Hermione Granger In the Ministry's Secret Service

Chapter One - Secrets

The office was a study in contrasts. Decorated in delicate shades, it appeared light and airy. Seemingly delicate bookcases that had been enchanted by the occupant of the office to contain many more volumes that a casual observer would have thought possible graced two of the walls.

Despite the institutional feel of the cabinets and tables that framed the remaining walls, the desk was a curious blend of whimsy and style. Delicately shaded pieces of crystal were joined by seemingly random pieces of a silvery metal that gave an air of otherness to the desk, which seemed to have no upper surface. Yet the invisible top of the desk was the resting place of files and books, and a strangely out of place black plastic sphere, with a number “8” emblazoned on it's upper surface in a circle of gleaming white.

Leaning back in the very utilitarian leather desk chair, a young witch stared forlornly at the ceiling, as if trying to find inspiration or answers.

“Miss Granger?”

Looking down, Hermione smiled as Carra Wellings looked around the edge of the office door from the outer area. Shaking her head, Hermione noticed that her latest assistant seemed a bit at a loss trying to deal with her. “Carra, unless Minister Shacklebolt or Director MacAllister have issued a decree that I'm not yet aware of, my given name is still Hermione.”

Smiling at the grateful look Carra returned, she waved her towards one of the chairs that faced her desk. “For Merlin's sake. Come in, sit down, and tell me what's got you worried enough to finally talk to me. You've been acting a bit distracted all day, and I don't think you've spoken two words since I got here.”

Looking distinctly embarrassed and uncomfortable, the younger witch sat on the edge of the proffered seat and began to bite her lower lip. The two young women were a study in contrasts and similarities. Hermione was brown-eyed and dark haired. Her hair was barely constrained in a plait behind her neck, and she was smiling even as she was inwardly a bit put out at what she surmised was the reason, no the pair of reasons, for young Carra's discomfort.

Carra, while also petite, was delicate, barely four feet tall in stockings. She was as pale and blonde as one could become. Her blue eyes were astonishingly so, and seemed to dominate the delicate features of her face, giving her a seemingly perpetual look of wonder. Sitting back, Hermione noted again the resemblances and differences between Carra and her otherworldly cousin Luna.

Looking down at her hands, Cara began hesitantly. “Before you were here this morning, there were a couple of visitors.” Looking up, Carra seemed uncertain whether she should continue or not.

Starting to laugh, Hermione stopped herself when she saw the stricken look on the younger witch's face. “Those weren't visitors Carra.” Standing up from her chair, she moved around the desk and perched herself on the invisible edge, seemingly sitting on nothing. “Those were my two closest and most meddlesome friends.”

Seeing the look of astonishment on the girl's face, Hermione smiled encouragingly. “I've had four assistants since I took this position and every time those two have come down and had a `conversation' with each and every one.” Shaking her head in exasperation at the thought of Harry and Ron, she looked away from Carra to a picture of the three of them on the wall. Taken while they were on holiday up in the Hebrides, Harry and Ron were waving madly while her own image was trying to hide her face in embarrassment at her friends well-intentioned bumbling. Sighing softly in exasperation at the sight of Ron, she looked back and saw that the young witch look surprised.

“They said they were worried about you working too much and that they would consider it a personal favor to both of them if I would try to sort things out in the office so everything didn't end up on your desk.” Smiling shyly, she looked over at the picture of the three. “They both seem so… nice.” Shaking her head, she continued. “Luna said that all of you were really wonderful and that I shouldn't pay too much attention to everything that happened while you in school, but everyone was still marveling about the things you three did.”

“Carra, I thought Luna would have convinced you that we were just people who did what needed to be done. You were there for part of it. A lot of folks did what needed to be done. Luna is one of the heroes of the war. Without her and a lot of other people, the world would be a very different place right now.” Smiling at Carra's look of astonishment, she leaned forward and whispered. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Looking around to see if anyone else had appeared, she whispered back “Of course, Hermione. What is it?”

“Those two are both my best friends and I love them both very dearly. But usually I have to restrain myself from wanting to strangle them because they both worry altogether too much about me.” Leaning back, she looked around and sighed. “Carra,” she continued in a normal tone of voice, “those two are aurors. Not just any aurors but Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. They chase dark wizards, hunt down dementors, and save the world at least once a month.”

Waving her hand around the office she smiled. “I, on the other hand, work in the Bureau of House-elf Relations.” Smiling wickedly, she pointed at the picture on the wall. “Who do you think needs looking after more, me or those two lovable idiots?”

“When you put it in those terms, they are probably more in need of a minder than yourself.” Carra replied hesitantly. She then smiled and looked at Hermione with a curious look. “You know, they both care for you very much. Whenever he said your name, Auror Weasley would get this funny look in his eyes. And Auror Potter would just smile when he did it.”

Smiling wistfully, Hermione looked back to the picture on the wall. “Firstly, it's Ron and Harry. They'd both probably laugh themselves silly if someone who actually knew them called them that. And secondly,” she broke off and shook her head at Ron who had the look Carra was describing watching Hermione in the picture without her knowing it, “Ron has had that same look in his eyes when he says my name or when he watches me when he thinks I don't know it since we were in our fourth year at Hogwarts.”

“You do the same thing.” Carra pointed out. “But mostly with Harry, though sometimes you do look like that when you talk about Ron.” Looking puzzled, she looked as if she wanted to ask a question and didn't know how to frame it.

“The relationship between Ron and myself is complicated.” Seeing the younger witch's eyes get even wider as she slowly nodded, Hermione sadly shook her head. “Ron and I are very close to each other and we do care about each other very much. When we aren't tempted to hex each other senseless, of course.”

Standing up she put on her stern demeanor that she usually reserved for those who weren't convinced she was serious about her job. “Humor my boys, it makes them feel good that they're `protecting' me, but remember that you're my assistant and that means we're going to change the wizarding world just as much as they are, but we're going to sneak up on it.”

Looking around, she continued. “Ron especially worries about me when I go and check up on house-elves and their situations, Sometimes it takes me away for visits and trips. Your number one job is to keep my well intentioned protectors convinced that everything is butterbeer and candied pineapple around here.” Holding the younger witch's gaze for a second, she smiled slowly. “Understand?”

Smiling in return, Carra asked “Is this a case of what they don't know won't draw the attention of wrackspurts?”

“Exactly” Hermione began to chuckle and then both women began to laugh.

Glancing at the mysterious sphere on the desk, Carra looked questioningly. “I've been wondering about that.”

Picking it up, Hermione began to smile. “This? You know I'm muggle-born, don't you?” Seeing Carra nod, she continued. “In the muggle world this is known as a `Magic 8 ball'. It's a muggle device for pretending to divine the future. And it works just about as well as anything I learned in Divination classes from Trewlaney.”

Noticing her assistant's puzzled look, she held it out for inspection. “What you do is ask a question and then you turn the ball over. For example, `will I go out with Ron tonight for dinner?'” Holding the ball so they could both see it, she rotated it until the flat bottom was visible. “Floating inside is an oddly shaped piece with 20 different sayings written on its sides. One floats to the top and is visible in the window and `reveals' the answer to your question.” Looking down, the message `My sources say no' floated in the window.

“Oh bother, I was looking forward to going out; we were supposed to try that new American style pizza place that opened in the West End.” Smiling fondly at Carra's look of astonishment, she continued, “It's something I've always thought was funny, even before I knew magic existed for real. I had it in my old room at my parent's house. When I moved here to London I brought it to remind me of the magic in my life ever since.”

As the ball began to get warm to the touch, and glow just a bit, Hermione hurriedly put it behind her on the desk and smiled. “Why don't you go out to your desk and see if there's anything you need to finish. If not, head out a bit early since the 8-ball seems to be convinced either Ron or I will be working late tonight. There's no sense in you getting caught up in it.”

As the younger witch giggled and left, Hermione picked up the Magic 8-ball back up. As it kept getting warmer to the touch, she turned it over once again. In the viewing pane, the message “Lift Four, five minutes” was clearly visible. Sighing, she placed the ball gently on her desk, looked ruefully at the work she still had to do and walked slowly towards her office door.

`Ministry hallways are always much too long,' Hermione thought to herself as she walked through the corridor towards the bank of lifts at the central crossway. Forcing a smile to her face as she watched the occasional memo streak past her head towards some unknowing recipient, inwardly she fumed at the bother of it all. Between Ron's job, her job and her `job', it was amazing that she saw him as much as she did. Shaking her head, she mentally sighed.

Drawing closer to the waiting area, she noticed a tall, raven-haired witch wearing her usual combination of too much makeup and too little clothing. Mentally swearing, the end of a perfectly dreadful day would be a conversation with...

“Miss Parkinson.” Smiling glacially, Hermione imagined the distinct joy she would feel when this piece of work finally paid for all of the chaos and mischief she had caused over the years.

“Why Hermione Granger, as I live and breathe.” Smiling warmly, but with malice in her eyes, she turned slightly to acknowledge the presence of the new arrival. “It still is Granger, isn't it?”

Her smile broadening, her hand slipped into her handbag as she reached for her ever-present quill and notepad. “I noticed Ron looked quite the dashing bachelor at the reception for the Algonquin Grand Shaman last week. Has he finally kicked you to the curb dear?” Her smile widened even more, and the tip of her tongue briefly flicked between her lips.

“I seem to remember that Minister Shacklebolt promised you that the next time you had that notebook out here on Ministry premises when it wasn't a sanctioned press event, you would be joining your mentor Rita in her fact finding tour of Azkaban.” Returning the smile, but with real warmth at the thought if Rita Skeeter being a long-term guest of the Ministry at Azkaban.

To accommodate her special abilities, the “public” discovery of which finally led to her arrest and conviction, her cell was populated with a generous supply of bats, sparrows and swallows. To this day, she still wasn't certain why George wanted to know whether they were European or African swallows, but the thought of Rita surrounded by those insect eating keepers was enough to make her begin to chuckle.

“Something funny Granger?” Pansy asked icily, narrowing her eyes trying to decipher what was amusing the other witch. “I would think that someone who spends their time catering to house-elves and watching her supposed boyfriend gallivant around while she faded into oblivion would find life less amusing.” Letting a predatory smile curl her lips, she nodded thoughtfully. “I thought I would do a story about auror training. I've heard that your Ron was very `supportive' of one of those Americans that the Ministry has been letting cross-train with our aurors.”

Watching Hermione closely, Pansy slipped into a very bad imitation of a southern American accent. “I do declare, I think her name was Marysue, or Billyjo or something like that.” Switching back to her normal voice, she affected an air of innocence. “Would you be a love and ask Ron if he could forward me her contact information. I'm certain he's `kept in touch'. He was across the pond recently, no?”

Curling her lip into a sneer she turned her head back towards the door to see if the lift had arrived. “I wonder what your secret is, how you've managed to stay best friends with two such eligible young men for quite so long? Maybe I need to have a little chat with your dear friend Harry. I imagine my readers would love to know the real secrets behind this merry little `threesome'.” Smiling again, she watched Hermione out of the corner of her eye, looking for a reaction.

Truly laughing, Hermione leaned back and gave Pansy an appraising look. “Harry said that you were trying to get another `interview' with him, but I didn't think you were quite this … desperate. You really don't want me to take notice that you're slutting around after Harry again, do you?” Shaking her head, she stared at the black-haired witch. “I noticed last time, and you remember exactly what happened, don't you?”

Watching the wide-eyed fear that quickly replaced the haughty disdain in Parkinson's eyes for a moment, she continued. “Just how long did that enchanted quaffle follow you around last time?” Smiling wickedly, she stared into the other woman's eyes. “And in case you're wondering, I was the one who enchanted that little gem to recognize when you were telling a lie, which made the entire thing so delightful.”

Reaching up and brushing a stray strand of hair back behind her ear, she smiled coldly. “Harry is much less forgiving and understanding than I am. If he were ever to find out exactly what your role was that day, he would be very annoyed.” Looking down at the wand she had tucked into a convenient spot on the bag she carried around the office, she chuckled. “And much more creative than I ever was when it comes to making someone's life `interesting'.”

Just then, the subtle chime of the lift sounded and the door to car three opened. Seeing that the car was occupied, Pansy stepped inside and looked furiously back at Hermione.

Smiling sweetly, Hermione said. “I see you're headed down, just my luck. I'm so unhappy that we couldn't finish our little chat. It's so good to catch up with old chums from school.”

Gathering herself together, Pansy shot Hermione a venomous look. “Of course, dear. And I hope I'll have those secrets all figured out by the time we next talk. Be certain you ask Ron about his lovely American friend for me.” The lift doors closed. Two seconds later, unbeknownst to both witches, they said the exact same thing.

“Bitch”

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Chapter Two - Mysterious Portents

Since Hermione was finally alone, the door for lift four had finally opened. Briskly stepping inside the lift, Hermione nodded toward Francis Bethune, the head of Centaur Relations, blushing slightly as her opinion of Pansy had coincided with the opening of the door.

“Good day, Miss Granger, I hope that appellation wasn't directed at me.” Smiling wanly, Bethune looked at Hermione as she entered the car, apparently all sweetness and light but he could see that she wasn't her usual calm self.

“Some muggles say that the Queen has a whippet that wears a ruff” she replied in an apparent non sequitur. Looking casually around, her hand strayed towards the flap on her bag.

“Conformity is the bugbear of small minds” he replied cheerfully, ignoring her and touching a small set of indentations beside the lift panel which caused the lift to slowly stop.

“Francis Bethune, you know I would never say anything like that regarding your august personage.” Frowning Hermione turned to face the older wizard. “What has happened that you needed to see me? I distinctly remember you saying that I was on my own card for at least two more months after that last disaster you handed me up in Scapa Flow.” Noticing that Bethune was looking a bit harried, she softened her tone. “Francis, I know I'm a shrew at times, and I also know you don't call on me unless it's necessary.”

Looking a bit uncomfortable, Bethune studied the younger witch across the car from him. “A couple of things. Remember, this is partially your fault. You wouldn't come into the organization like a good little spy. You had to be a freelance so you're suitably out of the loop until something blows up and I need you to put it back together.” Smiling wanly, he watched for her reaction.

Scowling in exasperation, she fumed. “I am not a bloody spy. I'm you're `agent of last resort' as you and the Minister so charmingly put it when you hired me a couple of years ago. Ron says that I'm a `bloody repo girl' whatever that means. No one suspects me of being anything other than a `fuzzyheaded know-it-all, insufferable do-gooder, and spinster crusader for house-elf rights'.” Allowing a smile to break though, she tilted her head a bit and looked at him questioningly. “Did I get that quote correct?”

Genuinely smiling for the first time since she had entered the lift, Hermione rolled her eyes to the ceiling and laughed. “Honestly, you know I'm just as dedicated as Harry and Ron are to seeing things put right. Just as long as I can be sneaky about it and not take the limelight I'll do what needs to be done, if I can. The boys don't like the limelight any better than I do, but their being aurors gives them a certain air that the public allows so they can effectively deal with it.”

Nodding, Bethune smiled in return. “Actually, I think the spinster part is new. You did let Miss Parkinson get under your skin out there, didn't you?” Smiling back at his protégé, he chuckled. “That wasn't well done, though, telling her about your enchanting that quaffle.”

“Piffle. She shouldn't have tried to ambush Harry at a Harpies home game and drag him into a deserted corridor for an `interview'. That was much less painful than if Ginny Weasley would have happened down there at that moment.”

Shaking her head sadly, she sighed remembering how Ginny had know that `something' had happened that day, and how her two friends had ended their tempestuous relationship less than a month afterwards. “People know I was involved with the creation of those cuffs that the Ministry uses on the folks who are released for community service, this was just a little spontaneous justice. An enchanted quaffle that sang `I'm Just a Girl Who Can't Say No' every time she shaded the truth was merely poetic.”

Smiling at the look on Francis' face, she nodded. “Being clever and vindictive is part and parcel of how I'm seen.” Looking warily at him, she frowned. “Don't change the subject. You either want to ask me to do something or you're trying to avoid telling me something.” Looking worried, she bit her lip and stared at Bethune.

“Stars, Hermione. As far as I know everyone is fine. Your two young men haven't left the building all day, your parents are fine, and Ron's parents are fine. This is just a simple request for you to arrange to go to the States and see if you can `recover' something for the Ministry.”

Looking fondly at her he watched her face go from relief to exasperation. Putting his hand on her arm he said quietly. “You know that I would have come and gotten you personally if we had been aware of anything wrong with any of yours. Just because I was named after Walsingham doesn't mean I'm a heartless plonker.” Smiling, he watched her begin to giggle.

“Francis, I don't believe I've ever heard you talk like that.” Laughing at his expression she added. “I can see that I've been a very bad influence on you.” Sighing she looked at him. “What is it and where am I supposed to find your misplaced whatever the blazes the Ministry can't live without.”

Looking severe she continued, “But I was serious about what I told you and Kingsley, I'm never working with that muggle prat that you and MI-6 matched me up with last time. I don't know what rock they pried him out from under, but if he wasn't playing the `mysterious spymaster', he was trying to talk me out of my knickers. I finally had to hex him on the flight back from Edinburgh. He looked both `shaken and stirred' when he finally got back from the loo.” Trying to look severe, she couldn't help but smile at the horrified look on the dashing secret agent's face when he returned from the lavatory.

“You do know the poor boy spent three days in the muggle malady ward at St Mungo's afterwards?” Watching Hermione begin to giggle, he continued, very blandly. “I believe he and Dolores wanted to form a new chapter of the `Hermione Granger Fan Association' there towards the end. Though calling it the `unblue pill hex' did make the female healers at St. Mungo's who were trying to figure out exactly what you'd hit him with work just a tad bit slower.”

Smiling wanly as she chuckled, he mentally timed how long it took her to regain control. “Of course not. Both Kingsley and I both promised that we wouldn't do that to you again. Not that my muggle counterpart would allow her agent within the same time zone as you for an assignment, but our promise is good.”

Sighing, she crossed her arms, tilted her head a bit to the right in an unconscious mirror of one of Ron's favorite poses and looked contrite. “You've sufficiently salved my ego and settled my ruffled feathers. Just what is it that you want me to get and where am I supposed to go find this mystery item?”

Looking back he answered. “Two days ago, agents from the Ministry and their counterparts in the Canadian Ministry lost track of a pair of very competent artifact smugglers, originally from Switzerland of all places. They managed to sneak in disguised as muggles, and steal two things from a muggle castle off the coast of Scotland. While both were enchanted, one was an item of actual power. They then escaped over the water to Canada before anyone realized it was missing.”

“They stole the An Bratach Sith?” Shocked, Hermione dropped her relaxed pose and began to look alarmed. “It's real? I thought the fairy flag of Dunvegan was just a myth. A tourist attraction and nothing more”

“Someday I will learn how you manage to do that all too often.” Looking at her admiringly, he shook his head. “You know as well as I do that a goodly number of the muggle myths and fairy tales, especially here in Britain and the rest of Europe have a basis in half remembered tales from before the wizarding world withdrew from sight.”

Looking more agitated than before, Francis began to pace in the confined space of the lift car. “And the flag that the MacLeods have protected dates from far before that.” Looking more worried, he stared off into space. “It's part of the clan heritage, part of the clan itself. Both the muggles and wizards of MacLeod have studied and protected the flag for over one thousand years.”

“Francis, this is personal, isn't it?” Hermione looked at her handler, suddenly realizing he was more involved in this than in anything she'd ever been involved in. “I know your family is from north of the wall.”

“Yes, and if you check the books, you'll find the Bethunes listed as one of the septs of Clan MacLeod.” Shaking his head grimly. “And it gets bloody worse. The Canadians think those two are going to try to sell the flag to one of those separatist groups that spring up like gnomes in Quebec. They lost them as they crossed one of those bloody lakes that the Americans dote on.”

Silent for a moment, Hermione looked puzzled as she tried to work something out in her head. “From the stories I've read, I still cannot fathom what Quebec separatists would want with the An Bratach Sith. An operation like this doesn't come on the cheap, especially since it seems that they were able to avoid both muggle and magical protections.” Looking quizzically at her handler, she waited for an answer.

“This part is conjecture, but we think that the thieves actually stole the flag as an extra treasure that they weren't hired for. There's a connection here that you wouldn't see, being English and all. I feel that this pair of thieves took what they thought their employers were actually after because that's what everyone thinks about when they think about Dunvegan. If they would have thought about Skye, however, a different answer would have come to mind.”

“I'm still not following. What would Quebec separatists want with Skye? Even if I'd taken my studies in a muggle school, I don't think I would have been able to wrinkle out that particular nugget of information.”

“Remember that the Quebecois are French and for the French, Scotland is tied to the Stuarts.”

“And Bonnie Prince Charlie went `over the sea to Skye'.” Hermione finished for him.

“Yes, yes. And there are several Jacobite artifacts at the castle, and one of them is also actually enchanted. My guess is that the thieves didn't think that the item they were sent to steal could be what their employers actually wanted, so they also took the flag, a much more powerful artifact. If their employers didn't want it, they could sell it for a much higher price tag. What they had been hired to take was the Amen Glass.”

“And why would the Quebecois want Bonnie Prince Charlie's shot glass?” Still puzzled, Hermione was alarmed by the look on Francis' face. “Sorry about that, but I'm really confused by this.”

“Not your fault. The Prince gave the glass to Donald MacLeod. A charm was placed upon the glass by one of the MacLeod daughters who had returned from Hogwarts that it would `shine as a star in the presence of the royal heir and true king of Scots'. As magical items go, it's relatively small water with only a single purpose. My guess is that the Canadians have someone they think is the Stuart heir to the throne of Scotland and they want to use that in some way. They're going to be very unhappy when they're presented with the flag and its additional price tag.” Looking away, Francis' eyes clouded.

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione asked, again. “Francis, what does that family heirloom of yours that they took actually do?”

“No one's totally certain, Hermione. It's doubtful that they have someone available from the proper bloodline of the family to exercise the main power of the flag, so you most likely don't have to worry about the Sidhe battle host charging out of nowhere. But some of its secondary powers are easily accessible to anyone who passed their NEWT level exams in Transfiguration and Conjuring.”

Looking at her he smiled grimly. “The two things we do know is that it amplifies the power and range of even simple transfiguration spells beyond what you could imagine and it allows for extremely rare and unique items to be conjured.” Laughing aloud with a barking sound that Hermione thought was reminiscent of a seal, she stared at him quizzically until he regained control of himself. “You know that conch shell that sits on my desk?”

“The one you brought back from holiday in Hawaii years ago?” Smiling grimly he shook his head.

“My father gave that to me when I came to the ministry as a reminder of our family history. During war against Grendelwald, a German submarine surfaced off the coast of Skye. My mother's sister was at the castle at the time. A bonnie lass she was, and very bright. Reminds me quite a bit of you, if you want the truth. She'd just graduated from Hogwarts and was home trying to decide what she needed to do with the war on and all. The bloody submarine began shelling the village. My aunt looked out the window, placed her hand on the frame the flag was contained in, pointed her wand at the submarine through the window over a mile away and turned it into that conch shell. Never had the nerve to ask her what happened to the Germans.” Smiling at the disbelieving look on Hermione's face, he said blandly. “If you don't believe me, you can ask the Headmistress herself if it isn't true the next time you're at Hogwarts.”

“Minerva McGonagall is your aunt?” Fuming she stared at him. “This bloody well explains how you seemed to know everything about me when we first met.”

“I thought you'd have a greater difficult believing the submarine than the fact I'm related to Minerva.”

“I took my NEWTS from her tutoring; nothing surprises me about her abilities. You've wandered off the path again. Where and when am I going?”

Looking back ahead, he began to fiddle with the recessed buttons on the control panel. “Since you have a perfectly good muggle passport, we're going to fly you in, muggle style, to the States. They're a bit touchy about undocumented visitors and though you'll be working with the American Bureaus on this one, you'll have to cover of flying in as someone from the British government looking for ideas about promoting American professional sports back here. You'll get there on the seventeenth of August, which means you'll be flying out from Heathrow early tomorrow. You'll be met by people from their sports team at the airport, put up in a hotel, and your American and Canadian Bureau and Ministry contacts will meet you that evening. Don't worry about the sports angle. They play baseball. From what Arthur has told me, it's very much like cricket, so you should be in good shape there.”

Placing his hand on her arm again, he looked at her closely. “Hermione, the flag is very dangerous if it's outside its protective frame. If anyone who's not a MacLeod handles it, it could be very bad business all around. Repair then recover.” Watching her nod her understanding he made a small gesture with his hand and the lift smoothly continued is journey.

“Francis, you still haven't told me where I'm going in the States. In case you hadn't noticed, it's a fairly big place.”

As the doors opened onto the atrium, he turned to her as they left the car. “Cleveland. It's in Ohio. It's near Canada so it can't be too uncivilized. I hear it's lovely during the summer. I think the team is called the Aborigines or something like that.” With a brisk nod, he walked off across the atrium leaving Hermione looking a bit confused, but smiling. The girl wonder was about to ride again.

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Chapter Three - Looking Forward, in Anger and in Love

“America? If you're going to America about that house-elf, why are you studying muggle sports?” Ron sat on the back of the couch, reading over Hermione's shoulder.

Without looking up, Hermione sighed and lowered the book onto her lap. “Because if I'm going to have to convince them I'm actually interested in this baseball, then I have to know something about it. Though I think there must be a bit of magic involved, they keep mentioning invoking the `infield fly rule' and it seems to force the infielder catch the ball whether he wants to or not. And I'm not going to ask how the pitcher is transfigured into a `designated hitter' once every three innings or so.”

Leaning back so her head was resting against Ron, she looked up at him. “This is maddening. And you might want to tell Arthur that baseball is nothing like cricket.”

Making a rude noise, Ron shook his head at her remark. “This has no more to do with baseball than it does with house-elves. This is about you gallivanting around on another of Francis Bethune's oh so mysterious errands.”

Watching him for a second, Hermione nodded. “Yes, but since you never want to talk about my errands for Francis until I get back, I thought that baseball and house-elves would be safe enough topics to discuss tonight. Obviously that isn't going to work tonight.”

Turing a bit pink around the ears, Ron scowled at her. “You don't have to do this, you know. Your work with the elves is enough to keep anyone busy.”

“And you could work for George, or tryout as keeper for the Cannons, Merlin knows they need one, and that would be enough to keep you busy. But you don't.”

Shaking his head, Ron stared at her. “That's different. What Harry and I do is important, we make things safe for folks.”

Her voice becoming a bit guarded, Hermione looked back down at folder on her lap. “And what I do for Francis isn't? I think the Minister would disagree with that characterization.”

Shaking his head, Ron smiled thinly. “That's not what I meant and you know it. All I was saying was that what we're doing is more of a career, like your house elf work. You can't flit around running errands for Bethune for the rest of your life.”

Without looking up at him, Hermione closed her eyes. “Ronald Bilius Weasley, if it's your opinion that I'm nothing more than a glorified `errand girl' then I'm beginning to wonder exactly how well we do know each other.”

Shaking his head, Ron looked down at her for a second. “Are we ever going to talk about this?”

Shrugging, Hermione closed her eyes as she rested her head against him. “Talk about what, Ron?”

“Us? The way our life has gotten to be?” Staring at her, he frowned as he could see the hints of emotions playing across her face as she thought with her eyes closed. “How I'm always the last to know when something is going on with your life.”

Sitting up, Hermione carefully placed her briefing materials on the table and then tucked her feet up under herself. “You're not the last to know. I called my parents to tell them I was going to America after I told you.”

Sliding down off the back of the divan, Ron ignored the look Hermione gave him as he turned to face her. “But I wasn't the first, was I?”

Looking slightly amused, Hermione shook her head. “No Ron, you weren't the first person I talked to about the trip.” Shaking her head, she wrapped her arms around her knee and stared at him for a few seconds. “After Francis and I talked, I went back to my office, waited for the `request' for a home visit to that wizarding family that's living outside Cleveland to come down from the Department, along with my cover story from the muggle government, cleared my calendar for the next week, reassigned that home visit up in Fort William to Carra, sent Harry a patronus for his input...”

Growling in frustration, Ron stared at her. “That's exactly what I'm talking about. Why is it that Harry rates a call before I do?” Shaking his head, he leaned back and glared.

Looking truly perplexed, Hermione shrugged. “Perhaps because Harry was in the States recently? In case you don't remember, your partner just got back from that conference with the Americans in Chicago a fortnight ago. I thought he might have some suggestions about how to blend in a bit.”

Rolling his eyes, Ron blew out a noisy breath. “I was over there not that long ago, remember? You could have asked me.”

Smiling, Hermione leaned forward and placed her hand on his arm. “Ron, you were in Canada last year. In the Maritimes. Chasing smugglers across, as you so eloquently put it, `the arse end of nowhere'. Not quite the urban environment I am headed for.”

Jumping up, Ron began pacing the room. “It's really annoying that you always seem to have an explanation for everything.”

Laughing, Hermione tried to stop when she saw the look on Ron's face, but was only successful in stifling her laugh back to a chuckle. “Ron, for almost ten years, you and Harry have come to depend upon me having an explanation or answer for everything. Suddenly it's a problem?”

Shaking his head, Ron leaned against the fireplace and nervously fiddled with the small items Hermione kept on the mantle. “I thought that the idea was when we both moved out and got flats of our own we were going to work on our relationship, move it forward. Instead, it's the same thing as when we lived in Grimmauld Place with Harry, except now you're on the floo to him or across town in his library rather than just down the hall in his library all the time.”

Shaking her head, Hermione studied Ron for a few seconds before responding. “Ron, I don't think this is about my trip to America for Francis anymore.” Taking the slight shake of his head for confirmation, she bit her lower lip. “Our relationship hasn't progressed very much since the end of the summer we moved to London. Living in our own flats or living back at Number Twelve, things haven't changed that much and I'm not certain why. We still fight as much as we don't, and we've never come close to doing anything more than talking about moving things along to a different level. Every time I bring it up, you either change the subject or we end up in yet another row about something detail that pops up and distracts us.”

As he turned and faced her, Hermione could see that his face was taking on that thundercloud aspect it did every time they were on the verge of one of their monumental rows. Holding up her hand to him, Hermione tried to smile. “It's not your fault any more than it's mine. We just seem to be stuck in a holding pattern and we can't seem to break out of it.”

“So let's change things. Start with a new piece of parchment. You move in with me, or I move in with you.” Seeing the skeptical look on Hermione's face, Ron shrugged. “We chuck both flats and find a house. Actually do something to move us forward.”

Closing her eyes, Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ward off the headache she could feel coming on. “Ron, without any other changes, that's not forward, it's back. Instead of being at Number Twelve, where there's room for us to calm down when we row, we'd be on top of each other in one of these flats or in a small house. Where we live isn't really the issue here.”

Glaring at her, Ron stared in disbelief. “If we took the next step and lived together, we'd be able to settle into things and work out the problems we have.”

Standing up, Hermione walked around the divan until it was between them. “Ron, for all intents and purposes, we `lived together' from the time we were eleven until we moved out of Number Twelve and into these flats. It didn't help. If anything, things were worse because we didn't have anywhere to go when we annoyed each other.”

Shaking his head, Ron closed his eyes. “You mean when I annoyed you, don't you?”

Shaking her head, Hermione watched him carefully. “No, I meant exactly what I said. I'm fully aware of the fact that I'm just as annoying to you as you are to me, once we get started. Heavens Ron, I'm not under the misconception that I'm blameless in this situation.”

Starting to turn red in the face, Ron glared at her. “Then exactly what do you think is wrong here?”

Looking at him, Hermione could feel the tears start to form in her eyes. “Honestly, Ron, I'm not certain. Things aren't working, and we really can't seem to make them work. I care about you desperately, but all I can see is that we mostly make each other very unhappy. I don't think we can live like this.”

His body rigid with emotion, Ron balled his fists and then unclenched them. “Then how should we live?” His voice was low and controlled, but Hermione could feel the tension radiating off him from across the room.

Taking a step back, Hermione watched him for a few seconds. “We need to try something else, because this is obviously not working. Maybe take a step back. We both feel pressured to `make things work'. If we could get back to the point where we were having fun and enjoyed seeing each other, maybe we would find what we're looking for.”

Ron's face went pale, as the colour drained out of him and he slumped. “I can't believe it's coming to this.”

Shaking her head, Hermione sighed. “It hasn't come to anything, yet. Ron, can you look me in the eye and honestly say you've been happy these past six months?”

Refusing to look her in the eye, Ron glanced around the apartment. “Do you want me to go to the airport with you in the morning?” Fixing his gaze on a side table that had pictures of them from when they were at Hogwarts, he sighed. “You know I worry about you when you fly.”

Nodding, Hermione blinked back tears. “That would be wonderful. Do you want to meet there or come by here in the morning and go together?”

Shaking his head, Ron looked up at her for a couple of seconds, pain and regret written in his eyes. “That wasn't my thought, but since they're my only options, I'll meet you in the Ministry lounge at Heathrow. I'll floo from the atrium and be there at seven.” Without waiting for her to reply, he turned abruptly and apparated out of her living room.

Her warning to him not to apparate died unspoken as a small chime sounded. Shaking her head, she looked over to her fireplace as green flames erupted and a familiar face appeared.

“Everything all right Hermione?” Harry's voice sounded guarded as he smiled at her.

Shaking her head, Hermione sank to the floor and cradled her head in her hands. “Harry, I don't know what I'm going to do about Ron.”

Looking at her intently, Harry shook his head. “Mind if I come over?”

Looking up at him, Hermione smiled thinly. “You might as well. Technically, I'd say you're partially here already. Besides, you need to reset those annoying apparition wards you've got on my place; I'm too tired to think about them.”

Shaking his head, Harry pulled back from the flames. A few seconds later, he came tumbling through the connection and landed on his feet with a small flourish. One of the handful of silver tokens on the side of Hermione's fireplace briefly glowed as Harry entered. Shaking his head, Harry smiled as Crookshanks appeared out of nowhere and began winding his way between Harry's ankles.

Looking up at him from her place on the floor, Hermione smiled. “Don't you dare feed that mooch. He ate not an hour ago, just before Ron arrived.”

Kneeling down, Harry ran his hand along Crookshanks' back, eliciting a contented purr from the feline familiar. “Crooks isn't hungry tonight, he just wants some attention, don't you?” Harry chuckled as the kneazel-mix glared at him when he stopped paying attention to him for a second. “You run along, I'll spoil you later.”

Crookshanks stared at Harry for several seconds, pushed his head against Harry's hand and then looked over his shoulder at Hermione. Sneezing once, he stalked off towards the open door that led to Hermione's bedroom.

Shaking his head, Harry stood and walked over to where Hermione was sitting on the floor. Holding out his hand, he waited for several seconds before sighing and sitting on the floor beside her. Putting his arm around her shoulder, he waited for her to settle in beside him before reaching over and gently stoking her hair. “It'll work out. You two will be fine.”

Looking up at him, Hermione studied his face for a few seconds before she haltingly shook her head. “Harry, I don't think so. We row at the drop of a hat, these days. We can't seem to talk about anything without turning it into a power struggle.” Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes. “He actually suggested moving in together, for Nimue's sake.”

Sighing heavily, Harry nodded. “I know. He was looking at a house in Loch Maree yesterday.”

Sitting bolt upright, Hermione stared at Harry for several seconds. “He what? A house? In the loch?”

Smiling, Harry shrugged. “Well, technically the house was on an island in the loch. The islands up there are a Conservancy area for the muggles, and there's a growing community of wizards and witches forming on the islands. It's even got its own loch monster, to remind folks of Hogwarts.”

Staring in disbelief at the look on his face, Hermione shook her head. “I can't believe you knew about this and didn't warn me.”

Shrugging, Harry smiled mischievously. “As far as I knew, this was only the second place he had looked at. And he only looked at the first one because Molly made him go look at the Kellerman place in Ottery St. Catchpole last Sunday when neither of us were at the Sunday dinner. The pace Ron usually works, I thought I had about four more months to warn you before he'd actually spring it on you.”

Shaking her head, she leaned back against him and sighed. “After tonight, I don't think he'll be looking at any more houses.” Sitting up and looking at Harry, she shook her head. “The Kellerman place?”

Smiling, Harry nodded. “Molly tried to get Bill and Fleur to look at it before their wedding, and she took me by to see it six months ago, a few weeks before `the incident', as she so charmingly puts it.” Closing his eyes and leaning back, Harry missed the look of concern in Hermione's eyes. “She seems to think that being within walking distance of the Burrow is a selling point for a young couple.”

Snorting in disbelief at that last comment, Hermione chuckled. “At least if Ron's delusional enough to think we should live together right now, he's sane enough to pick the far end of Scotland to keep me from hexing Molly after the first week of unannounced drop ins.” Leaning over, Hermione placed her hand on Harry's arm. “Are you doing fine?”

Opening one eye, Harry shrugged. “I'm a bit peckish, but other than that, I'll live. You two eat before you started rowing?”

Shaking her head in exasperation, Hermione smiled. “That's not what I meant, and you know it. And no, we didn't eat. Indian or Chinese?”

Smiling, Harry launched himself upright from his seated position with one flex of his legs. “I'll do the honors, milady.” Walking over to her fireplace, he glanced at the floo tokens attached to the side and saw that Ron's was still attached in its usual spot beside his. “Why didn't the git just floo home rather than busting your wards like that? We go to all the trouble of setting you up with a restricted access floo and he pops out of here like its Victoria Station after a football match.”

Shrugging, Hermione sighed as she got up from her spot on the floor. “Who knows? Half the time he forgets. Tonight I think he was so annoyed that I didn't ask him to stay the night that he just left before it could get any worse.”

Shaking his head, Harry reached into the small clay container on the mantle and took a pinch of floo powder. Tossing it in, he called “Chuck & Vicky's Takeout” as the flames turned green. The flames resolved themselves to show a harried looking young woman with long dark hair sitting in front of two portraits, one of Queen Victoria and the other of Prince Charles. Starting into her spiel “Welcome to Chuck & Vicky's, the wizarding home of the best tandoori chicken in London…” she looked up and smiled. “Wotcher Harry. Slumming in Kensington tonight with Hermione I see.”

Smiling Harry nodded. “Hey Premila, how's the shop tonight?”

Shrugging, the dark eyed young woman smiled at him. “Eh, so so for a summer evening. Have you seen my cousins recently?”

Nodding Harry smiled. “Padma was in just this morning for a meeting with my team. I don't see her sister as often now that she's an Unspeakable. How's University going?”

Rolling her eyes, Premila laughed. “Not bad. You two want your usual?”

Looking over his shoulder and seeing Hermione shake her head, Harry sighed. “Let's try something different tonight. Any suggestions?”

Smiling mischievously, she nodded. “I'll start you two with Batak Hara Pyaz and Achari Murgh. We'll follow that up with buttered chicken, and finish it off with Mum's special. What are you two lushes drinking tonight?”

Shaking his head, Harry thought for a second. “Are you guys stocking that new brew from Vannin?” Seeing her nod, he smiled. “We'll take four of them.” Leaning closer to the floo, Harry lowered his voice. “And could you send someone next door a pick up a quart of Rocky Road and add it to the tab?”

Rolling her eyes, Premila shook her head. “They're at it again?” Seeing Harry's nod, she sighed. “If she ever gets tired of it, let me know. I have a cousin who's dying to be introduced to the fabulous Hermione Granger.” Seeing the scowl that crossed Harry's face, she amended. “Or, maybe not.”

Shaking his head, Harry grinned. “Sorry about that, I'm certain your cousin is an excellent fellow.” Looking over his shoulder at Hermione, who was bringing plates and flatware to the table, he smiled and turned back to the front. “How long?”

Looking over her shoulder towards the kitchen, Premila shrugged. “Eh, between fifteen and twenty. “ Handing him a small bronze token through the floo, she glanced down at the sheet in front of her. “That'll be eight and seven.”

Smiling Harry nodded. “Make it an even twelve and put it on the Grimmauld account. I'll send Kreacher around in the morning to settle up.”

Nodding, Premila smiled mischievously. “Roger Harry. By the way, my cousin has a cousin who would like a second chance with the fabulous Harry Potter. Seems she wants a rematch from the Yule Ball.”

Laughing Harry shrugged. “Since Parvati's an Unspeakable now, she not only knows whether I'll ask her out, but whether or not we'll have a good time. Seems to take all the fun out of it.”

Winking at him, Premila nodded. “True, but that means she also knows whether or not she'll be having breakfast at Grimmauld Place the next morning.” A slight look of panic crossed her face as she looked over Harry's shoulder. “Your food will be there in ten minutes. Namaste.” Abruptly cutting the floo connection, Premila's face disappeared.

Without turning around, Harry shook his head. “I think you scared the poor girl.”

Sounding a tad waspish, Hermione stepped up beside him. “And exactly who will be having breakfast at Grimmauld Place?”

Shrugging, Harry wrapped his arm around Hermione's shoulder and steered her back towards the sofa. “She's hinting that Parvati is looking for a rematch to make up for the bad time I showed her at the Yule Ball.” Seeing the skeptical look in Hermione's face, he grinned. “She started off by mentioning that she has a cousin who was interested in meeting the `fabulous Hermione Granger'.”

Shaking her head, Hermione laughed. “If you'd stop ordering ice-cream for me every time Ron and I row, she wouldn't make those suggestions.”

Shaking his head, Harry groaned. “I'm getting predictable in my old age, I suppose.”

Rising up on tiptoe, Hermione kissed him on the cheek. “Wonderfully so.” Seating herself on the couch, she patted the cushion beside her. “Sit. Do you want to hear about the trip or the fight?”

Lowering himself to the couch, Harry tossed the delivery token to the coffee table. “The trip. We'll talk about the fight with dessert.”

Turning so he could look at her, Harry smiled as Hermione tucked her feet up under her and leaned back into the back of the sofa. “You know, part of the problem is that he worries about you going off on these expeditions for Francis.”

Grabbing a throw pillow and hugging it to her, Hermione nodded. “I know. You both worry about me, but at least you're willing to credit me with a bit of common sense and ability to take care of myself. Ron sees me as a walking menace, I think.”

Shaking his head, Harry smiled. “It's not that as much as it is he's as much a victim of FTS as Ginny is.”

Biting her lower lip for a second, Harry could see the wheels turning as Hermione tried to puzzle out his last comment. Finally shaking her head in exasperation, she looked at him. “FTS? What in Merlin's name is that?”

Chuckling, Harry nodded. “Fairy Tale Syndrome. Ginny always expected me to be this immaculate knight in shining armour out of some story. Ron sees women, primarily women he cares about, as damsels in distress, whether they are or not.”

Staring at him in disbelief for several seconds, Harry could see that she was trying desperately not to laugh. Biting her lower lip, her eyes began to light up as she gave way to laughter. “Harry… that...was…” Finally losing control, she leaned back and just started laughing uncontrollably.

Smiling as he watched his best mate lose control of herself, Harry flinched a bit as Crookshanks launched himself from somewhere into Harry's lap. Ruffling the ginger feline's ears as Crookshanks settled himself into place, he leaned over and whispered into the cat's ear, “See, and you were worried about her.” Looking up at him with a haughty expression, Crookshanks rubbed his head under Harry's chin a couple of times before settling down and watching his mistress try to regain control of herself.

Tears running down her cheeks, Hermione smiled at Harry as she tried to regain her breath. “That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. A pureblood witch and wizard suffering from Fairy Tale Syndrome?” Laughing again, she reached up and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I never thought of it in those terms, but it exactly explains both of them.” Shaking her head, Hermione stared at Harry for several seconds. “What am I going to do with him? He's never going to credit the fact I don't need saving every time I turn around.”

Before Harry could answer, the delivery token shimmered once, the sound of windchimes was heard and a tray with their dinners on it appeared. Next to the tray was a small carrier with four brown bottles sitting in it and a padded bag marked `Chilling charm 45:59 ` with the numbers counted down in one-second increments.

Inhaling, Hermione smiled. “Harry, that smells heavenly. Even if she's an interfering, matchmaking busybody, Premila certainly does know how to select a menu.”

Laughing, Harry summoned a pair of beer glasses from the kitchen and proceeded to pour their first drinks into them. “She means well. Face it, the fact that you and Ron row as much as the Cambridge University Boat Club is not exactly a secret and Molly's the only person in England who isn't aware of the fact that Ginny and I are, mercifully, history.”

Shaking her head, Hermione accepted her glass from Harry as she levitated their plates into position. Conjuring a small saucer, she placed a couple of bits of chicken on it for Crookshanks before she looked up him. “Ginny's finally given up the chase?”

Nodding, Harry swallowed a bit of his duck and smiled ruefully. “It looks that way. I think she finally realized that she was meeting blokes left and right who were dying to chat her up and more, so why spend any more time chasing after the `Boy Who Got Away'.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Hermione watched Harry for a couple of seconds. “You're all right with that?” she asked as she took a forkful of the duck from Harry's plate.

Shaking his head, Harry returned the compliment by snagging some of her achari murgh before answering. “It's way overdue. I just hope she finds someone who can actually make her happy, since I couldn't ever seem to do that.”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione laughed. “Harry, no one can make anyone else happy, you can only contribute to her happiness. The two of you weren't very well suited to each other, really. I suppose you're correct about that fairy tale business, she was looking for something in you that no living man could have provided.”

Feigning outrage, Harry drew himself haughtily. “Are you implying that I'm not Prince Charming?”

Smiling, Hermione shook her head. “Not at all, I'm just saying you're obviously not Ginny's Prince Charming, and I don't think anyone this side of Godric Gryffindor could be.” Looking at him with a faraway look for a second, she smiled shyly. “You'll make the right witch very happy someday.”

Shaking his head and blushing slightly, Harry smiled. “Care to tell me about your latest excursion for Francis, while you eat my duck?” He quipped as Hermione was in the middle of taking another forkful from his plate.”

Smiling warily as she returned the purloined forkful of food to her plate she nodded. “Nothing much, just a quick pickup from some of Francis' `cousins' in the States. Some trinkets got picked up by mistake here in England and we need to bring them back before they're missed.” Smiling at the incredulous look on Harry's face, she nodded.

Shaking his head, Harry sighed. “I'm not Ron; you don't have to cloak everything. We both know what's going on; at least I'm mature enough to think about it directly.”

Smiling sadly, Hermione nodded. “Sorry Harry, I just get used to having to talk around everything, trying to avoid a row with Ron. As I was saying, a couple of smugglers stole a pair of enchanted items from a castle up in Scotland and are in the process of peddling them to some group in Canada or America.”

Nodding, she accioed the briefing packet to her and handed Harry the sheets on the two missing items. “One of them, the Fairy Flag of Dunvegan is actually quite powerful and potentially lethal if they're not very careful. Francis and the Ministry want them back before they cause an incident that can't be explained easily.”

Nodding, Harry looked thoughtful as he glanced at the datasheets. “Makes sense to send you, I suppose. No one on the outside ever suspects you're death on two legs until you unleash on them.” Grinning at the shocked look on her face, he looked thoughtful. “Going to take a side trip down to Mobile to finally meet Marysue?”

“You're as bad as Ron. I swear that if I'd known how he was going to react, I never would have agreed to Francis' plan. I spent thirteen weeks transfigured as Ms Marysue Carter so I could go through the physical and combat training part of Auror basic with you and Ron without attracting attention.” Stabbing an innocent portion of buttered chicken into submission on her plate, Hermione scowled at Harry. “Except for you, every auror candidate in the place and most of the instructors hit on me at least twice a day. Why couldn't they have picked someone more normal?”

Raising an eyebrow, Harry smiled at her. “Normal? She seemed normal enough to me. Not quite as pretty as you, but definitely normal.”

At a loss for words, Hermione shook her head. “Normal women who become aurors aren't `Miss Hog Wild Festival' queens.” Smiling smugly, she settled back to eat more of her meal. “Well, at least her spending the same amount of time transfigured as me helped to slow down her social life back in Mobile.”

Chuckling, Harry shook his head. “I don't know. When I was in Chicago, there was a trio of very earnest young agents from the Alabama Bureau who were highly impressed when Marysue mentioned that I'd been your best mate since school days. Marysue blushed Weasley red when Agent Mayhew asked me to tell you he was looking forward to exchanging whipped cream recipes with you again on your next visit to Alabama.”

Staring at Harry in horror, Hermione shook her head in disbelief. “Harry, please tell me you're joking. Why didn't you mention something about this when you came back from Chicago?”

Shaking his head, Harry smiled at her. “I covered for you. I told him that I was the only wizard that you swapped recipes with these days, and I was certain that my technique with whipping cream was much preferable. He took one look at my scar and suddenly remembered he had another seminar that he was going to audit.”

Staring at Harry as if he'd just burst into flames, Hermione shook her head as he calmly went back to eating. “How could you?”

Smiling knowingly, Harry shrugged. “Did you or did you not rave about those gooseberry pies I made last spring?”

“Well yes, but what's that got to do with it?” Looking exasperated, Hermione started turning a bit pink around her ears.

Looking innocent, Harry shrugged. “I doubt Agent Mayhew could make those as well, and since the whipped cream was part of it…”

“Harry James Potter, that wasn't what he was talking about and you bloody well know it.”

Smirking, Harry nodded. “Language Hermione. We don't know anything of the kind. But if he thinks I'm talking about whatever it was he might have been talking about, it'll keep him from pestering you if he ever runs across you in a social or work setting in the future.”

Picking up a throw pillow and heaving it at him, she laughed when he wandlessly deflected it. “What about the you're the only wizard I swap recipes with part?”

“I gave you my mum's recipe for gooseberry pie; you gave me your mum's recipe for treacle tart. Have you swapped any recipes with any other wizards?”

Shaking her head slowly, she sighed. “Well, no.”

“QED, what I told him was nothing but the unvarnished truth.” Sitting back, Harry wandlessly snagged the throw pillow from the floor and swatted her in the back of the head with it.

Shaking her head, Hermione stared at him for several seconds. “Did it ever occur to you to hint that I was swapping recipes with Ron? That would have defused the situation just as easily, you know.”

Chuckling, Harry cleared the last few bits of chicken from his plate. “Not a chance. If your Mr. Mayhew ever ran into Ron, Ron would either be totally confused about the entire conversation, giving the game away or he'd pummel the young man into blood pudding if he figured out what he was getting at. Safest thing all around was to make myself the brooding, possessive wizard who was firmly entrenched in your life.”

Smiling innocently, Harry proceeded to snag the last bits of dinner from the table in front of them. “There isn't anyone on the planet who doesn't think something's gone on between us, at some point. We finally found a situation where it works for us.”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione sighed as she reached for another bottle. “Harry, he's not `my Mr. Mayhew', he's Marysue's. And for another thing…”

Whatever else she was going to say was interrupted by a brief flare of green fire from her fireplace and a leather valise landing in the middle of her hearth with a resounding thump.

“There are times I bloody well hate my job.” Getting up gracefully, she walked slowly over to the case and carried it back to set it gently on the table in front of them. Smiling at Harry, she picked up her wand and tapped the valise twice on each latch. “I solemnly swear I first met Harry James Potter on the Hogwarts Express.” The latches opened with an audible snap.

“And what does your boss think about your pass phrase to get into your top secret compartment of your valise?” Chuckling, Harry's eyes got a far-away look as he remembered that day when Hermione first came bustling into his life.

“I've never had to open it in front of him, but I doubt he'd be surprised. The Ministry is in debt to your father and the rest of the Marauders for that little security device they created for the Marauders' Map.” Grinning, she blushed a bit as she remembered the day when she and Harry first met. “Let's see what they've got for me to take on my little trip.” Opening the case, she looked at the various envelopes, binders and a slim book of spells that lay in the case. On one side was an old-fashioned black wool tam with a white silk cockade attached.

“Since when has Francis started making fashion suggestions?” Harry asked as he watched her gently take it out and place it on her head. Smiling, he moved his wand in a circular pattern and the air in front of Hermione's face shimmered and turned into a reflective surface that showed her how the tam looked while she was wearing it. Smiling her thanks, she tilted her head and turned slightly so she could see Harry in the mirror along with her own reflection.

“It's something that might make some of the people I'm to meet a bit more receptive to working with me. The other things are just standard issue for a trip away, stop worrying.” Smiling impishly at his reflection, she raised an eyebrow and asked “Does this mean you're volunteering to go shopping for me the next time I need to find something new for my wardrobe?” Laughing at the look on his face, she added “I'm much less painful to go shopping with than Ginny, it won't kill you.”

Smiling Harry nodded. “I've gone shopping with you before. I seem to remember one Saturday before Easter last year when you decided you needed yellow heels to go with that dress you were wearing the next day. We spent seven hours, went to fourteen different stores in three different towns and you tried on forty-two different pairs before we went back to the first pair you tried on that morning just as Harrods was closing.”

“Just that once, I'm usually not that bad, I'll thank you very much.” Dispelling the mirror with a flick of her wand, she quickly turned her head and caught him watching her. “If you want painful, I'll tell Bill that you're willing to accompany his wife. Fleur is much more `demanding' than Ginny or I about clothes.”

Chuckling, he reached into the case and picked up an official looking muggle folder. “Diplomatic Credentials?”

“If I get caught doing something I shouldn't by the local muggle authorities, those credentials will give me a pass out of being detained. Eventually. Unless it's simpler to just adjust their memories and let me go on my merry way.”

Shaking his head, Harry smiled at her blithe explanation. “You know I do worry about you.” Seeing the look in her eye, he held up both hands in surrender. “I never worry about you being able to handle things. Merlin knows, you're twice as smart as Ron and I put together.” Seeing that dangerous glint begin to fade, he put his hand lightly on her arm. “I just worry about you being all by yourself on these things. When I'm undercover, there's a whole group that knows and is ready to come find me if something goes wrong. With Francis' missions, if something goes wrong I don't trust them not to pretend nothing ever happened if it suits their purposes.”

Smiling sadly, Hermione nodded. “Harry, I worry about you and Ron while you're out running around saving the world, but you're correct. What I do is different.” Stepping close, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. “I have every intention of coming home to you from this, don't worry.”

As Harry returned her hug, he held her for several seconds before answering. “You know that if something happens, I'll be over there tearing that place apart until I find you, rules or not.”

Nodding, Hermione smiled at him. “Harry, let's sit down and divvy up that ice cream you ordered, and I'll explain my backup plan to you.”

Sitting down, Harry grabbed the briefing folder from the table and began looking over the background materials on the flag and glass again. Hermione summoned a pair of bowls and spoons from her kitchen and broke the seal on the protective bag surrounding the ice cream. Filling both bowls, she set them in front of Harry and slid onto the divan beside him, ducking under his arm and leaning across him to see what he was so fascinated with.

Watching him for a second, she shook her head as she picked up a bowl. “I would have thought that you would have been more interested in the flag.”

Frowning in concentration, Harry shook his head as Hermione held a spoonful of ice cream up for him. Absentmindedly taking the proffered bite, he smiled, as he tasted the dessert. “Um, that's good. I can see what you see in this. But no, I think Francis is wrong in his thought that the Fairy Flag was an add-on. I think they were sent to collect both items. There's a connection, something that links both items other than the fact they were both conveniently housed in Dunvegan Castle.”

Looking thoughtful, Hermione closed her eyes while eating a spoonful of ice cream. Shrugging, she opened her brown eyes and frowned. “A MacLeod who's a candidate to be Queen of Scots?”

Chuckling, Harry nodded. “That's one possible answer. All hail Minerva, Queen of Scots.”

Giggling, Hermione rolled her eyes. “I don't think the world is quite ready for that, as appealing as it would seem to us Gryffindors.” Grinning cheekily, she nodded, “Of course, it could be an elf that's heir to the Scottish throne.”

Smiling, Harry took another bite of her ice cream as she shook her head at the thought. “You were saying something about a backup plan?”

Nodding, Hermione smiled. “If I mention, December 26^th, what do you think of?”

Furrowing his brow, Harry looked puzzled. “Your backup plan is Boxing Day?”

Shaking her head, Hermione laughed. “Not exactly. If I said the day after Christmas our seventh year?”

Frowning, Harry shook his head. “Since I'm certain your plan doesn't hinge on either of us pulling out the Sword of Gryffindor at a crucial moment, you're talking about Ron coming back to us while we were on the Hunt.”

Nodding, Hermione smiled. “Albus' deluminator allowed Ron to find us when we spoke his name in our tent.”

Looking puzzled, Harry tilted his head a bit. “If you get in trouble, Ron and I set around with the Put-Outer waiting for you to call for us?”

Shaking her head, with a twinkle in her eye, Hermione grinned. “Ron will be panicking and doing random, useless stuff while you'll be coming up with a brilliant plan. To make it a bit easier, I've spent the last six months working on these.” Holding out her hand, a small velvet bag sailed out of her bedroom door and into her waiting hand. Opening the bag, she removed two familiar looking silver objects.

Whistling, Harry shook his head in disbelief. “Scrimgeour said that Dumbledore's was unique.”

Nodding, Hermione looked very happy with herself. “It was, and it took a great deal of genius for him to create that out of whole cloth. It didn't take quite as much genius on my part to reverse engineer his to create our own.” Nodding at Harry's gobsmacked expression, she handed him one of the pair. “One for you, one for me, and the original for Ronald.”

Placing her hand on Harry's arm, Hermione stared into his eyes for several seconds before speaking. “Harry, I have one, because I'm just as much a part of this as you and Ron. If you ever need me, call for me and I'll come for you.”

Silence descended over the room for several moments, only broken by the gentle crackling of the floo. The tableau was broken when Crookshanks appeared out of nowhere and landed heavily in Harry's lap, noisily demanding attention.

Nodding, Harry looked down at Crookshanks as he rubbed the fur along his back. “You know I will, just as I'll come when you need me.”

Smiling, Hermione nodded. “Harry, can you do two things for me tonight?”

Looking up, Harry nodded, “Of course. Just name it.”

Smiling, she got up to begin clearing the dishes from the table in front of them. “When you go back to Grimmauld Place in the morning, could you take Crooks with you and let him run around the house until I get back?”

Smiling, Harry rubbed Crookshanks under his chin and nodded. “Yes I'll spend the night and yes Crookshanks can stay with me until you come back for us.” Looking at the blush on her cheeks, he sighed. “That row with Ron was worse than you've let on, no?”

Blushing, she shrugged. “I just don't really feel like being alone tonight. I know it's silly, it seems we've spent more nights together on the chesterfield here or at your place than we haven't.”

Gently setting Crookshanks on the cushion beside him, Harry stood and began collecting the remains of dinner. “Nonsense, there's nothing to apologize for. We've both had nightmares from time to time, and we've both been there for each other.” Leaning over, Harry kissed her on the top of her head. “If you'd like, I'll talk to Ron while you're gone.”

Shaking her head, Hermione bit her lower lip for a couple of seconds before answering. “I'm a big witch, I can handle him. But honestly, I think the time is coming, and coming soon, when we're going to have to acknowledge the fact it hasn't worked and it's not going to work between us.”

As she looked up, Harry could see the tears in her eyes. “Does that make me a bad person?” she asked, quietly.

Shaking his head, Harry smiled ruefully with a strange expression on his face. “Hermione, you couldn't be a bad person, if you tried. You're simply honest. I'll back whatever decision you make. The two of you have been particularly adept at making each other miserable for the past while, and I don't think it's going to get any better until you come to terms with where your future lies.”

Taking her hand and squeezing it gently he nodded. “You know I'm in your corner with this. I made quite a few mistakes over the years trying not to choose between the two of you and I've regretted every time I didn't choose you. I'll never make that mistake again. You know you're the most important person in my life, and you always have been.”

Nodding her thanks, she smiled a watery smile. “Harry, that means a great deal to me.” Looking towards her bedroom door, she nodded. “You've still got clothes in the wardrobe in my room. I'll tidy up in here and in the kitchen if you want to grab the first shower.”

Seeing him nod, she smiled as he gave her a lazy grin and ambled towards her bedroom. Gathering up her briefing materials, she placed everything in her valise. Closing it, she paused for a second, until she heard the water start in the bathroom before taking out her wand. Tapping each lock twice, she smiled and whispered, “I met the love of my life on the Hogwarts Express, and he doesn't know it.” Both locks sealed with an audible click as she gathered up the remaining dishes and headed for her kitchen.

----------

Just after two a.m., while Harry and Hermione slept on her sofa, the gently crackling fire in Hermione's floo flared up and turned green as one of the tokens on the side of the fireplace glowed. A red-haired wizard watched the scene before him, the two best mates sleeping on the couch with Hermione's head on Harry's chest and his arms wrapped protectively around her. Shaking his head, he closed his eyes as the floo connection closed, his face disappeared, and the flames died back down. Crookshanks' eyes glittered balefully in the flickering light as he kept a protective watch over his mistress and the wizard who slumbered beside her.

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Chapter Four - A Warm Welcome to Cleveland

Bustling and crowded, Cleveland Hopkins Airport was hectic even at this late hour. Customs in Detroit had been a nightmare and the connecting flight was even worse. Having missed her original connecting flight, Hermione hadn't registered an alarm when the ticketing agent told her he had booked her on a `puddle jumper' into Cleveland.

The small plane would have appealed to Harry's sense of adventure, but it had done nothing for her peace of mind. Especially since she could have sworn that the pilot had a Michelin road guide tucked under his arm as he made his way into the small cockpit.

Fuming, Hermione exited the walkway from the embarkation site into the reception area hoping that the airline had made good on it's promise to contact the offices of the team so that they would know that she was on a later flight.

Eighteen hours after she'd left a highly irate Ron still trying to argue with her back at Heathrow, she still wasn't certain what had possessed him to start a row over absolutely nothing this morning. She had been honestly surprised when he had offered to check on Crookshanks while she was gone considering that the two of them barely tolerated each other at the best of times.

Ron had never really gotten over the entire Scabbers incident, conveniently forgetting that his `pet' had actually been the wizard who betrayed Harry's parents in animagus form and Crooks' highly negative reactions to him were totally justified. Crookshanks, on the other hand, possessed that less than admirable feline attribute of never ever forgetting a slight, perceived or otherwise, in full bloom. Crooks' purposeful snubbing of Ron was made abundantly clear by the genuine rapport and affection he had for Harry, which was returned.

When she thanked Ron for the unexpected offer and explained to him that she'd already made arrangements for Crookshanks to have a short holiday back at Grimmauld Place, he went from being mildly annoyed and snarky to apoplectic and things had escalated from there. Shaking her head, she felt that the time was coming when the two of them wouldn't be able to postpone `the conversation' any longer.

Smiling bitterly to herself, she scanned the crowd, wondering if anyone was waiting for her. There was. Suddenly she was wondering if it was too late to get back on the plane and go wherever it was heading next. All of a sudden Thunder Bay didn't sound quite as remote as it had when the original boarding call in Detroit had been given.

Standing in front of the crowd in the reception area was a seven-foot tall hairy purple `something' that was wearing some sort of white sports jersey. The creature was holding a gaudily painted sign with her name on it. Stopped dead in her tracks, she was buffeted by the people behind her trying to enter the reception area. `Stars, on top of everything else, someone sends a cross between a pwca and that dreadful muggle dinosaur to collect me at the airport' she thought as she started hesitantly towards the towering purple and yellow sign bearer.

Silently gesturing from his sign to her and back again, the tall purple creature waved silently as she stopped in front of him. “I'm Hermione Granger” Expecting some sort of reply, she noticed that she could see the eyes of someone inside the suit giving her a cheeky wink and pointing towards a very petite blond bustling towards her, talking rapidly into a cell phone.

“I can see that her plane has landed, you idiot. What I'm not seeing is why she didn't make her original connecting flight from Detroit. And don't even let me start on whether or not that flying deathtrap you booked her on is an appropriate substitution. Call me back before morning or we'll see about having a different airline for the team's business.” Snapping the phone shut with a loud crack, she looked up and smiled apologetically. “Ms Granger, I'm Terri Blackstone, media relations for the Indians. I'm so sorry that we've gotten off on the wrong foot for this. Is it too late to welcome you to America and certainly welcome you to Cleveland?” Turning a very bright, and apparently sincere, smile on Hermione, she stuck her hand out.

Laughing, Hermione took the woman's hand and shook it. “Terri, I'm certainly glad to finally be here. Please, call me Hermione. Ms Granger makes it sound as if I'd taken an offer to teach primary school. And I can't imagine why any of this would be your fault. Unless your team is responsible for the customs people in Detroit, that is.”

Taking a liking to the young woman, she returned the smile and set her carryon down. “Your tall handsome escort seems to be from the `strong silent type' school.” Nodding towards person holding the sign she raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Ack. Slider, this is Ms Granger from England. Ms Granger, this is Slider. He doesn't talk much. Ms Granger is here to observe American baseball and see if we can set something up with exhibition games in England in the next few years.”

Nodding pleasantly, Hermione winked at Slider. “I'm still Hermione, Slider. I'm pleased to meet you. Hopefully you'll be able to explain this pesky `infield fly rule' to me when I go to the park on Friday.”

“Sorry, Hermione. I didn't want to compound your bad impression of us by mispronouncing your name on top of everything else, so I was waiting until I heard you say it a couple of times before I attempted it. It's a lovely name, but I don't think I've ever met anyone who was named that.”

“Quite alright. I've had it mispronounced every way imaginable over the years. My parents named me after a character in one of Shakespeare's plays. Even in England, it's considered a bit odd. I briefly dated an exchange student from Bulgaria who kept calling me `Herm-own-ninny'. Obviously that wasn't going to last long.” Smiling wistfully, she remembered the Yule Ball with fondness and regret. “I was fifteen and trying to get another boy notice me. But it was fun for a while.”

As Slider gallantly collected her carryon, Hermione and Terri headed towards luggage claim. “Did it work?” Seeing the puzzled expression in Hermione's eyes, she laughed. “The other boy, did he notice you?”

Chuckling at the irony of the question, she nodded. “He said good-bye to me this morning. What do you think?” Hermione blushed as she remembered saying `goodbye' both to a very subdued and pensive Harry at her flat, somehow feeling as if something unresolved was between them, and then an hour later to Ron the madman, with the ticket agent threatening to have the plane depart without her if they didn't stop their row and her get on the jetway that instant. Thinking back on both of their reactions to her the night of the ball, she wondered how she ever had allowed things to come to their current impasses.

“I'd say so.” Smiling they headed down the escalator to baggage claim with Slider getting lots of attention from the people in the airport. “Slider's always good to draw a crowd of Tribe fans, so if things get a bit hectic, I might have him stop and let folks take pictures of him while we go out to the limo.”

Reaching the baggage claim area, Hermione saw that her flight number was set for the farthest carousel. Walking past all of the travelers waiting to get their luggage, she noticed the small case that Harry had bought her last Christmas in muggle London and Arthur had enchanted so it was much roomier than it looked. Picking it up, she hefted it in her hand and smiled.

“Certainly not the clothes horse.” Terri observed as they made their way towards the arrivals area. “I'm always amazed that folks can travel lightly. If I run to Erie for the day, I take more than this.” Smiling wryly she led the way out into the muggy Cleveland evening.

“I learned to be a careful packer at school.” Thinking about her old Hogwarts trunk that carried her for a year of school compared to the beaded bag that she, Ron, and Harry escaped with after the wedding, she delighted in the bag that Arthur had enchanted for her.

“I attended a private boarding school in Scotland so every September I carried everything I needed for an entire year in a trunk on the train. My first year I was certain that the trunk outweighed me and one of my roommates.” Grinning mischievously as she hefted the bag in her hand. “I learned quickly if I was going to take everything I wanted to have with me I had to make choices about what was important.”

“With so little luggage, what on Earth happened to hold you up in customs long enough to miss your connecter from Detroit?” Looking puzzled, Terri was trying to reconcile the visible luggage with the phone message that let her know that Hermione had missed her connecting flight because of difficulties getting her luggage through the customs check.

Stepping out into the muggy evening, Hermione shrugged as she looked around at the bustle that was the carpark of Cleveland's airport. “Haven't a clue. Things were going well until she saw that promotional folder you sent me in my valise. After that, she started questioning that there wasn't enough luggage, trying to see if I was hiding something. Honestly, it was incredible.”

Hermione smiled wryly about everything she had been hiding, magically, and how she almost felt bad for the exasperated customs agent who was correct in her feeling that she was hiding something, several somethings actually, but had no real chance to find it. “Finally I had to use the credentials folder that my boss had provided. She kept muttering something about `Leavenworth' until I showed her this.”

Holding up a slim blue folder embossed with the seal of Her British Majesty's Diplomatic Service in gold. “After that, her supervisor appeared out of thin air and suddenly everyone was ever so helpful.” Shaking her head, she smiled at the look on people's faces after she used her backup plan.

“Diplomatic credentials?” Terri whistled softly as she touched them with a disbelieving look. “I thought this was just a cultural exchange plan. We send you a couple of baseball teams, you send us a couple of cricket teams and we see if we can generate any interest.” Looking warily at Hermione she asked. “That is the plan, isn't it?”

Smiling, Hermione tried to look reassuring. “Of course it is. Everyone in my office has these folders. We usually never need to use them. For whatever reason that woman had made making me late and annoyed her personal agenda. So I just thought I'd repay the favor. When her boss showed up he kept mentioning something about the `Tigers'. Does that make any sense?”

Laughing, Terri almost dropped the case and the folders she was carrying. “Sorry about that. Detroit's baseball team is called the `Tigers' and they're about seven games behind us in the wild card race at the moment. That idiot must have thought you were affiliated with us and decided to do her bit for making the Tribe miserable.”

Smiling broadly, she waved her hand towards a towering advertisement board featuring Cleveland baseball players. “Welcome to the great American pastime, you're now officially part of a rivalry.”

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Chapter Five - The Golden Torc

Walking across the muggy carpark, the two young women headed towards a large limousine that was idling in the pickup area. Smiling Terri indicated the waiting limo. “We'll just give Slider a chance to catch up and then we'll get you to your hotel.”

Looking a bit perplexed, she looked at Hermione curiously. “I've been meaning to ask you about your choice. I can't remember ever booking someone in that hotel, I didn't even realize there was a hotel like that along the river. Of course there are the usual airport digs, but I've never heard of this place that's actually inside the green area.”

“One of my coworkers has relatives here in the area and it's a place that they recommended. Actually I think it's a little family establishment owned by an American cousin or something, but Francis spoke so highly of it I decided to give it a try. Though I live in London now, my heart's really at home up in Scotland, out in the middle of a great deal of natural forest. I think this place will be somewhere I can feel at home for a few days and still get some work done. From what Francis' cousin told me, you'd never know there was a major city just out of sight.”

Smiling blandly, Hermione was trying not to laugh at what Terri's reaction would be to an actual wizarding inn like the Torc would be. She'd sent a patronus to her American contact in the Ohio Bureau of Magic from the lavatory in the VIP lounge before she boarded her connecting flight letting them know that she'd be arriving in the company of muggles and to make certain that the more `interesting' residents and staff members were well disguised.

Carefully taking the miniature wand that Ollivander had created for her out of the loop on her bracelet where it usually resided, she touched the windscreen of the limo and silently cast a charm that would allow anyone who rode in this vehicle to see the Torc until sunset tomorrow. She also cast a similar charm on Terri to allow her to see the actual building but not any protections cast upon it for the next 48 hours so that she could see what was going on since she'd insist on accompanying her for check in.

“I've never actually ridden in one of these beauties, I'm afraid you Americans are going to spoil me terribly.” Smiling warmly, she looked around to see if her costumed greeter was catching up with them yet. “Is Slider going to be able to get himself away from his admirers?”

“I'll beep him and tell him to get a move on.” Reaching for her phone, she flashed a smile at the waiting driver and nodded towards Hermione's bag. “Just get inside out of this humidity and we'll be off in a second or two.” Punching a code into the phone, she looked back towards the terminal in expectation. “I don't know how he does it, but he's usually here before the page gets to him. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he knew somehow before I told him when I needed him.” Shaking her head, she watched as Slider came jogging out of the sliding terminal doors and headed towards the waiting limo, trailed by the last few of his fans.

As the trunk lid closed on Hermione's bag, Terri looked to the driver who nodded to her. “Time to roll, let's get you checked in so you can get some sleep and be ready for tomorrow.” Laughing as Slider joined them, she started to get into the car. “Give away any passes for tomorrow?” Watching the big mascot bob his head enthusiastically, she sighed. “Our work here is done; let's get Hermione to her hotel so she can relax.”

Seated in the back of the limo, the three settled in and began to relax. The driver pulled away from the curb and began to head for the exit and the open road. “First time in the States?” Terri asked as she settled back and watched Hermione.

“First trip over, yes.” Smiling she started to relax in the large seat and appreciate the spacious accommodations after spending so many hours in an airline seat. “You Americans certainly have more money to spend on baseball than we do on cricket.”

“Old American saying, `you spend money to make money'. If everyone thinks you're doing well then they'll spend their money with you to make it true.” Smiling wryly at Slider, she continued. “You might as well take that thing off, you're just uncomfortable and Hermione won't tell.” Removing the head from the costume, a young man with a ready smile grinned at the two young women.

“That thing was killing me. When my graduate advisor was talking about an internship in baseball management, I envisioned something a bit different.” Looking sheepish he removed a glove from his hand and held his hand out to Hermione. “Irving Taledan, at your service.”

Taking his hand, she smiled. “Hermione Granger. Pleased to finally meet the man behind the legendary Slider.”

“See, I'm legendary. Terri, I've told you I deserve a raise.”

Laughing, she countered. “Slider's legendary. You're merely adequate.”

Trying to look serious, Hermione joined in. “Terri weren't you just saying that he was uncanny in how he was able to be where you wanted him and when?” Tilting her head to the side a bit, she looked thoughtful. “That sounds a tad better than `adequate' in my book.”

“Uncanny is good. Beats the heck out of adequate.” Looking at Hermione with a silly grin, he nodded towards Terri. “What say we pack Miss `Adequate' here off to jolly old England and you can be my boss?”

Trying to look thoughtful, Hermione batted her eyes at Irving. “Well just two little reasons I can think of off the top of my head.”

“This should be good.” Terri countered. “Tell us, Miss `Can't keep a secret from the mascot'. He's been here less than a month from Ottawa and now he wants a new boss”

“Firstly, since I still don't know how you make that infield fly rule thingy work, I think Terri's a bit more qualified than I, even if I do give you more leeway than she does. Which, by the way, I'm beginning to see why she keeps you on a short leash.”

Laughing, Terri asked, “Secondly?”

“Well there would be a pair of very annoyed young men at the airport if I didn't get off the return flight next week. I'm certain that both Harry and Ron would notice that she wasn't me. And since I'm supposed to be at a family dinner with everyone the next day, I really don't want to have to explain to Ron's mum why I didn't come home to England. It's been years since Molly Weasley has been mad at me, and I'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much.”

Noticing a startled look on Irving's face, Hermione looked puzzled. “Did I say something wrong?”

Looking earnest, he asked. “Ron? As in Ron Weasley?”

Totally confused, Hermione answered warily. “Well yes, we've known each other for years now.”

Laughing, Irving gave Hermione a look. “Ron was up in Canada a year or so ago and he worked with my brother in our Foreign Ministry on a smuggling case. He kept going on and on about this girl back home. Wouldn't stop talking about her when they weren't working. If you're his `Mione, then I'm very pleased to meet you.” Smiling he nodded slowly as Hermione's eyes widened.

Colouring a bit at Irving's characterization, Hermione shook her head slightly. “I wouldn't say I was `his', but I've been friends with both Harry and Ron since we started school.”

“Irving, you're telling me you've met her boyfriend?” Laughing Terri started shaking her head and missed the slight frown on Hermione's face. “This is too much. Hermione, just what does this guy of yours do?”

Without batting an eye, Hermione called up Ron's cover story for that particular assignment. “He's with Customs Service. He was in Canada assisting the locals with some smugglers who were going back and forth between Britain and the Canadian Maritime Provinces with contraband and endangered animals.” Remembering Ron's endless complaints after he got back from tracking down a blast-ended skrewt that some idiots were trying to smuggle into Labrador to see if they'd flourish here, Hermione shook her head in amazement.

“I'm supposed to call both him and Harry when I get checked in and settled. I'm certain Ron would be floored if he gets a chance to talk to someone he knows.” Looking at Irving in a different light now, she smiled and turned back to Terri. “You wouldn't mind if I borrowed the mascot to help me up to my room and then ambush Ron on the phone?” Smiling sweetly, Hermione was wondering if it would be necessary to meddle with her memory a bit or if she'd cooperate.

“Won't this Ron mind if you have a strange man in your room the first night you're away?” Laughing, she teased Hermione. “I usually don't let the strange ones up until the second night.” Both women watched their companion blush faintly.

“He's not that strange, he's just Canadian.” Hermione replied, grinning at her newfound cohort.

“Hey now. Firstly, I'm still here so let's not do the `talk about him like he's not here' routine. And secondly, one of you is English and the other one's from California so I don't see where being Canadian qualifies as `strange'.”

Shaking her head, Hermione laughed. “I'm British, not English, thank you very much. My father was originally from Scotland and my mother's family is from Wales and the States, actually. Very big differences, don't you know.”

As the limo proceeded along the scenic drive along the river, the driver slowed and turned into a secluded drive with a discrete sign proclaiming `The Golden Torc - Serving the Western Reserve since 1797'. Looking at it incredulously, Terri shook her head. “You'd think that if a place had been here that long, it would be better known. Must be some sort of marketing ploy.” Hermione and Irving exchanged looks as Terri watched the drive wind its way back through the woods as the rustic looking inn came into view.

Nestled among the trees, the Golden Torc bore a striking resemblance to a classic hunting lodge. Two stories of dark wood and fieldstone with a sloping shake roof, the inn seems to be strangely quiet. To her muggle companions, the building is rustic and isolated with a single individual occupying a rocking chair on the spacious veranda. In contrast, Hermione and Irving could see a kneazel, so dark its fur appears almost midnight blue, on the railing watching them while a house-elf peered out of a window on the second story.

As the car pulled into the turnaround when they'll unload, she could see eyes in the woods that press on the building and what looked like a enclosed barn off to the right. A flash of skeletal wing from the door suggested that someone has stabled a thestral, but she couldn't be certain. Descending the steps from the inn, a young couple looked expectantly at the limo as it smoothly glided to a stop.

“Looks as if you have a reception committee, Hermione. Anyone you know?” Terri inquired as she helped gather her carryon and other things.

“Never saw them before, but if I know Francis, these are a couple of his relatives whom he asked me to look up. If they're anything like him, they were probably here an hour before my original flight was scheduled to arrive.” Shaking her head, she was wondering how many things she was going to have to explain away before she could get Terri safely on her way.

”I might have to consider staying here from time to time because he's drop-dead gorgeous, in a `take me away to the Caribbean for the weekend and then tell me you name' kind of way.” Terri countered, giving the young man of the pair a very predatory look.

Glancing at Irving, Hermione saw his eyes widen as he shrugged his shoulders. “Terri, you might want to see if the woman with him is his cousin or his fiancé before you start planning how you're going to shanghai him.” Exasperated, it looked as if she wouldn't be getting rid of her keeper anytime in the near future.

“She's with him but not `with' him. Closer than a cousin, probably a sibling if I'm reading their body language right.” Smiling she settled back and did a quick makeup check with a compact she pulled from her bag. “Let's meet the relatives, shall we?” Smiling brightly, she opened the door and exited the vehicle.

“Never saw her do that before.” Irving whispered as he prepared to exit the limo on the other side. “Usually she doesn't give guys a look other than her professional “Hi I'm Terri and I'm here to help you so don't waste my time chatting me up' routine. This should be interesting. I'll help you in, leave with Terri and come back for a meeting with those two in your room in about a half hour or so. They're you contacts from the Ohio Bureau. I've met him; she was out of the office when I checked in with them.” Sighing in exasperation, he complained. “Americans can't have a central ministry like everyone else. They've got sixty-four separate Bureaus or Tribal Councils for each of their states and native nations plus the Confederation Bureau down in DC.” Shaking his head, he exited the limo and held out his hand to assist Hermione in getting out.

Exiting the limo, Hermione noticed that Terri is in an intense discussion with the two who were waiting at the foot of the steps. The witch seemed amused by the whirlwind tactics of Terri, while the wizard was intensely interested in whatever Terri is carrying on about.

Looking up, the witch smiled at Hermione, nodded to Irving and gave a helpless shrug of her shoulders. Smiling to the driver as he handed her bag out of the spacious boot, she nodded to Irving as they come around the back of the limo and approach the trio by the steps.

“In case anyone's interested, I'm Hermione Granger.” Laughing at the guilty look on Terri's face, she reached out her hand to her reception committee.

Taking her hand in a strong grip, the young witch smiled and laughed. “I can see that we have something in common, a mother with more regard for classic literature than she does for her daughter's well being in school. I'm Florimell Anders, and you must call me Flori, not Mel as someone who's about to die a very terrible death will no doubt suggest.”

Flashing her companion a look that held both warning and bemused tolerance, she returned her attention to Hermione and Irving. “Cousin Francis told us loads about you, but he didn't say you were in the habit of collecting costumed young men.” Arching her eyebrow, she looked expectantly at Irving.

“Irving Taledan, management intern with the Indians, formerly of Morrow, Archer, Greevey, and Irving in Ottawa, at your service.” Smiling at the look of understanding in Flori's eyes, he bowed over her outstretched hand and a very old-world kiss over her hand instead of the expected handshake.

Suddenly, as Hermione took another step forward, the still quiet of the early evening was shattered. The kneazel on the porch rail emitted a spitting hiss that sounded more appropriate to a bobcat than a household denizen. A trumpeting scream from the barn accompanied by a drumming sound of hooves on a wooden wall was heard. Two loud cracks, the sound of a pair of arriving apparition points was drowned out by a loud “Down!” from the woman knitting in the rocking chair on the porch.

Moving at the sound, Hermione turned to grab the driver and put herself between him and the arriving wizard. The young man at the steps pushed Terri behind him and the steps as he pulled a wand from his jacket. Florimell removed a wand from her upswept hair and silently tried to shield the group from attack. Two wizards, dressed in cloaks and hoods, began firing spells at the group at the steps.

A dark scarlet beam from witch on the porch slid from a shield around the wizard on the left and sputtered off into the dark, igniting a small ash tree that it struck. Hermione's silent binding spell took hold of the wizard on the right as his shield crumpled before a cyan beam streaking in from the open doorway.

Another loud crack announced the arrival of a house-elf with a large iron skillet who proceeded to apply the well worn kitchen utensil to the cloaked head of the still moving wizard. His concentration broken by the not so subtle application of cold iron to his skull, he crumpled to the ground as a trio of spells engulfed him.

Looking quickly from Irving to the pair at the steps, Hermione nodded from Irving to the driver and from Florimell to Terri. Watching as both cast silent confundus spells, Flori rolled her eyes when her companion glared at her.

Hermione pointed her wand towards the burning tree and summoned a stream of water. “Now that they're under, repair any damage and clean them up and give them some memories that won't give them nightmares for the next week.” Looking over her shoulder at the witch on the porch. “Is there a healer on the premises in case anyone's injured?”

“Other than that concussion that Thunder gave that one over there.” Pointing at the downed wizard, the house-elf was standing threateningly over the unconscious wizard brandishing the skillet menacingly in case the unmoving wizard began to move. “Keller in the bar can heal well enough to cover up any small scrapes or bruises these two may have gotten. Any of you know those two?” She pointed at the two robed figures.

Florimell, carefully advanced on the wizard not being guarded by the house-elf, and rolled him over with a flick of her wand. “Looks familiar, but we've been going through so many threat sheets that they all start to look the same. Oscar?”

Shaking his head at Terri, who was standing there glassy eyed, before he looked up, he sighed. “Beats me Mel, I think they might be on the list that Ottawa sent down last month, but it's difficult to be certain. Irving, are these two of yours or ours?”

“They're yours, sort of.” Watching Oscar and Terri closely, Irving began to shake his head. “They're the Taliaferro brothers out of Atlanta.” He replied, pronouncing the name `Tolliver' with an exaggerated southern drawl. “Cronus and Fornjot, two very disreputable scions of a very old and very wealthy pb family.” Shaking his head slightly at Oscar, he continued. “The Georgia Bureau sent out a notice about these two about a year ago. I'm surprised you didn't get the word here in Ohio if they bothered to tell Ottawa about it.”

Snorting, Oscar looked at his sister and smiled. “Last summer? Are you kidding? New Albany was 300 points ahead of Stone Mountain in the quidditch standings at that point in the regular season and they were a lock for the continental playoffs. First time in eight seasons that Stone Mountain hadn't made the playoffs. I'm surprised Atlanta would even admit we were part of the Federation, much less cooperate with us.”

Shaking his head, he looked down and smiled at Terri “Sorry about this.” Tapping her gently on the temple with his wand, her eyes fluttered close as Oscar modified her memory. “Hated to do that, she seems the type to be very appreciative of a guy who just saved her life.”

“Oscar, behave yourself or I will tell your mother.” Florimell said sharply with just a hint of a smile. Looking up at Hermione, she grinned, “Younger brothers, what can you do with them.”

“Wouldn't have the foggiest, I was an only child. But a friend of mine is the youngest of six brothers, so I can see your point.” Shaking her head, she stood up and looked around. “Was this for me, you folks, or were your two good old boys just muggle baiting and bit off more than they could chew?”

Standing up from the rocker, the witch on the porch put her knitting down and sighed. “We better get everyone inside, I'll set the wards up to keep out the riff raff and we'll decide what needs to be done. Usually when there's a problem here, the authorities aren't here until afterwards. Going to be a bit strange with sheriffs and aurors onsite when something starts, rather than after the fact.” Leaning over the railing and extending her hand to Hermione, she smiled. “I'm Mary Tudor Bethune and welcome to the Golden Torc.”

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A/N - A couple of points of clarification. Slider is the mascot for the Cleveland baseball team. I really should have clarified that last chapter. Sorry for any confusion that may have caused.

The American Wizarding community (in this world) never moved past the Articles of Confederation and Perpetual Union in their thinking. They weren't particularly enamored with the English wizarding authorities after the Revolution for some strange reason so they became very big proponents of less centralized government, regardless of what their muggle neighbors decided to do several years later. They also kept slightly better relations with the native nations and tribes, and now had a Confederation that roughly paralleled the Muggle states with decent relations with most of the wizarding tribal councils on the continent. The central government in Washington (such as it is) has limited authority and jurisdiction and is mostly tasked with keeping the massive muggle bureaucracy from mucking things up too badly for the Wizarding states.

Irving knew very well who Hermione was when he met her at the airport, but he had never connected `the' Hermione Granger that he knew from what he had been told about the War Against Voldemort with the `Mione' that Ron was going on about while he was in Canada.

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Chapter Six - More Questions than Answers

Seated in the common room of the Golden Torc, the impromptu group was beginning to relax as Irving returned from seeing the two muggles home. Having unpacked her belongings up in her room and sent Harry and Ron quick messages that she was indeed fine and she'd tell them more later, Hermione had joined the others downstairs to await Irving's return.

“Finally got them settled in and safe?” Florimell looked up from the papers she was reading as Irving helped himself to coffee at the bar.

“For the most part. I think Terri remembers that something happened, she's just not certain what.” Looking suspiciously at Oscar, he grinned. “It wouldn't be that you're worried about Ms Blackstone forgetting all about you so you didn't fade everything?” Watching him grin, Hermione decided that there must be a bit of history with Oscar and attractive muggle women that she probably didn't need to know about.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Trying to look indignant, it wasn't helped by the indelicate snort that came from somewhere in his sister's vicinity. “I'm just a bit more circumspect in adjusting their memories than you lot.” Putting on a pair of sunglasses and holding up his wand he stated seriously. “This is a wand, not a neurolizer.” Watching everyone else break out laughing, Hermione wondered what in-joke she was missing.

Seeing the puzzled look on her face, Flori quickly spoke up. “Sorry Hermione, it's from a muggle movie a couple of years ago. The muggle agents had a device that they used to erase the memories of people who had seen things they shouldn't have. It would flash a bright red light and then blank their memories of the past few minutes or hours. Everything in the Bureau thought it was very funny and wondered who on the movie's production team was one of us. I hear one witch from the Las Vegas office of the Nevada Bureau actually modified her Obliviate spell so that it produces a red flash when she casts it.” Grinning, she looked at her brother. “And my brother's well known fondness for muggle blonds doesn't help his credibility in the least.”

“That's not fair Mel, and you know it.” Smiling slyly he looked beseechingly at Hermione. “Can I help it if I'm a helpless captive of female perfection and beauty?” Looking intently at Hermione, Oscar tried to hold his serious pleading look in the face of his sister's red-faced laughter and Hermione's twinkling brown eyes.

“Oh please, I've been chatted up by the best. And while you're kind of sweet, you're a total amateur.” Laughing at the stunned look on his face, she glanced over at Irving. “Slider, do you think there's any chance I'm going to fall for this?”

“Not likely. And the name is Irving, thank you very much.” Sipping his coffee Irving looked at her with a curious expression before turning his attention back to Oscar. “The witch who is at the heart of the infameous `Golden Trio' isn't likely to be taken in with cheap theatrics, old chap.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione sighed. “I had hoped traveling across the ocean would have allowed me to escape that dreadful name.” Seeing the look on Irving's face she shrugged. “What can I say? But you're correct, if I can manage to keep Harry Potter and Ron Weasley in line, not to mention that little dustup with Voldemort…” Letting her voice trail off, she nodded at the look on Oscar's face.

Nodding, she smiled blandly, “At your best, you'd be a challenge for second year witches to handle. Be careful with Terri, I get the feeling that she's more than a match for you, even with your wand.” The group erupted into a round of laughter at the indignant look on Oscar's face as he realized Hermione wasn't buying his act.

Shaking her head, Mary chuckled at the look on Oscar's face. “As much fun as this is, we still have the minor matter that guests were attacked on the front steps of my inn and we need to know what is going to happen next.” Looking from face to face, Mary sat forward in the chair she was occupying and waited. “Flori, was your office able to give us any insight into what the Taliaferro brothers were doing here just as Ms Granger arrived? Or has ambushing random tourists become part of their modus operandi?”

“MT, we still don't know why they're here or who hired them. Usually they're above small stuff, with the resources of their family behind them, you usually see them as facilitators and power brokers, rather than actually involved in something as hands on as this. If they're doing their own dirty work, then someone very well heeled is pulling their strings.”

Taking a sip of her chocolate, she looked over at Oscar before continuing. “Our best guess is that they didn't bank on Hermione being delayed in Detroit. However they homed in on her arrival here, they didn't realize that we'd be here and thought that a quick blitz would overcome the inn's staff and grab her before anyone could react and apparate her out of here. Oscar, show MT what they found out in the yard.” Nodding to her brother as he held up what looked like a tarnished silver coin or medallion.

“Quite clever, actually. We got a briefing report from the British Ministry liaison in Erie on these about six months ago, but this is the first we've ever seen one here in North America in the wild, so to speak. Both of the brothers had coins that matched this one, which was lying in the dust next to the front steps. This is the master coin, and it's keyed to the presence of a specific individual. When that individual comes within range of this coin, the other two act as homing beacons and allow the holders of the other coins to apparate within a specific distance of the original without worrying about splinching or knowing the apparition point. Quite ingenious, my hat's off to the boffin that came up with these.” Noticing the look on Hermione's face he asked. “I take it this isn't the first time you've seen one of these.”

Hermione answered cautiously while her mind raced considering possibilities. “Those are still in the final testing phase with the Ministry. They've been produced on a limited basis, and distributed to a single auror team for evaluation.” Mentally ticking off a list of the people who officially knew about the existence of the coins she shrugged. “I'm not certain how your locals came in contact with them; I trust Team Twelve with my life. There must be a leak in the distribution chain. May I?”

Holding out her hand, Hermione looked at Oscar while she waited for him to toss her the coin. Catching it deftly when he tossed it underhand to her she turned the tarnished silver medallion in her hands as she examined it. “One of the Slytherins, those would be the easiest for someone to come up with,” she mused as she stared at the coin.

“I'm not following.” Oscar, looking puzzled, looked from one face to the other to see if any of the others were following her.

“Sorry, just lost in thought.” Smiling wryly, she leaned back in her chair and held up the medallion. “They developed four different series of these, and named them after the four founders of Hogwarts. Sort of an inside joke from the creator of these, you could say. The Slytherin medallion sets are all one shots; once they're triggered they're no longer useful until they're recharged. If you've still got the two medallions that were linked to this one, they can be reset easily enough. What I'm not fathoming is how and when this set was linked to me.” Shaking her head, she gave a low whistle. “Poetic, I suppose.”

What are you talking about Hermione? I'm confused. How is it `poetic'?” Flori asked.

“Easy enough to guess.” MT answered before Hermione could. “Hermione's the one that created the prototype of these for the British Ministry.” Smiling at the startled look on the younger witch's face. “Poetic justice that your own creation could be the instrument of your downfall, correct?”

“Well, yes. But added to all of the other mysteries before us is the one regarding how you knew that.”

“I didn't `know' for certain until I saw the look on your face when I said it out loud, but I guessed it easily enough. Francis has been most complimentary regarding you when we talked about your visit. Anyone whom Francis thinks is a match for Great-aunt Minerva is a very good candidate for being the person behind that little gem.”

Smiling at the blush that was spreading across her face, she continued. “Francis briefed me in on things. You're where you are because you don't want the limelight, but those that know will recognize your subtle and not so subtle touch with things. The question is whether or not this is just irony that a tool you developed was used to try to trap you. Unfortunately, that's not something we're likely to answer tonight.”

“And none of this is getting us any closer to the Fairy Flag and our pair of artifact thieves.” Taking charge of the conversation in an effort to get the topic away from herself, Hermione looked at Irving expectantly. “Your folks in Canada were the last to see this pair. What can you tell us Slider?'

Fixing her with a baleful look while the others chuckled, Irving replied “Cranston and Merveaux? Not much. They're a pair of moderately successful artifact smugglers, originally working out of the Swiss cantons. Their specialty, as is shown in this case, is collecting items of actual power that are under the control of muggles and selling them to whomever is willing to pay.”

Shaking his head in grudging admiration, he continued. “They also have a related sideline of selling careful fakes and doctored items. If something has a reputation of being an item of power and it isn't when they steal it, they're perfectly capable of casting minor charms and enchantments on the items to make them seem to be actual items of power Or if they can't steal it, or have already stolen it and replaced it with a fake, they have no scruples about selling an item to the buyer that matches the description of the item wanted. This pair has more disgruntled customers chasing after them than they do aurors on occasion. It's actually amazing that they're still in business considering their proclivities for swindling their erstwhile employers.”

Giving a very Gallic shrug, he chuckled. “While they're most often contacted through a blind drop in Switzerland, persistent rumors link them to a small town in Britain, Marazion in Cornwall.” Finished, he looked around the room for questions.

Nodding thoughtfully, Hermione sighed. “How about any leads on the possible buyers. Where do closet Jacobites hang out around here?”

Snorting quietly, Mary looked at Hermione in disbelief. “Where aren't they? You have to remember that most of the Scots that immigrated to the colonies after the `45 were Jacobites. There are chapters of the Stuart Society and other groups scattered all about. Every Highland Games has at least one brawl between supporters of the various claimants to the throne.”

Rolling her eyes, she smiled sadly. “Since they came in from Canada, our friend over there might have a better idea where they'd go to ground, but there are literally dozens of places in the Cleveland area where they'd at least find a sympathetic ear, especially if they were claiming they could prove that there was a legitimate heir to the Stuart throne. The only ones around here who wouldn't give them the time day are the Haudenosaunee.” Smiling at Hermione, she gave her a peculiar look. “Speaking of which, there's someone who's asked about you.” Looking up the stairs she called “Thunder?”

A soft pop and the house-elf that had assaulted the one wizard in the yard earlier appeared in the common room. “You called MT?” His voice was a mellow baritone, not the raspy bass of Kreacher's nor the tenor of Dobby's. “The kitchen is still open, if that what you're wondering.” Looking expectantly at Mary, he was a contrast to the house-elves that Hermione was used to. Instead of being clad in some cast-off household linen, he was dressed in an outfit that was a curious blend of greens and browns.

“Thanks for holding the kitchen for this lot, but I asked you down to meet someone.” Nodding towards Hermione, she included her in the conversation. “Cooks with Thunder, this is Miss Hermione Granger from England. Hermione, this is Cooks with Thunder. I won't attempt to pronounce his Haudenosaunee name for you, but he's been the chief cook and bottle washer here at the Torc since before I can remember.

Turning towards Hermione, Cooks with Thunder took two steps forward and bowed towards her, holding the bow for several seconds. “Miss Granger needs no introduction. Her name and face are known to the elves of the Six Nations as they are to the rest of the People of this land. Welcome to the Western Reserve Miss Granger.”

Standing Hermione nodded to the house elf and returned the bow for two seconds before seating herself again. “I'm pleased to meet you Cooks with Thunder, but I'm certain I've never met any house-elves from America. How is it that the elves here know me?”

“We have been watching your efforts to impact, for the better, how the tribes and clans in Britain are seen by the wizarding world there. We watch to see if you will be successful, but we honor the attempt.”

“It's funny that you notice here, I get the feeling that I'm ignored when I'm not being ridiculed at home.”

“What you do is noticed, both here and there, especially there. It will take longer for you to be noticed by the house-elves themselves, but the wizards and witches have noticed you. It will take time before the elves will realize that they need a change, but that day will come.”

“I thank you for your kindness and I offer the service of myself and my house to you and yours.”

“And the service of mine to you and yours. You honor the old forms. Fitting and proper, but unusual for one as young as yourself. Yet it fits what has been said of you and your house.”

Clearing her throat, Flori looked around. “Is it just me, or are these two reading from a different set of pages than the rest of us?”

Turning his attention to Flori, Cooks with Thunder answered. “Miss Granger observes the old forms, the traditions of the People here in this land, the forms the People observed in the Old World before the Sundering. But she has come to the attention to the elves here in the Americas regarding her efforts to reform the shameful way house-elves are treated in the Old World. The Council of the Six Nations has declared her to be Of The People.”

The puzzled look on Hermione's face was counterbalanced by the collective intake of breath from the others in the room. Mary was almost out of her seat looking as if she had suddenly lost the ability to breath. Irving was looking at the coffee cup in his hand as if he had never noticed it before. Oscar's jaw had dropped to the ground and was threatening to become lost while his sister was attempting to say something, but she would swallow, shake her head and then try again. Only Cooks with Thunder was calm, looking expectantly at Hermione.

Rising once again from her seat, Hermione bowed to the house-elf and held it for a prescribed five seconds. “My house is honored by the trust of the Council and the People. Though I am singularly unworthy of such an honor, I will uphold the honor of the Council and the Six Nations as I uphold my own.” Rising back up, she looked worried. “But honestly, I can't begin to understand why you and your clan would think to honor me in such a manner.”

“The Council honors whom it will, without regard for the opinions of those outside the Nations or the People. And this request came from those who hold the seat for the Hidden Clans, although the rest of the People found it to be proper and deserved once it had been brought before the Council.”

“The Hidden Clans?” Hermione sank slowly back into her seat as she frantically searched her memory for all of the scraps of information she had been able to find regarding house-elf culture. “They are the same as the `clans beneath the hills' that are talked about in England?”

Cooks with Thunder shrugged with a curious gesture. “The elder elves, the hidden Sidhe, the Shining Folk, the Mikumwess, whatever the name you give to them, but the Old Ones are the same here as they are in your England. The great houses of the People retreated from the world with the rise of mankind and only the least of the tribes remained, those of us you call house-elves and the fey. But, the Old Ones watch the happenings of this world from theirs. Their words are still regarded by those of us who remain as the words of the kings and queens who once were. And their influence and contact with the houses of men is still felt. The banner you seek is a token of one such pledge between a house of Sidhe and a house of men. It still holds a promise that can be redeemed by the MacLeod or his heir or his designated champion.”

Looking directly at Hermione, his voice took on a distinctly sad tone. “You must exercise care, Silver Otter who Dances with Joy, for the power of the Old Ones is both a blessing and a curse here in the sunlit world. The attention of the dwellers beneath the hills has been on you and your house for years, that much I may say. And more recently, that of the dwellers in the dark and their cat's-paws among the houses of man.” Shaking his head sadly, he finished. “Surely you realize that this entire affair is an attempt to end your place in the world of men?”

A/N - The Haudenosaunee are the Iroquois Federation, the modern inheritors (in this world) of the Five Nations (later Six after 1720) that held sway from the Connecticut to the Cuyahoga rivers at one time. The Native American Nations, in this storyline, have maintained a much different relationship with the elves than the Europeans, and this attitude influenced the wizarding colonies, house-elves have a much different status in the New World than they do in the Old.

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Chapter Seven - The best-laid schemes of elves and men

The room erupted into a frenzy of competing conversations. With the exception of Hermione and Cooks with Thunder who were regarding each other with silent fascination, the others were trying to make themselves heard or get a clarification from the silent pair. The chaos lasted for several minutes, until the rest fell silent as it became apparent that the two who started this firestorm of conversation were involved in a moment that the rest were excluded from. The silence had become palpable when Hermione finally broke her silence and addressed the house-elf.

”Silver Otter Who Dances With Joy?” Oddly enough, the strange name that the elf had gifted her with was the first question she broached, not one about any of the other revelations.

“The People do not choose the name of one who joins the tribes, but we take the guidance of the soul or spirit twin of the individual. Call forth your spirit twin so they may see the mirror of your soul and we will see if you have been misnamed.”

As he looked at her calmly, Hermione had an eerie flashback to those moments when Minerva had quietly pointed out something that was so painfully obvious that she should have known the answer before she asked, but still allowed her the dignity of displaying the answer herself. Hesitantly, she produced her wand and focusing her mind's eye on Harry and her sitting beneath `their' tree beside Black Lake, she whispered “Expecto Patronum”.

A silvery jet erupted from the tip of her wand, and coalesced into the familiar form of a graceful silver otter. The gleaming mustilid launched herself into the air, joyously pirouetted in mid air, gave an exaggerated wink to Hermione and then bowed to Cooks with Thunder before streaking through the nearby window. The sight of her patronus always filled her with happiness and a twinge of regret because she was so much more free and expressive than Hermione herself. Grinning at the elf, Hermione gave an exaggerated curtsey, “Silver Otter Who Dances With Joy at your service.”

Bowing to her, he replied “And for your service, I will answer what you have not asked.” Gesturing her back into her seat, he sank to the floor, crouching effortlessly on his heels. “The followers of the deposed king are not a part of this except as a lure, though the heir of a fallen king may well figure into these events. The banner of the Queen's promise was the ruse to bring that which they seek where they could strike, yet it must be reclaimed or much ill could be released into the lands of men.”

Seeing the look on her face, Cooks with Thunder raised his hand to forestall her questions. “You must remember that the Old Ones do not concern themselves overly much with your concepts of good and evil. They mark their conduct by lawful and unlawful, oaths sworn and fulfilled, pledges made and redeemed. Honor and the thousand traditions that are kept, the ancient laws of hospitality and kin-right are more telling to them than what you consider right and wrong. The Dark Ones will commit mischief for mischief's sake for they see the houses of men as the reason that they were driven from the twilight lands, but the Lords and Ladies of the Court will conduct themselves by a code that was old when they were young.”

Clearing her throat to get his attention, Flori waited until the house-elf turned his gaze on her before speaking. “Cooks with Thunder, are you saying that this entire set of events was a deception to lure Miss Grainger here to America from England?”

Looking from Flori to Hermione, the house-elf nodded to her. Looking thoughtful, Hermione shrugged. “On face, that would seem to be preposterous.” Hermione mused out loud. “Here in America, outside this room, no one here knows me, much less well enough to dislike me enough to go to all of this trouble.”

Idly fingering the pendant she wore around her neck, she frowned. “It would have to someone from Britain who has sufficient contacts here in America to drag me here. But why?”

Oblivious to the questioning stares she was receiving from her companions, she got up and began to pace the room, talking all the while. “The only reason that would justify this much trouble and expense is that someone thinks that bringing me here puts me at a disadvantage.”

Frowning, Mary interrupted Hermione's soliloquy. “Obviously, if you're here you're isolated from your usual support and friends back home. Might make you seem an easier target. Also, in unfamiliar surroundings you're less likely to notice something off or wrong.”

“Precisely, MT,” Cooks with Thunder nodded solemnly. “Her foes wish to sunder her from He who defeated the Dark Lord and the Red Knight as both are far across the sea and they see them as her primary strength, ignoring the strength that is hers by right and the talent that is hers by choice.” Nodding to the assembled group, “They also misread the ability of Silver Otter to find her natural allies no matter where she travels.”

Looking out the window, gazing towards the east, Hermione sighed and leaned her forehead against the glass. “So if we don't have the lead of looking for the Stuart supporters to go on, how am I supposed to find the flag and glass and return them to Scotland before something dreadful happens?” Turning, she folded her arms in front of her and smiled grimly. “Or they succeed in doing me in.”

“I think we can assume that both items are going to be in one place.” Oscar began looking around the room for consensus. “If not, it sounds as if the elven banner is the immediate concern. Cooks with Thunder, am I correct in thinking that as a house-elf you and yours might have some sort of connection to the banner, or at least a better chance of determining its rough whereabouts than we would?”

Gazing at the dispassionate house-elf, the young wizard watched for some indication he was on the correct path. “If that's correct, then could you and your kinsmen try to locate the general location of the flag so we can recover it before it's misused or destroyed?”

Looking directly at Oscar, Cooks with Thunder seemed to be searching for something within the young man. “If the Folk were to become actively involved in this, it would only be at the request of the MacLeod or his champion. Even then, requests made to the Old Ones are fraught with peril. Unleashing the An Bratach Sith would only result in death, destruction, and mortal peril. Dealing with the People of the Hills is usually much more dangerous for mortals.”

Shaking her head in exasperation, MT sat back into her chair and sighed. “He's not going to give any of you a direct answer without being asked by the one who has the right to ask.” Looking over at Hermione, she grimaced. “You're the champion of the MacLeod for this; you're the one who has to invoke the help of the Folk. Wonder if the MacLeod will thank you for that or not.”

“Silver Otter has claims other than that of the MacLeod's or the dead Stuart kings. By right of the Dunkeld she can ask for help, but as the MacLeod's champion she can pursue the banner without additional peril attaching.” Looking at Hermione, he shifted slightly as if uncomfortable at the turn the conversation is going. “It was not my intent to involve you in these matters, but the will of the Court is difficult to ignore.”

Gripping the windowsill behind her, Hermione leaned forward for a better view of the elf. Shaking her head, she then stood and bowed to the house elf, holding her bow for ten seconds before standing upright. Frowning as if trying to remember something she had read long ago, she spoke slowly and distinctly. “By kith and kin, I invoke the hospitality of the People beneath the Hills. By Star and Stone, I acknowledge the bonds between your house and mine. By the call of the Cranntara and by the right of blood, I ask for the aid of the Folk.” Waiting expectantly, she watched as a change came over the house elf in front of her.

Gone was the affable house elf that was part of the inn's staff and a friend to everyone present. In his place, for a moment, stood a courtier of the ancient Elven realms that once ruled the forests and wild places. Cooks with Thunder drew himself up with an aura of power as he graciously acknowledged the young witch in front of him with a nod and grim smile. “Silver Otter, in the Name of She who was and She who is, the hidden clans beneath the hills welcome the daughter of the Dunkeld. Hospitality and kinship are the ancient pledges between the Folk and yours, by right of blood shared and blood spilled. Your grandfather Martin was the last to call upon the Folk; we heard no more from him after he left for the war until we found out he had perished.” Nodding sadly to Hermione, he finished. “Ask what you will. If I can assist, I will. If I cannot, I will take you to those who can.”

Once again, the room erupted into a whirlwind of conversation. Hermione sagged back onto the windowsill, collapsing and releasing the breath she had been holding since she had finished reciting the strange oath that she had found written in the margins of her grandfather's diary so many years ago. Watching the house-elf as the chaos swirled around them; he nodded to her and smiled grimly. Nodding slightly towards the doorway, Hermione began to make her way quietly towards the hallway and the quieter confines of the rest of the inn. Noticing that the house-elf was following her, she quietly slipped through the door.

Guiltily, looking back into the room, she saw that MT had noticed their departure and was gratified that she nodded to them as she continued arguing some fine point with Oscar.

Climbing the stairs to the second floor, she silently led the way to her room. Unlocking the door, she motioned for Cooks With Thunder to enter, and then she closed the door behind her, cast a quick muffliato on the door and finally collapsed onto the desk chair.

“I think if we go back down there with a plan, it'll be easier getting them on board than trying to hammer things out in front of them”

Nodding towards the bed, the house-elf waiting until Hermione gestured her assent before he sat down. “They are concerned about you, and they don't understand everything that is going on here.”

“Well, the not understanding thing is universal since I'm a bit lost on all of this,” shaking her head she laughed. “I'm still trying to get a handle on who hates me enough to steal two artifacts from a Scottish castle and bring them to America just to get me here.”

“It's not just you, but you're the first that the servants of the Defeated One have targeted. All three of you are at risk, you and the Red Knight first to weaken your friend with guilt about your deaths, then your Mr. Potter himself.”

“That's twice you've called Ron the Red Knight. Why?”

“It's the role he plays in your group, he's Peredur from the old tales returned. He redeemed himself on the quest to destroy the Dark Lord, but he still searches for that which will complete him. Also, I can see your regard for him. You never let anyone see your fears except for him and the other. Yet, the other will be the one you will allow to rescue you.”

Feeling vaguely uneasy with the way the conversation was going; Hermione began to shift the focus to the problem at hand. “If we don't really have the Stuart connection, how do we find the flag and the glass?”

Deep in thought, Cooks with Thunder mused. “We know what we want, we know what they want.” Looking up at Hermione, he smiled grimly. “If you're willing to dare it, we should not appear to have found out their plot, and allow them to continue. Go about your original plan, make plans to seek the supporters of the Stuart king, and wait for them to move.”

Frowning, Hermione fiddled with her hair as she considered the proposal. “Bait?” Shaking her head, she seemed uncomfortable. “I don't mind being the bait, but if I go to the stadium tomorrow, I'll endanger all of the muggles I'll be associating with.” Looking into the elf's eyes she continued. “I can't countenance risking their lives just to flush out this plot against me. There must be a better way.”

“Would it be better if they release an elven host in the middle of the city to draw you out?”

Biting her lip, she conceded “No, that wouldn't work either.” Sighing, she shook her head. “What's your plan?”

“Basically the same plan that MT and the others had before this attack, with a twist. The stadium is a contained environment. The local bureau sheriffs and county reeves can stake the place out well enough to protect the muggles working there. You'll go there tomorrow, with young Irving set to cover you in the office area. Fortunately, with the presence of Ms Blackstone, we now have an `excuse' for Oscar to be there as well.”

Nodding at the sardonic chuckle from Hermione, Cooks With Thunder continued. “Flori will make contact with two of the local Stuart supporters during the day and dangle the bait for them to be at the stadium to meet a supporter from England with ties to the MacLeod's. The word of that meeting should reach the appropriate ears. During the game, Flori will be polyjuiced to replace you, while you, Irving and I will seek out the root of this plan. We'll track the serpents to their lair.”

“Serpents?”

“From what I can tell, your opponents are followers of the Dark Lord's patron, Slytherin.”

“And just where will we find Salazar Slytherin's followers here in Ohio?”

“Where else? The barrow mound of the great serpent is where we will find them.”

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Chapter Eight - Take Me Out at the Ballpark

Morning arrived all too soon, and Hermione decided that Ohio songbirds were just too bloody cheerful this early in the morning. With a five hour time differential between Cleveland and London, she and Ron and planned for her to stay up until one in the morning and he would get up at six so they could exchange patronuses and test the deluminator before she went to bed.

They also set a backup plan in place for the next day's mission. Ron could hear Hermione speak his name and a bit of the sentences that followed it and he felt certain he could recreate his apparition as he had on the hunt for the Horcruxes. Things went quickly south when their conversation strayed into their personal relationship. The ensuring row lasted for over an hour before they both gave over to silence. Harry's phone call within seconds of the disappearance of Ron's patronus the last time led to an awkward conversation where both avoided saying Ron's name as they discussed the most recent row until almost sunup in Ohio.

Unfortunately for Hermione, even with a Pepper Up potion as compensation, Terri was very much a morning person and she bounced into the lobby of the Torc at 7:30, smiling and apparently none the worse for wear after the, hopefully, unremembered adventures of the previous evening. Oscar's presence beside a scowling Hermione increased the wattage of her smile as Hermione tried to find solace in a cup of coffee that was threatening to melt its way through the mug in her hand.

“Hello Hermione, I see you still must be on London time. Morning Oscar, you're looking rather chipper.” Beaming, Terri smiled at both of them as she swept into the lobby. “Stayed up late with your boyfriend on the phone I imagine.” Taking Hermione's lessened scowl as a `yes', she smiled knowingly.

“You two must have burnt up the phone lines between here and London last night. I hope your boyfriend went to work with a bigger smile than you seem to have woken up with.” Missing Hermione's shocked expression, heightened by a growing blush as she remembered both of her conversations from last night; she turned her attention to Oscar. “I don't suppose you would like my contact numbers, would you?”

“Why Terri, that might be a very good idea. I think we could seriously try to have a good evening some night, don't you?”

Laughing, Terri shot back. “Oscar, I think you've seriously misjudged what kind of girl I am.” Giving him a second of two to begin apologizing, she put her hand on his arm and said seriously. “I never just try to have a good evening. I always have a very good evening.”

Leaving the two engaged in their own version of the ancient courtship dance, Hermione walked over to the desk where Flori and MT were engaged in a serious discussion. Joining the other two witches she nodded towards Oscar and Terri. “Should I brief him in on the rest of the plan?”

“My little brother? Not if you think that there's the slightest risk to little miss sunshine there. He might play the gallant rake, but he's over protective to a fault. If he thought that there was the slightest risk to her, he'd pull some stunt and she'd end up on a wild goose chase to Toledo or Erie before you could say `Open Sesame'.” Shaking her head at her brother's foibles, she looked at MT. “Have you ever seen him this bad?”

“Him? Just the one time.” Chuckling at the memory, MT shrugged her shoulders. “It was a few years ago while you were down in Virginia on loan to them for that counterfeit crystal ball scheme that was hitting the DC area. He was absolutely gaga over some muggle dancer in a touring company of `Chicago'. He was supposed to provide discrete protection to the performance, there was a hint of some sort of magical threat, and he ends up falling very hard for this dancer in the show. Things went really well until the last night of the run here in Cleveland and someone released an uktena back stage. From what I understand, Oscar gets himself tossed by the first sweep of its antlers and his muggle dancer pulls a wand out of her hairdo and nails the scaly threat to the wall with a pair of spells.”

“Uktena?” Hermione asked, intrigued by the antlers and scales. Flori looked askance.

“Very large snake, very deadly, very bad tempered. Has a crystal crest on its head that shoots a very nasty beam, antlers that'll shred body armor like tissue paper and an appetite for anything moving it can catch. It figures in the cautionary stories of the Tsalagi which usually end with `…and everyone died.' Nasty buggers if you're not prepared for them. I don't think Oscar ever got over being rescued by his `damsel in distress'.”

Chuckling over the look on Flori's face, she nodded. “As soon as she finished putting down the threat, she obliviated everyone back stage and tried to give Oscar a hand up, he'd broken six or seven ribs when the serpent body slammed him into a brick wall. Stupid fool ignored her and ended up puncturing a lung pulling himself to his feet. He ended up spending three weeks in St Alban's Hospital, wouldn't even let the poor girl in to see him.”

Sighing, MT smiled at the knowing look Flori was giving her brother across the lobby. “She was from one of the western bureaus, got seconded to the touring company as undercover security by one of the hotels out there since they were going to spend about a month playing Vegas when they got out west. Of course the touring company didn't compare notes with the theatre management, so the two undercover security people spent a six week run chatting each other up, not knowing that the other was also magical.” Shaking her head, she smiled sadly. “Felt bad for the poor boy, but he treated that poor girl terribly after she saved his sorry ass.”

“Goodness, you wouldn't think that he'd react that badly.” Shaking her head, Hermione studied Oscar and Terri closely. “It's not as if he had been totally honest with her, either. Is he always such a flirt with muggles?” Turning to Flori, she watched her eyes narrow as she shook her head at her brother.

“Actually, I think this might be the first muggle he's spoken more than a half dozen words to, outside of work, since he got out of St. Alban's. Which is sincerely odd since it was actually a witch who broke his heart.” Sighing, she looked at Hermione. “Brothers, you can't live with them, and the Bureau won't let you hex them without a license. What's a poor girl to do?”

Smiling, Hermione retorted. “Wouldn't have the foggiest. Grew up an only child in a muggle household, didn't meet my `brother' until the summer I was eleven on the train to school. My best mate and I have been like sibs, I suppose, since the day we met so getting one when you're old enough to housebreak him isn't a bad deal.”

Smiling as she thought of Harry, Hermione ignored the growing mental misgivings at her usual assessment of him and their relationship. Hushing the snarky voice in the back of her mind that was making very unsisterly comments about Harry and their conversation last night, she turned back to MT. “Anything you can think of before we get this shooting gallery on the road?”

“Nothing we didn't discuss last night. Irving will be at the stadium, so you'll have him today for backup along with Oscar. Flori and I will beat the local bushes for Stuart supporters to keep up the impression that we're still following the breadcrumbs they left for us. During the game tonight, Oscar will join Flori and I to “follow-up” on whatever clues that are left for us to find, and you and Cooks with Thunder can move on Serpent Mound without being noticed.”

“Right, then. Well, let me collect those two and we'll be on the road. You two be careful today, don't stir up a bigger puka's nest than you can handle.”

Laughing MT put an arm around her and smiled. “It has to be believable, they have to believe that we're searching for our two thieves among the Jacobites so they they'll not be looking for you tonight. You just be careful at the stadium today. They know you're going to be there and they'll have had time to prepare.”

Walking determinedly over to the couple chatting by the desk, Hermione put on her best `let's get started' smile. “Ok, you two. What say we head out and see exactly how baseball works around here?”

Half an hour later, the limo was pulling into the VIP area of Jacobs Field, the Indians' home in Cleveland. Still impressively new, the stadium complex rose around Hermione as the limo navigated the spacious parking area. Coming to a rest beside a check in area, Hermione exited the limo as Terri and Oscar followed. Waiting for her escort, she looked cautiously around, trying to see something that didn't belong in an environment she was totally unfamiliar with. As the door opened, she smiled as Irving flashed her a reassuring smile and nodded cautiously. “Hello Slider. Everything going smooth today?”

Sighing dramatically, Irving shrugged his shoulders. “I don't suppose I'm ever going to garner any respect after having met you dressed that way, am I?” Taking her grin as a negative, he continued. “Didn't think so, but I thought I'd give it a shot. Everything's as quiet as an elf, don't you know.”

“Quiet as an elf?” Terri asked as she came up to join them. “I don't think I've ever heard it put like that before.” Looking puzzled, she smiled at Oscar who was frowning.

Oscar, after throwing Irving a dirty look, smiled back at Terri. “Must be a Santa thing, living up near the North Pole like he does.”

Trying to cover, Irving offered, “Sorry, I'm Canadian. Our mice are very noisy. I think the Brits also say something else totally different.”

Grinning, Hermione shook her head. “Nope, we pretty much set the quiet standard at church-mice.”

Exasperated, Irving shook his head. “Anyway, the schedule for today is fairly straightforward. Ms Granger will observe a meeting with team operations this morning, then a quick lunch meet with management, followed by batting practice and then the game from the owner's suite. There's a quick reception between bp and the first pitch with the Mariner's reps, they have a fairly big cricket league up in the northwest so there's a bit of interest in scheduling games in the Seattle area.” Smiling blandly at Hermione, she could see a twinkle in his eyes. “I think they've got a couple of bowlers and a striker from one of their clubs up there to talk to someone from England about getting the Americans more into the international mix.”

“Sounds, lovely.” Looking over her shoulder at Terri and Oscar talking animatedly to each other, she stepped closer to Irving. Palming the miniature wand from her day-planner, she cast a hasty muffliato towards the pair still chatting by the car. “Just bloody marvelous. I'd last five minutes in a conversation with actual cricket players, and I've actually been to matches. Used to try to follow a local club during the summers when I was in school. How's MT going to handle that?” Smiling cheerily, she nodded towards Irving as if she were just asking details about the reception.

“Relax, Hermione.” Irving countered with a grin. “We'd already thought of that, even before things got a bit dicey. MT did her schooling in New Zealand, played both Quidditch at school and cricket on a muggle club. A bit scandalous, actually. Female players weren't common, but somehow she “convinced” the club and the league to let her play with the big boys. Very good bowler, she had a way with the ball that was almost `magical'.”

Grinning at the expression on Hermione's face, he continued. “Needless to say, while the ministry in Auckland is a bit more lax than Ottawa or London, they still eventually got around to talking to her about underage magic. She never cheated, but she did cast a few very interesting hexes on some opposing strikers who expressed their verbal dissatisfaction regarding her gender. You didn't think they picked cricket for your cover story quite out of the blue, did you?”

“Well, no. But I thought that they picked cricket since there aren't many fans here in the States.” Hermione shrugged, looking back at the other pair to see if they were getting ready to proceed inside.

Laughing, Irving shook his head. “I think there are several leagues in the lakes region, almost a dozen teams in Ohio alone. If someone in England actually decides to send a pair of teams here, you'll see a goodly amount of interest.”

Following her gaze, he shook his head. “Oscar's got a bad case of it; I can see that from here. Ready to meet the Marketing Department?” Waiting for Hermione to drop her spell, Irving cleared his throat noisily. “If we're not inconveniencing you two, I think Ms Granger has a meeting in five minutes.”

Shaking her head at the guilty looks the two were exchanging, Hermione noticed a sudden flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. Shouting, “Oscar, seven o'clock, jump,” she drew her wand and cast a quick jinx at the slavering hound that was leaping at the pair from a roiling cloud of darkness that suddenly erupted from the empty air. Oscar wrapped his arm around Terri's waist and turned to apparate.

A distinctive “pop” marked their disapparition and return five yards away. Irving cast a pale yellow beam that swept across the open area, illuminating two shadowy figures moving towards Hermione. Waving her wand in a delicate pattern, a parliament of ominous looking owls appeared, circling her head. Following the line of her wand, they flew at the two figures limed in the yellow glow from Irving's spell.

Oscar, pushing Terri behind him, began casting pale blue beams at the hound and into the cloud. Irving grabbed an ink pen from his pocket, twisted it counterclockwise and threw it towards an open space on the garage floor. As it struck the concrete, it began to glow with a pale blue sheen and two wizards and a witch dressed in the robes of the local reeve's office apparated in a triangle centered upon the pen.

Car alarms began sounding as stray spells ricocheted from the walls and other surfaces and struck the parked vehicles. Adding to the cacophony, the hound began a mournful howl that raised the hairs on the back of the neck of those within ten yards of it. As a feeling of unease and dread began to grip her heart, Hermione enfolded the bizarre canine with a globe of force designed to reflect magical energies within its confines. While the howling continued, the grip of panic on her disappeared.

Turning to her right, she noticed an unfamiliar pair of wizards moving stealthily around one of the blaring cars. Leading them slightly, she deftly bounced a jinx off the windshield of the car in front of them that sent them stumbling back into the line of fire of the county-reeves that were supporting her.

Ducking as a pale green beam flashed towards her, she silently disarmed the witch that had cast the curse in her direction. Grabbing the wand out of the air with a practiced ease that would have made Harry proud, she caught a flash of movement out of her eye. Turning her head, she saw Oscar slumping to the pavement as a wild-eyed witch grabbed a stunned Terri around the waist and begin to turn to disapparate out of the parking area.

Heedless of the magic flashing around her, she moved towards the strange witch and attempted to disrupt her apparition. While her hex caught the woman's shoulder, obviously it wasn't enough to disrupt her concentration as the pair disapparated out. Rushing over to the spot where the pair had disapparated from, she knelt down and checked Oscar's vitals. A hasty reennervate roused him from his stupor.

“Destination, determination, and bloody hell deliberation.” Hermione fumed while checking to see how the rest of the impromptu battle was progressing. “The witch that stunned you grabbed Terri and apparated out of here.” Seeing that the local county-reeves had the situation under control, she pulled Oscar to his feet and dragged him over to Irving.

“Some poxy witch stunned Oscar and grabbed Terri and side-along apparated her out of here.” Hermione explained as she leaned Oscar against the side of the limo and began checking him for obvious signs of trauma. Watching with narrowed eyes, she saw Oscar begin to shake off the after-effects of the curse that had downed him.

“We've got to get her back.” Gritting his teeth against the lingering pain, he tried to take a deep breath and winced as his ribs protested the continued abuse. “Hermione, have you got any clue as to what we do next?”

Hermione paused casting the healing charms and looked over at Irving. “Call for MT, tell her to bring enough polyjuice potion for two for twenty-four hours and we'll need Flori back here for a bit. Tell her it's Plan B with a slight twist.” Picking a blond hair from Oscar's sleeve, she held it up with a satisfied grin. “Your sister will have to be your girlfriend long enough for her to go home sick for the day.” Smiling sadly at the horrified look on Oscar's face, she resumed casting a charm to knit up his ribs. “Don't worry, we'll get the real one back before morning.”

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Chapter Nine - The Serpent's Barrow

The day of meetings passed in a blur. Hermione suffered through the meeting with Marketing with the assistance of Irving, who stepped in for his boss who went home after becoming acutely ill from something she ate for breakfast, thanks to a Skiving Snackbox that Hermione had brought with her. Elsewhere, Oscar and MT assisted the local wizarding law enforcement agencies in scouring the area for any sign of Terri, the missing artifacts or the local Stuart supporters.

Mid-afternoon turned up an informer who wanted to arrange a meeting with Hermione during the game tonight with an agent of the persons selling the artifacts. Sensing a trap, they pushed the meeting until the break in the seventh inning, something the Americans called the `seventh inning stretch' to give the real Hermione enough time to get into place. Darkness fell just as the sixth inning was beginning, so Hermione, Oscar, and Cooks with Thunder apparated into a wooded area, over two hundred miles from the stadium. Looking around, the park was deserted, as had been arranged with the muggle authorities.

Picking their way carefully across the open ground to the mound, Hermione was amazed by the size and scope of the ancient monument known as Serpent Mound. She could feel the residue of ancient power and magic that surrounded the structure. Half thinking aloud, Hermione muttered, “At least the old prat left enough clues to figure out how to get into this monstrosity.” Shaking her head, she walked slowly, feeling the currents of magic, looking for something that led into the mound.

Shaking his head, Oscar looked around, peering into the darkness that surrounds them. “No one's ever been able to find a chamber or interior space in Serpent Mound. What are you looking for?”

“Hopefully he was nasty, rather than clever when he sealed his bolt hole.” Shaking her head, she closed her eyes for a second, straining to feel which way the magic was flowing around the mound. “If he was clever, then I'm going to have to call on my skeleton key to get us in.”

Opening her eyes, she moved forward to a spot by the edge of the mound where she could see faint patterns in the soil under the sod. Shaking her head at the residual feeling of wrongness left behind by the ancient use of blood magic, she grimaced. “He went for sacrifice, rather than being clever.” Looking around she sighed. “Probably a good choice. A formal portal here would have tipped the fact that there was an entrance to something.”

Looking bewildered, Oscar glanced around to see if he could spot what she was talking about. Cooks with Thunder was staring at a particular spot on the ground with a look of utter disdain. “Is that the spot?”

“It appears so. At least this spot did something, once upon a time. It's been used in the recent past, but not recently.” Shrugging and looking at Cooks with Thunder, she wondered aloud. “What do you think, a couple of ways in and out?”

“The People have catalogued three, over the years.” Shrugging, the house-elf crouched on his heels and watched the two humans. “One is seasonal and only appears near the mouth of the serpent at the winter solstice. Of the other two, this one takes the most power and the least sacrifice to activate. The other takes less power, but more blood to open. We surmise that this was the lesser known of the entrances, used by Slytherin himself while the other was the one his followers used.” Shaking his head in disgust, he turned his head and spat. “Typical Dark foolishness. He seeks to weaken anyone coming in to make them less of a threat.”

Smiling, Hermione nodded. “True, but since we know the way in, and have enough ability to open this side door, we can avoid most of the penalty.” Turning to Oscar, she held her hand out, over a particular piece of sod. “Oscar, did you bring the penknife I asked for?”

Nodding cautiously, he handed it to her. “Here it is, but I'm not certain I like the thought of you feeding this doorway.”

Smiling she took the small knife from his hand and flicked it open with practiced ease. “Oscar, don't go all chivalrous on me, or I'll have to tell your sister that you're actually quite a gentleman.” Smiling as he blushed, she patted his hand, carefully. “It's just a small cut and I'll be able to heal it once we're through the door. If I'm going to open the door, then I'm the one who has to `donate' to power it.” Nodding towards Cooks with Thunder, she added. “Once we're inside the first time, we won't have to use the doors if it becomes necessary to exit and reenter. Cooks with Thunder here can bring us in and out, once he's been in or once one of us has entered and can direct him to wherever this door leads.”

Holding her hand out outstretched, she took the small knife in her off hand and quickly slashed the palm of her hand. Wincing just a bit as the razor sharp blade flashed through her skin, the blood immediately began to well. Turning her hand over, she watched with an intense fascination as her blood began to drip into the square of sod she had previously identified. As the drops hit the sod, they are quickly absorbed into the ground. A sickly green glow begins to emanate from ground as pale silver tracings outline the edge of the effected area. The ground within the silver tracings began to roil.

“You two step into the area that's active.” Nodding to Oscar, she motioned towards the square in front of them. “Once I step in, I'll activate the door and we should be inside wherever this leads to.” Watching as Oscar and Cooks with Thunder gingerly stepped into the area, she kept the blood dripping as she stepped into the square. As her foot left the ground outside the area, the green glow intensified and she felt that queasy feeling of her stomach being elsewhere she always associated with magical travel.

As the green glow faded, the trio found themselves in a large open underground space. Looking around, Hermione noticed that the room looked eerily familiar. The high vaulted ceiling was lost in the fey green glow that surrounded the snake entwined stone pillars that disappeared into the gloom. “I think the same decorator did this place that did the Chamber of Secrets back at Hogwarts.”

Nodding towards the distant end of the room that was shrouded in darkness, she grimaced. “If this place stays true to form, there's a very ugly statue down there of Salazar Slytherin.” Shivering a bit, she remembered the last time she had been in the Chamber. “Hopefully no basilisk, living or dead in this one, but the door behind us should open into a series of stone tunnels and chambers.”

Looking around, Oscar tried to peer into the dark recesses of the room. “Basilisk?”

Shrugging, Hermione tried to look unconcerned. “A pet that Slytherin left behind at Hogwarts to watch over the place and await the return of his true heir. It was a close thing but Harry was able to kill it our second year.”

Trying not to look too disbelieving, Oscar turned towards Hermione. “A twelve year old student took down a basilisk?”

“And a copy of Voldemort's soul, all while rescuing a classmate from a very nasty death.” Smiling at the look on Oscar's face she shook her head. “Honestly, don't you
Americans read the papers? Harry, Ron and I told our story to the `Quibbler' after the war was over. I thought that was a very rousing chapter, even though I was stuck in the hospital wing for the finale of it.”

Snorting, Cooks with Thunder shook his head and moved towards the door. “Leave it to Silver Otter to make something like that sound like an afternoon's diversion.” Extending his arms, he concentrated on the door. “If we're supposed to go through this, I think you'll find the fact that all of the hardware is on the other side a slight drawback.” Shaking his head, he looked over his shoulder at Hermione. “You mentioned a plan?”

Sighing, Hermione shook her head as she examined the door. Entwined carvings of various poisonous serpents adorned the otherwise spartan frame to the massive bronze doors. Standing up, Hermione brushed her palms against her jeans. “I don't suppose either of you is a parselmouth?” Looking between her two comrades, she hopefully beseeched each one to admit to being able to converse with snakes.

Cooks with Thunder smiled, but shook his head no while Oscar just stared at her in disbelief. “I had to ask, it was a long shot but it would keep me from having to go to my backup plan if it worked.”

Shaking her head, she sighed. “Bother, he's going to be bloody pissed.” Looking sheepish, she stepped away from the other two and pointed her wand at an open spot on the ground. Murmuring a quiet “Expecto patronum” silvery strands began to coalesce and her familiar otter was cavorting on the floor, chittering animatedly at the gloom that surrounded them.

Smiling, Hermione allowed the mustelid to play for a couple of seconds before she cleared her throat. “That's just enough of that. Go find Ron and tell him I need him to open a snake-covered door for me. Don't worry, there's no basilisk this time, just a couple of stubborn thieves.” Nodding towards her patronus, she watched as the silver otter leapt into the air, buzzed a circle around the house-elf's head and then zoomed off into the darkness.

“Your boyfriend is a parselmouth?” Oscar asked disbelievingly. “Irving said that Ron seemed like a normal guy.”

Trying not to frown at Oscar's characterization, Hermione shook her head. “Ron's anything but normal, but he isn't a parselmouth.” Hermione smiled grimly as she was imagining Ron's reaction to being awakened by her request. “However, he is an expert mimic, and he listened to an actual parselmouth open one of Slytherin's doors years ago and was able to repeat it several years later when we needed back in the Chamber of Secrets.”

Shaking her head, remembering Ron's usual reaction to these missions of hers, she sighed. “He's not going to be happy with this, but I'm certain he'll come through for us.”

Refusing to worry about the lecture she was going to get about needing a parselmouth for her innocent `souvenir hunt', Hermione bit her lower lip while she waited for an answer. Cooks with Thunder snorted and shook his head. “You have something to add?”

“You know the Red Knight will aid you, you worry needlessly about his concern for you. Quiet, Silver Otter, I sense the approach of your friend.” Nodding towards the far end of the hall, a silvery light began to brighten the gloom.

Streaking through the dark, a small silver terrier landed in front of Hermione. Looking at her with disapproval, or as much disapproval as a Jack Russell terrier can register, the dog shook it's head and glared up at her. “As soon as I'm finished playing skeleton key, I'm going to go have a word with Francis `travel agent' Bethune.”

Turning his head the small dog opened his mouth and a serious of sibilant hisses came out of his mouth. Sitting and looking very dissatisfied, the dog continued to glower at Hermione as the serpents around the edge of the doors began to writhe and retract. The two bronze doors slowly opened outwards as the glow of the unhappy patronus faded from sight.

While the great hall they arrived in was sheathed in shadows, the outer passageway was downright gloomy. A dry musky scent permeated the air, and the passage was surprisingly clean for a long abandoned complex, as if something had regularly swept through the corridors. Echoing through the stone passages, the three could hear the sounds of magical combat coming from somewhere ahead.

“A falling out among thieves?” Oscar whispered, trying to hear how far away the combatants were.

Shaking her head, Hermione looked over at Cooks with Thunder. “More likely a mutual double cross between the followers of Slytherin and the hired thieves.” Looking over at a large scale lying against a protruding stone, she shrugged. “Or one of Salazar's guardians decided that dinner had been delivered.” Watching the house-elf shrug in return, she sighed. “Forward, I suppose. If there's going to be anyone left for you to arrest, I suppose we're going to have to go and rescue the bad guys.”

Starting forward, the trio tried to move cautiously as they navigated the unfamiliar passages. The oppressive gloom was relieved by the faint glow from the two wands, but the feeling of wrongness intensified as the sounds of combat increased.

Winding their way through the darkened tunnels, they could see flashes of light and sounds of explosions coming from around one last bend that seemed to open into a larger space. Nodding at each other, Hermione and Oscar doused the lights from their wands and with Cooks with Thunder they slowly stepped around the last bend to see what they would find.

The tunnel opened into a larger chamber, and it appeared that their doorway was high on one of the walls. Looking down they could see two distinct groups in the egg-shaped chamber in the eerie green light that bathed the scene. Four figures in dark robes and cowls were taking cover behind a couple of broken columns and a large stone table concentrating on the other two figures in the room.

The other two wizards, dressed in muggle clothes were holed up behind a particularly ugly stone statue that had fallen on its side. The two were taking turns firing curses at the others while they shouted offers to the dark wizards that were attacking them. Between the two, was a large framed object that could only be the An Bratach Sith.

Grinning, Oscar whispered, “I suppose we could wait until one side or the other wins and then mop up the rest?” Looking hopefully at Hermione, he quickly lost his grin at her scowl. “Suppose not.”

Shaking her head, Hermione whispered back. “That's a bad idea on several levels. Not the least of which is that you're a law enforcement official, you're supposed to arrest the lot, not just the survivors.” Watching the battle down below, she continued. “Besides, how long before those two decide that unleashing a fairy host, or attempting to, might be preferably to falling in the hands of those blighters.”

Patting him on the shoulder, she chuckled. “If we play our cards right, we can take them down before they know we're here.” Quickly casting a disillusionment on Oscar and then herself, she watched as Cooks with Thunder faded from view without her assistance. Stepping into the chamber, the moved cautiously down the steps cut into the wall of the chamber to the lower level. Flanking the four dark wizards, Hermione put her hand on Oscar's forearm to halt him.

Nodding towards the wizard that was slightly behind the rest, she timed the curses from the other two and just as a blast from the others covered her spell, she cast a silent stupefy at the wizard's back, and was rewarded as the red beam slammed into the dark wizard and he slumped silently to the ground, unnoticed by his companions. Nodding towards the next one, Hermione pointed to Oscar. Watching with amusement, she saw him move his wand in an unfamiliar pattern as a grayish beam caught the dark wizard on the shoulder. He flopped bonelessly to the ground.

Nodding towards Cooks with Thunder, she indicated the dark wizard on the right. Focusing his eyes on the dark wizard, the house-elf made a slashing move with his right hand while he cupped his left as if catching something. The dark wizard was drawn towards them, transfiguring into a small furry figure as it approached. A small ground squirrel appeared in the palm of the house-elf's hand and he placed it a pouch that hung from his belt.

The final dark wizard, finally noticing that events had turned against him, stood behind the column, began looking around for who or what had taken down his companions. Grabbing a wicked looking dagger from the belt around his robes, he slashed the blade deep into his palm. In a loud voice, he cried out. “Bring forth the champion of The Founder.”

Collapsing as a pair of beams from the other two caught him, the room fell into a relative silence for a couple of moments. Then a high pitched whistling sound was heard from behind the two wizards dressed in muggle clothes, and an orange coloured beam lashed out of the darkness towards the statue that they were hiding behind.

Exploding in a flash, the statue's fragments flew through the chamber. Slithering out of the darkness, an enormous serpent came into view. Hermione stared in fascination at the wickedly sharp set of antlers that crowned its head, on either side of a sickly glowing orange crystal that was embedded in the creature's head. Hermione didn't need Cooks with Thunder's muttered “Uktena” or Oscar's “not again” to recognize the monstrous serpent from MT's description.

Looking sharply around the debris littered room, Hermione whispered to her companions. “Let's split up and see if we can take that monster out. Cooks with Thunder, keep an eye on those two, don't let them take advantage of the chaos to escape or make things worse.” Moving to her right, she noticed that the uktena started tracking her the moment she moved, swiveling its antler-crowned head in her direction.

Launching herself at an angle to the direction she was heading, she felt the heat from the orange beam as it passed her, slamming into the spot she was standing with a sizzling crack. Stung by the shards of stone that erupted from the impact, she watched as her stunner slid off the body of the serpent. Noticing that the area that she had targeted had glowed with an orange light for a split second when she cast her curse, she moved again trying to get an angle on the serpent's head.

Seeing Oscar's beam strike the snake and bounce off from the corner of her eye, she saw the same telltale orange glow from the impact site. Watching the evil head turn in Oscar's direction, she took aim and muttered “nox sphaera” and a globe of darkness formed around the head of the serpent.

Shouting “Take it down before the darkness fades!” she channeled all of her annoyance with the entire adventure through her wand as she slammed several well-placed stunners into the serpent's body.

A sickly globe of yellow encircled the area behind the head and she could see the flesh start to slough off in ribbons. Hearing a shout of pain, she turned her head slightly to see Cooks with Thunder bouncing one of the two smugglers off a support pillar while the other one concentrated on taking down the uktena. Focusing again on the writhing snake, she made a slashing motion with her wand, and nearly severed the remainder of the body behind the head that Oscar's curse was busy dissolving away.

A high pitched cry of pain, something more appropriate to a small woodland animal rather than fifteen meters of serpent, filled the chamber as the uktena flopped to the ground, oozing various fluids from the multiple wounds that covered its body. Hermione maintained the globe of darkness around its head while the yellow glow finished its mission and severed the head from the rest of the body.

Looking around, she saw that Oscar was as pale as a sheet, but had his wand still trained on the serpent, waiting for it to somehow resume its assaults. Cooks with Thunder was sitting, cross-legged, on the prone body of one of the smugglers, glaring at the other as if to dare him to move. Looking down, noticing that her clothes were covered in rock dust and she was spattered with fluids from the thrashing of the uktena, she cast a silent tergeo to make herself as presentable as possible. “Oscar?”

Still looking pale, Oscar had finally lowered his wand but was breathing deeply and regularly. “Yes, Hermione.”

Smiling at him, she nodded. “Went a bit better this time?”

“Think so, at least I'm standing at the end of it this time.” Calming down, he looked over at the conscious smuggler. “It's been a very bad day, if you were to try to bolt, someone's likely to take it the wrong way and blow you clean apart.” Walking over to him, he raised his wand in a very menacing fashion. “Did any of these four happen to mention where the girl is?”

Looking nervously around, the smuggler swallowed and tried to look anywhere but at the wand that was pointing at his face. “Girl, vat girl?” he replied in lightly accented English. “”Ve came to trade the glass for the galleons, ven these nutters vent all irrsinnig.” Shrugging his shoulders, he supplied the translation by tapping his forefinger to his temple. “Irrsinnig, yes?”

Smiling, Hermione supplied. “Insane is the word you want. Herr Merveaux is it not?”

Rising to stand, giving Oscar a wary eye, he clicked his heels and bowed towards Hermione. “You have me at the disadvantage. Gilbert Merveaux at your service.”

Laughing, Hermione's hand covered her mouth as she tried to control herself. “Hermione Granger at yours. Stars, you live in Penzance and I'll bet my next checque that your unconscious partner's name is Sullivan.” Losing her battle with laughing, she dissolved into a fit for several seconds. “If you tell me you have got a little list, I'm seriously going to hex you.”

“Ach Fraulein, but you are not the type to eat peppermints and puff them in people's face, so you needn't vorry about that.” Nodding his head at her respectfully, he laughed. “I can see vy she varned us about you.”

Becoming serious again, Hermione was beginning to ask about this mysterious `she' when she noticed movement to her left. The dark wizard that Oscar had dropped was dragging himself along, using the arm that Oscar hadn't hit him in, and his hand was just inches from the frame containing the fairy flag.

Without thinking, Hermione shouted “Accio An Bratach Sith” to prevent the dark wizard from grabbing the artifact. As it streaked towards her outstretched hand, she noticed that the glass covering the flag was cracked. As the flag came to her outstretched hand, she felt the glass slice her thumb as it came into contact with the flag. The room erupted in a brilliant bright white light that seemed to overpower everything as she was suddenly elsewhere.

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Chapter Ten - An Underhill Family Reunion and Back Again

The bright white light disappeared as if someone had flipped a switch. Without any of the sensations that usually accompanied magical transportation, Hermione found herself standing in a large open room. The walls were wood paneled, the floor was dressed stone and the furnishings all had that air of age and comfort to them. A fireplace was merrily crackling at one end of the room; it was set up for cooking with a large cauldron bubbling over it.

At the other end of the room, a woman with dark wavy hair sat on a table, dressed in clothes that were very finely made, but out of a costume drama from the Middle Ages. Smiling, she was watching Hermione as she pushed her hair back behind her ears, which were a bit pointed. Radiating an air of power, she looked expectantly, as if she were waiting for something.

“Would it be rude to ask where I've ended up?” Watching the woman at the end of the room cautiously, Hermione noticed that her eyes flashed with a light of mischief and something else that she couldn't quite place.

“You've an air about you much as your Grandfather did, but you're much too serious.” The woman answered, looking Hermione over with an appraising glance. “I'm not criticizing, but you're a bit stuffy for being Martin Granger's granddaughter.” Smiling warmly she pushed herself off the table she had been perched upon and approached Hermione.

“Considering my grandfather never returned from France during the war forty years before I was born, I'm sorry his influence is totally lacking in myself.” Hermione replied a bit stiffly, wondering exactly how this woman who wasn't that much older than her could be speaking of her grandfather so familiarly.

“Peace child, you're the spitting image of my bonnie Sandy when you get your back up.” Laughing, the woman extended her hand to Hermione with the palm up. “As bonnie a lad that ever charmed a lass, but he would bristle like a boar if he thought he'd been slighted.” Smiling mischievously, she slyly added. “That laddie of yours is correct, you do need to learn to play, and it'll make your life a bit more agreeable.”

“That was Harry, not Ron.” Stopping herself, she began to look at the other woman a bit warily. “And I'm certain no one was around when we were discussing that.” Looking at the woman's dress, the fey light in her eyes, and the delicately pointed ears she began to blush. “You're one of the good folk of the hills, aren't you?”

Laughing again, Hermione could hear the pealing of delicate bells in the sound, as the other woman clapped her hands in delight. “Aye, and sure who else would I be? But my manners are atrocious, Hermione Jane Granger, daughter of Alexander and Helen Granger. The Scots called me Mab, the Irish Maeve, but your English poets named me Titania, of all things.” Smiling impishly, she pirouetted gracefully. “Honestly, do I look like a Titania? It makes me sound so cold and imperial. Names make the woman, you know.”

“Really now.” Getting a bit irritated, Hermione crossed her arms and glared at the Queen of the Elves. “But, you're correct; I think I like `Maeve' better for you than Titania.” Watching the other woman nod in acquiescence, Hermione could feel the concept of her mysterious hostess settle into her mind as Maeve. “And I suppose that I'd have been a different person if my mother had named me Susan or Elizabeth?” The other woman had an unbelievably smug look on her face. Studying her, Hermione began to notice the small but exotic differences about her.

“Not totally different. If your grandfather had returned from that war, I'd like to think your father would have been in a position to listen to a wee bit of advice. If your mother was so intent on an exotic name for their daughter, I would have suggested a couple.” Stepping back and looking appraisingly at Hermione, she tilted her head to one side. “However, looking at you now, I can see you as a Morrigan, definitely.”

Laughing, Hermione leaned back against a table and looked at her hostess with disbelief. “That would have been a lovely choice. Why not go all out and have them call me `Megaera' or `Tisiphone'? That would have made my childhood oh so much better.”

“Never liked those two, very pushy women. Morri and I always got along, though she took herself very seriously. Always had to be `The Morrigan' unless you'd known her for at couple of centuries, at least. The world became a much more boring place once she decided to retire from the mortal realms.” Eyeing Hermione with a glint in her eye, she added slyly, “You do have a bit of that Tisiphone complex going for you, especially when it comes to that young man of yours.”

Smirking in return, Hermione shook her head. “Preposterous. When have I gone all `avenging angel' over Ron?”

Laughing, Maeve gleefully clapped her hands as she regarded Hermione with a look of pure affection. “You are so my bonnie Sandy's child in spirit as well as by blood, though a few times removed. He would have approved of you. Very headstrong, too intelligent for everyone's comfort and you wouldn't recognize your own heart if you tripped over it.”

“Whatever are you going on about? Sandy who?”

“Ach lassie, Alexander of Dunkeld*. Right bonnie King of Scots he was. Chased any lass in a skirt that caught his eye, whether she was a crofter's daughter or wife of a noble lord. Captured my heart for a while and he was the father of my own bonnie bairn Robin Granger. I actually cried when the poor fool got his self killed.”

Stunned, Hermione put her hand to her mouth. “My great-great-great grandfather was named Robin Granger. He died in China during a siege in the 1860s.”

Looking contrite for once, the other woman bit her lip and lowered her eyes. “Robin came home at my insistence. He'd spent too long in the mortal realms and was in danger of becoming lost to the Folk. It pained me greatly to bring him home; he loved his wife so much he didn't speak to me for almost forty years afterwards.”

Becoming grim, Hermione lashed out. “You incorrigible fraud. You were pained? How do you think my great-great-great grandmother felt? She mourned her husband, lost in a war far away. She never even got to say goodbye!” Almost shouting, Hermione's eyes were flashing a dangerous glint. “Have you come to collect another `wayward' child for your house? Is Harry going to be left to wonder and mourn when I never come back from America?” Biting back tears, she stared defiantly at the elven woman.

Drawing herself up, Maeve looked straight into Hermione's eyes. “Robin went back for his bonnie Kate the day she `died'. He left a glamour in her place and brought her home to the halls. That was when he spoke to me and asked me for an oath regarding his family as the honor price for her suffering.”

Walking over she laid her hand on the frame of the An Bratach Sith. “You were brought here by your blood and the power of my cloak. The cloak recognized the elven blood and brought you home to me.” Smiling, she nodded her head. “After we've had our talk, I'll have you return what's left of my cloak to the MacLeod and you can return to your bonnie lads. But we do need to talk.”

Calming herself, Hermione watched the other woman carefully. Holding up her cut thumb, she smiled grimly. “I take it this is what you meant by `my blood'?”

“Aye, merely touching the banner would have done nothing. It would have recognized your right by blood and it would have allowed your touch without harm to you. But your spilt blood triggered a reaction in it and it brought you to a safe place.” Smiling warmly, she waved her hand around at her surroundings. “It brought you home.”

“And if I hadn't had the right by blood?” Hermione looked warily at the banner, propped against the leg of the chair like an innocent wall hanging.

“Then another object lesson to the powers of the An Bratach Sith to protect itself and its own would have been had. But you did have that right, so none's the worse.”

Taking her wand, Hermione cast a silent reparo on the frame. “That should keep unintended fingers from incurring your wrath.” Looking defiantly at the other woman, silence grew between them.

Finally breaking the standoff, the elven woman sighed. “It's not my wrath, child. Objects like the An Bratach Sith almost have a mind of their own and tend to have their own rules regarding behavior and the like. It was a token of a pledge between an earlier MacLeod and myself. It was meant to protect and prosper the MacLeods, but Scotland was a very different place in those days, so its protections are a bit `severe' by your standards.”

Sighing in return, Hermione relented, a bit. “Leaving all that aside, you've said some fairly preposterous things since I've been here. You can't blame me for being a bit off after all this.”

Her smile returning, Maeve nodded in Hermione's direction. “True, and while old home week is always interesting, we should talk about a couple of things.” Holding up her hand to forestall the next question, she shook her head. “And no, I can't interfere in the mortal realms to the extent to tell you where your missing friend is.”

Seeing the look of frustration on Hermione's face she added. “I can tell you that you have the key to finding her, but you'll need all of your ingenuity to pull it off. You must remember to think, Hermione Jane.” Grinning at the look on Hermione's face, she added, “Once you're rescued the lass, then you can go all `avenging angel' as you so quaintly put it.”

“Why am I here? Really. The banner could have taken me anywhere to be safe, so why here?” Intrigued, Hermione relaxed as she leaned against the table behind her. Watching the elven woman, her mind began to recognize the other woman's moods and methods.

“Honestly, I'm fulfilling my oath to my son, and paying part of the suffering price your great-great-great grandmother is owed. You should remember what the elf you know as Cooks with Thunder said. The Seelie Court isn't motivated by what you mortals determine as good and evil. We bind ourselves with traditions and oaths. You are the only child of your generation so I have watched you, off and on, since your birth.”

Beginning to pace, Maeve walked around the room, examining items on shelves and tables in an air of reminiscence. “I was there the night your young man faced down Tom Riddle, and I watched your prowess in the battle that followed. If you would have asked for help, I would have answered, as your cause against the oath-breaker Riddle was just by our laws. Even though you didn't know to ask, any plea I would have interpreted as a request against the bonds of family.”

Shaking her head wryly, Hermione looked at Maeve in amazement. “With all of the deaths and evil that Tom Riddle caused, you would only move against him because he had broken his oath?”

Stopping, the elven queen turned and faced the bubbling cauldron, placing her hand upon the ornate torc that surrounded her neck. Shaking her head at what she could see in the mists rising from the cauldron, she began to speak. “He broke his oaths to his fellow students when he allowed that creature to terrorize your school. Kin-slayer I name him when he murdered his father and grandparents. Kin-slayer again I name him when he murdered his uncle for material gain. He abused the laws of hospitality when he slew that witch for material gain. And he abused the responsibilities of power and family when he slew a retainer who was defending his family home. Oathbreaker I name him as he swore he wasn't pursuing that abominable knowledge of sundering his soul to escape the judgment of death. By our laws and customs, I would have gladly ended his life and plans, if you would have asked.”

Turning to look at Hermione, she drew herself up, and wrapped herself in the glamour that was a part of her. Hermione could see the ancient queen that the Celts of the seven ancient lands had venerated centuries ago. A cold chill settled over her as she realized just how `other' this woman really was.

Biting her lip, Hermione watched Maeve warily. “Twice you've said something regarding Harry as if he and I were together. Why?”

Laughing, Maeve shrunk within herself and she was nothing more than an exotic woman with a love of mischief. “You've come a long way child. Thanks to your Harry, you've learned to listen to your heart instead of your mind. You care for your Ron and he cares for you, but the two of you are as ill-suited a pair as I have ever seen. Your heart cares for him, as does his for you, that makes you companions and friends, not lovers.” Looking sadly at her, she tilted her head as she continued. “Your friendship with Harry has made you able to do that. Soon will come a time when you'll have to listen with your soul, not just your heart. When you do that, you'll know what I meant when I spoke of your Harry.”

Picking up the framed An Bratach Sith, she strode over to where Hermione stood and handed her the banner of the MacLeods. “I promised that I'd return you to your friends. I'm very proud of you and I believe your grandfather would have been proud of you, also. You'll find some differences in your life because of your contact with my old cloak, embrace the changes and you'll prosper.”

Leaning forward, she kissed Hermione of both cheeks and on her forehead. Hermione felt a surge of power that settled deep within her as the elven queen released her and stepped back. “Remember to think and you'll save your friend and start solving the mystery of whom opposes you and your friends.”

A bright white light began to come from Maeve. Overwhelming Hermione's eyes, she averted her head as the room around her disappeared. Suddenly the cavern surrounded her that she had left so suddenly not that long ago. Blinking, she looked around to see everyone staring at her. Everyone, that is except for a certain house-elf.

“Hermione, where'd you disappear to?” Oscar whispered. “One second you're grabbing the flag away from this dark wizard and then its flash, bang, and you're gone.”

Shaking herself, Hermione looked wearily at Oscar. “Merlin's sake. It's not like it's a secret, Oscar. Everyone left in here noticed I disappeared.” Nodding towards the corpse of the dark wizard who had died summoning the uktena, she grimaced. “I think he's the only one in here who didn't notice. I have no idea where, other than I went to visit my fairy godmother.” Glaring at Cooks with Thunder, she asked. “Isn't that right?”

“Silver Otter, no one was more surprised than I when you disappeared. However I knew where the An Bratach Sith would have taken you once you left. I also knew that the Queen of the Hills would return you here promptly. She only wished to meet you and see for Herself what you had made of your heritage.”

“You knew?” Incredulously, Hermione stared at the house-elf in disbelief. “You didn't think that a mention of the fact I was related to this entire goose chase might be appropriate?” Dissolving into sputtering disbelief, Hermione could do nothing but stare at the elf. His calm, dispassionate gaze in return seemed to draw her into it. She could see the emotions behind those placid eyes, and suddenly she understood exactly why she had been drawn to the plight of house-elves for all these years. “I'll be.”

Calming down, she began to appreciate the position that her friend had found himself in. “You could only tell me what she allowed. And I'm certain you pushed the bounds of what you were allowed.” Carefully setting the framed banner on the ground, she dropped into a curtsey and smiled. “I thank you for your friendship and assistance. And on behalf of my great-great-great-great grandmother, I apologize for the discourtesy shown you by putting you in this position.”

Breaking into a grin, Cooks with Thunder bowed in return, holding his bow for a full ten seconds before he spoke. “My service to you and your esteemed family.” Straightening up, he laughed. “She's going to be madder than a puka since you've obligated Her by your apology. Which was your intention all along, I can see.”

Shaking his head, he stopped laughing. “I believe that your guests are waiting to answer some questions for you.” Indicating the two smugglers who were sitting there, watching the three with wondering eyes, Cooks with Thunder glared menacingly in their direction.

Looking from the two smugglers to the three surviving dark wizards who were struggling to free themselves, magically silenced to reduce the annoyance of their threats and imprecations as well as inhibit them from casting spells. “I take it our other three guests aren't willing to discuss things, no?” Smiling at Oscar, she attempted to reassure him. “Everything is fine. As soon as I find out what our two travelers know, we'll discuss Terri's whereabouts with our three friends in the robes.”

Walking over to the two smugglers, Hermione smiled reassuringly. “Good evening Herr Merveaux, Monsieur Cranston. I believe you were talking about someone who had warned you regarding my humble self before we were so rudely interrupted.” Nodding to Merveaux, Hermione attempted to encourage the pair to be forthcoming. “You were mentioning a `she' who had warned you about me?” Smiling sweetly, Hermione twirled her wand to emphasize the point that she didn't need to be so accommodating.

“Ja fraulein. Our employer varned us about you, but she your abilities underestimated greatly. I think she dislikes you so that she fails to respect you, a mistake that my partner and I are paying the price for.” Shaking his head, the bedraggled smuggler smiled wryly at his partner. “Sully, I vould say our contract is over, no?”

“Oui, Gilbert. Most assuredly. Mademoiselle Granger, we consider our contract at an end and are at your disposal to answer any questions you might have. However, the question you most wish to ask us, we cannot answer, because we do not know the name of our employer. Anonymity is part of the trade in our business and we did not think it strange when our now former employer hired us to bring the Amen Glass and the Fairy Flag to America and deliver them to the Order of the Hidden Path failed to mention her name.”

Scowling, he nodded to the trio of surviving dark wizards off to the side. “The `jeune femme dela nuit' said she was acting as a middle woman for the Order and her own organization. She paid half up front and the remainder was supposed to have been provided by those magique malvais over there.”

Smiling, Hermione chuckled and shook her head. “And just what did this `Maiden of the Night' look like?

Smiling broadly, Merveuax answered. “Ach, coldly pretty, the kind of looks that chill rather than varm the heart. Dark of hair and eye, she always dressed...” Shrugging he turned to Cranston. “Vat is the vord I'm looking for Sully?”

“Eh, she was dressed as une salope. But too cold, that one for my tastes.”

Laughing, Hermione began to shake her head. “A pretty brunette who dresses like a slut? Except for the fact that she's too petty and childish I'd say it was that cow Parkinson.” Turning to Oscar, she grimaced. “An old schoolmate of mine, but the aurors have been watching her for years and while she's petty, spiteful, vindictive and malicious, they're convinced she's not capable of pulling something like this off.”

Grinning back, Oscar asked innocently. “What'd she do, try to date Ron in school?”

Her face becoming an expressionless mask, Hermione replied in a voice colder than Oscar had ever heard. “She suggested turning Harry over to Voldemort.” Leaving the phrase hanging between them for several long seconds, she continued to stare with a death mask for a face. “The only reason she's still troubling the world with her annoying presence with all of her limbs attached is that Ron and I were in the Chamber of Secrets at that moment.” Turning abruptly, she glanced back at the two smugglers. Seeing that they visibly flinched from the look in her eyes, she closed them and took several calming breaths.

“Mon Dieu,” whispered Cranston. “For a moment it was as if Jeanne D'Arc had returned. Except you are English, of course.” Laughing nervously he looked to his partner for a clue as what to do now.

“My apologies gentlemen.” Opening her eyes, Hermione looked at the two and wondered exactly what it was that they had seen when she turned towards them. “Before I discuss options with the Order of the Hidden Path, we have one more thing to settle.” Holding out her hand, she asked quietly. “The Amen Glass, gentlemen?”

Looking guilty, Cranston nodded towards the dead dark wizard. “We had turned it over to that one when everything started to go bad.”

Still holding her hand out, Hermione continued to stare into the Swiss thief's eyes. Remembering the trick that Maeve had done, she gathered her will and attempted to recreate the effect that the Queen of the Sidhe had employed. Something must have happened because she could see Cranston's eyes go wide and she could hear a sharp intake of breath from both Merveuax and Oscar. The scuffling of bare feet indicated Cooks with Thunder had taken an involuntary step backwards. Pitching her voice low and speaking deliberately she asked again. “The Amen Glass. Not the fake you palmed off on those unsuspecting dolts. The real one. Now.”

Mesmerized and unable to break her gaze, Cranston just stood there. Swallowing noisily, Merveaux whispered. “Against the wall, a carry sack. It's wrapped in blue cloth in case we needed it.” Nodding towards the fallen pillar they had hidden behind, Hermione followed his gaze and saw that there was, indeed, a dark cloth bag setting in the shadows. Without pulling her wand, she simply stated. “Accio sack” and the bag flew towards her waiting hand. As she had turned her head, Cranston collapsed to the ground, swearing in French as he gathered himself together.

“Oscar, before we start questioning those dark wizards, I think I'm going to check to see if our two `friends' have actually given us what we were looking for, and not a stage prop for some elaborate triple cross that they had concocted. “ Opening the bag, a blue glow began to emanate from the cloth wrapped object within. Gingerly removing the cloth wrapped item, even the touch of her hand on the insulating cloth intensified the glow of blue light.

Ignoring the whisperings of the two smugglers, Oscar shook his head. “Hermione, is it supposed to do that? The pictures and description that your Ministry sent didn't mention anything about it glowing like a bluelight special.”

Unwrapping the upper edge of the glass, Hermione gazed in fascination at the etched glass artifact. The light emanating from it highlighted the Jacobite anthem etched into the glass.

`God save the King I pray

God bless the King I pray

God save the King

Send Him victorious

Happy and glorious

Soon to reign over us

God save the King'

Intrigued, Hermione ran her finger over the edge of the glass, and a familiar feeling overtook her. That familiar feeling of a hook grabbing her by her navel and pulling her away. `Damn' she thought to herself. `I suppose this isn't what she meant by telling me to think' as she was pulled elsewhere by the Amen Glass portkey.

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A/N * - Alexander III, King of Scots

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Chapter Eleven - Ambush, Oblivion, and Opening Night

The sound of waves on the shore was the next thing that Hermione knew. Landing hard on her knees, she looked around to see if she could recognize where she had ended up. The moonlight illuminated an old lighthouse and a two storey red structure next to it. The blue glow of the Amen Glass hadn't diminished and it added an eerie dimension to the scene. Looking around, she saw that she was on a grassy strip near the lighthouse.

She could hear the water, but not see it. The air didn't have that scent she associated with the ocean or the Channel, more the smells she remembered from days by the River Otter near Ron's and Black Lake at Hogwarts. Hopefully this meant she was near the shore of the lake that bordered Cleveland and not somewhere else in the world. Thanking her astronomy classes, she looked up in the night sky and saw that the stars looked the same as the ones she had watched last night while talking to Harry.

Returning her gaze earthward, she noticed that she was near an empty carpark. A bronze sign proclaimed the historical importance of the lighthouse behind her, but other than confirming she was near the shore of Lake Erie and still in Ohio, her limited knowledge of the local geography didn't tell her how close she was to Cleveland. Wrapping the Amen Glass securely back in its protective wrap, she placed the entire carrysack in her trusty beaded bag and stored it all away for safekeeping.

Hearing a small noise behind her, she whirled and found herself pointing her wand at a wandering blackberry cat with a ragged ear that had come to see who had interrupted her night's hunting. Smiling at the thought of Crookshanks hunting voles in the gardens behind Grimmauld Place, she reached over and attempted to ruffle the cat's ears. The black cat reared back and spat at Hermione, causing her to withdraw the proffered hand. “Touchy, aren't you. Well I shan't interfere with your search for voles.” Turning back around Hermione got cautiously to her feet and began to walk slowly towards the red painted building that sat next to the lighthouse.

A voice rang out with a jubilant “Crucio” behind her and as she turned quickly, a dreaded familiar pale green beam caught her in her mid-section as she began to collapse in pain unimagined. Forcing herself to focus, she saw a slight, older witch dressed all in black with a scarred left ear, exactly the same as the feline that was no where to be seen. As the pain intensified, she doubled over; trying desperately to focus long enough to summon a patronus, but another spasm sent her wand clattering from her hand. The pain reached a final crescendo then disappeared. A second of blissful absence, followed by the sharp pain of something being ripped through her thigh and she passed out from the assault and the pain.

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Light and darkness. Pain and oblivion. Time standing still and time stretching into eternity. Screaming and silence. Her body being tortured and then being healed until she could barely function, alive just enough to be tortured again. Once she caught a glimpse of Terri, sitting horrified watching her being systematically abused, but she blissfully lost consciousness and she was alone with her pain. But not alone. Always there was a presence that bolstered her, held her up. Loved her. Despite the injuries and indignities, for the first time she felt whole. Though the worst of it, she knew she was loved and help was coming. He was coming.

-----

Awareness returned slowly. Hermione was aware of pain in every part of her body. Lying on a cold, hard surface, she could feel the uneven stone, rough against her skin. Opening her eyes, she could see Terri, sitting against a stonewall with her hands tied in front of her, staring at her with tears rolling down her cheeks. She was shaking her head, muttering something between sobs, and not taking her eyes from Hermione. As she noticed Hermione looking at her, her eyes widened and she tried to control her crying.

Swallowing, Hermione wasn't surprised to find that her throat was raw and painful, as if she had been screaming for a long time. “How long?” Her voice startled her, it sounded as if someone else were speaking.

Her breathing ragged, Terri tried once to answer, but nothing came out but a gasp. Closing her eyes for a second, she settled herself before answering. “You've been here for two days now. Hermione, please tell me that she's a deranged Yankees fan.” Whispering, her voice held a pleading quality that indicated that she was on the verge of losing control.

Smiling, in spite of the fact that it seemed that every muscle she owned was screaming at her, Hermione lifted her head from the floor and started to look around. “Terri, I'm afraid the answer is a bit worse than that.”

The room that they were in had a stone floor and the walls were also of a similar material and had that feeling a place gets from being far underground. The room was dimly lit; Hermione could see where magical light had been conjured in a couple of places haphazardly to create an effect of gloom and shadows.

“Wonderful, a deranged soccer fan.” Trying to laugh, her sobs quieted as she looked to Hermione with hope in her eyes. “With really great special effects, right.”

Slowly pushing herself up, and finding at least two broken ribs and some torn muscles, Hermione carefully got herself into a sitting position. “The `special effects' are actually magic and while she's most likely seriously deranged, I'm afraid I sincerely doubt she follows any football clubs, quidditch is most likely her game. She's a witch.” Watching Terri closely, Hermione was trying to decide if the truth had been her best choice, but she realized that the Secrecy Statutes really didn't apply at this point.

Terri's face became very serious as she thought about Hermione's response. Speaking slowly, she was considering her words carefully. “I suppose that would explain all of the things that she was doing and saying.” Looking at her friend with fear in her eyes, she asked in a whisper. “Does that make you a witch, also?”

Smiling wryly, Hermione remembered an old movie that had played on the telly when she was a little girl. “As Glinda would say, `I'm a good witch.' That one, on the other hand, meets all of the criteria for being a very wicked witch.”

“Oh.” Terri's face became a blank as she processed that bit of information. She smiled a bit, as something Hermione said began to register as funny. “Ok, Glinda, I suppose that means Oscar's a witch, also.”

Pushing herself up on to her hands and knees, a painful exercise due to the abuse and half-healed wounds Hermione had, she looked back at Terri and smiled. “Oh, of course not.”

“Good, not that there's anything wrong with being a witch.”

“He's a wizard, like Harry and Irving.”

“Oh”

“He's really a nice guy, he just has a slightly different job that the guys you normally meet.”

Starting to laugh, Terri began to resemble her old self. “It could be worse, I suppose. He could be a lawyer.”

Laughing, Hermione found out that she hurt in places that she could barely remember ever feeling before. “Good point. Although we do have wizards who are also barristers and they're a scary lot in their own right. As soon as we get out of here, I'll show you some things that will put our lot in a better light. Our hostess isn't really a shining example of who we'd trot out as a recruiting poster.”

Becoming serious, Terri looked around. “Hermione, how are we going to get out of here? I mean, she has magic and everything?” Terri's voice began to take on that desperate edge again.

“As I was reminded earlier, I need to think and we'll be fine. And besides,” concentrating, Hermione wandlessly conjured the blue flames that she had mastered as a student and started to feed healing energy through the flames and she felt some of the minor aches and pains start to abate, “we have magic also.”

Smiling encouragingly at Terri, she watched the blond nod in response. “Since I've been out of it, you need to tell me what's been going on. Does she come in through that door over there or does she just appear out of thin air?”

Watching the flames with fascination, Terri answered slowly. “She comes in through the door. Usually she just stands there and watches you for a while before she starts pointing that stick at you and then you start screaming.”

“That stick is called a wand, and it's something that wizards and witches use to focus their magic. I can do wandless magic for some things, my Harry is really good with this, and I've got a few new tricks up my sleeve along with a plan.”

Relieved that Terri seemed to be taking this so well, Hermione made a movement with her free hand and released the ropes around Terri's wrists and ankles. “Keep those ropes around your wrists and ankles, but if things go badly and she's concentrating on me, run like hell and see if you can find a way out of this place. If my plan doesn't work, she's likely to be very annoyed with me.”

“She should be coming back soon, I feel like it's about time for her to be back.” Terri shuddered, and wrapped the ropes back around her ankles and gathered the loose ends in her hands to make it appear that she was still bound. “You have a plan?”

“Yes, I do.” Tilting her head a bit, she smiled. “Are you familiar with the Scottish Play?”

“The Scottish Play?” Looking incredulous, a look of recognition began to dawn in her eyes. “What does Shakespeare have to do with it? You're not going to go all double, double, toil and trouble on me, are you?”

Shaking her head, Hermione grinned. “As soon as my audience arrives, I'm going to have my opening night as Lady M. I don't think I'm really crazy, but hopefully she will.” Hearing the door behind her rattling, Hermione whispered. “Stay calm, and if she starts throwing curses around, try to get out of the way. Anything with a green light is bad, run like hell.” Nodding at the younger woman, she smiled. “It's show time.”

Standing up, Hermione called up just a bit of the glamour that Maeve had used, just enough to make herself the center of attention in the room. Focusing on where the fireplace in her flat would be if the door her mysterious assailant was the bedroom door, she began to screech like a fishwife. “Ronald Bilius Weasley. Get your bloody arse in here right this second.”

As she heard the door swing open, she forgot about the pains that wracked her body. She focused herself on what she would do if she'd come home and found a certain blond in her bedroom waiting for Ron, all of the frustrations that had built up in their relationship over the years came spilling out.

“I can't believe I'm standing here by my couch and you've got Lavender `snog anything anywhere' Brown standing in my bedroom door.” Raising her hands towards the ceiling she upped that glamour just a bit trying to hold her audience's attention. “I can't believe you let that trollop in my bed. Ronald Weasley you get your sorry self in here right this second. Don't make me call Harry Potter to drag your sorry, treacherous arse down here.”

Tears began streaming down her cheeks, she focused on the last argument they'd had, and all the ones that had led up to it. “I mean it Ron, if you don't get yourself here right now; I'm going to be more pissed than you've ever seen. Ronald Weasley, I need you to come through that floo right now, don't you dare apparate into my kitchen. You've busted Harry's wards for the last time. I'm standing right in front of the floo with that slut right behind me.”

Gathering herself together, she started concentrating on what magic she had available to see if she could surprise her audience if her plan failed. “Harry's going to kick your ruddy arse for this. Ronald Bilius Weasley, if you're not here on the count of three, I'm going to floo your mum, and you'll have to explain to her why her ickle Ronniekins is such a philandering two-timer.”

Gathering her strength for once last go, she almost screamed. “Ron Weasley, you stick you head in the floo right this instant and take your punishment like a Gryffindor, you bloody arse.” Just as she finished, she heard a noise off to her left, where her kitchen would be if she were actually home. Whirling around, she caught a glimpse of Ron and Harry pointing their wands at the mysterious witch in the doorway.

Trying to focus her rage and magic through her finger, instead of her beloved wand, she shouted “Expelliarmus” at her foe before either of her rescuers could react. As the other witch's wand sailed towards her, she caught it deftly in the air and then lashed out with a “Stupify” and smiled as the witch was slammed across the room by the force of her hex.

Turning unsteadily towards the boys, she smiled faintly and whispered, “I knew you'd come,” as she collapsed to the ground and oblivion finally claimed her.

-->

Chapter Twelve - Revelations among Friends

Consciousness returned, and with it the blissful awareness of the absence of pain. Hermione kept her eyes closed and quietly reveled in the sheer bliss of not hurting. The feel of clean institutional quality sheets and that faint antiseptic smell that marks medical facilities worldwide, magical or muggle, told her that she was once again waking up in a hospital bed. Hearing a quiet snoring to her right, she smiled, as she knew Ron was with her. In the back of her mind, she could feel that quiet comfort that was Harry. As always, she realized.

“He's extremely annoyed with you, you know.” Harry's voice caused her eyes to pop wide open. Looking around, she could see Ron sleeping in a chair at her bedside, his wand tucked under his arm as he slept. Sitting in another chair across the brightly lit room, Harry was sprawled, looking at her with a strange look on his face. Relief mixed with regret, along with something else she couldn't quite place.

“Hello Harry, I honestly didn't expect it to take quite that long for me to call for you to rescue me, I feel like a total idiot.” Grinning guiltily, Hermione tried to figure out why Harry was looking at her so strangely. “What happened after I made my dramatic exit?”

Sighing, Harry popped himself out of the chair with a move that indicated just how much time he spent working out. Strolling over to the bed, he perched himself on the edge of it as he took her hand. “Hermione, you scared both of us to death, not to mention Kingsley and half the senior aurors.”

Looking puzzled, Hermione asked warily. “Harry, what happened back in London that I don't know about?”

“Well, as soon as you went missing, for what turned out to be the second time, we reported it to Bethune and Kingsley. I told Kingsley and Ron went down to Centaur Relations and began raising a ruckus until they finally called Francis in. I understand that even the night watch down in the Department of Mysteries heard parts of his `discussion' with Francis.” Smiling wryly, he gripped her hand tightly. “There's more, but I'm not certain I should be the one to tell you.”

Returning the squeeze, Hermione ruffled Ron's hair with her free hand while she looked up at Harry. “Harry, you might as well get it out now so I can wrap my head around it before Ron wakes and starts telling me how worried he's been. Once he starts on that, it'll be a couple of days before we get around to the specifics.”

Sighing, Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I don't think that's going to happen this time. The two days you were gone changed things, changed him. Anyway, when you started your performance for the deluminator, I thought Kingsley was going to have a muggle heart attack right there on the spot. He and Dawlish were both convinced that whatever had happened to you had left you more than a bit unhinged and you were going off the deep end.”

Blushing a furious crimson, Hermione looked up at Harry totally aghast. “How many people heard my little improv?”

“Other than Ron and I? Well Kingsley and Bethune both happened to be in the ready room. Along with two full squads of Aurors on combat alert.”

“Oh. My. Stars. I can't believe that you two would drag that many people in on this. What were you thinking?”

“What were we thinking?” Ron's voice broke into the conversation; Hermione turned her head towards him and saw him looking at her with a strange look in his eye. “What were we thinking? We were thinking that someone had taken you, Merlin only knows whom, and we knew that you were being tortured for two solid days. Hermione, if you weren't in a hospital bed I'd probably shake you until some sense came into that head of yours.”

A bit taken aback by the intensity in Ron's look and voice, Hermione grabbed his hand and looked him dead in the eye. “Ron, before you finish scolding me, answer me one question truthfully.” Waiting for his wary nod, she continued. “How many times did your heart stop beating in the field hospital in Norway? Remember? It was after that assault that went pear shaped when your and Harry's team were assisting the Norwegian ministry last spring?”

Boring her gaze deep into his eyes, she lowered her voice. “Was it six? Seven? No, wait; it was eight bloody times they had to restart your heart. Eight bloody chances for you to leave us. And there I was, sitting in Swansea interviewing some poxy cousin of the Malfoys who wanted a house-elf to replace their last one that disappeared under mysterious circumstances. All I knew was that something wasn't right but I had to smile at that prat and wait for three bloody days before I heard that you were `fine'.”

Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and her voice got husky. “I love you and Harry more than I can ever tell either of you, and the fact that you both love me is one of the great joys of my life. Before anything else, we're best mates, and that goes back a long time. I realize it was a chancy thing this time, but it was no chancier than what you and he face every time you two leave the Ministry.”

Reaching out, she cupped his cheek and leaned toward him and placed a very tender kiss on his cheek. “This is who I am, just as this is who you and Harry are. We're the bloody `Golden Trio' according to the Prophet and this is what we do.” Looking around, she grabbed Harry's hand and pulled it over to rest on top of hers and Ron's. “Are any of us likely to suddenly become `Jane sit by the fire' and take up knitting because we suddenly realized what we do is dangerous?”

Looking between the two of them, she could see that they both cared deeply about her, and they were actually listening to her. “Before I tell you both everything that happened, I want to know three things.” Looking from Ron to Harry, she waited until they both nodded their assent before she continued. “One, exactly how bad was it at the Ministry because of my little performance. Two, exactly how did you two `know' I was being tortured. And three, what happened when you two popped into wherever I was?” Leaning back onto her pillows she smiled. “Let's go for four, exactly how bad is my cover blown and who was that witch that captured me? Well gentlemen?”

Shaking his head, Ron got up from his chair and perched on the bed, on the other side of her from Harry. “Well, as Harry said, there were two combat teams of aurors waiting to rescue you, along with Kingsley and Bethune, and a medical team. Dudley's fiancé Chastity was heading that one up. I suppose that I'll survive having you call me “Ickle Ronniekins” in front of the Minister of Magic, the Ministry's secret spymaster and a couple of dozen other folks I have to work with on a regular basis.” Watching Hermione blush, Ron leaned over and kissed her forehead.

“And I suppose I can eventually convince Seamus that you really aren't carrying a grudge against his new fiancé over something that happened quite that long ago, though I did have to swear an oath that, as far as I knew, Lavender had never been in your flat and you were just making this up as you went along.”

Waiting for Hermione's blush to deepen to a shade of crimson to rival any Weasley blush in recent history, he added. “You do know that Lavender has taken an entry level position with the Department of Mysteries? It seems her graduate work in Divination has been very promising.”

Grinning, he squeezed Hermione's hand to keep her from pulling it loose to hide her face. “Harry, I've been told that no one's ever actually died from embarrassment, do you think we should call in a healer before we continue? “ Grinning at his best friend, he saw Harry crack an embarrassed smile at what was coming next.

“I think she's strong enough to take it like a Gryffindor. Might as well get it over with. You'd hate for her to rat us out to Molly if we don't do what she wants.'

Growling in frustration, Hermione closed her eyes, hoping she was still asleep and this was all a very embarrassing dream. Reopening her eyes and seeing her two best friends still sitting on her bed with grins on their faces, she sighed. “I am a Gryffindor so I suppose I can handle what's next. Is there anything else about my little impromptu wireless broadcast that I should know?” Seeing both of them begin to blush, she began to worry. “What is it?”

Coughing Harry dropped his eyes from hers and seemed very interested in the tile on the floor beside the bed. Looking over at Ron, who was blushing and trying not to laugh, she started to worry even more. “Hermione,” Ron began, “I think that's part of the third question. Harry, do you want to take questions two and four for Miss Granger?”

Still blushing, Harry looked back up from the floor and coughed. “Right, yes. Starting with four, your cover is still intact. Kingsley and I immediately put it out that you were taken by a group of American Death-Eater fan boys who refuse to believe that Riddle is dead. They were trying to make you `confess' to knowing where Riddle is so they could rescue him and go on their merry demented way conquering the world.”

Seeing the look on her face, he shrugged. “There is a group of idiots over here that refuses to believe that Voldemort's dead, they think we have him locked up somewhere or he's in hiding. Francis was merely there representing your boss and because there are a couple of herds of centaurs running around some of the American National Forests so we were reaching out to them for help in locating you.” Shaking his head, Harry grinned. “It would appear that your secret is safe, Dr. Gayle.” *

Ignoring the indelicate snort from Hermione and the look of confusion from Ron, Harry continued. “Your hostess, on the other hand, has quite the colorful history.” Getting that faraway look he got when he was reciting from his mental notes, Harry shrugged. “Deidre Comstock, age approximately eighty-four, originally from the state of Nevada, she's been an official resident of Alaska for the past forty years or so.”

Seeing the amused look on Hermione's face, he shrugged. “What can I say? Some of these American states are a bit laid back in their attitudes towards record keeping and in cooperating with the other states and nations. Though the Alaskan Bureau lost track of her about ten years ago, she has quite the documented past of being more than a bit unstable and rabidly anti-muggle. Which is surprising since her grandfather was apparently a squib who lived most of his adult life as a muggle, mining in the American West until he died under `mysterious circumstances' in Montana back in the 1870's. Since he was well known in some of the muggle communities in the area, the Marshals that found the body made it look as if he had killed himself with a muggle handgun. Their report, however, made mention that he was found dead, without a mark, in the middle of an area that made no sense for him to be in if he was actually looking for gold.”

Shaking her head, Hermione stared at Harry for a second. “As fascinating as all that is, I'm not certain how this helps explain my ending up in his granddaughter's tender care.”

Nodding, Harry smiled mysteriously at her while Ron snorted again. Glaring at Ron, she turned her attention back to Harry. “Well? You two obviously know something so spill.”

Nodding, Harry smiled. “Back in 1870, it didn't mean anything to anyone, but there was a magical tattoo on Comstock's arm.” Reaching into his pocket, Harry pulled out a very old square of glass in a metal frame and held it out to her. “Here's a magical ambrotype of the body.”

Taking the magical precursor to enchanted photographs from Harry, Hermione studied both the artifact and the scene portrayed. Trapped in a elegantly etched silver case, Hermione marveled at the work that had gone into transferring a moving, magical image to a six inch square piece of glass. Gently nudging the image of one of the Marshalls out of the way, she focused on the forearm of the corpse lying on the ground. Shaking her head, she stared at Harry. “Merlin's wand, is that what I think it is?”

Nodding, Harry smiled grimly. “Almost. It's not a Dark Mark, but we now think that it's the mark Tom Riddle used as inspiration to create his magical tattoo.” Looking back down at the depicted mark, Hermione could see the subtle differences between the marks that branded the fanatical followers of Lord Voldemort and this mark that graced the arm of someone over one hundred and thirty years ago.

Trying to focus on the image, Hermione found what was different from this mark and the one she had seen all too clearly too many times. “That's not a human skull. Some sort of bird I would hazard to guess.”

Nodding, Harry sighed. “Yes, and that's one of the things that's giving people in our Ministry and the American Bureaus nightmares. If the serpent is meant to symbolize Slytherin, then the appearance of a phoenix skull in this mark leads to all sorts of unpleasant thoughts.”

Swallowing, Hermione shook her head. “Let me guess. His darling granddaughter had one also?” Seeing Harry's nod, she chuckled. “So much for Grandfather Comstock being a squib.”

Nodding in agreement, Ron smirked. “Our thoughts exactly. He spent a lifetime passing as a muggle, which should have been totally out of character for someone who venerated old Salazar. And you might be interested to know that all four of your playmates from Chamber West had the same sort of brand on them. Your friend Oscar said to tell you that this was a departure for them; the ones they had captured prior to this didn't have that mark.”

“Curiouser and curiouser.” Looking thoughtful, Hermione glanced between the two of them. “A cult dedicated to bringing Slytherin back? That makes no sense, you can't raise the dead.”

“Maybe he's not dead.” Blushing that he had spoken aloud, Ron looked from Harry to Hermione with a defiant look. “Perhaps he's only mostly dead. They don't list a date of death for him; they simply mention that he `disappeared'. The rest of the founders are all chronicled as to when they passed away, but Slytherin just up and walked away years before.”

Looking down at the floor beside Ron's chair, Harry shook his head and grinned. “Which `they' would that be?”

Blushing, Ron shrugged. “I'm not certain. While we were waiting for Sleeping Beauty here to decide to wake up, I did some reading and research.”

Looking puzzled, Hermione followed Harry's gaze to the floor beside Ron's chair. Looking up, she glared. “What in the name of Carnac is my copy of Hogwarts: a History doing on the floor?”

Shaking his head and giving Harry a despairing look, Ron shrugged. “I fell asleep reading it while we were waiting for you to wake up.”

Hermione stared at him in disbelief for several seconds before she started laughing. Clutching her side, she shook her head as her face started to turn a bit pink. “Ron, after nine years, you had to travel 3700 miles and find me unconscious and half dead before you opened up that book?”

Looking to Harry for support, Ron lowered his head. “It wasn't exactly like that, you know.” Shaking his head, he nodded towards Harry. “Actually, this would be Harry's fault. He's the one who brought it,”

Stopping laughing, Hermione looked up at Harry. Staring at him for a few seconds, she shook her head. Holding out her hand, she silently summoned the book to her. As it came to rest in her hand, she gently opened the front cover and read the inscription. “It's the one you bought for me that summer after everything was over.” Shyly looking up at him, she smiled. “You said it would be the last one safe to read because the newer ones would be full of dreadful accounts of the things we did. Did you bring it with you or did you go back for it once you knew I was safe?”

Blushing, Harry smiled and looked at her. “I went to your flat after you lost consciousness that last time before we jumped. I guess I `knew' that the next time you were going to be able to let us know where you were, so I thought it would be appropriate. I was certain you'd want something to read while you were recovering.”

Sitting up, she clutched the book to her and leaned over and kissed Ron gently on the cheek. “Thank you.” Leaning back, she levitated the book to a spot on the small stand beside her bed. “You were saying that you don't think Slytherin's dead?”

Ron turned to Harry and gave him a questioning look. Seeing Harry's smile, he shook his head and continued. “We were thinking that old Salazar might have gone a different route than Tom Riddle did. Instead of Horcruxes to gain immortality, he might have used a different, but equally disturbing, path.”

Arching an eyebrow, Hermione smiled. “I'm listening.”

Blushing a bit, Ron nodded. “Well, Irving put us in touch with some researchers at one of the local schools here in America. While we were a bit general in describing the situation to them, they immediately started pulling out scrolls and codexes from the Mayan and Aztecan cultures in Central America.” Pausing for dramatic effect, he nodded. “Where they venerate serpents, among other things. The researchers suggested that an individual with the proper motivation, no morals or scruples to speak of, and plenty of time to prepare could utilize a couple of these rituals to give them a new lease on life, so to speak.” Seeing the confused look on Hermione's face, he smiled.

Shaking her head, Hermione fixed him with a Minerva class glare. “Ron, if there's a point to be made here, could we get to it.”

Shaking his head, he sighed. “Right. According to the researchers at the Western Reserve Institute of Thaumaturgy, there are references to an ancient codex that instructs someone in how to prepare a resting place, construct a specific ritual, and then they almost commit suicide using a special potion which takes fifteen years to brew. The potion takes them to the brink of death, and they wait there at Death's door until someone comes along and performs the required ritual and they're brought back with a brand spanking new lifespan.”

Shaking her head, Hermione looked at Harry who was shrugging and then back to Ron. “That totally makes no sense at all. It violates one of the basic magical laws regarding healing, the TINSTAAFL** principle.” Seeing the blank looks on their faces, she sighed. “TINSTAAFL. It's been known for centuries, but an American coined the name a while back. It stands for `There Is No Such Thing As A Free Lunch'. I don't care how powerful a wizard Salazar Slytherin is or was, he can't conjure a renewed life force out of thin air.”

Nodding, Ron agreed. “And this doesn't violate your tin staff thingy. This is where the part about having dodgy morals comes in. It's also helpful if you have greedy and not too bright followers. The ritual requires the individual to be almost dead for at least as long as they were alive when they drank the potion. The ritual takes three people to cast, a pair of purebloods and a muggle. Obviously, the muggle isn't involved in the casting, but the other two think that the muggle is the sacrifice that brings old Salazar back. When they sacrifice the muggle, the energy released by that death rips loose the life force from the other two and transfers it to the waiting almost corpse”

Nodding at the scandalized look on Hermione's face, Harry sighed. “We're thinking that Slytherin set up some sort of cult or society when he did this and instructed them to wait for a period of time before they brought him back. Since they had access to the rituals for almost two hundred years, at least, by the time came to kick off his return, someone in this group figured out the catch in the plan. So they've been trying to find a group of dupes to con into making the sacrifice and bringing Salazar back. The ritual requires the two venerate, or at least highly respect, the individual being brought back, so you just can't go and pick up losers off the sidewalk to accomplish this.”

Nodding, Hermione looked at both of them and smiled. “It's about time you two started doing some of the heavy lifting around here. This mystery group is trying to use either the Order of the Hidden Path, who venerates Slytherin, or the leftover Death Eaters, who venerate Voldemort as the Heir of Slytherin, to fuel Salazar's return. Brilliant.” Looking at her boys with pride, she smiled. “What did Comstock have to say about all of this when you finally got to question her?”

Shaking his head, Harry closed his eyes. Hermione could feel the acute sense of failure radiating from him, and she instinctively reached out and placed her hand on his. “Lost her in the interrogation, correct?”

Nodding, Harry opened his eyes. “She wasn't our prisoner, but it wasn't the local Bureau's fault. They had to wait a couple of days until the healers said she was healthy enough to question. They got permission from the local court to utilize Veritaserum, and everything seemed to be ready to go. Unfortunately, after the opening questions to gauge her reaction to the potions, they asked the loaded question first.” Seeing the look in Hermione's eyes, he shook his head. “Apparently, there was some version of the Unbreakable Vow in use because as soon as she said the name of the person who was her contact in Britain, it released the stasis spell on an ashwinder egg that had been implanted in her skull. Brainfried in a matter of seconds, and there wasn't anything anyone could do to stop it.” Shaking his head, he grimaced. “The Chief Forensic Healer said the egg must have been unplottable, it didn't show up on any of test they did when she was admitted here.”

Her face paling a bit, Hermione could feel the guilt radiating off Harry. “Its fine, you did everything you could. You can't account for fanatics like that. I'm just glad that most of the Death Eaters who are left are cowards enough that they'll sell out their comrades to save their own poxy hides.”

Shaking his head, Harry looked at her for several seconds before answering. “I'd feel a bit better about it if we had gotten a name we could use. No one I've spoken of at the Ministry has ever heard of this witch.”

Looking over at Ron for conformation, Hermione nodded. “Did you check with the Americans?”

Seeing him roll his eyes, Hermione tensed expecting him to lash out at her for asking him something like that. Instead, he merely chuckled and shrugged. “Oi, of course we did, they were doing the interrogation so their people were there when it happened. They haven't heard of old Viola either.”

Blinking in surprise, Hermione arched an eyebrow. “Viola?”

Nodding in response, Ron chuckled. “Heck of a name for the key player in the plot to bring a centuries gone madman back to life, but apparently we're looking for Viola T. Hortense.”

Shaking her head, Hermione looked at Harry for a second. She could sense that he had the same nagging feeling of familiarity with that name that she did. “We've heard that before, haven't we?”

Looking a bit guilty, Harry slowly shook his head. “More like I've read that name somewhere, but for the life of me I can't remember where. The only thing that comes to mind is Privet Drive, and I can't imagine Vernon allowing the name of a witch anywhere around the house if he could help it.” Still looking guilty, Harry blushed a bit. “Before I forget, Petunia sends her love and I'm not supposed to mention she's mad at me for letting you go off on your own and get into trouble.”

Smiling at the mention of Harry's aunt who had changed greatly over the past couple of years, since the family's year in hiding from the Death Eaters, she nodded. “Give her a call tonight and let her know I'm recovering nicely and it's not your fault in the least. And ask her about our mystery witch to see if she recognizes the name.” Blushing a bit, Hermione was about to ask another question when Harry held up his hand.

“We've been talking to your folks twice a day since we got here. We'll let them know you're awake and you'll call as soon as we can get you down the hall to the solarium.” Seeing the look on her face, he smiled. “They have one of those old fashioned telephones that you have to crank and then tell the operator what number you want down there so that people can call out from the hospital grounds. Apparently someone convinced the local phone company that it's part of a historical site, so they have the connection set up to a local operator who connects the calls through for them.” Seeing her eyes light up, both Harry and Ron laughed.

“As soon as you can walk that far without fainting, we'll take you down there so you can call Helen and Alex.” Smiling, Ron noted the look on her face.

Shaking her head, Hermione shot back. “I don't faint. That's a very girly thing to do and so not me.”

Nodding at Harry to forestall any further discussion of her `fainting' Hermione smiled. “I think we've just about beat this hippogriff as much as we can. Care to try for question number two?”

“As for question two, this is one of the things we don't understand. I could feel echoes of what was happening to you.” Ignoring Ron's look of disbelief, Harry nodded to her.

Becoming serious, he laid his hand on hers. “It wasn't the pain, but I could feel you feeling the pain in my head. The healers are going to give you a full rundown, but that witch broke almost every bone in your body at least once during those two days. She'd half heal them and then torture you again. Chastity was totally amazed that you were conscious, much less upright and casting spells without a wand. It was pretty unnerving for us, all we knew was that someone was hurting you very badly but we couldn't get any sort of clue where you were. You never actually spoke any words to us; Ron and I lived with the deluminators hoping to hear something. About two hours after the last time the pain stopped, I felt you wake up. That's when we called for the two assault teams.”

Staring at Harry, Hermione narrowed her eyes. Deep down, everything he had just said, except for the last bit, seemed `off'. The whole explanation about how they knew she was being tortured was wrong. Now that she thought about it, she knew she could feel Harry's concern and love for her through it every minute of that ordeal, and for the first time she felt a bit of distance creep between them as he blatantly lied to her. Staring at him, she captured his gaze, looking deep into his emerald eyes. She could see behind the masks he wore, most of the time, and she could see the fear and love he had for her. Trying to reassure him, she waited, but she wasn't quite certain what she was waiting for.

Shaking his head, Harry's voice faltered before continuing. “'Mione, Ron and I were both half convinced that we were going to find you in the same condition that Alice and Frank Longbottom are in. I don't think I was ever so scared in my life.” Tears were forming in his eyes, and looking over at Ron she could see he was openly crying.

Shaking her head, Hermione looked at both Harry and Ron with tear filled eyes. “I think that part of this was either a bit of outside help from my fairy godmother or it's one of the changes she was talking about. “ Seeing the mystified looks on their faces, she gave them a brief rundown of her encounter with the elven queen, leaving out all of the cryptic comments regarding her relationships with Harry and Ron other than to say she seemed to think the three of them were closely linked.

“My guess is that either she was watching and strengthened the existing connection between the two of us, considering this a way to `help' me without violating her precious rules or the changes that occurred to me because of my contact with the Fairy flag allowed me to reach out to you unconsciously because I knew you two would rescue me” Squeezing their hands, she smiled at each of them. “I can think of worse side effects of spending time with the elves”

Watching them brighten up a bit, she added, “But that still leaves us with question number three.” Watching them warily both seemed very interested in looking at anything in the room but her. “Well gentlemen?”

Harry looked at Ron imploringly. Ron shook his head. “Harry we agreed, you'd tell her if she asked.”

“Come now, it can't be that bad.” Hermione insisted. “I'll start it and you can finish up. There I was, doing my best Lady Macbeth with a side order of fishwife impersonation when the pair of you portkey into the room. Start by explaining that and then you can tell me what is so distressing.”

Seeing the look in Ron's eyes, Harry shrugged and started talking. “We knew that the deluminator Dumbledore left Ron would work and I never doubted that the one you created would work just as well. As soon as you said she was standing in the bedroom door, we both nodded to each other and gave the go signal to the assault teams. They were planning on following on, using this.” Holding up a gold coin, Harry smiled.”

Looking amazed, Hermione shook her head and took the coin from his fingers. Gleaming in the morning light, the face of the coin was struck with the profile of Godric Gryffindor and the obverse bore the motto `Follow On!' Looking up at Harry and Ron, she smiled. “They work?”

Shaking his head, Harry laughed. “Of course they work. You're the one who created them. We practiced twice while you were taken. That Canadian you were working with helped us test them. We popped both teams across the bloody Atlantic twice and home again using them.”

Nodding, Hermione sighed when Harry fell silent again. Looking over at Ron, she rolled her eyes when he simply nodded at Harry. Sighing, she took Harry's hand and started again. “There I was, doing my best Lady Macbeth with a side order of fishwife impersonation when the pair of you portkey into the room...”

Harry's cheeks began to redden again. “We got there perfectly; I took one look and confirmed the hold signal back through the coin. I suppose that you were using that glamour trick that you were telling us about. You were magnificent. You were standing there like you were some ancient Celtic queen, about to ride forth to war. You were bloody scary.” Averting his eyes, Harry turned his head and mumbled something.

“Beg pardon, Harry. I didn't catch that last part.”

Coughing, trying to stifle a laugh, Ron looked over to Harry to see if he was going to be able to pull himself together enough to tell her. Sighing Ron reached over, cupped his hand under Hermione's chin and turned her face towards him. “You were starkers when you were doing your madwoman act.” Grinning he kept her from burying her face in her pillows.

Looking pointedly over at Harry, Ron shrugged. “Somehow, Harry got a `picture' of what was going on before we jumped, he told the assault teams to hold for our signal on the coins right as we were leaving the jump off point. As soon as we got there and got a good picture of what was going on, Harry changed everything to Plan B and we continued on alone. Not that you needed rescuing mind you, so the aurors were extra. Kingsley still doesn't have any idea why we decided not to have two full teams of aurors come storming to the rescue other than the fact you had managed to rescue yourself, we told him we were simply your ride home, so to speak.”

Grinning, he nodded his head at her. “You were standing there, covered in dried blood and you were the scariest thing I'd seen in ever.” Shaking his head at the memory, he continued. “You whirled around, pointed your empty hand at her and your disarming spell broke every bone in her arm. You caught the wand as if you were the seeker from the national team giving a demonstration and I thought you were about to bloody curtsey. Before either of us could think, you hit her with a stunner that would have punted her halfway across a pitch if there'd been room; she put a bloody dent in the wall she ended up against. Then you calmly turned towards us, told us you knew we'd be there, and passed out and hit the floor. Harry conjured a cloak to cover you with, knelt down and started first aid while I checked on the witch you'd knocked out.”

Closing his eyes at the memory of the extent of Hermione's injuries, Ron shuddered. “That muggle girl who was with you came over to help, and Harry yelled at me to send a message to Kingsley for him to get the medical team there as fast as they could activate those coins. After that, the rest came in, secured the complex and we notified the local authorities so that Oscar and his lot would stop worrying about you and tearing the countryside apart.”

Smiling sadly at her, Ron watched her blushing furiously and shooting horrified looks at Harry who was still busily examining the windowsill of Hermione's room. Looking between the two of them, he shook his head sadly as they tried to ignore each other. Ron got up from the bed, and cleared his throat. Waiting until they both looked up, he smiled. “Harry,” he said, nodding towards the door, “would you mind giving us a moment? Alone?”

------

A/N - * Dr. Cathy Gayle, the original female partner for John Steed from the British television series “The Avengers”. Brilliant, self assured, and highly educated, she was a surprise to her adversaries, a virtual fountain of information on almost any subject, and involved in a long-running beneath the surface unresolved relationship with her partner in solving mysteries and crimes (sound like anyone we know?). Though, the usual HHR banter does lend itself more to the Emma Peel period of the show.

** Hermione knows very well that it's usually written as TANSTAAFL (There Ain't No Such Thing As A Free Lunch) but she's not about to encourage Ron or Harry in the use of slang, American or otherwise.

-->

Chapter Thirteen - Moments of Truth

Disclaimer - Everything recognizable is owned by JKR and various corporate entities. No infringements intended

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“Harry, would you mind giving us a moment? Alone?”

Looking up, Harry gazed at Ron for a couple of seconds and then at Hermione. Looking at the two one last time, he gave them a thin smile and nodded. “No, not at all, I'll run down the hall and check on what time your meal tray is.” Standing up, Harry leaned over and kissed Hermione on the top of her head. Looking at Ron for a second, Harry shook his head and headed for the door.

Waiting until the door was closed; Ron sat back down and took Hermione's hands between his. Sitting there for a minute, he closed his eyes and sighed.

“I don't think I've ever loved anyone like I've loved you,” he began. A bit startled, Hermione stared at him with surprise. “During the last few days, the question that I've asked myself a hundred times wasn't `Do I love you?', but `Do I love you enough?'.”

Sitting there quietly, Hermione watched Ron as he sat there, eyes closed. Realizing that the time had finally come for them to be honest with each other, she found that it was harder to begin than she had feared. Taking a deep breath, she decided to let him lead. “Ron, I've never doubted how you felt about me. Even though you never said it, I knew that you loved me. Why would you ever doubt that you loved me enough?”

Opening his eyes, he stared at her, his blue eyes swimming with tears as he gazed into hers. “Because I have to stop being selfish and think about what's best for you, not what's comfortable for me.” Looking away for a second, he squeezed her hands. “How many major arguments have we had over the past two years?”

Looking a bit taken aback, Hermione sat back against her pillows. Shaking her head slightly, she hedged. “A few, but nothing we haven't survived.”

Shaking his head, Ron smiled. “A few? We have a few every week. That big one, in the terminal, made me start thinking, even before you disappeared.”

Leaning forward, she raised her hand and cupped his cheek. “It's just that you worry about me, you care. When I'm not being a total shrew, I understand that.”

Smiling ruefully, Ron shook his head. “I'm ashamed of some of the things I said that morning at Heathrow. What if those were the last words I'd ever spoken to you? Or you to me? Could either of us live with that if something happened to one of us and the other survived after something like that?” Tilting his head, he kissed the palm of her hand tenderly. “Those two days you were gone made me realize that something desperately has to change.”

Sighing, Hermione nodded. “We need to change, but I'm not certain we can.”

Standing up, Ron began to pace back and forth. “When we were in school, we bickered and fought, all the time.” Looking up defiantly at her, he waited until she nodded until he continued. “The first four years it was because I was an idiot and didn't appreciate you as a friend and a person. I was too immature and petty to be a good friend to either you or Harry, but you both stuck by me and I'll be forever grateful for that.”

Clasping his hands behind him, he began to pace again. “After the Yule Ball, we fought because I knew that I fancied you, but I couldn't think of a mature way to let you know. And, of course, since you knew it, we both fought rather than actually going out with each other. I heard a muggle born friend of Ginny's call it `the worst of all possible worlds'. We didn't have any of the positive sides of a relationship, but we had all the negatives.”

Shaking her head, Hermione sighed. “It was pretty bad; I'm surprised Harry didn't chuck both of us.”

Stopping pacing, Ron came back and sat on the edge of the bed. Giving her a sad smile, he smiled. “The problem is that Harry loves both of us too much to do that, no matter how much we richly deserved it.” Putting a slight emphasis on `both', he watched for her reaction.

Looking at her for a second, Ron shook his head. “We finally got together, and it's been two years of moments of being happy and moments of tearing each other to shreds.” Shaking his head, he sighed. “And the last few days I finally realized I loved you enough to do the right thing.”

Looking at him in amazement, Hermione slowly nodded. “Ron, what are you trying to tell me?”

Turning back to her, she could see the tears in his eyes. “Hermione, I love you. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you, but the thing I finally figured out is that while we both love each other, I don't think we've ever been `in love' with each other. We've been trying to make this relationship work for two years now. There are only two things I can take from that. Either we're both incredibly bad at this relationship thing, or there's nothing there to make work.”

Closing her eyes, Hermione took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Do you realize what you're saying?”

Nodding, Ron sighed. “I think so. For two years we've been trying to make something out of this because everyone expected it to work. My Mum was the worst. If we both weren't so bloody stubborn, we would have seen that it wasn't going to happen.” Shaking his head, he chuckled. “I've loved you for a long time, but I could never say it because I knew, deep down, that I didn't love you in the way that we needed for it to work.”

“What changed?”

Smiling sadly, he shrugged. “Irony is becoming my new best friend, I think. When you were taken and being tortured, you showing up in Harry's mind was what made me realize exactly who you were in love with.” Seeing the look on her face, he nodded. “From what we can determine, Harry `knew' you were in trouble almost the second you were portkeyed away from Oscar by that cup. He apparated out of a dead sleep to my flat and was standing beside my bed, trying to wake me up, when the first Cruciatus hit.”

Shaking his head, he stared at Hermione, noting the look of disbelief on her face. “There I am, trying to wrap my mind around what Harry was doing in my flat at four in the bloody morning when he falls to the ground and begins writhing in pain. Once he stopped, he gasped out that an animagus dark witch had taken you and we needed to alert the Ministry. My first reaction, for about half a second, was to be angry that Harry could connect with you on that level and I couldn't. Then I kicked myself in the arse and realized what a prat I was.”

Leaning forward, Hermione wrapped her arms around him and whispered in his ear. “What do you mean by that?”

Putting his arms around her, he held her tightly for a few seconds. “Harry glossed over his connection to you.” Feeling her nod, Ron took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Actually, he flat out lied. He could feel everything that happened to you. It was the old days with the scar all over again, but this time it was much worse.”

Hearing Hermione's sharp intake of breath, Ron nodded. “Instead of a few minutes of Tom Riddle torturing someone and him having to watch it, it was you being tortured for longer than anyone should have been able to stand and him feeling it. This time, all he would do was stay connected to you and push as much strength and love as he could to you.”

Nodding her head, Hermione could feel the tears starting in her eyes. “Merlin, Harry felt everything?”

Nodding, Ron leaned back so she could see his face. “Every bit of it, the Cruciatus, the torture, everything she inflicted on your for those forty-eight hours. Chastity alternated from feeding him potions to trying to find a way to break the link. Harry told her, in no uncertain terms, that if she broke the link, it would be the last thing she would ever do as a healer.”

Shaking his head, Ron closed his eyes as he remembered his best mate's face. “I hope no one's ever mental enough to try to use you to get to Harry.”

As he opened his eyes and saw the look on Hermione's face, he shrugged. “There was an auror class we took, Misuse of Magic, during the last month of our training. The trainer was an older witch who had been an auror during the Grindelwald Wars with Dumbledore. One day, she was talking about Atlantis and the collapse of the magical fields that destroyed the island. She quoted from one of the firsthand accounts that survived the destruction. The writer was going on about the Autarch and the look on his face when he cast the spell that sank the island. The `look that killed Atlantis' was the look on Harry's face that last time you were being tortured.”

Shaking her head, Hermione stared at Ron in disbelief. “What do you mean?”

Sighing, Ron nodded. “It was Harry, but for one brief moment it was Harry as he could have been if we hadn't been his friends, if you hadn't loved him since that day on the train. Cold, merciless, and utterly without anything remotely resembling compassion is how he looked for just a moment. One of the senior aurors was in the room just then. He took one look at Harry, when pale as a sheet, and then raced out of the room and puked up everything he'd eaten for the past ten years. I just kept telling Harry, over and over, `We'll find her, we'll bring her home, and it will be fine.'”

Leaning back, they both looked at each other for several seconds. Smiling sadly, Ron looked at her for several seconds, as if he was trying to memorize her features, one last time. “We both knew today was coming, didn't we?'

Shrugging, Hermione smiled back at him. “We probably did.” Looking at him intently, she seemed hesitant. “Is there anything I can do to make this easier between us?”

Looking thoughtful, Ron smiled. “If anyone asks, I'm the one that broke up with you.”

Nodding, Hermione looked thoughtful for a couple of seconds before she smiled back at him. “I suppose I can live with that. I can have a talk with Lavender for tips about how to get over losing you.”

Looking a bit guilty, Ron glanced over his shoulder and then back. “I knew enough that you should be the one that I talked to about this first, but I did try to clue Harry in on the fact that I had finally figured out what I needed to do about our relationship.” Rolling his eyes, Ron shrugged. “Harry, being Harry, jumped to the conclusion that I was finally going to ask you to marry me and he's been killing himself trying to keep what he feels for you from me.”

Shaking her head in turn, Hermione chuckled for a second. “You do realize it was a tad cruel to ask him to step out like that? He's out there trying to figure out how he's going to congratulate us on our engagement.”

Smiling sadly, Ron agreed. “I know, but I thought since he's the one who's actually getting the witch out of all of this, a little anxiety won't kill him.”

Looking at him carefully, Hermione could see the sadness and relief in his eyes. “Still my best mate?”

Nodding, Ron broke into a smile. “I think it'll be sort of a relief. Not only will I be able to for several months or more without annoying you into wanting to hex me, I finally get to be the one that says `You know she hates it when you do that' to him when you two are rowing.”

Grinning at him, she put her hand on his arm. “Are you going to be all right if things change between Harry and me?”

Snorting, Ron looked at her in disbelief. “Change? If the two of you become any more of a couple, you will be scary. I've lived with the fact that my two best mates were inseparable for the past nine years. While we were together, the two of you spent more time with each other than you either did with Gin or me. Just because the two of you are going to come clean with each other, why should anything change?” Seeing her nod, he added. “But the two of you are going to have to deal with the fact that you've loved each other for almost as long as you've known each other and you've spent all this time trying to convince everyone, including yourselves, you didn't.”

Hearing the door open behind him, Ron winked cheekily. Sliding off the bed and down onto one knee, he took Hermione's hand. Pausing for a second, Ron waited until her face started to turn red as she realized what he was doing before he started to speak. “He'll probably kill me for saying this, but Harry's been in love with you for longer than he can remember. He'll never tell you, for some reason he thinks you deserve better than being with him.”

Bringing her hand up to his lips, he placed a gentle kiss on it as he began to stand. Looking over his shoulder, he could see Harry standing in the doorway, staring at him with a shocked look on his face. “Harry, you can hex me later, but the only thing you're going to do right now is come over here and tell this witch exactly how much you care about her and how long you've loved her.”

Chuckling, Ron watched Harry walk over and sit on the other side of the bed, staring out the window and not looking at Hermione. Shaking his head, he leaned over and kissed Hermione tenderly on the lips one last time. “I'm going to go out and send a message home to let everyone know that Sleeping Beauty is finally awake. I'll also call Helen and let her know you'll be calling with news after a bit.” Smiling at her and nodding encouragingly, he sighed. “I'll just leave you two to discuss this.”

Heading towards the door, he stopped and turned just has he reached the door. Shaking his head at the sight of them sitting there, Harry with his back to her and Hermione looking over at him and then away, trying to decide where to begin, he sighed. “And by `discuss this' I mean you two should actually talk to each other, because if I come back and find you two still sitting like that, even I will be able to figure out that this isn't resolved.” Turning on his heel, he exited, closing the door behind him, heading down the hall of St. Alban's.

Silence reigned in the room, as Harry seemed to be very interested in different spots on the wall while Hermione would start to speak, and then lapse back into watching him intently. After about five minutes, a silver streak flew into the room and coalesced into Ron's patronus. “Enough of this, you two. Talk to each other. I can't believe you're making me be the adult this time.” Shaking his head, the patronus looked at both of them for a second. “Don't make me call in reinforcements. I can have Hermione's mother here before dinner if that's what it takes.” Sitting there, with a smirk on his face, the silver dog faded from sight.

Smiling guiltily, the two looked at each other. Snorting in disbelief, Hermione chuckled. “It is sort of ironic that we're depending upon Ron to have us sort out something between us.” Grinning, Hermione reached over and grabbed Harry's hand. “Was the sight of me standing there starkers so hideous that you can't bear to talk to me about how you feel?” Hermione's eyes were twinkling as she asked Harry in a very serious voice.

Caught off guard by Hermione's question, Harry closed his mouth with an audible snap and stared at her in disbelief. Twice more he opened his mouth, but nothing would come out. “Out with it Harry, I think I can live with the fact that you find me physically repulsive.”

Suddenly Harry burst into laughter. Hermione began giggling and the two of them kept going for a good five minutes. “For Merlin's sake, Hermione, I can't believe you said that.” Wiping his eyes, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Hideous is the last word I would have used. A cross between magnificent and downright scary is more like it.”

“I think I've heard `scary' used a bit too often for my liking, but I'm glad to see I was up to snuff, otherwise.” Smiling, Hermione watched Harry blush and then look down. “Then what is the problem? Why can't we talk about it? I can't believe that after living in a tent with me for seven months, we'd suddenly get this way with each other. You'd think we could finally talk about what we've both been ignoring for years. Especially after Ron has ever so politely rubbed our noses in it.”

Before Harry could speak, Hermione reached over and took both of his hands between hers. “However, we're going to start this from a point where we don't have to backtrack later. You were living in my head for two days, Harry. You felt everything I felt, you knew everything I knew. You know exactly how much I love you, as I know exactly how much you love me. I didn't have any choice about being crucioed by that fanatic, but you did. And you stayed. And told me that you loved me. Repeatedly. So we can cut all that `echoes of pain', `she's my best mate', and especially the time honored `she's like a sister to me' shite that we've been feeding the rest of the world for almost ten years now.”

Blushing, Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know, for so long I was so afraid to feel anything for anyone. Everyone I became close to, anyone I dared to love was taken from me.” Seeing the look on her face, he nodded. “After the Department of Mysteries, I promised myself I'd protect you by keeping my distance, so I just locked everything away.”

Shaking his head, he sighed when Hermione reached up and gently caressed his cheek. “I finally realized that the reason I let things go on with Ginny for as long as they did was I knew it would be safe to be in a relationship with her because, though I loved her, I didn't love her enough to endanger her.”

Nodding Hermione wrapped her arms around him and held him close. “Harry, it's all right, I think I understand a bit. I do love Ron, and I think I always will. But I think you and I have both been `taken' for a long time now, and it wasn't with the people we thought it was.”

Sighing, he returned the hug and held her close for several minutes. “After that last night in your apartment, I realized that I couldn't lie to myself and you any longer, but I couldn't see what I could do about things. It felt wrong to tell you how I felt since I'd been the sounding board for your dissatisfaction with your relationship with Ron. It felt like I'd be betraying the trust you both had in me if I told you how I felt after all of that.

Shaking her head, Hermione leaned back against the pillows and rolled her eyes. “Even at his most barking mental, Ron knows deep down that you'd die before you'd betray us, or let one of us come to harm.” Tears glittering in her eyes, she nodded. “You did die before you let us come to harm.”

Leaning over, Harry brushed his lips against hers, his emerald eyes fixed on her chocolate brown ones. Seeing her slightly nod, he slowly began to kiss her. Hermione's arms moved up around him, pulling him closer to her as they began to deepen their kiss. Feeling her body begin to respond to his, Harry leaned closer and wrapped his arms around her as he began to feel her presence in the back of his mind. Feeling her love and need for him match his own for her, their minds became as entwined as their tongues.

The need for oxygen forced them to break the kiss sooner than either one wanted. Sitting back, matching grins on their faces, they both fought to bring their breathing back under control.

Opening her mouth to speak, Hermione slowly shook her head. “Harry, that was only a kiss. I don't think I'm quite well enough for anything else, but I'm willing to risk it if you are.”

Swallowing, Harry looked at her, her flushed cheeks and her eyes shining with love and desire. Slowly shaking his head, he raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed it. “Hopefully we can find a way to gracefully ask the healer, but we've waited years for this, I'm willing to wait a bit longer until we're both ready.”

Laughing, Hermione closed her eyes and leaned back on her pillows again. “Harry, I'm very ready and very willing. It's just `able' that's in question.” Moving a bit, she shook her head. “We'll figure out what we can do and what we can't until we can do it all.”

Shaking his head, Harry held onto her hand and watched her. “Before we do, I suppose there's a confession I need to make.” Seeing the look on her face, he smiled. “Just so you know, the Thursday edition of The Daily Prophet is running a story tomorrow about how Ginny and I are back together.”

Shaking her head, Hermione leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “Harry, even for you, this is a bit odd. Just why is the Prophet heralding the return of the `Golden Couple'?”

Getting up, Harry removed his shoes and clambered up on the bed beside her. Settling himself into the pillows, he conjured another one so they were both comfortable.

Arching an eyebrow at him, Hermione turned sideways a bit and let her legs drape across him as he wrapped an arm around her. “I'm still waiting, by the way. Just what have you and Ginevra being getting up to the moment my back was turned?” A faint smile playing around the corners of her mouth, Hermione treated him to a McGonagall worthy glare.

Watching her out of the corner of his eye, Harry waited until she was just about to speak again before starting. “Thursday morning, after I took Crooks back home and dropped him off, I went to the Ministry and attempted to be a productive member of my team.”

Nodding, Hermione smiled a bit as she snuggled closer to him. “And Ginny's now a member of Auror Team Twelve?”

Rolling his eyes, Harry looked at her. “Would you like for me to tell you what actually happened, or are you going to take a leaf from Pansy's notebook and go with what makes the most sensational story?”

Shaking her head and biting her lower lip to keep from laughing, Hermione pulled a contrite face. “I'll behave. You go ahead and tell the story at your own pace. I'm not doing anything for the rest of this week.”

Sighing, Harry leaned over and kissed her on the top of her head. “Sorry, I deserved that, I suppose.” Closing his eyes, he leaned back against he pillows. “I couldn't concentrate, couldn't think, all I could do was fret about what I should do regarding you. I needed to talk to someone, but the particular someone that I usually talk to about things like this wasn't exactly available or suitable for this particular conversation.”

Nodding sagely, Hermione's eyes twinkled. “I can see how my being in America would make a discussion like that a bit problematic.”

Smiling, Harry agreed with a nod of his own. “And that's totally discounting the fact that my talking about my dilemma with you to you would be a bit sticky.”

Chuckling, Hermione agreed. “There is that. Please continue. You were skiving off at your desk…”

“I wanted someone who would be very honest with me, someone who would not tell me what I wanted to hear but tell me what I needed to hear. Someone who wasn't afraid to tell me if I was being an egregious prat.”

Sitting upright, Hermione stared at Harry in wide-eyed disbelief until he opened his eyes and looked at her. “Are you barking mental? You went and talked to your ex about your feelings for me? Ginevra `Bat Boogey', `I'm going to hex you into next week' Weasley? You went to her about your feelings for the person that she blames for your relationship ending?”

Eyes twinkling, Harry nodded. “Are you finished? And Gin never blamed you for what happened that night. It was totally my fault that I blew off dinner with her to help you repaint your flat.”

Shaking her head, Hermione started laughing. “Harry, you blew off dinner with your girlfriend on Valentine's Day to show up unannounced and help me paint my flat. I had an excuse for not remembering, Ron and I were fighting and he was in Ulan Bator picking up a Death Eater that they were holding. You, on the other hand, showed up out of the clear blue sky with Caribbean takeout and pails of paint to help me redo my bedroom.”

Blushing, Harry sighed. “She called and asked me to dinner that morning and didn't make a big deal about it, I'd been on an assignment for over two weeks and just gotten back in country, so I'd forgotten what day it was. As far as I knew it was just Monday.”

Shaking her head, Hermione stared at him for almost a minute. “Harry, when did we first meet?”

Looking perplexed, Harry tilted his head to get a better look at her. “First of September, 1991, on the train to Hogwarts. It was a Sunday.”

“When did you first meet my parents?”

Thinking for less than a second, Harry shrugged. “19 August, right before our second year, Arthur took your parents to the Cauldron for drinks so he could ask you dad to explain everything muggle to him.”

“When was the first Hogsmeade weekend we went together?

Smiling, Harry nodded, “21 November our fourth year was the first one we officially went together, but I snuck out back in December and February of our third year using my cloak, remember?”

“The first time I flew with you?”

“When we rescued Sirius, June 9^th our third year”

“When was the first time you took me to that little Thai place in Kensington?

“We went the night before your birthday back in 98, September 18^th.”

Shaking her head in exasperation, Hermione looked up into his eyes. “Harry, if you can remember the date of everything we ever did together, how is anyone supposed to credit that you didn't remember it was Valentine's Day?”

Sitting there for several seconds, Harry grinned sheepishly. “I wasn't doing it with you?”

Giggling, Hermione rolled back on the pillow. “You're hopeless. You do remember you sent me flowers, don't you? You thought ahead enough to make certain Neville would deliver flowers from his private greenhouse on Valentine's Day for me, but you didn't remember what the day was when your girlfriend called and asked you to dinner?”

Blushing, Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I did that before I left for Estonia back in January. You had just had a fight with Ron and I thought it would be nice if you received flowers on Valentine's Day. Though Neville did look a tad confused when he showed up to deliver the flowers and saw that I was actually there.”

Trying to smother a laugh, Hermione's eyes glittered as she stared at him in disbelief. “Harry, Neville asked you if he was delivering the flowers to the right witch, because he just passed Ginny heading for Grimmauld Place from the Cauldron where she was supposed to be meeting you.”

Looking distinctly uncomfortable, Harry nodded. “Well, yes. That was when I deduced that I might have made a mistake just leaving Gin a note with Hannah that I wasn't going to be able to make dinner, something else had come up.”

Laughing hysterically, it took Hermione several minutes to regain her breath. “Might have made a mistake? The only thing that made the evening worse is that Kreacher informed her that you had left for Kensington with a couple of pails of paint. She apparated to outside my building and started threatening to level the neighbourhood if you didn't come out.”

Shaking his head, Harry smiled ruefully. “Well yes, that's why Molly calls it `The Incident'. I'm not certain who called the Magic Reversal Squad, but I do know it was that nice old lady on the corner who has that vicious rat dog who called the constables on her.”

Shaking her head, Hermione sighed. “Harry, they're called Chihuahuas. And she's not the one who called the constables. I can still remember the look on Kingsley's face when he told you about having to call 10 Downing Street to get her released since New Scotland Yard was convinced she was some sort of terrorist.”

Trying not to laugh, Harry nodded. “I suppose red hair, freckles, and four burning SUVs might cause the authorities to jump to a few conclusions.”

Looking at him in disbelief, Hermione shook her head. “And how many vehicles went up in flames when you told her that you'd finally sussed out how you felt about me?”

Blushing, Harry mumbled something and looked over at the windowsill.

Smiling, Hermione put her hand under his chin and turned his face towards hers. “I didn't quite make that out, Harry. Was it four or five burning lorries?”

If anything, Harry's blush became almost Weasley worthy. “Actually, she squealed, jumped up from our table at Maxine's, threw her arms around me and kissed me.”

“She what?”

Nodding, Harry closed his eyes. “Which gets us back to how the Prophet is running a story about the return of the `Golden Couple'. It seems Pansy and that idiot photographer of hers just happened to be at the restaurant interviewing someone else and he got a couple of very good pictures of Ginny kissing me.”

When silence followed, Harry opened his eyes and glanced over at her. Seeing the look on Hermione's face, he amended. “On the cheek.” As the glare intensified, he added, “In a public place. We went dutch.”

When Hermione closed her eyes, Harry sighed. “She's actually very happy for us, as long as I don't mess this up.”

Opening her eyes, Hermione stared at him for a couple of seconds. “What's that supposed to mean?” She asked icily.

Looking a bit nervous, Harry smiled thinly. “Well, she did mention something about if I was actually stupid enough to blow this, she'd hunt me down and turn me into something that even Luna's never imagined seeing before.”

Breaking out laughing, Hermione threw her arms around Harry's neck and started pulling him towards her. “I was wondering how long you'd babble on if I just kept giving you `the look'.”

Putting his arms around her, Harry held her while she laughed. “You might think it's hilarious, but I'm still convinced Ginny means it. And I have a high degree of faith in my ability to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory when it comes to witches.”

“Merlin, Harry. Have a bit of faith in yourself. To them, you're the `Boy Who Bloody Lived', the `Wizard Who Won', Witch Weekly's most eligible wizard every week since we got back from Australia.”

Shaking his head, Harry scowled. “And you don't give a tinker's damn about any of that.”

Putting her hands on either side of his face, Hermione gazed into his eyes for several seconds. “Exactly. Which is why I'm telling you to have faith in yourself. I love you in spite of all that rubbish, not because of it. Thank Merlin you're not one to believe your own press clippings.”

Kissing him tenderly on the lips, she held the kiss as he wrapped his arms around her. Breaking the kiss, she smiled. “It doesn't matter what the Prophet says, the three of us know the truth.”

Leaning back on the pillows, Harry rested his head against hers. Smiling, he felt her move until she was pressed against him and her legs were back across his lap. “Comfortable?”

Nodding, Hermione sighed. “Very, but I'm getting the sense that you're still a bit off about something. Care to share?”

Blushing a bit, Harry shook his head. “It's just that it's a bit awkward, being there and seeing you standing there all starkers with Ron in the room and all.”

Pushing herself up, Hermione tuned until she was facing him, half across his lap. “Why? Is there some unwritten guy rule about seeing your best mate naked?” Keeping her voice calm, Hermione watched him carefully, feeling his unease through the connection they had always felt to each other which had suddenly blossomed into something more.

“Not that I know of, but this was different.” Harry relaxed, leaning back on the pillows. “Once I thought about it, it was different.”

Sighing, Hermione just let the moment go on for a second. “I suppose some people would say we think too much. You've seen Ron starkers and it wasn't wrong.”

Blushing a bit, Harry laughed. “True, but in case you haven't noticed, Ron isn't a girl.” Looking down at her, his grin became a bit mischievous. “But, then again. Neither are you.”

Sitting up and blushing indignantly, Hermione punched Harry's arm hard enough to rock him a bit. “Oh, really, Mr. Potter? It only took Ron until our fourth year to notice I'm a girl. What's your excuse?”

Laughing, Harry rubbed his arm as he watched her bristle. “Miss Granger, I noticed you were a girl the first day we met on the train. You left being a girl behind the moment I saw you in that dress for the Yule Ball. You're very much a woman, Hermione. And that is the problem.”

Blushing, Hermione stared at Harry for almost a minute. Sighing, she nodded her head and leaned back against shoulder. Waiting until they had settled against each other, she asked, in a very timid voice. “Would it make a difference if I told you that we were even now?” Feeling Harry start, she looked up to see his emerald green eyes staring at her, gobsmacked.

“Hermione Jane Granger, I think you need to explain that remark.” Turning slightly, Harry watched Hermione as if he'd never seen her before.

Blushing, Hermione looked down at her hands, unable to look him in the eye. “Near the end of our sixth year, I puzzled out how to cast a disillusionment spell.” Looking up, she watched Harry nod warily. “Well, and you know how the stairs to the boy's dorms will let the girls up, but the other set is trapped to keep the guys out of the girl's dorms?”

Harry nodded, again, comprehension dawning in his eyes. “Well, I decided to sneak up to your dorm to see what you and Ron talked about when I wasn't around.” Blushing furiously, Hermione defiantly looked Harry right in the eye. “You two were going on about Snape, your detentions, how you didn't have enough time for Ginny between the detentions and trying to find out information for Dumbledore. Then you decided to start changing for dinner and I was trapped sitting on your bed. You pulled the hangings but I had a very free show of you changing to meet Ginny down in the Great Hall.”

Smiling a bit at the thought, she kept her gaze locked on Harry. Watching him blush, she saw he was going to ask a question. “I know what you're going to ask, but it really never had a chance to come up. This was not long before Dumbledore's death and after that; there really was never a good time to discuss it.”

Smirking, she added in a deadpan voice. “Of course, later that night I was able to contradict Ginny most authoritatively up in the dorm about your alleged tattoo. She was very cross with me until I showed her how to cast the spell and how to sneak up without being noticed.”

Laughing, Harry slid off the bed and landed on the floor with a thump. “I'm so dead if Ron ever finds out.”

Smiling and leaning over, giving Harry a hand up, she hauled him back up onto the bed. “Harry, why are you worried about Ron now? He's no longer my boyfriend, you are. He's certainly seen me starkers, and he knows you saw me starkers.”

Pulling himself together, he sat up and grinned. `Yea, but he doesn't know that not only has his former, by a matter of minutes, girlfriend seen me starkers, but his then underage sister saw me as well. You might as well pass the marmalade, Hermione.”

Looking puzzled, Hermione tilted her head to one side. “Marmalade?”

Grinning, Harry answered back, “Because if Ron ever finds out, I'm toast.”

The two of them were still rolling on the bed, laughing, when Ron returned.

-->

Chapter Fourteen - Visiting Hours

A/N - Apologies for this taking so long. I thought I had Chapter Fourteen all sewn up. A couple of questions in reviews and a couple of stray thoughts, and I ended up with two Chapter Fourteens. This would be the third one, I hope you enjoy it.

And, just for the record, everything recognizable is the property of JKR and various corporate entities, except for the Cleveland Indians, the Chicago White Sox, and Slider who are all part of Major League Baseball. I think Chili Cheese Fries are part of the public domain, but if they're not, I'll acknowledge their creator as well. No infringement of any sort is intended and no actual pixels were injured during the writing of this fiction. And now, back to our story…

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It was another fortnight before the healers at St. Alban's would even think of releasing Hermione. Harry and Ron had concocted twelve different plans to smuggle her and Terri out of the place, but Hermione firmly vetoed each of them on the grounds that she was going to listen to the healers and this was the only way she'd get to spend fourteen days with the two of them without having someone firing hexes at her.

The night before her departure, Hermione finally got to see a baseball game. The three of them, with her healer's grudging approval, accompanied Terri and Oscar to Jacobs Field to see the Indians play a team from Chicago, the White Sox. Watching the game carefully, Hermione marveled at the differences between baseball and cricket.

While Harry was convinced that Quidditch was still a superior sport, he begrudgingly admitted that there must be some magic involved since it should be impossible for a split finger fastball to move like that without arcane help and the knuckle curve was beyond explanation, even with magic. Predictably, Ron was impressed with the culinary offerings of the stadium, declaring chili cheese fries to be one of the few perfect foods in existence.

The fact that the home team won the game 9-3, with the outcome never really in doubt, made for a festive evening. Hermione was mortally embarrassed when, during the seventh inning stretch, she ended up on television and the big in park screen, first being mock snogged by the ever popular Slider and then truly snogged by Harry in a kiss that was televised to the crowd, much to the delight of Ron and Terri and the good natured acceptance of Harry.

Hermione lay in her hospital bed, listening to the night sounds of early fall in Ohio as she watched the moonlight stream through the open windows. Glancing over to the chair in her room, she smiled at the sight of Harry sprawled across the arms, sound asleep.

“He could fit in that bed with you, easily enough. I thought the two of you were going to prove that earlier.”

Smiling guiltily, she turned back towards the window. A chair was now sitting in the moonlight, definitely not standard hospital issue. Sitting in the chair was Maeve, leaning forward and watching her intently. “I think it's a bit past visiting hours.”

Nodding, Maeve stood up and walked over to the bed. Passing her hand above Hermione's reclining form, she left a trail of glowing sparkles that drifted slowly down to the sheet. Nodding appreciatively, she smiled. “You're definitely mended. A couple of days rest in a comfortable bed wouldn't hurt, but physically you're fine.” Looking pointedly at the edge of the bed, Maeve waited until Hermione nodded before she sat herself down.

Smiling, Hermione glanced over at Harry. Looking back at Maeve, she quirked an eyebrow. Rolling her eyes, Maeve waved her hand in Harry's direction. For a split second, the air between Harry and the bed shimmered and then resolved back to normal.

“Impressive. I think you'll have to teach me that little trick.” Smiling, Hermione pulled herself up, fluffed her pillows and sat up against the headboard of the bed. “We've both agreed that this is better, at least until we're home and can explore our options in a more private setting.”

Smiling wickedly, Maeve cast an appraising look at her. “And here I thought the pair of you knew exactly what you wanted.”

Chuckling, Hermione shook her head. “Neither of us are in doubt about what we want, believe me. We want to be together for the rest of our lives, and we want to be there for each other in every way possible.” Smiling wickedly, Hermione winked in Harry's direction. “The difficulty is that I seem to have a boyfriend who's more romantically inclined than I am. For some reason he doesn't see a private room in St. Alban's as the most romantic setting in the world.”

Chuckling, Maeve nodded. “I take it that you tend to disagree with him on that?”

Blushing, Hermione looked over at Harry for a second and smiled. “I would hardly call this place romantic, so in that respect he's very correct.” Nodding to Maeve she smiled. “And I also agree that this would hardly be the truly memorable spot that romantic memories are made of.”

Grinning, Maeve nodded in return, “But you wouldn't let that stop you, if you thought he'd let you get away with it.”

Making a `what's a poor witch to do' gesture with her hands, Hermione sighed. “I'll admit we've been very creative this past couple of weeks, but I think we're going to take a bit of time off, alone, when we get back to England.”

Shaking her head, Hermione chuckled. “The sad thing is that Ron was the one who summed it up best, I suppose.”

Leaning back, Maeve watched the young witch as she sat in the moonlight. `How so?”

Shrugging, Hermione rolled her eyes. “Tonight, at the game, when Terri mentioned that Harry and I had made the transition from being `just friends' rather quickly, Ron started laughing. He said that the two of us hadn't been `just friends' since we were twelve or thirteen.”

Seeing the look in Maeve's eyes, she blushed. “The moment we kissed, here in this room, I realized exactly what I had been missing and what I almost lost. For over seven years, we've literally been within touching range of each other and we allowed our fears and insecurities to blind us to what we had, what we could have had.” Shaking her head, Hermione closed her eyes. “We realize how maddening it must have been for everyone who knew us. We acted like a couple, and denied it every second when someone would ask. And now that we're here, I think we're both just a bit scared. It's silly, I know, but as close as we are, the thought of taking the final step, that final sharing, is almost too much to think about.”

Watching Hermione, Maeve smiled as she watched her looking at Harry. “He's not going to run off, you know.”

“I know that, it's just that it's all so new, and it really shouldn't be.” Turning her attention back to the elven woman, Hermione frowned a bit. “She'll be waiting, won't she?”

“She's not going away, especially since you cost her so dearly with this little adventure. Both in resources and allies, you've hurt her badly.”

Hermione's face darkened as she narrowed her eyes in thought. “This was just a stepping stone to get to Harry. I won't be used against him.”

Putting her hand atop Hermione's, Maeve nodded. “To stop that, you must stop her. You can't run, and you certainly can't push the boy away. He's not Ginevra to be fobbed off with some half thought through notion of an excuse. The two of you will face this together, along with the other.”

Shaking her head, Hermione glared for a second. “He has a name, you know. Ronald has been our friend for as long as we've known each other and I don't see that changing anytime in the future.”

“My apologies to your ex, then. And I'm very impressed with the way he handled things. I was expecting a fit or two before things settled down.”

“He realized what was happening before I did. Even though I accepted the connection with Harry, I never really put everything together until Ron started talking to me about it. Fortunately, Ron didn't take it as me choosing Harry over him; he sees it more of an accepting of what has always been. He kids that we've been together so long we should have a tenth anniversary rather than a wedding next year.”

Reaching into the pocket of the gown she wore, Maeve withdrew a dusty glass ball that was clouded with a roiling mist inside. Attached to the glass was a slip of parchment that appeared to be not exceedingly old. Holding the glass out to Hermione, Maeve shrugged. “Before you go planning a wedding, you should take this back with you and have a meeting with your Headmistress and the old fool in her office. You needn't invite everyone whose names are on the label, but the ones you trust you should gather for the revealing of this.”

Hermione's emotions spiked as she gazed at the globe in her hand. Looking at the labeling, written in a spidery hand, she read, “SPT to APWBD(d) - Harry Potter, Hermione Granger (Potter?), Ron Weasley, Ginevra Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Salazar Slytherin, unknown wizard (Lucius or Draco Malfoy?), and unknown witch (?) - 3 May, 1998”

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she read the label. When she came to her name, she shook her head sadly. When she came to the date, she bit her lower lip and looked up, fire in her eyes. “That egregious old fraud. I've been in Minerva's office dozens of times over the past two years and he's never once mentioned this to me.”

“How long did it take for him to tell your Harry about the last prophecy?”

Before Hermione could answer, Harry's voice broke into the conversation. “I was never told the entire thing until the last second. I knew the prophecy before that, but the specifics of what Albus envisioned as our only solution were kept from me until it was too late to do anything else. And he let Severus have those honors through his memories.” Smiling at the pair, Harry gently sat on the other side of the bed from Maeve and raised an eyebrow at Hermione.

“You're supposed to be sleeping.” Shaking her head, she leaned forward and kissed him gently on the cheek.

Chuckling, Harry shook his head. “Last I knew, you were the patient this time.” Pausing, he looked over at their companion. “Are you going to introduce me or leave me to make my own introductions?”

Laughing, Maeve smiled as she watched Hermione color slightly. “You're everything she's said you were. I can see why she's so taken with you.” Reaching over, she extended her hand to Harry. “As you have guessed, I'm Maeve.”

Taking her hand, Harry gazed into the eyes of the woman before him for several seconds. The two of them seemed to be weighing each other, judging the other by their own standards. Finally he spoke. “I won't have her toyed with.”

Ignoring the shocked look on Hermione's face, Maeve nodded graciously. “Neither will I. We're both agreed then?”

Nodding slowly, Harry smiled. “I think we are.”

Growling in frustration, Hermione glared at both of them. “In case either of you have forgotten, I'm right here and I'm an adult so it would be considered polite to include me in your plans, since I seem to be the focus of conversation here.”

Smiling sheepishly, Harry reached over and took her hand. “Sorry, but your grandmother and I were just coming to an agreement about this new prophecy.”

Shaking her head, Hermione stared at Harry curiously for several seconds. Turning to Maeve, she raised an eyebrow.

“Don't look at me; he wasn't awakened by our conversation. You're the one who was mentally shouting and woke him up.” Smiling mischievously at her, Maeve nodded at Hermione's shocked expression. “Ask your new boyfriend for some occlumency lessons when you get back to England, I'm certain he'll be happy to oblige you.”

Shaking her head, Hermione stared at the two of them for almost a minute while they both sat back and grinned at her. Muttering, `this is so wrong' under her breath; she reached out and took Harry's hand. “We agreed, partners?”

Smiling, Harry nodded. “I'm not cutting you out of anything here. And the two of us aren't conspiring behind your back. We simply agreed that we're not going to treat this prophecy like the last one was treated.” Looking down at the globe in her other hand, Harry raised an eyebrow at the names listed. “With a few notable exceptions, we're going to gather the folks listed together and let them hear the prophecy first hand.”

Looking over at Maeve, Harry shrugged. “I take it your `rules' won't allow you to discuss this with us until we actually know what the prophecy says?”

Smiling coyly, she nodded. “Specifics, no. But in general terms, we could talk about people who still hate you enough to become involved in an ancient conspiracy to bring back a fairly nasty old wanker like Salazar.”

Chuckling, Hermione reached up and ruffled Harry's hair, as she looked the older woman in the eye. “There's not a shortage of candidates for that award, to my thinking. Between the three of us we've helped put dozens in Azkaban over the past two years, not to mention the ones we've exposed to scrutiny from the public for their borderline pasts.”

Looking worried, Harry shook his head. “This feels personal.” Looking over at Hermione, he nodded. “Lucius was released from Azkaban two months ago.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Hermione looked at him. “Remind me again why it was a good idea to release him from prison?”

Shrugging, Harry sighed. “He was going to get out eventually. Enough of the old families in the Wizengamot thought that if he renounced his claim to the Malfoy title and accounts, he would be harmless. Those were the conditions they released him under so he could take care of his mother, who is dying.”

Shaking her head, Hermione rolled her eyes. “Stupid bastards. I wouldn't put it past the old bat to have poisoned herself to get him out. Jezebel refused when Narcissa offered to take her in, said she wouldn't spend her remaining days with a blood traitor. Makes you wonder whom her husband caught dragon pox from.”

Shrugging, Maeve smiled knowingly. “Abraxas' tastes were always a bit bizarre, even by Malfoy standards. Rumor had Jezebel as a close confident of Grindelwald.”

Resting her chin on her steepled fingers, Hermione closed her eyes as Harry began to run his fingers through her hair. “They say Draco's reformed. His nine months in Azkaban proved very enlightening it would appear.”

Chuckling, Harry smiled knowingly. “I think you'll find that Hector Greengrass' youngest daughter has been more enlightening than Azkaban ever was.” Seeing the look on Hermione's face, Harry nodded. “She was a year behind Luna in Ravenclaw. One of my aurors was in Greengrass' having dinner about six weeks after Malfoy got out. Draco was there, having dinner with Zambini, and made some sort of typical smarmy comment to one of the servers.”

Seeing Hermione open her eyes and stare at him, he nodded. “Ten seconds later, Asteria came boiling out of the kitchen, her wand in one hand and a meat cleaver in the other. She laid into Draco in front of the dinner crowd, verbally tore him a new one and told him exactly what she thought of him. She then announced that if either of them ever wanted to set foot in the restaurant again he was going to apologize to the server right then and there.”

Trying not to laugh at the thought, Hermione's eyes were shining brightly as she bit her lower lip. “What I wouldn't have given to have been there. What did he do?”

Shrugging, Harry smiled. “The strange thing was that Draco just sat there and stared at her for almost a minute when she was done. He then stood up, motioned the server over, and proceeded to, very humbly mind you, apologize to the poor witch for almost five minutes.”

Staring in disbelief, Hermione whistled softly as she thought. “Let me guess. The next day he makes an appearance at Greengrass Manor to apologize to the father.”

Smirking, Harry shook his head. “Close. He tracked her father down at the Hyperion Club the next day and apologized to him in front of half the membership for `rude and inexcusable behavior'.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Maeve smiled. “The Hyperion? I take it young Mr. Malfoy has taken his place in wizarding society trying to live up to the family name and responsibilities.”

Shrugging, Harry tried to look casual. “It was very impressive, I'll grant him that.”

Arching an eyebrow, Hermione looked at Harry with interest. “And just how would you know that, Mr. Potter?”

Harry's blush set off a knowing chuckle from Maeve. “Let's see, I seem to remember that the Potter family was one of the founding members of the Hyperion. It seems that young Draco isn't the only new member of an old and venerated establishment.”

Nodding self-consciously and keeping one eye on Hermione, Harry agreed. “Well, it seems that membership in institutions such as the Hyperion comes as part and parcel with family responsibilities.” Seeing the look on Hermione's face, Harry shrugged. “It's actually quite a nice place. Very quiet and relaxing.”

“I wouldn't know, since there seems to be a very strict `wizards only' policy about membership and the like.” Glaring at Harry, Hermione sat back. “Honestly Harry, do you really feel compelled to help prop up these antiquated and obsolete views?”

Smiling mischievously, Maeve chuckled. “Actually, it's a very interesting place, not quite as stuffy as you'd imagine.” Seeing both of the teens staring at her, she nodded. “I've graced the halls of the Hyperion various times over the years. You'll find that there's nothing that prevents you from taking her with you the next time you visit, other than custom, of course.”

Winking in Hermione's direction, Maeve smiled. “And, as a holder of the Order of Merlin, you should have received an invitation to join this prestigious group.”

Looking very thoughtful, Hermione smiled as she gazed at Harry. “Harry, once we're back in London, it doesn't have to be our first evening back, but sometime that first week, you're taking me to the Hyperion for dinner and drinks.”

Nodding graciously, Harry smiled. “I am?”

“Yes you are. And I'll even wear that midnight blue dress you're so fond of seeing me in, but we are going.”

Trying not to smile, Harry nodded seriously. “As long as you promise to behave. At least until they get around to offering you your own membership.”

Drawing herself up and giving him a McGonagall worthy stare, Hermione asked icily. “And just when have I ever been less than proper?”

Trying to keep a straight face, Harry thought for a second. “Well, there was the time you broke Draco's nose.”

“He provoked me.”

Deciding that a slight change of topic was in order, Harry nodded. “Speaking of which, Draco is allowing Lucius to live in the old mansion while he's living in London in the townhome. He allowed the Ministry to scour the place for two months to rid it of any and all traces of Dark magic they could find, but it's been a seat for pureblood nonsense for centuries. Merlin only knows what that crazy old wanker is up to in the gloomy old house.”

Sighing, Hermione opened one eye to gauge Harry's reactions. “Would you be surprised to know that our old chum Ms Parkinson has been a frequent overnight visitor at the Manor?”

“That's just sick. Lucius doesn't have any money or position any longer; this is getting too bizarre for me.” Looking at Hermione strangely, Harry rolled his eyes. “And I'm not even going to ask how you know this.”

Smiling impishly, Hermione pulled an innocent face. “It could have something to do since he's forbidden any association with house elves; he's had to hire human servants as domestics. Since he's also forbidden to associate with Muggles without supervision, it was child's play to ensure that one of the temps he hired was someone we could rely on.”

“Temps?”

Nodding, Hermione smiled. “Another of the conditions of his release was that permanent staff he hired had to be examined by Ministry Healers every full moon to ensure they weren't being abused or coerced.

“And even the dodgiest of the agencies that provide domestic staff will hesitate to keep sending him personnel if they come back too abused.”

“Pansy and Lucius?”

Snorting, Maeve shook her head. “Try to grow up a bit Harry. It's hardly the strangest or most disturbing couple anyone's ever heard of.”

Shaking his head, Harry shivered. “Name one.”

Smiling wickedly, Hermione answered. “Cho Chang and Harry Potter come to mind.”

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Chapter Fifteen - Breakfast Meetings

The late night conference with her grandmother had finished up just as the night rounds had occurred. A knowing smirk and a quick pass of her hand was all that signaled a change when the mediwitch entered the room and immediately started fussing at Harry for keeping Hermione awake well past midnight, totally ignoring the elven woman setting on the other side of the bed.

Harry begrudgingly allowed himself to be banished to his usual chair while the mediwitch checked Hermione's vitals and administered two potions. Shaking his head in disbelief, Harry watched as the night mediwitch maneuvered around the smirking Maeve without noticing her presence.

Sleep had come slowly to the two, even after Maeve's exit shortly after the departure of the mediwitch from the room. Hermione had lain there, watching him as he drifted off in the moonlight, wondering exactly what their return to England would bring for both of them. Finally drifting off, her dreams turned to the Chamber of Secrets. This time, instead of being confined to a hospital bed paralyzed by the reflected gaze of a basilisk, the two of them were being chased by some sort of scaled horror as they tried to rescue…someone. Never getting close enough to see the object of their search, the nightmare was finally interrupted by the morning sounds of the hospital waking her from a fitful slumber.

The day of her departure dawned bright and fair. Hermione woke to sunshine and stretched, trying to drive the dreams of the previous night from her mind. Looking around her room, she smiled at the sleeping form of Harry, sprawled almost bonelessly in a chair.

The door to the hall pushed open a bit. Instead of the expected mediwitch on her morning rounds, Terri and Oscar stuck their heads in the room and grinned when they saw Hermione was awake. Putting her finger to her lips, she beckoned the two to come in. Casting a quick muffliato towards Harry so as to not waken him, she nodded to Oscar.

“Morning you two, you're up and about fairly early.” Looking at her watch, sitting on the table beside her bed, she saw that it was almost eight. Smiling at Terri, she nodded towards Oscar. “I take it you've decided that hanging around with witches and wizards has its upside.” Watching the blush spread across both of their faces, she laughed. “That's not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Hermione, I have no idea what you're talking about.” Grinning at Oscar, Terri looked over her shoulder as she perched on the edge of the bed. “Shouldn't your boyfriend sleeping in the bed over here, and not that dreadful chair? And just where is your ex?” Arching one eyebrow, Terri looked intently at her.

“Dear, that's none of our business. Besides, you remember Ron saying that he had to head back to England last night at the game.” Shaking his head, Oscar smiled indulgently at the mercurial blonde by his side.

Taking Oscar's hand, Hermione smiled warmly at him. “Oscar, after everything that's happened, I wouldn't quibble at a simple question.” Glancing over at Harry, she smiled. “Ron had to report back last night, well early this morning in London for a briefing. Harry didn't fancy going back to the Torc last night after the game. Something about some couple making too much noise in the next room for the past couple of days, so he crashed here.”

Remembering back to the hunt and their time on the run from the Death Eaters, she smiled sadly. “Trust me; it isn't the worst sleeping accommodations either of us has had. And it's certainly not the first time one of us has spent the night in a hospital chair waiting for the other. I transfigured the chair so it's reasonably comfortable for sleeping, it just looks awkward. So what brings you two out so early?” Looking at the two blushing, Hermione grinned, wondering if they were Harry's erstwhile neighbours at the Torc.

“We thought we'd stop in and catch you before everything started happening with your release today.” Terri wrapped an arm around Oscar's waist as she smiled broadly. “And I wanted to thank you for everything.” Looking up, she shyly kissed Oscar on the cheek.

“Hey, I had nothing to do with that. You two were drawn together like a cat to cream, but I'm glad things seem to be working out for you so well. Your GM seemed very happy last night at the game, I take it everything is fine with `our' work and the sports exchange program?” Shaking her head, Hermione rolled her eyes at the glances being exchanged between the pair.

Laughing, Oscar nodded. “Mel and MT made a pretty convincing set of replacements for you two until Terri got released three days ago. There's a Memorandum of Understanding you're going to be taking back for the muggle government in London regarding a proposal to exchange cricket and baseball teams on a trial basis. And, thanks to Ron, there are gong to be a series of games next preseason between two of the Ohio quidditch teams and a couple of your English teams.”

“Let me guess, he wants the Cannons to come over here for a couple of games.”

Laughing, Terri nodded. “He got his sister involved and it'll be Chudley and Holyhead coming over for a series of exhibition matches in Cleveland, Columbus, and Morgantown with the Pataskala Phoenixes and the Venedocia Dragons.” Looking at Oscar to see if she had gotten the names of the English teams correct, she smiled brightly when he nodded. “And Oscar and I were thinking that if you could talk Harry and Ron into it, you three could come back. Since Ron's sister is a Harpy, the four of you could spend some time with us and Flori and Irving, without crazed Yankee's fans making life interesting.”

Seeing the amused look on Hermione's face, she shrugged. “I know I've got a girlfriend who wouldn't mind going out with your ex and I'm certain Oscar here can find someone willing to go out with our favorite Harpy.”

Harry's voice cut into the conversation. “Gin's on the Harpies, she's not a Harpy. Big difference, wouldn't you say `Mione?” Stretching, Harry surprised Oscar and Terri by coming up unnoticed. “Really, if you're going to cast that spell, remember it works both ways.” Smiling smugly he leaned over and kissed Hermione briefly but passionately before seating himself on her bed. Nodding towards Oscar and Terri, he nodded. “You lot look as if you got everything settled out.” Yawning, he looked blearily around the room. “Has anyone seen a pair of glasses?”

“Honestly, Harry. Try to remember you're a wizard. Accio Harry's glasses.” Harry's glasses soared into Hermione's outstretched hand from their hiding place under the chair he had been sleeping in. Handing them to him, she shook her head in disbelief. “I still can't believe you haven't talked to a mediwitch about your eyes. Aren't you tired of sorting these things out every morning?”

A faint blush coloured Harry's ears as he mumbled something. Exasperated, Hermione turned back to Terri and Oscar who were smiling at the two of them. “Terri, did you ever figure out where we ended up?”

“I should have figured it out as soon as you mentioned the witch turning into a cat thing.” Seeing the puzzled look on Hermione's face, she nodded. “I finally realized where we were by remembering some old ghost stories that I had heard on a tour when I first got to Cleveland. We ended up at the Old Fairport Harbor Lighthouse. There have been stories about the lighthouse being haunted by the ghost of a cat for years. No one knew about that secret subceller, hidden evil lair thing she'd constructed.” Looking to Oscar for confirmation, she smiled when he nodded.

“Usually we just call them dungeons dear, but I like `secret subceller, hidden evil lair thing'. It has a nice ring to it.” Laughing, Oscar dodged out of the way of a vicious slap that was aimed at him.

“I warned you she was a match for you, with or without a wand.” Smiling at the two, she noticed Harry looking at her. “Well Potter? Since you're now in charge of seeing that they treat me well, why isn't my breakfast here?” Mock frowning, she nodded towards the door. “And I want real butter on my toast, none of that fake stuff these Americans seem to be so fond of. “

Laughing, Harry got up, bowed deeply and looked at her with mischief in his eyes. “And I'll tell the mediwitch to check your vision, since you've obviously mistaken me for one of the house-elves that follow you around, oh Queen of the Elves.”

Sobering, Hermione looked around. “Careful Harry, that's someone else entirely. And as fond of you as I am, I don't think that would cut you any slack if she thought you were getting cheeky with her.” Smiling as he waved and left the room, she sighed and leaned back against her pillows.

“Hermione, can I ask you a question?” Looking unusually thoughtful, Terri was glancing at her, ignoring the shushing motion that Oscar was trying to make where he thought Hermione couldn't see it. “If you don't want to, I'll understand.”

“Not at all, spending time together being tortured makes us close enough to ask questions of, though for the life of me, I can't imagine what you'd want to know that requires that sort of look.”

“Well two things actually. What did Harry mean when he said his glasses remind him of you?”

“What?” Blinking in surprise, Hermione stared at Terri in surprise.

“When you asked him why he didn't get his eyes fixed, he muttered because they remind him of you.” Grinning she shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry, but I've got fairly acute hearing from having trained as a musician when I was in university. Comes in handy deciphering the mumblings of men from time to time.” Poking Oscar in the ribs, his answering blush told Hermione that there was more to that particular tale than she was likely to ever hear.

“Haven't the foggiest, unless….” Closing her eyes in concentration, she smiled as she replayed the memory of when she first met Harry and Ron, all those years ago. Ron casting a `spell' and her casually tossing off a `Reparo'.

Opening her eyes, she saw that both Oscar and Terri were staring at her. “When I first met them, Ron was trying some ridiculous spell on his pet rat. It didn't work, but I noticed that Harry's glasses were broken, so I fixed them without even thinking.” Smiling wistfully, Hermione thought back to those days before everything had become so complicated. “Curious that Harry would find that memory so compelling. What's your second question?”

“How on earth did you ever not know Harry was the one? “ Raising her hand to ward off the look on Hermione's face, she looked over at the door to see if Harry was returning. “No offense, but after spending two weeks with you three, except for you and Ron bickering once or twice, I would have sworn that there wasn't anyone who would have missed the fact Harry was your boyfriend. Or closer.” Shrugging her shoulders, she tried to smile apologetically.

Shrugging in return, Hermione frowned a bit. “You're not the first to wonder that. Harry and I have been friends since that day we met back in 1991 and we've been best friends since he and Ron saved my life on Halloween that year. I guess the only thing I can say is that we never felt the need to date; we just did everything together for seven years.” Smiling ruefully, Hermione blushed a bit. “I think we just became so comfortable with being best mates, that we missed the signs that our relationship had changed. Merlin knows it's annoyed Ron from time to time before the three of us finally came to our senses.”

The conversation was cut short by Harry's return with a large tray heaped with various breakfast treats. “It's not Molly's cooking, but it's not bad.” Placing the tray in front of her, he ruffled her hair as she smiled appreciatively up at him. “Now if you clean your plate like a good little witch, I've got it on good authority that you can get ready to go home after a bit.”

Looking at the glances that Oscar and Terri were exchanging, Harry shrugged his shoulders at the two. Hermione caught his reaction and looked up sharply. “You two behave yourselves, I told you the truth.” Her eyes twinkling mischievously, she turned back to Harry. “Harry did you or did you not have to cross the Atlantic and find me confined to a hospital bed before we ever talked about us? And we had to have Ron rub our noses in it to boot.

“Well, as long as you discount the fact that we spent more time `not on dates' with each other than we spent on dates with the people were supposedly dating, that's about correct. Why?” Grinning at Oscar and Terri, he winked before he kissed Hermione on the lips.

Raising her hands in mock surrender, Terri laughed. “Ok, I get the point. I can't believe in almost a decade it never occurred to either of you. And I certainly want to meet this Ginny, the fact that she's happy for the two of you isn't really proper.

“While we never fought like Hermione and Ron did, our relationship sort of drifted back to a holding level that got blown apart when I forgot it was Valentine's Day and went off to Hermione's flat to help her paint instead of going out to dinner with Gin.” Grinning at Hermione's scowl, he shrugged. “What can I say; I think she finally figured out that if painting someone's flat was more appealing to me than Valentine's Day dinner with her, we were seeing the wrong people.” Feeling Hermione's annoyance with him fade, Harry sat beside her and accioded a banger from her tray.

“What's next for you two?” Oscar asked, grinning at Harry's familiarity.

Scowling at Harry, Hermione put a possessive hand over the rest of her breakfast. “Harry, that's just rude.” Turning back to Oscar and Terri, she laughed. “After I'm released, we're returning by transatlantic portkey to Dunvegan Castle in Scotland. My boss is going to meet us there and we'll return the banner and the glass to its rightful owner. After that, I suppose we start looking for this mysterious witch that set this thing in motion.”

Looking back, just in time to catch Harry sneaking another bit of sausage from her tray, she scowled, “and Mr. Auror here doesn't want to believe it could be our old school chum Pansy Parkinson.”

“Hermione, we've discussed this. We have a perfectly valid clue as to whom the catlady was working for. Between the Americans and our own Ministry, we should have some sort of lead on old Viola in short order. However, I do agree, after what we talked about last night, that we need to keep a closer eye on Pansy.”

Grinning he grabbed a fork and offered Hermione the last piece of her sausage. “Her involvement with Lucius is too compelling, I'll ask Smithers to open another casefile on her and we'll have her put under surveillance for a while to see what we can find.” Shaking his head, he grinned at her. “You really need to get over her offering to turn me over to Voldemort that night. She probably didn't really mean it.”

“I meant, what's next for you two?” Shaking his head at the two of them, Oscar smiled.

Blushing a bit, Hermione smiled at Harry, as she looked thoughtful for several seconds before turning back to Oscar and Terri. “Well, I think I'm going to be talking to my landlord about subletting my flat, since I really don't see it getting much use anytime in the near future since I'm moving back home. As for anything else,” pausing as she looked at Harry out of the corner of her eye, she continued, “I think we're going to be taking things a bit slowly. There are some people back home that will need time to adjust to the changes in our relationship, ourselves included.”

“Hermione means that Ron and Ginny's mother will need some time to get over the fact that we're not with her youngest and that's not going to change.” Harry rolled his eyes at the scowl on the Hermione's face at the mention of the Weasley matriarch. “As for the two of us, the biggest thing that will change is that we'll actually be able to admit to ourselves that we've been acting like a couple for the past eight years or so.” Winking at Terri, he smiled. “Of course, there's this.”

Leaning over, Harry slid his hand behind Hermione's head, and moved until their lips were just inches apart. Waiting a second for her barely perceptible nod, Harry kissed her tenderly. As her arms came up and wrapped themselves around him, the tray floated away and placed itself on the stand beside the bed as Harry lowered himself to sit on the bed.

Shaking her head, Terri looked up at Oscar. “Well, I can see that this is going to take a while.” Her eyes twinkling, she looked at him speculatively. “Think you can do that mojo thing of yours and find us a quiet place to wait for these two to come up for air?”

Smiling in return, Oscar shook his head as he slid his arm around her shoulders. “You could have a parade in here and not disturb the two of them.” Looking around at the chair Harry had been sleeping in, he smiled. “What say we see if that thing's as comfortable as Hermione said it was, and we'll just find some way to entertain ourselves while we wait for them to return to the real world?”

Smiling broadly, Teri winked. “Mr. Wizard, I do like how you think. It's either that or back to your room at the Torc, and apparently you need a refresher course on that silent room spell of yours.”

Sitting in the chair and drawing Terri onto his lap, Oscar nodded. “Well, as they say, `practice makes perfect'. Shall we?”

Wrapping her arms around him, Terri gave him an affirmation that was unmistakable. Both couples were completely oblivious until a mediwitch dropped a tray of potions an hour later when she came in to begin Hermione's final examination.

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Chapter Sixteen - Epilogues (not a train station in sight)

Epilogue the first - Dunvegan Castle, Scotland

The sun was setting over the western sea as the two appeared on the windswept balcony of Dunvegan. Stumbling a bit, Harry held Hermione up as their eyes adjusted to the oncoming twilight. Looking around, they saw Francis Bethune standing in the lee of the wall, waiting for them. Walking towards them he held up both hands in surrender.

“Hermione, we had no idea that this wasn't what it seemed.” Francis began before Hermione could begin to take the offensive. “We've launched an investigation to see where this mysterious witch has come from. The aurors have started looking in the obvious places and our people are looking in the unobvious ones. For what it's worth, I'm very sorry.”

“Francis, I'm not going to bite your head off for this.” Nodding to her companion, she grinned. “Harry brought me all the briefing documents that you offered him and Ron and I would have agreed to do this mission knowing what you knew, even the stuff you didn't tell me. Let's just get these trinkets back where they belong so I can go home and soak in a nice hot tub.” Nodding towards the doors leading into the castle, Hermione motioned for Francis to lead the way, ignoring the knowing look he gave them as they were standing there hand in hand.

Following him through the drawing room and into a hallway, the climbed a steep set of stairs and entered the main hall. Hermione's eye was immediately drawn to the framed copy of the An Bratach Sith that had hung there since the robbery.

Walking over she nodded to Harry and he lifted the replacement from its place on the wall. Hanging the original back in its place, she stepped back, closed her eyes and sought for currents of magic that swirled around the ancient castle. Binding a protective screen around the frame, she tied the screen to the two bloodlines that held claim to the Fairy Flag, the MacLeods and the Sidhe.

Stepping back, she slumped a bit as the toll of the magic took its effect. “Tell the MacLeod that he's going to have to make arrangements for a relative to do any moving of the An Bratach Sith from now on. Just dusting it or straightening it won't cause a problem. If anyone not of the blood tries to take if from its spot on that wall, both he and I will be notified that something is amiss. It's not perfect, but it should supplement any muggle burglar detectors he has installed.”

“I'll notify the auror detachment on Eilean Mor so they can arrange to make periodic checks on the castle here.” Francis shook his head at the wards established by his protégé.

Looking at Harry, Hermione grinned. “Harry, would you mind waiting here a bit while Francis and I return the Amen Glass to its display case?” Nodding warily, Harry flashed her a tight smile. “Don't look like that; I'm not going to murder him as soon as we're out of sight. You know how I work; I try never to kill anyone unless you're there to help me clean up the mess if I can help it.” Grinning at Harry's slow smile, she turned to Francis. “Lead on, MacDuff”

Grimacing, Francis started down the twisting stair to a lower level. “You could at least get the quote right, Granger.” Smiling over his shoulder at her, he was taking the stairs without looking as if he had gone this way numerous times before.

“What fun would there be in that?” Smiling impishly, she sensed that she was finally getting to the end of this entire sordid mess. “Besides, in the Scottish Play, Macbeth says that to his enemy, and despite my occasional shrewish display of temper, I have never considered us to be enemies.”

Chuckling, he turned around as he came to a landing with a doorway leading into dimly lit hallway. “And thereby hangs the tale, Kate. Do you really think your young man is going to patiently wait up there for us to return from our errand?”

Growling in frustration, Hermione looked at Bethune in disbelief. “He's not `my' young man….” Stopping and blushing, Hermione sighed. “All right, you're correct in that, but that's not what would bring him down these stairs. Harry's an auror and my oldest friend. In an ideal world he'd not budge an inch, but since he knows that things around you become `interesting' more often than not. And since I never actually asked him to stay put, I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't half a dozen paces behind us waiting to see if something else comes unglued with this escapade.” Feeling Harry's mental chuckle at that remark, Hermione wondered exactly how much of a headstart Harry was giving her.

“Then why bother with the charade?” Using his wand to silently open a door, He ushered Hermione into a room containing several display cases containing Jacobite memorabilia. Hermione smiled as he pointedly left the door ajar.

“Thank you, Francis. That's an easy one. This gives Harry and myself the leeway to ignore what's about to happen next, if we decide it's not something we want to talk about just yet.” Looking into the case, she saw that a very accurate copy of the Amen Glass was resting in its place of honor. “Do you want to do the honors, or shall I?”

Reaching into her bag, she drew forth the cloth wrapped glass. Peeling back the protective wrap, the blue glow of the MacLeod heirloom lit up the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a peculiar shadow on the wall, indicating that the light of the Amen Glass wasn't totally fooled by Harry's invisibility cloak. “I do wish it would stop doing that.”

Smiling Francis opened the cabinet and removed the ersatz glass. “That's what it's supposed to do. The MacDonald daughter who enchanted this envisioned it bolstering the claim of the rightful Stuart claimant to the Scottish throne, and thereby the throne of England as well.” Nodding towards the vacant spot, he waited for Hermione to unwrap the glass and gingerly set it into place.

Stepping back, the glow faded until it was a bare glimmer when they were about six feet from the glass. “However, she was too general in her spellwork, and any rightful claimant to the Scottish throne will evoke the expected response.” Nodding towards Hermione thoughtfully, he motioned her forward. The glow intensified with her proximity. As she stepped back, he smiled. “It works for the heir of the royal house of Dunkeld or Canmore,” nodding towards her in respect as he stepped forward and touched the glass as its glow intensified again, “as it does for the heir of the royal house of Stuart.”

Closing the display case, Charles Edward Francis Bethune, heir to the House of Stuart offered his arm to Hermione Jane Granger, heir to the House of Dunkeld as they turned and exited the room, neither one looking back at the Amen Glass sitting quietly in it's case, both trying not to notice the faint sound of footsteps hurrying up the stairs ahead of them.

Epilogue the Second - A dungeon below Malfoy Manor

Torchlight flickered fitfully, dimly illuminating the edges of the underground chamber. The center of the room was visible in a baleful reddish glow that emanated from a sinister statue of a monkey-faced wizard presiding over a basalt block that was streaked with reddish stains. The lower part of the statue flowed into a macabre throne, where a dark-haired witch lounged in apparent boredom.

Kneeling in front of the block were three wizards in black robes. Heads down, all three waited silently as a fourth wizard paced around them. Glowering, Lucius Malfoy shook his head as he periodically cast a minor curse at the three, receiving some small amount of satisfaction from watching them flinch at the continued assaults. Finally stopping, he looked up at the figure lounging in the throne before the statue. Seeing her languid nod, he turned his attention back to the three in front of him.

“Fools! Incompetent fools.” Lucius Malfoy resumed his pacing around the torch lit room, glaring at the three kneeling before the blood crusted stone. “I can't believe you three couldn't orchestrate the demise of one pathetic mudblood. My contact in the Ministry was correct that they would send her to retrieve those toys you had stolen from the muggles, why couldn't you finish her off?” Throwing his hands in the air in frustration, he stopped directly in front of a particularly thuggish looking member of the trio. “I can't believe that I once considered you a suitable companion for my son.”

Laughing, Pansy Parkinson displayed her contempt for Lucius' comment. “Your son? You mean Draco, the one who failed when the Dark Lord tasked him with the death of Dumbledore? The one who had to be rescued twice in one night by Harry Potter? The one who has repudiated you and everything we stand for? That son?”

Spitting to one side, she grimaced. “Draco is no more one of us, you really should write both him and that baggage you call a wife off and move forward Lucius.” Gently caressing his forearm, she shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. “I can't believe that neither my agent in America nor that group of cultists that follow The Founder there were able to clip the wings of that overrated trollop.” Shaking her head, she sighed. “She must be sleeping with Bethune or Kingsley, or both. That's the only reason I can see for them to use her as their personal errand girl while they allow her to play with her elves. But, the exercise wasn't a total loss” Smiling coldly, she drew an ancient looking piece of parchment from beneath her robes.

“I don't see how you could think this was anything short of a catastrophe.”

“Because, while I was hoping to see the death of the mudblood Granger there in the Serpent Fane, I found this concealed within an altar before those incompetent Americans searched the premises.” Using her wand to conjure a low table, she placed the parchment on it. “This was written by The Founder himself.”

Stepping back, she gestured towards the page in mock gallantry, motioning Lucius forward. As he stepped forward and bent over to look at the document, his gaze was drawn to the text and the accompanying drawing. Looking up sharply he looked at her with a gleam in his eye. “You have read the entire text?”

“Yes Lucius, I didn't suffer through three years of Ancient Runes for nothing. It's exactly what you think it is.”

Smiling coldly, Lucius' mind began to plan. “A map to the resting place of Salazar Slytherin and directions for raising him from his long slumber.” Smiling at Pansy he asked, “Whatever shall we do with this?”

Epilogue the Last - Number Four Privet Drive, Surrey

The sun was dropping below the horizon as Petunia Dursley worked the flowerbeds in front of her home. Carefully weeding and mulching, she lovingly tended the beds that had become a place of solace and comfort, partially because they reminded her of her sister's son Harry.

Pushing back guilt and bitter thoughts about how he had been treated growing up in her house, Petunia allowed her head to hang a bit as she offered a quick prayer, thankful that Harry had been able to forgive her and her son Dudley for the horrendous way he had been treated. The last two years had seen a remarkable change in the young man after he finished the war that took the life of her sister, his mother, so many years ago, and Petunia marveled that he was able to set aside so much of what happened.

Looking over the joyful colours spread before her, Petunia smiled as the late season bloomers were beginning their annual show. Shaking her head, she wondered if Vernon would bother to come home at all this week, and she smiled ruefully when she admitted to herself that she really didn't care. Harry's young friend Hermione had introduced her to a solicitor who dealt with family law cases and she was quietly gathering together papers and records that would see her and Dudley free of Vernon's toxic personality and influence.

“Petunia, are you feeling all right?”

Looking up, Petunia smiled as she saw Chastity kneeling beside her. The young witch had accompanied them during their year in hiding from the magical terrorists who had killed her sister years ago, and she and Dudley had become inseparable since that evening Dudley had rescued her by charging a pair of Death Eaters who were too busy torturing her to notice him and laying them both out with a cricket bat that had been at hand. Shaking her head, Petunia thanked Providence that Death Eaters seemed clueless to the fact that they weren't invulnerable to a well-placed swing from an enraged striker. Smiling, she nodded. “I was just thinking about how much things have changed in the past three years.”

Smiling, Chastity bobbed her head as she unconsciously ran her finger over the engagement ring that Dudley had given her last month. “And things are still changing. That solicitor that Hermione set you up with is the older brother of a classmate of mine. He'll be able to get everything in about what kind of man Vernon really is into the record without letting anything slip that might cause undue attention.”

Looking at her soon to be daughter-in-law, Petunia smiled. “There's something else, isn't there?”

Smiling, Chastity nodded. “I don't know anything for certain, but Helen Granger, Hermione's mum, just sent us an owl.” Watching the older woman nod in anticipation, the blonde witch grinned. “You were saying that Harry was sounding too happy while he was in American after rescuing Hermione to be explained by just his relief at finding his friend safe and sound, even his best friend.”

Rolling her eyes, Petunia snorted. “It's like watching my sister and Harry's dad all over again. Isn't there someone at the hospital of yours that can check and see if they've been cursed or something? I do believe that they're the only two in England who hasn't figured out they actually belong together.”

Shaking her head, Chastity chuckled. “You're not the first person to make that suggestion, though usually people wonder if his ex-girlfriend had inherited her mum's hand at potion making. But Helen said that they're having a dinner in Oxford tomorrow for the two of them, it seems that there's some sort of announcement to be made and she's wanting the three of us to be there for it.”

Her eyes lighting up, Petunia began to gather up her gardening tools. “I wouldn't miss that for the world.” Sobering for a second, she shook her head. “I do hope that other boy isn't too hurt by this. He's always seemed a bit taken with Hermione.”

Nodding, Chastity smiled. “I was there in London with them the two days we were waiting for Hermione to be found and I was first on the scene after Ron and Harry went in. He's a better man than I ever imagined him to be. I think he sussed out how everything stood before they did. That whole forty-eight hours, he kept telling Harry that she'd be all right, that they'd bring her back to him.”

Smiling wickedly at the thought of another blonde Ravenclaw, she added. “And I don't think Ron will be sitting on the bench very long, not if one of my old housemates has anything to say about it. She's fancied him for years and as soon as word gets around that Harry and Hermione are together, she'll be checking in on him very quickly.”

Nodding towards the house, where Petunia could see a diminutive pygmy owl sitting on the windowsill to the living room, bobbing its head enthusiastically, she smiled. “Since there's an owl available, why don't you send your friend a note that she might want to check in on Ron? Just to see if he's all right, of course.”

Chuckling, Chastity nodded. “You're always such a thoughtful person, Petunia. I think that Ms Lovegood would appreciate that.”

“Luna? She's been by the house a couple of times over the last year. Lovely young woman, but I can never make heads or tails of what she's going on about, half the time.”

Reaching down, Chastity adjusted the small stake that was stuck in the ground at the edge of the flowerbed. “I've always meant to ask, why do you put these stakes out like this?”

Shaking her head, Petunia smiled as she looked down at the small stake. “I've always done this with my gardens, though for years it was Harry that put the stakes out. It was a habit my mum had and I just started doing it when we moved here to Surrey. One of the teachers from the local school brings her classes by on walks and we've got most of the houses in the area labeling the flowers so the students can learn to identify them.” Gazing down at the stake bearing the label `viola tricolor hortensis', she smiled. “Although anyone can look at these and know they're Pansies.”

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