Unofficial Portkey Archive

Chapter 18

"How many now?"

Arthur looked up to see Amelia, James Potter, Hestia Jones and Albus Dumbledore standing across from his desk. This was the usual end of day staff meeting for the leaders of the British Government in exile. Such as it was.

Shaking his head, the redheaded father of seven replied, "Seven cells of thirty each. Sheehan tells me they've got another forty in the hopper that they're screening."

"Two hundred and fifty," Amelia flatly repeated.

"Yes."

Albus did the duty, conjuring four seats for the visitors as they settled down. "How are we to retake our country with two hundred and fifty fighters?" James asked as he rubbed his forehead.

In a low tone, Hestia speculated, "Do you think you can build up so much support for us?"

The newly recognized British Ambassador to the International Confederation of Wizards sighed heavily. "The Americans are positive in a vague way. I had a very optimistic discussion with the Australians and the Canadians, but they're taking a `wait and see' position according to their Ambassadors." He snorted derisively, "I've no idea what they're waiting to see, but there it is.

"I'm going to press the New Zealanders and the Indians. The Commonwealth and former Crown Jewel of the Empire might be a bit helpful."

There was a silence that Arthur thought was slightly incredulous until James corrected himself. "That's a load of shit if I ever heard it and I said it."

Sighing, he sat back in the chair. "Help."

In a low tone, Hestia reminded James, "France, Germany, Spain and the United States with the Japanese and Chinese being wild cards."

Nodding tiredly, James noted, "I'll talk to Johann tomorrow. The Germans have been publicly sympathetic in their papers to our plight. The interdependencies of British and German trade are significant."

Arthur watched, wide eyed. He had no idea that James was so well versed in foreign affairs.

"I don't know about the Frogs…"

"James, must you use that term?" Albus chided.

"Fuck you Dumbledore," Prongs interrupted in a matter of fact tone. Now Arthur was staring open mouthed for a very different reason. He'd never heard anyone address Albus so.

"As I was saying before I was interrupted," James began again. "In private conversation, their Ambassador - Gaston somethingortheother - makes all the right noises, but in public, he's suspiciously silent. Add to that, the historical animosity between our two countries, compounded by the proposed free trade zone in Europe, leads me to believe that the Frogs," the emphasis was undeniably present, "Are not going to be very helpful to our cause."

Arthur couldn't help himself, "But Voldemort is right across the channel. They're his next logical target."

"In twenty years, maybe," Hestia countered in a bland tone. At Arthur's sharp look, she explained, "The method of obfuscation by which Voldemort is asserting control over the UK is very effective, but slow. In, say five years, there will be an election that Voldemort will `win'. There will be a series of `crises' that will swell his popular support to make him Prime Minister for life or other nonsense. His polyjuiced Queen will most likely abdicate in his favour or the like. It will take time, but he'll be the undisputed ruler of the UK with very little bloodshed."

"However, the entire venture is fraught with risk. Voldemort's efforts can backfire easily, which is why the bulk of the countries aren't lining up to invade or support our efforts in general," Amelia commented.

"Oh," Arthur replied meekly. Internally, he decided to keep his opinions to himself.

The silence was heavy. His head tilted toward his desk, Arthur snuck a look at the visitors in his office. James was leaning back on his chair, eyes closed while Amelia shuffled through a pile of communiqués. Hestia was also reading a pile of paper while Albus was sitting silent and watchful.

It seemed to Arthur that the others were slowly but surely marginalizing the old wizard and the red headed wizard wasn't sure how he felt about that fact. Albus had been a leadership fixture for all his adult life and the idea that Albus wasn't wanted or needed to retake and subsequently rebuild the country grated wrong on the man's nerves.

Why is he letting them do this? Arthur wondered.

"What's the status of an Exchequer?" Amelia asked.

Hestia shuffled through the piles of paper. "We've made contact with Robert Grantham, the former Deputy Exchequer. He's in Holland with his family but is willing to pick up the job. I'm just waiting for your go ahead to extend the invitation."

"Do it," Amelia sighed. "Robert is a good man." She chuckled tiredly. "I remember one time when Cornelius poked him one too many times. Robert's usual happy go lucky persona fell off like an old coat. Right tiger he was. I thought that he was going to take Cornelius to the woodshed and tan him." The others laughed at the idea.

Amelia paused. Finally, she told the blonde woman, "Hestia, you're doing a magnificent job. Once we get a few more people in house, we need to talk about your long term role."

Arthur was still the good-hearted man who loved being the head of Misuse of Muggle Artefacts so that he got a vicarious thrill at Hestia's beaming smile. The only promotion for her was to Deputy Minister. James was acting as Foreign Minister in his Ambassadorial role, while he, himself, was acting as DMLE - of a sort - and Hestia was acting as Undersecretary. The only promotion available under the current circumstances was to the Deputy position.

"Thank you for your vote of confidence, Minister."

"You've earned it, my dear." Slapping her thighs in a male fashion, the petite redheaded minister barked, "I'm exhausted. I'll be heading upstairs for a bit to take a nap. Arthur?" she fixed him with a beady eye.

Smiling, he knew what was coming. "Yes, Madam Minister?"

"Go home."

"Yes, ma'am," he smiled while he continued to sit. There was an op on for tonight and he needed to man the board. There was little to nothing that he could do from his little desk, but he felt an obligation to be here.

Shaking her head, Amelia smiled when she stood as she muttered, "Bleeding arse. Open rebellion, that's what this is."

"Goodnight, Amelia," James called.

"You go home too. You should be with that pretty wife of yours."

"Yes, Minister," James, Arthur and Hestia chorused through their smiles.

"Arses," Amelia muttered as she headed upstairs to her rooms.

James groaned as he shuffled to his feet. "I'm going home. I'll be in late tomorrow as I'm heading directly to the ICW." Cocking an eyebrow at the blonde witch, he gallantly offered his arm, "You coming?"

A deft wand flick shrunk her pile of parchment. "Definitely."

The two residents of La Retirada exited the room as Arthur opened his desk draw, withdrawing the partitioned slate. As he resettled, he got a little shock to see that Albus had remained behind.

"Albus? Can I help you with something?" he asked with genuine concern. No one could ever accuse Arthur Weasley of being cold hearted.

The old man sighed. "I'm not used to being outside the centre of the whirlwind, as it were." He gave the father of seven a tired smile, "It's hard for the old dog to learn new tricks."

"But aren't you one of the seven Supreme Mugwumps? I would've thought you would be in the thick of things in the ICW." He didn't realize it until the next day the unintentional slight he gave to James with his statement.

Albus shrugged, "Supreme Mugwump is an honorary title. There is one person from each continent, the Antarctica representative is voted in from the general assembly." Holding his hand in a `what do you do?' manner, the old Headmaster added, "I have no real authority."

"But surely you're considered a respected person who's opinions matter?" Arthur persisted. Slowly, his illusions and delusions regarding the man across from his desk were melting.

Softly, Albus rebutted, "Arthur, I'm seen as a contributing factor to Voldemort's scheme."

"No!" Horror and denial at the idea of the great light wizard Albus Dumbledore being attributed to anything done by that monster Voldemort was abhorrent to Arthur. He wasn't the smartest wizard who earned his certificate at Hogwarts, but he wasn't a complete moron either.

"I was the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot for nearly forty years. I was Headmaster for nearly fifty. It was in these hands," he held his withered hands up in a cupping motion, "That I held the stewardship for our country." The hands dropped, "And I failed."

"But…"

"But nothing." Chuckling softly, he smiled ruefully, "I'm an arrogant old man, but no so arrogant as to take all the blame for our current predicament. No, that blame falls at the feet of Tom Riddle. But I could have stopped him…" the usually bright blue eyes clouded for a bit as the Headmaster remembered days long past.

This was all too much for Arthur Weasley. He was a simple man who lived a simple life. Right was right and wrong was wrong. Sure, men made mistakes and failed, but for Albus Dumbledore to fall so far and so fast was shaking the man's worldview.

"I've upset you," Albus apologized. "I'm sorry. I do appreciate you listening to my ramblings. Somehow, admitting some of my grosser misdeeds is liberating." His gaze shifting to his lap, he amended, "But it is not absolution. Not by any means."

His emotions a confused jumble, Arthur watched the old man heave himself from his chair. Tiredly, Albus gave him a weak smile and nod, which Arthur returned with a bit more vim than Albus. As the back of the tall wizard receded down the hall, the muffled buzz of the alarm on the slate sounded. Looking down, he saw the usual message.

Team Six insertion progressing as planned. Team Two in reserve.

Sipping his tea, Arthur sat back in his chair, waiting as he pondered one more of a thousand changes. His eyes flitted over the pictures on the desk, settling on the face of his lost son. Despite the young man's pompous behaviour, he was still Arthur's son. Percy, where are you?

.oOo.

Harry sat back in his chair. He and Hermione had been pouring over maps the entire morning. When he'd brought up the extraction of Hermione's parents, both James' and Sirius' faces became carefully blank. James careful statement to Hermione of, "If this is what you want to do, we'll of course support you," had put Harry off a bit. When Hermione and Susan had headed into town to purchase an updated map of Kent and one of Hampshire - where Hermione's grandparents lived - The Boy-Who-Lived had cornered The-Father-Who-Lived.

"Dad, what do you have against Hermione's parents?" He was hoping against hope that it wasn't bias against Steven and Alice because they were muggles.

That thought had been dashed immediately, "They're utter and complete trash who don't deserve our girl. They're sycophants and status seekers who make me want to vomit."

"And I want to punch him right on the nose," Sirius added with a hint of a snarl.

Blinking in surprise, Harry gaped. He'd no idea his Dad felt so strongly about the situation. Sirius he understood. On more than one occasion, Padfoot had vented his feelings surrounding the elder Grangers. Harry thought he detected more than a hint of jealousy from his godfather regarding the natural parents of his fiancée. James, though, had kept his feelings close to the vest.

"I understand why she wants them out," James had continued as he flipped through a stack of parchment. "However, consider this another lesson. You and Hermione have to do the planning from soup to nuts. When you're ready, bring it to me and we'll all talk about it."

So, they began.

Hermione's paternal grandparents had passed many years before, but her mother's parents were in Hampshire - Eastleigh to be exact. There was a network of friends that her parents were close to, but none to whom they'd flee should things become dangerous. In that case, they'd only go to Bobbie and Bill.

"Can I help?"

Turning, Harry saw William standing in the doorway, a hopeful expression on his face. Waving the Prince into the room, Harry gestured, "Kent. Hermione's parents live there," he jabbed at the red dot Hermione had meticulously placed on the map a few hours before.

"Her grandparents live there," he jabbed at a different map with a different red dot. "In case her parents aren't at their home, we'll go to Hampshire to look for them there. If they aren't in Hampshire, we'll make an immediate egress via a chartered yacht in Plymouth. Otherwise, we'll take them right back to Dover," another jab at another map, showed a green dot overtop the Dover to Calais ferry. "We'll board the ferry to Calais, at," he glanced at a timetable, "Either 10:00 or 13:00. If we miss the 13:00 ferry, we try for the 16:00 ferry. If we miss that, we'll unobtrusively get a room at some low-end inn nearby. If there is contact," William didn't have to ask what type of `contact' to which Harry was referring, "We drive west to camp in Devon or the like. We'll catch the first ferry to Kingstown out of Holyhead the next day."

William's face was serious and thoughtful, causing Harry to wonder how many times the young Prince had had plans like this briefed to him and his family. "Communications and to whom?" William asked.

"We've two way mirrors that we'll use to talk to my Mum. Should the merde hit the ventilator, she'll get others moving to help."

"Money?"

"I've five thousand sterling cash."

"Clothes?"

"Three changes shrunk in Hermione's bag, including labourer clothes for a disguise."

William was smiling now, "Transportation?"

"We'll use public as much as we can, but if the weather is sour, we'll rent a sedan. If we have to run, we'll Apparate out of the country. Maybe use multiple apparitions across the Channel or the Bay of Biscay if we have to but I'd rather not." Harry was smiling in return.

"Weapons?"

Harry's smile faded. "I've my wand. Don't need much more."

William's smile faded also. Sitting next to his new friend, he asked, "Who's going?"

"Me, Hermione and Sirius."

Smiling again, William asked, "Who's in charge?"

Frowning, Harry shrugged, "We don't need someone in charge. It's just the three of us."

William frowned, "What it Sirius wants to leave but you and Hermione want to follow up a lead? What does the team do?"

"Harry's in charge."

Turning to the door, both teenagers saw Hermione standing there, her arms cradling a railway timetable. She strode into the room, dropping the book on the table. In her no nonsense voice, she told them, "There's no one I trust more than Harry in that type of situation. If anyone could get us out of a tight spot, it's him."

Harry felt a warm glow fill him as she professed her faith in him and his abilities. The seriousness on her face faded, replaced with a warm smile. Returning her smile, he pulled her close, nuzzling her neck.

`If you two are going to start throwing yourselves at each other like two seals fighting over a fish, I'll be leaving now."

Surprised, Harry slowly turned to see the smirking Prince.

"You've been spending far too much time with Sirius," Hermione drawled as she plopped into Harry's lap.

He laughed with a grunt. As she casually laid her head on his shoulder, she asked, William, "Are you bored yet?"

The Prince gave the smile that his mother had made famous. "Getting there. The library is magnificent, but most if it is magical whatnot. The portraits are fascinating."

Harry had introduced Billy to the portraits of Grandfathers Charlus and Cadfael. The portraits were on their best behaviour. Both of them proper Welshmen, they were very pleased to have the Prince of Wales in the household.

Watching his girl think, Harry asked, "How are you at Chemistry?" thinking that he could find gainful employment in the potions lab alongside Alex as she worked on a solution for Remus' liver problem.

"Absolute crap," Billy grinned. "I like history and art. Fascinating, the both of them."

Hermione brightened, "I know what you can do."

.oOo.

Lily walked alongside James, her short strides pattering nearly double his long gait as she kept up with her husband. When they first started dating, James had intentionally shortened his strides to match hers; causing him to fall on his face three times in the first few weeks they were together. After that, she told him, "Darling, despite how graceful you are in the air, you're a klutz on the ground. Just walk and I'll keep up with you."

Her briefcase was stuffed with dossiers, calendars and a legal tablet full of notes as they hustled through a hallway to reach the Grand Assembly Hall of the International Confederation of Wizards. What about witches? Lily pertly commented to herself. Men.

"There's two issues on the docket for the day…" she began.

"The Neo-African Magical Republic representation and the Russian Ambassador's speech, right?" James interrupted her.

She nearly bit his head off as he played the politician, waving to the Chinese Ambassador across the way. Remembering back to their frank discussion, she bit her tongue. James had been blunt, "If you can't work for me, don't do this. I wouldn't ask you if I didn't believe in your intelligence, memory and wit. But in the end, I'm the Ambassador. Our marriage is that of equals, but in public…" he'd trailed off weakly, his face blushing a hot red.

Her cocked eyebrow almost ended the discussion right there.

"I won't be rude or take advantage of it, but I can't have you behaving like my wife instead of my Chief of Staff."

Sighing, she'd conceded that due to her advancing pregnancy, she wasn't of much use in the lab any longer. In addition, while she was a borderline expert in Potions, the research was now medical for which she wasn't either trained or well versed.

Moreover, the political world, while distasteful sometimes, was intriguing. Therefore, she acceded to the essential point that while in public she'd not correct or upbraid him in any way.

Over the past week, she'd met some incredibly interesting people alongside some incredibly odious people. The Ambassador from the Magical People's Democratic Republic of Pan Asia was a savage brute while the Ambassador from Luxembourg was a sharp, funny witch who was nearly one hundred with all the vigour of a much younger woman.

Handing James the sheet with the notes for the day, she settled into the chair next to him at the table for the United Kingdom. There had been a few raised eyebrows at their husband and wife teaming, but no one said anything to their faces. Of course not, they're politicians.

The formal acceptance of the accreditation from the new Ambassador for the Neo-African Magical Republic - the previous representative had died of a massive heart attack while overtop his lover - was long and tedious. She'd not been with James for his acceptance, but he came home drained from sheer boredom.

As the Secretary General, the former Ambassador from Italy, introduced the wizened man as the new Ambassador for the Neo-African Magical Republic, Lily scanned her notes. The Russian Ambassador was scheduled to address the assembly regarding, "General Topics," which of course, meant absolutely nothing. Either the rat-faced man from the central steppes of Russia was going to bluster about, or he was hiding his true intent.

"The Russians paved the path on blood purity," James had mused the night before. They were cuddling in bed, still breathing hard. "I wouldn't be surprised should old Ivanov come out as a supporter of Voldemort on principal."

She smiled her wicked smile, "Should we publicly reveal that Voldemort is a half-blood?"

He curled her into his hairy chest, "I think that's a wonderful idea, Chief of Staff of mine."

Returning to the present, she refocused on the podium where the Secretary General was still droning on in a ritualistic cadence that had already put a third of the Assembly to sleep while the remainder were doing an impressive mimicry of Albert the Dunking Bird.

The man was so incredibly dull, paint drying would have been a riot of activity in comparison. Her mind drifted…

She froze when James' hand caressed her thigh underneath the table. An involuntary shudder ran up her spine as he unobtrusively shifted his large hand from the top of her thigh to the inside. When he leaned over to whisper in his ear, she almost lost all control.

"I love you. I want you."

Blinking, the daydream faded away to nothingness. James was sitting next to her, a bored expression on his face as he pretended to pay attention to the ceremony. In school, she wondered if he was able to sleep while sitting upright with his eyes open. He could very well be asleep right now.

Supressing a devilish smile, she wrote a quick note, folded the parchment before sliding it to James.

Without changing his expression or posture, he unfolded the note. He froze when he read, I'm randy.

She expertly smothered a smile as he bent to write. Seven seconds later, she read his retuned note. Now? On the table in front of all these people?

The tiny snort of laughter couldn't be avoided. Grabbing her quill, she felt as if they were back in seventh year. They flirted with each other incessantly in both Runes and Transfiguration. Until he moved into her room after Christmas break, that is. Then it wasn't flirting any longer, it was foreplay.

They went back and forth, trading notes for a bit until she eventually tapped his shoulder. She indicated to the Spanish Ambassador next to him who was trying to catch James' eye. A handsome man in his late fifties, Enrique Solas was a perfect diplomat. Impeccable manners, incredibly coiffed and completely unreadable, the wizard leaned over to James.

Straining her ears, she heard him whisper, "We need to discuss your Minister's request." Amelia's attempt to establish a more permanent and public Ministry in Exile. Spain was one of the nations she was lobbying.

James whispered in return, "Tomorrow morning," to which the Spaniard nodded.

Discreetly checking the small carriage clock on the desk she shared with James, she saw that they'd been there a joyful two hours where they had accomplished nothing more than some hard-core flirting.

"Signore General Secretary and Ambassadors to the Confederation, the Ambassador from the magical Empire of all the Russias," the Adjutant called out in a magically amplified voice.

"This should be interesting," James muttered as he sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth.

Lily assumed her most proper posture. As the Chief of Staff, she had no voice in chambers, but she was not only the Chief of Staff to the Ambassador for the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, but also his wife and everyone there knew it. Her demeanour and behaviour spoke as loudly as James' did, just not officially.

A reedy, white haired man of about eighty strode to the podium. Empty handed, he stared at the assembly for a long moment before he began in a soft, menacing voice. "Secretary General, Ambassadors…Russia speaks today of promise and progress."

A blink was all the indication Lily gave of her surprise. What the hell is he on about?

"As we all know, there is turmoil in Great Britain," the man's pale grey eyes focused on James. "His Lordship is possibly the Ambassador for that country, but his legitimacy is an issue for a later day."

There were gasps throughout the gathering at the man's provocation. Once an Ambassador's credentials were accepted, there was no reversal. The implication of the Russian Ambassador's statement was significant. Lily's eyes narrowed but she didn't say anything. Like James, she sat in silent attention to the thin, goateed Russian.

"In Britain, a so-called Dark Lord is ruling. Crime is nearly non-existent, the unemployment rate is nearly zero, the economic indicators all point to a level of prosperity not known for hundreds of years for that island nation. Is this what happens when a Dark Lord ascends? Russia says `no'. Russia has seen a Dark Lord of the like that Britain would only soil their tradesmen trousers should a wizard the likes of Rasputin rise in their little land.

"The oppressive, class-centric government that his Lordship claims to represent has been cast on the garbage heap like the out dated, unproductive and inefficient machine that it has become."

Now the Hall was still. People were listening. Lily couldn't tell if it was stunned disbelief or curiosity about the message that Ivanov was handing over.

"Russia says that the lobbying by his Lordship," the sneer became more pronounced each time Ivanov said the phrase, "this lobbying for support to an oppressive, racist and exploitive regime is unseemly and not befitting the grand ideals on which our august body was founded," the speaker raised his hands in an uplifting motion as a priest in a service is wont to do.

"Did not the previous leaders of Great Britain exploit the non-Pureblood? Did they not systematically subjugate and oppress those of unfortunate birth? Were not the magical creatures of Great Britain harnessed for the yoke?

"Russia says that we forgo any intervention to the internal reworking of Great Britain. They are a long established, proud nation with long established independence. The country flourishes, the people are safe; what more can be desired? Would any of you,' he jabbed his finger at the seated Ambassadors, "Would any of you want a collective of nations to invade your country when you have a change of leaders? Would you want an occupying force patrolling your streets when your economy thrives and your populace is content?"

Drawing himself up to his full height, the white haired Ambassador concluded, "Russia says `no'." With a quick bow to the audience, he strode off the stage and out of the room to utter silence.

There was a long moment while all the assembled stared at James and Lily. Turning to Solas on his right, James smiled as he gave a short laugh. "I think we know where Russia stands."

Solas gave a thin smile in return which was more emotion than the man had shown in a year. Lily tensed as a man approached James from behind. She calmed when she recognized Johann Gruber the German Ambassador. He clapped James on the shoulder, "I think that Russia supports the Dark Lord. Your thoughts?"

James smiled again, "I got that impression." Turning to Lily, he asked, "Did you get that impression?"

She shrugged as a smile danced about the edges of her mouth. "It was hard to tell, but if you read between the lines, I think one could assert that idea."

This caused those seated immediately about the UK table to chuckle. Since there was nothing further on the agenda, the Ambassadors stood, speaking to aides and to each other. One by one, some drifted to James and Lily. Sometimes, it was just an aide or Chief of Staff who talked to her to express their support for the Government in Exile. Other times, it was the Ambassador speaking directly to James. The Ambassador from Chile was very effusive in his support for Amelia's effort, publicly expressing his country's offer of military and economic aid.

While most of the countries were more circumspect, it was still heart-warming to hear.

Three hours later, they meandered out of the building, Lily leaning heavily on James' arm. Despite her young twenty-three years, Lily was also four months pregnant. Past the morning sickness phase, she was into the alternating `horny as a goat or exhausted' phase.

"My Lord! George Stimson from the New York Oracle…do you have any comment on the Russian speech?"

James went into Ambassadorial mode as Lily took a few steps from him. She had to smile through her tiredness. Her husband was flourishing in this role. Always a bit of an attention hound, his flair, joie de vivre, sharp wit and incredible intelligence made him a perfect fit as the Ambassador in these troubled times.

He was also hot.

Five minutes later, James gently pushed past the gaggle of reporters, taking her arm in his. Guiding her through the crowds, they were soon outside.

"How many countries did you count?" he asked in an undertone. His meaning clear, Lily forced her tired brain to work through the list she'd compiled in the general milling about after the Russian Ambassador's speech.

"Forty eight."

James nodded, the sigh just perceptible. "Out of three hundred member nations."

Lily nodded. Granted, there was a clean sweep of the Security Council nations. The United States, Great Britain, Brazil, India, China, Egypt, Morocco, Greece, France, Spain and Norway were all in accord that Voldemort was a menace. However, without full-blown international support, the Security Council couldn't move. The ICW would be discredited as a bully pulpit for the larger countries and the smaller would withdraw causing the ICW to fail just as the League of Nations failed.

Lily groaned. Her head hurt. "Take me home, James."

"As you wish," he whispered. The pop of Apparition was all that she heard. Moments later, she was asleep in their bed.

.oOo.

They had debated Aging potions, but discarded the idea as too risky. James had relayed Arthur Weasley's experience boarding the ferry to Ireland, so Lily had experimented. She went shopping at the higher end stores with Harry and Hermione. It was coincident that William, too, needed a new wardrobe, but Lily's main purpose was camouflage.

Instead of the `young misses' or `teens' section of the store, Lily took Harry and Hermione into the men's and women's departments.

Two hours later, Harry and Hermione had a wardrobe supplement of adult clothing. The next stop was a salon that had been recommended by a friend of Alex's. Hermione spent three hours under the ministrations of Claude while Harry was attended by Franz.

William laughed as Harry's blush deepened with each squeal by the Austrian hairstylist. Eventually, Harry escaped from the hair stylist, stashing himself into the corner of the waiting room with the amused Crown Prince. Harry learned cribbage from William while Hermione finished. In fact, Harry hid behind his mother while the Prince did his best to be unobtrusive.

The Boy-Who-Lived was speechless when Hermione strode to the counter after Claude finished with her. Lily nodded approvingly. Harry didn't realize it, but both of the magical teens now appeared to be in their early twenties. Hermione's wild, bushy amorphous hairstyle had been discarded for a very chic couching of her hair while Franz had worked with Harry's hair. Calling it the `propensity to misbehave', he coiffed, cut, gelled, trimmed, and exclaimed before calling Harry a `masterpiece'.

Lily nodded approvingly. William concurred, once he stopped giggling.

The next morning at sunrise, they left for Kent.

.oOo.

"You ready, Padfoot?"

"Yeah, let's get the show on the road."

Harry nodded. Sirius had been taken aback when Hermione had announced that Harry would have tactical command of the extraction, but hadn't objected. Shrugging, he muttered, "Doesn't really matter."

James approached his son, the sun rising over the rolling waters of the Mediterranean Sea.
"I love you, son," James whispered.

Struck by the emotion, Harry could only nod before taking his father firmly into his arms.

"It'll be fine," James' hoarse whisper attempted to reassure him.

Taking his father's meaning as opposed to his words, Harry nodded. There were no more vicious fighters in the household that Harry, Hermione and Padfoot. Only Voldemort himself could subdue them in a fight. If it came to violence, James had confidence in the team to come home carrying their shields while their opponents would be borne upon their own.

Lily took Harry and Hermione into a joint embrace while Padfoot kissed Hestia. "I'll be waiting for your call, though, I hope I don't hear anything," Lily whispered. Harry nodded again. If he were to call his Mum other than regular check ins, things would be terribly wrong.

"Got your portkeys?" Lily asked through a sniffle. Waving her hand at Harry's concerned expression, she demurred, "Pregnancy tears. Pay me no mind."

The emotion was starting to get to Harry. Finding Hermione with his eyes, his intention was clear. She gave him a soft smile and a shrug as if to say, It's part of being a family. Harry gave her a nod before cajoling, "C'mon Sirius. Get your tongue out of Hestia's throat and your hand out of her blouse."

Two minutes later, they stood on the pier at Calais, standing in line for their ticket.

.oOo.

They sat in the public area of the ferry. The wind was brisk and the seas choppy. Hermione set her magazine aside as she squinted at the skies. Dark and overcast. Nuts. Fair weather would have been a boon for this op. Now they'd have to break out the umbrellas and hustle from place to place. Nudging Harry in the side, she appreciated the new look. Licking her lips, she decided it was all right.

When he opened his eyes from the faux nap he was taking, she nodded to the skies. His clear eyes turned outboard, narrowing as he saw the gathering clouds and the increasing chop. Under his breath he muttered, "Due for a dunking, it seems."

.oOo.

Without fuss, Hermione entered the car rental agency. Her conjured identity card coupled with a thousand pounds in cash got them a BMW 7 series sedan, no questions asked.

Harry slipped behind the wheel. His mother had taught him how to drive over the past week and just like his broom, he was a natural. Hermione shuddered as she watched him drive his father's Aston Martin like a go-kart.

Per the plan, Sirius ducked down in the backseat. The lovers in the front seat scanned their surroundings as they drove out, the steady rain beating a tattoo on the ceiling of the car. Finally, Hermione decided they weren't being followed.

"We're clear."

Taking his cue, Sirius changed to Padfoot while ducked down in the back. Scrambling up on the leather seats, he scanned out the windows. Back. Left. Right. Back…

It'd been Harry's idea actually. "Your eyesight as Padfoot is much better than your human vision and on top of that, you won't be distracted as easily."

The enormous bearlike dog in the backseat bore little resemblance to the emaciated, scrofulous mutt that had dragged Ron Weasley under the Whomping Willow a few short years before. His fur glossy and full, the dog's wide shoulders and keen eye were tense and watchful as Harry accelerated on to the motorway, heading north.

No one spoke. They watched. Harry drove. An even fifteen Kph over the posted speed limit, he moved the high-end sedan like a fighter pilot. At seven o'clock, Hermione dug out the two-way mirror, "James, we're fine." She was holding Sirius' mirror while Lily was holding her husband's mirror.

"Understood," replied the barely formed tense and drawn face of Lily Potter before the connection was broken. Stowing the mirror, Hermione resumed her scan as Harry passed a lorry that was lumbering down the road.

.oOo.

"Turn left up ahead. Our house is the third on the left."

Harry was completely alert. During Quidditch matches, his awareness seemed to swell and expand which made him one of the best seekers in a century. During the confrontation in the Chamber of Secrets, his awareness had been encompassing. He knew where the shade of Riddle had been, the Basilisk, he could've sworn he was counting Ginny's shallow breaths.

Based on his alertness right now, he felt like he must've been nearly asleep those other times.

The rain was coming down in buckets. Slowing, he backed into the Granger drive. Placing the transmission into neutral before setting the handbrake, he heard Padfoot growling a low, constant rumble in the backseat.

"Anything?" he asked the other two.

Hermione shook her head as she looked about. Surreptitiously, she ducked her head, sliding the infrared goggles over her eyes. Scanning left, she didn't pause so there was nothing there to see. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her scan right. No pause. Unfortunately, the effectiveness of such devices was reduced exponentially in the rain.

"Sirius?"

The Grim became Man. Withdrawing his wand, he cast a series of charms as Harry grasped his holly and phoenix feather extension of himself in a tight grip.

"Nothing." Sirius told them. No wards, detection charms or other magic.

"Go," Harry commanded as he opened his door. Not bothering to pull the hood of his Macintosh over his head, he sprinted for the front door, Hermione on his heels.

At the door, Harry turned, watching the road while Sirius ran to the back. Hermione nearly dove for the planter on the left side of the door. Thrusting her hand into the dirt, she scrabbled for a moment before pulling up a small tin. Cracking it open, she stuffed the key into the lock.

With a smooth click, the bolt fell back. Hermione dashed into the house, Harry turning in a fluid motion, closing the door as he went.

Bent low, Harry followed his intended into the house. Silent as death, they ghosted through the downstairs floor. It was early still; he expected the downstairs to be empty. His breath harsh in his ears, Harry moved and reacted. Nothing.

Finishing their circuit, Hermione dashed for the stairs without hesitation. Harry on her heels, she dove through the flimsy door to the master suite. She rolled left as he went right. There was no time for tension or even fear as he scanned the room.

Empty.

"Fuck!" Harry ignored the swear from Hermione. Turning, he saw that the bed was made and not rumpled. Stepping over the flinders of the door, he left the room. A quick check showed that the house was empty. Sirius came in the back door, heading to the kitchen. Grabbing a towel, he scrubbed his soaked hair as he dripped on the tile.

Still not speaking, Hermione moved to the telephone. Above the table was a corkboard where her parents would leave notes for each other or Hermione. There was a scrawled note in red.

Granny

"Oh, no."

"Let's go," Harry ordered.

They had walked through the op so many times; the decisions thought through time and again that he was reacting. None of them needed to speak because they all knew their roles and duties.

Even when the front door exploded two seconds later.

.oOo.

Arthur was tired. He'd been up late the night for an extraction. Michael Wood, one of the more skilled Hit Wizards working with the Resistance had been seriously wounded. Since no one could get in or out of Hogwarts - without a Phoenix that is - Arthur went to Britain to fetch the wounded man out.

Apparating directly to Britain was a risky business, but tonight was an urgent matter. He'd smiled to himself, taking advantage of the pre-existing magical constructs. First Apparating to France, Arthur had then Apparated directly to King's Cross. Platform 9 3 / 4 to be exact. Hurriedly, he left the empty track terminus, losing himself in the swell of humanity

Two more Apparitions later, he was at the safe house. Michael looked a bit peaked, but the field healer had stabilized him. The shattered mess that was his left leg was rather disgusting, though.

"They're here," came the call from the front of the house.

Arthur nodded to Terry Sheehan who was one of two Aurors left in the building. They were unsure if the Voldemort controlled Ministry detectors would monitor activity within the Fidelius hidden house, but were abandoning the building nonetheless. When the Aurors left for operations, they took buses, autos and the train to far away destinations before using multiple Apparitions to their target destination. It was time consuming and annoying, but they were taking no chances. Until Michael Wood caught a Bone Shattering curse in his knee, that is.

Terry returned Arthur's nod as the redhead placed the evacuation portkey on Michael's chest. The wounded man had been sedated for the journey, so he was so much cordwood at the moment. "Godspeed," Arthur wished as he clasped the Irishman's hand.

"And to you, boyo."

Terry and John Bates Apparated away without further comment.

Playing a hunch based on Bates' comment, Arthur scurried to the front window, brazenly opening the curtains. Directly in front of him stood three masked Death Eaters. Swallowing a shout of surprise, he looked closer, not seeing any hint of knowledge or recognition in the brown eyes six inches from his own.

A bit shaky, he headed back to Michael. Tapping the portkey he muttered, "Physic." The world spun as the magical portal opened, sucking him and the immobile Wood to the magical hospital in Zurich.

Three hours later, the exhausted man stumbled up the steps of the brownstone that the Ministry in Exile was using as their office suite. All three of them, that is. Well, it could be four if Grantham had taken up residence as the Exchequer. Either way, he wanted to check the board to see if any messages had come through about Team Seven's relocation.

"Hem, hem."

Once again, Arthur supressed a shriek of surprise. Spinning about, all traces of weariness gone, the redheaded father of seven levelled his wand on Dolores Umbridge.

"Really, Weasley; that's far from necessary. I've had a difficult day, let's not make this any worse for you. I'd like to speak to the Minister."

.oOo.

Harry and Hermione turned, sprinting for the back door as the splinters from the ruined front whipped about them. As if the entire event was moving in slow motion, Harry saw Sirius conjure a marble wall in front of himself. His job was to slow their opponents. A grim smile on his face, Harry watched his godfather begin.

The month or so that Sirius had taken the fight to the Death Eaters hadn't been wasted. From behind the protection of the wall, he cast four Reductor curses followed by a Concussion Wave charm. For area effect, it was devastating. As Harry dove out the kitchen bay window, he heard the front of the Granger house collapse, all the load bearing walls disintegrating under the violent attack from the Lord of the House of Black. There were no survivors in the front garden.

Rolling in the muddy grass, Harry popped to his feet. Crouching as he turned in a circle, he saw two Death Eaters running from the side of the house. He felt Hermione hit the ground while another part of his consciousness knew that Sirius was exiting the house via the more conventional door.

All that was background noise. Before the two men realized that anyone was in the grass, they'd been vaporized by two Explosive hexes. If it were possible, Harry's wand would've had smoke curling from the end as he looked for more targets.

"C'mon."

Harry sprinted for the front with Sirius on his heels, Hermione behind her adopted father. The front of the house was burning merrily, the result of a ruptured gas line or some such. Harry ignored it as he slipped behind the wheel nonchalantly.

Sirius got in the back, slicking his wet hair back from his forehead.

Hermione slid beside Harry. Both of them shuddered as Sirius cast Drying charms followed by a mild Warming charm.

A twist of Harry's wrist caused the powerful eight-cylinder engine to roar to life.

"Back to the motorway," Hermione directed as she withdrew the map from her bag. She didn't need it, but it was comforting to have.

Spinning the wheel, Harry shot out of the drive. He was doing 100 kph as he streaked down the backstreets. Back on the nearly empty motorway, he prompted, "Sirius."

Padfoot nodded, casting a Notice Me Not charm on the car.

"Done."

Harry floored the accelerator, roaring past 200 kph. An Impervious charm coupled with a Traction charm allowed him to push the sedan over 250.

.oOo.

James stared at his morning tea. He was in his office in the ICW administrative area, his Scottish secretary running down the contact information for the American ambassador.

They should be in Kent by now he scolded himself. I should be there. Before the thought was even considered, he rejected it. Leaning back in his chair, he stared into space. This is my contribution.

He didn't like the fact that his arena had shifted from the battlefield where wands were the weapons to the battlefield where words were the weapons. On first blush, it smacked of cowardice.

No, it's putting the cause first instead of my pride. Shit.

Shaking his head at his own foolishness, James took a draught of his tea while reading the letter in his desk. The knock on the door proved to be fortuitous. Tossing the paper aside, he muttered to himself, Do politicians ever learn to speak clearly or are they raised from the cradle taught how to avoid answering a question while seeming to do so?

"My Lord," came the clipped accent of Agatha, his secretary. "Ambassador Solas to see you."

"Show him in, Agatha." The fifty-year-old mother of four nodded briskly before opening the door fully and stepping back.

James rose, stepping around his desk. Extending his hand to the tall Spaniard, he greeted him, "Enrique, how are you?"

"I'm well, James." Glancing about the room and seeing it empty, he asked, "How is Lily?"

James shrugged, "She'd feeling a bit under the weather today," he lied. "It seems to come and go."

"My wife was the same for both our children," Solas agreed as they sat in the small sitting area next to the desk.

Agatha returned with a coffee service. Though James preferred tea in the morning, he knew that Solas was a coffee fanatic. The man owned coffee plantations in South America, Jamaica and Hawaii to provide him his own personal blends.

When the secretary had firmly shut the door behind her, Solas stirred a dash of sugar into his brew. "Minister Rodriguez was less than pleased about the Russian speech yesterday."

"Oh?" James replied blandly as he raised his eyebrows. Sipping from the cup, he nodded appreciatively. Though tea was the nectar of the gods, coffee was a close second.

"Yes. She feels that they are once again attempting to influence the greater European community and that they should stay in their own continent."

It was an old story for the Russians. Their Empire spanned two continents, belonging to both yet neither. The Europeans saw them as Asian interlopers while the Asians - primarily the Chinese - saw them as European savages. For centuries, the country had been striving to establish themselves as a respectable and respected player in the politics of both spheres.

"The Germans feel the same," James observed.

Solas nodded as he sipped. "Not bad," he commented. From Enrique Solas, that was high praise.

"Agatha has an uncle who has a small plantation high on the western slopes of the Andes. He provides the necessary. She refuses to drink anything else."

James marvelled that he was easily falling into the politician's role. Fixing an amused smile on his face, he asked, "Have you heard from the French?"

There was a slight hesitation in Solas' manner that told volumes. The French were supporting the Russians, at least tacitly. "Matters are unclear," the Spaniard diplomatically offered.

James waited.

"Minister Rodriguez would like to extend Spain's support to Acting Minister Bones and the British Ministry in Exile," Solas told the British Ambassador in a soft voice. It seemed that to speak it too loudly would betray a secret of great import.

"I've been instructed to convey our recognition of the great honour such support entails. May I ask what level of backing is being offered or has that yet to be decided?"

Solas nodded, "You shall be afforded facilities for your personnel, living accommodations for those requiring such will be provided, as well as, official recognition by our government."

James blinked. "That is extremely generous. I have no doubt Minister Bones and the cabinet will accept such an offer." But what do you want in return?

Hestia had told James, "Expect a very high level description of what they want in return, but remember: Quid Pro Quo is the name of the game."

Solas reached into the inside breast pocket of his robes, withdrawing a large packet. Handing it to James, he told him, "These are the details. The facility and housing are located in Andalusia, near Barbate. I thought that would be especially poignant for our French friends."

James smiled. Barbate was roughly thirty kilometres from Cape Trafalgar.

Without opening it, James placed the packet in his own pocket. It's rude to count your money at the table. He waited.

"When you have regained your country we can discuss how the relationship between Spain and Britain has been deepened by such activities."

"Of course," James replied smoothly. "And I must say how glad I am personally that this relationship has broadened and deepened."

Solas nodded politely, a half-smile on his face.

.oOo.

"It'll be alright," came the soft murmur.

Hermione turned to Harry. He was staring straight ahead as he streaked down the road like lightning in a summer storm.

"It'll be alright," the murmur repeated.

Realizing that it wasn't Harry who'd spoken, Hermione turned to the backseat to see Sirius watching her with a cautious expression. It was evident what was on his mind. Her heart in her throat, Hermione reached out to him with a fumbling hand. "Sirius, don't think that I love you any less." Upon reflection, of course Sirius would feel pushed a bit to the side with all the effort they were making to retrieve her birth parents.

He smiled. It was a warm, heartfelt smile as opposed to the jester's smile he usually wore. "Never in life," Sirius reassured her. "My girl," he added as he affectionately kissed her hand.

Their hands entwined, they raced down the road, Harry completely focused on his driving.

.oOo.

Aconite.

Alex leaned on the worktable, scanning the results of the analysis. She'd run the tests time after time but never really made the connection. Aconite was a critical ingredient in the Wolfsbane potion. Too much and the afflicted werewolf would perish, not enough and the potion wouldn't catalyse, rendering the brew a merely noxious, harmless draught.

Rubbing her face, she chastised herself for a fool. All she'd had to do was to walk six feet to ask Lily how much aconite was added to the potion ever month. When she finally did ask Lily about the particulars of the potion, then ran the math, Alex had cursed a blue streak that would have impressed Sirius. Given a correct brewing of the potion, Remus should've had between .03-.07 parts per million of Aconite in his bloodstream.

The blood sample drawn the previous week showed him currently to be at 7 ppm. It had dropped from her first sample that showed him at 15 ppm. By all that was right in the world, he should have died.

When Remus returned from Italy, she'd run another test. It appeared that there was a linear decline in the concentration of the poisonous substance in his system. There was anecdotal evidence that Aconite was also stored in the Mylar sheathing about the nervous system, but that was a fine distinction that she'd leave for later.

When had this overdose happened? Shaking her head, she had no idea. Remus' fatigue had been extreme for months according to him. Maybe there was a clue in that timeline.

There was an undercurrent of relief that Remus was on the mend. Letting a sigh of relief escape her, Alex readdressed herself to the results of her work.

.oOo.

Downshifting at 130 kph is a bad idea, Harry commented to himself as the tachometer red-lined. The luxury sedan responded like a formula one car -albeit a very large one. Rotating the wheel on his palm, first left then right, he weaved the car between the traffic on the avenue leading to Hermione's grandparent's house.

The Notice Me Not charm had successfully hidden them from the police, but didn't help disperse the traffic. Growling in frustration, he jammed on the brakes at a stop light.

"Next right," Hermione tersely told him.

Nodding, he let her tone slide. She'd become more tense the further west they went. Entering the environs of Eastleigh, she'd become downright beastly.

"Straight up?" Sirius confirmed.

"Yeah," Harry replied. "I'll go first, Hermione in trail. Sirius, you cover the front for a ten count before coming in."

The rain had stopped, but it was still overcast. Good, no glare Harry observed. Taking a hard right on to Garden Drive, he ignored the horn from the lorry that he just missed ramming. Without looking, he unhooked his seat belt asking, "Ready?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

Whipping the car to a stop in front of 1321, all three tumbled out of the car. Before a heartbeat passed, Harry had bounded over the hood of the BMW, sprinting to the door.

Hermione's harsh breathing sounded in his ear as he heard the slap of Sirius' footsteps on the garden path.

Not bothering with magical concealment, Harry cast a quick spell. "Hominem Revealo." They'd minimized their use of magic so far, but this was their last stop of the day, no matter the results.

He breathed a sigh of relief when there were four red flashes in the house, all congregated in the back rooms. Another flick and wave of his wand preceded his next spell, "Sominus."

Hermione's Reductor curse smashed the door to toothpicks. Running through the shattered doorframe, he didn't pause. Moving in the direction where the now sleeping figures lay, he found Hermione's parents and two older people who he assumed were Alice's parents. Harry tapped Steven's head with his wand before moving to Hermione's Grandmama as the Disillusionment charm vanished the man who would become his father in law.

Repeating the spell on the older woman, he saw that all four were now nearly invisible. Squinting, he made out their outlines, but not much more. "Mobilcorpus,' he incanted. Taking off at a near run, he had two - which two he wasn't sure - of Hermione's relatives in tow. Running out the front door, he leapt down the steps just in time to see a dozen Death Eaters arrive via portkey.

A glance told him that many of the arrivals were new recruits. Their robes weren't the usual pitch black and they didn't wear masks. There were five, though, that seemed to be old hands. They immediately cast the Killing curse.

Ducking and rolling, Harry moved under the curse. "Sirius, get them out of here!" he screamed. Bouncing to his feet, he whipped his wand in a horizontal sweep punctuated with a jab.

Hurricane force winds raged, knocking down his opponents, propelling many of them yards away. Bushes were flattened and a tree uprooted. A Renault flipped over with a loud crunch. Harry ignored it all. Without pause, he began to kill the interlopers.

His Reductor curse killed two who were lying close to one another.

His Slicing curse cut one man in half as he struggled to stand in the face of the wind.

Frustrated at the time he was wasting, Harry cut to the chase. Reaching deep within himself, he cast the Demolition curse with all his might. His shouted, "Confringo!" echoed in the torrent of wind before the world exploded. Whipped about by the blinding wind, debris seemed to hang in the air while cars down the avenue exploded and homes were damaged. Something knocked him to the side, but he remained upright.

Slightly winded, Harry gaped. Half the block was ruins, while the other half was obviously damaged beyond repair. Small bloody smears were all that remained of his opponents. The entire engagement had lasted ten seconds.

Turning about, he saw Hermione approaching him with wide eyes. Horrified that she was scared of him, he looked to his feet. When he saw the tips of her dainty feet enter his field of view, he was too afraid of her reaction to look up.

"Love," she whispered. "You're hurt."

Suddenly, a wave of nausea coupled with a crippling pain rolled over him. His left arm felt as if there were hot needles jammed into his bicep. Looking at his arm, he saw a jagged piece of bone sticking out of the meat of his arm.

"Oh," was all he could muster before emptying the meagre contents of his stomach. Fortunately, Hermione had stood to the side.

"Oh," he repeated as his legs started to give way. He felt more than heard Hermione's muttered incantation. The feeling of weightlessness was odd, but it allowed him to lie flat without placing any pressure on his wound.

"Let's go," he hoarsely rasped. "Before reinforcements arrive."

"Back seat is ready," he heard Sirius call from what seemed to be a mile away.

"Hold on, love," Hermione urged as she ran to the car.

Harry's eyes rolled as he clipped his sound arm on the remains of a tree, but the reverberation throughout his body caused a fresh bout of pain and nausea. Turning his head to the side, he vomited again.

The sky seemed darker. "Hold on, Love," he heard Hermione urge again. This time, she seemed so much farther away, though.

There was a muttered incantation and the pain subsided. "I've numbed the pain, Harry, but this next spell is going to hurt like hell."

He blinked. For Hermione to curse, things must be bad. Mustering his courage, he nodded once.

"Episky," she incanted.

Pain, living breathing pain coursed through him consuming all in its path. He tried to scream, tried to cry out but the pain was so intense and present that he could only lay in the expanded backseat of the car, gasping and crying. Tears coursed down his cheeks as the agony receded to a dull throb. Grateful, he fainted.

.oOo.

Hermione was doing her level best to drive sedately. Harry was out of danger and her relatives asleep. Sirius was in the backseat, monitoring his godson while she drove them south to Portsmouth. It was a short drive to the private marina where they'd rented a boat capable of taking them all to France.

Five more kilometres.

Withdrawing her pre-printed directions, she looked for the road to the marina. There. Downshifting, she made the turn. In front of them, the bay opened up, an expanse of greenish-blue that was peppered with motor craft of all shapes and sizes. In the far distance was what could only be a Royal Navy ship setting out to sea.

"There," Sirius prompted, his pointing finger over her shoulder indicating the small car park in front of a sign that read, "Mystic Marina."

She stopped the car, setting the handbrake. Sirius hopped out to finalize the rental as Hermione shifted over the backseat to tend to Harry.

Ruthlessly shoving her emotions to the side, she checked his pulse and breathing. His heartbeat was slow and steady. Beyond that, she couldn't tell how he was doing without magic. Her gut squirmed as she wanted to take back her promise. She and Sirius had agreed that they would refrain from further spells until they landed in France. Just in case the Death Eaters were still monitoring their equipment.

Ten very long minutes passed until Sirius jogged back to the car. "Let's go."

Surreptitiously, Padfoot pulled Harry's good arm over his shoulder before loudly saying, "No more whisky for you, young man. I'm not bloody carrying you again."

Hermione grabbed her mother by the collar, dragging her behind Sirius to the waiting boat. One by one, they dragged Hermione's Disillusioned relatives to the boat as they retrieved `luggage' from the car. Just in case someone was watching, they played the act to the full.

Finally, Sirius was calling, "Cast off forward."

Ten minutes later, the cabin cruiser was pointed due south, heading to the Channel.

Hermione was below decks, at Harry's side. Not again. Shuddering, she forced down her panic at being by Harry's side once again after he had been felled.

"He'll be fine," Sirius called from the flying bridge. "Get up here a minute; I want to talk to you."

Reluctantly, and more than a bit angry at being forced to leave Harry's side, she stormed up the deck.

"What?" she snarled.

"Easy there," Sirius rebuked with a smile. "Look, Harry's got a badly broken arm. He'll be fine once Alex takes a look at him."

Deflating, she sagged against her adopted father. "It's like last time," she moaned.

"He'll be fine, but there's something else."

Puzzled, she looked at Sirius with an expectant expression.

"He's going to ask how many people he killed back there and you have to feign ignorance," Sirius told her without looking away from the harbour.

Doubtful, she countered, "Sirius, Harry's never had a problem hurting or even killing Death Eaters. He's never mentioned anything about it."

"Not the Death Eaters," the dark haired Animagus softly explained, "the people who lived in those houses."

Stunned, the enormity of Sirius' statement occurred to her. While the houses on her grandparents' street were not obliterated, most were heavily damaged by Harry's end game spell. Despite being one in the afternoon, there were inevitably people home and some of those people were either injured or - heaven forefend - killed.

"I - I can't lie to him Sirius. I won't." She'd never lied to Harry. The only time that she'd delayed telling him the truth was third year about the Firebolt that the man next to her had sent and that'd been a botched job from the beginning. Actively lying to him? Never.

His cold expression pierced her. She glared right back. "It's not for me. It's for him. I'm the only person who's never left him." When Sirius' face fell, she quickly added, "It's not your fault any more than it was James' and Lily's fault but in the end, you weren't there. I'll not betray his trust by lying to him. Ever."

Grudgingly, Sirius nodded his acceptance. "Fine." When he shoved the throttles forward, the boat settled by the stern as it surged forward. "Best go below to make sure our sleeping beauties aren't flopping about. With this weather, we'll be hitting some serious chop as soon as we clear the quay."

With a hesitant look, she headed below to tend to the others.

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first seventeen chapters of Last Casualties. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on fanfiction (dot) net. Mostly I update the status on Mondays. Once in a while. Gimme a break, my work life has been completely upside down for the last three months.

2. Recommendation for this chapter is Harry Potter and the Summoner's Stone by Lochar along with the sequel, Harry Potter, Bahamut. I usually don't groove on the stories that are very focused on the mechanics of the magic in the tale, but these two are very good. Enjoy!

3. Sorry about the lateness of the chapter. Work, sick kids and a late blossoming addiction to Downton Abbey have conspired to slow the progress of this chapter. "Hi everyone, my name is Sean and I'm addicted to Downton Abbey. I wish Bates would get his head out of his arse; I'm overjoyed that Lady Mary has finally grown up and Matthew has got over himself. I want to see Thomas roast on a spit and think that the award for the funniest person in the entire household is a dead heat between the Dowager Countess and Carson, the Butler." *whew*, glad all that's off my chest.

4. Yep, the Security Council member nations of the ICW are different from the Security Council member nations in the United Nations.

5. For reference, 100 kph is 62 mph. For all the other speeds, do the math.

6. I tried to strip the action scenes to bare bones in order to try to convey the rapid fire nature of such situations. Hopefully it worked.

Chapter complete 3/20/12

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