Unofficial Portkey Archive

Chapter 19

Steven Granger was very unhappy.

He stood on the third floor of a luxurious villa. The room apportioned to him and his wife was nearly as large as the entire top floor of their home. The window opened to a small balcony where he and Alice could watch the sunrise over the Mediterranean Sea. A line of credit had been established at top end department stores and fashion houses in Madrid and Nice for them to replenish their destroyed wardrobe. A BMW 525 had been purchased for them and was currently parked in the drive.

Still, he was unhappy, bordering on furious.

Stuffing his hands into his shorts, Steven leaned on the doorframe leading out to the balcony. Alice was currently walking the beach as they both tried to come to terms with the situation. Where Steven had reacted with anger, Alice had become morose.

The problem was that the young woman who had been born to Alice fifteen, nearly sixteen, years before had become barely recognizable. She had defied both him and Alice. She'd embraced an escaped convict as her father and was bloody betrothed to her friend. Betrothed!

The bile rose in his throat as his lip curled. What kind of parent allows their teenaged son to offer marriage to a teenaged girl. Then the bloody fools condone their sleeping in the same bed. Most likely, they were shagging like bunnies.

A thrill of disgust shot up his back causing Steven to shiver.

He'd not even been allowed to have a proper discussion with her. When they'd woken in this room, the so-called Countess of Richmond had been sitting there. Her expression had been far from friendly.

"I am here because we need to have a chat." She'd paused, and then corrected herself, "No, I need to tell you some things and you need to listen. If you refuse to listen, I shall cast a series of spells on you that will compel you to listen. Pick."

Glaring at the redheaded chit who'd stolen his daughter, he was silent. He'd not give her the satisfaction of a reply. Glancing to his left, he saw his wife was stone-faced.

"I assume by your silence that you will comply. Very well…"

Very calmly, the redhead had told him which way was up. Hermione had been magically adopted. She and Harry were betrothed. She and Harry were sharing a bed. None of the adults of the household would tolerate them raising their voices or using harsh language.

Then, she'd told them - quite harshly - how Harry of all people, had already purchased a vehicle for their use and established lines of credit.

"Personally, I wouldn't have done what my son has, but he loves Hermione. I suppose that's why he's acted as he did."

Then she left. That was ten minutes ago.

When the door clicked shut, he'd turned to Alice expecting to see her face flush with the indignation he was feeling. All he saw was a woman on the edge of tears. Falteringly, she met his eye before looking away. Eventually, she spoke, but she wouldn't meet his gaze.

"I'm going for a walk on the beach. I'll be back."

That was seven minutes ago.

Now he was alone in a plush room, in what he could only assume was a mansion. And he was mad as hell. The longer he considered the situation, the further wronged he felt himself. He'd been very understanding. He'd allowed his daughter to go to that school in Scotland. He'd tolerated her friendships with those boys. He'd let her visit her friend's house when his `parents' returned from the dead. Now, he'd lost her. His little princess who told him that one day she'd be Prime Minister.

In a moment of doubt, his lip quivered. He loved his little girl and it seemed that he'd lost her.

Where was Hermione? The indignation stoked and flared.

Pushing off the doorframe, he glared about the room. Snorting, he stomped across the room, giving the bell pull a sharp tug when he got there. He wanted some goddam answers and he wanted them right now.

Crack. The noise nearly made him shriek. Spinning about, he saw a little…thing.

"You rang, sir?" it asked.

"What are you?" Steven asked in a breathless voice, wholly ignorant to the rudeness in the question.

The miniature being that was dressed in old fashioned livery while wearing a horsehair wig frowned. "I am Rauri, sir. I am the butler for the House of Richmond. In this savage house, I also serve as cook and footman, as well. I will not valet you, though." The little blighter had the cheek to squint his eyes in a glare before he added, "Sir."

"Yes, well…I'm Hermione Granger's father. I'd like to speak with her. Either tell me where to find her or summon her here."

The little being who identified himself as Rauri paused before smoothly replying, "Lady Hermione is indisposed, sir. When she is available, I'm sure that she will make the time for you."

"Make the time for me?" he exclaimed in outrage.

"Yes, sir. Is there anything else?" Rauri replied, ignoring the man's petulance.

Wrong footed by the butler's demeanour, Steven blurted, "I'm hungry."

Nodding, Rauri informed Steven, "There is a cold collation available in the dining room, sir. Dinner is served at eight o'clock." There was a fleeting look of distaste before he added, "Her Ladyship has decreed that all diners shall dress for dinner on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Today is Tuesday, so dinner is en famille. Will you require tailoring services for your dinner wear?"

The little being looked as if he was nearly choking on the words.

"No," Steven snarled.

"Very good, sir," Rauri replied before vanishing with another loud crack.

As he spun back to the window, Steven realised that he still didn't know where Hermione was. Stomping to the door, he opened it. She's somewhere in the house. Start with the library.

.oOo.

Usually, Neville was bored stiff by history. However, the assignment that Hermione had assigned him and Billy had grabbed the young man's attention.

"I blame myself," Billy had joked. "I told her that I liked history."

The assignment had been simple. Find a way for the Queen to assert herself over magical Britain. Preferably without bloodshed.

"Did you know that Bloodnut the Flatulent and Eccentrica the Gollumbits not only led the Goblin Rebellion of 1415, but also helped King Charles to defeat King Henry, ending the Lancastrian War all the while inventing the Viennese Waltz? They did it in their spare time," Billy mused. The humour and awe in his tone gave way to giggles, "Eccentrica? Sounds like a high priced lady of ill repute."

Neville laughed at the phrase. Both young men were trying to stay occupied while Alex worked on Harry. Susan and Hermione were both assisting the Healer while James, Remus and Sirius watched and waited. Lily was dealing with Hermione's parents.

At first, when Harry had told Neville about Hermione's estrangement from her parents, Neville had disapproved. For a young man who'd never really known his parents, he saw her binning people that Neville would kill to have in his life.

When Harry had later told him about the things her parents had said and done, he'd understood.

The door opened and both young men dropped their books, looking to the doorway for news. Unexpectedly a middle aged man, a little round about the tum, stood in the doorway. He wore an extremely unpleasant expression. His eyes flicked over the two teens, "Where is Hermione Granger?" he spat.

William and Neville traded a look. In it, both young men expressed surprise at the man's rudeness and a desire to shield Hermione from said attitude. Harry's arm had taken a beating while rescuing her family and Hermione was in no mood to suffer fools. This bastard would most likely be missing his ears and mouth should he speak to her in this manner.

"And you are?" Neville asked in the most polite tone he could muster.

"I'm her father."

"Ah."

Neville paused, which allowed William to inject, "She's indisposed. When she's available…"

"You listen to me you little swot," Hermione's father spat. "That little brownie looking thing told me the same. I want to see my daughter and I want to see her right now."

Neville was a very easy-going young man, but this jackass was baiting him in all the wrong ways. The Head of House Longbottom had grown up in the few months since his family had been slaughtered. The boy who had cowered under the harsh gaze of Severus Snape no longer existed.

He stood to take the man to task. However, Neville had forgotten who his friend was.

"You dare," William hissed.

Hermione's father did a double take, obviously belatedly recognizing the other occupant of the room. The one at whom he'd just shouted.

"Oh, dear," Hermione's dad muttered. "Your Highness, I didn't…"

"You didn't recognize me? That gives you the excuse to speak so to anyone? Lady Hermione is currently assisting Healer Price in the reconstruction of Lord Potter's left arm. If she has the time or energy to deal with an obnoxious prick like yourself after she's finished, I'll tell her you're looking for her. Until then, I'd suggest you go for a walk." He glared, standing tall. "A very long one."

Neville was swallowing laughter during the Prince's rant. It was like flipping a switch. One minute he was Billy the Fish, chuckling about historical prostitution and the next he was the Crown Prince of Britain giving a fully grown man a tongue lashing.

"Of course, your Highness. I'll just be on the beach."

William didn't reply, he just glared at the retreating man. When the door clicked shut. Neville gave into his mirth with a wide smile.

"Tosser," William muttered.

"Oh, your Highness," Neville teased in a whiny voice.

Now Billy took one of the wadded pieces of parchment, tossing it at Neville, "Shut it, you."

"Oh, no..."

Both men's smiles faded when Neville asked, "You think Harry's alright?"

"I hope so," Billy replied, all mirth vanishing.

.oOo.

"How is he?" Lily asked as she silently entered Harry and Hermione's room. People were clustered about; talking in low tones, so that was a good sign. When she'd left, everyone had been staring at the bed.

Alex looked up, "He'll be fine. The bone repair was straightforward; Hermione's field spell had to be undone, but it was still straightforward. The tricky part was the nerve damage. That's all better now." She smiled, "He'll be playing the violin in no time."

Lily let out a big sigh at that news. She knew, intellectually that is, that Harry would be fine that this was a simple matter. However, this was her son. The son for whom she would willingly die. Any risk was too much.

Looking at the bed, she saw Susan wrapping her arm about Hermione as the younger witch seemed to deflate. When she and Sirius had Apparated Harry to La Retirada, Hermione had been nearly catatonic with worry. Her reaction was far disproportionate to his injury, but given her emotional scarring after Harry's prolonged disability after the engagement in Little Hangleton, Lily understood why The Smartest Witch of the Age was so distraught.

Susan was a big help. She was a no nonsense witch who was very intelligent. While not on Hermione's par, she was still very capable. Right now, she was acting as a sea anchor for the brunette witch. Hermione couldn't react like this every time Harry sprained a knee, Lily mused to herself. Well, she couldn't react like this and still function.

"Lils."

Turning to her husband, she saw James beckoning her to his side. Holding out a packet to her, she took it, seeing it was a listing of estates in the Italian Alps. "Remus checked these all over. Do you have a preference?"

Shrugging, Lily replied, "Not really." Regarding Remus, she asked, "Is there a discernable difference amongst any of these?"

"Not really," the Lycanthrope replied. "The third one down was in the best shape, but it's a bit pricy."

James snorted. "Buy it."

Lily looked it over. The property was five hundred acres high in the mountains near Colico, about 15 Km from Lake Como. "Primarily forest with a small access road. Impassable in winter. I like it."

"I'll call Haus Schutz to get them rolling on the wards," James muttered. "When can we close?"

Remus rifled through the paperwork. "Three days. It's owned by an absentee landlord who has a power of attorney signed to the agent."

"Do it."

Remus nodded. Clapping a hand on James' shoulder, the business-like mien fell away. Now he was Moony. "How are you guys doing?" his gaze shifted from James to Lily and back.

James nodded, acknowledging his tenseness, "Fine, now."

Lily nodded her agreement. Needing to be close to James, she wrapped her arm in his. He turned, placing a soft kiss on the crown of her head.

"How'd it go?" James asked her, meaning the discussion with Hermione's parents.

Lily shrugged. "I don't care."

"Me neither."

There was a soft knock before the door cracked open. Lily saw Neville poke his head in, looking about.

Mentally chastising herself for not giving the news to the others, she waved him in the room knowing that William would be right behind him. The three teenaged boys had bonded quickly. All were old for their ages and all had unique experiences that set them apart from their peers.

Neville silently entered the room, his eyes taking in the scene on the bed. Sure enough, William ghosted into the room after Neville, quietly shutting the door. "How is he?" William asked as Neville watched Lily with wide eyes.

Sighing for Alice and Frank's son, Lily reassured the lads, "He'll be fine. Alex gave him a sleeping draught so he'll be out for the night. Come morning, he'll be right as rain save for a little soreness."

Both young men exhaled in relief. William, though, caught her husband's eye. "James," he muttered while beckoning the man with a jerk of his head.

Staring at Harry, Lily surreptitiously listened to the discussion behind her. "Hermione's Dad is looking for her and he's pretty brassed off. I kind of told him where to step off." Lily smothered a smile, imagining William at his most `Princely'.

`Right," James said. "Thanks. I'm pretty sure that she's in here for the night, so she won't have to deal with that bleedin' knee biter."

Always the practical one, Lily turned about, inserting herself in the conversation, "Don't tell Sirius. He'll punch Granger on the nose."

James face adopted a cool consideration as he replied, "Maybe that's what needs to happen."

Lily blinked. William's expression was noticeably neutral. Turning about, she saw everyone in the room watching them. Remus' expression was hard. Alex had a `I don't give a shit just keep them away from her' cast while Sirius was doing everything in his might to stay in his chair.

Susan was holding Hermione in her seat. It wasn't to keep the witch from running to embrace her father, it was to keep the red faced young woman from hunting down her ancestor, most likely to inflict bodily harm on him.

Pursing her lips, Lily decided that she needed to take charge of the situation. "Alright everyone. Steven and Alice Granger along with Bill and Bobbie Smith are guests in my home." Glaring at them all, she reiterated, "In my home. Are we all clear?" The ancient rules of hospitality wouldn't be violated on her watch.

Reluctantly, Remus nodded. Alex waved her hand in a `just keep them in line or I will' way. Lily stared at Sirius until he scowled as he nodded his agreement. Susan raised an eyebrow as she continued to hold Hermione. The witch in the redhead's arms just stared back. Lily nodded. If anyone in the house had the right to take Steven and Alice Granger to task it was Hermione.

Lily just hoped that she'd not hurt them too much. The paperwork would be obscene.

.oOo.

"Love, I need to talk to you."

Remus raised his eyebrows in surprise. Gesturing with his hand, he followed his beloved. Alex was in a pensive mood, which was unusual for her. Following her to the doorway of her lab, he called out, "May I come in?" His playful smile faded at her half-hearted attempt at a smile.

Moving to her side, he took her hand. "What is it?"

Silently, she handed him a sheaf of parchment. "Look at the Aconite levels. Yours are an order of magnitude beyond lethal level. I need to take another sample to be sure, but it appears that you were overdosed in the recent past."

A cold grip settled about Remus' heart. His eyes narrowed as he growled, "Roughly within the last eighteen months?"

Alex's mouth set in a firm line. He could tell she knew exactly what he was inferring. Snape.

"Yes."

If it was Snape, then it was, by extension, also Dumbledore. It seemed that Severus didn't move his bowels without Albus' consent and direction. Well…maybe it wasn't Albus, but it wouldn't surprise Remus in the least should the old wizard be involved.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Furious. You?" he replied curtly.

She jabbed him in the ribs with her delicate finger. "I'm less than pleased as well, but I was referring to your physical state."

Shrugging, Remus told her, "A bit better, but still tired. Now that I think about it, six months ago, I would have been asleep by now instead of considering going to bed."

Alex nodded as if his statement confirmed a hypothesis of hers. She turned to her bag as she told him, "Roll up your sleeve, lover boy."

Grumbling, he did as bidden. He could feel her smile as he closed his eyes before she jabbed him with the needle. "I think you enjoy that," he observed drily.

"Loads," she replied in the same tone.

When there was the second pinch, signifying the removal of the needle, he opened his eyes. She was turning away, muttering, "Give me a moment. I want to run the results straight away."

Five minutes later, she relaxed into his lap. Shoving the test results into his hand, Alex relaxed with a sigh of relief. While he loved it when she was lovey-dovey, Remus was trying to discern whether he would die this evening. Unfortunately, the form seemed to be written in Swahili or some such language. "Translation?" he asked.

"A month ago, you were at seven parts per million of Aconite in your bloodstream. The day before you shagged me rotten - which was approximately four months ago - , you were at fifteen ppm. Today, you're at four and a half ppm. You'll live."

She began kissing his neck, causing a certain biological reaction to take place. As he ran his hand over her supple form, he heard her whisper, "If you aren't shagging me in the next minute, I may leave you to find another man named Remus Lupin who'll do as he's told."

He didn't bother laughing. Tossing her over his shoulder, Remus ignored her playful shriek. Moving quickly, he darted out the door and down the hallway to their room. No one could ever accuse Moony of being stupid.

.oOo.

Bill Smith was enjoying the best cup of tea he'd ever drunk. It was absolutely magnificent. Sitting on the veranda of this house, looking out over the sea and sharing small conversation with his wife, Bill wondered why the hell they'd stayed in England after he retired. Forty years as a senior engineer with British Aerospace had left him a very wealthy man at retirement. Bobbie and he had travelled a bit, but mostly puttered about the house.

While this house was beyond their price range, the idea still held merit. If they felt strongly about staying in Britain, they could move to Gibraltar. No matter what, when this unpleasantness passed, he and Bobbie would be house shopping.

Frowning, he watched Alice meandering down the beach. Trading a glance with Bobbie, both of the septuagenarians were less then pleased with their daughter and son in law's behaviour. The callousness in their rejection of their daughter - their own flesh and blood - still boggled his mind. Even the explanation of magic and whatnot still didn't budge Bill from his wonder at the lunacy of his daughter.

Steven came out of the house, his expression noticeably calmer. He sat after pouring a cup of tea for himself. On the whole, he liked his son in law. However, he could be a real horse's arse when his pride was slighted.

"What happened now?" Bobbie asked. She'd never been one to beat around the bush.

Steven sat, sipping at his tea. After a long moment, the brown haired man sighed, "I just told off Prince William. He didn't find it amusing."

Bill frowned. There was a host of things wrong with that statement. "What did you say?" he asked.

"I was a bit sharpish when inquiring into Hermione's whereabouts."

Bobbie pounced, "So are you feeling sheepish because you spoke rudely to the heir to the throne or because you've been acting like a rabid dog to your daughter?"

Bill quickly took a sip of his own excellent tea. It wouldn't help matters for the now flummoxed Steven to see him smiling at Bobbie's chastisement.

Steven stared at Bobbie, his lips white. The man's resentment and hostility were a living thing, boiling and bubbling just under the surface. Bobbie returned the man's stare, unruffled and unperturbed. "Young man, I lived through the Blitz. You don't scare me. In fact, you are acting more juvenile as each day passes."

Now Steven winced. Despite the man's flaws - and some of them were egregious - Bill knew that Steven was a decent man at heart. However, this treatment of his granddaughter had gone on long enough. Interjecting, Bill tried to be the `good cop', "Steven, I understand that you feel wronged, but this isn't about being right or even winning. It's about being a family. Do you love your daughter?"

The pained expression on the male Granger dentist softened, "Very much."

"Then act like it." So much for being the `good cop'.

The wince returned.

Nodding to the steps that led to the beach, Bill told his son in law, "Go find my daughter. Apologize for being a horse's arse before begging her to forgive you. Based on her expression when she headed up the beach, she'll be doing the same to you. Tomorrow, you can do the same to my granddaughter. Go."

Steven regarded the white haired man for a long moment before nodding in agreement. Silently replacing his teacup, Steven Granger went to find his wife.

"And start acting like a father," Bobbie muttered as Steven's head dropped out of sight

"He's not that bad," Bill countered as he topped off his and Bobbie's tea.

Her arched eyebrow told volumes. His return shrug spoke as much in return. The two life companions, mates and lovers silently returned to their relaxation.

After a bit, Bill asked, "Would you like to come with me? I'm off to find our granddaughter."

Nodding firmly, the grey haired woman stood, "I believe I would."

.oOo.

Susan sat with Hermione on the edge of the bed. Most everyone had left aside from Lily. The other redheaded witch sat in the corner, reading through a pile of parchment that Susan could only assume was ICW business. Every so often, Lily would look up, ensuring that Harry was still there. On the whole, she appeared to be calm, collected and content all the while being somewhat concerned for Harry.

Hermione, on the other hand was a wreck.

The formerly bushy haired witch sat next to Susan while staring at Harry. Susan wasn't sure that Hermione knew there was anyone else in the room given her focus on the dark haired wizard.

Gritting her teeth, Susan swallowed a curse. She wanted to shout at Hermione to get a bloody grip. To pull her head out of her fourth point of contact. To stop being a bloody idiot. To….well, she ran out of vile expressions to revile the teen. Still, she needed to help her friend.

Taking a deep breath, Susan gathered her wits. She had to be gentle, yet firm. When Harry had last been incapacitated, Susan had been of no help at all. Part of the reason was that she was occupied with Neville and his grief. The other part was because she didn't know Hermione that well, and didn't feel comfortable putting herself forward in such a manner.

Now, she knew Hermione much better.

Wrapping an arm about the brunette witch's slim shoulders, Susan whispered, "He'll be right as rain in the morning."

"I know!" Hermione cried, shocking Susan nearly out of her socks.

Standing, Hermione turned on her friend, tears coursing down her face. Jabbing her finger at her temple, Hermione bleated, "I know that here, but here," she slapped herself on the chest, "I'm terrified and I don't know how to stop being so damn afraid!"

Susan was moving before Hermione finished her rant. Taking the distraught young woman by the shoulders, Susan looked into her streaming eyes. "Stop it. Get a hold of yourself." Her firm delivery seemed to calm Hermione. The tears dribbled to nothing as the harsh pant of her breath eased. The entire time, Susan stared into Hermione's eyes, holding her attention and refusing to allow her to go on another emotional jag.

When it was evident that Hermione had control of herself again, Susan gently pushed her friend back on the bed. Resuming her seat, she casually asked, "Do you know how many times my Aunt Amelia has had assassination attempts on her life?"

Hermione boggled, too stunned by the question to reply.

Not waiting for a reply, Susan matter of fact told her, "Twelve."

Resuming her piercing gaze, Susan added, "My parents were killed when I was a baby. The only family I knew was Auntie. Sure, there are hundreds of Bones out there, but the only family I had was Auntie. And the bastards tried to kill her twelve times."

Her gaze boring into Hermione's, Susan was relentless, "After the fourth attempt that happened in front of me, I lost it. Screaming, wailing, I demanded that she quit the Ministry. I told her that she didn't love me because she stayed in a bloody job that kept putting her in life threatening situations. I had a meltdown. The fear was so overwhelming, I was nearly crippled. I was convinced that I was going to lose the one person in my life that I loved above all others."

Slowly, Hermione nodded in recognition.

"She sat me down when I stopped crying." Susan snorted in remembrance, "She may've had to give me a few cracks on the bum to get my attention, but she did get my attention."

Still, she stared into Hermione's eyes. Her stern expression was unyielding; enthralling the other witch.

"She told me that this is what she had to do. Auntie felt that she was meant to help magical Britain by being the Shield that stood between the chaos and the light. However, there was a cost. The cost was that lunatics would occasionally try to harm her."

Shaking her head, Susan's expression softened a bit, "She told me that she understood that I was afraid. She understood how much I depended on her - needed her. `You need to understand that this is who I am. Would you want me to be any less than I am?' she told me."

"No," Hermione answered. "Never." Susan felt a glimmer of hope. Hermione understood that this was who Harry was. She'd never ask him to be any less than who he was.

Now Susan smiled. "And I'd never ask Auntie to be anything less than she is. I love and respect her far too much for who she is and what she does. I miss her immeasurably every day, but she needs to be in Zurich. That's who she is."

Susan released Hermione by shifting her gaze to the sleeping wizard on the bed. Hermione transposed the lesson from the Bones family to the Potter.

"And this is part of who he is. Part of why I love him so dearly. He'll put himself on the firing line every time to help someone."

"He's a good man," Susan observed softly.

Hermione nodded. "Faith and trust. Faith that all will be well in the end and trust that Harry won't needlessly risk himself. He'll do what's necessary," she summed up for herself.

"Hermione," Lily softly called from the corner.

Susan jumped in surprise. She'd forgotten the other redhead was in the room.

Lily softly observed, "You do realise that Harry was injured while rescuing your parents and grandparents."

Hermione nodded, a lone tear dripping from the tip of her nose.

"He did it because he loves you more than life itself. He'd do anything for you."

Leaning down, Hermione took Harry's hand in hers. As she placed a soft kiss on it, Susan thought she heard Hermione whisper, "I want you to live for me, Harry. I love you."

And he loves you.

.oOo.

Slowly, awareness returned. The ceiling was familiar as was the feel of the bed. La Retirada Harry thought to himself. Arms. Legs. Head. All there. Without looking to his left, he slowly snaked a hand out until he felt a warm mass. Hermione.

"You alright there?" a whispered voice asked.

Still a bit groggy, Harry looked up to see his father seated in a chair not far from the bed. Scooting up in bed, Harry pulled a pillow behind him. "A bit woozy, but I'm alright."

James nodded soberly. "Try your arm."

Remembering the world destroying pain after his arm had been so savagely broken, Harry experimentally rotated his shoulder. When that was successful, he moved to flexing his hand then his arm. There was a lingering soreness in his bicep that made him wince.

"Where does it hurt?" his dad asked in an undertone.

"Bicep."

James nodded, "Yeah, Alex said that's where the worst damage to your muscles occurred. Apparently, your major nerve cluster feeds through the section of your arm just to the left of where your bloody humerus decided to explode."

Harry half grinned and half smiled. It was pretty cool waking up from - yet again a massive injury - to find his father there with all the answers.

A thought from the end of first year occurred to him. Watching his Dad's face, he told him, "When I woke up in the hospital wing after my amusing excursion with my Voldemort infested Defence professor at the end of first year, Professor Dumbledore said something to me."

Playing with the edge of the sheet, he looked away for a moment, gathering himself. Returning to his father, he smiled to see the concern etched there. It only emboldened him in his effort. "He told me that Mum sacrificed herself for me, which is why Voldemort, when he was possessing Professor Quirrell, couldn't touch me."

Holding up his hand, forestalling his Dad's objection, he continued, "I know neither of you died. At first, I was completely overwhelmed by the idea that this woman whom I'd never known but always dreamed about had loved me enough to die for me."

James watched him in thoughtful silence.

"But then I got a bit peeved." James' thoughtful expression morphed to surprise and interest.

"I thought that Professor Dumbledore really didn't have it on right. You `died' first. You `died' for me and mum as much as she `died' for me. Why would your sacrifice be any different than hers?"

James expression softened, the love shining from his face like a radiant lamp.

"Oh, sure, maybe there was some magical proximity alarm that would've changed the effect of her sacrifice, but when it comes to love, you loved us enough to die protecting us." Looking his Dad in the eye, he choked, "Thank you."

James couldn't speak, that much was clear. His mouth worked twice with no words coming out.

Feeling a hint of embarrassment, Harry trailed off, "I've been meaning to tell you that for a while. Just kept slipping my mind."

"Love you, son."

Harry smiled, "Love you, too, Dad." The words had become fairly common in his life: for his parents to tell him that they loved him and him to return the sentiment. But Harry Potter always treasured each occasion. He loved his parents and thought of them more so as `Mum' and `Dad' as opposed to `James' and `Lily'.

He really relied on his Mum and Dad. For so many years Harry had never been able to rely on anyone other than himself or Ron and Hermione. Well, really just Hermione. With a wave of surprise, he realised that he trusted them. Implicitly and explicitly, he trusted James and Lily. Not just because they were his biological progenitors, but because they'd earned that trust. It was a really good feeling.

"How're you?" he asked his Dad, changing topics as smoothly as possible.

James smiled and shook his head. "Much better now. You had me scared, son. Just to let you know, Hermione's Dad is being a prick. William told him to push off last night, but who knows what that bastard is going to do today."

A coldness settled in Harry's gut. The weeks of Hermione's weeping and despondency over her parents' rejection of her last fall rushed back. She'd been torn up by their callousness and dismissal. They'd hurt her terribly. By rejecting her choice to be a full time witch, she felt they were rejecting her. And she was right.

"Keep them away from us, Dad," Harry growled. His whole body tensed causing a twinge of discomfort in his arm.

Prongs smiled at his son. "With that kind of voice, maybe I should let you deal with them. They'd be chopped liver in no time."

"I'll not marry a man who kills my parents just because they act as if they've the intelligence of a half grown rutabaga," Harry heard from his left.

Rolling his eyes, Harry turned to his fiancée. Deliberately reaching out with his left hand, he showed her that he was fine. Her eyes were puffy with sleep and her hair, despite the recent makeover, was a mess. The pensive expression that crossed Hermione's face as she reflexively chewed on her lower lip spurred him to say, "A little sore, but overall just fine."

James stood. "I need to run. Arthur sent an owl last night that Amelia is accepting the Spanish offer and that Dolores Umbridge showed up in the middle of the night."

Puzzled, Harry asked, "Now? She shows up now?" About fifty personnel escaped from Voldemort's version of The Night of the Long Knives, but most were low level or clerks. Only the high-level department heads or the like had rendezvoused in Zurich. Now everyone would consolidate his or her activities in the `loaner' facilities offered by Minister Rodriguez of Spain. However, the latest person to arrive had shown up while Harry was still unconscious following the Battle of Little Hangleton.

James lifted his hands in a `what can I say' motion. "You know what I know," he told them. "I have to see the Queen after lunch about the Spanish offer. I'll swing by Billy's rooms to see if he has a note. Can one of you two Apparate it over later if he's not ready?"

Harry nodded. Closing his eyes, he relaxed back on the bed, "Sure Dad."

"Take it easy, today. Alright?"

Harry opened his eyes, the tone of his father's request no longer jovial. Assessing James, he saw that his Dad was far more worried than he let on. Giving him a reassuring grin and nod, Harry replied, "I'll be fine old man."

"Old man, he says," James grumbled good naturedly as he left the room.

Harry smiled as the still surprising feeling of belonging to a family washed over him. Gently rolling to his side, he regarded Hermione. The redness in her eyes coupled with the massive yawn gave her away. After glancing at the clock, he cajoled, "Get some more sleep. I'll wake you at ten."

It was evidence of her tiredness that she sagged back down to the bed without an argument. "Ten," she confirmed as her hair flopped over her face.

Sliding out of bed, he grabbed a pair of track pants and a T-shirt as he headed to the shower. Twenty minutes later a freshly showered and shaved scion of the House of Richmond kissed his sleeping beauty before heading to the dining room.

Barefoot, he padded down the tiled hallway. A tune he'd heard running through his head, Harry bobbed to the unheard music. From behind, he heard Billy call, "Hey mate."

Turning, he saw the Prince behind him, a stack of papers in hand. "Hey."

"How're you feeling?"

"Tip top. A bit sore, but alright."

Nodding, the dirty blond teen leaned in close, "Hermione's dad is being a prick. I told him off yesterday and so too did Hermione's Granny and Grandfather, but…"

Nodding, Harry replied, "Yeah, my Dad told me. Hey, did he get the note for your grandmother?" Harry always felt odd referring to Billy's Granny as `The Queen" so he never used that title. It was a bit surreal.

"I've a half-finished one. He said you or Hermione would take it to him later this morning?"

"Yeah," Harry replied as they turned into the dining room. He'd not eaten since breakfast yesterday and was famished. Neville was at the sideboard dishing up a plate while Susan and Alex chatted at the table over bagels and tea. Remus was ensconced behind the Financial Times while Sirius silently and steadily ploughed through a bowl of porridge. Hestia was scanning though a pile of parchment as she nibbled at toast and tea.

Smiling Harry took in the sight of his family. His heart seemed to swell in his chest as he casually leaned on the sideboard, motioning for William to precede him to the food. "Where's Mum?" he asked the room.

Without lowering the paper, Remus replied, "Zurich. The Russians are squawking to the Security Council so she needed to make some visits to the others' offices."

William moved to the table, sitting between Sirius and Neville. Harry scooped a few eggs to his plate alongside a pile of bacon. Two slices of toast and a tomato finished the meal. Pouring a cup of tea from the service, he settled in for a meal.

After shovelling approximately four pounds of food down his gullet, Harry looked up to see Sirius regarding him with amusement. "Good food?"

Harry rolled his eyes before giving him the two-fingered salute. With feeling. There was a nostalgic feeling about the circumstances. It was just the family in the room and there was no war, no Voldemort and no other side issues. The feeling that had been building all morning realised itself.

A tableau slid over Harry's vision. It was the same scene twenty years from now. Remus' hair was white and Alex's shot with grey. Neville had twin redhead girls in his lap while Susan was very pregnant. Sirius had a wicked scar down his cheek, but the smile he gave a young man that was eerily alike to Harry's godfather wasn't dimmed a bit.

Hestia chatted with James and Lily while Hermione…Hermione held a baby girl. Harry's breath stuttered in his chest as the vision Hermione kissed the baby on the head, inhaling deeply of the child's scent as she did so. A young boy who was the perfect melding of Harry and Hermione was chased in the room by a boy who was the spitting image of William.

It was family and they would all make it through this bloody war. All of them.

The conviction rose like a horse on its hind legs. Fierce and strong, the feeling urged itself on as if it were a living thing. He would do everything in his power to insure this vision came to pass.

As quickly as it arrived, the vision melted to vapour. Sirius regarded him with a quizzical expression, "You alright?"

"Better than alright. I'm brilliant," Harry replied softly. He smiled as he returned to his food.

.oOo.

"Here you go."

Harry nodded as he accepted the sealed envelope from William. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was only rising nine. He'd plenty of time to pop over to Zurich and back before Hermione needed to be woken.

Scuttling back to their rooms, he silently retrieved a pair of loafers. Watching Hermione sleep, his reflexive smile bloomed. He couldn't help but be happy seeing her like this. In their bed.

Life is good.

Humming to himself, he headed to the veranda. Standing next to the statue of Venus, he concentrated on the entry hall to the temporary Ministry facilities before twisting in place. He vanished with a soft pop.

Arriving in the hallway of the townhouse, Harry was looking in the doorway to Hestia's office.

"Hey," he called.

The blonde witch looked up, her scowl melting to a smile when she recognized Harry. Standing, she came around her desk. "What are you doing here? How are you feeling?" The concern on her face was sincere.

Since Hestia's massive faux pas in the Caribbean, she'd put a lot of effort into becoming acquainted with Harry and Hermione. Harry appreciated the effort. Outside of his family, most adults treated him as The Boy-Who-Lived and didn't bother learning more than that, but Hestia had made the effort.

She wasn't as easy going as Alex or as friendly as his mother, but Hestia was a friend, nonetheless.

Shrugging, he told her, "I'm a bit sore, but alright otherwise."

She rubbed the unscathed shoulder as she murmured, "Good," her blue eyes roving over him as if to inspect him for more injuries. Harry gave her a little smile in response.

"Your Dad's office is the next floor up, same spot as mine," she told him, anticipating the reason for Harry's visit.

Nodding, he headed to the stairs, `Right. Thanks. I'll see you tonight."

Jogging up the stairs, he realised that his shoulder wasn't even sore any longer. Thank goodness for magical healing.

Turning the corner at the top of the stairs, he ran directly into Ron Weasley. "Whoa," he muttered, steadying himself. "You alright?" he asked automatically.

"Yeah," Ron replied mechanically.

Realising who he was talking to, Harry mused for a long second before deciding to do the civil. "How've you been Ron?"

The redhead shrugged. "We're staying across the street in a nice place. Me, Ginny and the twins made it out." Harry instinctively knew what he meant by `out'. "Seems Bill has signed up with the Aurors back home. Dad keeps tabs on him." He looked out the window, as he finished, "Still don't know where Percy is."

Shaking his head sympathetically, Harry offered, "I'm sorry Ron. How're your parents?"

Ron shrugged.

Nodding, Harry waited for anything further, but realised that he'd nothing to say to his former friend. "Well, I need to see my Dad."

Ron nodded, moving to the side of the hallway, "Right. Well, I'll see you."

"Right. See you later."

Harry nodded once more to his former friend before moving down the hall. Releasing the breath he'd been holding, he admitted to himself that that conversation had been rather uncomfortable. He wanted to be polite, but had nothing to say to Ron. They had no common interests or activities and longer. He doubted that Ron was even aware of what had transpired over the previous few days.

Whatever. I've bigger fish to fry.

Sticking his head around the doorjamb, he saw his Dad at his desk. The sight made Harry smile. James had shed his suit coat and shoes. His stocking feet were on top of his mahogany desk as he read aloud from the parchment he held in front of his face. The `aloud' part was muted, as it seemed that every other sentence was running commentary about what he'd just read.

"…the President of the Caribbean Confederation of Magical Beings...isn't that a bloody mouthful…wishes to extend the best wishes of the Confederation of Magical Beings of the Caribbean…wasn't it in the other order before? Sure was. Wankers…to the Ministry of Magic in Exile for the United Kingdom in their efforts to eliminate the scourge of the usurping dark wizards who spread like a stain over the ancient lands of Britain…good Lord. A thousand pretty words to say `good bloody luck with that, mate'. Wankers…"

"Dad," Harry interrupted as he started to chuckle.

Dropping the parchment, James looked to the doorway, a look of pleasant surprise on his face. "Harry!"

"That's what Mum let you name me," he cheekily replied as he slid into the chair opposite his Dad's desk.

"Prat."

"But you love me."

There was a pause as James regarded his son affectionately, "I do. I really do."

Harry just smiled as he tossed the letter from William on his Dad's desk. "From Billy."

Dropping his feet from the desk, James nodded. After scooping up the envelope, he tucked it into his suit coat breast pocket. Resuming his seat, he asked, "Hermione up yet? She seemed pretty knackered."

Harry shook his head, "I'm to wake her at ten. She was beat. How late was she up last night?"

The light in James' face faded. "We were all up until nearly midnight. She was still sitting with you when I went to bed."

Harry nodded appreciatively. "Why? It was just a broken arm. I've had much worse."

James flickered his eyebrows as he nodded in agreement. There was a pause in his manner, as if he were making a decision. Finally, he ventured, "I think she was worrying about what to tell you."

Thoroughly confused, Harry asked, "Is she alright?" in a worried tone.

Shaking his hand, James waved a hand, "She's fine." The mood shifted, becoming more serious as James' pose became more centred. Gazing at his son, he baldly told him, "She was worried about telling you that many civilians probably died in the assault at Bobbie and Bill's house."

Like a wave, the memories struck Harry. The confused images swirled in his mind in a half-forgotten montage. Screaming wind, exploding Death Eaters followed by the near cataclysmic detonation of his end game curse. Fire and pain immersed in devastation. In his mind's eye, he ignored the pulverized opponents while focusing on the background destruction. He gasped as he realized that nearly the entire block had been destroyed.

A soft click announced the closing of the door to James' office. A rustle signified that James was sat next to his son. Silent, he waited.

Intellectually, Harry figured that anyone who'd been in the houses that neighboured Bill and Bobbie Smith in Eastleigh were probably dead. Intellectually, that idea made him wince. He didn't give a toss for the Death Eaters. Their deaths didn't even occur to him. Instead, he focused on the non-combatants, almost because he felt he ought to do so.

Trying to wrap his head about the situation, he couldn't muster the overwhelming regret and remorse he believed that he ought to be feeling right now and that was very disturbing. What's wrong with me? Why don't I feel worse?

Looking to his Dad, he saw a sad expression there. "What?" he asked James.

Sitting back in his chair, James sighed. "It's unpleasant to admit it, but during the first war, I had a similar situation. Remus and I had been tracking down a lead on the location of Bellatrix Lestrange when we were ambushed by four Death Eaters. Remus and I each got two, but after we were able to catch our breath, I realised that an Incendiary spell I'd used had set an inn on fire. People were streaming out in their nightclothes as the fire brigade arrived. One poor sod jumped from an upper floor window, his nightshirt aflame."

Harry listened raptly as James finished. "We Apparated out immediately, but I figure that some people didn't get out of the building in time. The worst part about it was that while I felt bad about it, it didn't shatter me. Watching you, it's pretty obvious that you feel the same way."

Harry nodded eagerly. He wasn't alone.

James nodded in return. Soberly, he added, "To me, it's only been a few years since it happened. While I still regret those people dying, I was fighting for my life. You did what you had to do to finish the skirmish as fast as humanly possible. The longer a firefight continues, the higher the probability that someone on your side is going to be hurt or killed. You finished the fight quickly at the expense of others. You did the right thing, Harry. Who knows how many others would've died had you not finished it right there and then? It's one of the many reasons why War is Hell."

Silently, Harry contemplated the words. Intellectually he understood. It all made sense; two plus two equals four. However, at an emotional level, none of it registered. He probed the thought, but there was no emotional response and that scared him. Was he a sociopath?

"You may be in shock right now, feeling nothing. Don't worry," James added sympathetically.

Harry laughed despite himself. "How did you get so good at being a Dad?"

Sombrely, James shook his head, "If I were a better Dad, you'd never have to face all this."

Harry didn't have the emotional energy to confront his father on this topic, so he did what he could. Reaching out, he took James' hand in his, "I love you Dad. I think you're the best."

James nodded, smiling slightly. "Get out of here, you. I've got to go." Prongs sat up straight as he could and in the patent upper class drawl he slurred, "The Queen and all, you see. Must be on my way."

Shaking his head, Harry stood. Meeting James' worried hazel gaze, he nodded once. "Thanks for being understanding."

"Anytime."

.oOo.

Arthur watched Amelia Bones who in turn was watching Dolores Umbridge. The former Undersecretary's demand to see the Minister in the middle of the night had been politely ignored. The morning was good enough. Therefore, the first thing Arthur had the joy of doing the next day was informing Amelia that one of the more odious personages of the former Ministry of Magic had arrived.

They had kicked around different ideas to account for Dolores' late arrival. She could easily be a plant for Voldemort. She could easily be so incredibly stupid as to have forgotten or ignored the proper protocol for an insurrection. She could be trying to shirk work by arriving at a late hour hoping to co-opt the hard work of others for her own gain. "She could just be bloody pain in my arse," Amelia had grumbled. "Fetch her if you must, Arthur."

When he'd brought the unpleasant woman from a waiting room, she'd been all reptilian smiles and vague innuendoes about her finally taking her proper place. The red haired man rolled his eyes before opening the door.

Then Dolores made her first mistake.

"Director, what a surprise to see you here. I was under the impression I was to see the Minister." The sickly sweet simpering delivery of the words didn't supress the implied insult nor the condescension of the woman.

Amelia regarded Cornelius Fudge's toady for a long minute. The look on the petite former head of the DMLE didn't bode well for the squat toad like woman sat on the wrong side of the desk. Arthur didn't know whether to conjure popcorn for the upcoming event or to run and hide. Maybe both?

Then Dolores made her second mistake.

Turning to the acting head of the DMLE, Umbridge dismissively slurred, "You may leave now, Weasley. Director Bones and I have many things to discuss."

Taken by surprise, Arthur stared.

"Shut up, Dolores," Amelia growled. "I always knew you were a softheaded bint, but didn't think you were stupid as well."

The affronted expression on the newcomer's face didn't last long. "What do you want, Dolores?" Amelia asked in a diffident tone.

Arthur blinked. The delivery was made in the same tone as one would ask for another cup of tea.

Umbridge shifted her not inconsiderable bulk in her chair. "I'm here to take my place in the Ministry in Exile," she replied unsteadily. There was an odour of insincerity that tainted the statement. Arthur had always known Dolores Umbridge to be a woman who lusted for power, so that aspect of her statement rang true. The idea of her assuming `a place' in any organization was nearly laughable, though. Through her toadying and lickspittle attitude, she had always manipulated events to her advantage. No. Dolores Umbridge was out for herself, first and foremost.

"Hmm." Amelia mused. Sitting back in her chair, she regarded the disagreeable woman sat across from her. That's when the staring contest began.

It wasn't much of a contest.

"I want to offer my services to our country. I want to be useful." Umbridge's second approach was even more insincere than her first essay. The nervous delivery didn't help the obvious lie.

"Hmm."

Interjecting, Arthur mused, "I'm not sure if you are aware, Dolores, but we are requiring all personnel to undergo a screening process while under the influence of Veritaserum."

"What?!" Umbridge protested.

Nodding Arthur sipped from his teacup. "Yes. You see there have been many attempts to infiltrate us from the Dark Lord's supporters. Based on the position being considered, the person may have a cursory set of questions regarding their allegiance up to a detailed background questioning."

Umbridge was visibly shaken. "Questions like?"

"Don't worry, Dolores," Amelia reassured the woman with a dry tone, "You would, no doubt, be able to pass the rigorous screening required for a high level Ministry employee." Turning back to the pile of communiqué's on her desk, Amelia added, "Which is what would be required of you."

When Amelia didn't look up from her work, Umbridge cleared her throat in the manner that he'd seen her use to attempt to intimidate others. Too bad this wasn't a low-level civil servant in the human resources department she was talking to this day.

"Cough drop, Dolores?" Amelia asked offhandedly.

The flush across the woman's cheekbones showed her anger more so than her expression, which was strictly neutral.

Hestia entered the office, moving straight to Amelia's side. Looking up, the acting Minister smiled. "Did you resolve it?"

Hestia smiled tightly. "The Spanish were most accommodating. The move will be the day after next."

"Excellent. Well done my dear," Amelia praised with a familiarity and fondness that bespoke her trust in the blonde witch.

"Hello, Area Director Jones," Umbridge greeted in her simpering sugary tone.

`That's `Undersecretary Jones', Dolores," Amelia corrected as she reviewed the packet that Hestia delivered.

"But…" Umbridge protested, the flush becoming more pronounced.

The scowl from Amelia was unforgiving. "Let's be perfectly clear, shall we Dolores?" Without waiting for a reply, the petite witch stood, leaning on her desk. The glare directed at the suspect witch was not a nice one. "I think you're a spy for Voldemort."

Ignoring the squeak from the now wide-eyed witch, Bones pressed on, "I think that you'll fail the Veritaserum test, but you know what? I need bodies and you, unfortunately, are a body with a pulse. If you so choose, you will take the test, supervised by Jones and myself while Weasley here asks you questions. Should you prove to be not affiliated with the Dark Lord, you shall have a post. Otherwise, I shall personally cast a Memory charm on you of such strength I doubt you'll remember your own name. Then, I think I'll have you dropped in the middle of Rio De Janeiro wearing a pink dress and a sign that says I Hate Football."

The last was in a growl that made the former Undersecretary to Cornelius Fudge whimper.

The door opened again, this time admitting James Potter. He was dressed in a handsome suit, the tie knotted fashionably about his throat. "Oh, sorry for interrupting. Amelia, I'm off to Her Majesty, any other issues?"

Looking away from the cowering Umbridge, Amelia shook her head as she smiled, "Have fun."

In on the joke, Arthur exchanged knowing smiles with Hestia. She'd been told about what the Queen intended, but was sworn to silence. Her Majesty did enjoy her fun and must desperately need the distraction.

"Fun? Very well, I believe I'll prank the Queen to believing she's a short, swarthy man named Phillip who has a fondness for hairy men and tapirs."

Arthur couldn't help the involuntary chuckle. Apparently, neither Amelia nor Hestia could resist either. "I'll see you later," she told James.

The door shut behind the man and like a light being extinguished, the good humour disappeared from Amelia's face. She was an excellent person whom Arthur respected both personally and professionally, but she could be quite intimidating at times.

This was one of those times.

"What is your choice, Dolores?"

You could have knocked Arthur over with a feather when the woman sighed before replying, "I'll take the Veritaserum."

.oOo.

Still drowsy from her long night, Hermione stumbled into the dining room. Tea. She needed tea. Now. Harry had excused himself to the loo, so she headed down the hall alone.

The sound of her bare feet slapping on the tile was something that was uniquely Spanish in her mind. The aroma of the area, the sound of her walking down the hall and mass at Sant Bartolemeu. All of these things codified her stay here. That and she and Harry making passionate love on the beach a few nights ago.

The smile curled the corners of her mouth as she remembered. Harry made her feel so loved, so special and so wonderful that it was beyond her vocabulary to describe and Hermione Granger-Black had a very large vocabulary.

Turning the corner of the room, she was brought up short. "Granny!"

Rushing to the white haired woman, Hermione was overwhelmed. Of course she knew that her Grandmother was there, but it hadn't really sunk in yet.

From inside the older woman's somewhat fragile embrace, Hermione heard Bobbi whisper, "My dear sweet girl. How are you?"

"Much better now, Granny." There was something wonderful and warm about her grandmother that was always safe, always welcoming.

Bobbie gently disengaged from the hug. "Look at you. All grown up." There was nothing to say to that so Hermione just beamed at her Granny. "Your Grandfather will be right back. He'll be so excited to see you."

The sound of feet on the tile brought Hermione round, expecting her grandfather, but it was Harry. "Granny, I want you to meet my Harry. Harry, this is my Grandmother, Bobbie Smith."

Harry nodded as he extended his hand, "It's very nice to meet you Mrs Smith."

"Please, call me Bobbie."

A bit flustered at what he considered a disrespectful idea, Harry glanced at Hermione, found no solution there before he muttered something unintelligible.

They chatted for a bit until Hermione's grandfather returned from wherever he'd disappeared. Introductions were made (again). They adjourned to a sitting room that overlooked the sea where the foursome sat over tea, getting to know each other in very different settings than what they'd experienced in their lives.

Hermione leaned into Harry who in turn placed his hand discreetly on her leg. This is how it ought to be with my family, Hermione mused to herself. A warm feeling of contentment overtook her. It wasn't to last.

Just as Rauri was clearing away the tea service, a throat was cleared behind her and Harry. Harry looked first. When recognition flared in his expression, he stood rapidly his entire expression radiating a protective hostility.

It could only be one person back there.

Standing, Hermione turned. Fully expecting to be disappointed by her father standing there bristling with anger, she was surprised to see him and her mum stood there with solemn expressions of…something. Regret? Shame? Either way, it was their duty to speak first. Hermione had attempted to heal the breach that they'd created with no reply on their part. Now, it was their turn to begin.

It appeared that Harry wasn't so understanding nor forgiving. "What do you want?"

Her father looked down at his feet, an expression of regret stealing over his features. "My wife and I would like to speak with our daughter."

Incensed that he had the gall to demand anything of her, Hermione first took two deep, calming breaths before replying, "Anything that you've to say to me can be said in front of Harry."

Her Mum lay a calming hand on her Dad's elbow as she whispered, "Steven. Please."

He glanced at her, searching her face before nodding. "As you wish," he replied. They entered the room and the entire family sat. Hermione thought it apropos that they all be there. Sirius and Lily should also be there, but they - Sirius in particular - would probably just inflame an already tense situation.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking and considering over the last day," her dad began as he stared at the floor.

Stone faced, Hermione stared at him as he wouldn't dare look at her.

"I've not been at my best with you, lately."

Hermione closed her eyes in disappointment. This milquetoast apology wouldn't do. She nearly shrieked in surprise when Harry bolted to his feet. "Not at your best?" he hissed.

Staring at him, she was afraid he'd lose control. His entire body was trembling and shaking with supressed rage. Jabbing his finger at her, he spat at her stunned father, "She cried for a month straight. I held her as she sobbed in my arms for night after night. I had to reassure her time and again and …" he shook his head in disgust.

Harry looked at her, his eyes burning with emotion, but when he looked to her, there was no anger, only remorse and sadness. Remorse that she had to experience what her parents had done. Sadness for…well…everything. It was obvious to Hermione that he didn't want to break any of her confidences, so he exerted his considerable self-control in regaining command of himself.

Refocusing on her father, Harry spat, "You called my mother a whore and my godfather a paedophile and you've not been at your best?"

He was panting in his emotion. Feet shoulder width apart; he was braced for a fight even if it was only an unconscious reaction. She needed to stop him lest he do something he would regret later. "Harry," she whispered.

Immediately, he looked away from her parents who were nearly cowering. The soft sadness returned to his eyes as she held out her hand. Retaking his seat next to her, he cradled her hand, "Never again," he whispered. "I'll never let them hurt you, again."

Lord God, but I love this man.

A tiny tear formed in the corner of her eye. She shifted her free hand to his cheek. Her eyes told more than her mouth ever could. Still he was rigid as she cupped his face. When he relaxed and surrendered to the caress, she whispered, "Let me do this. I have to."

Reluctantly, he nodded.

With a last squeeze, she let go his hands and in doing so, felt as if she'd let go her anchor. Turning to her parents, she remembered.

She remembered when her father taught her to ride a bicycle.

She remembered when her mother sang her to sleep when she was ill.

She remembered how her father would console her after the bullies at school had tormented her.

She remembered…she remembered how he'd turned her away.

She remembered how she'd nearly spat on her.

She remembered how they'd cursed Sirius and Lily to their faces and insulted Harry behind his back. She'd never tell him what they said. Never.

All this flooded her consciousness as a tidal wave of emotion and memory. Staring at her parents, she waited.

Reassured that he'd not be beaten with the bloody stump of his own arm, Steven looked up She stared into his eyes. Eyes that Harry had loved. The same brown as her own, her mother had said time and again. Now, there was fear and guilt.

"Why?" she asked in plain, flat voice.

He deflated, unable to answer.

"I was afraid."

Hermione's eyebrow arched as she regarded her mother. "Afraid of what?"

"Of losing you," Alice whispered.

"You were afraid of losing me, so you threw me on the rubbish heap? That's an odd reaction." Hermione replied in that same, emotionless voice. "Very odd."

There was a long silence before Hermione leaned forward, finally catching her father's eye. "Harry, Sirius and I saved your lives because I felt that we ought to do so. I didn't want you all to die because of our blood connection. If you'd like to continue our relationship in its shattered and sundered state, that's fine. You can leave with no malice from me. However, if you really want to make amends and move forward, you have some explaining to do. This rubbish about `not being at your best' and whatnot just won't pass muster."

She glared at her parents, waiting for a decision. Aside from the low crashing noise of the waves breaking in the background, it was completely silent. A breeze ruffled the sheer curtains. Her father's voice broke the silence like the dropping of a wine glass.

"I've been a selfish, self-centred bastard who only thought of himself," her father whispered. "I completely disregarded what you wanted out of life and focused on what I wanted. When I felt that was…threatened by the relationship with Lord Blackmoor, I…panicked?" he asked as if mulling over the word. "Yes, panicked."

Hermione blinked. This baring of his soul was not only a unique situation but also everything he'd said so far had the ring of truth about them.

"My actions after that, to be honest, aren't very clear. I lost my temper and the rest of the day is muddled. I behaved very badly, though. Reprehensibly."

The ice around Hermione's heart began to melt.

"After that, we got your letter around Christmas. In my pride and vanity, I…" he stopped, overcome by emotion and guilt.

Hermione refused to go to him. He didn't deserve her compassion, yet.

Alice laid a hand on her husband's shoulder in comfort. "I encouraged your Dad to bin the letter, so he did. We were both very wrong. I was very jealous of Lady Richmond and Lord Blackmoor's role in your life. They could relate to you on a magical level that I could never touch. I was wrong. I was afraid of losing you, truly. I didn't know what to do and when I got angry, it just…steamrolled."

"Do you want to build a new relationship with me?" Hermione asked in that cold, emotionless tone.

"Yes," her father pleaded.

"Please," her mother asked.

"There are conditions," she stated. "You will apologize to Lily, Sirius and James for what you said back then. Don't be surprised if Sirius is less than understanding." He'll probably punch you, Dad, she mused to herself.

"Harry and I are engaged. We shall be married …" turning to her betrothed, she saw the first smile on his face since the discussion began, "Well, I'm not sure when, but don't be surprised if it's soon. We share a room.

"You will be courteous to everyone in this household. The Crown Prince is our permanent guest at the request of the Queen. You will treat him with the respect his station demands. You will not be fawning, simpering fools to his Highness, or their Lordships and her Ladyship."

"Or to Lady Hermione," Harry growled. His point was not so much Hermione's status as the adopted daughter of an Earl, but rather that she was Sirius's adopted daughter.

"Thank you, that reminds me. Sirius formally adopted me in the magical world when you cast me out. I accepted his offer and changed my name accordingly. I am now Hermione Granger-Black." The wince of pain on her parents' faces didn't faze her in the least. Reap what you sow.

Standing, she told them, "These are my conditions. Think it over. I'll need an honest commitment from you. I'll not have you saying `yes' with your mouths but `no' with your actions. I'll turn you out in the middle of the night if you prove false."

In the corner of her vision, she saw her grandmother stand with her. Moving to the doorway, Bobbie linked her arm in her granddaughter's arm. Behind her, she heard Harry growl, "Don't hurt her again."

She and her Granny left the room at a fast pace. She'd imagined that scene so many times in her mind and it was not at all like she'd expected. Her parents' admissions or Harry's visceral protectiveness, she'd not foreseen. She'd also imagined herself to break down in an emotional crying fit afterwards, but the tears weren't there.

All the anger and resentment that had taken root in her bosom had spawned fantasies of her raging against the injustices perpetrated by her parents. Convicting them time and again whilst she made dramatic statements with dramatic gestures all the while extracting remorse, regret and pleas for absolution from them. None of that happened because…well, because it was unnecessary. That was a version of a temper tantrum and it would be a cold day in hell before she surrendered so much of herself to her parents so that she would have a tantrum over their behaviour.

True, she cared about her parents, but they didn't have the power over her that they'd once exercised. Their rejection of her had been shattering and scarring. The lesson she'd taken from that experience was to trust only the trustworthy. Harry, Sirius, James and Lily, Remus and Alex and maybe Hestia. Definitely William, Neville and Susan. And Rauri. She smiled as she contemplated what the slightly pompous house elf would say about her parents' actions.

"You did that very well, my dear," Bobbie said. "You were very respectful of yourself and your own person while being respectful to your parents. I'm very proud of you." She winked, "Your young man is also very protective of you."

Hermione smiled, "And I am of him."

.oOo.

Lily was sitting in her study reviewing the menu for the next week, which Rauri had proposed. It was a nice touch of normalcy in their otherwise un-normal life of late. She'd debated the idea of dressing for dinner. White tie for the men and dresses for the ladies seemed a bit extreme, but there was a method to her madness.

The green-eyed gaze hardened. Harry, Hermione, James, Sirius…all of them had been not only killing, but killing many people over the past months. This little touch of civilization may be a veneer over the ugliness of their day-to-day lives or even a mockery, but she felt it was important.

Staring off into space, she rubbed her belly. The baby was showing much more now that she was five months along. When she'd been five months with Harry, there wasn't even the hint of a baby bump.

What kind of world will you live in, little one? Will you know your parents? Your big brother and his wife? Will you run through the garden at Rowan Hill or will you be in hiding?

The sound of laughter wafted up from the beach. Standing, Lily moved to the window. Leaning on the edge, she looked down to the sand seeing Neville and Susan frolicking in the surf. It was good to see another touch of normalcy in their decidedly abnormal life.

A knock on the door caught her attention. "Come in," she called. Turning to the door, she moved back toward her seat. Seeing William open the door, Lily was puzzled to hear him ask, "Is James back?"

"No. He said he'd be home about five." Glancing at the desk clock, she saw it was a few minutes until that hour. "Why?"

William's reply was a toothy grin. "Grandmother has a reward for him."

Sensing a bit of royal mischief, she mock scolded, "William, what have you told your grandmother?"

His face became solemn. "Only that you and James are persons of integrity that we can trust. That both of you have already done much in defence of the realm. That you both are even now fighting and succeeding in a different battlefield."

Feeling a bit awkward, Lily replied, "That's very kind, but…"

Whatever she was to say next, she'd never know for James arrived and his news drove her previous thoughts to the wind.

Not bothering to knock, a stunned looking James walked into the room. He paused, looked at Lily, looked at the grinning William then back to Lily. "I'm a Duke now. That makes you a Duchess, I suppose."

Wide eyes, Lily couldn't process his statement beyond the bare fact. "Oh." The room began to turn topsy turvey. "I believe I need to sit down."

Strong hands helped her into her chair. After a moment, she looked to the now seated James. "What happened?"

A bit more collected, James took her hand, "I gave the report about the negotiations with the Spanish. She really was pleased about that" Turning a jaundiced eye on the smirking Prince, he added, "And someone had been telling of our other exploits including those of Harry and Hermione. She wants to see them both soonest."

Continuing, he slouched in his chair, "She worked with Amelia in the same manner she would with the PM in elevating a non-magical peer. Amelia gave her the details of what we did during the first war in addition to the time displacement-thingy. Now with my work in the ICW and being the de facto Foreign Minister I guess she needed to show some appreciation."

Turning back to his wife, a hint of Prongs showed through, "Of course my dashing manner accentuated the entire event, but in the end, she told me that she'd decided that I should become the Duke of Shrewsbury. The title has been extinct since the fifteenth century and it's an English title, yet Shropshire is borderlands with Wales. She found that fitting."

There was silence until William said, "Congratulations, your Grace. I think, however, that you do yourselves a disservice. You both have done much in the defence of the Realm and even now you are the international standard bearer for the true Britain. Was not Wellington elevated before Waterloo? Before even the Peninsula Campaign?" Shaking his head, the Prince summed, "Her Majesty has chosen you to be her Wellington, your Grace."

Winking at Lily, he replied, "Thank you, your Highness. I believe I could get used to being called that."

A thought occurred to Lily as she rolled her eyes at her husband's nonsense. Suddenly, she burst into laughter.

"What?" James asked.

"Rauri," Lily squeaked out through giggles. "He'll probably faint."

While Lily knew that the Queen had also elevated James to make a point to the rest of the world - she was still the Head of State for Great Britain - it was an incredible honour.

Later, dinner was raucous. Rauri was a picture of silent joy. He smiled the entire evening. Sirius made a point of referring to her and James as `Your Gracesnesses' the entire night. Until James threw a tomato at him, then he called his cousin an unmentionable name.

Harry looked smart in his dinner dress while Hermione's silk dress was such a dark blue that it was nearly black. She looked beautiful.. James just looked right in the starched shirt and tails. Very handsome. She'd have to do something about that later this evening.

Lily's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the Grangers at the end of the table. Harry had informed her that Hermione had made a peace of sorts with her birth parents but the proof was in the pudding. The Grandparents seemed nice enough, but Lily would watch Steven and Alice. She'd cringed at the thought of the degree of bowing and scraping that would occur now, but so far there'd been none.

We'll see.

The family was blowing off steam. They'd been going at a hard pace for months now. She figured they deserved a few days off. James had stopped by the temporary ministry facilities on the way home only to be greeted by a smiling staff, headed by the beaming Minister. "Go home for a week. I don't want to see you at all. You've been working too hard." Turning to Hestia, Amelia had added, "And take this one with you. Fifteen-hour days aren't good for a body. Get going. We'll see you next week at the new facilities in Spain."

They were finally going to use La Retirada for what Edmund Potter had first purchased it back in 1748. A family retreat.

She watched Harry and Hermione slip out the side door. Her eyes tracked them worriedly. James had filled her in on his discussion with Harry earlier about the non-combatant casualties during the last operation. She hoped that he was dealing with the situation. Hermione will help, she decided.

.oOo.

Hermione slipped out of her strappy heels as Harry shucked his shoes and socks. Her hand on the rail, she followed him to the nearly pitch black beach. Earlier, he'd alluded to a conversation with his Dad about the other day in Eastleigh, so she hoped he would fill her in. Later, that is. She wanted to enjoy the vestiges of the evening. The warm air, the tangy salt taste amidst the pungent Mediterranean aroma in the air all subsumed in the crashing waves of the one great ocean set the tone and tenor of her mood.

Curling her arm into Harry's she leaned on his shoulder as they slowly perambulated down the beach. He didn't seem to be in any hurry to speak, which was a good thing as she wasn't either.

Finally, she had to speak. Sliding her free hand to his chest, she told him, "You look dashing in this."

She felt his smile, "And you look amazing. I thought Mum was off her nut with this dressing for dinner bit, but I think I like it."

"It's pretty amazing. Shrewsbury."

Harry nodded, "Yeah. It doesn't really mean anything among us and all, but it's really great that Dad and Mum are being recognized for all they've done and are doing."

She smiled to herself because she knew that he was waiting for her to ask, and that he knew that she knew.

"Want to talk about it?" Hermione asked as she lost the fight with herself.

He gave a soft chuckle before becoming serious. The moon was approaching full, so she could see him fairly well in the moonlight. He was looking to the beach in front of them while pursing his lips. Obviously, he was gathering his thoughts.

"When Dad first brought it to my attention that I most likely killed those people, I was strangely indifferent. That was very alarming. I was beginning to wonder if I was a psychopath or something."

"Sociopath," Hermione interrupted out of habit.

Mock glaring at her, he said, "Anyway, I was a bit disturbed. He told me that when he had a similar experience, he was a bit numb for a bit. That helped."

She nodded to herself, it made sense. Most survivors of horrific events were emotionally strangled for a bit before their psyches could begin to adjust to the horrors they'd seen and/or perpetrated. "And now?" she asked.

Hermione was trying to adopt a matter-of-fact attitude about the situation. If she were overly solicitous, or worse, strident about his `talking about it' then she could exacerbate the problem. Maybe. Harry had grown up in the last year.

"Now?" he sighed as he shifted his arm around her shoulders. She snuggled into his side, wrapping her arm about his waist.

"Now, I feel pretty shitty about the whole situation."

She was quiet, letting him unravel the spool of his feelings in his own way. Shaking her head, she realized that was a miracle in and of itself. Refocusing on him, she waited.

"Did you know what…Stalin, I think, said?"

"A single death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic," she replied.

Nodding, he walked with her for a few more yards. "I wish that I'd picked a different curse that would have still finished them all off. There had to be a dozed of them still standing and they had no compunction casting the Killing Curse."

"Yes, there were," she murmured.

His eyes glistened in the moonlight. With his free hand, he shoved his fingers under his glasses, wiping at the tell-tale tears. "At the time, nothing else occurred to me to put them down now, if you know what I mean?"

"I do," she replied softly.

"I wish I could tell the relatives that I'm sorry. I wish that I could take it back…"

He didn't sob or break down in any way. The remorse and regret aged him, though. He looked forty instead of fifteen.

After he regained his composure, Hermione took him in her arms, "I love you," she whispered.

"Thank you."

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first eighteen 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.

2. Recommendation for this chapter is The Phoenix Syndrome by apAidan. Excellent story.

3. I had to take a break to allow the creative juices to ferment for this story. It was becoming very difficult to write this story, so I wrote 20k words of a different one. It's an AU Downton Abbey that may or may not ever see the light of day. Anyway, when a hobby isn't much fun, there isn't much use, is there? However, after a few weeks away in the world of Edwardian England and the relationship with Matthew and Mary, I rediscovered my Last Casualties muse, cranking this chapter out in nine days.

4. Of note, Last Casualties is now longer than all the JKR books except OOTP. I expect to surpass its length with the next chapter. And we're not yet halfway home. Oh, Lord. *whimpers as he hits Save*.

Chapter complete 4/21/12

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