16. Chapter 16
Chapter 16
“Will you come to Mass with me?”
Harry looked up, pleasantly surprised by Hermione's request. He'd known about her faith that she kept under the proverbial wicker basket. A part of him had been curious about church and religion, but not overly so. The Dursley's had been strict attendees at their local church, but their behaviour from Sunday to Sunday hadn't endeared him to the idea of religion.
Hermione was different though. She'd told him how her faith was the reason she'd come through his debilitation with even a semblance of sanity. Maybe there was more to faith than dressing up on Sunday to impress the neighbours.
She was dressed in a fairly conservative linen dress, a handbag over her arm. The uncertain, yet hopeful, expression on her face as she awaited his answer told him exactly what that answer would be. He could never disappoint her.
“Of course. Give me a few moments to get dressed.”
Smiling, she handed him a pair of trousers (belt already in the loops), a shirt and socks before instructing her beau, “Your shoes are under your chair.”
Amused and exasperated, Harry bent over to see that his shoes were under his chair. Shaking his head, he smiled as he pulled on his socks. Two minutes later, she side along Apparated him to her little stand of trees.
“Oh, right,” she murmured. Glancing about, she insured there was no one about before casting a quick spell at his head.
Harry flinched, a bit gun shy at spells being cast at him. He didn't want to tell anyone, but he was still shaken over how easily Voldemort had overcome him in the graveyard. His blue mood from the beach stroll the night before had passed, but his confidence had still taken a few hard raps.
With a wan smile, Hermione apologized, “Sorry, should have told you first. I forgot to cast the translation spell on you.” Glancing at her watch she asked, him, “Would you mind waiting a few minutes? Grandfather Chavez should be here any minute and I really like walking into town with him.”
He smiled when her expression turned a bit shy, “I'd also like to introduce him to my fiancé.”
They'd not discussed his impromptu proposal as they walked about the Black Lake. He felt an urgent need to reassure her, though. Taking her hand in his, he emphatically told her, “I meant it. The day I turn seventeen I want us to marry.”
Smiling, he could see her savour the moment. Her hand wafted out, curling in his longish hair. Slowly, she pulled him in to a soft, tender kiss. All those weeks that he'd wandered the ethereal back roads of the void of his Living Death were fading a little more each time she kissed him. Deepening the kiss, he pulled her to him. Just as Harry's hand snaked into her hair, there was a soft cough behind him.
Harry had to exert all his considerable will in order to prevent his spinning about, ready to do violence. Hyper alert, his mind registered the weakness of the noise as that belonging most likely to Grandfather Chavez. Still, the muscles in his neck were whipcord taut when he disengaged from Hermione in order to meet the man.
Closing his eyes, Harry took a deep breath. Watching Hermione blush as she discreetly wiped her face, he couldn't help the grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good morning, grandfather,” she greeted over Harry's shoulder.
Turning, Harry realized that she'd spoken in Valencian as the spell she'd cast earlier had translated for him. The expression on the old man's face caused Harry to blush a bit. There was a vaguely hostile evaluative look when the grandfather softly asked, “I do hope that you are Harry. If you aren't, I believe I'll have to call for my sons.”
Harry had never been cross-examined by Hermione's father or by Sirius. To have this relative stranger standing up for his fiancée's interest gave him a warm glow. It was anecdotal evidence that she was as wonderful as he thought she was.
“Yes, sir. I'm Harry.” Glancing at the beet red witch at his side, Harry chuckled, “I hope you've heard good things about me.”
There was no answering smile. “She was heartbroken over your illness.” As the teens stilled, the patrician looked over Harry. “You are far too pale and thin. You must eat more.”
With that pronouncement, Grandfather Chavez turned toward town, holding out his elbow for Hermione. She gave Harry a shrug and apologetic smile as she wended her arm in the old man's. Harry's answering smile and nod tried to convey his understanding.
Falling behind the oddly matched duo, Harry thought about the Grandfather's words. Hermione had been through quite a bit, as he lay there in that bed, unmoving and unresponsive. Nodding to himself, he had what he knew Hermione called a `Harry Moment'.
If he learned anything from his confrontation with Voldemort in the graveyard, it was that the wizard born as Tom Riddle was a foe unlike any he'd faced. The longer he contemplated the situation, he felt a pressing sensation as if a band of steel was wrapping itself about Harry's chest. It was a suffocating feeling that caused Harry to rebel. Nearly snarling, Harry pushed at it. In an instant, he identified this feeling as fear.
Harry was no fool and his encounter with the Dark Lord had reinforced what he knew intellectually. The man was going to be very difficult to kill, but, I'll be damned if I'm going to be afraid of him. Harry was afraid of no man any longer. He'd faced more challenges than most persons on the planet and emerged victorious from almost all. Vernon, the Stone, the Chamber, the Dementors, the Dragon and the Graveyard. All had tried to kill him, yet he still stood. Still he pressed forward, denying the darkness while scrabbling for the light.
He's just a man. Evil and talented, but in the end, he's a man.
Back in the Caribbean, what seemed like a lifetime ago, he'd pledged to destroy Voldemort. Harry had told Hermione that he would walk through fire and battle the darkness in order to kill Voldemort. Now, he knew what that entailed. Frankly, it intimidated the holy hell right out of him, but…
His gaze lingered on her as he followed.
Yes. Harry's jaw set. Even if it should kill me, I will destroy him. Even more, I'll live through it. For her, if for nothing else. He was willing to die, if needs be, in order to `vanquish' the man, but he would do even more to live. For Hermione, for his parents, for Sirius and Hestia, for Remus and Alex, and even Neville and Susan.
The scratching of pebbles underfoot seemed to stand witness as he reaffirmed his pledge. The sun climbed the sky and the wind swirled her skirts as he picked up the pace. Striding next to his beloved, his heart warmed when she beamed at him. On her other side, Grandfather Chavez gave him a small nod of satisfaction.
The squeezing sensation in his chest began to ease. He had no answers, only resolve. There was very little illumination for their path forward, just a desire to do that which was right, that which was necessary.
As Harry followed Hermione's example, genuflecting before following her into the pew, he thought that resolve and desire might be enough for now.
.oOo.
…ves en pau, per estimar I servir el Senyor.
Nervous, Hermione glanced to her left. Harry had a thoughtful expression on his face as he stood next to her. Leaning over, she whispered, “After Father Sanchez goes by, you scoot out into the aisle, genuflect and wait for me.”
Still wearing a serious expression, he nodded.
Hermione's nervousness increased as she began to regret inviting him to accompany her. Harry had never been very spiritual or religious. Had she gone too far?
The aged Spaniard strode by in his green vestments. Without further prompting, Harry slid out of the pew before dropping a graceful obeisance to the altar at the front of the old church.
After Hermione rose, she linked her arm in his. Slowly they stepped from the church. “It's nice here,” he told her in a low, reverent tone.
She looked about the plain church. Not an architectural marvel like Notre Dame or one of the other more famous churches, it was what it had been intended. A house of God for the faithful.
“I like it here,” she agreed. “It's been an island of comfort…” the pain of the recent past was a wave that threatened to bear her under. Shaking it off, Hermione refocused on the present. Feeling his arm in hers, she rejected the hurt. It was no longer relevant or real.
“Perdre Granger?” the familiar soft voice called.
Looking up, she saw Father Sanchez watching her with a smile. Hermione returned it as she tightened her grip on Harry's arm. “Pare, this is my Harry.”
Before the old priest could reply, Harry jumped in, “Thank you for your prayers for my recovery. When you next see them, please pass my thanks to the Sisters as well.”
She could tell that the priest was impressed at Harry's thoughtfulness. The Dominican waved away the young man's thanks, “It is of no account. We were all grateful to be of service to you,” his eyes slid to Hermione, “and to your lady.”
Hermione could feel her countenance droop. Despite having him next to her, loving her, Hermione still felt echoes of her pain, of her loss. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry's expression soften as well, “Thank you nonetheless, Pare.”
As the young couple moved out of the nave, Hermione saw the widow who'd been such a comfort to her. The white haired woman's eyes sparkled for a long moment before she pulled a face that made her question evident.
Hermione blushed.
The old woman broke into whoops of laughter before shuffling on her way.
“That's her?” Harry whispered.
“Yeah. Somehow she knows that you shagged me senseless yesterday.”
Harry chuckled, “That might have to do with the look on your face combined with the colour of your cheeks, my dearest.”
Hermione could feel her already magnificent blush intensifying. Poking Harry in the side, she scolded, “Oh, you. Come on, I'm hungry.”
She frowned when he told her, “We need to talk on the way back.”
.oOo.
James was ruffling through a pile of parchment while Remus was correlating a ledger with the latest report from Gringotts, Hong Kong. They'd been successful in moving the Potter and Black fortunes out of the London Branch of the bank before the world went tits up. Remus had also transferred his own money alongside a legacy Alex had from her Aunt on her mother's side. Hestia had already combined her working account into the greater Black accounts, so that wasn't an issue. When asked about her flat, she'd shrugged.
“Not much there that I can't buy somewhere else.”
Not so with Rowan Hill, though. The warders from of Haus Schutz Ltd had reported success in their efforts. Rowan Hill no longer existed on this plane of reality. Turning back to the form in his hands, he tried to avoid the morose thoughts that always rose to the fore whenever he thought about his home.
The trust fund enacted for the heir of the Lord Richmond was successfully transferred from Gringotts, London account number X-WN-GRD-5 held in vault 637 to account number M-RA-JDE-1 held in vault 733 at Gringotts, Hong Kong. The balance of said account was increased from 50.000 galleons to 1.000.000 galleons per the orders of Lord Richmond dated…
Shaking his head, he muttered to Remus, “Harry's vault is good. Moving to Lily's.”
The goblins had insisted that James establish accounts for each member of the family. This way, any one of them would have access to significant funds. James had had a very frank discussion with Fahgmather and Ashcraik a few days before the third task. Hopefully, the goblins had taken steps to protect themselves.
Shaking his head at the ludicrous nature of his thoughts, James muttered, “We should have hired the goblins. They would've taken Voldemort down in three days.”
Remus sniffed in amusement.
“James,” Remus began with a hint of hesitation. When the dark haired wizard turned to his lycanthropic friend, Remus asked, “What about the tenants?”
James frowned. “There are no magicals on the lands.” However, the lands were still Potter owned, which was Remus' point. The immediate grounds of Rowan Hill comprised approximately three hundred acres, but that was just the park about the house. The full extent of the estate was approximately seven thousand acres, most of it either under till or in one case, being mined for coal. If Voldemort found out - which he very well could - then the tenants and miners were dead men walking.
“We'll have to send them a note or maybe even visit. They'll need to go on an extended vacation.” Turning on his desk, he pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. Uncapping the fountain pen, he began to write in a brilliant copperplate. Five minutes later, he handed the letter to Remus to peruse.
“This should do for starters,” Remus murmured as he stroked his chin. Without looking away, he added, “You and I should visit each one to explain.”
Rolling his eyes, James flopped back in his chair. “And we'll do this how without violating the Statute of Secrecy?”
“I have no idea,” Remus replied in a soft tone.
“Hestia maybe?”
“Maybe,” Remus conceded.
The door opened, distracting both men from the duties. Harry and Hermione walked in before Harry asked, “Dad, do you have a minute?”
Waving to the sofa, he rose, “Sure. Have a seat.”
Sitting across from them, he noticed Remus shifting his seat also. “What's on your mind?”
Harry paused, thinking. “Hermione and I have been talking,”
“So that's what they call it these days? Talking?” James sniggered. Damn, I'm funny.
Hermione glared at James while Harry just cocked an eyebrow, waiting for Prongs' mirth to subside. Ok, maybe not so funny.
“Sorry. What's on your mind?”
Harry paused again. James leaned forward, watching his son. He could tell that Harry was searching for the right words, which put James on his guard. Usually, Harry just let fly. If he was trying to be precise in his speech, it didn't bode well.
“On the walk back from town, Hermione and I talked about the graveyard and our encounter with Voldemort.”
James sat back in his chair, serious and attentive. All traces of humour banished, he nodded in understanding. They needed to talk about what happened and it didn't surprise him that Harry had turned to Hermione first. He'd talk to Lily first.
“Hold on, let me call your Mum and Sirius…” James began as he twisted his wrist, releasing his wand from its holster.
“Actually, we'd prefer you not do that, just yet.” James was surprised that it was the witch at Harry's side who'd spoken.
James turned to Hermione, his expression closed. “Really. Why should we exclude my wife?” His temper flared slightly. He wasn't used to being given peremptory orders from anyone.
Harry reinserted himself to the discussion. “It'll be clear. Just trust me.”
Nodding, James cooled off. With a hand gesture, he indicated to Harry to continue.
“We're good fighters,” Harry said as he looked to Hermione and gestured to indicate the two of them. “I think I say without arrogance that we could take almost any person on the planet.”
“Except Voldemort,” Moony finished with a deadly serious tone.
“Yeah,” Harry agreed. The muscle in the jaw of The Boy-Who-Lived flexed as he stared at the ground in front of himself. “With Professors Flitwick and McGonagall standing by to defend the castle from any attack by Voldemort, we're without outside sources of instruction.” Harry's eyes narrowed again as Hermione sniffed in obvious anger.
“Except Albus,” Remus whispered.
Like a volcano erupting, James wrath poured forth. “No! I forbid it! That bastard…” just like a bomb, his fury spent itself quickly in the light of the harsh reality. Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward, running his fingers through his genetically messy hair.
“Yeah, that was my reaction, too,” Harry snarked.
“And mine,” Hermione agreed, her tone cold.
“And yet, he's the only wizard alive who's not only successfully duelled Voldemort, but he beat Grindlewald,” Remus observed. James turned to his old friend. The man's face was pale with anger, but his voice was detached, almost uncaring. He'd seen Remus do this a few times. He would become so enraged about a topic that he had to distance himself from the situation emotionally else, he lose complete control. It's never a good thing to be near a lycanthrope when they go on a rampage.
Setting Remus' finer feelings to the side, James deflated. They were all correct. Only Albus possessed the knowledge, experience and possibly skills that Harry needed for his task. Based on her expression it was also Hermione's task. He also agreed that it would have been much worse had Lily and Sirius been present. Both of them would just as soon kill the old man as work with him. Now it seemed that James had the unenviable task of trying to convince his wife that she needed to let her son and future daughter in law be tutored by a man whom she detested.
For that matter, James wasn't too fond of the old man, either.
Based on their expressions, neither were Harry and Hermione.
Leaning forward again, James leaned on his hands as he let his mind wander. A comment by Hestia a month or so ago floated across his consciousness like a feather on the wind, “Politics is working with people you despise.”
Looks like he was going to be a politician, then.
“I think it'd be best if I broach the topic in private to Lily and Sirius. Separately, though. If we were all in the same room, they might band together to kill me,” James joked to relieve a bit of tension. He loved his wife and respected the strides she'd made in controlling her formidable temper, but truth be told he could be a bit intimidated by her on occasion.
“I think the sooner we get started, the better,” Harry observed, Hermione nodding her unhappy agreement.
Gloomily, James nodded, “Bloody, buggering shite.”
.oOo.
In the end, they decided that Remus would approach Sirius, ensuring that Hestia was with them when he had the discussion. Harry had laughed, teasing, “Hiding behind Hestia's skirts?”
Dead serious, Moony had snarked back, “Damn right.”
Shifting from his seat, Remus meandered to the Potion's laboratory. It was one of the first things Lily had done when they set up house here. She wanted to be ready to brew any potion required to cure Harry. It turned out not to be needed, but now she and Alex turned their formidable brains to his own situation.
Dealing with the fact that Remus was suffering from progressive liver failure had been put on hold while Harry was incapacitated. Now that The Boy-Who-Lived was seemingly cured, the family's attention was allowed to refocus.
Knocking on the door, he smiled. The first time he'd come to fetch Lily for James, he'd just opened the door before sticking his head in to yell for his redheaded friend.
The bollocking Lily had given him for violating safety protocols and “scaring me half to death you numb nuts, dim-witted, fuckstain of humanity” had left Remus both amused and abashed. Later that day, Lily had affixed a huge placard that read: “LILY'S POTION LAB. KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING. THIS MEANS YOU LUPIN!”
So he knocked.
The door was opened by Alex. She was wearing her white lab coat, spectacles resting on the end of her narrow nose. As usual, both their expressions softened. “Hey,” she greeted with a smile.
Leaning in, he gave her a soft kiss. “Hey. If it's safe, could you tell Lily that James needs her when she's available?”
“Sure,” she replied as she leaned on the doorjamb. Her face took on a mischievous expression as she asked, “Want to tell her yourself?”
Holding his hands in front of his chest, palm out, he shook his head, “I don't think I'll be welcome in any lab of Lily's for, say…fifteen years.”
Alex grinned. Changing subjects, she told him, “We think we might be on a good line to pursue.”
“Really?” he asked, taking her hand in his.
Nodding, she pushed her glasses to the top of her head. “Lily had an idea about enzyme malfunction which I expanded upon to investigate enzyme blockage. There are a host of blockers that could trigger the conditions of the test.”
Remus' blank look caused her to titter. “There could be bad things in your body that make you sick,” she translated.
Smiling at her good humour, he told her, “Could you tell Lily that James wants her? I'd like to talk to you in our room.”
She waggled her eyebrows, her suggestion obvious.
Remus' expression sobered. “Sorry, love. Not today. I really need to talk to you.”
.oOo.
Lily's eyes were so narrow, if James didn't know her eye colour, he'd never be able to tell. Based on his experience, he delved straight to the topic - no fussing about. She hated it when a person avoided the issue at hand, so he was direct. After relating Harry's desire to train with Dumbledore, James sat back in his chair, waiting for the wrath of his wife.
Her lips drawn so tight that they were white and bloodless, Lily Potter stared out the window. Leaning his head back on the chair, James listened and waited. Her breath was low and even as the morning sea breeze wafted through the window. The sun was warm and bright, so radically different from his native Wales. Glancing over at her, he was distracted by the play of the sunlight in her hair. It glinted gold, brown, red and blonde.
“I will kill him if he…” Lily whispered. Narrowing his eyes, he waited. She didn't continue.
“If he does what?” James asked in an equally low voice.
She turned on him, “If he hurts Harry. If he fails him, I'll kill him.”
He frowned. This wasn't going as he expected. He actually had expected Lily's wrath to fall on him. Her amorphous hostility towards Albus, while not unreasonable, was vaguely disturbing to him, but James couldn't put his finger on the exact reason. Therefore, he waited for her to elaborate.
She turned back to the window, “He's hurt Harry so much while we were gone. He better…” she trailed off, her meaning clear. Lily's face flushed red before she paled as her emotions fluctuated from anger to fear and back.
James nodded. Sometimes he forgot that his mercurial wife who had a ferocious intellect matched to an equally passionate nature was also a woman who was subject to the capricious whims of the early months of her pregnancy. Wincing, he remembered an argument they'd had when she was three months along with Harry. James had almost been decapitated and he never did figure out why she'd been shouting at him.
None of this invalidated her feelings or attitudes, but did explain the volatile nature of her emotional state.
Silently, he watched her. After a long moment, she turned to him, a beautifully sculpted auburn coloured eyebrow cocked in an unspoken question. Do you feel any different?
Pursing his lips, he considered. Eventually, he shook his head. Meeting her fixed gaze, he told her, “No. I feel the same. He's hurt Harry too much already. But I also agree with Harry and Moony. They need the old man to get Harry over the hump.”
“Is this some ridiculous wizard thing?”
Completely baffled, he stared at her.
“This insistence that our son duel the most vicious Dark Lord in a millennia. Why not drop a bloody bomb on the man's head?”
The coolness of her tone belied Lily's expression. Her eyes flashed and the mouth was nearly curled into a snarl as James considered her question. Staring at his hands, he recollected everything about the situation he could recall. The wording of the prophecy, their collective history with the Dark Lord, the bits and pieces that Albus had let slip about the man. Throwing it all into the pot, he let it simmer.
Raising his face to meet his wife's still piercing gaze, James slowly told her, “I don't have a very good answer. There's no fact that I can point to that says `Harry must duel Voldemort at ten paces' or other such nonsense.” Placing his splayed fingered hand on his chest, he continued, “I feel it here. Harry and Voldemort are Light and Darkness. Are they avatars of higher beings? Of ideals? I don't know. But destiny has placed them in each other's road.”
Shaking his head as he turned away from Lily's silent, accusatory glare, he moved to the window. “I believe that Harry will slay Lord Voldemort, but it won't be easy.” His head drooping, he muttered, “But we already knew that.”
Moving back to his chair, he raised his head again, “Call it my gut, or intuition or even some family precognitive trait…,” her glare softened at his attempt at humour that both Potters knew wasn't humour at all. “Either way, I believe that this is the path for Harry.”
Her eyes narrowed before Lily nodded in acquiescence. Deflating, she shuffled from her chair to sit in his lap. Smiling, James pulled her close. Breathing deeply of her scent, he steadied. In the end, this was what it was all about. Love, life, family.
.oOo.
James left Lily asleep on the bed. She was becoming more tired as the pregnancy progressed. Fortunately, her morning sickness had been brief. It'd been replaced with a general malaise that caused Lily to nap nearly every day. Stretching, James yawned as he looked about.
Harry and Hermione were studying in the common room. Her feet were in his lap as they read from different books. James couldn't make out which books but both teens were absorbed in the subject matter. As he debated whether to prank the oblivious students, the door to the Terrace opened, admitting Remus.
Nodding to his friend, James asked, “How'd it go with Padfoot?”
Wagging his hand, Remus told him, “So-so.” Inclining his head to the outside, Remus glanced at the teens, “Let's go for a walk and talk.”
Without speaking, they clopped down the stairs to the beach. It was an even thirty steps down the short cliff face to the stretch of beach that Remus and James had covered in repelling wards and Notice Me Not charms. Remus nodded to the south, “Let's go this way. Padfoot, Hestia and Alex are up the northern stretch.”
Without preamble, Moony told Prongs, “For a little extra protection, I had Alex along when I found Sirius. He and Hestia were on a blanket back that way,” he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “They were splitting a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread. Just chatting, you know?”
James nodded, gratified that Sirius was beginning to decompress. With the assistance of her healer friend in Paris, Alex had developed a short list of mind healers for Sirius to interview. Everyone who even had a slight acquaintance with Sirius Black knew that he would insist on making the final decision, so Alex had provided a list of three healers. He was to see the first one later this afternoon.
“We pulled up.” Remus grinned, “I was scared, so I sat opposite Padfoot, between the girls.” James chortled as his friend continued, “The discussion jumped into the deep end, reminding him of the Graveyard skirmish. That set the tone, but his eyes got so empty. All the joviality that'd been there just a minute before had gone.” Half shrugging, Remus was silent for a minute as they continued their walk.
The tide had just turned and had shifted to the flood. Walking slowly through the soft, sliding sand, they men meandered down the beach. James squinted as he looked out over the sea. Fishing boats rolled and yawed as they pulled in their catch. He could see the tiny forms of the fishermen as they worked the winches that did the bulk of the heavy lifting. There was still plenty of manual labour to be done while pulling the nets aboard with their weighty burden.
Shaking him out of his reverie, Remus went on with his recollections. “He set his jaw - you know how he does that - but before he could explode, Hestia started rubbing his arm a bit. That cooled him off.” Shaking his head, Remus added, “Padfoot did not like the idea at all, but nodded once when I asked him if he would agree to Harry training with Albus. He did make one proviso, though.”
James turned to Moony, who'd stopped walking. Raising his eyebrows in a `What?' expression, Prongs waited. “He said that he wouldn't tell Albus the Secret to this place. He said that he wanted a place that Harry could - and I quote - a place to escape from Albus when he crossed the line.”
A coldness settled over James as he considered Sirius' words that Remus relayed. He'd not considered that Albus would actually attack Harry. Truth be told, it seemed quite farfetched. Then again, their collective lives seemed to be a testimony to the farfetched.
With a jerky nod, James agreed with Sirius' decision to exclude Albus from their home. Upon further reflection, James decided that no one else ought to be added to the roster of those `in the know' about Le Retirada. A stray thought that he ought to procure rooms in Zürich occurred to him before he filed it away as `later'.
Returning to the present, James blinked. Refocusing on Remus, he began in a hoarse voice, “What else…” clearing his throat, he began again. “What else did he say?”
“Not much. He just kind of stared out to the surf for the rest of the time. Hestia brought up the logistics issue, but we put it off for later.” After a pause, Remus offered, “Sirius has a point. Harry and Hermione probably ought not to meet Albus in Spain, much less here. We can set up a place in the Italian Alps or somewhere else for them to work.”
Nodding, James agreed. Moony's idea gelled with his own preferences. “What do you say we go through the non-magical people to buy the place? That should help hide the purchase a bit more.”
Remus nodded, “That's a great idea. Should I give an agent a bell?'
“Yeah. A remote place…mountaintop is what I'm thinking. That way there won't be any snoopers and they can all let loose with some really nasty shite.” The kinds of things that James thought that Albus would need to teach the teens would need some privacy.
.oOo.
Mind healer Georg Plummer was reading through the file of his newest patient. Granted, the file was very slim, as he'd not seen the man yet. Born in Germany during the post war boom as the allies poured economic aid into what would become West Germany, Plummer had a Psychiatrist father and a devout Lutheran mother who was a homemaker. Dinner table discussion was always interesting growing up in the Plummer household.
When he'd received an owl bearing a letter on his eleventh birthday, it had been his mother who accepted the fact that her son was a wizard first. Georg still chuckled to himself when he recalled his father's obstinately confused expression that he wore for nearly a month afterwards until he finally accepted the irrational and moved on with their son's magical education.
Combining the best of both parents, he was an excellent mind healer. His familiarity with the mundane world (he still lived mostly non-magical), alongside his towering intellect served him well in his profession. A confirmed bachelor, he was wedded to his calling.
His three o'clock looked interesting. Sirius Black: exonerated Englishman who survived a dozen years in the hell that those bastard British called a prison. Animals. He should prove to be an interesting case. He'd not liked the requirement of an Unbreakable Vow though. Black was insisting that the Healer agree to a Vow if he continued to see Plummer. The mind healer was mildly insulted. He never disclosed any details of his clients `issues' under any circumstance. His professional vows forbade it and on top of it, to blab like that was unethical.
Snorting in professional indignation, the fussy man set aside the file, placing it perfectly parallel to the edge of his desk. Spinning in one third of a turn of his chair, he reached to the exact spot on his shelf. Withdrawing the book, he quickly perused the table of contents before flipping to page three hundred and four.
“Dementors, Dementors…” he muttered to himself as he smoothed his Bismarck moustache. His mother continuously chided him for the eccentricity. Outwardly, he waved off her words, but privately, he had grown it because he believed it made him look much older than his thirty one years. Now in his mid-fifties, he felt it gave him countenance.
There wasn't much information in the literature about Dementors, their origins or the exact nature of their abilities. Most victims didn't survive in order to provide any sort of data for researchers to mine. Unfortunate, that.
Shaking his head, he slowly rotated his chair to replace the volume. Returning to his desk, he withdrew a sheet of fine rag cotton paper, uncapped his Mont Blanc fountain pen and set to writing ideas and avenues to purse with the patient. Turning his head slightly to the left, he consulted his file again. A standard form for all his patients was a family tree. “One must know where one came from in order to understand where one was going, yes?” his father would routinely ask if he was in good humour.
Glancing at the form filled out in a strong bold script, Georg wondered who was the founding father of the Black family with a mania for celestial bodies. Bellatrix, Regulus, Sirius, Andromeda, Orion, Narcissa and so on. Very odd.
The sharp rat-a-tat-tat broke him from his reverie. It was his secretary, Elsa. Capping his pen, he cast a hurried spell to dry the ink. Replacing the notes in the patient's folder, Plummer performed his usual quick glance about the room. Everything was in its place. Perfect.
“Come!” he called.
.oOo.
Sirius walked out of the posh office of the German mind healer to find Hestia waiting for him. He had to smile. She was trying so hard not to look anxious, but was so obviously worried for him she was pitifully torn. At his smile, she relaxed a bit.
Answering her unvoiced question, he told her, “That was interesting. Let's get a cuppa and I'll tell you about him.”
Leaving the stylish office building in downtown Zürich, they walked to the corner pub. Pulling up the bar, Sirius gave Hestia a look that was confident and knowing. When the slim bartender slid in front of Sirius, Padfoot tossed a bill on the bar as he announced, “Tea for two, please.”
The young blonde man with the towel over his shoulder glanced at the bill before he snorted. “It's three Euros for the tea. You've put one down.”
Frowning, Padfoot looked at the bill in confusion. He felt his fiancée's giggle more than heard it. Her slim hand snaked around his waist, depositing two more bills on the counter.
The young man nodded, scooped up the bills before turning to his trade. Embarrassed and confused, Sirius allowed himself to be led to a table. “I don't understand,” he whinged.
“My poor sweet, handsome and stupid man,” Hestia teased.
“Hey…”
The bartender arrived with two plain white teacups and a generic metal teapot. Without comment, he deposited his burden before heading back to whatever vital task he was pursuing before being interrupted by the fool of an Englishman. Sirius' glare at the man's back did nothing to perturb the Swiss. Perhaps, Sirius wondered, the man was en route to the fascinating activity of contemplating the state of his navel or the freshness of his bath towels. “Arse…” Sirius muttered before pouring for himself and Hestia. Still annoyed, he blew on the tea before taking a deep draught.
“Gah…that's just,” he stared at his tea in disbelief. He'd never had tea this bad.
Hestia shrugged, “It's not as bad as what you get in the States. The swill they brew and try to pass off as tea should be illegal.”
Feeling betrayed, he stared at the cup for a minute before swallowing his pride. Another sip preceded another grimace. Shaking his head, Sirius thought of the Queen and country before finishing off the slops. He needed some fortification after that interview.
“So?” she asked. He glanced at her from his cup in time to see a look of self-reproach steal over her features. “If you want to talk about it, I mean,” Hestia backtracked.
Smiling, he reassured her, “It's alright.” Leaning back in his chair, he cradled his cup, the warmth of the tea feeling good in his palm. “He's a bit of a fussy pants. Immaculately groomed with these enormous moustaches, he looks like something from a book, but what a brain.
“I tried to have a bit of fun but he nipped that in the arse right quick. `Mr Black' he says in this clipped Hun accent, `If you wish to waste my time, feel free to hand me my fee before leaving my rooms'. I tell you, only Minerva ever went alongside my head like that.” Shrugging in amusement, he continued, “I like him. He's smart, doesn't take my shite and seemed to ask a lot of good questions. Reminds me of you like that.”
His guffaw seemed to take her off guard as Hestia's pensive and attentive expression became confused. “He asked me what was wrong with my family. Said that any family that had such a penchant for ridiculous names had to be, at the least, dysfunctional.”
Feeling an odd mixture of hopeful and vulnerable, Sirius settled into telling his beloved about the first interview with the man who would be one of the many who eventually helped save his life.
.oOo.
“Hey mate,” Harry greeted as he flopped on the sand next to Neville. “Susan,” he added leaning forward to greet the redhead on the other side of his friend.
“Hey. Where's Hermione?”
Leaning back on the sand, Harry groaned. “She and Alex are talking about the results of the bloody test they just put me through.” Squinting at his friend, Harry saw the puzzlement on Neville's face. Deciding to explain before asked, he added, “Alex wanted to make sure that I wasn't going to drop back into that magical coma again at the drop of a hat so she ran fifteen different tests on me.”
With mock gravity, he gripped Neville's shoulder, “If they ever put on rubber gloves before grabbing a long chrome cattle prod,” he paused dramatically, making eye contact with first Susan then Neville, “Run. Run as far and as fast as you can.”
The three teens burst into laughter, Susan holding her hand in front of her mouth to hide her giggles.
“Was it really bad?” Neville asked.
“Nah, not really. Just tiring.”
Straightening out his towel, Harry rolled on to his stomach, determined to take a nap. The two sharp intakes of breath from his side reminded him that he'd not told Neville or Susan about aftereffects of being raised by Vernon Dursley. The scars on his back were hardly subtle.
With a deep sigh, he rolled to a sitting position as he gathered his thoughts. Doodling in the bits of sand that puddled on his towel, he began in low voice.
“You both know how I was placed with my mum's sister and her husband when everyone thought my Mum and Dad were dead?”
“Yeah,” Neville croaked.
“Well, they weren't too fond of magic.”
“Oh, Harry,” whispered Susan to herself.
Narrowing his eyes, he stifled his anger. He hated being pitied and it sure sounded like the Bones scion pitied him.
“No one should live through that,” she continued. Her comment threw him off stride, but he realised she wasn't pitying him, but rather grieving for his childhood torment. There was a significant difference between the two.
“Yeah, well…” he shifted uncomfortably. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I'll go get a shirt…” he made to stand. It was one thing being open and unafraid with his family. These were his friends with whom he wasn't as secure or confident.
“No.”
It was Susan. Sweet Susan Bones in her electric blue swimsuit was wearing an expression of the utmost loathing. “You've done nothing wrong. It's those animals who did that to you who should cover up. They should hide their shame and sin. Never you.”
Reassured, he felt the wisp of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He met her piercing blue eyes for a long moment. Giving her a short nod, he sat down next to Neville.
There was a long silence before Susan broke it, “I'm going to be a freckled monster tomorrow after all this sun.”
Harry smiled when he saw Neville inspecting exactly where Susan expected to be a freckled monster. “Sue, I don't think that Nev minds overmuch. He might even volunteer to smooth some sun lotion on those hard to reach spots for you.”
Susan's expectant look coupled with Neville's bright blush caused Harry to burst into laughter. Flopping back on the sand, the three friends chatted the afternoon away.
.oOo.
“But why?” Hermione asked for the fourth time.
Shaking her head, Alex shuffled through the test results. There was no reason whatsoever for Harry to have woken on his own. No medical reason, she amended to herself. Pursing her lips, she shook her head in response to Hermione's question.
The younger witch stood, staring out the window. It was evident to Alex that the two of them shared a common trait. We need to know why.
“His magical reserves are off the charts,” she commented. “So, too, are yours for that matter. All his physical metrics are normal. Blood chemistry is normal. Biochemical readings are all within expected norms. His magical status is so far outside the norm that it's impossible to tell. Every reading is beyond the top end of the scale so I can't tell if he's having a problem. That fact alone tells me that he's probably fine.”
There was a long pause as Alex shifted her glasses to the top of her head in a familiar gesture. Rubbing her eyes, she slowly exhaled. Between Remus' liver issue and Harry's spontaneous recovery, Remus' liver was a far easier problem to address. This was threatening to drive her `round the twist.
As the breeze snaked about her ankles, Alex heard Hermione breathe out a long sigh. “You don't understand…”
Waiting for more, Alex didn't get it. After Hermione failed to continue her remark, Alex looked up. The other witch's expression was drawn with pain and fear. Her eyes faced the window, but saw nothing.
“What don't I understand?” Alex queried with a soft voice.
There was another long, deliberative silence. When Hermione turned to face the blonde healer, it was obvious she'd come to a conclusion. “There is a prophecy. The exact wording doesn't matter, but the thrust is that Harry is the only person who can stop Voldemort.” She paused before adding, “And Voldemort is the only one who can stop Harry.”
Reeling, Alex stared. No wonder this is a bloody mess. She'd taken the required course in Healer school regarding the interactions of prophecy with physical health. The course had been summed up in a simple phrase: We Have No Idea How This Works, It Just Does.
Which is exactly what had happened with Harry.
Her mind raced, recollecting the results of all the tests she'd subjected Harry. It all made sense in the manner that none of it made sense. Of course, he'd do the impossible. Suddenly the non-medical consequences of the prophecy flooded Alex, causing her to gasp in horror. Looking into Hermione's face, the blonde's mouth dropped open in dismay.
Nodding, Hermione confirmed all that passed through Alex's mind. All the combat training, the equal status accorded Harry and Hermione by James, Lily, Sirius and Remus, the…well, all of it now became clear. Despite the age of their bodies, Harry and Hermione were both adults in most every sense of the word.
Blinking, she tried to refocus. Finally, she stuttered, “I-I have to…well, I have no…” Frowning, she exerted her will to calm down. After a deep breath, which she held for a five count, Alex began again, “This explains much, yet nothing.” At Hermione's frown, Alex explained about what she'd learned in Healer school.
“Harry's extraordinary ability could be a function of fate, destiny or God if you will. It could be a side effect of surviving the Killing curse. It could be…well, I'm not sure, but his unknown magical reservoirs could - most likely are - the reason for his sudden revival.”
In a voice so soft that Alex had to strain to hear it, Hermione reminded her friend, “I have very similar magical reservoirs.”
In sober contemplation, Alex nodded. “True.” Anecdotally, the fact that Harry and Hermione were together in an adult, loving relationship while already Mages lent further credence to the burgeoning theory that Harry - and be extension Hermione - were under the Aegis of Fate and, therefore, not necessarily subject to the common experience. Once again, the sound of the surf and the gentle sea breeze was the only thing to disturb the room as both witches silently sat.
After a soaring seabird called its pealing, almost laughing, call, Alex slowly began, “I don't know, Hermione. The only thing I can say with certainty is that Harry's situation is not the first where a person involved in prophecy has been subject to incredible happenings. Look at Voldemort. He too survived the Killing curse that night so long ago. He too was under the umbrella of this prophecy. I have to admit defeat. Pointing to the prophecy I say, `That's why'.”
Slumping in her chair, Alex grumped. She hated now knowing why and this case in particular just bugged the shite out of her. Harry was such a likable young man and his Hermione reminded her so much of herself at that age that Alex wanted to be of service to the couple.
This prophecy - whatever it said - was a wild card that threw the normal rules out the window. No wonder Harry survived the Killing curse as a baby.
Looking up, she found Hermione's brown eyes boring into her. They held each other's gaze for along moment before Hermione asked, “What does this portend for Harry and a relapse into that magical coma?”
“I have no idea if he'll relapse, but given the collective experience of persons involved in prophecy, I'd say that it's unlikely that Harry will suffer a setback.” Slowly shaking her head in frustration, she amended, “I don't know this, mind. It's just the collective wisdom of the Healer profession.”
Hermione turned back to the window. After a long moment, she heard the young woman murmur, “That'll have to be enough. For now.”
.oOo.
“Here.”
Remus looked up to see a shirtless Padfoot handing him a beer. Nodding, he took the bottle. James was sleeping on his other side, sprawled in one of the many chaise lounges scattered about the huge patio. They'd come outside a half hour ago to take a break from the finances of the Richmond estate. Slug that he was, Prongs fell asleep. Reluctantly, Remus had cast the Sunscreen charm on his friend.
Sirius had no compunction about respecting James' repose, though.
“Wake up you bloody wanker.” The gout of water from Padfoot's wand placed punctuation on his `request'.
Remus smiled at the sputtering Earl who moments before had been murmuring, “Lily,” in his sleep.
“You…” James began. Remus was well aware that James knew exactly who'd woken him in such an unceremonious manner. Padfoot had first done it during third year and it became a favourite. Approximately every other week, James would be woken in such a manner.
“Shaddup,” the Earl of Blackmoor commanded as he dropped another bottle in his cousin's lap.
That too was tradition.
“Girls…” Remus warned as he lifted his bottle. After a long draught, he let out a sigh. “That's what was needful.”
On either side of him, Padfoot and Prongs lifted their own bottles, taking a long draught. First James, then Sirius let out their own sighs. Sirius added a belch for good measure. When Sirius scratched his scalp with his usual abandonment, James casually asked, “Fleas, Padfoot? Or is it lice this time?”
“Too much sex,” Padfoot replied deadpan. “I can't help myself. Eight, nine times a day and I still keep the train rolling down the tracks.” Stretching, Padfoot sighed in satisfaction.
There was a long silence. Remus swallowed noisily as he stared at the sun hoping to forestall the inevitable.
No good, the pressure still built a bit higher. Sirius took another drink.
Looking left, then right, he tried to find something to distract himself. Counting birds failed miserably. James gargled his beer for what had to be thirty seconds.
Remus pressed his lips together as hard as he could muster, but failed. The inevitable happened. His guffaws of laughter brought the other two out as well. Soon they were hooting and screeching; spraying each other from their never-ending bottles.
The mirth in Sirius' face was welcome. After he'd finally fled Britain, Remus had been fearful that Padfoot was too damaged to come back. However, come back, he had.
Remus would later realize that he'd not even missed Peter during the horseplay. Wormtail was dead. They'd just not found his body to bury. Yet.
.oOo.
“Usually, there's a bit of magic involved in protecting non-magical people in this type of situation,” Hestia had explained when James asked her about how to help the tenants of the Richmond lands. “You give them a watered down version of the truth. Something along the lines of `A terrorist is threatening this area' or the like. Pairing that with a few Compulsion charms does the trick.”
James had been insistent upon compensating these people for their lost time and likely lost crops. “They live one harvest to the next, many times. I'll not have them lose everything because of Voldemort. I'll not let him win that fight.”
Hestia had nodded her understanding and agreement. James could tell that there was something bothering her, so he prompted, “What's bothering you?”
Sighing, she slumped in her chair. “I talked to Amelia about this after you asked. It's not really my area of expertise, see? She gave me the answer I was looking for, but…well, Albus was there. He'd like to speak to you.”
James frowned. Dealing with Albus Dumbledore was right next to a voluntary non-sedated colonoscopy on his `to-do' list. “Did he say why?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“Great,” he muttered Scrubbing his face, he collected himself. “When?”
“At your convenience.”
Rolling his eyes, he asked the question for which he dreaded the answer. “What does he want?”
She frowned, “Didn't you just ask that?”
“No, before I asked what he told you. What I'm asking now is what you think he wants.”
“Ah,” she murmured, sitting back in her chair. James knew that despite her affected confusion, she knew exactly what he'd been asking. Hestia was a sharp cookie. She stared at the ceiling for a moment before returning her gaze to James. There was a half-smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, which James found himself returning.
“Albus wants to enlist you.”
Frowning yet again - he found his face making unpleasant expressions far too often when discussing the currently exiled Headmaster of Hogwarts - James asked, “Enlist me to do what?”
She wagged her head, her expression contemplative. “I'm not sure, but I believe he's building a coalition of British Expats.”
Rolling his eyes, he murmured, “Great. How about tomorrow?”
Hestia gave James a soft smile of understanding, “I'm sure that will be fine.”
.oOo.
“No, no…”
Hermione woke up to Harry's groans as he thrashed in his sleep. The sheets were sweat soaked as they bunched around their waists. Sliding over from her side of the king sized bed, she gently shook his shoulder. “Wake up, love. It's just a dream, wake up.”
Like switching on a light, Harry went from sleeping to awake. He sat up in bed, his eyes wide. Levering herself upright, Hermione wrapped her arms about his heaving chest. This was just like the dream back in the Caribbean, the first dream that'd manifested his obscure precognition.
“You alright?” she asked in an undertone.
Jerkily, he shook his head. Placing his hand over hers, he gave her a quick squeeze. “Be right back,” he murmured before slipping from the bed and heading into the bathroom.
The sink turned on with a hiss as she lay back on the pillow. It was hard, but she remained patient, her mind creating and discarding a host of possible reasons for his nightmare. She heard him brush his teeth and smile. Despite the Tooth Cleaning charm's perfection, both of them (and Lily) still manually brushed their teeth on top of the charm. She didn't feel as though she'd cleaned her teeth without that minty clean taste.
The water cut off after Harry spat into the sink. A moment later, he rejoined her.
“Bad?” she asked without preamble.
He nodded as he pulled her into his arms. “Yeah. I saw all kinds of destruction. Big Ben burning, the houses of Parliament exploding, even Buckingham palace in flames. It was confused and out of focus but definitely recognizable.”
She was silent, contemplating the scenes. Before darkness overtook her, she heard him say, “It's going to get worse.”
.oOo.
Remus pulled his robes over his head. He and Alex had gone shopping in Paris after James had brusquely told him, “You, me, Padfoot and Lily are meeting Dumblefuck tomorrow noon. Be ready for anything.”
A half dozen high end robes and three pair of stylish boots later, Remus felt prepared for the meeting, at least from a haberdashery perspective. Knocking on the potion room door, he waited for Alex. The door opened to reveal his very distracted mate. Leaning forward he gave her a quick kiss. “Love you.”
Absent-mindedly, she looked up from her notes, half smiled before muttering, “Love you too. Have fun,” before heading back into the room.
Remus smiled as he tugged at his cuffs. Turning the corner, he found the other three milling about the entry hall. He heard Harry from the other room, “Alright, mate. Rotate your wand counter clockwise - yeah like that - now jab. Good…”
Apparently, Harry was tutoring Neville.
“You ready?” James asked. Remus gave a short nod. “Right then, let's get this over.” He held out a stick on which the others placed a finger.
Thirty seconds later, he braced for a landing in Zürich. Shaking his head for portkey travel always made Remus a bit dizzy, he heard Dumbledore greet, “Ah, James, Lily, Sirius and Remus, so good of you to come.”
James frostily replied, “Albus.”
Remus had to give the old man credit for sheer balls. Ignoring the hostile reactions from the three wizards and one witch, Albus gestured to a sitting area where Amelia Bones was already sat next to Hestia. Remus nodded to Sirius' fiancée who gave him a smile in return. “Shall we?”
None spoke, but they all took seats leaving James the seat across from Albus. Remus bit the bullet, sitting next to his old Headmaster. He didn't trust Sirius or James to keep their hands to themselves. Lily was doing her level best to reign in her temper, but her mouth was closed so tightly that he could barely make out the hint of rosiness that was her lips.
“Tea?” the old man asked.
This forced the first words from the Remus, Sirius and Lily. Remus was surprised at the anger which ran up his throat, forcing out a hostile, “No, thank you,” to the old man. Can one ever `get over' what Albus had allowed to happen to Harry? It didn't seem that it was possible.
He felt Lily tense on his other side as she folded her hands in her lap. It was a slow, deliberate movement, the motion of a rose closing at nightfall. She's furious just being in his presence.
There was another long silence as Albus poured for him and Amelia. After an eternity, he spoke again, “Britain has need of you, James.”
Cut to the chase much?
“Really? Do tell,” James replied in a smooth voice.
In a sombre tone, Dumbledore explained, “Voldemort's government hasn't yet presented their credentials to the ICW. As such, the body still officially recognizes the Fudge government as the ruling body of magical Britain. George Cavendish was the Ambassador for Britain.” Albus glanced to his cup, “He was standing next to Cornelius during the melee after the Third Task.”
Taking sip to remember the dead, Albus returned the cup to its saucer before gently placing the set on the table. “Amelia, as the Director of the MLE, is the ranking surviving government official from the Fudge government. As such, she has the authority to issue credentials for Ambassadors…” he let the last word hang in the air knowing that everyone about the table was smart enough to connect the dots.
Remus sat back in his chair, evaluating Albus' proposition. On the surface, it was a stroke of genius. James would be the Ambassador for Britain to the ICW reporting to Amelia as the de facto Minister. Should the ICW recognize and accept James as the Ambassador for Great Britain it would force the body to accept the nascent government in exile. Voldemort's puppet government would be unable to recall him to issue new credentials to a Death Eater because James reported to Amelia.
It was a magnificent parliamentary manoeuvre that would further the general cause of retaking their homeland.
However, it would mean that James would be forced to work with a man he hated above most others on a day-to-day basis.
There was a long silence. Remus turned to see how his friend was reacting to the news. The neutral, considering expression the Earl of Richmond wore was expected. When the chips were down, James reverted to form and Charlus Potter had groomed his son to be the twenty-third Earl from the first day out of his nappies.
Knowing James the way he did, Remus knew that Prongs was considering all the angles - especially the aspect where he'd have to work with Albus on a recurring basis.
James had a furious intellect that he applied with a focus that could be intimidating. Right now, he was focusing on Albus Dumbledore.
“What, exactly, would my duties entail?”
Remus was almost surprised that James had directed the question to the witch at Albus' side. Then again, Amelia was to be the acting Minister until Britain could be re-established.
“Your duties or your tasking?” Amelia countered.
James smiled as he acknowledged the point.
“Your duties shall be minimal. There are assemblies that last for three months at a time. As the British Ambassador and, therefore, one of the founding countries of the ICW, you shall also be one of the permanent members of the Security Council.”
James nodded, this was all known.
“During this time of…unrest…at home, I believe that we shall have to work closely to align ourselves with certain countries,” Amelia said in a musing voice.
“France, Germany, Spain and the United States with the Japanese and Chinese being wild cards,” James said aloud.
Remus smothered a smile. James had spent an entire day quizzing Hestia about the state of the world in order to prepare for this interview.
The tired looking witch gave James a half smile. It was evident that she was warming to the young man who had such a scandalous reputation from school. Narrowing his eyes, Remus considered the situation from Amelia's point of view. James was but twenty-three, having missed thirteen years of the world and its comings and goings.
At the same time, James had been groomed to this station from his youth. He was obviously very intelligent who could move in the expected circles with the expected manners
In addition, James was the Father-Who-Lived. That notoriety combined with his recent headlines due to his work in the Wizengamot brought the argument full circle. James was the perfect choice.
Returning his gaze on his old friend Remus wasn't surprised to hear him reply, “I will, of course, discuss this matter with my wife and confidants before giving you a reply. Would tomorrow be quick enough?”
“More than sufficient, my Lord.”
Remus blinked. The pleased tone that accompanied the small smile told Remus who was really behind this entire recruitment. Amelia Bones didn't rise to be the Director of the most influential department in the ministry - a ministry that was wholly patriarchal - she didn't rise to such a position without more than a bit of wit and guile.
James chuckled. He too had come to the same conclusion as Moony.
“I believe that we'll retire for now,” Lily smiled at Amelia, wholly ignoring Albus.
“Of course,” Amelia replied with smooth grace.
Remus moved with Sirius and Lily to Amelia's side. They all began chatting about the inconsequential: weather, Zürich life as opposed to London and of course the news from home. Or lack thereof.
With Remus' acute hearing, he heard James corner Albus.
“I'll get to the point, Albus. Harry needs help that only you can provide,” the meaning behind the words clear.
Glancing over, Remus saw Albus' face become grave.
“Can you see your way clear?” James asked.
“I am completely at your disposal,” Albus replied with a gentle solemnity.
Nodding, James told the old man, “We're establishing a facility in the Italian Alps. Remus will contact you when it's ready. We'll provide you with a portkey when the wards are in place.”
There was a long silence before James added in a deceptively light tone, “Albus, if you…are less than helpful with Harry, I do believe that I'll have to kill you.”
There was a long silence. When Augusta Longbottom had threatened Albus after Neville's participation in the second task, it'd been laughable. Now, though, there was steel in James' words that gave his threat veracity and potency that no one could doubt. While Albus Dumbledore no doubt respected James Potter, it was also unlikely that the old man feared the younger in any way.
“I shall do my best for your son, James,” Albus attempted to reassure.
“We'll see.”
At that moment, a house elf popped into the room with a note that changed all their lives even further.
Amelia absently thanked the elf as she opened the note. Remus was alarmed at the shocking change in colour of the witch. First, a healthy, pleased pink that drained to a linen white then to a florid red, Amelia's expression cycled disturbingly.
“The muggle government has fallen. The Prime Minister is dead, the Queen is in Paris and Voldemort is on the throne.”
.oOo.
James and Lily exchange a `look'. With his eyes, he asked if she was amenable to the proposed post. He knew it would take him away from the family much more than he'd like, but this was important. Especially now with Harry on the mend and the baby on the way. James wanted to give his children a life of safety and security. While Harry hadn't had that so far, James was willing to work his fingers raw to give him that security for the balance of his son's life.
Her face softened for a second, showing him her reluctant acceptance. His heart fell a bit when she gave a short nod. He really didn't want this position, but he was a Potter and Potters stand for the light. Richmond turned to Amelia, “Director Bones, given the situation, I shall immediately accept your offer and the posting.”
This seemed to shake the older witch free from her shock. Out of the corner of his eye, James saw Sirius smile when Amelia reasserted herself over the situation. “Very good, my Lord. I believe we are needed in Paris, forthwith.” She held up the note in her hand.
James nodded and was glad they'd all dressed for the meeting.
Lily discreetly hooked her arm in James' giving Amelia a smile as they disengaged from the group. When they were on the opposite side of the room, affording a modicum of privacy, Lily told her husband, “I'll go tomorrow.”
Eyes widening, he'd forgotten about the trip back to Britain to warn off the tenants from possible depredations by the Death Eaters. “Lily…” he began. The last thing that James Potter wanted was his headstrong , pregnant wife running around in a Voldemort controlled Britain.
“James, shut it. I'm the Lady Richmond as much as you're the Lord. I care about these people too, and it's as much my duty to take care of them as it's yours.”
He slumped forward, kissing her brow, “Be careful, my love.”
The smile on her face was clearly forced, “It'll be fine.”
James placed a soft kiss on his wife's lips. A promise of love and life. Turning back to the group who was studiously ignoring them, James told Amelia, “I'm ready when you are.”
When she held out a cord that was evidently a portkey, James went to touch it alongside Albus. His heart broke just a little bit when Lily and the others used their own portkey to return home. The last he saw of the rooms in Zürich vanished when he heard Amelia intone, “Regnum.”
.oOo.
James sent a message to Lily around dinnertime, “Will overnight in Paris. Godspeed your journey. All my love.”
Lily, Harry, Hermione and Remus would Apparate to Calais where they'd board a ferry for England. From there, they'd hire a car before driving to the tenant lands in western England - primarily Shropshire - and Wales.
“I need to go,” Harry had told his Mum. “I'm the heir and, well…” he trailed off, not wanting to put name to his fear. In short, he wanted to protect his Mum and Uncle Moony.
“And I'm coming as well,” Hermione piped up from her fiancé's side. Harry nodded in agreement. Hermione would be a help should the worst occur and they would need to fight their way out of Britain.
Frowning, Lily looked to Remus for an opinion. She really didn't like her newly recovered son accompanying them on this effort. Then again, it must've been what James was feeling when she told him that she was going in his stead.
Moony shrugged. Lily knew that he'd seen both the teens in action so there was no disputing their abilities. “We'll use the non-magical means of travel as much as possible. Amelia says that with some adjustments, the Death Eaters could modify some Ministry equipment to monitor Apparition and portkeys. We'll only use the emergency portkey only if we're all evacuating. Anyone left behind will have a lot of unpleasant company within a few moments.”
Hermione hefted the map case while Remus ensured that he had all the addresses and directions for their stops. There were an even dozen farms to visit along with the manager for the mine. They were to start first thing in the morning. None of them wanted to sleep overnight in a Britain ruled by Voldemort without magical protection more times than was absolutely necessary.
.oOo.
The first leg of the expedition proceeded smoothly. They Apparated to Calais where they rode the ferry to Dover so that Remus could hire a car. Piling into the Bentley, they headed west, the rising sun at their backs. Remus had justified the luxury car as they'd need it to lend credence to their actual positions. Most of the farmers wouldn't believe that they were who they said should they arrive at their doorstep in a Fiat.
Hermione laid her head on Harry's shoulder. She'd not slept well the night before as she worried about the expedition, so Harry had encouraged her to take a nap. “I'll wake you if something important happens,” he told her with a smile.
Rolling her eyes, she took his proffered jumper, wrapping it about her shoulders before cuddling into him.
Harry sat in the back of the car; half his attention listening to his Mum and Remus chatting, the other half of his attention on the scenery as it sped by. He mused that it didn't look like Voldemort had taken control of the government. It just looked like England. Scowling, he admitted to himself that the pristine countryside wouldn't last like that for long. He'd foreseen it.
Skirting south of London, Remus stayed on the back roads into Hampton before cutting northwest through the Cotswolds and into Shropshire. They'd stopped for luncheon at a roadside pub where Harry had woken Hermione to a partly sunny day.
By the time they pulled into the Shrewsbury environs, all four were tired and tense. There was an inn near the ruins of the ancient Benedictine monastery, the Battered Monk, where they got a room with two double beds. None wanted the party to separate for the evening.
Harry and Hermione took to the streets looking for some takeaway. Remus was the only driver of the party so he was wiped out after a long day behind the wheel on the less than cooperative back roads of southern England. He'd flopped on the bed apportioned for him and Harry. When Harry suggested food, Remus had waved a hand and a muffled “Whatever,” had been heard.
Lily was reviewing the list of tenants and refreshing her memory. The last time she'd seen many of them was nearly fourteen years before. Even if she'd not changed much, they had. Before they'd left Spain, Hermione had cast a long lasting glamour on the time-displaced lady, aging Lily to her mid-thirties.
Glancing up and down the street, Harry pointed. “What about here?” he asked.
Crinkling her face in negation, Hermione replied, “We had fish and chips for lunch. I want something a little less greasy.”
Shrugging, Harry plodded on down the lane. Continuously scanning the surroundings, he had his wand palmed in case a situation was thrust upon them. He was fully confident that should any Death Eater short of Voldemort attack them, he and Hermione could easily defeat them. The harder task was to find food that suited his fiancée.
Smiling to himself, he remembered the hushed discussion he'd had with his Mother this morning as Hermione slept.
“So, when were you planning on telling me?” Lily had asked in an undertone.
Wide eyed, Harry paused for a second as he tried to remember what he'd forgotten. Lily jumped back in, “About you and Hermione?”
The wide smile had been unbidden and unaffected. “Yeah, that.”
“Well?”
“What's there to say? I asked. She said `Yes' and on my seventeenth birthday we'll wed.”
Harry could nearly hear his Mum roll his eyes. “Harry, Harry, Harry…listen and learn.” Half turning in his seat, Lily caught her son's eye. “Your father is gravid with excitement. He wants to celebrate in some way. Maybe a low key party, maybe some sky writing, I don't know. You need to get a ring. You need to get the business aspects started.”
Harry didn't like that. His and Hermione's marriage was going to be about love and happiness, not about galleons changing hands.
Lily performed a feat of incredible dexterity casting a Stinging hex at her son, hitting him between the eyes from the front seat of the compact car. Remus' guffaw earned him a glare from The Boy-Who-Lived.
“You're a millionaire in your own right.” Pointing at the sleeping witch at Harry's side, James continued, “So too is she. If Padfoot and Hestia have no children, She'll be a Countess in her own right as well as the Countess of Richmond when I'm gone. Your eldest son could be the Earl of Richmond and the Earl of Blackmoor. That's an enormous amount of contracts and paperwork that we need to get working on now.”
Lily's green eyes twinkled when she added, “And it's fun to see you so indignant every time I bring it up.”
Surrendering to the reality of the situation, he sighed, “What do I need to do?”
“Nothing right now. James and Sirius will get the paperwork moving soon enough. We got an owl from Maturin while you were…sleeping…that he'd escaped to Paris and set up shop there.” She sighed as she stared out the window. “It'll be good to think about something happy as opposed to war and death.”
Returning to the present, Harry noticed the sign. “How about Indian food? Feel up to some curry?”
Hermione smiled, “Sounds delicious.” Tugging at their entwined hands, she urged him to the shop door.
.oOo.
Stevie Greenfoot had inherited his father's lands just three years before. Well, they weren't really his lands, but he had a ninety-nine year lease that had been renewed for God knew how long. So it was fair to say that he'd inherited the use of the lands. He and his wife, Powys, had two beautiful girls; one dark the other light who brought immeasurable joy to his heart. Between his farm and his family, Stevie was a well-contented man.
The first year that he managed the farm after his Da passed on Stevie did fairly well. Raised there, he was still a bit tentative now that he was flying solo. The next year had been far better, clearing over ten percent on his crops, which was nearly unheard of in this day and age.
Yesterday had been a bugger. Spraying his corn for pests had been followed by late night repairs to the hayloft and it all had worn him out. Powys kept the house, milked the cow and tended the chickens between scurrying after the little ones. The other night, as they bedded down, she'd told him that, “I swear that I need a leash for them sometimes. I turn around and they could be halfway to Oswestry before I took a breath.”
The rain was coming down in sheets, so he was taking a day in, mending and cleaning some tools. He had to smile as his little blonde tornado shrieked by followed by the brunette laughing her fool head off.
The knocking at his door interrupted his enjoyment of his daughters. Setting the axe to the side, he called out to his wife, “I'll get it love.”
Hurrying to the door, for it wasn't fit for man or beast to be out, Stevie opened it to see four people crowded under umbrellas.
The redheaded woman looked vaguely familiar and was dressed like a lord. Well, Lady I suppose. The older man held the brally for the Lady, but it was obvious he wasn't her husband just by his body language. Friend or maybe employee. The other two were teens and they shared an umbrella as well. The lad, well, he was his mother's son if his eyes were any testament. The lass, she was definitely with the lad. They, too, were dressed well. Beyond them he saw a fancy car parked in the yard. What the bloody hell was going on?
All this passed through Stevie's mind in a flash as he was already waving them in and out of the rain, “Come in, come in.”
The lady who was in her thirties gave a genuine smile, “Thank you Mr Greenfoot.” The gents shook the brallys before following the ladies inside. The lad was looking about like a shark and it disturbed Stevie. Come to think of it, so was the lass. After a long moment's look they settled, giving Stevie and his now arrived wife a smile to match the mother's.
“I'm Lady Richmond,” the redhead began.
Before she could go further, Stevie gave her a bow while Powys curtsied. “My Lady,” he greeted her. “We're honoured to have you in our home.”
Powys interrupted her manners challenged husband. “Please, come sit. Would you like some tea to warm up?” The blonde woman bustled to the kitchen to put on the kettle.
“Tea would be wonderful, thank you,” Lady Richmond replied.
“This way, m'Lady,” Stevie entreated as he led the way to the kitchen table. The room was cosy and well worn, but not what anyone would call fancy.
“The water's just on, so it'll be a minute,” Powys told the crowd as they settled. She took her position at Stevie's shoulder, waiting for the Lady to say her business.
“This is my son, Lord Potter and his fiancée the Lady Hermione Granger-Black.”
Eyes widening, Stevie thought to himself, Jumped up Jesus! Who's next? The bloody Archbishop of Canterbury? Aloud, he half rose to another bow, “My Lord, my lady.”
“Mr Greenfoot,” they both greeted him with low voices. Once again, Stevie was struck by the fact that the younger pair was acting more like bodyguards than Lords and Ladies.
“And this gentleman is Mr Remus Lupin, our steward.”
Ah, now we're getting somewhere, Stevie mused. Nodding to the grey haired man, the farmer greeted, “Sir.”
“Mr Greenfoot, I come with rather unpleasant news,” the Countess began.
Alarmed, Stevie tensed, his back straightening. Powys hand on his shoulder kept him in his seat, though.
“As a superior steward of the lands entrusted to your family time out of mind by my husband's forebears, I felt it necessary to bring you news.” This immediately put him at ease. No one saying nice things like this was going to kick him off his land. It may only be three hundred acres, but they were his.
“There is a terrorist who has taken a dislike to the house of Richmond.”
“Like those Arab heathens?” Powys interrupted. Realising her faux pas, she immediately blushed while apologizing, “I'm terribly sorry, m'Lady. Please do go on and forgive me.”
The redhead seemed to be right sort. “Of course, Mrs Greenfoot,” she smiled. “This individual and his group aren't motivated by religion or anything resembling logic. They hate the house of Richmond. They've already tried to kill his Lordship and myself four times and our son,” she nodded her head to the cool eyed lad, “at least five times.”
“Lord…” Stevie breathed.
“We're here with unpleasant news that we believe this person and his followers may try to hurt you and your family because they've been unable to hurt us.”
Stevie's heart stopped. Barely able to breathe, he stared.
“Da, who's that pretty lady?”
Unable to process anything, he turned to the little voice. There were his girls, dark and light staring at the Lady. His precious girls. Unthinkingly, he swept them into his arms, holding them close lest they be taken away.
“Mr Greenfoot, his Lordship and I are prepared to help you protect yourself and your family.”
“What's the Bill doing about all this?” he croaked. Regaining a semblance of control, he set the girls on his knees.
The Lady frowned.
“Bloody hell.”
“Quite,” she replied, insinuating that his conclusion that the police were doing nothing or that they could do nothing. “But what Lord Richmond and I will do for you is twofold. First, we shall provide you three years income in cash for you to take an extended holiday abroad. Go to France, Spain, Ireland…somewhere that isn't the UK. Second, your lease shall be automatically renewed for another ninety nine years. Any costs you incur in restarting your efforts here will be compensated through Mr Lupin.”
Stunned, Stevie gaped.
The pretty Lady leaned over the table, her red hair shining, “Take your family to a place of safety until we tell you to come home. If it takes longer than three years, we'll provide. You are part of the greater Richmond family and we take care of our own.”
Completely nonplussed, he turned to see his wife. Powys was just as surprised as he was. Shrugging at her, he nodded. “Well…Ok,” she whispered.
Turning back to his landlord's wife, Stevie asked, “How long do we have to pack?”
.oOo.
“Goodbye and Godspeed your travels,” Lily said one last time as they hiked to the Bentley.
Harry held the umbrella over Hermione for the last time that day. Fifteen smallhold farms and fifteen visits. Fifteen cups of tea drunk with cheery expressions. Most of them were really good, though.
As he climbed in the back seat, he groaned. Hermione liked his suit and tie, but he'd be glad to be rid of them this evening. One last night in Shrewsbury, the mine in the morning followed by a driving escape of the country. Despite his confidence in his own abilities, Harry was edgy.
The constant tension of walking about in the invisible police state combined with the overhanging feeling of doom for the family tenants was starting to get to him.
“My feet are killing me,” Hermione moaned. Not feeling too compassionate, Harry grunted in her general direction. Turning his head, he saw her crack an eyelid at him, the glare generating enough heat to warm the car. “You wear two inch heels for a full day while walking about farms and whatnot, bucko.”
“Bucko?” he smiled.
“Bucko,” she said with finality. His laugh caused her to smile and in turn, Lily and Remus joined in on the joke. Some part of Harry realized that they were all letting off some steam from the day. They'd had fourteen successful visits. The rain had worked in their favour, keeping the man of the house inside for the day.
The fifteenth had been a crotchety old widower of about seventy. “If those bloomin' Irish bastards want to kill me than they're welcome to it. My bloody wife couldn't kill me with that horrible cookin' of hers so they're welcome to try. But you tell them that William Kinney don't kill to easy.”
Lily had been taken aback. She glanced at Remus for help but the werewolf was too busy smothering his own smiles. Hermione was giggling into her hand while Harry gaped at the man, a smile tugging his mouth upward.
“Good on ya',” he had breathed to the old man. No matter what Lily tried to tell him the terrorists weren't Irish, but rather English it took a good twenty minutes before he'd listen. Harry had not expected even more vehemence.
“Just as bad. Bastards have…” the rant that followed caused even Lily to blush. Mr Kinney had been Welsh and proud of it. By the end of the interview, they actually pitied a Death Eater who had the audacity to call on Wren House Farm in eastern Wales. They were in for a big surprise.
.oOo.
The mine was deep in the Cambrian Mountains east of Llangollen. Up early and a quick breakfast of buns and white coffee set the family on their way. Remus pointed the Bentley west and they headed into the mountains. While not as famous as the South Wales Coal Fields, the small colliery was profitable at its scale.
Hermione was fully awake for this day's ride. It'd been a bit odd sleeping next to Lily with Harry in the other bed, but it would've been even odder to ask Lily and Remus to share a bed. Nevertheless, she'd slept soundly so was enjoying the beautiful scenery as they wound through the mountains.
Bleakly beautiful was surrounded by the odd forest. As they got further west, she watched Harry. He seemed to relax the closer they got to Rowan Hill. Well, closer to where Rowan Hill should've been. These were his people though. They might not know him, but all had heard of Lord Richmond and many knew the family name Potter. This was home.
Twice they stopped for directions. Remus was very polite and one time had to turn to Lily after the old lady waved them on to ask, “What did she say?” The woman's accent was very thick.
Around lunch, they arrived at the mine. It was a small affair, not generating nearly on the scale of Tower Colliery. Nevertheless, they would do right by these men and their families.
The meeting began badly. “So where's his Lordship if this is so urgent? The mine manager and the union representative asked.
Lily had coolly cocked her eyebrow as she replied, “He is indisposed.”
Eventually, she's browbeaten them to accept her word, but neither man guaranteed cooperation for an evacuation. Therefore, Remus had played the trump card.
“Gentlemen, as the authorised steward of James, Earl of Richmond, I hereby suspend any and all operations of this mining establishment until some time in the future. All employees shall be given a severance pay equal to that outlined by her Ladyship. Do you have any questions?”
Harry had thought the bored tone that Remus delivered the news was an excellent touch.
After much protestation, the miners knew they'd lost. They agreed, grudgingly and under half steam, to pass the word to the men and their families that they should take a vacation for a bit.
Once again, the magical foursome trundled into the extremely expensive car, gratified that they'd done right by their people. As Remus pulled the car to the gate on the way out of the car park, there was a man standing in the middle of the road.
A man in robes.
With a wand in his hand.
He was tall and thin with a receding hairline. His brown robes were worn, but clean. Holding out his hand, it was evident that he wanted to talk, but Remus wasn't in a talking mood. Gunning the engine, he made to run the man down.
Since the family was traveling incognito, they'd not cast a spell the entire time they'd been back in Britain. The man in the worn brown robes was not under that same limitation. A quick Levitation spell had the tyres off the road, spinning futilely.
Realising they were caught; Remus applied the brakes before placing the car into park. As one, the family drew their wands. Surprisingly, the man in the brown robes placed his own in an inside pocket before walking to the passenger window.
Holding his empty hands in front of him, he bent down to look Lily in the eye. Harry didn't like the man's leer. As soon as Lily rolled down her window, the man's oily voice greeted, “Lady Richmond I presume?”
“Yes. And you are?”
“Oh, I'm an old friend of the family, you could say. Very old.”
The man's smug expression hadn't changed until he saw Harry in the back seat, that is. “Ah, young Lord Potter. How was your childhood? Did your redheaded steward take good care of you?” He burst into peals of laughter that made Harry doubt the man was sane.
Then he realised what the man had said. “You…”
But Lily beat him to it.
“You potioned the Weasleys.” Her voice was husky and burnt, the emotion leaking through the words.
Mockingly, the wizard clapped a slow time while leering at Lily. “Well done. Just tell your loving husband that Dormred ap Morag sends his love. If he shouldn't remember me, just tell him to ask his dear father about the horses. That should jog his memory.”
Without further explanation, he Apparated away.
Without looking, Lily commanded, “Remus, get us the hell out of here.”
So he drove. Their egress route took them to Holyhead where they dropped the car at a sister agency before catching a ferry to Kingstown, Ireland. The entire drive was done in silence. Each of the family was struggling with their emotions for different reasons. As the ferry made its way through the choppy swell of the Irish Sea, Harry approached Lily as she stood at the railing, staring out to the busy water.
The previous hour and a half, Harry didn't know if he was angry, sad, frightened or furious. Maybe I just cycled through all of them.
“Mum, what the hell was that?” he asked without preamble knowing she would pick up the thread.
“I have no idea, but we're going to find out.”
A/N
1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first fifteen chapters of Last Casualties. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on fanfiction (dot) net
2. Recommendation for this chapter is The Phoenix Syndrome, by apAidan. Very interesting epilogue compliant beginning to what promises to be a deliciously emotional story. I've always liked how he writes Hermione and you get it right out of the box. On a separate but related note…gotta love Hedwig's Posse.
3. I'm the father of three wonderful children. My wife and I have a son and twin daughters. After my wife was delivered of the girls, she and I were talking one night. She asked me if I wanted to have a fourth child. In all seriousness, I looked her in the eye as I told her, “Honey, I love you. I'd throw myself under a bus for you, but I think I'll kill you if I have to live with you if you were pregnant again.” Her smile was rueful, but she didn't dispute my words. We've not had any children since and don't plan for any more. I put that part in for James from obvious personal experience.
4. Translations from the Catalan text of the story to English.
…ves en pau, per estimar I servir el Senyor.
…go in peace, to love and serve the Lord.
Chapter complete 2/20/12
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