Unofficial Portkey Archive

Chapter 14

Act II

The sun was warm on her shoulders as she walked down Nacional 340 toward Benicarló. Stepping from her hidden Apparition spot, Hermione made as if she were fixing her sandal strap to explain her sudden appearance from the stand of palm trees and bushes. Stamping her feet in the dust at the side of the road, she took a deep breath. An old man with white hair in a threadbare dark suit trudged by as he walked into town, lifting his hat in greeting. Hermione gave him a wan smile, far less bright than she would have offered a mere month before. Shouldering her purse, she turned to follow the old man over the bridge that led into the town proper.

"Harry," Hermione murmured to herself before shaking her head.

En el nom del pare…

Benicarló was a small town with a greater population of approximately twenty thousand at the northern reach of the Valencia province of Spain which lay in the north western corner of the nation, nestled below Catalonia on the Mediterranean coast. Taking a deep breath, the brunette witch took in the sea air. So very different from Rowan Hill which bordered Tremadoc Bay in Wales, a very distant part of her appreciated the differences but also the similarities. She was now surrounded by the warm scented air of the Mediterranean as opposed to the fresh clean air of northern Wales.

Hermione barely noticed.

Leaving the bridge, the young woman checked her watch. Mass started at eight and she wanted to be there a few minutes early.

The weight of her troubles was evident. Dark bags dragged down on her eyes and the tan that was darkening as every day passed did little to add to the dullness of her skin tone. When she'd returned from the family's vacation to the Caribbean, her skin had been a shiny bronze. It was now a dull brown.

Clack, clack, clack. Her sandals rhythmic beat on the pavement of the road was like a metronome. Clack, clack, clack. The sun was full up, but the day was not yet hot. The warm land breeze filled her hair like a sail, but she took no joy from the pleasant weather.

She was taken aback when they first arrived at La Retirada of the Potters to find that Valencian was the primary language spoken by the locals. The sprawling villa of the family was nestled in the fairly empty country to the north of Benicarló. True, most knew Castilian Spanish as well, but there was a nationalistic pride in the Valencians to keep their original tongue that was nearly the same as the more well-known Catalan of their northern neighbours in Catalonia

I el Fill…

"Oh Lord, Harry," the young woman shoved her hand over her mouth to stifle the newfound tears.

She'd not seen Sirius in a week. Her foster father's vocal rage and Remus' quiet fury at Harry being felled by Voldemort had been intimidating; even to the witch who'd bested them in a winner take all melee. As she lay there in the grass of the cemetery, holding her fiancé close and screaming for help, Sirius was the first to arrive at her side.

"Something's wrong with him, Sirius. He won't wake!" she implored him with voice and eyes. He'd immediately run to Dumbledore, demanding a portkey to the Hogwarts infirmary. James and Dumbledore had taken the unconscious Harry with them.

Hermione would never tell another soul what Sirius and Remus had done next. She'd also never tell that a part of her approved of their actions while she was also repulsed.

As the Aurors were busy ensuring the area was clear, Sirius grabbed Remus by the collar, explaining what had happened. Completely exhausted, Hermione sat there dumbfounded as the two men went to each fallen Death Eater and decapitated them. Every one, wounded or dead, lost their head. Sirius was shouting and weeping while Remus was coldly efficient in his task. "Diffindo, diffindo, diffindo…" she even heard the incantation in her sleep for nights afterward.

Hermione didn't think it was a coincidence that Aurors Shacklebolt and Tonks returned shortly after the two men had finished their grisly deeds. Neither Auror had mentioned the mess or gore. Neither had they looked about.

She barely remembered Sirius forcibly placing her hand on the portkey Dumbledore had left behind. Vaguely, Hermione had a memory of Remus muttering, "She's in shock, Padfoot. I'll carry her." There had then been a feeling of warmth and security until they arrived in the infirmary. There, she began her vigil at Harry's side.

Once Lily and Alex had returned from St Mungo's, the family had evacuated to Spain. James and Lily were taking no chances. The villa had been placed under the Fidelius charm with Sirius as the Secret Keeper. He insisted upon swearing an Unbreakable Vow to James, with Lily as their Binder, never to disclose the Secret to any enemy of House Richmond.

Three days later, Remus and Sirius headed back to Rowan Hill to begin their efforts. Aurors Shacklebolt and Tonks were working with them, but the older Marauders didn't say much else about their days. Remus still returned home to Alex every night, but Sirius was back far more sporadically. Neither man would admit to their activities, but Hermione knew what they were doing was not something either man would want to be advertised on the front page of the Daily Prophet.

She stifled another sigh as she turned on to Avinguda de las Balears. The Smartest Witch of the Age didn't care if they killed every Death Eater in Britain. Hermione had killed ten men that night in addition to the three in the Diagon Alley engagement. The killing didn't bother her a wit; this was war. In her heart of hearts, she wished them good hunting but at the same time, she wished them home.

She missed them and needed them.

Despite her maturity and towering intelligence, Hermione needed her family about her. She was holding on by a thread and had been for some time.

Neville and Susan had arrived two weeks ago and they'd been some help, but Neville was dealing with his own troubles. Lady Augusta was one of those assassinated on the night of the third task. Her brother, Algernon had apparently been under the Imperius curse for he'd first used the Asphyxiation curse on Lady Augusta before jumping off the roof of Green Hills. With Voldemort in firm control of Britain, they had no surety, but the entire family assumed that Frank and Alice Longbottom had been dispatched by now. Neville was now the last Longbottom in his line. He had cousins, but it wasn't the same. His family was dead.

Susan had tried to be a support to Hermione and had succeeded on more than one occasion, but her primary focus was Neville as the poor lad was a mess.

I l'Esperit Sant…

"I love you Harry," she murmured. The hitch in her breath was quashed immediately. As was her wont these past few weeks, Hermione distracted herself with other thoughts.

Amelia Bones had taken rooms in Zurich with Albus Dumbledore as the two appealed to the International Confederation of Wizards for assistance in what the old Headmaster had termed, "A hostile usurping by a known terrorist and his supporters against the legal and elected government of magical Britain." They'd made surprisingly little headway in gathering support.

Again, Hermione didn't care. A very small part of her brain found their efforts interesting, especially when Hestia had become Amelia's full time assistant, but in the end, she didn't care.

Harry. God in heaven she missed him.

She'd been holding on for the first few weeks, suppressing her own distress to be of service to her fiancé and her family. Focusing outward instead of to the anguish that lay inward, she tended to her unconscious best friend, his wounded father and the recovering Lily.

James had been seriously injured by a dark Slicing Hex that had almost taken off his left arm at the shoulder. It had left him with a stubborn to heal wound that just recently had closed. The rest of him, though…

Lily's pregnancy had been saved but just barely. It had been three weeks of bed rest before Alex felt comfortable allowing the redheaded witch to do anything as strenuous as pouring her own bowl of Cheerios. Lily only moved from her own bed to the chaise lounge in Harry's room. Hermione had her own bed next to Harry's, on the other side.

The brunette Englishwoman hurried through the old quarter of Benicarló to make it to the church. The sandy brown brick facades would have been bright and beautiful in their own way had she visited the town last month. This month, they were lifeless. Like herself.

She'd not wept until the day before. Stifling the feelings, avoiding the misery and plain ignoring her own distress had been necessary just to get through the days. Harry needed to be fed. He needed to be bathed and she'd be damned if anyone tended to him but her. Her eyes narrowed in malice, she'd hissed at Alex, "He's mine, now get out." Instantly realizing her overreaction to Alex's offer of assistance, Hermione had immediately apologized. The blonde healer had merely nodded before wrapping the traumatized young woman in a tentative embrace.

Listlessly, Hermione had returned it for to melt into the embrace and the sentiment it offered, would be to admit and face her own feelings. That was abhorrent and impossible. Hermione felt she'd die if she opened that door even a crack.

A més.

Genuflecting as she entered her pew at the rear of the church of Sant Bartolemeu, Hermione arranged her scarf over her hair in the manner her mother had taught her. It'd seemed old fashioned at the time she'd learned. Hermione had then aspired to be a modern woman, not a subservient piece of chattel. It was one of the only times that Alice Granger had ever lost her temper with her daughter. "You'll not speak so, when you don't have the slightest idea about what you're speaking!" Meekly, Hermione had abided her mother's direction, covering her head in church. Eventually, she'd cottoned to the meaning and now, the habit was comforting.

Harry had been thoughtful when she explained the idea. He'd found her scarf in her belongings when she moved everything to Rowan Hill. The troubled witch bowed her head in an attempt to keep control of her emotions. Harry. It always came back to him.

Once again, a ribbon of wetness tracked down her cheek. Placing her head in her hands, she quietly sobbed as she kneeled in obeisance to her Creator.

She heard the other worshippers rise as the Priest began his procession into the church. The parish didn't have a full time organist, so the weekday Mass was usually celebrated without songs at the times she was most accustomed from back home. Given her mood, the solemn quietness helped her more than the most rejoicing hosanna ever could. Wiping her face, she stood with the others.

Fractured. It's how she felt. It's how the family was and it's how Britain ended.

The small corner of her heart not seared in agony felt pity for the rest of the family, for they'd suffered alongside her. But that was a very small portion of her heart. The rest was consumed in the fires of her own pain.

He was so pale; so lifeless as he lay there. Sometimes a fine sheen of sweat would cover his face as his breathing picked up. James had attempted Legilimancy on his son when this symptom occurred, hoping that Harry was having a dream of some sort.

"Nothing," he whispered as he fell onto Lily's chaise. An automaton, his wife had wrapped her arm about her wounded husband, laying her head on his good shoulder.

Hermione had nodded once before spinning on her heel and running to the garden. After emptying her stomach into a bush, the distraught young woman fled to the library to grab her Omni-Book. Anything to distract her attention...

Jo crec en un déu…

The locals began their profession of faith in Valencian. Hermione said it along with them in English, "I believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty…" The translation spell she'd dug out of the Rowan Hill library worked fine, but there was something more sincere for her to declare herself in her native tongue.

Harry was her other half, sometimes he was her better half. That half had been missing for over a month now. Ever since that night in the graveyard.

Kneeling, she looked with hope to the altar. She'd never been overtly religious at Hogwarts, but she was used to hiding her faith. Being a Catholic in Great Britain was to be a significant minority. Despite the open-mindedness exercised by the majority of Britons, Guy Fawkes Night was still celebrated and a few ignorant sods still knew the words to Croppies Lie Down. Despite the Irish focus of the song, it'd made her very uncomfortable that day when walking home to hear the men singing it in the park.

It was that casual degradation of her faith that encouraged her to keep said faith inconspicuous. In the wizarding world, most half-blood's and pureblood's thought religion to be an amusing superstition. Hermione had enough things about which she was teased and taunted; she didn't need to add any more. Nonetheless, she did believe.

She needed that faith now.

This was the only time of the day she left Harry's side. He'd lain silent for the last month, comatose or worse since Voldemort cursed him. Every day at seven twenty, she dressed in a conservative outfit, ensured her lace scarf was in her handbag and Apparated to the little stand of trees next to the bridge. She needed this. It's what she held on to now that she didn't have Harry.

More tears coursed down her face. They dripped from her chin as the suffering overflowed her heart, pouring out her eyes.

Aquest és el cos de Crist…

Bowing her head, she prayed for strength. She prayed for patience. She prayed for the answer.

Numbly, Hermione walked to the front of the church to accept the Eucharist. The old priest frowned a bit when it was her turn for he recognized her tearstained face. It was just yesterday when she'd spent twenty minutes in confession, sobbing her sorrows on the old man's shoulders. He'd been kind, but unable to help beyond encouraging her in her faith.

So she prayed.

Hermione spent hour after hour with her Omni-Book of the Potter library scouring every book in the inventory for an answer. Two days after their arrival in Spain, Fawkes had flamed into the communal room bearing a precious gift from Dumbledore: an Omni-Book for the Hogwarts library. Lily and Alex had also thrown themselves into research for Harry. Lily had taken possession of the Hogwarts Omni-Book as she read hour after hour. When Alex and James encouraged her to rest, Lily had snapped, "I am resting dammit. I'm sitting here reading while my son.... "

Hermione had been afraid that Lily was going to finish the sentence, "While my son dies," but thankfully, Lily had suppressed a sob instead.

Alex spent fifteen hours a day at Our Lady of Healing Magical Hospital in Paris scouring their records. She'd sworn her friend and fellow healer, Jeanette Delacroix, to silence in order to assist Alex in her quest for an answer to Harry's unnatural coma. The Unbreakable Vow by Jeanette had been an immovable requirement from James and Lily. They'd been betrayed by one they considered trustworthy and were taking no further chances in trusting the possibly untrustworthy. It had only taken the funding of Jeanette's research for a further five years to overcome the healer's reticence about making a blind Unbreakable Vow. Sirius had overridden James offer, saying that he wanted to cover the bill.

Hermione didn't care, so long as they found a solution.

…ves en pau, per estimar I servir el Senyor.

"Amen," she murmured making the sign of the cross one last time.

Her heart heavy, she turned to leave

"Perdre Granger?" the soft voice called.

Turning, Hermione saw Father Sanchez approaching, his face a mask of concern contrasting with the bright green vestments adorned with a gold embroidered cross on his chest.

"Pare," she greeted in return, her voice muted.

"I gather your young man does the same?" he asked after guiding her to the back of the church. It wasn't a cathedral but it was large enough to have a private conversation in the back if one kept their voice low.

Her lips firmly closed, Hermione silently shook her head.

He nodded in return, sadness heavy in his face. "I have said the Mass this morning for his recovery and shall do so every Monday until he returns to you."

Incredibly touched by the old man's compassion and concern, she whispered, "Thank you, Pare. Thank you very much. I…" Tears threatened again so she cut off her reply.

Nodding in understanding, he placed his hand on her head in a blessing. "May the Lord and bless and keep you. May His Son speed healing for your beloved and may the Holy Spirit infuse you with courage and faith in your time of trouble. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen."

Hermione was silently weeping again. The old Dominican shifted his hand from her head to her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. "Go to him. We shall all pray for your betrothed's recovery. I shall contact the Mother Abbess and the Sisters at the convent. They too shall add their supplication to your cause."

His kindness and love were too much for her. The silent sobs became open, wracking torment. For the past weeks, she'd bottled up her feelings so as to focus on the problem: Healing Harry. It was too much, though. The feelings couldn't be contained nor ignored.

He wrapped an arm about her shoulders as she began to wail in her torment. She was half falling as he led her to an empty pew. Unbidden, an old woman rushed back into the church at the sound of the crying. As the linen of her black dress rustled as she scooted next to the sobbing young woman, Hermione could nearly feel the woman's matronly concern. Hustling to Hermione's unoccupied side, she pulled the wailing young woman to her breast, making soft noises of comfort.

Father Sanchez may have been celibate, but he had lived a long time. Hermione felt him gently disengage; she assumed he was heading to the sacristy to remove his vestments. She didn't have the ability even to further muse about the man or his intentions. The entirety of her being was consumed in the forestalled pain.

"Harry, oh God, Harry," she murmured.

"Es que el jove?" the woman asked.

It took a moment for Hermione to catch up before she answered the woman in Valencian, "Yes, Harry is my young man. He and I are to be married."

"But he is ill," the woman finished with a tone of sad confidence.

"Yes."

There was a long moment of silence as Hermione's tears slowed and the old woman held and cooed at her while stroking her hair. Finally, the young woman disengaged, rooting through her bag for a handkerchief or tissue.

"My man was nearly killed. We were young, like you," she gestured to Hermione as the witch wiped her face before discreetly blowing her nose.

"He fought for General Franco in the war. I never did like that politician, but my man was passionate for liberty. A bomb dropped from a German plane nearly killed him." Shaking her white coiffed head covered in a black lace scarf, the aged Valencian woman smiled through her remembered emotion, "I cried over him for a week before I shouted at him for a month. Then I loved him for a week straight." Her dark eyes twinkled in amusement, "He was too tired to go running off to war after that!"

Hermione gave a weak, wet chuckle as the old woman cackled in amusement. Their smiles quickly faded, though. "I buried him two years ago, out there," the woman gestured with her chin toward the parish graveyard."

With a no nonsense expression the aged woman turned her wrinkled, sun darkened face to Hermione. The young witch nearly gulped at the forbidding expression on the old woman's face.

"Does he still breathe?"

"Yes," she whispered as she nodded, tears starting again.

"Does he love you?"

"Yes," she whispered again.

"Then trust. Trust him to come to you. Trust the Lord to do what is best." As she was pulled to the old woman in an emotional embrace, Hermione shook with her sobs, but now they were sobs of purgation rather than suffering.

I believe. I believe

Twenty minutes later, a red eyed and blotchy faced English witch Apparated from a stand of trees to a hidden home above the beach on the Valencian coast of Spain. She was returning to her love. This day, she had more hope and faith than when she'd departed earlier in the morning.

.oOo.

"It's strange, you know."

It was one of those odd non-sequiturs that left Susan with a hard time catching up. Neville and she were sitting with Harry as Hermione headed into town for Mass. The brunette witch had explained it to them once, but nothing other than, "It's for my religion," really made much sense. Susan had tactfully ignored the red puffy eyes Hermione had worn home the day before, allowing the witch time to fix her face before rejoining everyone in her and Harry's room. It was about time she let it out, the redheaded witch mused to herself.

Susan felt horribly for Hermione, for the whole family, really. Neville was moving from devastated to hurt while James and Lily spent all day, every day, working on Harry's recovery. Alex had thrown herself into research while Remus and Sirius seemed to be extracting the price of their treasured boy's injury in the blood of as many Death Eaters that they could find.

That didn't trouble the witch at all. Let all the bastards burn. For a moment, an imagined scene fell in front of her vision as if a curtain of blood. Susan's blue eyes narrowed as her mind once again invented the final moments of her parents. During her third year, she'd found the investigative report of her parents' murder in her aunt's study. It'd been her father's birthday and Aunt Amelia always had a hard time with the day. Susan had found the unattended file as her Aunt wrestled with her own demons down at the local. The graphic descriptions of the state of her parents' remains had lit a fire in Susan Bones that day that could only be quenched with blood. Specific blood, that is.

The twelfth Death Eater. She was convinced there was one who had escaped before the Aurors had arrived. If it took her dying breath, Susan had sworn to find and kill that person.

The coil of loathing and fury wound tighter and tighter until her body nearly quivered in emotion. These emotional storms came every so often. Not necessarily associated with specific events or emotions, but more likely associated with her mental state. Right now, she was thinking about family and how she and Neville fit in the greater family. Closing her eyes as she took a deep breath, she tried to calm. She was somewhat successful.

Suppressing her burning hatred for the Death Eaters, she reached over to her boyfriend. Refocusing her attention, Susan took Neville's hand in hers as she asked, "What's strange?" She thought the question came out in a less than choked voice.

"He's my best mate, you know?" Neville observed in a soft voice. His eyes on the immobile young man, Neville's focus was far away. "But at the same time, I'm not his best mate."

"Hermione is," Susan observed.

"Yeah."

Frowning a bit at his glumness, she asked, "Does that bother you?"

He was silent so long; Susan was tempted to prod him to see if he was awake. Eventually, he replied, "It shouldn't, but it does a bit. Sorry." In his embarrassment over his admission, Neville turned away from his girlfriend to look out the window.

Nodding to herself, Susan scooted her chair closer to Neville. The small smile on his face met her halfway, reassuring her that he was doing better. He reached for her hand as she resettled. They sat in silence for a long moment until Neville spoke.

"I had a long talk with Uncle James yesterday."

"Oh? About what?" Susan never found fault with anything James did for Neville. The man had done so much for the newly minted Longbottom Lord that Susan would be grateful to the time displaced man until the day she died.

"About losing your family in one swoop."

She didn't reply as the silence flooded the room again. Over the past weeks, a statement like this from Neville had led to tears or an abrupt change of topic. His melancholy air coupled with the sad expression was new. The pain didn't seem to be as raw as it'd been for the previous weeks. She closed her eyes as the warm sun fell upon her face. Taking a deep breath, Susan attempted to wait patiently for Neville to explain himself. Patience didn't come easy for her, so she tried the meditation that Hermione had taught her the other day.

"He said that at first he'd been lonely. Sirius is his cousin, see, so that helped but there was no one out there who was a Potter." Startled by his words, Susan took a deep breath to steady herself.

Refocusing on her boyfriend, she followed his train of thought. After her parents' slaughter, she'd stayed with her Aunt Amelia, but there were scads of Bones out there. Family gatherings needed a community centre to accommodate everyone. The fire in her belly flared again, but Susan ruthlessly shoved it aside.

"Susan?" he asked softly to catch her attention.

Turning to him, she replied, "Yeah?"

"Thank you." Her expression became confused, but in a friendly way. Explaining a bit, he told her, "You've listened and never criticized. For all that I love…loved," he corrected himself, "my Gran. She wasn't the most understanding or patient of people. You've been wonderful…" Neville blushed as he searched for words.

Coming to his rescue, Susan told her beau, "I'd do most anything for you, Neville. This was…" she thought for a moment. "I'm honoured that you chose to confide in me when you needed help."

His shock was evident, but it quickly melted into a soft smile.

Hermione strode in the room wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Her glance at Susan was a familiar one.

Answering the unspoken question, Susan told Hermione, "No change."

There was no reply from the witch as she pulled her hair into a ponytail. While she wrapped her hair in the elastic band, Susan thought something was different about the brunette. "Are you alright?"

There was a long, considering silence. At her side, Susan felt Neville brace himself for an emotional outpouring. Hermione looked the redhead full in the face and with a peaceful expression, she answered, "I am. I'm not very happy about all this, but I'm alright."

Surprised but happy by Hermione's newfound attitude, Susan watched as the young woman shifted to caretaker role as she cast the spells to empty Harry's bowel and bladder. Another spell Switched the empty contents of his stomach with a pasty, highly nutritious concoction routinely used by healers for comatose patients. One last spell cleansed him from head to toe. Pulling out the Potter library Omni-Book, Hermione opened to the table of contents. With a considering expression she began to hunt.

Susan couldn't help but be mesmerized by the change in Hermione. This morning, her friend had been a wreck yet now she had it together. The surprise became complete when Hermione cleared her throat before beginning to read aloud to her betrothed.

"Chapter One: The Old Sea-Dog at the `Admiral Benbow'..."

Susan was entranced by the story of Jim, Squire Trelawney and the old Buccaneer. Just as Billy Bones was being served up the Black Spot, there came a loud crack from the Apparition spot on the veranda.

Susan saw Hermione's eyes narrow as the witch looked up from her book. As the redhead drew her wand, Hermione stood, leaving the book at the foot of Harry's bed. The tension in the room became a living thing. Her recent musings on the death of her parents came back to Susan, full force. Her jaw set, the niece of Amelia Bones braced for a confrontation. Relished the thought of it, even.

"Neville, stand in front of the doors to the veranda." Hermione's voice was soft, but had a steel backbone. Without hesitation, the sandy blond haired wizard moved to the glass doors, peering out for any sign of an intruder. Despite the house and grounds being encased in the Fidelius charm, none of the teens were taking chances that this was a benign visitor.

"Susan, be ready to assist either Neville or myself," Hermione instructed as she skirted around Harry's bed to stand between her fallen mate and the door. The robotic nature of Hermione's words was given lie by the near snarl on the brunette's face.

Forgoing thought as an unnecessary complication, Susan obeyed.

The oak door opened in a swift motion. In a flash, Hermione had her wand up and tracking while Susan spun to cast at the incoming person. The redhead had to stifle a scream as Hermione shifted her movement, interposing herself between Susan and the intruder, preventing Susan from casting. Hermione's reflexes proved true as Susan identified the `intruder'.

Alex entered the room, her face covered in a sheen of sweat as her green healer's robes billowed about her feet. Gesturing with her empty hand, for the other held a satchel, the flustered healer commanded, "Susan, Neville, go find James and Lily. I've news."

.oOo.

Shirtless, James stood on the beach. The warm Mediterranean breeze blew on his face, cooling him after a long day. Unconsciously, he flexed his arm. The scar that ran from his left shoulder to his elbow was still pink in its newness.

He stared out into the Mediterranean rollers. The wind had kicked up overnight causing the waves to reply in kind. A dozen or so fishing boats bobbed on the roiling sea giving the ocean a scale of size and scope. It was impressive to say the least. Not nearly as impressive as the weight of his own feeling.

Failure.

The thought dominated him as the wind dominated the wave. Pervasive and insidious the feelings had been so that he'd been slipping lately. When he and Lily had first returned to the time stream, he'd cried his eyes out for Harry's sufferings at by the hand of so many. Petunia and Vernon had been the worst offenders, but so too had been Albus and Minerva. He'd never forgive them for their role in Harry's suffering. Through inaction, they'd condoned and abetted the systemic abuse his son had experienced in his youth. A slip of Minerva's still haunted him.

"I can't tell you how many times I healed him during his youth with those people."

"Then why the bloody hell did you leave him there?" James scolded to himself for the hundredth time. Harry's situation now, though…

Flexing his arm again, he turned up the beach to begin his aimless wandering. He was taking his daily one-hour break from his vigil at Harry's side. Early on, he'd learned that Hermione had a very proprietary attitude about his son, so he didn't try to force himself into situations where she didn't want him.

Hermione `did for' his son. Fed, bathed, turned, medicined, sang to, held, watched over…all of it.

Before Lily had been cleared to leave their bed, he'd had a closed-door conversation with his wife. "I think Hermione's going to crack."

Lily's frown was a borderline scowl. She was in an ill temper because of the enforced bed rest and any aspersions cast on The Smartest Witch of the Age merely aggravated that state. "Explain," she commanded.

James explained that their future daughter in law was winding tighter and tighter. "She's not wept, not shown any sign of distress. Lils, I was a mess when you were in the hospital for a day. Harry's…"

The conversation faltered. James was secretly terrified that Harry was dying inch by inch in his comatose state. They all knew that Voldemort was fast, it was how he'd taken James and Lily on the fateful Halloween night. However, this spell that he'd cast was beyond any of their ken.

The open Omni-Book of the Hogwarts Library that lay on Lily's lap gave testimony to the breadth of the Dark Lord's knowledge. Lily had been studying that damned book for three weeks to no avail. His wife was the smartest person that James knew, bar none, but his already tenuous hope was fraying with each passing day when Lily shook her head in negation at his hopefully questioning glance.

The worst part was that this was his entire fault.

Kicking a broken shell with the toe of his sandal, James growled in frustration and self-loathing. Had he been faster, Harry wouldn't be so afflicted. Had he not hesitated, Harry would be with them. Had he pressed on in the graveyard, leaving Dumbledore and the rest to their own devices, he would've been at his son's side as he confronted the most deadly Dark Lord since Morgana.

Had he done his job as Harry's father, his son wouldn't be suffering untold torment.

His body yearned to weep. The healing restorative process that rehabilitated the body and soul was aching to let loose, yet he refused. James Potter was a man with an iron will and he exerted it now. He would not weep. He would not release his demons.

I don't deserve it. It's my fault.

He'd nearly lost his son to Voldemort once. It had nearly killed him. If he lost Harry to this withering, it would kill him. Despite his prankster nature, James wasn't a drama queen. For the most part, he was a practical man who enjoyed a good laugh. He was also only twenty three. Nonetheless, the Pit of Despair in which he was trapped threatened to consume him.

What he and his family had endured would test men twice his age, yet he'd not broken. He was bowed, true, but never broken. If he lost Harry, James was sure he'd break.

A gust of wind swirled the sand about his legs, peppering him with the little bites of the grains as they dug into his skin.

Rolling his wounded shoulder, he kept walking.

The safety of Lily and the baby had been a relief. Growing up an only child, he longed for a large-ish family. When they'd first married, James had jokingly asked Lily if she wanted one or two dozen children. Her derisive expression had muted his jocularity. "Three sounds good to me," she informed him.

Three little Potters sounded really good to James.

"Uncle James!"

Hearing the hail, James turned. Halfway down the beach to the house, he saw Neville running up the beach as he waved his arms. Waving back to show he'd heard the call, James smiled. Neville was a good lad who was turning out all right. Had everything gone as planned, he and Harry would have grown up as near brothers. As it was, they were fairly good friends.

Still…

"What's going on?" James asked the panting teen.

His hands on his knees, Neville gasped, "It's Alex. She says she has news about Harry. She needs you back at the house."

His eyes wide, James dashed down the beach, transforming to Prongs as he ran. Ignoring the statute of secrecy, Prongs tore through the surf and hard packed sand at the waterline. In later years, James would realize that he'd never run so fast as that morning when Prongs raced down the Spanish beach. When he pulled even with the stairs up the cliff to the house, James transformed back to run up the stairs.

Without pause, he dashed into the house. Tearing open the door, he bolted to Harry's room. Through the open door, he saw Lily standing next to Alex as she tearfully asked, "Can you help him?"

.oOo.

Hermione sat on Harry's bed, holding his hand when James rushed into the room. His hair dishevelled and his shirt long lost, her future father in law demanded, "What is it?"

"I've an idea about Harry," Alex began. Gesturing to the chairs spread about the room they all settled down. James and Lily unconsciously reached for each other while Susan settled back in her chair.

Harry had been given the master suite as most of the family congregated in the room during the day. They needed the space that the master suite afforded. Sitting next to her fiancé as he lay on the king sized bed, the brunette witch Hermione focused on the blonde healer as she began.

"This morning went very badly. I made no headway and after the previous weeks, I began to..." she blushed a bit. "Well, let's just say that I'm quite grateful that Sister Rosario afforded me a private room to research."

Any other day, Hermione would have laughed or at least smiled. This morning, she did her best to patiently wait for Alex to get on with the story.

"Jeanette came in when she heard me shouting. After she calmed me down, she reminded me what Healer Powell always told me when I was an intern. `When you are at an impasse, go back to the beginning.'.

"So, we started at the beginning. The colour of the spell. The incantation and wand movements, if known. The caster of the spell. The symptoms shown by the patient." Alex rolled her eyes at her own thick headedness. "Then I offhand mentioned that what Harry's going through mimicked what James and Lily experienced that Halloween night."

There was silence in the room. Hermione was stunned to the point where she couldn't even think properly. The answer didn't lie with Harry.

Turning to the elder Potters, she saw the same stunned realization on their faces that Hermione felt. The answer lay with James and Lily.

"When can you do the procedure?" James asked.

Hefting the satchel, Alex stood. "Right now. We'll go to Remus and my room." Without comment, James stood, kissed Lily on the cheek and left the room.

When the door to the other room closed, Hermione closed her eyes in a silent plea. Please God. Please. Her hard won equilibrium melted in the face of the real possibility that they could find a cure for Harry. He could be awake in minutes. Holding her, loving her and saying her name. Ruthlessly she shoved her hopes and fears to the side, focusing on the moment, lest the moment be lost.

Susan's question roused her. "Lily? What just happened?" the redhead ventured in a somewhat timid tone.

When Hermione turned to Lily, she saw the reason for Susan's reticence. Tears were running down the auburn haired woman's cheeks for exactly what reason, Hermione wasn't sure. Was it relief that the answer could be near to hand? Was it apprehension for what James was about to undergo? Or was it fear that this was yet one more false trail?

Hermione hurried to the other woman's side, taking her hand. Answering for the Mother-Who-Lived, Hermione told Susan, "The anecdotal evidence indicates that Harry is suffering from the same spell that Voldemort used on James and Lily back in 1981. He cast at all three incredibly fast. The effects of the spell were similar to a Stunning spell, but he revived James and Lily back then."

"No he didn't," Lily whispered hoarsely, her emotion laden voice countering Hermione's nearly autonomic recitation of facts and conjecture.

Remembering the full story of that Halloween night, Hermione paled.

"What?" Susan asked.

"Voldemort revived James using the Cruciatus," Lily replied in a whisper as she stared at her unconscious son.

There was a horrified silence before Susan broke it protesting, "But surely that was just because he's a sadistic bastard. Did he curse you so?"

Lily shook her head, "Not to revive me, no. That came later. But maybe James was resistant to the reviving spell."

Staring at Harry, Hermione murmured, "Let's not borrow trouble."

Lily closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Susan sat on the other side of Harry's mum, taking her free hand. In silence, the three sat before Lily answered the unasked question. "James is undergoing the same in-depth medical evaluation and diagnoses that Arthur and Molly Weasley went through a few months back. It's extremely unpleasant - painful even - and very intrusive."

"You can't do it because of the baby and they can't do it to Harry because we're afraid it might make whatever he's suffering from worse," Hermione commented in an undertone as she watched Harry.

Lily nodded. "The procedure should tell us what spell Voldemort used on James that night. Hopefully, that's the same spell he used on Harry."

"And we can find the counter," Susan finished. She shook her head as Hermione mused on what all three witches were thinking: How could we be so incredibly stupid?

Then again, they were all too close to the problem. Alex was the least known to the family, still she'd been too close. It was really an accident that'd given them this lead.

If Voldemort used the same spell on both Harry and James. If.

All three jerked when they heard James scream. It was hoarse and loud before it cut off. Alex must've cast a Silencing spell. Hermione's eyes widened in shock and horror. She knew the procedure was unpleasant, but not this…

"James," Lily whimpered. The tears started again as Lily looked from the open door to the bed where her son lay and back to the door.

Susan stepped up to fill the emotional breach, "He'll be fine. Don't worry."

A pale and sweaty Neville filled the doorway, his eyes wide, "What's happening?"

Susan shook her head before she murmured, "Not now. Have a seat."

So, they waited. Closing her eyes, Hermione clamped down on her emotions to keep the shakes at bay. Already, her hands were trembling. Her body was assaulted by tension, fear and terror, so she threw herself on her faith just to keep from screaming. Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

Again and again, she repeated her mantra finding refuge in the words, the sentiment and the repetition. Her pleas were not unheard.

It seemed an eternity that they sat there in the tense silence. Hermione plunged herself in faith for it was all she had left. Harry was her anchor in life. Maybe it wasn't a good and healthy thing but it was the way she lived. For good or ill, he was for her as she was for him. Based on his reaction to her being hurt in the Diagon Alley altercation and the threat of her use in the Second Task, Harry looked at Hermione in much the same way.

Prayer after prayer, Hermione held on to her fraying sanity. Patience was long gone, now all she had was a frantic longing for Harry that was only being held in check by her desperate decision to trust her Creator. Had it not been for the old woman back at Sant Bartolemeu, Hermione was sure she'd be either shrieking or catatonic by now.

Hermione was stripped bare. Emotionally and spiritually naked to the world, all she had was her faith and Harry. Everything else had been either discarded, taken or lost. There was nothing in the void but God and Harry. True, she still loved Sirius and the rest of the family, but there was no voice or sight in the darkness of her pain and fear.

Finally, Alex came back. Her pale complexion combined with her sweat soaked robes caused Lily to groan, "James."

"He'll be alright tomorrow. I gave him a Sleeping Draught that will knock him out until the morning. He'll be sore and more than a bit groggy, but he'll be fine."

"What did you find?" Hermione asked impatiently.

.oOo.

Settling in her chair, the healer unrolled the parchment that held the transcription of James' medical history. Ignoring the injuries he'd sustained as a boy and preteen, she frowned at some of the spells he'd absorbed as a student in school. Very dark stuff. Moving on, she reread the section for that Halloween night. It didn't make sense, but there was an explanation.

Alex took a deep breath, "Well, it's confusing. The test results indicate that James was dosed with the Draught of the Living Dead on October 31, 1981 at 10:08 PM."

The confusion was evident on the other four faces, but Alex was most focused on Lily and Hermione. The auburn haired witch moved from confused to considering to concluding with a rapidity that stunned the blonde healer and Alex was no dummy.

It was Hermione, though, that spoke first.

"The spell that Voldemort cast works in the same manner, magically, as the Draught of the Living Dead. The diagnostics of the ritual were confused by that so the spell was mislabelled as the Draught."

A bit surprised, Alex nodded appreciatively as Lily nodded in concurrence. Reaching for the Hogwarts Omni-Book, Lily asked Alex, "Do you have a plan?"

"Not yet," she replied shaking her head. "I wanted to consult with you as you're the foremost potioneer that I know."

Hermione lay back on the headboard, her eyes closed as she ruminated aloud, "It must be a designer spell, one he made himself. The basic wand movements would indicate that the spell itself isn't very complicated. No password or key phrase involved in the counter."

"How d'you know the wand movement was basic?" Susan asked, her tone curious.

Hermione's look bordered on a glare as she replied, "Because nothing else could have beaten Harry. He's the fastest wizard I know." Susan nodded with a hint of defiance.

There's more backbone in this room than I've seen in twenty years. Alex chuckled to herself.

The brunette young woman should have been doing the research instead of her the blonde healer mused. The Smartest Witch of the Age's mind made connections that Alex never considered. Remembering how distraught Hermione had been over the last few weeks, Alex reconsidered. Hermione would've been unable to concentrate or work effectively. The only reason the witch was able to contribute now was because there was hope for Harry.

If it was Remus in that bed, I'd be worse than useless, Alex admitted to herself. Looking over Lily's shoulder as the petite witch dug through the Omni-Book, the blonde healer and lover of Remus Lupin sighed to herself. There was a constant fear that Remus wouldn't come home one night. He'd been very frank about his and Sirius' activities with the remnant Aurors. A small part of Alex - the part that had once been the idealistic witch who went to Healer school to save the world - that small part of her was disturbed by the death and destruction her lover was visiting upon the Death Eaters. Another part - the mature woman in her - encouraged him in his work. So long as he came home to her bed every night, she was content.

That little bitch had better leave off, though. Laughing, Remus had told her how Sirius' cousin seemed to be enamoured of him. She was more than flirting with him until Remus very firmly told her that he was committed to Alex. The shagging he'd given Alex after that had been memorable. Afterwards, he'd told her, "You're hot when you're jealous."

I'm not jealous, I'm just protective of what's mine, she reasoned to herself as she and Lily read the section regarding countering the Draught of the Living Dead.

Her face became grave when she saw the potion and spell combination required to revive an affected person. The potion was extremely complex and the spell was really a ritual that required eight persons working in concert…

"James would be best for this," Lily murmured as she traced her hand over the ritual portion of the book.

"Really?" Alex asked. She knew that James was smart and all, but this was an involved ritual that took over an hour with various herbs to be mixed, burned at specific times all the while the participants had to be at select points of the compass while chanting the incantation proscribed. "Are you sure?"

With a decisive nod, Lily ended the discussion. "James has forgotten more about rituals and whatnot than I'll ever know. His mother was a bit obsessed with them, really. He was four when she showed him how to summon an ifrit."

"Four," Hermione observed, in a deadpan voice from the bed.

"Dorea was a wonderful woman who was just a bit left of centre. She was easily the sanest Black of her generation, like Sirius is for his, but still not quite all there," Lily explained as she ran through the potion ingredients. "I can't make this potion."

Alex drew back in surprise before reading closer. "Crap. Undiluted ammonia combined with mooncalf droppings."

"What?" Susan asked.

"The resultant fumes would most likely cause her to miscarry," Alex explained as her eyes zeroed in on the candidate to replace Lily.

Hermione's eyes were flinty when she volunteered, "I'll do it."

Lily evaluated her before nodding. "We'll do it together until we get to this step." She gestured to the point about two thirds of the way down the receipt. "After that, I'll have to be in the Bubble Head but only able to observe. Even if I get it on my skin at that point I could lose the baby."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "How long?"

"It'll be a full month to brew. I'll defer to James about the ritual, though it may take a while to obtain some of these ingredients," Lily replied.

"Put Remus and Sirius on it," Hermione offered. Lily nodded absently.

A silent observer, Alex was beginning to hear something from the two witches she'd not heard in over a month. Hope. Lily broke first.

Without prompting, Lily began to weep. Holding her hands over her face, the auburn haired witch quickly ratcheted up to full blown sobbing. Soul heaving torment was released in cleansing breaths as her tears carried away the toxins that build up in a stressed person. The rapid expansion and contraction of her diaphragm caused Lily's body to stretch and release more tension that had tightened her greater muscles over the course of the previous thirty days.

The clinician in Alex also noticed that it was the first time she'd seen Lily smile even a little since the third task.

Wrapping her arms about her old friend, Alex was silent as she held Lily. Unnoticed, the now crying Hermione wrapped her arms about Lily from the other side. "He'll live," she heard Hermione whisper to the wind. The blonde witch couldn't help but admire Hermione. The young woman had been through so much and still stood tall. On the other side of the room, she heard Susan telling Neville what he'd missed. This odd family - her family - was worth all the effort, struggle and pain.

As Lily gave another gasping sob of relief, Alex sent out a silent plea. Remus, I need you home.

.oOo.

Remus stumbled into the house at one fifteen in the morning, exhausted and more than a little beat up. Sirius, Tonks and Shack had done what they could for him, but Remus was out of commission for a few days at least.

Stifling a groan, he did his best to close the door without making a sound. He winced at the loud click the catch made as it closed. Turning about, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he came nose to nose with Hermione.

Leaning on the table, he tried to catch his breath. "Good Lord, Hermione, you scared the life out of me," he complained.

She didn't reply, merely looked him over. After a moment, she turned to head down the hall. In the distance, he heard a soft knock followed by Hermione's quiet call, "Alex? Remus needs you."

Hermione didn't return, but a moment later, Alex bustled into the room, belting her silk housecoat. "Remus!" she whispered in dismay when she saw his injuries. He'd not seen himself in the mirror so he didn't know the horror he looked. Half his face was still swollen while the cut on his brow had leaked blood over the other half.

"Hullo, love," he replied a bit drunkenly. The pain potions Shack had shoved down his throat had made him more than a bit tipsy. "Do you know you have a really cracking arse?"

She stared at him before shaking her head. "Come on you. Down to the bedroom."

"Can we shag now? I love shagging you."

Even in his inebriated state, Remus made out her chuckle. "You aren't getting any this night. You've a host of broken bones and I wouldn't be surprised if you've a concussion."

He harrumphed a bit. He really wanted to shag her. "You know, I've only loved you in my entire life."

She stopped. An expression of tenderness stole over her face. "I love you too, Remus."

An important thought occurred to him that he felt compelled to add. "And my mum. I loved her, too. And Dad, I suppose. Padfoot and Prongs. Maybe Lily but she was more like a sister and I've never had a sister. Do you love your sister?"

Rolling her eyes, she dragged him down the hallway. A sharp jolt in his side caused him to hiss in pain.

"What?" she asked as she cautiously lay him on their bed.

"That arsehole Malfoy got me in the side. Hurts like hell." Suddenly he had a revelation that bordered on the mystical. In a tone of soft appreciation, he told her, "You know, I've always loved your arse, but you have phenomenal baps too."

"Remus, leave off my physical attributes."

She dug through her healer bag for a moment. He loved watching her bend over. Wonderful. It was better when she was starkers, but right now was pretty damn good too. He could feel the stupid grin steal over his face, but couldn't stop it. God, but she was lovely.

"Open up, lover boy," she cajoled as she uncorked a vial.

"Are we going to shag now?"

Rolling her eyes, she shoved the vial in his mouth. There was a taste that reminded him of juniper before he knew no more.

.oOo.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Lily read through the results of the medical history for James in the light of the morning sun. Broken arm at age seven. Severely twisted ankle at age ten. She smiled at the entry for fifty-seven beestings at age eleven. Knowing James, he was most likely going to prank someone with a beehive and it backfired on him.

The disturbing aspect of the history was the unnamed Slicing curse he'd been cursed with during their fifth year. Also, there'd been a series of other dark or borderline dark curses he'd been hit with starting their third year that ran up to their sixth year.

The groan from behind her caused all thought of the list and its implications to fall away. Spinning about, she saw her husband blinking in the sunlight as he smacked his lips together. She couldn't help the smile that blossomed. James was acting as if he'd eaten four pounds of sour owl shit and had the breath to match.

"Hey there, love," she whispered with emotion. The memory of his scream from the day before was strong in her mind.

"Hey," he murmured. Reaching for her, he pulled her close. "How'd you sleep?" he asked.

Rolling her eyes, she teased, "I was lonely and randy and my husband wouldn't wake up."

He chuckled, "Sorry `bout that. Let me hit the loo and I'm all yours."

She smiled as the silence grew. The playful, teasing atmosphere dissipated until he asked, "What's the verdict?"

Explaining about the spell version of the Draught of the Living Dead was quick as was the probable counter. "I'll take a look at this ritual after breakfast," he told her as he winced.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked in a small voice.

"A bit," he replied with deliberate non-specificity. Lily translated in her head: It hurts like hell.

Deciding to return to the results of the diagnosis, she told him, "I was reading your entire medical history. I have to know the story behind the bees."

He chuckled with real amusement. "Sirius was spending the summer at Rowan Hill before our first year at Hogwarts. We were exploring and found a wasp's nest in the ground. Sirius wanted to smoke them out and capture them. His idea was to let the lot loose in his mother's bedroom.

"Of course, being the responsible one, I told him he was a nut." Lily pushed herself off her husband's chest to look him in the eye with a doubting expression. "Ok, I told him he was a nut for wanting to contain the bees with magic as neither of us knew any spells that would do the trick. A box would do just fine."

"That's more like it," Lily observed through her smile as she snuggled back into his arms.

"Well, neither of us considered that the bees would be a might put out having been rousted from their home. Neither did we consider that they could fly faster than we could close the lid on the box. Forty odd beestings later we both jumped in the pond to escape the irate little buggers."

"Fifty seven," she corrected.

"Really? That many?"

"Yep."

They were quiet again, just savouring their closeness. She even felt some stirrings of a carnal nature, but supressed it. Alex had warned them off sex for another week and a half - just in case.

"I also read about the curses," she told him without preamble.

"Oh?"

"Was it Severus?" she asked in a neutral tone.

He sighed as he stretched. "Most of the time. Once it was that Yaxely bastard, but usually it was Snape."

"He almost killed you," she observed in that neutral tone. Her emotions were strong so she was doing her utmost to keep them under control. Ever since the nightmare that was the aftermath of the first task, Lily had done her best to keep her temper under control She'd said many things that day that she'd regretted and didn't want to do that again.

"Yeah, he did," James acknowledged.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"When? When it happened or after we started dating?"

"Both."

He sighed again before telling her, "He was your best friend. Even after the OWL incident, you didn't like it if I spoke ill of him. I was trying to respect your choice and your feelings."

"That was after we were dating, what about before?"

There was a long pause before he began, "Part of it was pride. I didn't want to admit that he'd gotten the best of me. Part of me was afraid that…" he tailed off, causing Lily to sit up again.

"What?" she asked.

His eyes pleading he told her, "Look, I didn't know you very well then, right?'" She nodded her agreement. "I was afraid you'd have either condoned what he did or agreed with it because he was your friend. I just couldn't bear to think of you as being a promoter of the Dark Arts."

Lily's temper flared before her reason caught up with it. "From the perspective of a second year who didn't know me very well, that actually makes sense." She cuddled back into him, pulling him close. "I love you, James."

"As I love you, my Lily. You know, I had this built up idea of who you were and in this fantasy you were a wonderful person." His mouth kissed the shell of her ear causing her to shiver with desire. "The real you is so much better."

.oOo.

En el nom del Pare…

Hermione dressed for mass as she did every morning. Yesterday, she'd been buffeted in the winds of despair. Today, she was trying to keep herself from being overconfident in their proposed solution for Harry's recovery.

Breezing out of her and Harry's room, she saw Alex sitting at the table munching on a slice of bread dipped in olive oil. It was a standard breakfast hereabouts, one that the healer had taken to with gusto.

"How's Remus?" she asked as she poured a mug of coffee. She didn't consider a bit of coffee to break her fast.

Alex rolled her eyes. "Whatever pain potion they gave him last night had the most amusing results."

Hermione grinned. "I heard some of it."

Ruefully hiding her smile, Alex toyed with her bread, "Well, he has a greenstick fracture in his leg and a clean break of his left forearm. A grade three concussion with various cuts and severely bruised ribs round out the bill."

Hermione's smile dropped away. Remus was a very competent fighter. For him to be so knocked around was disturbing. "Did he say what happened? How was Sirius?"

Alex shook her head as she swallowed her next bit of bread. After a sip at her morning tea, she answered, "He was too out of it to answer any questions. With as much of a pain in the arse as it is to heal Lycanthropes, he'll be out until tomorrow morning. I dosed him to the gills. Don't worry, if Sirius was hurt, he'd have been here last night, too."

Hermione nodded, but wondered if Alex was right. Since Harry had been incapacitated, Sirius had been more than a bit obsessed with hunting Death Eaters. Glancing at her watch, she headed to the door giving Alex a wave as she left.

I el Fill…

She went through the usual routine of checking her sandal strap and stamping the dust from her sandals as she stepped from the stand of trees.

The old man in the threadbare suit raised his hat in greeting again. Today, she was able to return his greeting. "Good morning, grandfather," she welcomed him in Valencian.

"Good morning, young lady," he told her in a creaky voice. "I will see you at Mass?"

She smiled as she nodded, "Yes, you will." There was a moment where she felt bad leaving the man behind her as she strode off at her pace. A young woman can easily outpace the old, so she stopped. When he drew even with her, she asked, "May I walk with you grandfather?"

His watery eyes crinkled as he smiled. Extending his elbow, he told her, "I have not had a beautiful young woman on my arm since my Esmeralda passed these seven years and more. I am honoured to escort you to Mass, young lady."

She smiled at his gallantry as they strolled into town. He told her of his wife and their eight children, twenty-seven grandchildren and thirteen great grandchildren. He told her of Stephen, his oldest, who had just retired after a full career as a doctor. Pedro, their youngest had had a long football career with the local football club before retiring and working at an advertising agency. "He was a bit wild. He didn't find a good Catholic girl to settle down with until he was twenty-seven. Only three children, but all beautiful."

And so the stories continued. In listening to this old man tell of his life, Hermione had two feelings rise to the surface. She wanted this for herself and Harry. She wanted him to be strolling down the road eighty or a hundred years hence, telling a young woman of their family. The mere idea of him doing so gave her a warm feeling deep in her belly.

Also, she found herself stepping outside of herself and her own worries and fears. True, Harry wasn't cured by any stretch, but in listening to this old man's story, she was able to gain a bit of perspective. Others out there lived, loved and fought in their own ways. This man had fought with the French Resistance in the Pyrenees during the Second World War. He too had been a warrior, despite his frail appearance.

It wasn't logical, but in her heart, Hermione calmed. Her petition for faith was being fulfilled. Harry was still by far the most important person in her life. He was her anchor about which her entire universe rotated. Without him, she had not doubt that she'd wither on the vine. He was injured and could very well die. Nothing had changed in his status in the last twenty four hours.

At the same time, she had an unshakable belief that had been planted months before, but only began to germinate yesterday. Harry would be victorious. She didn't know why she thought this, but it was no self-delusion or illusion.

I l'Esperit Sant…

He handed her into the pew where she kneeled. Making the sign of the cross, she bowed her head reverently. The lace of her scarf framed her face and hid her hair. The idea of a woman hiding this possible source of vanity in the house of the Lord had seemed ridiculous when she was eight, but the attitude had been apropos for her. In her vanity, she'd tried to run from the truth. She'd tried to hide from destiny.

Harry could very well die in the coming months. She was now fully aware and assured that Voldemort was a deadly, implacable foe. He would not be overcome with a simple Disarming charm. This wizard had successfully led a revolution in Britain.

In the end, though, Harry was the best wizard she knew.

"Harry - you're a great wizard, you know."

"I'm not as good as you."

"Me! Books! And cleverness! There are more important things - friendship and bravery and…"

And love.

A més.

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first act of Last Casualties. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on fanfiction (dot) net. I usually update story status on Monday. Usually.

2. Recommendation for this chapter is The Headmaster by Chris Robins on FF dot net. It's an interesting take on the `Harry becomes the Headmaster' that isn't ridiculous. Very interesting where he's going with the story.

3. Continuity error alert! Wizco caught my mistake; at the end of the third task conflict that killed the two ministers in chapter 13, I said that Hermione hadn't ever seen a person die. Well, that's a big fat fib, isn't it? In chapter 8 she killed three Death Eaters. Whoops. That's what you get when you edit an eighteen thousand word chapter that you wrote. Sorry about that, but great catch, Wizco.

4. I think Harry would like Treasure Island, don't you? (That's what Hermione started to read to him from the Omni-Book).

5. Translations in order of appearance. All italics are the text of chapter 14 in Catalan.

En el nom del Pare…

In the name of the Father…

I el Fill…

And the Son…

I l'Esperit Sant…

And the Holy Spirit

A més.

Amen.

Jo crec en un déu…

I believe in one God…

Aquest és el Cos de Crist…

This is the Body of Christ…

…ves en pau, per estimar I servir el Senyor.

…go in peace, to love and serve the Lord.

Chapter complete 1/16/12

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