGHT ARSE FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE AND JUST ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION! Do you know what Discordium is?"

"I may have read about it," Harry said as he straightened his glasses.

"You read?!"

"Malfoy you're being a wanker again, and wankers don't get their stupid little questions answered, now do they?"

Malfoy pointed a finger at him. "LOOK BANGS BOY," he tried again, "TELL ME WHERE YOU'VE READ ABOUT DISCORDIUM!"

Tiring of this little game, Harry decided to just answer him and be done with it.

"Advanced Potion-Making."

"What are you playing at? Advanced Potion-Making doesn't cover Discordium. That's a Ministry approved, NEWT level book. As if they would allow a bunch of Sixth Years to study a potion of that magnitude. Besides, I had that book too, remember? It wasn't in there," Malfoy said pompously.

"Well maybe not in your copy but I assure you it was in mine."

He started to exit the alcove, but Malfoy blocked his way.

"In your copy?" Malfoy asked, frowning.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Does the name, 'Half-Blood Prince' ring any bells for you?"

Malfoy's eyes goggled. "You mean Severus?"

Harry felt the usual momentary twinge of anger any time that name was spoken.

"Yes. He seemed very interested in Discordium; its properties, its side effects. There were tons of handwritten notes towards the back of the book about it. I guess he was doing some sort of research or something maybe?"

"Potter, this is very, very important. Where is that book now?" Malfoy asked anxiously. He seemed deathly interested in the answer. Of course that fact only made Harry want to torture him for kicks.

"I don't think I want to tell you," he cheekily said.

"POTTER!!"

"Why is it so important anyway?" questioned Harry before a more important question crossed his mind. "What are you up to?" he asked, tone a tad harsher than before.

"Why do I always have to fucking be up to something?!" he asked resentfully. If Harry didn't know any better, he would think that Malfoy almost sounded hurt as well.

"Fine, just answer me this," said Harry looking at him squarely. "Would knowing what this is all about make me very cross?"

"Potter, I can say with full honesty that knowing what this is all about would make ten foot flames shoot out of that very tight arsehole of yours."

After taking a moment to cringe at the mental picture, Harry gave in.

"Very well, the Squad is not to be involved in this. And don't come running to me when it all blows up in your face."

"Done and done!"

Harry sighed resignedly.

"Room 39, Janus Thickey ward, St. Mungo's." Harry saw the instant recognition on Malfoy's face. "A few years ago I returned it to its proper owner."

Malfoy's pinched face relaxed some. He actually looked genuinely grateful.

"Well thanks, Potter," he said.

His eyes then bulged and he froze.

It took Harry's mind a few seconds to catch up. Did Malfoy...did he just...did he...

"Did you just thank me?" Harry asked, clearly astounded.

Malfoy looked as though he was going to be ill.

"Yes," he said, shuddering.

"Oh."

In all of the years that Harry had known the prat, Draco Malfoy had never willingly said a kind word to him. Today was shaping up to be one for the record books.

"Did you mean to thank me?" Harry asked him bewilderedly.

Malfoy looked just as disturbed at the whole odd turn of events as he did.

"I don't know," he groaned in disgust.

Harry wracked his brain for something fitting to say. Finding nothing better, he settled on, "You're welcome?"

Malfoy closed his eyes and rubbed at his temple.

"Listen Potter; let's never speak of this again."

"Works for me," Harry said only too gladly.

They both began to leave through the archway of the tiny room when Malfoy suddenly put out an arm to hold him back.

"What is it now, you ponce?!" Harry asked irritably. "I do have things to do!"

"Shhh ... did you hear that?" Malfoy's head was cocked to the side.

"Hear what?"

"It sounded like someone was saying my name."

"You always think someone is saying your name."

"Four-eyes, I heard your name as well. It sounded like-"

Before he could finish his statement, Malfoy pulled Harry to the side of the wall next to him and flattened himself against it. He peeked a bit of his head out and Harry, ducking down, followed suit. They watched as a group of women, Ministry employees all, came from out of the stacks and came to a stop near where they were hidden. Romilda and Peggy O'Shea were among them. The pregnant blonde standing next to Romilda Harry had seen a time or two in the Portkey Office, though he couldn't recall her name, but he most certainly knew who the last female in the quartet was. Marilyn Yaxley-Pickering. She was fittingly on the Pest Advisory Board. Most of the gossip that floated around the Ministry usually started at her door. Harry did his best to avoid her whenever he could.

"I'm telling you they were back there together," Marilyn said to the women who were paying her court, hanging off of her every word.

"I don't know Marilyn, I think you've finally let this little obsession of yours get the better of you," said the blonde amusedly as she eased herself into a chair nearby. Marilyn playfully tutted at the remark.

"I have not! Potter was back there and then not fifteen minutes later his lover," she emphasized the word salaciously and batted her eyes, "went in after him. I saw it with mine own two eyes."

LOVER?!

Malfoy's gray eyes looked down at him, clearly tickled by the conversation.

"Been keeping something from your partner, Potter?"

Harry only narrowed his eyes at him in answer. He started to throw a cutting remark back at the bastard, but then the blonde began speaking again.

"I just don't think that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are shagging," she said.

Malfoy's mouth flew open.

Well that shut him up, Harry thought with a smirk before turning back to the women. The two Aurors could only stare at the group in amazement as they continued to dish.

"Potter seems so... straight laced, pardon the pun. I just can't see him stepping out on his wife, much less with Malfoy of all people. In the back of the Archive room, no less!"

"Well it would make sense in a way Samantha," Romilda said to the blonde, sitting in the chair next to her. "Circe only knows how many times I've let Harry know that I'd be willing to do anything ... and I do mean anything that povvy little Weasley of a wife of his won't..."

Harry was this close to stepping out and telling Vane off for the slight to Ginny. How dare she insult the Weasleys like that! It took Malfoy pulling him back to stop him.

"But has he ever taken me up on it?" continued Romilda. "What else could be the reason?"

"Maybe because you're a slag, you whoring crumpet!" snarled Malfoy in a biting tone. Harry nodded his head in agreement.

"But the way they go at it..."

"Exactly my point, Samantha!" Marilyn said to her companion. "With all of that unresolved sexual tension can you just imagine the hate sex?"

Her eyes exaggeratedly rolled to the back at her head causing the other three women to laugh.

"My Morgana, what I wouldn't pay to watch them go at it!"

Malfoy looked down at Harry.

"As though I'd have the bad taste to waste a roll with you! Do women actually talk like this?"

"Have you never met Fred Weasley's wife?" said Harry in answer, tilting his head to look back up at him.

"But they don't hate each other."

The voice of their fellow Second Squad member caught both of them off-guard. O'Shea, looking far more relaxed than she had earlier, perceptively said, "Sure they're constantly sniping at each other...and threatening each other's lives...and calling each other the most horrible of names; I just don't think they hate each other. In fact in an odd, twisted about sort of a way I think they are rather fond of one another."

Both Harry and Malfoy looked absolutely horrified at the suggestion. They inched as far away from each other as they could manage without tumbling out and into the open.

Marilyn pouted. "Oh poo, there goes all those lovely fantasies of hate sex down the drain."

The laughter that remark produced was so boisterous that the hag drifted by and gave each and every single one of them the evil eye until they were properly quieted. Once the hag was gone, Marilyn started up again.

"If all of that hot sexual tension is no more they must have broken up. That can be the only answer."

"Who would have dumped who?" asked the one they called Samantha.

The four women paused for only a second before all answering, "Harry."

They practically crowed with laughter at their cleverness afterwards. Despite the ridiculousness of the conversation, Harry snickered and sent Malfoy a pleased look.

"Oh don't be so smug, I wanted to see other people anyway!" Malfoy grumbled obnoxiously.

"Well I don't think Harry is in here any longer," Romilda said as she stood from her chair. "I just wish I knew where he was. I don't know how much longer this Yank is going to stay on the floo for hi-"

"ROMILDA!" said Harry, stepping through the archway, scaring the hell out of the women. One of them even shrieked.

"Oh no!" whimpered O'Shea as her hand flew to her mouth. The pink shade she turned clashed monstrously with her scarlet work robes.

"Sweet Circe!" the witch named Samantha gasped as Malfoy came striding out of the alcove.

Yaxley-Pickering was beside herself.

"I KNEW IT!" she declared triumphantly pointing a long, red nailed finger. Malfoy looked enraged. Harry ignored them all.

"Romilda, you said that I have a call?" Harry asked, advancing on Romilda so aggressively that the woman took a panicky step back from him. Later, when he turned a thought back to the scene, he would think it was because Romilda was ashamed of getting caught gossiping about him. In actuality it was the look on Harry's face that had sent chills, and not the good kind, down the addled woman's spine. He looked fiercely determined and almost...animalistic. His emerald eyes burned a deep, dark viridian.

"Oh y-yes!" she stammered out breathlessly. "A Trans-Atlantic floo call from B-Baton Rouge. A Marshal Rabinowitz is holding for you in Booth 1."

"Thanks!" Harry yelled as he took off in the direction of the exit. He entered into the hall and made a sharp right. He was heading to the lifts. Harry was halfway there when he realized that he was being followed.

"POTTER!" called Malfoy as he lagged behind Harry, trying to catch up with him.

Both of them ignored the stares they were drawing from the other wizards and witches in the corridor.

"POTTER, WAIT UP! Who is Rabinowitz? Potter, I am your partner! I DEAMND TO KNOW WHO RABINOWITZ IS!"

Harry turned around, but kept walking backwards. He was almost jogging. Two paper airplane memos flew by his head and he watched his partner duck and swerve to avoid them.

"Nothing for you to worry your pretty head about, Malfoy!" said Harry. He turned right back around and broke into a trot. There was no way he was telling his partner anything. If Malfoy wanted to have his little secrets, fine. He had secrets of his own.

"POTTER!" Malfoy yelled, incensed at Harry's refusal to answer him.

Harry reached the hall where the lifts were. He saw a large crowd standing before the last golden grille all the way to the end. The lift had just come up and the grille was pulling back to allow the group to go inside. Harry had just managed to squeeze himself onto it before the gate closed again. Malfoy stopped short as they banged shut in his face. The clanking and clattering sound that signaled that the lift was moving started up.

"WHO IS RABINOWITZ, POTTER?!!"

Harry smiled, joker-like, into Malfoy's wrathful face. As the lift slowly started to creep downwards he waved jovially at him.

"Bye bye, Malfoy."

The smile only left his face once Malfoy's visage had passed out of sight.

~~**~~ ~~**~~

"So what do you have for me, Gabe?"

Harry was sitting on a small cushioned bench as he stared into the floo grate before him. The Ministry floo booths from the outside looked like cramped water cabinets, hardly big enough for someone to bend their knees in. However they were far nicer inside. The ceilings were lined with lighted tiles, the sides were oak paneled, and they were spacious enough to allow one person to sit on one side while they conversed with their party in the grate directly in front of them. Gabriel Rabinowitz was the face that Harry was currently staring at.

Gabe was an Auror, or rather a Marshal, as they were called in the States, who Harry had known for about four years. He had first become acquainted with the young officer back when Gabe was working at the American Ministry in Salem; an employee in a department that was somewhat similar to the British MMBA Office. He had been the contact that Arthur consulted with when they discovered that Hermione might be living in the States all those years ago. Although Gabe had worked tirelessly on the case back then, nothing had come of it. But he was such a likable guy that he and Harry easily struck up a friendship. When Gabe decided to leave his cushy job to train and become a Marshall a few years later, Harry, having made a similar career move, encouraged him and gave him advice. They had maintained their acquaintance ever since then, even after Gabe and his young family relocated to Louisiana.

As soon as Harry had Apparated to Remus' the day before he had gruffly greeted his former school teacher and instantly asked to use the floo in the library. He briefly wondered where Ron was, but didn't spare it that much thought. Remus had asked after Hermione, but Harry shook off his inquiry and once again asked to use the floo. Remus had looked at him strangely, Harry could only imagine the expression that was on his face, but the older man told him that he didn't even have to ask. Harry thanked him, then made a beeline for the library and locked himself in. He immediately placed a call to Gabe, never thinking about the time difference. Luckily it was still early enough that Gabe was on his lunch break and could speak with him. He was agreeable when Harry asked him to do him a huge favor. Gabe told Harry that he would be giving him a call the next day if he had something for him.

It looked like Gabe had something for him.

"Well let me just say that having an actual city to base the search from this time helped tremendously," said Gabe mirthfully, adjusting his large red wire rimmed glasses as he spoke.

Harry felt his heart dip painfully.

"You found her," was all he said.

Gabe shook his head. "I didn't say that. I couldn't find a single trace of a witch by the name of Harmony Granger living in Dallas during the time frame that you gave me."

Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or perplexed at that. Then again they wouldn't have been looking for a witch.

"She would have been pretending to be a Muggle then."

"Oh no, you made that quite clear. Just every now and then an undercover will make a slip-up here, say the wrong thing there..."

Harry was just this side of getting his hopes up. Maybe he had been worried about nothing. Maybe there really was no cause for him to be suspicious, concerned. Maybe…

"So you found nothing then?"

Gabe shook his head again. "I didn't say that."

Harry's jaw stiffened in irritation. Gabe was a good enough bloke, but dear Merlin was he chafing his arse right now! Gabe must have sensed Harry's aggravation because he immediately continued to speak.

"I have a friend, an investigator of sorts. He belongs to this group, this organization if you will, of..." Gabe paused, searching for the word, "psychic detectives," he finally settled on. "I think that's the best way to describe them. Get this, their motto is, 'We watch, and we're always there'. Bunch of wack-a-doos, but they are more or less harmless," he said softly chuckling. "My friend has been tracking this family we have in New Orleans for quite some time now. We've been tracking him. That's how we came to know each other. So I mention to this buddy of mines everything you've told me about the woman you were trying to find info on. Sometimes my friend's work takes him into Houston; Dallas occasionally. According to him he thinks he knows your witch. Not personally of course. But she made a big enough impression on him to start a file on her. Something to do with a garden party, a water hose, and an angry shar pei."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed in a muddled manner.

"I know, I know. I didn't ask too many details. But I think we might have a match; young, pretty enough, daycare worker with a British accent? The name he gave me was Harmony Darlington."

It was as though suddenly the tiny cabinet was full of locusts buzzing, humming directly in his ear. Harry barely heard anything else Gabe was saying.

"She worked for the Deering Corporation. Big to do's over there in Dallas. Other than that one incident, my friend said that Darlington kept a relatively low profile. Then she disappeared about a month ago so the case file on her has been temporarily shut. No one seems to know what happened to her, where she ran off to. Her...Harry, pal, you still there?"

"That's her," Harry said swallowing the lump in his throat. "That's her mother's maiden name. That's her."

Gabe quirked a smile. "Well I guess we found your girl."

"I guess," said Harry wearily. He cast his eyes to the ground as though searching for answers there. Finding none, he looked back up. "Gabe, I need another favor."

"Shoot!"

"I need that file!"

Gabe pulled a face. He looked very uncomfortable.

"I don't think I can help you on that one, pal," he said shaking his head. "These guys are pretty anal when it comes to those files. I mean really anal," he said stressing the point.

"Gabe, I wouldn't ask it of you if it weren't important," said Harry feverishly.

The Marshal took in Harry's troubled expression for a moment and then sighed.

"My buddy owes me a favor. Maybe I can call it in, see what I can do."

Harry brightened at that.

"I'd be eternally grateful."

"I can't make any promises, but I'll do my best."

"Thanks, Gabe! I'm going to send my Hedwig to you. She should get there in a couple of days or so. As soon as you get that file you can send it by her. I really don't trust any other lines of communication for this."

"It might take some time."

"Hedwig won't mind. She's been through worse."

Gabe nodded his head and snickered.

"Perhaps, but I have twin two year olds at home who have discovered the joys of pulling things apart. I'm sure that your Voldemort would look like a kitten in comparison."

Harry told himself that he should smile at the joke. It was a very painful looking smile.

"Thank you again, Gabe."

"Anytime, Harry," he said before his head popped out of sight.

Harry sat in the floo booth for what might have been hours; he really wasn't sure nor did he care. His legs were spread far apart, his hands braced on top of them, as he stared unseeingly before him.

Hermione was in trouble. That's what his gut was telling him. She was running scared from something. The fact that she would have used an alias when she left England wasn't so surprising. They often assumed that was the reason why it was so hard to find her in the first place. But why had she left Dallas in such a rush? Harry wasn't sure, but he knew that something was definitely up. She had told the family that she had left Texas to take a holiday. At the time Harry had thought it odd that she would have gone to such an out of the way location as Cyprus on vacation, but he had shrugged that thought off at the time. He was just so happy to have her home that he would have eaten up anything she tossed him. He had, in fact. But now with all this new information Gabe had told him, Harry was starting to look at everything from a much different angle, and he didn't quite like what he was seeing.

For some reason Hermione had totally dropped out of sight in Dallas, just like she had done in England years before. Had she gone to such a far flung locale to hide? Why would she feel the need to hide? What had she done? What had been done to her? Those thoughts made Harry's throat tighten. The phone calls she seemed reluctant to take, the inconsistent stories, her odd behavior with that Bertina woman…THE HAIR?!

How could he have been so stupid? So blind?! He was smarter than this!

Hermione wasn't on holiday. She didn't come to England for the wedding or on some extended visit like she had told them all. This was no grand, triumphant homecoming.

She was in hiding.

Well that settled it. Whatever was going on with her, Harry knew for damned sure that he was going to take care of it! If she wanted to be stubborn and not tell him what the problem was he would go around her. Damn straight he had a saving people thing! And he would save her too, even if she yelled, scratched, or kicked at him while he did so. No matter what else lay between them, Hermione was his best friend and he would always take care of her; just as he would if it were Ron who was possibly in trouble. Harry was going to get down to the bottom of all of this. He would find out what had happened to her in Texas. He would find out who this fucking Collier person was who kept calling, and Merlin help him...

And for now Harry would shelve his quest to obtain a divorce. He would put to the side this whole drama with Ginny. He would fight his romantic feelings for Hermione as best he could, though that task seemed far more daunting than facing a cave full of half-starved ogres from where he was sitting at the moment.

And he would try to ignore the light he imagined he saw in Hermione's eyes when he caught her looking at him. He would do all of this because right now her safety was what was important. Nothing else mattered half as much. There were bigger things to worry about than which woman lay in his bed at night. There were bigger things to concern himself with than who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. There were bigger things than pleasing his selfish heart. There were just far bigger things! Harry would make the sacrifice for now. Really, he didn't mind it so much.

At that thought, the panel of tiled lights above Harry's head began blinking furiously in a crazy series of patterns before exploding in flying sparks. He was plunged into darkness instantly.

Well maybe he minded a little.

A/N: Next up is Hermione's POV. Things to look forward to: visions of past and present H/Hr fluff , Glinda Vengadasalam Weasley's first introduction to the world of magic, Victory Ball shopping and girl talk, and at the end of the chapter another surprise visitor drops in.

A few more points of interest:

1) All characters other than Peggy O'Shea, Zelig Klaussen, Auror Krispens, Dorian Greyson, the Ministry Archive hag, Hezikiah Burnermacher, Patience Burnermacher, Constance Burnermacher, Samuel Nott, Mrs. Samuel Nott, Wallace Smethwyck, Georgina (George) Boyle, Aunt Nancy, Hampton Beauregard, Bertina Beauregard, Alejandro, Jean Paul, Marilyn Yaxley-Pickering, Samantha, and Marshal Gabe Rabinowitz are canon.

2) My Santa Claus legend is my own twisted creation, but krampus (who RAWKS) is not. He is a companion of Saint Nicholas.

3) Àlfari is my bastardization of the elves of Norse mythology called the Àfar. Of course the Eldar are from LotR.

4) A dhampir is a being out of Balkan folklore that is the child of a mortal mother and a vampire father.

5) I know nothing about England except what I have read. If my imagining of Piccadilly Circus doesn't jibe...alas. The fountain with Anteros gave me too much inspiration, however, and I had to include it.

6) Miss Nancy is based on a woman who I know. I tried to reproduce her accent phonetically because trust me, you wouldn't have understood a thing if it was actually written in patois.

7) The shop probably looks more like a Santeria or Candomblé shop than an Olodumare one, but I know what the first two look like and I don't know what the other does. So...yeah. Hee!

8) Oshun is a Yuruban goddess of love and intimacy and a few other things. I threw in the babies for fun.

9) £350 works out to about $682.00

10) I don't know what a Texan socialite would sound like, but I know what a Charleston one would. So that's what I based Bertina off of.

11) Yes, that is a Talamasca reference for any Witching Hour or Vampire Chronicles fans out there.

12) The Álfari, the Bulwark Charm(Bulwarvivivus), as well as the books Blood Magic and the Ties that Bind, Magus Lex Legis , the pamphlet The Wrong and Right of the Rites,the Ministry floo booths, and the Oshun statue are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.