The Last Casualties

muggledad

Rating: R
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 03/02/2013
Last Updated: 13/09/2013
Status: in_progress

"Lily, it's him! Take Harry and run!" It began the same way, but ended in a very different way. This change caused life instead of death for many. Life altering changes provide the Power The Dark Lord Knows Not. J/L, H/Hr

Chapters

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

12. Chapter 12

13. Chapter 13

14. Chapter 14

15. Chapter 15

16. Chapter 16

17. Chapter 17

18. Chapter 18

19. Chapter 19

20. Chapter 20

21. Chapter 21

22. Chapter 22

23. Chapter 23

24. Chapter 24

25. Chapter 25

26. Chapter26

27. Chapter 27

1. Chapter 1

Prologue

“Lily, it's him! Take Harry and run!”

Without comment, the auburn haired woman scooped her toddler son out of his swing before sprinting upstairs to Harry's room. She didn't look back, so James couldn't see the tears coursing down her cheeks. Her husband might as well already be dead; no one survived Lord Voldemort when he fixed his gaze upon them.

The rattle and crash of the back door being blasted down brought her back to the present. Fucking Peter! she cursed inwardly. Setting aside the rage at Wormtail's betrayal of them, Lily grabbed the snitch off Harry's bureau. A swift scoop had the `escape bag' on her shoulder.

They knew that this situation might develop at any time. Her practicality had forced the young couple to prepare for the necessity of unplanned flight. Lily had meticulously developed a list of necessities, which would allow them to escape and evade Voldemort and his Death Eaters for a minimum of thirty days. Fifty thousand pounds, fifty thousand US dollars, ten thousand galleons, over a million pounds in various Eastern Block denominations, four changes of clothing, and three sets of muggle identification papers identifying them as citizens of Brazil, France and Canada were the mainstays of bag. James had insisted on the entire collection of Robert Ludlum be included in the bag, as well. Resignedly, Lily had shrunken the paperbacks before stuffing them in the bag. When they were dating, he stayed the night at her parents' home, sleeping on the couch in the lounge. Her Dad had been reading The Holcroft Covenant, so it was lying on the coffee table. James couldn't sleep and the rest was history. James Charlus Potter was a confirmed Ludlumite.

The tears continued to pour down her face. God she loved her husband. Idiotic, compassionate, jokester, loyal, intelligent, sexy, brave, bold and honourable was her man. She knew that he'd most likely be dead in the next few minutes.

With her son in her left arm, the bag over her shoulder and the snitch in her left hand, she tapped the Quidditch ball with her wand while sobbing, “Haven.”

Nothing happened.

“Oh, no.”

A wave of despair flooded Lily Potter right before silence reigned from the main floor of their rental cottage. They'd thought they were so smart by abandoning Rowan Hill and the other Potter properties while renting this little place. Not smart enough to check their Secret Keeper thoroughly, though.

The flow of her tears increased as she kissed her son on the forehead. Holding him close, she whispered, “I love you, Harry. Mummy loves you forever and ever. I love you. Your Daddy loves you Harry. Mummy and Daddy won't be around, but we love you forever and ever.”

She knew she was about to die. After one more kiss, she laid her son in his crib. Harry's eyes, just recently taking on a greenish hue, blinked up at her in confusion. With a playful smile, he reached his chubby hand up to her. Sobbing, she gave his little hand a soft squeeze.

The creak of the fourth step from the top made her turn around, her face a rictus of fury. Unconsciously baring her teeth, she stood between her son and his would-be murderer. Her wand in her right hand, she drew a conjured knife from its sheath on her thigh with her left hand. If she were to die tonight, she would do what she could to take this soulless bastard with her.

The tall shadow of Lord Voldemort filled the hallway before his grotesque form appeared in the doorway. His red eyes flashed in murderous amusement before he cast his only spell. He was so fast, Lily didn't even get a chance to counter it.

.oOo.

“Now, now, let's wake up. You two are being terrible hosts,” a high-pitched voice mocked.

Shaking her head, Lily Potter awoke to find herself lying next to James. Both of them were bound and seemed to be on the floor of the drawing room of the cottage. Looming over them was the skeletal deformed wizard who was known by his nomme de guerre, Lord Voldemort.

“Ah, good. The Countess of Richmond has joined us. Now for your husband. We have a delightful way of waking those who oversleep. We're sure you'll enjoy it.” The man's tone was playfully psychotic. His mocking expression turned feral as he levelled his wand on James before shouting, “CRUCIO!”

James screamed as he thrashed against his bonds, his hazel eyes opening wide.

“STOP IT! STOP IT! I'LL DO ANYTHING! STOP IT!” Lily didn't even recognize her own voice, as her husband was tortured.

Cackling, Voldemort ended the spell. With a loving expression, he kissed his wand. When he noticed Lily watching him, he gloated, “I do so love this wand. Did you know that the core is from Dumbledore's phoenix? I love that little fact. I get to craft the perfect Britain with the power of my own enemy.” Returning his gaze to the yew wand in his hand, he murmured, “Wonderful.”

Moans from her left broke her attention from the train wreck that was Lord Voldemort. Turning her head, she saw her husband wincing in pain. “I love you James,” she blurted out, unsure if she'd get another chance.

Slowly, he smiled before turning his head to face his wife. His eyes caressed her features before he replied, “Love you, too.”

“How sweet.”

James rolled his eyes before snarking, “Would you please shut the fuck up? I'm having a very tender moment with my wife here and you're fucking it up. Do us a favour and shut it.”

Lily couldn't help it, she burst into laughter. It was quickly replaced by screams as the creature that had been born Tom Marvolo Riddle honed his skill with the Cruciatus curse again, this time she was the target.

“Amusing to the last, my Lord,” Voldemort scowled. “Your bravado knows no limits, does it? You two could have been among the giants of the age. Three times We offered you the privilege of joining Us at the highest level. Three times!” The deformed wizard shook his hand in front of James' face while extending three fingers. “Do you realize you are the only ones who have ever survived refusing Us even once? You would have been Our right and left hand. Not peers of Ours, for that is impossible, but you would have towered over the rest of Our servants.”

Sneering he squatted down so his deformed face was right in Lily's, “So you will suffer. You will suffer greatly.”

Straightening, he boasted, “Our genius knows no bounds outside of curiosity. As such, We have a new experiment for which you two shall be the test group.” Swiftly, he burned a series of runes on the floor around the Potters, incanting in a language neither James or Lily had heard before.

“We shall transport you to the future in a few moments. You shall arrive in the middle of the glory that shall be the Britain ruled by Emperor Voldemort. You shall see all that you could have been but lost because of your lack of vision.
We think thirteen years is a good number.” Leering at the twitching couple, he remarked, “Lucky thirteen after all.”

Frowning, he tapped his chin with a long thin finger, “It's not really time travel, though. To be honest, We're really creating an etherspace pocket into which We shall send your bodies. In there you shall reside in suspended animation for exactly thirteen years before you are automatically returned to the here and now.” With a mocking sneer, he amended, “Here and then, really.”

Kicking James in the ribs, he punctuated his monologue with, “And We shall be waiting for you. After you are shown your son's grave, You shall have a one day head start before being tracked down to be killed. Your suffering shall be exquisite and drawn out. We shiver in anticipation.”

“I repeat, would you please shut the fuck up?” Lily had to smile at her husband, but the tears overtook her once more. Harry. Their son was about to die. She really didn't care about herself; she only cared about her son.

Voldemort regarded the Potters with an evaluative expression before sighing dramatically. “Such a waste,” he muttered.

After charging the runes, he mocked, “Bye now! See you in thirteen years!”

.oOo.

James woke with an aching headache. Come to think of it, his back hurt too. His arms felt like he'd been the target during Beater practice. His foot hurt also. Ouch. His foot really throbbed.

“Holy buggering shite,” he groaned.

“James?”

His mind clearing as if doused in cold water, he sat up, ignoring the protestations of his body. “Lils, are you alright?”

“I…I think so. Man, my head hurts. What happened…” she trailed off as memory flashed back to them both. Looking around the Potters took in the room about them. The once pristine walls were blackened as if a fire had raged there.

Simultaneously, they both stood only to stagger up the steps. “Harry,” James breathed.

Together, they stumbled into the nursery. Or rather, what was left of it.

The entire back wall of the room was gone, shards of Harry's crib scattered about the room. There was no lingering smell of smoke or any other residue.

“Thirteen years…”

James turned to his wife who was crying. “It's been thirteen years,” Lily repeated.

Overwhelmed, James had to act. He was a very intelligent man, but repose was not his strong suit. He worked best while in motion. Wrapping his arm about his wife's shoulder, he coaxed her out of the room. “Come on, love. Let's find Padfoot. Find out what's been going on since…”

“Since we've been gone,” she finished hollowly.

Swallowing heavily, he nodded.

“It must be October thirty first of nineteen ninety four,” she observed. Narrowing her eyes, she declared, “I don't believe it. I don't believe that Harry's dead.”

“Yeah,” he replied. Come on Padfoot. Be there buddy. Have the right answers.

.oOo.

The two exhausted figures staggered through the winged boar figures, which guarded the gates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. James and Lily hadn't found Sirius at his flat in London. In fact, the flat had a coating of dust an inch thick. Neither had they found Remus at his flat.

“I really didn't expect to find Moony. With his furry little problem, he never can keep a flat for any period of time.”

“If he wasn't such a prat about it, we could help him,” Lily snarked.

“Yeah, but you know Remus.”

It was obvious to both of them that they were trying to distract themselves from the omnipresent concern: Where Was Harry?

“Dumbledore will know,” James opined. “And if he doesn't, I'll choke the life out of him for suggesting that damn charm.”

Lily nodded guiltily. She'd joined the cause when Albus had brought up the obscure bit of magic known as the Fidelius Charm. James had been leery about leaving the wards of Rowan Hill, but trusted his wife and her judgement.

“I'm so sorry,” Lily choked out.

Turning to her midstride, James pulled her into his arms. “Love, I didn't say that to accuse you. We both made the decision to use the spell. If anyone is to blame, it's me. I pushed us to use Peter.”

“Don't you worry,” she growled, “Peter Pettigrew has a reckoning coming; of that there is no doubt. But his betrayal isn't your fault.” Her composure regained, she pulled back to look him full on the face, declaring, “I love you James Potter. Now, let's find our boy.”

As they proceeded back up the worn path to the castle, James took her hand. She smiled. If she squinted, she could imagine they were coming back from a date in Hogsmeade. “You know, since it's Halloween, there's going to be some good food for dinner,” observed the tall hazel eyed wizard.

Rolling her eyes, Lily gave his hand a tug, urging him up the path.

Eventually, they made their way to the castle. Pushing open the doors, they saw that the Halloween feast was in full swing, if the noise and light coming from the hall was any indication.

“He'd be a fourth year,” James whispered.

“He is a fourth year,” Lily corrected.

They turned the corner to see the Great Hall overflowing with students, many of whom weren't wearing Hogwarts uniforms. At the front of the hall, Albus Dumbledore stood next to a bloody great flaming cup. He was holding something in his hand as he called out, “Harry Potter!”

“Where? Where is he?” Lily shouted, causing everyone in the hall to turn to see her and her husband standing at the back of the room. The mass of people froze seeing spectres of the past. Minerva McGonagall gasped as she stood. Filius Flitwick had tears running down his face. Befuddlement graced the visage of Albus Dumbledore for the first time since he was fourteen. Severus Snape's expression was carefully blank.

From her left, a boy wearing Gryffindor robes slowly approached. He could only be Harry as he was almost a carbon copy of James.

“Mum? Dad?” he asked in a tremulous voice.

Chapter One

For everyone else on the planet, being near a Dementor is something to be avoided at all costs. For Harry Potter the first time it happened, exposure to a Dementor's aura and the corresponding side effects was one of the most wonderful experiences of his life. The emotional voice of a woman who could only be his mother had told him, “I love you, Harry. Mummy loves you forever and ever. I love you. Your Daddy loves you Harry. Mummy and Daddy won't be around, but we love you forever and ever.”

He almost hugged the Dementor who tried to Kiss him.

When he told Hermione what he heard, she burst into tears of happiness for him as she engulfed him in a hug. “I'm so happy for you, Harry. I know what that has to mean for you.”

Ron had looked uncomfortable with the whole thing as he sat there eating the chocolate given him by Remus. Eventually, Harry turned away from his redheaded friend..

At the end of the year, after the ordeal in the Shrieking Shack, Harry and Sirius took a moment to talk.

“If you'd like, you could come live with me.”

“I'd like that above all. Well…”

“Above everything except having your parents back, yeah?” Sirius had gently observed.

“Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about at all.” Placing a comforting hand on his godson's shoulder, Padfoot told him, “Your parents loved you very much. Never doubt that.”

“I know.” At Sirius' surprised expression, Harry explained about his Dementor induced memory.

“Thank the Lord for small favours,” Sirius muttered. “Come on.”

Later, after traveling through time to save his godfather, Harry wasn't nearly so grateful for the existence of Dementors.

Now his greatest wish was coming true.

“Mum? Dad?”

The woman with auburn hair opened her arms as tears brimmed over. Unable to speak, she nodded as she smiled wetly. A quick check with the man saw a wide smile, “Hullo, Pronglet.”

He ran to them. Engulfed in his mother's arms, surrounded by his father's embrace, Harry didn't hear the roar of the students, nor the professors taking control of the situation. When they finally broke their three way embrace, Harry was startled to see the Great Hall nearly empty.

Turning, he saw Hermione standing a few feet away, her face bright with happy tears. The professors hung back a bit. Motioning to his bushy haired friend, Harry turned to his parents. “Mum, Dad,” a big smile broke over his face. Absently, he told them, “I never thought I'd say that for real.” When Hermione wrapped her hand around Harry's arm, he glanced at her before introducing her to his parents.

“Mum, Dad, this is my best friend, Hermione.”

With a grin, Prongs asked, “Are you sure she's not your girlfriend?”

Both teens blushed tomato red. Lily poked her husband in the ribs, “Leave them alone, James.” Turning back to the teens, she said, “It's very nice to meet you Hermione. Despite my lout of a husband, I look forward getting to know you.”

“It's nice to meet you as well, Mr and Mrs Potter. I've heard so much about you,” Hermione replied shyly.

In a wry tone, Lily replied, “Don't believe a word Sirius tells you. Remus you can believe, but Padfoot is an inveterate liar.”

They all chuckled at her dry humour before Harry asked his bushy haired friend, “Where's Ron?” He glanced this way and that, looking about for their redheaded friend.

Her expression tightening, Hermione evaded, “Well, he…he headed back to the Tower when the professors dismissed us.”

With a smile, James observed, “But you stayed.”

Without thought, Hermione countered, “Of course. It's Harry.” She spoke as if it was a truth of her existence. The sun rose in the east, set in the west and she would do anything for Harry Potter.

Lily and James exchanged wide smiles.

From outside their circle, they heard a throat clearing. Turning in unison, the foursome saw Albus Dumbledore standing a discreet distance away with Minerva McGonagall at his side. Behind them was Alastor Moody and a few others that Harry thought were from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.

“Hello James, Lily. It's very good to see you. If you would…” Albus gestured with his hand to the side.

“Hello, Albus,” James greeted. “Give us a few minutes to catch up with our son and his friend. We'll be at your disposal for a discussion after that.”

“Actually, I need Harry.”

Confused, Lily asked, “Harry? Why Harry?”

Rolling his eyes, Harry groaned. “The bloody tournament.”

“What's going on?” Lily asked.

“Harry, if you would follow Professor McGonagall,” Dumbledore told his student, ignoring the witch.

“Now wait a goddam minute!” Lily demanded with heat. Harry's eyes bugged in surprise as he was forcibly reminded that his mother had a short fuse.

“Someone's in trouble,” James sang softly. Catching a glance at his Dad, Harry saw a smile dancing on the edge of Prongs' mouth. A warm feeling stole over The Boy-Who-Lived as he watched his mother stand up for him. He decided to enjoy the experience.

“My son is going nowhere until you tell me what is going on here, Albus Dumbledore.”

The only trace of peevishness that showed on the old man's face was a tightening about his eyes. But then again, Harry considered, with fifteen pounds of hair on his head, it was hard to read the Headmaster's expressions.

“To sum up: the TriWizard competition is being conducted this year. Hogwarts is hosting and you walked in just as your son was selected as a fourth competitor by the Goblet of Fire. Unfortunately, it's a binding magical contract. We need to get to the bottom of what's happening.”

“Fourth competitor,” Lily deadpanned.

“Yes.”

James placed a soothing hand on his wife's shoulder. In response, she took a deep breath, calming significantly. Picking up the thread, James turned to his son, “Harry, did you enter the contest?”

“No, sir.”

Turning back to the Headmaster, James told him, “It appears your cup is faulty. Harry didn't enter.”

Turning to Harry, Dumbledore asked, “Did you ask an older student to enter your name?”

Rolling his eyes, Harry began to answer in the negative when his Dad interjected, “That would fall under the heading of `entering' which I already asked my son, Albus. It appears you have some work to do to release my son from your tournament.”

A very uptight man, who Harry recognized as Barty Crouch, spoke up in a monotone, “He must compete. He's been selected by the Goblet of Fire.”

“Bloody, buggering shite,” James muttered to himself. “That's impossible,” he told Crouch and the assembled Professors. “The most important aspect of magic is intent; we all know that. So, if my son had no intent to ever enter the tournament, then his selection is due to spellwork, not an enchanted object. Any spell cast can be broken. I suggest you call the best cursebreakers you can find, as I expect this resolved by tomorrow evening.”

Harry was watching his father in awe. He'd been told about Prongs of the Marauders. It seemed the playful side of James was the facet of his Dad about which everyone wanted to tell him. As such, he had an image in his head of his father as a happy go lucky fellow who went along with the tide, joking and laughing the entire time.

That image had overlooked the fact that James had been Head Boy and successfully wooed Lily Evans. No moron could accomplish both those tasks. The authoritative and confident man who stood in front of Harry inspired respect and even a hint of awe. James immediately became Harry's hero; the man whom he wanted to imitate as he got older.

Shaking his head, Dumbledore began to refute James when Lily piped up again, “It's very simple, Albus. Harry is a minor. We are his parents. I'm assuming he has no form signed by Sirius which would allow him to compete in this tournament?” she looked to Harry as she asked. When he shook his head in negation, she added, “Then as his parents and rightful guardians, we shall not allow him to compete. Fix it.” Her green-eyed gaze bored into the old man's, “Fix it now.”

Harry was nearly delirious with happiness. He didn't even realize it, but he'd been holding Hermione's hand for the previous ten minutes. At this point, he was squeezing her hand so hard her fingers were white. Smiling at her friend, she couldn't feel a hint of indignation at the elder Potters' treatment of the Headmaster. She didn't want her friend to compete any more than his parents did.

“We shall endeavour, to…”

“You shall not endeavour to do anything, Albus. You shall remove Harry from your tournament,” Lily countered forcefully.

“Go, Mum,” Harry whispered. She glanced at her son, flashing him a smile.

With a gregarious grin for all, James stepped forward, engulfing Minerva in an embrace, “Minerva, it's so good to see you. It feels like just the day before yesterday you were over having dinner with us. In fact, it was just the day before yesterday for us.” Turning, he continued his course of misdirection as he clapped Flitwick on the back, “Filius! Good to see you too. “

Glaring at the silent, glowering Severus Snape, James affected a broad smile, “Snivellus! You still haven't bathed! Good Lord man, aren't you chapped by now?” Harry and Hermione both had to turn away to avoid laughter. Hermione actually shoved her hand in her mouth to stifle the giggles that were bubbling up from deep inside her.

“Well, we must away. We're going to catch up with Harry.” Turning his family and Hermione toward the door of the Great Hall, James flung over his shoulder, “We'll probably be taking Harry home for a week. Maybe Hermione too. I'm sure that will be acceptable, Albus? “Not waiting for a response, James said, “Good, good. Well, goodnight all.” A deft wand movement left one of the professors with an `I'm Back!' present.

The incensed cry of “POTTER!” from Severus Snape caused James to cackle at his own genius.

“What?” Lily asked without even looking at her husband.

“Just turned his robes pink.”

“Man-child,” she muttered with an affectionate smile.

They turned the corner out into the entry hall when Harry burst into laughter. As Hermione and Lily smiled at James, Harry exclaimed, “That was brilliant, Dad!”

Puffing up his chest like a peacock, James drawled, “Yes, yes, I know. I am the famous Prongs of the Marauders, as you well know.”

Lily shook her head fondly as Harry and Hermione laughed. “Come on, let's chat for a bit. We've some catching up to do!” James wrapped his arm around Lily's waist before heading off to some secret lair he knew of, leaving Harry and Hermione to follow.

At the idea of `catching up', Harry's face fell. Hermione put her arm about his shoulders, fully aware of the reason for his upset. “It'll be alright, Harry. They love you.”

While they waited for their past selves to emerge from the Whomping Willow passage the previous year, Harry had hinted to Hermione that his aunt and uncle had abused him. She didn't press, knowing how private and reserved her best friend was. Over the summer, she did some reading and discovered that many victims of abuse have a twisted sense of guilt regarding abuse. They feel that they deserved the punches, slaps, kicks and so on.

She'd cried for a full day after she finished her research. There had been a long talk with her Mum afterwards. Dentists, by practise are not usually involved in child abuse cases. But, since they are health care providers, Dentists are bound by law to report any situation they know about. Both Alice and Steven Granger had been to the lengthy training as well as their yearly refresher training.

With Harry's dubious status in the mundane world combined with his celebrity status in the magical world, Alice and Hermione came to the same conclusion: there wasn't much they could do for Harry.

With a humorous glint in her eye, Alice had then asked her daughter, “So, how long have you fancied your best friend?”

Shaking her head to banish the memories as they followed her best friend's parents, Hermione heard the echo of herself reply, “I don't know, but I think I love him.”

Giving the object of her affections a tug, the teens followed the twenty something parents to have a chat.

.oOo.

His head in his hands, James recounted, “You lived in Petunia's cupboard until you were eleven, were told we were drunkards who died in an auto wreck, downed a troll, faced a Cerberus - twice mind - got through some demented obstacle course that didn't stop a firstie only to face Voldemort again.”

“Well, yeah. But I made the Quidditch team my first year.”

With a broad smile across his weary face, James agreed, “Yeah, you did. Good job. You do know that Quidditch is the pinnacle life, right?”

Harry smiled broadly, “Of course.” Both witches rolled their eyes in perfect time, causing Prongs and Pronglet to break into laughter.

James stood before solemnly placing his right hand over his heart, “Puddlemere United, Forever Strong.”

“Puddlemere, Forever True,” Harry replied.

The bright smile on Prongs' face seemed to illuminate the room, “You follow United?”

Shrugging, Harry looked at his tatty trainers, “Well, last year, Professor Lupin told me that you had a bit of a following for the team, so I started following them. You know, kind of a way to be close to you when…”

Sombrely, James finished, “When I wasn't there.”

With a harsh whisper, Harry countered the implied guilt in his father's tone, “It's not your fault, Dad.” Casting about to find a new topic, Harry blurted, “I've the cloak and the Map.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

A confused expression crossed James face, “How did you get the cloak? We had it with us at the cottage when Voldemort attacked.”

Shrugging, Harry told his father, “Dunno. I got it from the Headmaster for Christmas my first year. The note said that you'd left it with him.”

James snorted, “Not bloody likely. That thing is ancient and a family heirloom. It's been passed down from Lord to heir for over a thousand years.”

Ever since Harry and Hermione had explained about Harry's scar and Harry's being The Boy-Who-Lived, Lily had been silently weeping off and on. At this natural break in the conversation, she stood from her chair, made her way to Harry before sitting next to him on the couch. Having an idea what was coming, Hermione scooted away.

Lily threw her arms around her son, sobbing in her remorse and regret. Bubbling up from deep inside her, she repeated, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry I wasn't there.”

Relaxing into the embrace, Harry patted his mother's back, “It's alright Mum. You did the best you could.”

Sniffling back her tears, Lily sat back, wiping her eyes. Rummaging in her pockets for a tissue, she mumbled a thank you to Hermione who provided the necessary handkerchief.

“Regrets later,” Lily announced. “So Sirius was in Azkaban the whole time?”

“'Til last year. That's when he broke out.”

James burst into hysterical laughter while Lily just stared. “He broke out of Azkaban.”

“You're telling the story out of order, Harry,” Hermione mock scolded.

“Yeah, I guess we should cover second year.”

`There's more?” Lily asked, her eyes narrowing.

It was Hermione who laughed, “We're just getting started.”

.oOo.

It was well past midnight when the teens finished their stories. James and Lily exchanged a `look' known to parents worldwide. Lily's face began to redden, “I don't know who I'm going to kill first: my `dear' sister, her pig of a husband or Albus Dumbledore. What the hell was that old man thinking when he put you there?”

“He said that your sacrifice powered blood wards which kept me safe.”

Rolling her eyes, Lily speared her son with a `look' known to children worldwide, “Harry. I didn't die. How could my sacrifice have done anything?”

“Oh. Man, I'm tired.”

“Anyway, what about Padfoot? I think it's safe to say he didn't perform admirably as your godfather,” James asked darkly.

Harry spoke up through a yawn, “Dad, put yourself in his shoes. You've just found out that he'd been killed and Peter had betrayed you all. What would you do?”

That sobered the elder Potters before they sighed, deflating. “I'd go spare.”

“I'm still going to whack him in the back of the head, though,” Lily declared with a smile, James chuckling at her. It was obvious to Hermione that Lily was deliberately changing the subject. Most likely, the elder Potters would be revisiting this topic in the not so distant future.

“Must be an inside joke,” Hermione observed to Harry.

“Is this what it's like?” Harry asked in a near whisper.

“What?”

“What having a family is like?”

Hermione shut her eyes for a long second before one lone tear escaped. “Yes, Harry. This is what a family is like.”

“I think I'll like this.”

Using her free hand to wipe away the traitorous tear, she noticed how close she and her friend were sitting. During the course of the evening, they'd unconsciously scooted closer until they were nearly sitting in each other's lap. They started to hold hands during the Chamber of Secrets recitation and continued through their explanation of third year with the `Dangerous Sirius Black' after them.

“Alright,” James announced, “It's late and we all need sleep. For us, we had a big fight with Voldemort today and you two have had a long night. We'll kip in a guest suite, you two head back to the tower. Pack a bag in the morning and bring it with you to breakfast. We'll head to Rowan Hill in the morning.”

Lily stood, taking her son in her arms for a long embrace. “I love you,” she whispered.

A rattling breath from Harry was all the answer he could muster, but she knew what he meant.

Lily passed Harry off to his Dad for a few words. While the male Potters were busy, the petite auburn haired witch hooked her arm through Hermione's, leading The Smartest Witch of the Age out of the room.

“So, how long have you been in love with my son?” Lily asked with an impish smile.

Startled, Hermione glanced back over her shoulder. Seeing Harry and James in a `guy moment' relieved her, as the green-eyed seeker hadn't heard his mother's comment. Tugging Lily forward down the hallway, she gained some room between the girls and the boys.

With a remorseful expression, Lily squeezed Hermione's arm, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry, it's just so blatantly obvious that the two of you fancy each other and since you're of the smarter gender, I thought…” she trailed off in a leading way.

“You think Harry fancies me?” Hermione asked in an hopeful yet fearful whisper.

“Sweetie, he's completely smitten. I don't think he realizes it, though. He is male after all.”

Hermione couldn't help an amused snort. “I think I'm going to like you, Mrs Potter.” They were quiet for a minute before Hermione explained, “I do love him, but right now isn't a good time. You and your husband just came back, this tournament…” she waved her hand to mean `life'. “It's all so much, he can't afford to spend the time with me.”

Frowning a little, Lily asked, “Isn't that his choice?”

Taken aback with all sails flapping, Hermione just stared.

“Look, one of the things that boiled my blood about James in our early years here was his arrogance . If you ask him, he'll tell you that he was a berk. World class. The big part that bugged me was disregarded other people's feelings entirely.” Turning the oh-so-familiar green-eyed gaze on The Smartest Witch of the Age, Lily declared, “Let Harry choose his own path. Do you want him?”

“Yes.”

“Then go get him. It's obvious that you're good for each other. He's kept you alive while you've kept him alive the last three years or so.”

“Thanks Mrs Potter.”

With a broad smile, she engulfed her son's not so distant in the future paramour in a warm embrace, “Call me Lily.”

.oOo.

Harry was quiet on the way back to Gryffindor Tower. Unable to stand the unspoken tension, Hermione asked, “Harry, what's bothering you?”

“The Tournament.”

Surprised, Hermione didn't say anything for a minute. She'd expected one of a thousand things about his parents to prey on his mind, not the TriWizard. “What about it?” she asked.

Turning to her, he gave her an amused glance over the rims of his glasses. Hermione almost lost all self-control and pounced on him. Ravishment seemed so incredibly inviting in that moment.

“You didn't say anything, but I'm betting that Ron had a fit that I got selected.”

Sighing, she was too tired to dissemble. “Yes, he did. Your parents arriving from the great beyond and drawing more attention to you was like petrol on the fire, too.”

In an incredulous voice, Harry wondered, “You'd think he'd be happy for me that my parents returned from the dead.”

Unable and unwilling to dredge up a defence for their redheaded friend, Hermione wrapped an arm about Harry's shoulder, an action she'd been doing more often since the beginning of the fall term. Part of her hoped Harry would notice soon, while another part of her was terrified he would notice.

In a seeming unconscious movement, Harry wrapped his arm around her waist. She sighed to herself, wishing that his action was more deliberate; indicative of the attitude to which she was most open and receptive.

What Hermione didn't know was that boys are always VERY aware where girls' body parts are in relation to their own.

In a comforting silence, they made their way up the grand staircase. They both smiled when they heard a far off shout, “PRONGS! WHERE ARE YOU, YOU STUPID SON OF A BITCH?”

“Sirius must be here,” Hermione whispered. Looking to Harry, she saw his smile was as wide as her own.

“He'll be so happy,” Harry observed. “I really think he hated himself for Peter's betrayal.”

When Harry's hand tightened its grip on her hip, she turned to him. Shocked, she watched small tears trickle down his cheeks.

“Harry?” she whispered as she turned to face him.

“I don't want to die. This Tournament…Voldemort…I've too much to lose.” Looking at her, he searched her face as if memorizing it. Tentatively, he reached to caress her cheek, but stopped halfway. Unconsciously, Hermione leaned into the touch, causing Harry's warm hand to cup her face. He opened his mouth to continue, but thought better of it. Gently, Harry wrapped his arm about his best friend's waist again. Together, they made their way back to their dormitories for a well deserved rest.

.oOo.

Meanwhile, back in the guest quarters…

Prongs, Padfoot and Moony were in a three way hug, Moony and Padfoot sobbing as they held their friend. Lily stood off to the side, emotionally swamped. Reuniting with Harry, meeting Hermione, hearing them recount their son's overwhelming life and now Padfoot and Moony.

“I'm sorry, Prongs. I'm so, so sorry…” Sirius kept repeating through his tears.

Lily narrowed her eyes slightly. Sirius had quite a bit for which he should be sorry, if truth be told. The auburn haired witch believed that her son and his best friend most likely understated and even wholesale omitted some events of his growing up. When pressed about life on Privet Drive, Harry evaded the question.

They abused him. My son. Petunia abused my son when Sirius should have been there for him.

The thought raged like an inferno in her head. There was also something wrong with their account of Harry's second year. The parseltongue ability was a surprise, but given James strong ties to the Black family, it wasn't unexpected. The Black's had more metamorphmagi, parseltongues and animagi than any other family in recent history. This freak of birth combined with their mania for pureblood marriage fed the Black Family's overinflated sense of superiority. Since Harry's fraternal grandmother was a Black, it really didn't faze either of the elder Potters that Harry had this unique ability. However, she knew that the student body must have reacted badly. In that sense, Hogwarts was like a village: suspicious, petty, superstitious and cruel. The glance the teens had exchanged when she asked about any bullying only cemented her guess. It must have been bad.

Centring her vision on her husband and their friends, Lily's smile drooped. Sirius was literally on his knees begging James for forgiveness. Knew it well, she did, that James could hold a grudge. Sirius knew it as well.

With his expression set, James met Lily's gaze. She knew what he wanted. I'll forgive him only if you want me to his gaze told her. With a hint of a sigh, she nodded. Sirius was many things, but first and foremost he was family. Family forgives. Prongs' expression softened before he placed his hand on Sirius' bowed head.

“I forgive you, Sirius. We both do.”

Turning to Remus, James' face dropped. “I'm sorry we didn't have faith in you, Moony. I hope you can forgive me.”

Repeating James' action from before, Remus placed his scarred hands on his brother's head. “I forgive you, James.” Half turning to Lily, he added, “I forgive both of you.”

Lily gave the Lycanthrope gave an appreciative nod. Remus had always been a good man.

Remus and James led the still crying Sirius to the couch where the Prisoner of Azkaban slowly regained his composure.

“What's been going on here?” James asked his brothers. “Listening to Harry, it's been a warzone.”

Lily chimed in, “The Philosopher's Stone, a fucking Basilisk and last year you,” she nodded to Sirius. Shaking her head to forestall an exclamation, “I know you were innocent, but what if it was Dolohov who escaped and then was hunting Harry? He would have got him. Now they're trying to rope him into a goddam tournament.”

Remus chuckled as he and Padfoot shared a smile. “I've missed you, Lily,” Moony observed. “To answer your question, I don't know. I was kept in the dark about Harry's whereabouts until I literally woke up next to him on the train to here last fall.” Frowning as he considered her question, “Things are a bit strange, though.”

“A bit strange? Moony, you still have the capacity for amazing understatement.”

As everyone smiled in reply to James' gibe, Lily yawned widely. “Alright, tomorrow we call the DMLE and clear up the Secret Keeper business. We're taking Harry and his friend Hermione home with us for a week or so. He'll need support from someone familiar.” Lily turned her gaze on `her boys' before declaring, “And you two are coming as well. No ifs, ands or buts.”

“Yes, Lady Richmond,” Sirius and Remus chimed in unison.

.oOo.

Groaning, Hermione rolled over. “Crookshanks, shut up!” she growled at the purring beast who was perched on her pillow. Cracking open her eyes, she saw that the clock read seven thirty AM. Time to get up.

Ruefully, she scratched her familiar's ears. “Thanks anyway you annoying fur ball,” she scolded affectionately.

Twenty minutes, a shower, a quick brush of her hair and one packing spell later found Hermione traipsing down the stairs to the common room. Last night she was sure that Harry was a heartbeat from kissing her. Hopeful that his mum was right, she was going to be optimistic that things would evolve into some serious snogging soon. She felt like she might self-combust otherwise.

She found Harry pacing at the foot of the girls steps, his packed satchel over his shoulder. Smiling, she asked, “Anxious much?”

Smiling brightly at her appearance he stuck his tongue out at her before hurrying to the portrait hole, “Come on,” he urged.

“Harry, slow down.” Catching up to him, she wrapped her arm about him, nearly giggling in delight when he automatically did the same to her. “They'll be there and it will all be fine. Take it easy.”

Taking a deep breath, he nodded to himself. “Right. They didn't disappear. It wasn't a dream.”

Smiling she lay her head on his shoulder for quick moment. It doesn't get much better than this. Turning into the Great Hall, they saw the Gryffindor table empty save for one person.

“Professor Lupin?” asked Hermione in surprise.

Rolling his eyes, Moony of the Marauders beckoned the teens to sit across from him. After taking a sip of his tea, he told Harry, “Your parents are meeting with Minister Fudge and Director Bones to clear up the Secret Keeper situation. Sirius is probably under the influence of Veritaserum right now,” he finished by glancing at his battered pocket watch.

“We'll be leaving when they're done?” Harry asked with poorly concealed anticipation.

Smiling, Moony nodded at the full plate Hermione placed in front of her best friend. “Eat up, Little One. You'll need your strength for the day. Moony, Padfoot and Prongs are together again.”

Harry's wide smile beamed across the table while Hermione asked, “Little One?”

After a momentary pause, Remus replied, “That's why I used to call Harry when he was a baby.”

Feeling a bit bold, Harry replied, “Thanks Uncle Moony.” Hermione's heart warmed to watch the friendly and easy interaction between the two men.

Moony smiled even wider, “Eat up.”

.oOo.

Things in the Headmaster's office were far from friendly, though.

Before turning in around one AM, James had made a quick Floo call to Maturin, Tonks and Aubrey, his solicitors. He literally scared Stephen Maturin out of his bed. Once the man calmed, James gave him the thirty second explanation along with summoning the man to Hogwarts for an early morning meeting.

Falling into bed next to his sleeping wife, James had to smile. Life was completely arse upside down, but his little family was still together. His last thoughts were of Wormtail. Prongs' dreams were of decidedly darker nature than he intended.

Waking at six, he and Lily showered - together - before strolling up to the Headmaster's office. Fortunately, they bumped into Minerva McGonagall on the second floor. It was a meeting for which James wanted to have a bit of privacy.

“Good morning, Minerva,” James greeted her while executing a perfect sweeping bow. “Your looks are in the bloom of spring, giving joyful pause to all who meet you.”

He did not expect to be hugged firmly by his old head of house while she cried on his shoulder.

“I know I'm handsome, but my wife is right here, Minerva.”

Wide eyed, he looked over the emotional Scot's shoulder to his wife for direction. She only shrugged. Gently holding the woman, he patted her back for a moment before she calmed.

Wiping her eyes, Minerva told him, “I'm sure the both of you will experience that and more in the near future.”

“Sirius almost wet himself last night,” Lily allowed with more than a bit of humour.

Under more control, Minerva embraced Lily. “I've missed you both so much.” Pulling back, she wrapped an arm about each of her former students' waist. “Your son is a good and strong young man. You should be proud of him.”

Both Potters nodded at Minerva's praise. “We are. We spent four or five hours last night talking,” Lily commented. Narrowing her eyes, she nearly glared at her old friend, “It seems that he's had a few adventures here.”

Sighing, Minerva knew exactly to what Lily was referring. Taking in James' stiff attitude and Lily's glare, she waved her hand in a supplicating motion, “I've done everything I could for him. True, I made a significant mistake his first year, but I've done what I could for him. I can't tell you how many times I healed him during his youth with those people.” The last words were mere hisses as the older woman's face contorted in anger. It was obvious to Prongs that his old teacher was desperate for absolution. It was a worrying trend that everyone they knew kept asking for forgiveness because they failed to support Harry.

“I warned Albus. I told him they were the worst sort of muggles. I warned him it was lunacy holding the Stone in the castle. I urged him to take action during the `Heir of Slytherin fiasco' and then there was last year...What a mess.”

Shaking her head, Minerva's gaze dropped. “I'm sorry. I've failed you and your son.” Dropping her arms from around the Potters' waists, she moved to leave.

James' hand on her arm stopped her, “Thank you for apologizing. We know how hard it is to go against Albus when he has his mind set on something.” Glancing at his wife, he nodded to her, signifying his forgiveness of their old friend.

Lily embraced Minerva again, “We forgive you. Let's go talk to the culpable party.”

James plastered a reconciliatory smile on his face, but inside he was in turmoil His parents had been very old when he was born. He was called the `miracle baby' at St Mungo's when he was born to a mother who was sixty four. Nevertheless, both his parents had impressed upon him the importance of family. “Family First,” his father had intoned more than one time.

Fuming a bit, it seemed to James that everyone they knew had failed to support Harry in the way that the boy had needed. Internally he winced when his conscience needled him, Even You Have Failed Your Son. Nevertheless, there was a long list of people who'd failed young Harry Potter and it was headed by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Below the man with far too many names was Sirius Black, Minerva McGonagall, Remus Lupin (though he never had a chance to look out for Harry) and, of course, Petunia and Vernon Dursley. Wormtail, the traitorous vermin, was below consideration.

“What happened to Frank and Alice?” James heard himself ask. Alice had been named Harry's godmother, as James was Neville's godfather.

Minerva sighed before recounting the story of the torture and derangement of James and Lily's friends. “…they were the last casualties of the war.”

“No,” Lily countered, her face hard. “Harry has been the last casualty of the war and he continues to suffer to this day.”

They were quiet the rest for the rest of the trip. Eventually, they found themselves in the Headmaster's very crowded office. The Minister for Magic, the Head of the DMLE, the Head Auror, Stephen Maturin, Sirius Black, Albus Dumbledore and, strangely, Severus Snape were waiting.

Ignoring his childhood nemesis, James strode up to the Minister, “Minister Fudge, good to see you. Last we met, you were a Team Leader in the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad. How times change…”

“Yes, yes, however did this come about?” Fudge asked with more than a trace of nervousness, while darting his eyes to Rufus Scrimgeour in an unspoken plea for protection. It was obvious to James that the formalities needed to be dispensed with first.

Rolling his eyes at the man, he asked the room, “Veritaserum or Vow?”

Scrimgeour shuffled forward, “Veritaserum will be sufficient, my Lord.” Indicating a seat, he asked, “If you would, please.”

James and Lily sat where they, one by one, both affirmed their identities, the identity of the Secret Keeper and the method of their `revival' from death. “As you can see,” James heard Lily say, “We never died I'm surprised no one checked our wills. The seals were tied to our life force.”

Frowning, Dumbledore explained, “It's so expensive to make the wax that very few people actually perform that charm.”

Sirius and James exchanged an exasperated look before Padfoot explained, “Albus, all the Ancient and Noble families perform the charm. It's required for succession of the line.”

Interjecting, Amelia Bones got the meeting back on track, “Be that as it may, Lord Blackmoor,” she addressed Sirius, “Would you be willing to give a statement under Veritaserum concerning the events that took place on November first of eighty one?”

“In Manchester? The thirteen murdered muggles?”

“Just so.”

Sirius nodded before taking James' recently vacated seat. Five minutes later, Scrimgeour was rolling up the dictated statements of the Potters as well as Sirius. Fudge, Dumbledore and Bones were crowded around the Headmaster's desk to craft and sign out an official exoneration of Sirius coupled with a press release informing the public of the `miracle return' of the Potters.

James and Sirius approached Stephen Maturin while Lily and Minerva chatted about Harry's academic performance to date. The Irish legal expert was a short scrawny man whose sallow complexion made most residents of the British Isles appear to be tanned in comparison. “Stephen,” James greeted the man as they shook hands. “We'll be going to Rowan Hill shortly. Please get our affairs in order post haste. If you need me, you can owl. We're going to lock down the wards to keep out the riff-raff. The public is going to be rabid when this gets out.”

Nodding, Maturin blinked rapidly as he told his old friend's son, “It's good to have you back, my Lord.”

Turning to Sirius, the barrister got a predatory gleam in his eye, “And you my Lord?”

Growling, Sirius instructed, “Take the Ministry for all you can.”

They all turned at the roar of the Floo as Bones and Scrimgeour left the office. Fudge nodded amiably at the newly restored Subjects of the Crown before departing. Stephen gave James, Lily and Sirius a short bow, “I shall be in contact soon regarding everything.” Kissing Lily's hand, he bid them adieu before departing.

As one, the amiable smiles fell from James, Lily and Sirius' faces. Turning to Dumbledore, James spoke for all three, “You betrayed us.”

Taken aback, the Headmaster stared.

“You failed to ensure Sirius had a trial. You placed my son with persons who were specifically eliminated from custody consideration in our wills. You repeatedly generated or allowed to flourish situations where my son was in mortal danger. By our count, Harry has been in mortal peril at least six times in the last three years, and that's just what he and Hermione told us about. I'm sure there is more. I'm also sure that you haven't told Harry about the prophecy, despite the repeated attempts on his life by Voldemort.”

The icy, accusatory tone was so different from the jovial James Potter that most in the room had to check that it was James who was speaking and not his more mercurial wife.

Lily's eyes flashed, “If I find that my suspicions are true and my sister did abuse my son…I'm going to take it out on you, Albus.”

James nearly smiled when he saw Dumbledore reflexively grab for his wand. Nearly smiled, but not in actuality.

“I'd just as soon kill you now, if I could,” Sirius deadpanned. All the years of Azkaban stood in his dead grey eyes. Haunted and empty, Sirius Black stared at Dumbledore in a way reminiscent of a man who has nothing to lose and therefore has no fear.

“Three things have saved your life this day, Albus Dumbledore. First, I doubt I could defeat you in a duel. Despite your behaviour, you are still a mighty wizard. Second, you aren't important anymore. You may have insinuated yourself into my son's life, but that ends now. Expect to be relegated to your rightful place: Headmaster. Lastly,” he turned form the old man as he took his wife's arm while shepherding his friend from the room. “Lastly, I've a son for whom I need to be an example. I don't want him to resort to violence to resolve difficulties.” Glaring at the old man, the Earl of Richmond added, “No matter how satisfying that violence may be. I'll just have to take you apart legally. Expect my solicitor to call on you.”

Sirius went through the door as James held it open. Lily moved to leave when Snape called out, “Lily…” He reached with one hand, but stopped short of the redheaded witch's shoulder.

Stopping, the witch replied without looking, “What do you want, Death Eater?”

James glared at the odious man, as he seemed to crumple from a physical blow. Snape's mouth moved twice before Lily left of the room, James following. Moving quickly down the steps, he heard his wife mutter, “I need my son. Let's get the hell out of here.”

A/N

***Reposting this entire story as there's a continual error in uploading Chapter 18***

1. I own nothing. My thanks to all who review this chapter. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on FanFiction(dot)net.

2. Recommendation for the chapter is Harry Potter and the Dream Come True by Grand Admiral Chelli. It's an incredibly funny fic that was one of many inspirations for this little tale.

3. This is the first time I've ever given Voldemort any serious dialogue. I can totally see him using the royal We when referring to himself, can't you? I also blended the canon Voldemort and canon Bellatrix. Voldemort in the books is very Hitler-like: his insanity shows up in his tirades and overall action. Bella is a loony. I like the idea of Voldiepants being a bit loony too.

4. I read in a FF somewhere that `any chapped ass monkey can start a story; it's finishing it that's hard'. Amen. I seem to hit a wall around 125k words with my stories where it becomes painful to finish them. Loss of interest and sometimes utter boredom with writing the story are the usual suspects. It happened with Stand, Partners, Harry and Gabi and End and the Beginning. I've finished Partners and have the end in sight on E&B and H&G so hopefully this little idea that's been burbling about for a couple years won't slow them down. Hopefully. Hell, I'm not being paid for any of it so who cares?

5. Yep, jettisoned Ron early. Gotta do it. Can't stand him in any way, shape or form.

6. In this fic, I'm playing about with perspective. In Partners, I stuck to Daphne's perspective and boy was it hard sometimes. Here, I'm going to shift perspectives, but try to stay with the POV of the person who is not central to the scene. It's an exercise in descriptive writing for me. Let me know if it works or is distracting. I won't change (ha!), but it would be interesting to know your thoughts. Thanks

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2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Arriving at the sprawling grounds of the ancestral home of the Potters had been anything but uneventful.

When the infuriated Lily, James and Sirius had stormed into the great Hall after their confrontation with Albus, all conversation stopped as the students stared at the overnight celebrities. Sirius, artist that he was, immediately struck a pose worthy of Madonna while calling out, “Yes, it is me: Sirius Black, the Mind-Boggling Sexy Beast. Autographed photos are available via owl post.”

This broke Lily and James out of their funk. Chuckling, they headed over to the Gryffindor table where Harry, Hermione and Remus were finishing their breakfast. James waved them all back into their seats as they rose to leave. “Lily and I've not eaten yet, so take your time. I don't know if the house is stocked with food, so we'll eat while we have a chance.”

The younger generation and Moony watched Padfoot, Prongs and Lily with wary expressions. “Albus?” Remus asked as the threesome loaded their plates.

A short nod from James was the only answer.

Halfway through the silent meal, Minerva ghosted into the hall, heading for the newly reunited and expanded Marauder family. Leaning into Lily's ear, she muttered, “We need to talk about Miss Granger.”

“What about her?” Lily replied at a normal volume.

Sighing, Minerva continued the discussion at a tone where everyone in the hall could - and were - eavesdropping, “You don't have permission from her parents to take her from school.” Forestalling the explosion from the former head girl, Minerva held up her hand, “You and I, along with Miss Granger can Portkey to the Granger house to get their verbal permission to satisfy the formalities.”

Turning back to her breakfast, Lily replied curtly, “After breakfast then.”

With a sad expression, Minerva nodded before heading to the front table. Despite the earlier words of reconciliation and forgiveness, it was obvious that it would be a while before the Potters could begin to forget the damage done to their son. Minerva was not looking forward to the first time James, Lily and Sirius saw Harry without his shirt. There would be violence from one or all of them. She was unsure who she was most afraid of facing in the aftermath.

James watched Hermione lean over the table to the redheaded mother of her best friend, “I don't want to be a bother…”

Interrupting, James waved her off. “Not a bother at all. A touch of Legilimancy, a quick Portkey and we're in your back garden.” Nodding at his son, James teased, “I couldn't separate you two for this adventure, it would break the rules.”

As Harry blushed, Hermione regarded James with an evaluative look. He could tell that she was divining a hint of the truth behind his flippancy. Apparently, she was as smart and quick as advertised. He hadn't discussed it with Lily yet, but James intended to discuss the prophecy with Harry over the course of the next week. It was doubtful that Lily would contradict him. With all that Harry had been through, The Boy-Who-Lived deserved to know the truth. Not that James was happy about it at all.

Chewing his bacon, James stared off into space. There was a hint of nostalgia about the meal. It was the first time in years that he, Lily, Padfoot and Moony had eaten a meal in the Great Hall. Despite his newly born fierce hatred of Peter, a part of James missed Wormtail. Peter had been one of his best friends for years. Such feelings didn't disappear overnight.

“Why?” James whispered, emotion overcoming him.

Instinctively reaching for his hand at his tone, Lily asked, “Why what?”

“Peter.”

The forks and knives stopped for the rest of the family. As James expected, it was Moony who answered, “The best we can figure,” he indicated to the silent former Prisoner of Azkaban who nodded in concurrence, “Peter turned to Voldemort around the time Harry was born. Remember, that's when he started to `travel for work' so much.”

Nodding, Prongs digested the words, nonetheless reiterating his question, “But why?”

“Because he was a fucking coward who had no honour, no love for his family and ..and…” Sirius trailed off weakly as he shook his head. “Because, in the end, he was afraid and weak.”

“He's pathetic,” Harry announced lowly with a vicious undertone. “Last year, he was begging to be spared. Trying to tell us why it wasn't his fault. He tried everything he could think of to have them,” he nodded with his chin to the grey haired Marauders, “not kill him. He was on his knees, telling me how much I look like you. I almost...” The hard glint in Harry's eyes was not missed by his father or the bushy haired girl at Harry's side. She wrapped her arm about Harry's shoulder, pulling him into a half embrace.

“But you didn't,” Hermione reassured Harry.

“Have no fear,” a cold voiced James Potter announced. “Peter Pettigrew has a reckoning coming. Of that, there is no doubt.” Padfoot and Moony nodded in silent agreement.

“I'm not very hungry anymore,” James announced after a long moment. His appetite had been thoroughly smothered by the discussion.

Forks clattered as they stood, en masse. Minerva swooped down from the head table in response to the movement. With grim satisfaction, James noticed that Albus and Severus hadn't made an appearance at breakfast.

Turning, James led the way out of the Great Hall, Lily at his shoulder, Padfoot and Moony on his flanks. Harry and Hermione nestled up behind his parents as they figuratively and literally followed the elder Potters' example. Much had been done for ill. Some had been done for good. In the end, a Potter blazes their own path. Harry had been unconsciously doing it his own life, but had felt rootless, without anchor. James looked over his shoulder to his son before giving him a quick smile and nod.

Harry wouldn't know it for a few days, yet, but he had been living the Potter Family Motto: Fortune Favours the Bold.

.oOo.

Harry watched his father stare into Hermione's eyes for a second. James muttered, “Got it,” before incanting, “Portus.” The stick in his hand glowed blue as he held it out to all gathered. Once the seven passengers were touching the portkey, James announced, “Activate.”

After the usual nauseating magical whirlwind, the group found themselves in a well-groomed garden behind a large brick home.

“Where are we?” Sirius asked as he looked around. Breathing deeply, he added, “Smells like the sea.”

“We live in Kent,” Hermione answered as she made her way to the back door of her house. It was early on a Sunday. Harry remembered Hermione telling him that her parents were probably lounging about the house. They didn't go to Mass until nine thirty.

“I'll just let my parents know we're here,” she told everyone, but her eyes were on Harry. He smiled at her concern, which in turn produced a smile on The Smartest Witch of the Age's face.

Harry caught the tail end of an amused glance between the adults before his mother sidled up to him. “Honey, I had a long talk with Minerva this morning.”

Harry's eyes cut to his head of house, hoping to see an inkling of what was coming, but as usual, Minerva was a blank slate.

“Yeah?” Harry asked with more than a bit of trepidation.

“I'm really proud of you,” his mother told him before pulling him into a brief hug.

Stunned and off balance, Harry was trying to recover. He'd expected, “What the hell are you doing taking Divination?” or “Why do you barely have an Exceeds average for all your courses?” or something else of that kind.

“But,” his Mum continued.

Here it comes.

“But I think you've had so much on your mind the past few years, I'm hoping that now that you have your family back, we can work together to help your grades. Particularly in Potions and Transfiguration.”

Before he could stop himself, Harry snorted in derision, “Like that'll ever happen,” he muttered.

“What do you mean by that?” Lily asked firmly.

Harry glanced to Moony, looking for verbal or non-verbal advice. Taking pity on the boy, Remus intervened.

“Lily, Severus isn't a very impartial teacher. He's very aware that Harry is James' son.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” James growled.

Instinctively, Harry withdrew physically and emotionally. Pulling out of his mother's embrace, he took a step back from everyone. “Snape hates my guts,” Harry announced, cutting to the chase. A part of him heard Minerva's sympathetic Tut-tut before he half glared at his Father, “He hates me because of something that happened when you all went to school together.”

This sobered all present, even Minerva. In a flash of insight, Harry realized that Professor McGonagall was just as culpable for the Marauders' predations as the boys themselves were. She was their head of house, it was her responsibility - nay her duty- to keep her lions in order. Granted, she couldn't have made the Marauders into model citizens, but she could have quashed the persecution they executed against Severus Snape. Harry still wondered at Sirius' nonchalant attitude regarding his role in the near miss between Snape and Moony. It was no wonder that Snape hated all Gryffindors with a passion.

With a sombre expression, James told his son, “We'll have a talk when we get home. For what it's worth, I'm sorry that Severus has vented his spleen on you for my actions.” Harry was sure that in that moment his twenty three year old father looked closer to fifty than his own age. He also wondered at the wisdom of James' little prank the evening before.

Fortunately, the back door opened with a bang. Hermione bounced through, a big smile on her face. “Mum and Dad are getting presentable, but they seemed alright with my coming to stay with you.” Noticing the glum expressions, she turned to Harry, “What's wrong?”

“Later.”

Hesitantly, she nodded her acquiescence. Once more, Harry was grateful to have such a caring friend. Or was she more than a friend? To himself, he repeated, “Later.”

.oOo.

Convincing the Grangers to allow Hermione to accompany her friend to the Potters' home was simple. The hardest task was to convince the dentists that James and Lily were really Harry's parents. After all, they were only nine years older than their son.

Lily sighed, “It's very obscure magic that no one has ever replicated. We were placed in suspended animation until last night when we reappeared at the home we were renting back in '81.”

“But everyone was sure you were dead?” Alice Granger asked.

Confused, Lily turned to Minerva, “Why was everyone so sure we were dead?”

In a resigned tone, Minerva explained, “There were two piles of ash in your lounge that we all figured were the remains of your funeral pyres. The piles were in human shape and roughly your sizes. We had no reason to think otherwise than you were both dead.”

“Unfortunately, that makes sense,” James grudgingly admitted. Lily turned to her husband, giving him a wan smile. He was still incensed at the blatant stupidity shown by the Headmaster regarding the Potter wills.

“It's very odd, but so is magic,” Steven Granger concluded.

“Wiser words have never been spoken,” Remus joked.

This seemed to signal the end of the discussion as everyone rose. Embraces by the Grangers preceded James creating another portkey. This time Minerva nodded to everyone before she Apparated back to Hogsmeade with a crack.

“I'll never get used to that,” Steven muttered.

“If you need anything,” Lily told the Grangers, “Just send an owl from Diagon Alley addressed to any of us. We'll configure the wards so it'll get through.” Frowning, she thought about wards for the Grangers.

Turning to her husband, she cocked an eyebrow. When she had his attention, she gestured to the house. Understanding her, he nodded before replying, “I'll make a few calls.”

The laughter from Sirius and Remus complemented the grin on Harry's face. “They always told me that you two could have a ten minute conversation in a few seconds with only a few words. Now I believe them.”

In a mortally offended tone, Sirius wasped, “You didn't believe me before?”

Lily smiled when Harry sing-songed, “Not-a-chance-Padfoot.”

“Let's go,” Lily cajoled. Thirty seconds later, the portkey deposited them in the entrance hall to Rowan Hill.

.oOo.

“Holy crap.” Immediately, her hands flew to her mouth while Hermione's eyes widened as she realized what she'd just said.

Everyone turned to the reddening young witch. The Marauders were all smiling to a man, while Harry was too stunned at the opulence of his new home to tease his friend.

“That was my reaction to-the-word, dear. Don't worry about it,” Lily consoled the embarrassed teen.

“Thanks,” Hermione muttered as she unconsciously wrapped an arm into Harry's. She watched the Potters head into the house, discussing something or the other between them. Turning to Harry, she asked, “Impressed?”

“Actually, I'm furious.”

Taken aback for the second time in as many days, Hermione gaped. The moment passed quickly as her furious intellect came to the logical conclusion.

“This was available to you when you were living under the stairs at your relatives' home,” she declared, understanding his upset.

“Under the stairs?” Sirius hissed from behind the teens.

Padfoot had been trailing after Harry and Hermione, enjoying their dumbfounded looks. When the conversation had turned more serious, the tiny bit of responsible adult in his heart poked out its snout, forcing him to listen.

Harry spun about to find his godfather quaking in fury. “Sirius…”

“PRONGS!”

Running footsteps heralded the approach of the elder Potter. “What? What's wrong?”

“Did you know that fat arsed Dursley made Harry live in a fucking broom cupboard?”

His eyes narrowing in an expression that Harry could only describe as hatred, James coolly replied, “I'm aware.”

“You're aware?” ranted Sirius. Waving his arms in an exaggerated fashion, he called, “What the hell are you on about, Mr `I'm Aware'?”

His voice still low and dangerous, James replied, “In a few days, when everything settles down, Lily and I are going to pay a visit to my dear in-laws to announce our return. Hopefully, we can catch up a bit.” James nearly bit off the end of the sentence in his disgust. Harry was almost sorry for the Dursleys. Almost, but not really.

“I'm coming with you,” Sirius announced.

“The more the merrier, old man. Now come on, we can't find any of the elves. Lily's in a right state about old Rauri.” James didn't hesitate as he turned back into the house, Sirius following.

“Elves?” Hermione snapped.

“Hermione, don't,” Harry cut her off. “I'm sure my parents and grandparents before them treated Rauri and any other elves with dignity. Don't ruin this week, please.”

Hermione was surprised. This was the first time that Harry had ever stood up to one of her rants. She was about to tear a strip off him, before she considered his words. Eventually, she nodded her head, “Alright, I see your point, but I don't like it. It's slavery, Harry, pure and simple.”

Shrugging, Harry countered, “What if they need to be bound to survive?”

Hermione opened her mouth to pick up her rant before his comment caught her flatfooted. “I don't know.”

With a teasing smile, he leaned in to her, “Did mine ears deceiveth me? Did you admit to not knowing something?” The desire for her that had been a nearly constant companion these last weeks flared brightly within him. The slight light-headedness combined with a tugging, drawing need led to the inevitable conclusion that both teens had been both dreading and desiring for quite some time.

Fortune favoured them, as she leaned forward to tease him back when she saw his face shift from friendly teasing to an incredibly powerful desire. The next moment, his lips were on hers.

Without thought, she wrapped her arms about his neck, digging her fingers in his hair. His arms encircled her small waist, pulling her close to him.

Eagerly, she returned his kiss, parting her lips. Harry groaned as he plunged his tongue into her mouth.

“Oh, Moony. Lookit him. All grown up and snogging.”

“I know, Padfoot. It seemed like just yesterday he was peeing on you while I wiped his dirty arse.”

The mood now thoroughly broken, Harry and Hermione parted lips, but stayed in each other's arms. Both of them turned to see the older Marauders who were watching the teens while sporting wide grins.

“Don't piss me off, she's really smart,” Harry threatened.

“Ooohhh,” Sirius mocked.

Without hesitating, Hermione drew her wand before casting a muttered spell at Padfoot. Harry and Remus fell down they were laughing so hard when Sirius' clothes disappeared and were replaced with an oversized cloth nappy. A huge pacifier was in his mouth and his hair had all fallen out except a patch on his forehead.

“Awww,” a high-pitched squeal emitted from the protesting mouth of the Baby-Sirius.

“Who's your Mummy?” Hermione taunted as she put her hands on her slim hips.

“You are,” Baby-Sirius conceded with a pout.

“Right then,” she smugly agreed as she took Harry's hand and led him away.

“Wait, what about me?” Baby-Sirius squalled.

“It'll wear off in an hour or so. Harry and I have some very unfinished business to attend.”

.oOo.

When the teens rounded the corner, Remus chuckled as he ended the charm Hermione had cast on Sirius.

“You fucker. You taught her that, didn't you?” Sirius smiled as he asked.

Moony shrugged as he returned the smile. It faded a bit before he looked to where Harry and his newly minted girlfriend had disappeared. “He's going to need her.”

The smile melted from Sirius' face. “They're going to need each other. Come on, let's find Prongs. We need to tell him about Ickle Harry and Hermy.” The two old friends turned to head down the beautiful marble hallway. “God, I'm glad they're back. Could you imagine me giving Harry `The Talk'?”

Remus' laughter was the only response.

They eventually found the Potters in the kitchen talking with an old house elf. Remus squinted at the diminutive being. Recognition dawned as he exclaimed, “Rauri!”

Smiling, the major domo of Rowan Hill gave a short bow, “Master Remus is a good sight to these old eyes. First my Lord and my Lady return from Beyond and now Master Remus. Is that my Lord Blackmoor behind you, sir?”

“Hey there Rauri,” Sirius greeted absently as he scanned the counters for the goodies the elf usually had waiting for casual consumption.

The elf ignored Sirius' scan while turning to James, “Will Master Peter join us as well?”

The humans stiffened. “Peter Pettigrew betrayed the House of Richmond to Lord Voldemort. Pettigrew is cast from our confidence and welcome,” James declared using language that was borderline ritualistic, but conveyed the depth of his feelings to his old family retainer.

Rauri nodded before asking, “And the other two in the house?”

Lily smiled warmly, “Lord Harry and his friend Miss Granger have returned with us.”

A bright smile blossomed on the old withered face, “Young Lord Harry has returned as well! Oh joy! I must bake a cake.” With a shooing motion, he scattered everyone from his kitchen as he began singing an old Welsh song of hearth and home.

Moony and Padfoot followed James and Lily into the family sitting room. “Oh, by the way, Prongs,” Remus mentioned with affected casualness. “Miss Granger is not Harry's friend.”

Puzzled, James asked, “Huh?” Lily on the other hand, wasn't fooled at all.

“Did she finally kiss him?”

“Actually, she was snogging the life out of him,” Sirius replied.

“Let's be fair, Padfoot. They were snogging each other senseless.”

The laughter echoed in the sitting room as the foursome fell into easy chatter and gossip of what had gone on in the years that James and Lily had been gone. Forestalling the inevitable serious discussion gave them all an emotional break and a chance to catch their second wind as it were.

“What's going on with Voldemort?” James finally asked.

Sighing, Remus leaned forward on his knees. “I'm not really sure. Beyond what you know with the Stone and the Chamber, the only real activity has been this selection of Harry's by the Goblet of Fire. To be fair, though, this isn't necessarily Voldemort's design. We just assume it's Voldemort, as it involves Harry. It could just as easily be Lucius Malfoy or some other surviving Death Eater.”

“Don't forget Harry's dream,” Sirius droned as he stared straight ahead. Remus glanced at Padfoot with a look of surprise mixed with concern. Surprise because Remus hadn't heard about this dream. Concern, because his old friend had been slipping into moments where he stared straight ahead, ignoring the goings on around him. Glancing across the room, he saw the same expressions of concern on the Potters' faces.

“What dream?” a frowning Lily asked.

Sirius related the substance of the dream of Peter, the nascent Dark Lord and the murder of Frank Bryce.

Remus watched James and Lily sink back into the settee on which they were sitting, hands tightly clasped together.

“I think it's time we had a talk, Harry and Hermione included,” James announced with an air of resignation. Leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, James scrubbed his face with numb hands. Lily nodded with reluctance, her expression making plain that although she agreed with her husband, she didn't like the course of action one bit.

“Rauri, would you please find Lord Harry and his friend? Tell them we need them here.”

The elf popped in, bowed low before intoning, “Of course, my Lord,” and popped out again.

.oOo.

Hermione was in heaven. She and Harry were currently cuddling after a magnificent snogging session in a gorgeous sitting room. There had been a bit of mutual groping that had left her very satisfied. Harry's abs were as firm as they looked, as was his bum. He seemed particularly enamoured with her own derriere which gave her a wonderful feeling of femininity that the boy she fancied found her desirable. “Do you have any idea where we are?” she asked.

“Nope. Thoroughly lost,” a chipper Harry answered.

Taking her head off his chest, she grinned at him, “So this is all I've needed to do to cheer you up all these years? A good snogging?”

His only reply was a firm kiss.

“Lord Harry,” an emotional voice greeted.

Breaking apart from her boyfriend, Hermione saw an older elf dressed in silk livery, wearing a traditional horsehair wig that formed a queue at the base of his neck. The elf's eyes were riveted on Harry.

Confused, Harry assumed the elf was talking to him, “Yes?”

“My Lord and Lady require you and your Miss Granger in the family sitting room.”

“Oh,” Harry replied, apparently more confused with the use of `my Lord and Lady' when referring to his parents. Hermione watched him translate in his head, though as she made an internal note to ask about the repeated use of noble titles when referring to the Potters and Sirius. “Er, where is the family sitting room?” Harry asked with sheepish embarrassment.

A gentle smile softened the features of the family elf, “Follow me, my Lord.”

Hermione held Harry's hand as the soon identified Rauri led the way through the spacious home at a measured pace. Soon, the old elf was lost in tales of Harry as a baby.

“Lord Harry so very much disliked bathing, Miss Granger,” Rauri remembered with a fond smile. “One day, he ran away from my Lady when she had her back turned as she prepared the bath. There was not a stitch on him during the dead of winter. My Lord found him in the atrium digging in the dirt. Our young heir was as bare as the day he was born.”

Hermione succumbed to laughter as Rauri chuckled at the memory. Turning to her boyfriend, she could see that, though blushing at the teasing, Harry was thoroughly enjoying being the main actor in happy stories of his childhood.

She wrapped her hand in his arm, leaning close to him. Whispering in his ear, she asked, “Will you run down the hall bare for me?”

Seeing the glint in his eyes whenever he was challenged, Hermione froze when he replied, “I will if you will.”

After a moment, she found her footing. The idea of her and Harry naked together had crossed her mind of late, but not in any serious way. That might come later, but not any time soon.

“We'll see, Potter,” she teased.

He laughed as they turned into the family sitting room.

.oOo.

Lily watched her son with anxious eyes. Silent since his father had bluntly told The Prophecy, Harry was sitting next to his newly minted girlfriend, holding her hand and staring out the window. The redheaded witch had to admire Hermione's understanding of her son. She sat there, waiting for him to speak. Both witches were trembling with desire to pounce on the young wizard, to force him to alleviate their own tension by letting them know how he felt, but both managed to control the impulse. Barely.

“So it's me or him, then?”

James nodded mutely. Lily silently took her husband's hand, trying to reassure him with the small gesture that not only did she still love him but all would be well in the end. She knew that James wanted to protect Harry from the full impact of The Prophecy. His parents had coddled him all his life, so James oftentimes reverted to the example his parents had provided.

“And Dumbledore knew this the whole time?”

James nodded again. Lily could tell her husband was exerting everything he had to remain silent. Rage, regret and fear warred within her own breast, she could easily see the same in her husband. When Harry was a baby, it was Lily who forced James to let Harry explore and try new things. She had been shocked when she had to force James to allow Harry to try the training broom Sirius had purchased for his godson. For James to willingly tell Harry The Prophecy when Harry was but fourteen was a superhuman effort for the current Earl of Richmond.

It was this quality of reaching beyond himself that had caught her attention during their sixth year at Hogwarts. She'd come into the common room late after a long evening studying Arithmancy to find James tutoring a pair of third years in Transfiguration. His back was to the portrait hole, so he didn't know she was there as he proceeded to do an excellent job teaching the youngsters the second universal law of Transfiguration. He did it with a mixture of technical expertise, humour and wit. Very impressed, this little act of helping others without reward had been the beginning of the shifting of her feelings toward James Potter. In fact, she began to have a high regard for him right there and then.

Today, he reached beyond his own desire to hide his son in a cave to act on what he felt was truly in Harry's best interests. It was hard for him to allow his son to be exposed to danger, but better to be armed with the truth, than to flounder in the dark.

Returning her attention to her son, Lily saw The Prophecy's revelation before them. She and James had defied the Dark Lord three times. Harry had been born at the end of July. He had been marked. Now it became a matter of harnessing this nebulous `power the Dark Lord knows not'.

“I…I need to take a walk,” Harry announced as he stood. Turning to Hermione, he asked, “Will you come with me?” In a flash of insight, Lily could see that the question was being asked on multiple levels.

With a brisk, no nonsense, “Of course,” Hermione stood.

“Stay inside the walls of the estate. You'll see them; they ring the landward reaches of the grounds. The ocean is our other border. Don't scale the walls at all as the wards are recharging with all of us home again. The beach is Ok too,” James told them.

Harry nodded silently as he and Hermione slipped out of the room to gather their coats. For the beginning of November, it was a warm day in Wales, but the wind was still brisk.

When Lily heard the door close, she asked her husband, “You alright?”

“Not even remotely.”

Nodding, she scooted over to worm herself into his embrace. Letting her own fears out of their metaphysical cage, she began to tremble. “He's only fourteen…”

“Yet he's already faced and defeated Voldemort three times,” Remus observed.

Conceding the point, Lily nodded, “True…”

“But it was blind luck the first time!” James snapped, his fears running riot. “And the next two as well!”

“Peace, brother,” Remus soothed. “We'll have to get Harry to pay better attention in his courses from now on.”

“Plus a bit of instruction on the side,” Lily finished. She nearly burst into hysterical laughter at the intentional understatements. Paying attention in courses? Bit of instruction on the side? Voldemort was the most dangerous Dark Lord in millennia and they were discussing extra tuition as a solution?

Closing her eyes, she saw all the hopes and dreams she had for her baby boy come crashing down. It was the night that Albus Dumbledore ominously began a conversation with, “I've some serious information that you need to know,” that everything changed.

Her dreams for Harry ended that day; she just didn't know it yet.

James was still angry, but she could feel it ebbing. She was quick to anger and quick to calm. James, on the other hand could carry a grudge for a mile and back. For him to be calming this quickly meant that he must be focusing on Harry, not his own feelings.

Thinking about her son, she decided, “Let's give him a few days to process and come to terms with this prophecy. Then we can talk with him about a plan. He deserves to have a say in his preparations.”

The men didn't reply, just sat there in depressed silence. By discussing preparing Harry to face Voldemort, Lily felt like they were giving in to The Prophecy. They were letting it rule their lives instead of making their own choices. At the same time, she had to agree with James' point of view: Voldemort was coming for blood and they had to prepare their son.

“Is Hogwarts the best place for Harry?” Remus asked, shaking the foursome from their stupor.

“Herbology doesn't really help him much,” Sirius observed.

Snorting in sardonic amusement, James snarked, “Here Lord Voldemort, catch this Venomous Tentacula.”

Lily turned to James, “He's been taking Divination since third year.”

Wincing, James wondered, “And Hermione let him do that?”

“Harry's friend Ron isn't the most motivated student in the school,” Moony observed delicately.

“Great. He's had an ultra-slacker as a mate,” James observed.

Padfoot regarded Prongs with amused amazement. Recognizing the look, James wagged a finger at his friend, “I wasn't a slacker. I got excellent grades. I just skived when it didn't matter.”

“Moving on,” Lily muttered. “What do we do?”

“I've no idea,” Remus offered. As Remus turned to Sirius, she saw Padfoot shrug helplessly.

“When Voldemort attacked us in '81, we had no idea how to beat him. Glad to see that nothing's changed,” James observed with a hint of venom.

“Should we talk with the DMLE?” Remus wondered aloud.

Lily thought about that. She didn't know Scrimgeour, Bones or Fudge personally. Fudge seemed to be the usual incompetent boob who was elected because he was a pureblood nonentity who wouldn't cross the old families. Bones was an unknown beyond vague familial connexions. She thought that Amelia was Edgar Bones' older sister, but wasn't sure. She'd never heard of Scrimgeour.

“I don't know,” Lily replied uneasily. “I don't know or trust any of them. I think that if Fudge is a typical politician, once he got word of The Prophecy, he'd glom on to Harry in a moment. Ministry custody, Auror training from dawn to dusk and all that. I don't know if Bones or Scrimgeour would give up the information to Fudge or react in similar ways.”

“Bones is an old family,” James remembered. “Dad was a big fan of Nathanial Bones. They served together in the Wizengamot together.”

“And my Dad hated them both,” Sirius observed with a smirk.

“So we should take that as a recommendation?” Lily observed with a bit of humour.

“We're not going to solve it today,” Remus observed. “Let's help Harry the best we can while you three,” he motioned toward James, Lily and Sirius,” Get your affairs straightened.”

“How do you think he's doing?” Lily asked Sirius and Remus.

Padfoot turned to Remus, “You know him better than me, mate.”

“Harry's an introvert. He'll need to come to terms with it all, but I can tell you that the right person is with him. She'll snap him up short if he's being an arse, straighten him up if he's out of line and just plain love him through it all.”

.oOo.

“It's really beautiful here,” Hermione observed. Harry hadn't spoken since they'd left the house and she was becoming nervous. They stopped their perambulations, leaning on a boulder. She settled between his legs, leaning back on his chest as he absently wrapped his arms about her from behind. Together, they looked out to sea watching the grey wind-whipped waves as they tossed to and fro.

After five minutes of sitting there, Hermione had finally worked up her courage. “I love you Harry.”

She couldn't face him when she said it, but she had said it, nonetheless. This moment had been building in her for months. The day after their momentous ride on the back of Buckbeak to save his godfather, her attitudes and emotions had taken a significant - seismic even - shift. She didn't know what was different, just that things between her and Harry were now changed.

Over the summer, between her frantic journaling, discussing matters with her mother and a lot of long walks, Hermione came to understand, accept and embrace her feelings. Ever since she was small, those about her had recognized that the maturity in the pint-sized genius had far outstripped her age. Sometimes, her social skills lagged, but overall, she was light years ahead of her peers.

In the end, Hermione was well equipped to love her young man.

Since admitting her feelings to Harry earlier in the day, she'd felt a burgeoning need to confess completely the true depth and breadth of her feelings to her young man. It had begun as a growing desire, shifting to a need and finally ending up as an unrelenting emotional pressure that wouldn't be denied until she told Harry Potter: “I love you, Harry.”

When he didn't reply, she told him, “I'm sorry if it's too soon to be saying that, but I feel like we've been together for years and have just now got around to the kissing and such. I want you to know, no, I need you to know…”

She trailed off as she felt him shaking behind her. Turning in his embrace, she saw him crying. “Shhh, shhh, it's Ok,” she murmured. Wiping his tears with her hands, she pulled him to her breast. “It'll be Ok. We've faced him before and we'll do it again. We have your parents back, Sirius is free and we're together. It will be Ok, I love you.”

Eventually, he stilled. From the warmth of her embrace, he whispered, “What would I do without you?”

Smiling, she replied, “Fail all your courses.”

A weak chuckle was all he could muster before regarding her seriously. She stilled at the expression on his face. “I would be dead without you, Hermione. I don't really have any idea what love is, but you are - by far - the most important person in my life.”

Deciding that this declaration was good enough as an `I love you', she kissed him thoroughly.

A few minutes later, they broke apart. He pulled her flush to him, causing Hermione to colour because of the tingly sensations that were inspired by being so close to him.

“I need you. You're my best friend and my everything. Will you…will you help me?” he asked with a hint of timidity.

“With Voldemort?” she clarified.

He nodded his confirmation.

“Silly boy, of course. I'm in this for the long haul. I didn't know it then, but when a scrawny boy with funny glasses jumped on to the back of a troll years ago, my life was irrevocably altered.”

Cupping his cheek, she looked him in the eyes to ensure she had his attention, “The die of my life has been cast.” A soft kiss preceded her vow, “I'll always be with you Harry Potter. Always.”

Sighing in relief, he pulled her close. Eventually, he murmured, “Don't get me wrong, I'm over the moon about my parents being back, but it's a bit strange all the same.”

Nodding, Hermione reassured him, “It's only natural. For all intents and purposes, they're strangers to you, despite being related by blood. It'll take some time, but since you want to connect with them, you'll get there in the end.”

Harry had a half smile on his face as he shook his head in mild bewilderment.

“What?” Hermione protested feeling self-conscious.

“You're incredible. Beautiful with brains and a great bum to boot.”

Blushing, she looked down and demurred, “You don't have to say that Harry, I know I'm no beauty.”

Firmly grasping her chin, he gently turned her face back to his own. “When have I ever lied to you?”

“Never,” she whispered in reply.

A slow nod preceded a kiss that melted into a hug.

“With you at my side, I can do anything. I have done anything. Dark Lords, Werewolves, escaped convicts after my blood, feral Hippogriffs and even Basilisks being controlled by the memory of a Dark Lord.”

Hermione looked at him askance when he listed the events at the end of second year.

“You were there with me in spirit Hermione. How else did I have the courage to do what needed to be done?”

“Harry,” she whispered in a soft protest. “You're the bravest person I've ever known. Not only because of your more famous achievements,” she explained, “But because you kept on during second year when the whole castle turned against you. Because you kept on when your relatives nearly drove you into the dirt. Because you're you. That's real bravery.”

She wrapped her arm about his waist, “You feeling better?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Good, let's head back. I'm hungry.” He wrapped his arm about her shoulders as they began to slowly make their way down the shoreline toward the massive house. “I like your Mum,” she offered.

“Yeah, she's pretty cool.”

“Pretty cool,” Hermione mocked playfully.

“Oh you,” he huffed before his fingers assaulted her ribcage.

Squealing, she bolted toward the house. His laughter followed her as they burned off some of the fear and anxiety that had built up over the course of the day.

.oOo.

Sirius watched at the window. Seeing Harry and Hermione frolicking on the path from the beach warmed his heart. He knew that his `phases' as he called them were worrying everyone else, but to watch the teens loving and having fun in the midst of fear and pain made it all Ok in the end.

“You alright there, Pads?”

Shrugging, he nodded his head at the approaching teens, “They make it all worthwhile.”

“I'm sorry about Azkaban. We didn't think through the repercussions very well, did we?”

“Not your fault, Prongs.” His gaze leaving the window, he looked at the floor, “I consider it part of my punishment for…”

Suddenly whipped around, Sirius was facing an angry James Potter, “Listen to me! Lily and I forgive you. If you need to, ask Harry's forgiveness and I'm sure he'll give it straightaway. None of us blame you for the Betrayal. All of us blame Peter, no one else. Stow that guilt trip shite; we don't have the time or energy to be dealing with it.” James trailed off as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

His voice barely above a whisper, Sirius admitted, “Look, I'll do my best but thirteen years is a long time to build up guilt. It won't disappear overnight, but I'll try.” It was still hard for Sirius to believe that James was standing in front of him, much less had forgiven him for his part in their betrayal. Every time he closed his eyes, he expected James and Lily to disappear like mist on the wind, their accusatory voices mocking and taunting him. His gaze still had a hungry look about it every time he saw his brother in all but blood.

James large hand on his shoulder forced Padfoot to look up, “That'll have to do. I realize that it must be hard, but…” Sirius smiled wryly as he nodded in understanding of James intent.

“Come on, Rauri is putting on a late lunch.”

.oOo.

“Er, Dad? Could I talk to you? Outside, I mean.”

James smiled at Harry's nervousness as he followed his son out the front door after the meal.

“Sirius said that I could cast a bit of magic here and not get gigged from the Ministry, right?””

“Sure, just don't let your Mum see you prank Sirius.” He smiled widely before he corrected himself, “On second thought, let her know beforehand so she can watch.”

Harry smiled but it was fleeting. “Last year, Uncle Moony taught me the Patronus charm.”

James nodded appreciatively, “That's an impressive charm. You need to show your Mum, she's a whiz at charms.”

“Yeah, but I wanted you to see it first. See, the Dementors were all over because of Sirius' escape and all…well, I guess a picture's worth a thousand words.”

James watched his son close his eyes for a short moment to centre himself before raising his wand while incanting, “Expecto Patronum!”

Staggered, James watched Prongs burst from the end of Harry's wand. The nearly opaque stag pranced up to James, before stopping with intent. The pupil-less eyes stared at his namesake expectantly. Always mischievous, James shifted to his animagus form.

Vision for a stag is sharper than for a human so Prongs could make out every detail of his son. Back and forth, Harry compared Prongs to his Patronus. The entire time he murmured, “Exactly the same.” The smile on Harry's face was worth all the gold in his vault to James.

Shifting back to his human form, Father embraced Son in an emotional hug. From his Father's arms, Harry told James, “Even when you couldn't be there, you were there Dad. You saved me, Hermione and Sirius that night.”

The guilt that had been bearing down on James since awakening in the future flared once more. At the same time, his heart was inexplicably lightened that Harry felt so connected to his then absent father that his Patronus had taken the form of Prongs.

Wanting to correct his son to tell him that he'd saved himself, James understood the emotion behind Harry's words. To Harry, it had been James who'd protected him, not the ethereal bit of magic that wizards called a Patronus.

“I love you son. I always have and always will. I'll always regret being forced to miss you growing up, but I'll be with you from here on out.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

.oOo.

Remus and Sirius had used the Floo to head over to Remus' small cottage to gather some things, leaving Hermione and Lily alone in the family dining room after lunch.

A curious expression on her face, Lily asked The Smartest Witch of the Age, “What did Harry want from James?”

Smiling, Hermione remembered Harry's excitement. “He's showing James his Patronus.”

Her eyes widening, Lily exclaimed, “His Patronus?”

“He learned it last year from Professor Lupin.” Hermione paused as she met Lily's gaze, “It takes the shape of a stag.”

A wide smile bloomed on the redheaded witch's face, “James will be so touched.”

They fell silent before Hermione asked, “Why does Rauri refer to you and James as my Lord and Lady?”

“We're the Earl and Countess of Richmond. Technically, Harry is Baron Potter until he inherits from James.”

Stunned, Hermione boggled for a second before countering, “Richmond? But I thought the Duke of Richmond was the only peer of the name?”

Smiling, Lily explained the history behind the Potter family peerage. In the time of Camelot, the Potter family head was widely acknowledged as the Lord of the Lands surrounding what was now Rowan Hill, hence the title of Baron Potter. In the struggles between Camelot and Morgana LeFey, the then Baron Potter, Owain, rendered personal services to the Crown on multiple occasions. Arthur elevated Owain to an Earldom, the highest peerage in Britain, outside the Royal family, at the time.

“You probably know that the titles of Duke, Marquess and Viscount are Norman imports, hence Earl and Baron are the only `indigenous' titles of nobility in Britain. The Richmond title, while a very English name, predates the Conquest by almost five hundred years. Remember, Arthur united the entire island under the standard of the house of Pendragon. The Potter family history says that his intent behind a Welsh noble being elevated with an English name was an attempt by the Crown to lessen tensions between the three countries. It failed.” The witches shared a laugh at the dry commentary of Arthur's actions.

“The title wasn't recognized by the muggle king after the conquest, but magical society continues to honour all titles. That's why there are no magical lords higher than an Earl.”

“Harry knows nothing of this,” Hermione declared in a sad voice. Looking up from the table, she told Lily, “He knows nothing of his family except…”

“Except that he hates my sister and her husband,” Lily spat. Hermione nodded agreement. “We'll fix that dear.”

“He's always wanted a family and a history,” Hermione mused. “It's been his greatest wish since I met him. I'm sure it was why he immediately accepted that you and James were his parents. You two could have easily been impostors, but he wanted you to be his parents.”

“Yes, well, fortunately we are his parents,” Lily chuckled.

“So, ought I call you `my Lady'?”

“Only when the occasion calls for it. Most of magical society has forgotten the old titles and the Potters have never been very big about enforcing the niceties. The Blacks, though…” she shook her head at the pretentious behaviour Sirius' father had been capable of while `in society'. “Rauri is very aware that he's a retainer of the twenty third Earl of Richmond whose son is the thirty second Baron Potter.” Lily smiled at the shenanigans of their domestic.

Turning to Hermione, she laid her hand on the young witch's hand. “Don't worry too much about what you call me. I have a feeling that one day you'll be calling me Mum.” Lily's impish grin belied her serious tone.

Hermione's only response was a blush of epic scale.

.oOo.

James was leading Harry down the Hall of Portraits, explaining their ancestry through the portraits on the wall.

“This fellow with the beard is your umpteenth great grandfather, Cadfael. He's the oldest portrait in the hall, hence his place of honour next to my father.” James nodded sadly to the portrait of a man that Harry recognized from the Mirror of Erised.

With a nod to the portraits, Harry greeted them, “Good afternoon Grandfathers.”

Cadfael grunted before nodding amiably. “This one,” he jabbed a thumb at James' father's portrait, “Has been waiting for you to come, so I'll let him have you. When you get some time, come with a chair and we'll discuss the family and our history.”

“It's actually very fascinating,” James enthused.

Incredulous, Harry teased, “I bet you're the one that's in every year who stays awake in Binns' class.”

Blowing a raspberry at his son, James rebuked Harry, “Heaven forbid! No, I never could give two shits what that old ghost had to say. Cadfael here, though, tells an excellent story. Bring Hermione, a chair and snacks on a rainy day. It's worth your while.”

Turning back toward the wall, James was silent for a long minute as he regarded the portrait of his father. With an air of solemn respect Harry had never heard from his father, James introduced, “Harry, this is my father, your grandfather, Charlus Ioan Potter.”

The old man with a striking resemblance to his son and grandson beamed at Harry. “It's so good to finally see you again, Harry. You were just a mewling puddle of flesh last time I saw you. You've grown into a fine young man.” Frowning a bit, he mentioned, “Bit short, though.”

“We're working on that, Dad,” James forestalled any discussion that would lead back to Surrey. The day had been emotional enough as it was.

Harry's jaw worked twice with no words coming out. Turning to his Dad, he explained, “I've dreamed about this day. You know, meeting my family and all. But I've no idea what to say.”

“Try, `Hi Grandfather!'.” James teased.

Rolling his eyes, Harry turned back to Charlus' portrait and with his tongue firmly in his cheek, he exclaimed, “Hi Grandfather!” with false cheeriness.

“Don't listen to this one, grandson. He's always had more cheek than any human ought to be apportioned. Run along, we'll talk more later, but it's wonderful to see you.”

Overwhelmed, Harry replied, “It's pretty brilliant to be meeting you too, Grandfather. I'll be back.”

“Come on,” James beckoned as he headed out of the portrait hall toward the stairs.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked as he bounded after his father.

“To your room,” James replied with a wide smile.

.oOo.

“Hermione, you've got to see this!” Harry ran into the sitting room where she and Lily Potter were getting to know each other better. It was much easier than she'd expected it. Probably because Lily was only eight years older than she was.

“See what?” she smiled to him when he bounded up to her.

“My room! It's huge! There's a balcony and this really brill furniture! The bed is better than the ones at Hogwarts! You gotta see this!”

Hermione's smile faltered a bit. Harry's enthusiasm was proportional to his experience. She was sure that the room was probably spectacular in design and apportionment, but Harry's excitement was more due to the contrast with his upbringing. The past threatened to cast a pall over the event, but Hermione was determined to be supportive of her boyfriend. With a wink at Lily, Hermione asked, “So, you want me to come with you to your bedroom?”

As Lily and James smothered smiles, Harry cycled through every shade of the colour red that was known to mankind. “No! Er, yes, but not like that! Not yet…” casting a glance at his mother whose eyebrow was now cocked at her son, he muttered, “Bugger. Come on,” he tugged Hermione's hand to propel her out of the room and toward the stairs.

James and Lily's laughter followed the teens to the first floor.

.oOo.

Curled up in the window seat in Harry's room, Hermione asked her boyfriend, “So what's the verdict?”

From his bed, Harry asked, “Verdict?”

“You've had some hard news, but it was your parents giving it to you. Is it worth it?” She asked knowing the answer would be `yes', but she was trying to make a point.

“Uh, that would be a big `Yes' that it was worth it.” Grumbling as he stared at the ceiling, he told no one, “I should have been told years ago, though.”

Tentatively moving to the bed, she sat next to him. He didn't need words now. So much had been said that words were just dewdrops in a flood. Her presence, her silent support was what was needed now.

Reaching out her hand, she entwined her fingers with his before pulling his hand to her lips. After placing a gentle kiss on his palm, she curled up next to him.

She smiled when he turned toward her, closing his eyes as he relaxed.

From the hallway a braying voice called out, “Snogging alert! Snogging alert!”

Smiling, Harry murmured, “Are all parents unsatisfied unless they've thoroughly embarrassed their children?”

James rounded the corner into Harry's bedroom, a wide smile on his face. “Good you're both dressed.” Ignoring Hermione's outraged squawk, he continued, “Come on down, Rauri's got dinner coming on soon.”

.oOo.

Dinner had been raucous. When Sirius had leapt up on the table, a bowl of beans in his hand, James had promptly charmed the potatoes to attack the padfooted one. Hermione and Harry had laughed themselves silly as Remus and Sirius had volleyed beans and cabbage back at Prongs while he begged his wife to come to his aid.

She finally relented, cursing Remus and Sirius with the Hair Growing jinx. When their Dutch braided eyebrows passed their belt buckles, the attackers sued for peace.

James had puffed up his chest while standing on his chair, “I rule! I have vanquished the evildoers! I am...ouch.”

He never finished, as Lily had lobbed a dinner roll that hit him square on the nose.

”Enough, you moron. Dessert is coming. Remember, Rauri baked a cake?” Lily teased from the foot of the table.

Harry was sitting at his father's right hand, as befitting the heir. Lily had accorded Hermione a high honour at inviting her to eat at her own right hand. Sirius and Remus had filled in the other seats. Even though the dinner had been informal, becoming more so as it progressed, Hermione had been very aware of the protocol for the dinner. James and Lily didn't make much of these things; it seemed to be unconscious action for them.

Eying her boyfriend as he whispered with his father, Hermione turned to the Mistress of the house, “Lily, can we talk with Harry later? About the family and all?”

Smiling at the brunette, the redheaded witch replied, “We're all going to sit and chat over tea tomorrow morning. The weather is going to be rainy, so it's a perfect chance to talk. Despite him being an idiot,” she jabbed her thumb at Sirius, “This one is actually very knowledgeable about magical society. He knows more than I.”

Shrugging, Sirius ignored the mild insult. Hermione could tell by the wetness at the corner of Padfoot's eye, that the pain he'd felt as he missed his friends was aching as it healed. “James and I are cousins, so we grew up in the same circles. He knows as much as I do.”

“Yes, but your parents drilled it into your head, mine didn't care,” James countered from the other end of the table.”

Hermione turned to see the Earl of Richmond toast her while his son looked on with a wondering smile. Her own wonder at the situation had to be as great as Harry's. Somehow, she had found herself in the middle of a `happily ever after' and was astonished on a regular basis.

James was a goof who loved his family fiercely. Hermione had been genuinely moved at the tenderness the man had shown for his son. She'd also seen his unpleasant capability to hold a grudge. Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore would most likely be unwelcome in the Richmond household for the foreseeable future. Peter Pettigrew was a dead man if he ever met with James Potter.

Lily was a kind woman who loved freely and greatly. She also hated with a red-hot passion at the drop of a hat. Remus had mentioned that Lily and Snape had been childhood friends. From Sirius' earlier description, Hermione doubted that the Lady Richmond would ever be civil with the man, much less friendly.

They were human; flawed and wonderful. Harry was lucky, oh so lucky to have them.

Contemplating her own family, Hermione wished her own parents were visiting. Nodding internally, she realized that this week was about the extended Potter family reconnecting. There would be time later to integrate the Granger family into the Potter world. For a moment, a vision of a white dress and a tuxedo clad Harry intruded on her imagination. What girl hadn't written her name with her boyfriend's surname? This was merely how it showed up for Hermione Granger. The goofy grin on The Smartest Witch of the Age's face couldn't be supressed.

.oOo.

“My Lord, these just arrived.”

James turned to Rauri to see that the elf held a silver salver upon which two letters rested. Scooping them up, he replied, “Thank you Rauri. Dinner was excellent.”

Amid the murmured concurrences from the rest of the family, the stately elf bowed graciously.

After Rauri popped out, James examined the letters. Eyeing his wife, he announced, “One from Dumbledore, one from Maturin. Which should I open first?”

“Maturin,” Lily advised. “When you get angry from what Albus says, you'll be unable to read Stephen's letter.”

Harry watched his father crack the seal on the letter before reading while he resumed his attention to the chocolate cake Rauri had baked. Although not his favourite, it was still piping good.

James pulled a considering face, “Apparently the Prophet is having kneazels trying to arrange an interview. The Goblins have been stunningly cooperative while the Ministry is towing the line.” Grinning at Padfoot, he told everyone, “Apparently, they're afraid we'll sue for some reason or the other.”

Sirius snorted before mumbling, “Imagine that.”

Sighing, he placed the letter from the barrister on the table, “Overall, it's going well. I'll schedule the interview for next week?” he asked his wife.

Harry switched his attention to his mother. She leaned back in her chair, pursing her lips. It was somewhat amusing for Harry to watch a husband and wife have an intelligent conversation while at dinner. Between Vernon's rage and bluster combined with Petunia's acidity, there hadn't been much intelligent adult conversation in Harry's experience.

Her green eyes landed on her son, “Maybe we should have the interview before Harry goes back to school. That way we can have a `family interview' where we're there to shut down any questions that could go awry. I surely don't trust Albus to do the right thing by Harry. He'd probably let a reporter drag Harry into a broom closet or some such.”

Harry and Hermione both blushed when Remus innocently asked, “Isn't that Hermione's job now?”

“Har, har,” Harry snarked. “What's the Headmaster say, Dad?” Harry couldn't help but smile every time he addressed the man at the head of the table as `Dad'. He'd dreamed about it for so many years, it was a dream come true.

“Do I have to open it?” James mumbled as he broke the purple wax seal.

Immediately, James face paled. His hazel eyes narrowing dangerously he continued reading. Flipping to the second page of the parchment, he viciously tore the first page.

“James?” Lily asked. Padfoot and Moony were frowning as they cast concerned glances at Harry.

Noticing the glances, Harry slowly set his fork on the dessert plate. Looking at the table, in a low voice he asked his father, “Do I still have to compete?”

“No!” Hermione objected. Panicked, she stood, beseeching James, “You can't let them do this! You know it's Voldemort! They're trying to kill him!”

Lily took Hermione's hand as unnoticed tears dripped down the young witches face. “Calmly, my dear,” Lily counselled as she turned her resolute face to her husband.

“Albus says they can't break the curse on the Goblet. He's afraid that if they tamper with it any more, there could be, and I quote, `unfortunate consequences'.”

Harry's heart sank. “Meaning I could lose my magic.”

Stiffly, James nodded. “You and the other champions.”

“Is he lying?” Lily bluntly asked.

Harry watched his father shrug helplessly, bunch the letter into a ball before he threw it into the fireplace.

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first chapter. I am utterly and completely blown away with the volume of response to the first chapter. Wow. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on FanFiction(dot)net.

2. Recommendation for the chapter is Brown Coat, Green Eyes by Nonjon. Probably the pinnacle of HP/Firefly crossover, he does an excellent job integrating Harry into the Firefly `verse while taking the next logical step from Serenity.

3. I read in a fanfic, or maybe an online essay concerning the maturity of the characters in the Harry Potter universe. The author of the story/essay rightly pointed out that the characters are handed lethal weapons at age eleven and then subsequently taught through university level by the age of seventeen/eighteen. It's an incredible rate of instruction coupled with a responsibility that would be shocking in `the real world'. Match that with the experiences that the heroes of the HP universe experience and I find it very realistic to find a fifteen or fourteen year old witch and wizard to be discussing `forever' with realistic understanding and commitment as opposed to my own understanding of `forever' when I was that age. Something to chew on.

4. The naked baby running away tale? That was me in 1969.

5. Ok, I give up. I made myself a deal. I can write this story, but can't post it until I'm finished with The End and the Beginning. Chapter 14 of E&B is 7000 words and coming along nicely, so you get this chapter. Chapter 2 of LC completed 4/2/11.

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3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

“Goddamit all to Hell!” James raged in the master suite. Remus and Sirius had immediately used the Floo to travel to Hogwarts. James and Lily didn't trust themselves to confront Dumbledore given their mood.

“Once again, Albus Bloody Dumbledore allows our son to stand into harm's way.”

It was nearly midnight. Harry and Hermione had retired hours before, but Lily wasn't sure how much sleep either teen would get this night. Right now, she didn't care if they shared a bed to get through the night.

James was oscillating between fear and rage for his son. Reflecting on his protectiveness for his son, Lily was surprised he hadn't jumped in the Floo to tear into Albus Dumbledore himself.

Finally calming, James sat next to her on the bed. Giving voice to her thoughts, Lily asked, “Why didn't you go with Sirius and Remus? It might have made you feel better?”

His head in his hands, James muttered, “Because I promised Harry.”

“Huh?”

Looking at his wife, he explained, “I told Harry that I'd always be here for him. I have a sneaking suspicion that our son is going to suffer a nightmare tonight and I wanted to be here for him.” Looking at the floor, he muttered, “I haven't been here when he needed me so far…”

“Come here,” Lily softly cajoled. Holding her arms wide, she scooted back on the bed. Soon they were cuddled close. No matter the situation, no matter how mad she was at him or him at her, if they started to cuddle they would eventually relax. Most of the time, they ended up making love, but neither Potter wanted that this night. She needed his strength while he needed the comfort of her presence.

A loud rat-a-tat-tat knocking on the door announced the return of Sirius and Remus.

James bounded off the bed, calling, “Come in!”

A drawn Remus Lupin led a visibly angry Sirius Black into the room.

“This doesn't look good,” Lily commented.

Sirius started with a rush of words, “You know how Dumbledore gets all supercilious and condescending some times?”

“Yeah, it makes you want to rip his spleen out,” James replied.

“Well, he was in fine form tonight. Endlessly explaining to the ignorant, unwashed masses among us why they couldn't do anything about the cup-thingy.” Turning to Lily, he held his arms out wide, “Didn't Remus and I take Arithmancy with you? Didn't we both score O's on both our OWLs and NEWTs?”

Lily rolled her eyes as she nodded, “Yes Sirius. You're very smart. Get to the point.”

Flipping her a blasé bird, Sirius cut to the chase, “Remus and I looked over the calculations made independently by Flitwick, Vector, Dumbledore and even old Snivelly. All are within a point or two of each other. We're humped, Prongs.”

“Fuck,” James muttered.

“And the other champions are all tied up in the whammy that whoever put on the cup. As far as we could tell, it was a combination of a whacko rune set on top of multiple spells with something else layered in between that none of us could decipher. It was some serious shit. The cursebreakers from Gringotts were shaking their heads at it. The one old guy said he'd seen something like this in South America, but never in Britain.”

“What happened in South America?” Lily asked.

“He was the only one to survive from a fifty person team.”

“Voldemort or his agent,” Lily stated in summation. Only the wizard born Tom Riddle had the knowledge and malice to design and implement such a trap.

“Yeah.”

“And we not only risk Harry losing his magic - which would leave him helpless in the face of Voldemort's wrath - but would also strip the other three champions of their magic,” Remus observed soberly.

“He has to compete,” Lily whispered. The sensible part of her mind agreed that to endanger the others would be irresponsible to the point of criminal, but her heart screamed, “SO WHAT?” It was Harry they were talking about and his life. Fuck the others. Remus had a valid point, though. If Harry was a squib, he'd be defenceless in the face of a determined magical onslaught by Voldemort.

In a low, dangerous tone, James asked, “And did no one notice this extensive modification and spellcasting that was done to the Goblet? Bloody buggering shite! Did he have no monitoring charms on the Goblet? What about all his precious portraits?”

“You should have seen old Flitwick,” Sirius drawled. “He was incensed nearly to the point of violence.”

“I've never seen Filius so upset,” Remus observed as Sirius flopped into a chair. “He was pacing and ranting about unfairness, Dark Arts and old fools who are convinced of their own cleverness. He was pointedly looking at Albus when elucidating about pride being the downfall of the great men of society.” With a faint grin, Moony remembered, “One time he stopped his ranting and pacing while he got this far away look. He snapped his fingers and then announced `Fiendfyre!'. I thought Albus was going to have a heart attack.”

“Filius,” Lily wondered.

“Yeah, he's short. What about him?” Sirius snarked. He immediately yelped at Lily's Pinching hex that caught him on the inside of his arm. “Dammit, that hurt!”

“Shut up, Padfoot,” James absently ordered. His eyes on his wife, he asked, “What?”

“Filius can help Harry.”

Her declaration silenced the men while they thought about her idea.

“What about the rule that Albus was going on about tonight, how the staff can't help the champions?”

“Screw the tournament! Harry needs this to survive Voldemort. The tournament be damned, I want him to live long enough so that he can matriculate from school and marry that witch who's down in the Blue Room.”

Breathing heavily in her fear, Lily accepted the comforting embrace of her husband.

Nodding, Remus agreed, “Between Filius and the rest of us, we can accelerate Harry's education significantly, true. But what about the tournament?”

His eyes narrowing, James announced, “The Headmaster of Hogwarts is about to make some concessions to the Earl of Richmond who also happens to be the heir of Godric Gryffindor.”

A pop announced the arrival of Rauri. Bowing low to Lily, he asked, “My Lady, Miss Granger requests a sleeping potion for Lord Harry's use this night. Is that acceptable to her Ladyship?”

Frowning, Lily stood before heading out of the door. “Fetch a potion and meet me in Lord Harry's room, Rauri.”

.oOo.

Hermione stood in the doorway of her boyfriend's bedroom watching him. Harry stood on the balcony off his room, oblivious to her presence. The light of the waxing moon shone down on him, making his hair glow with a silver light.

Her heart ached. It was happening again. First year it had been the stone. In their youth and naiveté, they'd actually been excited about the `adventure' of it all. Excited until the end, that was. Hermione had been terrified when forced to part from him at the logic puzzle. She'd almost sprinted past the prone form of Ron Weasley, but had instead paused to Levitate the gormless idiot to the escape hatch. Her relief in finding the Headmaster had been complete. Someone of capable authority was rushing to help Harry, so she didn't have to worry any longer. Stopping in the hallway, she'd sunk to the flagstones, weeping and bawling in relief.

Second year, his persecution as the suspected Heir of Slytherin had infuriated her to no end. She was eternally thankful that she'd been unaware of her surroundings while petrified for she was firmly convinced she'd have gone mad otherwise. Many times since her awakening from the accidental petrifaction by the Basilisk, she'd fluctuated from anger at not being able to help him to fear for what could very well have happened to him down in the Chamber.

Although it all turned out in the end, the previous year had been the worst of all. The separation they'd experienced over the gifted broom had been the most painful time in her life. Her overloaded coursework, trying to help Hagrid with Buckbeak's defence and worry about Harry regarding the `dangerous Sirius Black' had nearly given her a breakdown. Although that ride upon the hippogriff's back had sparked some feelings that she was now very grateful to have.

Now she had him. He was hers as she was his. The world was in its proper orbit; the stars were finally aligned. Yet, some fool had entered him into this ridiculous tournament. Many of the TriWizard champions of old had perished. He could very well die in the tasks to come. Overlaid across the danger of the tournament was the threat of Lord Voldemort. Her understanding of the Prophecy coloured her perception of reality. Wherever she looked, Hermione saw the lurking dangerous visage of the Dark Lord.

Sliding up to him, she wrapped her arms about him from behind. His tense back and shoulders sagged a bit into her embrace. “I love you, Harry. We'll do this.” His stress bled out of him in a noticeable rush.

He sighed. She couldn't tell if it was relief or resignation, but either way, he turned in her arms. Wrapping his own arms about her shoulders, he leaned back on the rail of the balcony pulling her flush to him. “Yes, we will won't we? We always do in the end, don't we?”

Standing there, she was filled with dread. Stifling her fear of losing him, she pulled him close. After a long moment, she stood on her toes to give him a soft kiss, “I better head back to my room. Do you think you'll sleep?”

“I'll be fine,” he replied with the hint of a smile.

Glaring at him, she poked him in chest with her forefinger, the threat clear.

“Fine. I'll try to sleep.”

Annoyed at his stubbornness, she was caught in a quandary. She couldn't very well make him sleep, yet that's what he needed most. In a flash of inspiration, she called, “Rauri?”

The elegant elf appeared at her side, “You called, Miss?”

“Thank you for coming Rauri. Are there any sleeping potions in the house potion cabinet?”

In his low tone, he replied, “There is an assortment of mild Sleeping potions.”

“Would you please fetch one for us please? Lord Harry requires a potion this evening.”

With a worried glance at Harry, Rauri bowed, “I shall verify with my Lady that it is acceptable before I return.” A soft pop confirmed his departure.

“Great. Now my Mum is going to know I'm a freak,” Harry grumped as he slumped on the rail of the balcony.

In a cold fury, Hermione upbraided him. “Don't You Ever Say That Again. Do you hear me?” He flinched before he nodded. “I know those…those animals that were supposed to be your guardians were…pigs,” she spat. “But your parents love you Harry. Your Mum wants to know if you're having a hard time. She wants to help you.” A soft hug preceded, “Just like I want to help you.'

Knock knock.

“Harry?” Hermione heard Lily call out. “Rauri says you need a potion. Are you alright?”

“Mum, if I was alright, would I need the potion?”

Small laughter from the two witches followed Lily into the room where Harry and Hermione were moving toward the bed. When Harry settled on the large bed, Hermione perched on the large wingback chair next to the fire.

When Lily sat next to her son, Hermione got a chance to compare the mother and child. Everyone always remarked how much Harry and James looked alike. Sitting as they were, Hermione saw quite a bit of Lily in her son. He had James' hair colour and general facial structure, but he had Lily's nose. His lips were thin like his mother's but he had a strong jaw like his father.

Of course, he had his mother's eyes.

For a short moment, Hermione wondered what a child of hers and Harry's would look like. Would they have a black haired boy with brown eyes? A brown haired girl with green eyes? Either way, the poor thing's hair was destined to be a mess.

She watched Lily trail her hand through her son's fringe, a soft worried expression on her young face. Harry closed his eyes, obviously savouring the moment.

“The tournament?” Lily asked.

Shrugging, Harry looked away. Hermione took that as her cue. Standing, she made her way to her boyfriend's side. Wrapping an arm about his shoulder, she told his mother, “It's really just everything. Every year, it's something.”

“I just want to be a normal guy. Snog my girlfriend, roll my eyes at my parents and just live.” Narrowing his eyes, he snarked, “At least now I know why I can't have that.”

Recognizing his reference to the Prophecy, Hermione poked him in the side. Nodding his head, he mock grovelled, “I know, no whinging. Don't use the chains this time.”

Lily smiled at the easy give and take between the teens. Sighing in contentment, she took her son's hand in her own, focusing his attention on her. Hermione watched him calm while his redheaded mother began to explain what was Really Important.

“My son,” he beamed as she began, “Do you know what matters most?” She paused, waiting for a reply. When Harry shrugged, Lily softly told him, “Us. Hermione,” she nodded at the now blushing bushy haired witch. “Our family is what's most important in this life. You are so fundamental to my existence I doubt you truly understand. In those last minutes before Voldemort banished us to that nether region, I was terrified for one thing. Not my own life or even your father's. We'd both come to terms with the fact that we could very well die in opposition to that monster.

“I was terrified for you.”

Hermione sniffled in emotion. Harry was speechless, his eyes bright. Lily softly stroked Harry's scarred hands, the result of too much manual labour with too little medicine while in Surrey. Without raising her face, Lily told her son, “When your father and I woke last night in the burnt out hulk of the rental cottage, the only thing on both our minds was you. In fact, I think the first coherent word out of your father's mouth was `Harry'.

“Right now, he, Remus and Sirius are putting their devious minds to work to build a plan that will not only allow you to survive this bloody tournament, but also send that psychotic bastard to hell where he belongs.”

The fierceness in the Lady Richmond's voice took Hermione back a pace. “We are family and I will do anything to protect that which is mine and make no mistake, my son, you are mine.”

For the first time in his life, Harry Potter initiated an embrace with another person. Hermione watched with streaming eyes as Harry cried in his mother's arms. All the years of the Dursleys rejection and torment, their abuse, starvation and emotional torture of him; all of it burst forth from him in a torrent. Lily could only hold on for the ride.

Tentatively, Hermione approached the embracing twosome. She caught Lily's gaze with a questioning expression. When Harry's mum gave her a short nod and smile, Hermione tenderly wrapped her arms about Harry from behind, lending her love, caring and affection to the embrace.

Without words, The Smartest Witch of the Age knew it was the most important moment of her beau's young life. He was home with his family at last.

.oOo.

Breakfast the next morning was oddly domestic. James was an eggs, bacon and toast kind of man, while Lily munched on a bowl of Cheerios. Harry smiled when Sirius stumbled in the room to spoon up a large bowl of porridge. The former Prisoner of Azkaban's hair stood up on the right side as he sported creases on his face from his sheets.

“Mmmm, porridge,” James teased his best friend. Harry snickered when Sirius sighed in delight as he spooned a heap of peaches into the gooey mess.

With a cheery tone, Sirius told his friend, “Just because you're irregular due to a lack of fibre doesn't mean you should be rude, Prongsie.”

When James snorted in derision, Harry laughed aloud. Hermione came in just as Sirius stood. Harry smiled widely at his girlfriend's confused expression as the dishevelled Padfoot stood forth to elucidate the ignorant about the benefits of porridge.

Halfway through the lecture, after Sirius had explained the beneficial uses of porridge as an all-purpose adhesive, an excellent source of dietary fibre and just generally `yummy', Hermione couldn't stand it any longer, “Sirius! Stop this nonsense.”

The Marauders looked at they teenaged witch with mouths agape for a full ten seconds before Prongs and Moony roared with laughter. Padfoot pointed at Lily accusingly, “You told her to do that!”

The older witch was laughing so hard, tears were running down her face. Unable to reply, she shook her head.

Annoyed, Hermione planted her fists on her hips. Since Sirius was the only person capable of coherent speech who was also in the know, she demanded, “Explain!”

Curious, Harry leaned in to hear the explanation. Sirius sat heavily on his chair. All the wind was out of his sails, he'd lost the moral high ground regarding that wonderful breakfast cereal commonly called porridge. “I was in the great hall giving the same speech during sixth year and around the same spot, Dorcas Meadows said the exact same thing, but she called me `Black'.” In a nasally midland Scots accent, Sirius mimicked, “Black, Stop this nonsense!” With a sigh, he admitted, “She was smoking hot, too.”

Hermione blushed while Harry looked at his godfather with an odd expression.

Realizing what he'd said, Sirius backtracked, “No, no, no, I'm not saying you're hot, Hermione. Dorcas was hot. Smoking hot. A perfect rack with hips from here to there…”

“Sirius, stop,” Lily choked through her laughter.

A thoroughly embarrassed Hermione decided that the best course of action was to deny that Sirius existed in any way, shape or form. Spooning up her breakfast from the sideboard, she sidled up to Harry. After a large draught of tea, she asked him, `What's on the agenda today?”

Nodding to his father, Harry replied, “Dad wants to do that interview today, so we'll be heading to the Daily Prophet after lunch. Mum wants to have a big chat this morning.”

Harry recognized the knowing look on Hermione's face so he just cut to the chase, “What do you know?”

“A little bit of this and that,” she coyly replied.

Feeling a little bold, he checked left and right to see if any of the so called Adults were paying attention to the teens. Seeing that they were unobserved, Harry turned back to his girlfriend, “Do I have to snog it out of you?”

His teasing tone re-ignited the blush in his girlfriend's face. She proved her membership in the house of Lions when she teased right back, “Maybe you do.”

With affected triumph, he looked to the ceiling, “Yes!”

They both laughed before digging into their breakfast. After she swallowed, Hermione mused, “We are so behind in our schoolwork.”

Simultaneous groans from Harry, Sirius, James and even Remus caused Hermione to protest, “What? We are behind now.”

Harry met his father's gaze, “I'm used to it by now,” he explained to his Dad.

“Hermione,” the oldest Potter explained slowly, “You must learn to savour life. Life is like a fine wine that must be experienced, relished and enjoyed with all your senses. You can't study wine.”

With a sardonic eyebrow cocked, Lily countered, “Which is why you graduated ranked second in our class at school.”

Stunned, Harry turned to his Dad, “You really were the number two?”

Embarrassed, James muttered before pointing at his wife, “It's her fault. She was number one.”

Harry sat back as the discussion around him grew animated. Long he'd been aware that the Marauders were pranksters extraordinaire, but he'd never known that his father, Sirius and Remus had finished school ranked second, fourth and third respectively. Pettigrew had been the anchor man for the entire class.

When his father began to tease Sirius about the Exceeds Padfoot had scored on his Ancient Runes NEWT because of a hangover combined with a wild night with the Doublemint Twins, Harry's stomach had begun to wobble. None of the wizards in the room were geniuses, that privilege fell to the witches they sat alongside. It was evident, though, that the other three had excelled in school. His decision to take Divination as an easy O caused a burst of shame to burn in his belly.

With a plastered smile on his face, Harry silently followed the conversation. When Sirius and James were arguing over who had the most consecutive Outstandings on Charms test, Lily had calmly settled the debate: “I did. Forty two from First year through Seventh.”

Harry had laughed with the rest before excusing himself on the pretence of needing the toilet.

He'd seen Hermione's entranced expression. Despite the wizard's attitude, she felt at home amongst those who valued education.

Heading to the veranda, he leaned on the stone rail, all the while trying to hide from his less than stellar academic performance.

The scritch of a footstep on the stone path caused him to turn. Finding Moony meandering to the steps allowed Harry to let the breath out of him while he holstered his wand.

“You alright?” Remus asked. Unusually for him, he was direct and to the point.

Shrugging, Harry replied, “Sure.”

They were both silent as they stared out to sea. There was an early morning marine layer that obscured their view of the ocean, but the pounding surf filled in the blank spots their imagination missed.

“I was always jealous of James,” Remus admitted.

Surprised, Harry turned to the Quiet Marauder. He'd always pictured the four boys in perfect harmony, for in their schooldays, Pettigrew had been faithful.

Nodding as he continued to stare out to sea, “My life was very difficult. My parents had been killed in the attack, which infected me. I felt unworthy of affection, caring, even social niceties I felt were unnecessary for me. I didn't really date at all in school. A few friends who were girls agreed to accompany me to various dances and balls that were held. I believe they accompanied me more out of general affection and pity than any romantic interests.

“James, though, had it all. His parents fawned over him. He was wealthy, intelligent, good looking and eventually got the girl of his dreams. He had everything I had wanted for so very long. You know what turned it around for me?” Remus asked with deliberate slowness.

Shaking his head, Harry mutely answered.

“You.”

Thoroughly confused, Harry exclaimed, “Huh?”

Chuckling, Remus laid his hand on Harry's shoulder. “When you were born, I saw that you filled a hole in James' life. I never knew that he'd been…broken in that way. He needed you, just as I then saw that he'd needed Lily and the Marauders. I was part of the Solution for James and that realization humbled me.”

Remus was quiet for a minute, Harry could tell he was collecting his thoughts and working up the nerve to admit, “We're all of us broken. In this life, we strive to heal and become whole. One thing that Dumbledore is always on about is the power of love and I do believe that he's on to something there. Love heals us of our brokenness, it makes us complete.

“I realized that I had no need to be jealous of James for the advantages that came with his birth, because they broke him in a certain way. I needed to focus on helping those about me in the best way I knew how and in turn find healing for my own brokenness.”

Winding his arm across Harry's pliant shoulders, Moony told Harry, “Little One, you must heal. Find that which makes you whole. I believe that there's a big part of that here,” he gestured to the house, indicating the residents therein. When Harry nodded agreement, Remus added, “But that's not enough. It usually isn't. Find what makes you burn.” With a wry smile, he teased, “And I'm not talking about Hermione's womanly attributes.”

Blushing, Harry poked his Uncle Moony in the ribs, “Moony!”

Chuckling again, Remus refocused, “Find what you need Harry.” A cocked eyebrow showed the depth of the werewolf's insight, “Academic success may be a path for you, but then again it may not. It may only be a part of your path. Quidditch, law enforcement, professional philanthropy, there are many avenues open to you. Your world is restarting, take advantage of it.” Remus then did something that no man had ever done in Harry's recollection: he leaned forward, placing a tender kiss on Harry's brow.

Without comment, he turned to walk back to the house. Harry watched him with a contemplative expression, touched that the reserved man had opened himself so much.

.oOo.

The discussion with his family had been informative, infuriating and fun.

Sirius had watched his godson throughout the entire discussion. Beginning to pick up the visual cues as tor Harry's mental state, Sirius would scowl whenever Harry's face would abruptly become blank. When James had explained about the Richmond title and Harry's own peerage as Baron Potter, Harry's face had become an immobile mask.

Having grown up in a home where his opinions were contrary to his parents, Sirius recognized Harry's method to hide strong feelings. He himself, had used a similar façade to stifle his feelings and contradictory opinions until they couldn't be held back.

Sirius watched Hermione cautiously entwine her fingers with Harry's. She gave him a soft smile, which he returned. That seemed to break him of his funk. It was a throwaway comment by James that brought Harry out of his seat.

“…and Cousin over there, he was just a pogue…”

“Cousin?” Harry interrupted his father with more than a little harshness in his tone. “Who's your cousin?”

Sirius pursed his lips in consternation. It didn't take Cassandra Trelawney to See that this discussion wasn't going to end well.

“I am,” Padfoot replied.

Slowly, Harry's face, now an immobile mask, turned to Sirius. “You're my Dad's cousin, which makes us - what - second cousins?”

“Yeah.”

Reiterating himself, Harry stared at his now clenching hands. “So you're my relative by blood.”

It was meant to be a question, but really, Harry wasn't questioning. What exactly The Boy-Who-Lived was asking, Sirius had no idea. Nonetheless, Padfoot didn't like the simmering tone of his godson.

Cutting to the chase, Sirius asked, “What are you on about, kiddo?”

“I'm on about the Dursleys!” Standing from the settee as if he were shot from a cannon, Harry glared at his godfather, “I could have been - should have been - with you instead of them! Not only because you're my Godfather, but because you're my real family!”

Understanding flooded Sirius alongside the ever present shame. When he'd heard that Harry'd spent his formative years in a cupboard, Sirius had spent the rest of the night beating himself up something fierce.

It was his responsibility to take care of Harry in case something happened to James and Lily. The `something' had happened, but Sirius hadn't taken care of his godson. He'd failed. Not only was he the boy's godfather and all the attendant duties therein, but he was also blood. He'd failed his blood kin. Failed them all.

Failed.

Staring at his shoes, Sirius whispered, “I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry.”

The room was silent. Barely hearing the breathing of the others, Sirius was consumed with guilt and remorse. Shame blanketed him so that there was no sunlight, no warmth. Just like Azkaban, the world was a void and he was lost in it.

The hand on his shoulder was a surprise, causing him to jump. He looked up into the shining eyes of his godson. Sirius jumped a bit, Harry was inches away.

“Do you want me to hate you?” Harry asked.

“No,” Sirius hoarsely replied, the jerky shaking of his head causing the long black locks to fall into his eyes.

“I can if it would make you feel better, though I'd rather not.”

Understanding the point, Sirius looked away as he nodded. Trying to change the topic, he asked, “Did Prongs tell you to say that?”

“No. But I can tell that you hate yourself for what happened back then. I was telling Hermione the other night that I was really glad you'll have a second chance with them,” he nodded toward his parents. “Maybe now, you can forgive yourself for Peter's sin.”

As was his usual wont, Sirius acted on his impulse. Springing forward, he engulfed his godson in a hug. He didn't realize that he was sobbing. Shortly, he felt James and Lily embrace them, followed by Remus and Hermione.

Eventually, they broke their group hug to move back to their seats. As Sirius wiped his face, he asked Harry, “When did you get so smart?”

Harry jabbed his thumb toward his girlfriend, “Can't be her best friend for four years and not get a bit smarter.”

Everyone laughed as the tension passed. They were closer; that which hadn't killed them had made them stronger.

The family was beginning to heal.

.oOo.

“Hello Rita.”

Remus sat on a couch with Hermione off to the side of `the main event' as Sirius had called it. Occupying two sofas where James, Lily, Harry and Sirius.

When Stephen Maturin had told James via letter that the Prophet wanted Rita Skeeter to interview them, Remus had winced while Padfoot had cheered. Before Remus could caution the Potters, Sirius had exclaimed, “We'll drive her in the dirt, Prongs!”

After Remus, Hermione and Lily had finished rolling their eyes; Lily had turned to Remus expectantly. “She's a vicious reporter who redefines `rumour monger'. You'll need to be very careful if she interviews you,” the werewolf explained.

James had turned to Sirius with a questioning expression, “Look, she's mean, but dumb as dirt. Remember that Skeeter girl a few years behind us in Slytherin?”

With a look of concentration, James answered, “Sort of. Nasty sort of empty headed girl who struggled to pull an A on anything?”

“That's her. We just need to make her say what we want, not what she wants.”

Remus nodded, Sirius had a point. Over the next forty-five minutes or so, they developed their plan to “Conquer the Wench!” Sirius had announced.

He'd watched Hermione as she followed the conversation avidly. Smiling, Remus saw her get lost a few times in the discussion, but then jump right back on track contributing good points on occasion. Hermione was a linear thinker who could skip from line to line with an amazing rapidity and continuity. James, however, could hold three different conversations at the same time and not lose track. Sirius had been able to do that, well, do it before Azkaban, that is to say.

Harry was quiet, but followed the conversation fairly well. At the end, when James had turned to him and asked if Harry understood his role, The Boy-Who-Lived had nodded without hesitation.

James was last to step out of the fireplace in the visitor's lounge of the Prophet. Dressed impeccably, he strode to the waiting reporter with a wide smile and his hand outstretched. Lily was right behind him in a stunning dress that showed her to be a woman of wealth and beauty.

Sirius was wearing plain black robes emblazoned with the oversized coat of arms of the Black Family on his breast. Harry was wearing plain robes of the deepest blue, a pale red dragon on his left breast. Lily had insisted on the ensemble as the traditional robes of the Baron Potter. Rauri had whipped up the set in a flat minute.

Hermione and Remus moved to the side of the room, out of the firing line. She was wearing robes of a modest sky blue while Remus wore plain robes of dark green. It was obvious to the reporter and accompanying photographer that the party was together, but Remus and Hermione were off limits.

“My Lord, how wonderful,” Rita simpered. Turning to the smiling Lily, Rita continued her ingratiation, “My Lady.” With Sirius she tried a different tack, “Oh, my Lord,” she exclaimed to Sirius. Moving to his side, she exclaimed, “You're far more handsome in person!”

Remus smiled while Hermione grimaced. “Yuck,” she muttered.

Sirius flashed a megawatt smile worthy of Gilderoy Lockhart, “Why Rita, I'm flattered. Next to you, I am but a shadow. You, my dear, are a vision of loveliness.”

“Yuck,” Hermione muttered again.

“Oh, my Lord,” she simpered. Her eyes zeroed in on Harry as her prey for the interview. “And Lord Harry, how wonderful to finally meet you,” the crocodilian smile and bright eyes gave her away. Not that any of the family needed the warning. “Come, let's get comfortable. Tea?”

When all had refused the tea, they settled. James and Sirius on a sofa, while Lily and Harry on the other. Harry was seated intentionally between his parents. They all hoped Skeeter would take the cue that Harry was not to be mined for information.

Turning to her left, she asked, “My Lord,” to James, “Will you please explain to our readers how you and your wife survived the famous Halloween attack of '81?”

When the acid green quill began to scribble before James spoke, Lily cleared her throat. “Rita,” she interjected with a noticeable lack of friendliness, “Your quill appears to be malfunctioning. I think you'd best attend it before we begin.” The glare by the petite redheaded witch was not missed by the interviewer.

“Oh dear,” Rita fussed as he ransacked through her bag hunting for another quill. Remus stood to walk over to the reporter who was feigning a lack of other writing implements.

“Allow me,” Remus intoned gallantly.

“Oh. Thank you,” Rita replied with a lack of cheeriness.

Once Rita was squared away and slightly scowling, James happily explained the occurrences of the Voldemort attack. He couldn't help himself as he gave in to the dramatics of the situation. His voice rose and fell. He waved his hands. When describing Voldemort's monologue before he banished the Potters, James strode about the room, booming out the lines of all the participants.

Remus sat back in his chair, smiling softly. He knew that he'd missed James and to a lesser extent, Lily. Until this moment, he'd no idea how deeply their apparent loss had affected him. He had to smile when Harry sniggered at his Dad's antics.

With a mock imperiousness, James asked his son, “Do you find this amusing, my Lord?”

The broad smile on Harry's face wasn't feigned, “No, my Lord. Not in the least.”

Taking advantage of the lull in the `exciting' recounting of the Voldemort encounter, Rita turned to Harry, asking, “Yes, Harry, do you recall anything from that night? It was your big night after all.”

Remus winced at the woman's crassness. Didn't the Prophet have anyone better available?

Apparently, Lily concurred. With a frown, she rebuked the reporter, “It would be good if you addressed our son as `My Lord', Rita.”

“Ah, my Lady, a thousand apologies. But do you, a muggleborn witch, hold to the old titles?”

James answered with a hint of sternness, “Our family is heir to a lineage as old as magic in Britain. A Potter fought with Arthur. A Potter apprenticed with Merlin. A Potter was the primary financier of Hogwarts. We are, all of us, proud of our family and our heritage.” He'd learned the art of redirection at his mother's knee. She'd been the eldest Daughter of The Black and wife of The Potter for many years.

Now that he'd successfully recaptured the reporter's attention, James asked, “Would you like me to finish telling you about the happenings of that horrible night?”

Rita could only answer, “Yes,” so she did.

James quickly wrapped up the description before adding, “Of course, when we awoke in the current year, we were made aware of the travesty of justice that has been perpetrated on Lord Blackmoor. Yesterday morning, both Lady Richmond and I testified under Veritaserum in front of the Minister, the Chief Warlock along with the Head of MLE and the Head Auror. All were convinced of Lord Blackmoor's innocence.”

Turning to Sirius, Rita's wicked smile was returned, “And your opinion of the Ministry's actions, my Lord?”

“I'm sorry, Rita, I can't comment on anything that might interfere with any future litigation.”

Completely understanding him, Rita replied, “May I interview you when things become more…clear?”

“Of course,” he replied soothingly.

They'd used up about half of the thirty minutes allotted for the interview, so the family hunkered down into receive mode.

“Are you satisfied with the care and attention that Lord Harry has received in your absence?” Rita asked.

Internally, Remus winced. At his side, he heard Hermione's quick intake of breath as both recognized Rita's unerring shot into a very sensitive matter for all present. His gaze passed over the placid expressions of Padfoot and Prongs to rest on the tight face of Harry. Lily merely shifted in her seat before replying, “Our son is healthy and happy. We shall, of course, resume responsibility for his upbringing.”

“Didn't your sister have custody for him, my Lady?”

“Yes, she did,” Lily replied succinctly.

Undaunted at the lack of cooperation, Rita pressed on, as she smelled a story, “What was your sister's reaction to your reappearance? I'm sure she was elated to see you and Lord Richmond again?”

Lily' polite smile was all the reply she could muster before answering, “With everything that's been happening, we've not been able to catch up with my sister. It is next on our list of things to accomplish.”

The shark like smile on Rita's face was less than welcome. Remus had a strong desire to quickly Stun the woman and Memory Charm her before forcing James to request a different interviewer.

Turning to James, Rita asked about his intentions regarding the Potter seat in the Wizengamot. “Of course I shall take up my post. As my father and his father stood for what is right, so too shall I.”

Remus noticed Harry watching his father with unabashed admiration. Sometimes James was the quintessential Gryffindor.

With deliberate slowness, Rita turned to Harry, evaluating him for a long moment before asking, “And you Lord Potter. What are your feelings regarding your parents' return from the Great Beyond?”

Remus narrowed his eyes; this was a soft toss question that Harry couldn't answer wrongly. When Harry finished explaining how happy he'd been and so on, the real question came.

“What was your parents' reaction to your conniving your acceptance into the TriWizard tournament?”

Remus tensed and Hermione growled while Harry paled in anger. Lily very calmly laid her hand on Harry's before turning on Rita, “Our son has testified that he did not enter the tournament by any means, fair or foul. He has been forcibly entered and our solicitor is coordinating our on-going attempts to extricate him from this unwanted situation. That is all we have to say about the TriWizard, Rita. Next question.”

“Did he testify under a truth serum, my Lady?” Rita pressed.

“Next question, Rita or the previous one is your last,” James countered.

She narrowed her eyes for a moment before scanning a parchment with a series of pre-planned questions. “Ah, yes,” she muttered before turning to face Hermione.

“Miss Granger, It's commonly understood at Hogwarts that you've used a love potion to snare Lord Harry for his wealth, station and notoriety. Do you have any comment?”

Quick as a snake, four things happened. First, Remus grabbed Hermione's arm to keep her silent. At the same time Harry bounded off the couch with an inarticulate cry of protest. Last of all, Lily and James stood. As Sirius calmed Harry, James quietly left the room.

“That's enough of that!” Lily spat. “You'll leave her be!” Turning away from the startled reporter, Lily walked over to Remus and Hermione.

Lily caught Hermione's gaze. Remus could see reassurance in the redheaded witch's expression. None present believed any of the tripe spewed by the rumour monger and Lily wanted to reassure the teenage witch that she was not doubted in any way.

Strangely, Rita stood in the middle of the room being completely ignored by all. Presently, James returned with Barnabas Cuffe in tow. The sweating, paunchy and balding editor of the Prophet didn't appear very pleased.

“Come, we're leaving,” James announced.

“But my Lord,” Rita protested.

Ignoring the woman, James shepherded a still fuming Harry and Hermione to the fireplace. When they disappeared in the green flames, James ushered Lily into the fire. When she was gone, James turned back to face their crass interviewer. Remus winced when he saw James' expression.

“Ms Skeeter,” he spat. “You have officially killed the goose that lays the golden eggs. You shall never have access to me or mine ever again. Not my son, my wife or myself.” Turning to the editor, he glared, “Barnabas, you shall never have an on the record comment from Richmond.” Turning to the fireplace, James muttered, “Oh yes.” Turning back to the editor, James scowled, “Expect your stock to plummet tomorrow as I power sell half of my shares in Daily Prophet Publishing Incorporated. I believe I'll sell at one tenth its current value.” The follow up threat was plain. James still would hold over ten percent of the corporation even after selling off another ten percent at a drastic loss causing the stock price to plummet.

Cuffe really paled now. Remus was no business expert, but even he knew that by James' undercutting their stock like this, the Publishers were sure to have Cuffe's neck. Probably Rita's too.

“Goodbye. It wasn't a pleasure doing business with you.” Remus was last to leave, so he saw Cuffe flop down on the sofa, holding his head in his hands. Rita, however, was eyeing the fireplace with a contemplative expression. Never a good thing for that woman.

.oOo.

“That didn't go as planned,” Sirius grouched. Hermione could only sigh in exasperation. She'd been so caught up in making the plan to `Conquer the Wench' that she'd forgotten a rule of life: When you wrestle with pigs, expect to get muddy. She didn't voice her revelation that apparently not all the Marauder's plans were successful.

As Lily flopped onto a settee, Remus commented, “I think that in the short term, it will be alright.”

Pulling the sliver combs from her hair, Lily countered, “But in the long run, we've just made an enemy of a very malicious reporter.” Sighing, she told everyone, “I'm sorry I lost my temper.”

James bowed his head, “Me too.”

“Mum, Dad?” Harry asked to get their attention. When both were focused on him, he smiled widely, “That was bloody awesome.”

James smiled broadly, matching his son's expression while Lily muttered, “Language, Harry,” but it was half-hearted. She swore worse than anyone else did in the house.

Hermione grinned at her boyfriend. She knew he was happy because of the paucity of anyone standing up for him in a tenuous situation. When he caught her eye, his questioning expression could only mean one thing.

Shrugging, she replied, “I'm fine.” She'd known that if she and Harry ever became involved that there would be incredible amounts of muck in the press about her. Love potions were actually much milder than she'd expected.

“Hermione,” James began, “I hope you know that none of us believe any of that…”

“I know. I expected this kind of thing and worse. It's not an issue.” Looking into her lap, she grumped, “Not that I like it, but it's not unexpected.”

In a low tone, Lily told her, “You know that your blood status will be brought into play very soon.” The knowing expression on Harry's mum's face told Hermione that she was speaking from experience.

“When James and I were engaged, it was as if the world exploded. You would've thought I was Mata Hari and Tokyo Rose put together to poison the future of Britain.” The humour didn't distract from Lily's message: It Was Bad.

Nodding, Hermione acknowledged the friendly warning. Again, she knew that things like this would happen should she and Harry become serious about one another. Catching his eye, she couldn't' help reflect that she was very serious about her young man. Looking to her hands as they rested in her lap, she tried to ruminate about the whole issue, but was in too much turmoil to centre herself.

When she felt the cushion next to her sink, she expected to see Harry. Turning to her right, she was surprised to see Sirius sitting next to her. The Clown Prince of the House of Black had a very serious expression on his face.

“Hermione, I owe you my life. I want to do something, but you'll need to talk to your parents first.”

Confused, she was also touched by his sincerity. “What's that?”

“I'd like to formally place you under the protection of House Blackmoor.”

Hermione was a very smart young woman who was well read in a variety of subjects, but the nuances of pureblood politics were a void to her. With a hint of her usual rabid curiosity, she asked, “What does that mean and why should my parents become involved?”

A bit uncomfortable, Sirius replied, “For all intents and purposes, it would make you my daughter. It's a carryover from the middle ages where noblemen would adopt vassals into their family. Legally, you'd be a pureblood with all the rights and privileges that entails. Also, you'd be a pseudo daughter of the Earl of Blackmoor, the Lady Hermione.”

Stunned, Hermione just stared at Sirius. “You'd have the option of becoming Hermione Granger-Black or just Black. On the other hand, if you'd prefer to ignore that aspect, you could remain Hermione Granger. Whatever you'd prefer.”

“But my parents?”

Shaking his head, Sirius held out his hands, “I would exercise none of the authority over you that you and your parents didn't want. We could use it as a legal manoeuvre, ignoring all the familial aspects or you could move in with me, calling me `father'.” Shaking his head at the idea of anyone calling him father, Sirius finished, “Or something in between. It's up to you.”

“But why?”

It was Lily who answered, “Hermione, that bit of unpleasantness with Rita Skeeter was nothing compared to what's coming. Muggleborns are disadvantaged in every possible way in magical Britain, and it's all legislated. Purebloods have preference in hiring; muggleborns are denied much legal recourse that is considered standard in the mundane world.” With a meaningful look, Lily hinted, “There's no such thing as a sexual harassment suit filed by a muggleborn.”

“What?” Hermione weakly asked. Her world was crumbling. She'd always wanted to believe that the pureblood dogma was a social issue; that she'd be able to advance in her chosen profession based on merit alone. She should have known better. It was the golden rule all over again: Those with the gold, make the rules.

Sirius' comforting arm around her shoulders brought her back to reality. “I'm sorry to have to break it to you like this. Most British muggleborns leave the UK to head to Canada, Australia or the States.”

“Life is messy,” Hermione thought aloud after a long moment. “Nothing is ever tied up in a neat bow. We gain and we lose. I've gained acceptance into this wonderful and powerful circle of friends - family really- but it's at the cost of staying in a horribly bigoted nation.” Looking about the room with teary eyes, she saw her future.

James, the youthful patriarch regarded her with an open, hopeful expression. She knew that he was fully aware of the central role that she played in his son's life. If Hermione left Britain, she knew Harry would be on the same flight. James didn't know her well enough in her own right - yet - but knew she was important to his family. He'd fight for her now, because she was important to Harry. She knew full well that once he accepted her into his life on her own merits, he'd do anything for her. It's how Harry was, after all.

Lily was regarding her with an understanding expression. Lily Evans had faced the same decision fifteen or so years before. She chose to become the Lady Richmond, sacrificing a career for her love of James. The warm, accepting expression on the petite redhead's face told Hermione that, to Lily, the sacrifice was worth it.

The last face was the most important to her. Harry was resolutely trying to supress his obvious terror at her choice. For choice it was. Hermione knew that if she chose to accept the magical protection of House Black, she was choosing Harry forever.

She smiled. Framing the decision in terms of accepting Harry or leaving him cleared everything up for her. Despite her age, Hermione knew that she could never live without Harry in one way or another. Now that they had started a romantic relationship, she fully expected to become Lady Potter not too long after July thirty first of nineteen ninety seven.

Without looking away from her hesitantly hopeful boyfriend, she told Sirius, “Let me talk to my parents, but I'll need some references. I'd like to read up on it before signing on the dotted line, as they say.”

Harry's relief was palpable. Right now, The Smartest Witch of the Age needed some The Boy-Who-Lived loving, though. Standing, she held out her hand to him. The symbolism in the simple act was profound. Standing, he took her hand as they walked out of the silent room.

As they turned the corner, she heard James ask Lily, “She's going to be our daughter in law, isn't she?”`

Hermione smiled when Lily laughed, “Oh yes. Most definitely.”

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first two chapters. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on FanFiction(dot)net.

2. Recommendation for the chapter is I Need You, by Chem Prof.

3. Yeah, really laying it on thick with the titles, but it ties into Harry's need for an anchor, for family. The overriding attribute of Harry Potter in canon is that he yearns for a family to call his own. I believe it's why he glomps onto the Weasley's so desperately. In this story, the House of Richmond is his family, where he belongs. The easy way to distinguish the lifestyle at Rowan Hill from the rest of his experience is through this verbal indicator every few sentences. I've a feeling, by now you the reader has it firmly imp[anted in your brain that Harry not only is welcome in that family, but belongs in that Home.

4. Why do I insist on giving Harry a Lineage of Greatness in all my stories? Why is he associated with the Round Table or his ancestors always include Gryffindor and Ravenclaw? Because the Harry Potter series is, among other things, a story of good versus evil. Evil is immortal and never perishes. It can only be confined for a time. At the same time, so too is good immortal. By providing Harry with the `lineage', it is a signification that Harry is the Champion of Good, just as Voldemort, the Heir of Slytherin is the Champion of Evil.

5. Think my portrayal of muggleborn bigotry is ludicrous? Ask any African American who lived through the sixties and before in the United States what their rights were. I think you'd find that it's not so ludicrous after all. In fact, it's heartbreakingly comparable.

6. Chapter 3 finished 4/16/2011

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

“Unnghh.”

James smiled. “Mate, you shouldn't have polished off that bottle of brandy last night.”

“Unnghh.”

Remus chuckled as James tipped him a wink. This was an exchange that had taken place countless times in their friendship. “You know, when Lily gets back, she's going to have your hide if you spew on the rug.”

“Unnghh. Fuck you Prongs. Would you please cast that bloody charm? Where's the goddam porridge?”

James took pity on his best friend. A quick draw of his wand, followed by a muttered incantation while rolling his wand in a tight counter clockwise motion saw Sirius straighten up. Still a bit frowzy, despite the effects of the Sobering charm, Sirius muttered, “Thanks. Where's the porridge?”

Sighing, James turned back to his breakfast. “The porridge is right in front of you Padfoot.”

The room was quiet after Sirius' soft, “Oh.”

Two cups of tea and a tall glass of cold coffee later, Sirius was in a much more coherent mood. “Where are Lily and the kids?”

“They ran out to get Harry some new clothes. The shite that those fucking Dursleys gave him wasn't worth burning.” The glower on James' face became a self-recriminatory scowl, “And they're stopping by the Healer's to see if anything can be done about the malnutrition.”

All three men were openly scowling now. After a moment's consideration, Sirius asked, “You guys wanna get drunk?”

James smiled when Remus reproved their friend, “Sirius, it's nine in the morning. You're already hung over, you don't need to be drinking any more booze.”

“I dunno, Moony. I think a little hair of the dog is exactly what I need to set me up just right.”

James was openly laughing now. He loved it when Sirius baited Remus like this. Both men knew what the other was doing, but enjoyed the back and forth between them. Though James routinely thought of Sirius as his best mate, it was only due to the fact that he'd known the padfooted one longest. In his heart, Sirius and Remus were interchangeable.

Tossing his napkin on the table, James laughed, “Come on you tossers. Moron over there and I need to go to the bank.” Hefting an open letter from the table, he explained, “Maturin says there are a few kinks that we need to be present to work out.”

.oOo.

Harry was in the dressing room for the seventeenth time since they arrived at the store. Hermione was, in her turn, impressed that Lily had spent five thousand pounds on clothes without blinking. Sure, Hermione's parents were well off, but this kind of wealth begat a way of life that was foreign to her.

There was something else on The Smartest Witch of the Age's mind, though.

“Lily,” she began. When the redheaded mother of her boyfriend turned from the shirts the attendant was offering, Hermione glanced at the young woman who was helping them.

Catching the meaning, Lily turned back. “Those look great. Could you please hand them to my son and fetch some trainers in size nine? Thanks.”

Lily sat on the couch that's seems to be required outside all changing rooms. Usually, it's packed with husbands, but today, being first thing on a Tuesday, Hermione and Lily had it to themselves.

“What's on your mind?”

“I've been thinking about Sirius' proposition,” Hermione began. When Lily's expression sobered, Hermione asked, “It's extremely generous. I'm flattered and honoured that he's offered such a thing to me. At the same time, I feel as if I'm choosing between the magical world and the mundane.” Grimacing, she concluded, “I feel as if I'm choosing between being an active witch and having my parents in my life.

“Would it be too much of an imposition to ask how you felt about effectively leaving your family behind?”

Hermione was gladdened when Lily took her hand, a warm smile on the older witch's face. “In a sense, you do have that choice in front of you. However, it's not just because of Sirius' offer.” With a serious expression, Lily digressed, “He meant every word he said, you know. He would treat you as a daughter. I believe he already thinks of you that way on some level.”

With the hint of a blush, Hermione nodded. Hermione had no aunts or uncles, so her parents were the only experience she'd had with family. She already considered Sirius and Remus to be uncles of a sort and it was a wonderful feeling.

“Back to the topic.” Lily's eyes became unfocused as she remembered, “I grew apart from my parents as I got older. Part of it, I suppose is natural. I was growing up, spending ten months a year in Scotland while my parents were in southern England. I changed.” Shrugging, she admitted, “It happens. It didn't mean that I loved, or do love them any less, it's just that I didn't belong with them any longer. It was a bit of a shock when I realized that I felt right - I felt like I belonged - in the magical world.”

Turning to Hermione with a broad smile, she told her, “I didn't choose James over my parents. I belong with him and him with me. It's the way I want my life to be.”

This idea resonated with Hermione. She knew that she and Harry belonged together. Concurrent to that, it had been a wonderful moment during third year when she realized that she felt comfortable, that she truly belonged, in the magical world.

“Thanks, Lily,” Hermione whispered. “It means a lot to me that you trust me to tell me this.”

Stroking Hermione's hand, Lily replied, “It's not a problem, dear.” She hesitated before asking, “Have you reached a decision?”

Hesitantly, Hermione nodded. A small tear escaped her left eye before she admitted, “I have, but I'm afraid. I don't want to leave my parents behind.”

Embracing the younger witch, Lily cooed, “You don't have to sweetie. Remember what it says, `He shall leave his parents to cleave to his wife', or something like that? We're supposed to form new families while the old one fades somewhat. Your parents will always be important to you. Even though my parents are gone now, I still love them. It's the natural order of things.”

Harry poked his head out of the door, causing both witch's expressions to perk up. About five changings ago, he got over his embarrassment about buying new clothes. Stepping out of the changing room, he asked, “How's this?”

Unconsciously, Hermione licked her lips before husking, “I think it's a bit of alright.”

The peals of laughter from Lily combined with the hungry expression on her boyfriend's face, brought The Smartest Witch of the Age back to her surroundings. Blinking in her astonishment at her behaviour, Hermione realized she'd been undressing her boyfriend with her eyes in front of his mother. Fortunately, said mother had an excellent sense of humour.

“Now, now,” Lily giggled. “None of that.” Turning to the attendant, she told the girl, “We'll take that outfit as well. How are we doing on the shoes?”

.oOo.

“What do you want?” the goblin snarled.

James smiled, “I do so love goblins. No beating around the bush. How are you Asscrack?”

Sirius snickered as Remus smilingly shook his head.

The goblin peered at James before huffing, “Richmond. Thought you were dead. Raised a glass that day. You know damn good and well that my name is Ashcraik.”

Waving a nonchalant hand at the teller, James breezily replied, “You know I'm horrible with names. Blackmoor and I were told we needed to be here to settle some details.” The hanging question was unsaid.

Nodding, Ashcraik hopped off his teller's seat, beckoning the humans to follow him.

“He loves me,” James muttered through a smile. “He must've really missed me.”

“He hates your guts but admires your courage,” Remus countered.

With a hurt expression, James held the door for his compatriots. “You wound me, my dear Moony. I firmly believe Asscrack loves me.”

“ASHCRAIK!” came the shout from further up the hallway. Sirius snickered again.

Eventually, they were shown into an elegantly apportioned conference room where Stephen Maturin was waiting for them with a well dressed goblin. Standing, the solicitor greeted them, “My Lords, Mr Lupin. Shall we?” he gestured to the table where a few stacks of parchment awaited them.

Remus slinked off to the side, pulling a shrunken book from his pocket as he did so. Sirius groaned as he sat next to James. Both Earls looked at the piles in front of them. In a comically unplanned moment, both men swapped their piles with the other.”

“Lord Blackmoor, the bulk of your forms deal with your accession to your position, the vesture of title and assuming control of the Black Family trust. My assistant shall walk you through the forms.” Turning to the immensely tall and broad shouldered man who stood by the wall, Maturin commanded, “Padeen, help his lordship through the forms.”

Turning to James, Maturin scowled. “My Lord Richmond, your case is somewhat more delicate and complex.”

“You're dead,” the goblin belched.

“Maybe not so complex after all,” Maturin winced.

Puzzled, James asked, “What do you mean I'm dead?”

“You were ruled as deceased by the Ministry, sir,” Maturin told the visibly angering James.

“Yes, but that moron of a Headmaster told me that my will was never opened, much less probated.”

Snorting the still unnamed goblin snarked, “And the Headmaster of Hogwarts means what here?”

Smiling again, James repeated his earlier declaration. “I really like goblins. What do we do?”

“The easiest course of action is to probate your will, which I assume leaves everything to Lord Potter?” Maturin delicately reinserted himself into the discussion.

James nodded, “With some philanthropic bequests, but, yes, the bulk goes to our son.”

Turning to the goblin, Maturin gestured, “Our esteemed colleague is proposing that we finalize the probate of your will. It was never finalized, as Lord Potter never replied to any of the goblin requests for his presence. Lord Potter will then gift the fortune back to you.”

“At what cost?” James asked, his gaze switching from his solicitor to the smug goblin. He chose to ignore, for now, the implication that someone was tampering with his son's mail.

“No cost at all, my Lord,” the anonymous banker announced.

Sceptical, James rebutted, “Everything has a cost, especially moving this much money around.”

“Actually, not one galleon will leave the Potter vaults, except the bequests. We'll use that as a tax write off for the year. We'll bring Lord Potter in to the bank and in one signing session, we'll execute the plan.”

“My hand is cramping thinking about it.” Narrowing his eyes at the goblin, he asked, “What's your name?”

With a shark like grin, the goblin replied, “Fahgmahther, and don't do it. I know what you've done to Ashcraik, Shighape and Bongholio so don't go messing with my name, human.”

The contortions on James' face gave away the difficulty he was having in holding in the bon mot, but eventually, his will won out. “I would never do that. So, I repeat, what's in it for the goblin nation?”

“You'll owe us a favour.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. Usually our fees would top out around half a million galleons for a transaction of this size. We're doing it for free.”

With a softness that defied the ferocity of his tone, James replied, “You can't buy me. Now or ever and I don't like the implication that you think you can. Take your half million galleons and stuff them up your arse.” Turning to the solicitor, he stood, “We'll find a different way.”

“Listen you walking roast,” the goblin barked, “Your favour will be called in by asking for some public relations work by you and your son.”

Frowning, James asked, “That's it?”

With as incredulous an expression that was possible for a goblin, Fahgmahther gibed, “Didn't you read the Prophet today? You and your wife are now `The Parents Who Lived'. Between you and your son, you're about as close to superstars as exist in Britain today. Couple that with your son's forced participation in Dumbledore's lunatic Circus Maximus, and you've got an excellent opportunity to say some positive words for the goblin nation.”

“To what end?”

Leaning forward, Fahgmahther snarled, “We want a voice on your Wizengamot and we want a vote.”

Whistling, James leaned back in his chair. Sirius had stopped signing minutes before while Remus' book was forgotten on a side table. “That's a tall order,” James opined.

“It is. But not unreasonable,” Fahgmahther countered in a sensible tone before relaxing into his own chair.

A smile playing on the corner of his mouth, James asked, “Who are you Fahgmahther? I mean, everyone knows that Ragnok is the Head of the Great Goblin Horde, but who are you?”

Absently picking at his claws, Fahgmahther replied, “Everyone knows that Ragnok is the Head of the Horde? Hmm, sounds like hearsay to me.”

Sirius barked a laugh while James openly smiled. “You're good, Fahgmahther. I like you.” Turning to his smaller pile of forms, James signed quickly. As one they all rose to leave once he was done. James made an appointment for the next day for the legal fiction of over a billion galleon fortune changing hands twice.

“Oh, Maturin,” James said with a forced casualness. “How goes the other issues?”

With a smug smile, the Irish solicitor replied, “His Lordship has agreed and we merely await the bureaucratic wheels to turn.”

“Excellent.” James' smile was remarkably shark-like.

Sirius took the moment to hand the solicitor a folded slip of parchment. It was best to refrain from speaking of the topic prior to its execution. “We've yet to finalize the details,” Sirius explained, “But get the forms and whatnot moving. I want to be ready to move on this soon.”

Maturin pursed his lips as he read. Handing the slip to his assistant as the big man lumbered by, he told Sirius, “It shall be done, sir. I estimate two days to make the appropriate preparations..

Adieus were bid by all as the humans made their way to the door. They were met by the mysterious goblin.

“I've been told you were an irreverent man, my Lord,” Fahgmahther grinned as they all made their goodbyes. “I'm glad to see that you are.”

“It's been a pleasure doing business with you Fahgmahther. May your enemies be crushed under your heel.”

Fahgmahther gave a short bow to acknowledge the complement. “And may you slay your enemies while hearing the lamentations of their women.”

James grinned before turning to leave the room. He flung his parting shot over his shoulder, “You're a different one, Fuckyourmother.”

Growling, the goblin muttered, “I knew he'd do it. I knew it.” The last thing he heard as the fearsome threesome left the bank was Sirius' snickering.

.oOo.

As Lady Richmond was being examined by the Healer for any abnormalities resulting from her extended stay outside time, Healer Smythe's nurse sat in the waiting room with the famous Boy-Who-Lived and a teenaged, girl; his girlfriend if the distance between the two was any indication. They were alone while she was steadily working through a mountain of insurance forms.

The teenaged girl was leaning on her boyfriend as she rested her head on his shoulder. The soft smile on his face as he rested his eyes made the nurse at the desk smile.

“How're you doing?” she heard The Boy-Who-Lived ask.

The bushy haired girl replied, “Right now, I'm brilliant.”

As she was wont to do in these situations, Nurse Agatha Harkness stole a glance at her worn wedding ring. She was an incurable romantic, despite having buried her man three years beforehand. Regardless of that, she loved him still.

“That's good,” The Boy-Who-Lived replied. “But what about…all the other stuff. I feel really bad about what happened yesterday.”

The girl, who Agatha assumed must be his girlfriend, snuggled deeper into him causing the young man to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Don't feel bad. It's not your fault that Skeeter's a bint any more than that Heir of Slytherin nonsense during second year was your fault. In both cases, it was a bunch of pitiful people who couldn't mind their own business.”

The last, spat a bit waspishly from young Harry Potter's girlfriend, jabbed a bit too close to home for Agatha. Her eavesdropping became more surreptitious.

He turned to his paramour without opening his eyes. Softly, he placed a kiss on the crown of her head. Almost too soft to hear, the girl whispered, “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he replied softly.

“What are going to do at school?” he asked after a long minute.

“About what?” she asked, a hint of trepidation in her voice. Agatha's eyebrows furrowed. Apparently, all was not well in paradise.

“Well, the tournament and …other things are going to make things dangerous for you.”

She jabbed him in the side. Now she sat up, opening her eyes. “Don't,” she ordered forcefully. “Don't take away my choice.”

Agatha was almost taken aback as much as The Boy-Who-Lived. Confused as to what was being referenced, Agatha could tell it was important. He recoiled under the strength in the girl's words. After he considered for a second, he nodded, his head drooping.

Insanely curious, Agatha ignored the two owls who were trying to drop off their packages. Paying close attention, she barely heard him tell his girlfriend, “I can't lose you Hermione. My parents, Sirius, Moony, any of them I can lose and still go on.”

He looked up with a teary expression that tore at Agatha's heartstrings, “I can't go on without you. You've always been there. You've been my best friend since I could honestly say that I've had friends. I need you. I've always needed you, but I now realize just how much I need you.”

The young witch leaned in, placing a soft kiss on her boyfriend's lips. “I always shall be with you. Remember, I promised?”

He smiled faintly as he remembered. Closing his eyes, Agatha saw that it was his turn to lean into her for support and comfort.

Had Agatha not been watching the teens and only heard the exchange, she would have sworn that it was a young married couple talking, not two teenagers. The entire exchange struck Agatha as immensely different from any she'd seen among her own children or when she herself was a teen. These two had the beginnings of an adult relationship and it was heart-warming for the old witch. Unsure as to why, it just made the eighty year old witch feel good about life. Watching the young lovers, she felt that all would be right in the world, so long as those two loved each other.

As covertly as possible, she tried wiping away the unbidden tears. The hand settling on her shoulder caused her to turn in surprise. She saw young Harry's mother standing over her shoulder, a tear of her own on her pale cheek.

“They make me feel strong,” the Lady Richmond told the nurse.

Nodding, Agatha concurred. “I'd swear they were in their thirties with a babe of their own, not teens.”

Lily's face crinkled as she smiled, “They will be soon enough Agatha. I'll make sure they bring their children here for Healer Smythe to check on them.”

Patting the hand on her shoulder before it was withdrawn, Agatha replied, “You do that, milady. It'd make this old witch mighty happy to see those two grow and blossom even more.”

As the teens trudged over to the Healer's door, Lily turned to show them the way to the back. Before they left, Lily muttered, “I'll be sure of it.”

.oOo.

Lily insisted that Hermione accompany her and Harry into the examining room. A bit uncomfortable, the bushy haired witch Gryffindor'd up and followed her boyfriend into the sterile room.

Harry hopped up on the examination table while Lily and Hermione sat on the cheap chairs. It seemed to Hermione that even in the magical world, the healers had the same office goods supplier.

A sandy haired, rotund wizard rolled into the room a minute later. With a “Hullo, hullo,” all around, he moved to Harry.

Healer Smythe's back was to her, but Hermione could tell by Harry's expression that the first place the man looked was at Harry's scar. She gave her beau a smile while shaking her head, hoping to encourage his forbearance.

After the usual ears, nose and throat visual inspection, Smythe cast a long incantation diagnostic spell, finishing with a bit of flair while pointing at a blank scroll of parchment.

“Now we wait,” the jovial healer announced before tunelessly humming a song. Seconds later, script began to form on the parchment. Hermione's expected reaction by the healer was immediate.

He frowned.

Then he furrowed his brow.

Finally, he began darting his eyes from the slowly withdrawing Harry to the still scribbling parchment.

With gravity, Smythe set the parchment on the table. He caught Lily's gaze before cutting his eyes to Hermione. The teenaged witch bowed her head, hoping Lily would allow her to stay for what was to come. She had a feeling that Harry would need her.

Lily was obviously of the same mind as she told Smythe, “She can stay. Hermione's completely in our trust.”

With a sigh, Smythe replied, “Very well. The diagnostic is very disturbing. Mr Potter, I'd ask you if you would please remove your shirt?”

Harry's wild eyes bounced from the healer, to his mother before settling on Hermione. Every aspect of his being screamed to escape. His breathing picked up to a pant, his hands clenched while he kept scanning for an exit route.

Slowly, Hermione rose from her seat. Catching Harry's gaze, she whispered, “I love you Harry. Your mum loves you. We all love you, nothing will ever change that.” She kept repeating herself as she approached him. By the time her hand caressed his shoulder, he was calm.

As he looked deep into her eyes, Hermione could feel the questions emanating from him: Will it be alright? Will I get hurt?

So low that the others wouldn't hear, Hermione told him, “I'll never leave you. Never.” Putting her mouth next to his ear, she voiced her hope in an effort to distract him, “I plan on being the mother of your children. The lady of your house and the wife you've always wanted. I'll never, ever leave you.”

With a shuddering breath, he nodded. Hermione took a step back, allowing Harry to shed his covering. His eyes were riveted on hers as he unbuttoned the shirt. Hermione could tell that he was too afraid to meet his mother's gaze. Would he see anger? Pity? Fear? Disgust? Or worst of all, would he see approval?

The healer moved behind Harry when the pale blue shirt fell to the floor. The whisper of the cotton on the tile was the only sound in the room. In her peripheral vision, she saw the healer examine her boyfriend. His eyes closing in pain, the healer nodded in acceptance of what his eyes were unwilling to see.

She saw Smythe turn to Lily, catching her gaze. Hermione knew that Harry needed to face his mother; the time for avoidance was over. In an attempt to force him to look at her, she turned to see the redheaded witch, trying to drag his attention with her gaze. Mutely, Lily was slowly shaking her head in an unspoken attempt to deny what she'd feared. Her familiar green eyes were wide as tears streamed down her face.

In a flash of insight, Hermione could tell that Lily must have suspected that Harry had been abused. Her reaction was recognition that the only thing the healer was inspecting must have been the webbed scars that the flogged bear ever after.

Glancing from mother to son, she saw Harry relax infinitesimally. Her reaction must have reassured him that he wouldn't be rejected outright. Lily cocked her head to the side, an unspoken query. May I look?

“I need you to look.”

Turning back, Hermione saw that Harry was looking at her. Surprised, she realized that Harry wanted her to look on his scars as well. Her stomach rebelled and the pooling tears overflowed. “I don't know if I can,” she whispered through her sobs.

“I understand. But we need to do this,” he replied.

Confused as to this turnabout in his attitude from caged animal to fount of wisdom, Hermione merely accepted it as fact. Together, she and Lily circled around the examination table. As one, their breath caught when they saw the full extent of the damage.

Hermione's vision went black as the floor rushed up to meet her.

.oOo.

“James, get Sirius and Remus.”

Looking up from the book he was reading, James was concerned to see the tearstained face of his wife. Bouncing to his feet, he moved to her side. As he tried to gather her into his arms, she shrieked, “Just get them now!”

Wide eyed, he backed away, “Ok love. I'll get them right now.” With a deft movement of his wand, he cast a familiar Communication charm. It was a spell that Remus had crafted in their seventh year so the friends could call each other to their location. Seconds later, he heard pounding feet as his mates ran to join the Potters.

“They're on the way, love. What's going on?”

Now Lily collapsed into James arms. As Remus and Padfoot bounded in the door, breathless from running to join James, Lily moaned, “It's Harry.”

Morphing back to his human shape, Sirius growled, “What about him?” Remus closed the friends, his eyes narrowing.

“His back…”

James choked back a cry, as he immediately knew what Lily was talking about. His wife had shared with him her fears about Harry's upbringing. It took Remus a moment longer to understand to what Lily was referring.

“His back? But…oh. Oh no. No, no, no, no. Not Little One. They didn't!” He was shouting by the end while Sirius just slumped to the floor, devastated.

Falling to his knees, the reserved man sobbed. As an automaton, Sirius moved to Moony's side, holding him in the loosest of embraces.

“They're going to die.”

James was surprised. He'd expected Sirius or even Lily to pronounce the fate of his sister and brother in law. Remus had always been the quiet one who counselled patience and tolerance. Never did he expect such a swift and violent judgement from Moony. Looking closely, James saw more than a hint of amber in the colouring of his friend's eyes. The Wolf was moving to the fore of his friend's personality.

Furious, Remus stood. Shaking off Sirius, he demanded of Lily, “Can you take us there?”

Her expression hard, she nodded. Vengeance burning him up from the inside, James turned to his wife to obtain the location of the Dursleys. In the corner of his eye, he saw Remus and Sirius straightening up. However, from behind him, he heard, “Wait.”

Turning, he saw a pale faced Harry with his arm around his girlfriend. “Wait, don't kill them.”

Incredulous, James stared. Every fibre of his being demanded blood for blood, pain for pain. Too overwhelmed with guilt, pain and rage, he could only watch Remus bark, “They deserve to die.”

“Like Peter?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Sirius hissed. “Exactly like Peter.”

Finding his voice, James growled, “Harry what they owe you can only be paid…” but he was interrupted by the shout of his son.

“YOU ALL OWE ME!” Panting hard, he leaned on his silent girlfriend. “None of you were there when I was tied to the bannister on my fifth birthday while Vernon whipped me bloody. None of you were there when Petunia forced me to crawl through the roses for tracking mud into the house. None of you were there when days went by with no food or water. Don't tell me what you're going to do because of what happened to ME!”

The adults were shocked into sober silence. Silent tears flooded Harry's face as he slowly broke down into soft sobs. The days since his parents' return had been full of turmoil. Issues and events long past were being dredged up to be re-examined in new light. With all the emotional churn, the old pain was at the fore and it was overwhelming for the teen. Hermione's soft chant of, “I've got you, Harry. I'm here,” was the only other sound in the room until Sirius fell to his knees, weeping uncontrollably.

Remus followed him, holding his friend as tears of his own dripped off the end of his nose. Like a magnet, James was pulled to his son. Through his own tears, he huskily asked, “May I?”

Harry's understanding of his Dad's meaning was clear as he threw himself into his father's arms. Over his son's shoulder, James saw Lily approach Hermione. The young witch had her hand over her mouth as she tried to supress her sobs.

Harry had been hurt so badly. They all felt the punishing blows of guilt and shame for their failures. Failures in action, of trust in others and of planning. In their love and caring for the young man, they were acutely aware of their failures.

So much pain.

So many wounded.

So many casualties, years after the last spells were cast.

They were the Last Casualties of the Blood War of Voldemort and still they suffered.

But now, they were healing. Albus Dumbledore was many unpleasant things, but he was right about one thing. Love is the most powerful thing in the world.

.oOo.

“I won't kill them, but they have earned retribution,” James announced a while later.

The family had calmed, eventually sitting to a spontaneous tea. Hermione had commented that, “Rain or shine, it's always time for tea in Britain.”

“What's on your mind?” Sirius asked with narrowed eyes.

Lily sighed, “As much as I'd like to Crucify my sister into insanity, Healer Smythe will inform the Aurors about everything tomorrow. By sundown, the Dursley family will be in Azkaban.”

“Not good enough,” Sirius growled. Harry pondered that Sirius was the only one present who could honestly make that judgement.

“I need to check the grimoire, but if I remember correctly, there's just the ticket there.”

James caught his son's eye, “Come on. You need to see this.”

Gently disentangling himself from his girlfriend's embrace, he gave her a soft kiss before leaving. With all the emotional outpouring over the previous few days, he felt no embarrassment about the minor sign of affection for his Hermione.

Catching up to his striding Father, Harry asked, “What's going on Dad?”

James paused as he pursed his lips in thought. Harry waited as patiently as he could until James explained, “All magical families have secrets. Mainly, those secrets are spells crafted by the family, for the family.” With a deliberate look, he added, “There are also secrets about the family which are recorded in the grimoire.” Things that you can't tell Hermione until after you marry her.” Harry blushed, but saw quickly that his father wasn't teasing; he was deadly serious.

Turning into the library, they headed to the back corner. Harry saw an old desk that was scarred with age, but nothing else was on it. As they approached, Harry's father told him, “Only the head of the family or the heir can access the book. Once removed from its stand, any Potter by birth or marriage can read it, but no other.”

The tingling of magic crossed over Harry's scalp as he closed the old desk. Slowly, a gold stand was revealed, on which was a huge book. Nearly two feet long, the book was securely bound with iron hinges on its heavy leather binding. Reading the name on the cover, Harry turned to his Dad in confusion. “Gryffindor?”

With a solemn nod, James approached the book. Opening it to the front, he read aloud to his son, “On this day, in the Year of Our Lord One Thousand and Forty One, I have wed my beloved Aine Potter. My gift to her and our descendants is this grimoire to replace that which was destroyed by the enemies of my beloved's family. As I have no other surviving relations, I have given myself over wholly to Aine's family who has welcomed me into their warm bosom. May our Lord watch over and protect them as we beseech Him to pour out his best blessings over all.

“Given by my hand at the home of the Potters, Rowan Hill.”

James set the book back on the stand as he finished, “It's signed `Godric'.”

Floored, Harry sank into the chair next to the table. Vaguely he heard his father flipping pages as he searched for a spell. The focus of Harry's attention was on something Dumbledore had told him a few years before after the Chamber of Secrets fiasco. “Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat, Harry,” the old man had declared as The Boy-Who-Lived stared at Gryffindor's sword.

“I thought he'd been speaking metaphorically,” Harry mumbled.

“Hmmm?” James asked.

After explaining the reference, Harry asked, “Does the grimoire discuss the sword?”

Shaking his head, “I don't think so. Godric made the initial dedication and a dozen or so spells and potions. After that, it's all Potters.”

“What does it mean?” asked Harry.

Confused, James didn't reply besides a frown.

“Do we, like, own Hogwarts or something?”

Chuckling, James replied, “No. We do have a seat on the board of governors, though. I don't think that has anything to do with our illustrious forbearer, though. I think it has more to do with the number of zeros in our vault balance.”

A grim smile crossed his Dad's familiar features, “But I found what I was looking for. Let's get back.”

Grabbing his father by the arm, Harry told him, “Dad, don't do anything that will get you in to trouble.”

A cocky smile on his young face, James protested, “I never get…”

Interrupting his father, Harry scowled. “I need you and Mum here, not in Azkaban. You promised me you'd be here for me from now on.”

Deflating, James nodded. “We won't get into trouble. Even if the Aurors find the spell, they'd never know what it does.” Jabbing a thumb at the now closed tome, James reminded his son, “Family secrets, right?”

Nodding apprehensively, Harry acquiesced. He had a hard time trusting adults. In fact, upon reflection, he had to admit that he didn't trust any adults. He sort of trusted his parents, but not really. Not yet, as they hadn't earned his trust. This was his father's first chance to earn his son's trust.

Matters speeded up. Before Harry knew what was going on, his Dad had created a portkey to Surrey around which the family had gathered. All looked to Harry for permission to leave. By unspoken consensus, they all agreed that it was Harry's right to call off the whole thing.

Looking around, Harry realised that the whole family needed this closure. As long as no one got in trouble, Harry didn't have a problem...

Turning to his girlfriend, he tried to get a read on her opinion. As he was her font of courage, she was his conscience. Harry didn't think he could live with her having a bad opinion of him for having condoned whatever his parents had in mind. More than anyone, he was surprised to see the hard expression on her face. Her determination to see a measure of justice, or even punishment, was what pushed him over the edge.

Turning to his Dad, he told him, “Let's get this over with.”

.oOo.

Hermione was expecting a home much more evil. Instead, she was transported to a house in middle class suburbia. The houses weren't dripping with blood. Screams didn't reverberate from the walls of the houses nor were their open graves in the front gardens.

Shaking her head at her internal distraction, she focused on their intent. Harry's hand firmly in her own, she followed James and Lily up the path to the front door. Vaguely, she was aware that Sirius and Remus were casting a series of charms on the house. Glancing over at Remus, the usually sober, gentle man had an expression of malice and borderline hate that surprised her. He noticed her watching him, so he mumbled, “Notice Me Not.”

Nodding her understanding of the spell Padfoot and Moony were weaving, she stopped behind Lily. James turned to his wife, “You ready for this?”

Hermione couldn't see the auburn haired witch's expression, but by the silent reply, she could imagine the look of resolution on Lily's face.

With a sharp movement, James reached out to rap the door knocker a staccato rap-rap-rap.

“Who the hell is that?” Hermione heard a male voice ask from inside the house. Her lip curled in anger as she realized it must be the infernal Vernon Dursley. The man who whipped my Harry, she reminded herself.

The clackety-clack of a woman wearing high heels approached the door. The tension building in Hermione blinded her to all but the plain blue door in front of her. Her body coiled for action, she didn't notice that her nostrils were wide, her breath deep. All were physical preparations for a fight. Her natural instincts were preparing her body for the attack she so desperately craved. The love of her life had been brutalized by those behind this drab blue door. She screamed silently to rend and tear, to have justice for Harry. To have retribution. Craving the vengeance for which her body screamed, she waited.

The door opened.

The woman who opened the door was laughable. Incredibly homely, the housewife was overly thin with a ridiculously long neck. Her designer dress and pearls were ludicrously out of place, as was her perfectly coiffed blonde hair.

Hermione could tell that Petunia Dursley immediately recognized her sister. “No…no…you're dead. YOU'RE DEAD! STAY AWAY! YOU'RE DEAD!” the woman shouted as she backed into the house, stumbling over her three inch heels.

James and Lily shadowed the panicking woman. Behind them, Harry and Hermione followed. Feeling something in her hand, she looked down to see her vine wood and dragon heartstring wand held in a casting grip.

Deciding to get a measure of control over herself, Hermione holstered her wand. A glance at Harry revealed resignation on his face. She had been expecting anger. She'd even been preparing herself in case he was excited to see his tormentors punished. It was an unlikely situation, as she knew him to be a better person than that, but he'd only be human to want to see them hurt as he'd been hurt.

“Who the bloody hell…NO! Get out of my house you Freaks! OUT! NOW!”

The first spell was cast by Sirius. The Silencing spell made the event much less boisterous for all. Remus' Body Bind, caused Vernon, Petunia and the heretofore silent Dudley to crash to the floor, immobile.

“Hello, Petunia,” greeted Lily in a low, ferocious tone. “Didn't believe you'd ever see me again, did you? I expect not, else you wouldn't have tortured my son.”

In a surprisingly cruel voice that Hermione never thought she'd hear from Harry's father, James told the assembled Dursleys, “I'd love to inflict pain on you for hours because of what you've done to my son. You'll be spared your deserved fate only because he asked me to refrain from killing you.” The eyes of the Dursleys cut to the stone faced Harry, but he didn't react.

“You shall remember everything, and yet nothing,” James told the stricken muggles. “First, I'm going to cast a spell on you so that you all relive every moment of pain that you've visited on my son - but you'll do it from his perspective. You shall feel and live each moment seven times seventy for every occurrence of pain that you visited upon my son.” Half turning to Lily, he finished, “Then Lily will remove the memory of us being here. You'll suffer, most likely for the rest of your life, but never know why.”

Hermione strode forward, “I hate you. You hurt my Harry when you should have cared for him. You spat on him when you should have loved him. You're animals and deserve much worse than this, but have no fear. The Aurors will be here tomorrow. Tomorrow, you'll go to Azkaban to meet the Dementors.” There was a flash of understanding and fear in Petunia's eyes, but no more than a flash.

Remus strode boldly up to the prone family. With his deliberate strides, Hermione was afraid that the lycanthrope had lost control of himself. She knew that he'd been struggling with his rage since he found out about Harry's abuse. Drawing her wand, she waited to see if she'd need to immobilize Remus for his own sake. She knew the kind hearted man well enough to know that he'd regret lashing out at these people.

Standing over Petunia, he spat in her face. Scowling, he turned to Vernon to repeat the action. To Dudley, he muttered, “You're not worth my spit,” as he walked away. He didn't stop as he made his way out the front, the door banging on the hinges as he left.

Sirius walked up to Vernon. Squatting on his haunches, he stared into the man's eyes for a full minute. It must have been an interminable sixty seconds as those dead Azkaban eyes bored into his petrified piggy eyes. Abruptly standing, Sirius kicked Vernon in the head. His face contorting in anger and rage, Sirius visibly forced restraint on his actions. Hermione could tell that he wanted to beat the fat man to a bloody mess, instead he turned on his heel, leaving behind a sweating Dudley.

An acrid smell assaulted Hermione's nostrils. Turning to Petunia, she saw that the woman had pissed herself. Snorting in dark humour, she turned to Harry.

The Boy-Who-Lived was wearing a sad expression. With a solemn voice, he told his aunt and uncle, “I just wanted you to love me a little. Not a lot, just a little.”

James took Harry's words as his cue. In a slow chant he used large wand movements to weave a tapestry of magic in the air. Lily, Harry and Hermione took a step back as the glowing yellow energy pulsed and coalesced in the air. With a shout, he brought his wand down in a sharp movement.

The block of magic slammed into the immobile Dursleys, wrapping them in its clutches. A movement in her peripheral vision showed Hermione that Lily was releasing her relatives from their bindings. All three relaxed for a short moment before it began. Forcing its way into their bodies, the magic of James' curse began to work. The three muggles screamed in pain as their punishment began.

Tears ran down their faces as they sobbed in agony.

“No, no, please stop,” begged Vernon.

“I'm sorry, please don't,” wept Petunia.

“No, no, please, no more,” moaned Dudley.

Softly, Lily incanted, “Obliviate.” It was time to leave.

.oOo.

Slowly, Harry woke. The night had ended in a blur. When the portkey home dropped its riders in the entry hall, it seemed that everyone was too emotionally worn out to say anything. One by one, the family drifted off to his or her rooms. Lily had given her son a hug before she kissed the crown of his head. She parted with a long look at Hermione and a soft, “Love you,” to her son.

Shortly afterwards, Harry found out the meaning behind the long look.

Arriving back in his room, he sat on his bed in a bit of a stupor. A few minutes later, a nightshirt clad Hermione slipped into his room. Padding up to him, she whispered, “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

Tugging him upright, she pulled at his shirt, “Go get cleaned up. I'll wait here.”

Obediently, he trudged to the en suite bathroom for the usual brush, flush and wash. Ten minutes later, he stumbled back into his room.

Emotionally, he felt like a limp dishrag. His emotions had been through the ringer. First, he'd had to admit the truth of the abuse he'd suffered as a child. He knew that Hermione had sussed out the truth based on his hints and innuendo from the end of the previous year. While grateful that someone knew, he'd still not actually had to tell anyone. The Healer's inspection had ended that emotional shield. She'd been there for him to give him the hope and courage he'd needed to admit what the others already knew.

What would he do without Hermione? She was his rock, his anchor, his…his everything.

Confronting the Dursleys had been strangely anticlimactic. He'd expected raging denunciations coupled with witty and sarcastic verbal jabs. Instead, he'd seen three pathetic people lying on the floor, one of them soaked in her own urine. It seemed strangely fitting that his final experiences with his aunt and uncle was just as dissatisfying as the rest of his life with them.

Like an empty glass, he was exhausted. Rolling back into his room, he paused in surprise when he saw Hermione waiting for him while in his bed.

“You'll need me tonight and to be honest, I need my best friend, too,” she announced. With a tired smile, he cocked an eyebrow at her. “We're not doing that, so get your mind out of the gutter,” she mock scolded him with a hint of a smile.

Tossing his shirt on the chair, he slipped into bed next to his girlfriend. As soon as he settled, she scooted over to him, snuggling up to his side. Without even a goodnight kiss, he muttered, “'Night,” as he was falling asleep.

Based on his position when he awoke, he hadn't moved all night. Neither had she. Unable to stop his smile, he grinned like a loon as he buried his face in his girlfriend's hair. The soothing effect of her presence had allowed him to sleep better than he'd ever done. He decided right then that waking with her next to him was now his favourite activity, one he'd try to repeat as often as he could.

He felt her stir. His grin widened as she hummed her good morning. Her soft, small hands roamed over his chest as she woke. “Good morning,” he greeted in a low voice.

“How'd you sleep?” she asked.

“Wonderfully. I've never slept so well. You?”

After placing a soft kiss on his chest, she told him, “It's an experience I intend on perfecting with repeated practice.”

“Oh really?” he teased.

Squeezing him tightly, she replied, “Most definitely. But right now, I really need the loo.”

After one more squeeze, she bounded out of bed to head to the WC. Harry watched her go, the early morning light giving him the hint of her green knickers. With a hint of the Marauders' influence, he called out, “Green?”

Impishly, she flipped up the tail of her shirt, flashing him a fine view of her posterior.

“Yep, most definitely green,” he called to her laughter. Ten minutes later, they changed places. “What's on the schedule today?” he asked.

“You and your parents are heading to Gringotts to fix your inheritance situation,” he nodded as he remembered his Dad explaining the situation the previous day. “I'm going to head to my parents' house with Sirius to talk about the magical protection situation.”

With affected casualness, he asked her, “You're going to do it then?”

Worming her way into his arms, she gave him a soft kiss. “Based on everything I've read and talked about with your Mum and Sirius, yes I'm going to do it. My parents may have some objections, but so long as there's no impediment, I'm going to do it.”

.oOo.

Sirius, Hermione and Lily left for Kent right after breakfast. Lily had insisted upon accompanying the other two. “I can tell her parents exactly what she'll have to expect from magical society; the good and the bad.”

Hermione was nervous. This was moving quickly, but in her heart, she knew it wasn't a whim. The question before her was how to deal with her parents if they resisted her accepting Sirius' offer. The night before, as she lay in Harry's sleeping arms; she realized that this was her place. She wanted to fall asleep next to Harry and wake up with him every day for the rest of her life.

Therefore, it wasn't a question of whether or not she would accept Sirius' offer of the virtual adoption. She was accepting it and had already told him that this morning.

In a rare moment of tact, Sirius softly asked, “Are you sure? You seem…hesitant.”

Shrugging, Hermione replied, “My parents.”

Frowning, he replied, “Are you afraid they'll resent your choice? You don't have to…”

She interrupted him, “I'm afraid they'll make me choose between them and the magical world when I've already made my choice.”

Looking across to the room where her green-eyed paramour was talking to his father, Sirius realized what her decision was. “You love him.”

Without looking away, she nodded.

Placing a tender hand on her shoulder, he drew her attention back to him, “It will be alright in the end. I'm not sure how, but it will work out for the best.”

With a humorous twitch of her eyebrows, Hermione asked, “When did you get all wise?”

“I got some quick tuition from Moony last night.”

“Didn't you get drunk last night?”

“Naw, that was the night before last.”

As the portkey that James had enchanted deposited them in the back garden of the Grangers, Hermione took a deep breath. Reassuring and steadying herself, she told herself, “I'm a witch and I love Harry.” These were the reasons she wanted to do this.

Growing up is a process for all teens. For most, growing up was a gradual evolution that started around thirteen. Over time, they found their interests lay outside the home. While they still loved and cherished their parents, the pull of life would, over time, become too strong to resist.

For others, like Hermione, this process happened in a moment - a decision or event triggered the instant maturation in outlook and opinion. For Hermione, it was that moment when she met Harry's eyes across the drawing room when Sirius outlined his offer. She couldn't live without him. The Smartest Witch of the Age never could have lived without The Boy-Who-Lived, but only then did she acknowledge that essential truth. There was never any other option but to accept Sirius' offer. Everything changed.

With a bold step forward, she led the three magicals up the back steps and into the house.

.oOo.

“Ah, Harry. I'd like to introduce you to one of my favourite goblins in the entire world. Shitheap, this is my son, Lord Potter.” It was midmorning. The Potter males had an enjoyably lazy morning before heading out to the bank. Harry and James had chatted about school and Quidditch, getting to know each other better.

Harry goggled at his father's stones. As far as he knew, no one fucked with the goblins and lived, yet here was James making fun of their names. The goblin teller, in his turn, glared at James before barking, “Ashcraik told us that you were back, human. He also told us that you hadn't changed a bit.”

“And you missed every moment that I was gone, didn't you?” James bantered.

Grunting, the goblin slid from his seat. Without waiting for the two Potters to follow, he headed to the side door, which led to the conference rooms.

Once ensconced in their side-by-side chairs, James leaned over to his son, “Remember, this should just be a big exercise to see how many times you can sign your name in a morning. If things get dicey, let me handle it.”

Reaching for a quill, Harry nodded. The dishevelled nature of Maturin's toilet gave testimony to the late night by all to prepare for the meeting. “My Lords,” he began with a slight bow. “Despite the vast quantity of parchment to be signed, notarized and filed, this is a very straightforward operation. First, we shall read the will of James Potter, twenty third Earl of Richmond, so that we can probate said will.”

“I get to be present at my own will reading. Hmm.”

The back door to the room opened, admitting Remus, Sirius, Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore and Sir Robert Mathison, the director of Mother Wilma's magical orphanage in Wales. As introductions were made, Harry narrowed his eyes at the headmaster as he muttered, “Magical orphanage?” To his credit, Dumbledore didn't look away, merely nodded his head sadly. McGonagall wouldn't meet the gaze of either Potter; her eyes were still swollen from her earlier weeping.

On the front page, the papers had announced the arrest of the Dursleys. In moderate detail, the Prophet also explained the reason for their arrests. Based on what his parents had told him, McGonagall was well aware of his…situation at the Dursleys. Her tears were a mystery to Harry. Guilt maybe? Regret, remorse and shame? Anger began to build in his belly. It was a bit late for his Professors to regret their actions.

In an attempt to get a handle on himself and his father, Harry nudged his dad in the side. “Can we get this part over with?” he whispered.

James nodded before clearing his throat. “Maturin, let's get this done, eh?”

“Of course, my Lord.” Settling his green tinted reading glasses on his nose, the solicitor opened the sealed will. After a small pulse of magic, he read the opening formulaic words common to all wills.

Bequests to Hogwarts, Mother Wilma's and its sister firm, the Magical Widows and Orphans Fund preceded the disbursement to Remus of an even one hundred thousand galleons and a seaside cottage in the south of England, near Plymouth.

Sirius' eyes narrowed in malice at Dumbledore when Maturin read that James designated the Lord Blackmoor as young Harry's guardian. Dumbledore watched Maturin with a sad, noncommittal expression. Still, Minerva wouldn't meet anyone's gaze.

Harry was becoming more agitated as the reading progressed. Though the entire event took a grand total of four minutes from start to finish, by the end, Harry was nearly bouncing in his seat. When Maturin finished with, “Given by my hand, this fifteenth day of July, in the year of Our Lord one thousand, nine hundred eighty one,” Harry turned to the pasty-faced solicitor.

“Why wasn't this will read before today?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw his father flinch, his face becoming a placid mask. Harry knew his father well enough to know that James had a good idea why the will was held up, but hadn't the time or energy to pursue the matter.

When no one replied, Harry reiterated himself, “Why wasn't this will read before today? My parents were believed to have died thirteen years ago, why wasn't this will read before today?”

Harry closed his eyes in frustration when Maturin looked to the quiet Albus Dumbledore to supply the answer to Harry's question.

Breathing, hard, Harry heard his father's cold voice ask, “Albus? Do you have an explanation for my son's question?”

In a low voice, the Headmaster admitted, “I prevented all post owls from reaching Harry until his Hogwarts letter arrived. After that, I only allowed letters from school and his friends to make it through the wards around his aunt and uncle's house. The Dursleys agreed to keep him only if they weren't contacted by the magical world in any way.” He sighed, “As Harry is a celebrity, the post was an avalanche on a near daily basis. His birthday and Christmas was a deluge of unsolicited gifts. I took steps to prohibit this contact from the magical world as the Dursleys requested. As a consequence, no post owls from the family solicitor or the bank could reach him.”

“I see.” James intoned. Harry opened his eyes to see his father struggling to keep his calm. Deciding to help his father, Harry turned to Maturin, “Is there anything else?”

Taking Harry's cue, the solicitor instructed, “For those of you with monetary or physical inheritance, please sign the form in front of you. The monies specified shall be transferred to your vaults or the vaults of your firms by the end of the day. Mr Lupin,” he turned to Remus, “The deed for the property specified has already been placed in your vault, but is being brought here for you to review. I'm sure my Lord Richmond can show you the site.”

Remus nodded dumbly as he signed the form in front of him. With a series of flashes, the now signed forms disappeared.

Taking charge for his furious friend, Sirius stood, “I believe that's all. You all may leave.” To soften the blow of his stiff words, to Sir Robert Sirius added, “It's been good to see you, Sir Robert. Please, pass our greetings to your lovely wife.”

The jovial man gave a quick nod, eager to leave the tense room. Minerva stood, hesitating when Dumbledore remained seated.

“Albus, did you receive my letter?” James asked without looking at the old man.

“Yes, I did. I have no objections to your requests,” the Headmaster replied in a sober tone.

“Good.” Completely ignoring the old man at this point, James turned to Maturin, “What now?” Harry was surprised by his own lack of reaction to his father's casual dismissal of a wizard Harry held in very high regard until not that long before. Shrugging to himself, he decided to get on with the business of the day. He'd talk it over with Hermione when he got the chance.

Taking his father's example, Harry bent his head to a pile of parchment. His inheritance was staggering. Another thing to talk to his girlfriend about. Wrapped up in trust accession forms and account holder identity forms, he lost track of what was happening around him. The unnamed goblin who appeared at his side helped him through the documents.

Therefore, Harry heard, rather than saw his professors leave the room. His mother had told him that his father could hold a grudge and this was living proof. It was evident that James wouldn't piss on Dumbledore if the man were on fire.

Quiet reigned as Harry signed three stone of forms. Occasionally, he stopped to massage his hand. His father was staring out a window in silent contemplation while Sirius sat next to his friend, reading a magazine. Remus sat on the other side of the table, staring at the deed for his new house.

Harry had to smile. The man had been so disadvantaged for so long that he must be wondering what to do with himself. A hundred thousand galleons was a fortune that would support a family for generations of moderate spending on the interest alone. Harry was glad to see Moony have the freedom to live as he wished.

After signing another stone of forms, Harry saw that his father hadn't moved from the window. Uncharacteristically, Prongs hadn't said anything either.

“Dad?” Harry asked.

“Hmm?”

“Are you alright?”

There was a long pause as Moony and Padfoot watched Prongs. Maturin silently excused himself from the room with the unnamed goblin on his heels. When the door clicked shut behind the solicitor and banker, Prongs told his son, “No. I'm not all right. I'm not even in the same country as alright.”

Turning to his son, he explained, “You see, before our big time jump, we all believed that, while not perfect, Dumbledore was our leader. He would do the best by us all in his decisions. He was the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, a group where we all banded together to fight back against the Death Eaters. I thought we were all on the same team, as it were.”

His eyes narrowing as his nostrils flared, James spat, “And now I find that he not only sent you to Surrey unsupervised, but also kept you from your inheritance. It's not just the money, either. There are journals in the vaults that tell of the Potters. You've already been to the Hall of Portraits. If you'd been raised by Sirius, you would've been raised at Rowan Hill. You'd have known all about our family and your mother and me. You'd have been raised with what it means to be a Potter.

“My whole life, my Father drilled into me that Family comes First. Everything else is secondary.” Scowling, he looked back out the window, “And Dumbledore has kept all this from you.”

Trying to ignore the slight to himself and his behaviour, Harry countered, “But I've got you and Mum now. We do live at Rowan Hill, now.”

Hesitantly, James nodded. A small crooked smile fractured the calm façade of his face, “How did you get so smart?”

Harry jibed back, “I told him earlier,” Harry jerked his thumb at his godfather, “I've known Hermione for too long to be really stupid. Plus, I think Mum would kill me if was a dunce.”

James laughed, a hint of the Marauder creeping back. Clapping his son on the shoulder, he told him, “Let's get this done. We need to do a bit of shopping. Your Mum's birthday is next week.”

Harry nodded before he remembered. Turning to Sirius, he asked, “How did it go with Hermione's parents?”

Sirius scrunched up his face, causing Harry a moment of panic. “Not so good, then good followed by not so good. She's back at Rowan Hill with Lily.”

Ignoring the pain in his hand, Harry began to sign his name with a hurry and focus he'd never had when attending to schoolwork.

“Dad, we're going to have to skip the shopping today. I need to get home.”

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first three chapters. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on FanFiction(dot)net.

2. Recommendation for the chapter is Lunch at Maxine's by apAiden. Very amusing and poignant story.

3. Chapter complete 4/23/11

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Hermione was alone in the parlour when Harry skidded into the room. He'd run past his mother in the hallway as she headed to the loo. Her serious expression coupled with, “She needs you. Family sitting room, go,” had merely heightened Harry's fear.

Not fear for him or his own interests. No, he was afraid for what Hermione had experienced with her parents. His girlfriend had unburdened herself to him that morning after they'd dressed. She was terrified her parents would misinterpret her decision to accept Sirius' offer as a rejection of her family. In turn, they might very well reject her. Hermione had made the decision to fully invest herself in the magical world, but she still loved her parents very much. She didn't want to lose them.

Harry's stomach dropped into his toes when he saw his girlfriend. She was sitting on the couch, her head in her hands. “Hermione?”

She didn't say anything or move except to reach out to him with her left hand. Hurrying to her side, he pulled her close to him. Wrapping her arms about his body, she began to sob softly.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. It seemed the worst had come to pass.

Her sobs intensified as he gathered her into his embrace. He was determined to be there for her. She'd been a bulwark in the storm for him over the previous days and he'd treasured her for it. Now, it was his turn to be her port in the storm.

With a soft pop Rauri appeared. Silently, he placed a tray containing a pitcher of ice water with glasses on the table. Without meeting Harry's gaze, he placed a full box of tissues on the cushion next to the entwined couple before popping out again.

Freeing an arm, Harry plucked a few tissues from the box before he slipped them into Hermione's grasping hands. He knew she'd want them later.

.oOo.

James was laying crossways across their bed when Lily entered their bedroom. Curling up next to him, Lily tugged at him until he got the hint. Scooting up on the bed, he pulled his wife into his arms. The elder Potters were unconsciously mimicking the position of their son and son's girlfriend who were downstairs in the sitting room.

“Sirius said it wasn't a very successful meeting,” James mentioned by way of beginning the discussion.

A long sigh was the only answer for a bit. Eventually, she replied, “No, it didn't go well. Hermione was great. She tried to explain it all very coherently, but in the end…let's just say that all her clothes and other belongings are in a trunk down in her room.”

“They didn't,” James exclaimed in shock. How could a family reject one of their own? he wondered. Even though his aunt and uncle, Sirius' parents, were insane, it still had floored him when his cousin and best mate had shown up on the doorstep of Rowan Hill asking for asylum. For Hermione's parents to reject her for any reason was incomprehensible to James.

“So, we show up and her parents are eating their breakfast but happily surprised to see Hermione, right?” Watching his wife, James could see the sadness and regret seeping into her expression. This wasn't going to be a happily ever after story.

“After the greetings and hugs and whatnot, we all sit to table. Hermione explained about how she and Harry were now dating. Alice smiled all-knowing like, but Steven glowered more than a little.” Waving her hand at the dentist's behaviour, Lily continued, “Then she explained about the Richmond and Potter titles.” Lily plucked at the buttons of James' shirt for a minute before she asked, “Have you had people fawning over you because of a fifteen hundred year old title that isn't generally known or acknowledged in society?”

James gave a snort of derision as a dozen situations flashed through his mind. “Oh, yeah.”

Wrinkling her nose, Lily explained her question, “Steven and Alice got all `my Lady' this and `my Lady' that. Even when I encouraged them to call me Lily, they kept on with it. When Hermione explained that Sirius was Blackmoor, the whole bowing and scraping ratcheted up a notch. I could tell that our poor girl was surprised and more than a bit embarrassed by her parents' behaviour, but ploughed on bravely.

“I picked up the thread, explaining about the pervasive bigotry in British magical society. The whole pureblood vs. muggleborn issue sent both parents through the roof. Both exploded in anger; Steven's face was red, he was so upset. Alice announced that Hermione was to come home immediately to go to the secondary school that had been planned for her before that `dratted owl showed up'.”

Shaking her head, Lily hooked her leg over her husband's leg, “She stood up to them. Toe to toe and hammer and tongs, she gave as good as she got. Sirius and I just sat back to stay out of it. There was the occasional glare by Steven sent our way, but on the whole, they focused their ire on Hermione. Eventually, everyone calmed the hell down. Both Grangers apologized for their behaviour, while Alice poured more tea.

“The `my Lord's and `my Lady's were back. Smiles and pleasant surprise reigned,” Lily groaned. “I should have known it was an act. It's what my mum always did when she was furious with dad. When Hermione explained about how she felt right in the magical world, a little crease formed between Alice's brows. When she explained about what a magical protectorate was, Steven's brow thundered.”

Wrapping up, Lily told James what he'd dreaded, “When she explained about Sirius' offer, I'd never seen her so scared. It was a horrible turnaround that I reached over to squeeze her hand while her parents looked on all stone faced. When she got it all out, Steven turned to Padfoot as he spat, `So that's your game. You want to take our daughter away. Are you impotent so you want to buy a daughter ready-made or is there a much more disgusting reason?”

James sucked in a breath in surprise; he'd not expected that type of reaction. Silently, he waited for Lily to go on with the story. “Props to Sirius as he held his temper. Hermione was pale as a sheet and shaking she was so upset. Sirius took a deep breath before he explained that he cared about Hermione. He also explained his debt to her and Harry for his escape from an unjust execution.” Lily propped herself up on her elbows to see James' face. He winced at the neutral expression before she told him, “That didn't help matters.”

“Oh?”

“They started to rant at Hermione about compulsions and brainwashing.” Shaking her head, Lily lay back on her husband's shoulder. “Hermione was so taken aback and crushed; she sat there staring at her parents.”

James eyes narrowed. So far in the story, Lily had mentioned nothing too off about the Grangers' treatment of his wife. Based on the comments to Sirius and later Hermione, he knew that there must have been something. Unable to leave it alone, he asked, “What did they say to you?”

There was a long pause as Lily obviously considered her answer. “Not much,” she eventually demurred.

Angry now, for whatever had been said was obviously making Lily uncomfortable, James sat up to look his bride in the eye. “What did they say?” he repeated.

Closing her eyes, she sighed. “They asked me if I was a gold digging whore or if I had money in my own right.”

Stunned, James sat there staring at the wall. It took a full minute before his mind could overcome his shock. He didn't even have the wherewithal to sputter in outrage. How could anyone of any decent breeding or character say those things? Everything he'd seen of Hermione - for he liked the girl very much indeed - was completely incongruous with what Lily was telling him. How could anyone related to that wonderful bushy-haired witch act like this?

Finally, he started to come out of it. That's when the anger began to burn. “They dare say that to you…” he began before Lily cut him off.

“It doesn't matter. What matters is that Hermione is crushed, humiliated and horrified. The discussion ended with her parents giving her an ultimatum; give up magic or give up her parents.”

Rolling his eyes in stunned disgust, James exploded, “Those bloody buggering arseholes!”

Shaking her head in admiration of Hermione, Lily finished, “That girl is such a Gryffindor. She stood - a bit shaky, but she stood nonetheless - and told her parents, `I'm sorry you feel that way, but I'm a witch. I was a witch when I was born and shall die a witch. I hope you change your mind when you calm down. I'll contact you around Christmas.' Then she turned on her heel to head out the back door. Sirius and I hustled after her. She fell apart when we got back here, poor thing. I shooed Sirius out the door to the bank before taking her to the parlour where she sobbed her eyes out. Harry's with her now.”

.oOo.

“I can't believe they said those things,” Hermione whispered. She'd related the whole tale to her boyfriend once she'd calmed.

Not knowing what to say, Harry merely tightened his grip on his girlfriend.

“Your mum and Sirius have been nothing but selfless and giving. I'm so mortified…” she trailed off as she recalled the barbs sent at Lily and Sirius by her parents.

Harry frowned. True, the others had all been roundly insulted, but the sticking point for him was that, basically, her parents had thrown her on the garbage heap and that's not on. Clearing his throat, he softly asked, “But what about what they said to you?”

She was silent for a long minute before she shrugged. Burrowing into his chest, she mumbled, “It's not like I didn't expect it.”

“Really?” he asked, appalled.

Without the strength to reply, she nodded into his shirt.

Now, he really didn't know what to say. Fortunately, his godfather saved him. Sirius rolled into the room wearing sleep pants and an old Tutshill sweatshirt. His solemn expression belied his casual dress and manner. Flopping on a wingback chair across from the teens, he reached over the low table to take Hermione's hands in his own.

“It'll be Ok,” he told her. The certainty in his voice and the confidence in his expression took Harry aback. He'd never seen Sirius this positive about anything.

Hermione stared at her boyfriend's godfather and her soon to be protector for a long moment. Even to Harry, it was evident that she was drawing on Sirius' strength for her own uses, which was probably the whole reason that Sirius was there in the first place.

Without looking away from Hermione, Padfoot repeated himself, “It'll be Ok.”

A small light bulb went off for Harry. Around the same age, Sirius had been self-exiled from his own family. Sirius generally described his departure from the bosom of the Blacks as his own choice, but a strong argument could be made that they shoved him out the door. A case of “You can't fire me! I quit!”

Today saw Hermione in the same situation. She too had made a choice that her parents had vilified. She too had been cast from the bosom of her family because of her choice. If anyone could understand what Hermione was feeling, it was Sirius Black.

“I'm sorry it went so badly, but it'll be Ok,” Sirius reiterated for the third time.

A hint of hope returned to Hermione's face as she heard the Truth from Sirius. “I'm sorry for what…” she began to say in a soft, apologetic tone.

Waving it off, Sirius interrupted, “I've heard worse from worse. Not to worry at all, it's not your fault.” Leaning forward, he placed a soft kiss on Hermione's brow before he silently left.

Watching Sirius leave, Harry realized that his girlfriend must be parched after all that crying. Pouring her a glass of water, he handed it to her before pouring one for himself. The water was at just the right temperature. “I love magic,” he muttered to himself.

A soft sound to his left caused him to turn. Hermione - blotchy faced, swollen eyes and still tear streaked - was giggling at him. She drew her wand. After a quick incantation, which Harry didn't hear, her face was right as rain. Grinning at him, she teased, “You're such a boy sometimes, Harry.”

Setting the glass on the tray, he took hers from her before pouncing on her. The tickling quickly moved to snogging. It was brief, but welcome for both teens. As they got up to find a snack, Harry teased, “Aren't you glad I'm a boy?”

Without missing a beat, she replied, “It would be awkward to kiss you if you were a fish.”

.oOo.

Lily and James came into the sitting room a few hours later. Hermione was curled up in a chair, a thick tome in her lap. Harry and Sirius were quietly talking Quidditch as Remus played chess against an automated, magic driven opponent.

Nodding at the quiet atmosphere, James turned to his wife. Catching her eye, he wiggled his hips for a short moment.

In reply, she smiled and nodded.

“Right then!” Pointing at the teens, who were watching him, “You two! Follow me!”

James led the way as the procession tromped down the hall. Turning into a room he'd not entered in quite a while, he smiled. This room held many fond memories of his parents, friends of theirs and growing up here at Rowan Hill. He and Lily had danced their first dance as husband and wife in this room. It was also the first place that he and Sirius had ever pulled a prank. They had been five years old at the time. A flick of his wand caused the sconces to burn brightly.

The quick intake of breath caught his attention. Turning, he saw Hermione gazing about the room, soaking in the beauty of it all. The Ballroom at Rowan Hill was second in beauty only to the same room found in Buckingham Palace. Very large, it was gilded while decorated with mirrors spaced every few feet to reflect the light. Interspersed between the mirrors was a series of murals that told stories both mythological and magical. The entire north wall was a bank of French doors leading to the west lawn.

Wrapping his arm about Lily's waist, he told the teens, “You two are going to learn to dance.”

Harry's face paled while Hermione bounced in excitement. “B-b-b-but…” James' son stammered.

“It's a way for you to politely and publicly grope your girlfriend,” James announced with a smug smile. Knowing it was coming, he prepared himself. He wasn't disappointed, for not two seconds later, Lily punched him on the shoulder.

Another wand movement created a nondescript pleasant tune to begin wafting through the room. James eyed the footwear of the teens. Shaking his head, he quickly transfigured the trainers into more appropriate dancing shoes.

“Alright, first dance is the Foxtrot. You two know chess? The knight's movement is two to the front and one to the side, right?” Gliding forward, James showed them, “Harry, you'll always lead with your left foot; step - step - together and then to the left,” he announced as he side stepped to the side at the end.

Lily sidled to Hermione, “You'll do the same, but backwards. You step off with your right foot. When he comes toward you, you'll go backwards,” Lily stepped backwards, “step - step - together - to the side.” She ended up in the same position as James. “Remember, Ginger Rogers said that she did everything Fred Astaire did, just backwards and in heels.”

After walking the kids through the steps a few more times, they reversed the step so that Harry went backwards.

“Ok, you've got the footwork down, let's get you two together.”

After much blushing by Harry which ended with Hermione's exasperated, “Harry, just grab me. I won't bite,” he wrapped his arm under her arm, close to her bosom.

“No biting `til later,” James quipped.

James was happy to see his son snark back, “Just not when you're around.”

Lily stepped in, “Hermione, I'm going to tell you something that applies only in dance.” Turning to her son, she pointed to him, “He's in charge. He's leading and telling the both of you where to go. In turn,” she turned back to her son, “You've got to keep her out of other people's laps.”

After explaining about offset, frame and tension, James turned the kids loose. Watching with a smile, James was impressed that the duo was doing a credible job. Caught up in the moment, he scooped up Lily. Driving her across the dance floor with aplomb, they smiled into each other's eyes. “Love you,” she whispered.

“Love you too. This was a great idea.”

“They need to focus on something other than psychotic Dark Lords, disintegrating families or…other things,” she finished darkly. James gave her an understanding nod. He and Lily would go to their deathbed hating her sister for what she'd done and allowed to be done to their son.

Seeing that the young couple had danced themselves into a corner, the parents stopped.

“Let's talk about turns and a promenade.”

.oOo.

It was at dinner when Harry finally wanted to know. “Mum mentioned that you all were working on a plan to help prepare me for eventually facing Voldemort. Can we talk about it?”

Hermione saw James pause while forking his salad. After a soft sigh of resignation, the elder Potter lay down his fork before sitting back in his chair. Not really paying attention, a part of Hermione's brain noticed that everyone else had laid aside their silverware like she and James had. Food was the farthest thing on anyone's mind.

“Let's go to the library, shall we?” James asked as he stood.

Scuttling to the door, Hermione met her boyfriend, taking his hand in hers. As usual, Harry was more concerned about her than his own well-being. With his eyes, he asked if she were Ok. Leaning into him, she told him very authoritatively, “I'm here for you tonight. Don't worry about me, I'm fine.”

Together, they made their way into the cosy library. Hermione had been exceptionally disappointed in the small room, but once Lily had explained the magical filing system that stocked the approximately six hundred books in the Potter family library she'd been far more satisfied. Settling on a leather couch, Hermione was nearly in Harry's lap, but he didn't' seem to be complaining any so she stayed.

James was pouring whisky for the others. Pursing her lips, Hermione figured that the usual port or brandy just didn't fit the mood. James settled next to Lily while Sirius looked out the window. Remus was leaning on the desk, his hand curled around his tumbler.

“First off, the four of us are returning to school with you. At the bank when Albus mentioned that he'd no objections to my requests? This was one of them. One of the others is that between the four of us and Flitwick, we're going to take over your education this year.”

Hermione's ears pricked up at this. It was widely known that James was a Transfiguration prodigy, while Lily could have pursued a Charms or Potions mastery. Remus excelled in Defence, obviously, but Arithmancy and Runes were also areas of expertise. Despite his demeanour, Sirius could give James a run for his money in Transfiguration and Remus a challenge in Defence. Of all the Marauders, Padfoot was the most well rounded.

“How did you make that happen?” Harry asked.

Shrugging, James smiled. Inwardly, Hermione shuddered. She'd seen that smile many times on Harry's face and it boded ill for Dumbledore. “I merely reminded the Headmaster that it was in everyone's best interest to pursue this course of action.” His eyes narrowed perceptibly, “It was for the greater good.”

Lily cleared her throat, catching everyone's attention. “I think it's plain that you won't be ready to duel Voldemort any time soon. What we're going to do is accelerate and tailor the standard lesson plan. Instead of a class once or twice a week, you'll have it every day. Don't expect a lot of essays, expect a lot of oral exams and discussions. If you can't explain it, you fail. Our goal is to be complete with your fifth year studies by Christmas break.”

Stunned, Hermione did a quick computation before blurting, “But that's only seven and a half weeks from now.” She had a bit of normal Hermione Granger panic about academic deadlines. Long she'd known this about herself, so she could internally filter this reaction as not relevant. However, the other part of her reaction was her expert recognition of the level of effort required for Harry to accelerate his education.

Sombrely, Lily nodded her agreement. She too knew what they were asking of her son. “We may not get there, but that's our goal.”

Harry calmed Hermione the most. Placing his hand on hers, he gave her a soft squeeze. That more than anything caught her attention. “Hermione,” he said in a low voice, “I don't have any choice.”

Collecting herself, she turned to her boyfriend. His resigned yet resolved expression told her all she needed to know. Harry was immovable on this topic. Meeting his expression resolve for resolve, steadfastness for steadfastness, she declared, “Then I'm doing it with you.” Her gaze faltered as she admitted, “I may not be able to go into battle at your side…” trailing off, Hermione seemed to see something far away.

“Everything is different now.” Turning back to Harry she elaborated, “We're different. In only, what, three days we're completely different people because of what's happened to us and around us. By the time we get back to school, we may even look different!” she joked at the end of her very serious observation.

Everyone smiled slightly, recognizing the truth in her comments. Hermione watched as all of them contemplated how much they had changed. Life had been very much in session these last few days, but the teens had the most life altering experiences. Love, Loss, Pain, Revenge, Wealth, and most importantly Family.

In a soft voice, but not too soft so the others couldn't hear, Hermione reminded her beau, “Remember, I'm always going to be with you in one way or another.”

His small smile told volumes. “I expected nothing less,” Lily told the teens. Turning from her boyfriend, she saw that James and Lily had tired smiles.

“What about OWLs?” Hermione asked, becoming refocused on the matter at hand.

Waving a hand, Sirius rebutted, “OWLs will be easy when we're done with you.”

“Remus is the only real teacher among us,” James admitted. “But we're all fairly good in certain areas. Herbology, Creatures and History are all going by the wayside, though.” Turning a serious face to his son, James added, “Be prepared for a crash course in Arithmancy and Runes. You'll need them to better understand higher order magiks and, of course, wards.”

“There'll be a bit of Herbology by necessity in Potions, but to be honest, we'll just be skimming the subject,” Lily continued.

Leaning back on the sofa, Hermione thought about what she'd been told. Truth be told, she didn't like this haphazard learning process. In the end, though, Harry was right: They didn't have a choice.

“Once we get later in the year,” Remus added, “Filius and I are going to work on combat.” Harry's eyes glittered in anticipation. “Hold on there, Little One, “Remus chuckled, “You have to use what we teach you in real combat situations. Filius is a Master Duellist who can kick most everyone's arse, including Dumbledore when Filius is having a good day.” With the hint of a smirk that wasn't usually found on Moony's face, he added, “You'll most likely not be having an enjoyable experience.”

Harry surprised them all by replying, “Good. If it was fun then I wouldn't be challenged.”

“What about the tournament?” Hermione asked.

Sighing, Lily glanced at James. Taking his cue, the hazel eyed Potter replied, “We'll make do. Historically there's been quite a bit of cheating. Albus has agreed to give me insider information regarding the tasks. What I do with that information is completely up to me. If I accidentally leave the detailed description of the task along with a possible suggested solution to it on my dining room table, well…” Prongs shrugged melodramatically before sighing.

Sirius grumped, “I still don't understand why we have to go to Scotland. We could teach them well enough here.”

Casually casting the Pinching hex at Padfoot, Lily replied, “Because we don't have the facilities or the library here to do what needs to be done.”

Abruptly standing, Harry announced, “I really need to fly.”

James' eyes glittered with excitement, “Mind if I join you?”

With a wide smile, Harry exclaimed, “Please!”

.oOo.

Under a Warming charm, Lily sat on the lawn as she watched her boys tear through the twilit skies. Already James and Harry had raced to the point and back twice. Even though Sirius had owl ordered two Firebolts for himself and Prongs, James had lost both times to his son. Harry was too good.

Off to the side, Sirius and Hermione were deep in discussion. Lily had intentionally sat far enough apart from the other two so as to give them privacy, but she'd heard Sirius say, “Granger-Black, then.”

Lily had smiled. She was good for Padfoot and he was good for her. Both benefitted from the connexion in personal ways as well as social.

“You see it, too?”

Lily turned to see Remus standing behind her. Motioning to her side, she invited her friend to sit.. “See what?”

Casting a sarcastic eye at his friend, Remus elaborated, “That Sirius and Hermione help each other. That James and Harry are beginning to become father and son in heart as well as body. That we're all healing from a decade's worth of pain.”

Staring ahead, his expression hardening, he finished, “That Voldemort won't stand a chance against our boy.”

Her eyes frightened, Lily replied in a low voice, “I have hope.”

“You don't understand, Lily. Last year, a thirteen year old boy cast a Patronus that drove off over one hundred Dementors that were in a feeding frenzy.” Lily's mouth dropped open in astonishment. “He did it to protect those two over there.” He jerked his chin in the direction of Sirius and Hermione. “He was alone, unwanted by his relatives, subject to Albus' games and manipulations and most importantly, unloved that he knew.”

“With his family whole, his love growing, the love of his life at his side…do you really doubt that Harry can stop him if he could do that last year?”

“But it's Voldemort,” Lily whispered, giving voice to her fear.

A rough, scarred hand covered her own. Looking up into Remus' amber eyes, she saw resolve, strength but most importantly she saw faith. Faith in her son.

“And Voldemort stands no chance against Harry. I have faith. I have faith in Harry, I have faith in us and I have faith in all our love.”

.oOo.

“Paris?” Hermione asked with a hint of disbelief.

Harry agreed with his girlfriend. The bewildered nod of The Boy-Who-Lived was enough to convince her that Sirius had lost what little bit of his mind that still remained. Padfoot had just stormed into the parlour announcing that they should all get dressed as they were heading to the City of Lights for dinner.

Eventually all succumbed to the maniac that was Sirius Black. Pulling her boyfriend into an alcove as everyone dispersed to dress for dinner, she kissed him deeply. They'd been dancing for the previous hour, expanding their repertoire to include the Rumba. She smiled thinking about Harry's reaction to the movement of her hips. His hands roamed to the aforementioned place causing her to moan slightly. She loved snogging her boyfriend. When she'd started to wake to her newfound attitude and feelings toward her dark haired friend, she wondered if they'd be compatible physically. That question had been resolved with a resounding YES.

Sirius created the portkey. An hour later, they arrived at the public portkey and apparition site in the second Arrondisement of Paris.

Lily wrapped her arm about James' waist while Hermione did the same to Harry. Sirius laughed as both Potter men simultaneously wrapped their arms around their ladies' shoulders.

Unerringly, James led the troupe. Hermione split her attention between watching her boyfriend goggle at the city about them and her own enjoyment. In a moment of sadness, she recalled the two times she'd visited Paris with her parents. Already she missed them. With a resigned sigh, she shook off the threatening gloom.

They headed into a non-descript café, threading their way to an unoccupied group of tables. Sharing the grubby menus, Harry whispered, “I've no idea what any of this is.”

“Well, what do you want? Beef? Chicken? Fish? Mutton?“

“Beef.”

Smiling, she teased, “So English.”

“Welsh,” he countered with a smile. He'd been born at Rowan Hill.

With a small smile, she saw him smiling at her. He had found his anchor and his home. As a result he was fundamentally changed for the better. Calmer, more focused, he wasn't a rabbit hiding from a fox any longer. Now, he was the scion of the house of Richmond; Son of James and Lily, beloved of Hermione and stood for by Sirius and Remus. “Welsh. True enough.”

The food was fabulous. Apparently James found this little place during the summer between sixth and seventh year. He and Sirius were `visiting the continent' (“Code for drinking as much wine as humanly possible and not die,” Lily had interjected). One day, they'd stumbled into this little place and raved over the food.

“We still don't know the name of this place,” Sirius observed as he looked for an employee to ask.

“No! Don't ask. It'll ruin the mystery of this place.” With a dreamy expression Prongs mused, “Our own mystical restaurant with the best food in all of France.”

Hermione laughed along with the rest. Usually people like James and Sirius annoyed her. They didn't take life seriously for the most part, where she invariably took life too seriously. Seeing their responsible side where James ferociously looked out for his wife and child, while Sirius defended her and Harry like a mama bear over her cubs, showed Hermione that there could be a balance between the two. She doubted she'd ever be as silly as the Marauders, but Hermione could tell that she'd already changed in many ways.

Sobering, Lily cleared her throat. Hermione saw a hint of distress on the youthful features of her boyfriend's mother. “I know we said we'd be taking a week off, but your dad and I were talking about it last night, and we think it best to return to school tomorrow to begin…”

Begin the desperate, furious preparation of Harry for his fate, Hermione thought to herself. No, prepare us for our fate.

Absently wrapping her arm in Harry's, Hermione watched him for his reaction. To her pride, he nodded once in agreement before taking a long pull on his after dinner coffee.

“But tonight,” Sirius announced with a grand flourish. “Tonight, we have the City of Light as our mistress!” Lily threw a piece of bread at Padfoot while the group laughed.

.oOo.

Hermione was packing her little bag the next morning when Rauri popped into the bedroom.

“My Lady,” he intoned with his usual gravitas, “Allow me.” A snap of his little fingers found the bag packed and settled nicely on his shoulder. “I shall provide your things to your quarters at Hogwarts.” After one more bow, he popped away.

Sighing, she slumped into the chair next to the crackling fireplace. Looking about the beautiful room, she realized that she didn't want to return to school. The thought took her aback. She missed learning and the challenge of her classes, but Hermione loved being here at Rowan Hill.

The house was beyond beautiful. Hermione was sure that if it wasn't a magical home it would have been on the National Register like Chatham House and the like. Unbidden, her imagination pulled up a long forgotten memory. She smiled as she remembered how she pictured her ideal house. When introduced to the wonderful works of Jane Austen, Hermione had fallen in love with the idea of the `hallowed halls' of Miss Austen's most famous fictional residence. The home of the Potters fleshed out that vision, giving it substance and texture. Rowan Hill was Pemberly and Harry was her Darcy. He just wasn't as much of an arse as poor Fitzwilliam had started off as.

Smiling, she curled up in the chair, staring into the fire as she savoured the feeling. Internal and external warmth cradled and swaddled her in a safe place. A knocking on the door broke her from her trance. Smiling, she called, “Come in, Harry.”

An impish Padfoot stuck his head in the room, “Bedroom rendezvous with your beau? Whatever am I to think, young lady!”

She blushed and stammered as Sirius teased her before finally finding the trump card. With a wicked gleam in her eye, she shouted, “Sirius! Stop this nonsense!”

Comically deflating, Sirius stuck out his lip before they both began to laugh. Padfoot sank into the chair opposite Hermione as he pulled a thick sheaf of parchment out of his pocket.

“Sorry to interrupt your lascivious fantasies, but I'm here for this,” he gestured with the forms in his hand.

Extending her hand for the forms, she asked, “Is this the protectorate agreement?”

He nodded in reply. “Your parents don't have a place to sign as they're muggles.” Shrugging, he admitted, “It's distasteful, but it's the law.”

Silently, Hermione read through the forms. On the last page she stopped, stunned. “You're adopting me and making me your heir?” The glimmer of a tear shimmered in the corner of her eye.

A bit uncomfortable, Sirius looked away. “I told you I think very highly of you. Of course, if I ever find a woman lunatic enough to take me and we have a son, he'd become the heir. But in that unlikely occurrence,” he looked her in the eye with affection, “You'll be my heir.”

Looking in her lap, she replied, “Thank you, Sirius.” Shifting to her feet, Hermione made her way to the desk. With the provided eagle feather quill, she deftly signed her name at the bottom. Turning, she saw Sirius standing behind her, an expression of tenderness on his face that she'd seen on Lily and James' faces when they watched Harry.

With a soft smile, she handed Sirius the quill. With his usual broad strokes, he signed the form. Tuning, he tentatively took her in his arms. Deciding to go with the situation, Hermione gave him her usual rib-crushing hug.

Breaking apart, Hermione saw the usual mischievous expression return on the face of her pseudo adopted father. “Come, Lady Granger-Black, we must away.”

.oOo.

Only five days.

Harry stood at the gates of Hogwarts reflecting on the changes that had taken place over the previous work week. Family, love, friends, retribution…the list went on. Holding Hermione's hand firmly in his own, he followed his Father and Remus up the path to the school. His Mother and Sirius were trailing the teens, mapping out the Arithmancy lessons.

Harry could tell that Hermione wanted to join in the discussion behind them, but she seemed preoccupied. Seeing her worrying her lower lip, he asked, “What's bothering you?”

“Ron. The rest of school.”

Frowning, he asked, “Ok, that was an answer that told me nothing at all.”

Sighing, she laid her head on his shoulder for a moment before resuming their trek up the hill. “You know how…vindictive Ron can be. He can be outright mean when he's crossed. I'm afraid that the bit of resentment he was showing the night of the Goblet of Fire is going to detonate because of our unique schooling on top of the tournament.”

“And because we're together now,” Harry added absently. His eyes losing focus as he mulled over her words, The Boy-Who-Lived fell silent. Eventually, he told her, “Look, if he's an arse about it…well, I don't have time or energy to cater to his wounded pride. All the time we've known him, he's been jealous of my wealth or fame. Never did he see the price that'd been paid.”

Pausing, he wondered if he should tell his girlfriend, but decided he'd have no secrets from her if he could. “Our first Christmas here - when I got the Cloak -as I unwrapped it, Ron said, `I'd do anything for one of those'.” Shaking his head, he added, “He didn't even recognize that I'd had to have my father apparently die to get it. Never registered to him.”

Realizing the situation for where it stood, Harry told Hermione, “Look, from my perspective, Ron's a decent enough bloke, but he's shown his true colours. I don't have time, energy or trust to deal with him, so he can sod off.”

With a small smile, Hermione reproved, “Harry, language.”

Rolling his eyes, he squeezed her hand. “What do you think? About what I said and all?”

Shaking her head, Hermione betrayed her inner conflict. Harry didn't blame her. She'd had as rough a childhood as he'd, just in a different way. He'd had abuse heaped on him, while she'd been ostracized. Two very different types of pain, but pain nonetheless. She needed time to sort through her feelings, but God help Ron Weasley if he hurt her. If Harry didn't get to him first, it didn't bear thinking what his Dad or Sirius would do to the redheaded prat.

With a smile, another thought occurred to him as he contemplated Sirius' vengeance on any who crossed Hermione. Turning to his girlfriend, he told her, “I've two words for you: `Mum' and `Snape'.”

Hermione giggled, envisioning the inescapable encounter. Once Lily was made aware the extent of the Potion Master's haranguing of her son, the reckoning would be swift. “Oh, I hope I get to see it.”

“I don't. Can you imagine the curse words and the amount of bloodshed? Poor Snape doesn't have a chance. She'll murder him.”

Her giggles bubbled over into laughter, “I never thought I'd hear the words, `poor' and `Snape' in the same sentence coming from your mouth.”

With his crooked smile in place, he snarked, “Yeah, well don't get used to it. I doubt it'll happen again.”

They laughed a bit as they made their way up to school. “The rest of the school isn't going to be happy with us. They're going to scream `special treatment',” Hermione observed.

Snorting, he replied, “And they'll be right. But, after second year, I'm not too concerned what the rest of the school thinks of me. They're a bunch of old hens, from where I sit.” Two weeks ago, Harry would have been very distressed about being ostracized yet again by the school population. Now, though, his confidence had risen so that he didn't derive a sense of self from his schoolmates. Hogwarts wasn't his home any longer, Rowan Hill was his home.

Frowning, Hermione cast one of her penetrating glances at her boyfriend.

Knuckling under, he admitted, “Ok, of course I care, but on the whole…” he trailed off as he looked closely at her. “On the whole, they don't matter.” He squeezed her hand, “I've all in need within close range and the rest can take a long walk off a short pier as far as I'm concerned.”

She pulled him up short, placing a long, sweet kiss on his lips. “I love you,” she whispered.

“Love you too.”

“What about the Headmaster?” Hermione asked, returning to business.

Harry cast a surprised look at her. Albus Dumbledore had been a frequent topic of conversation the previous few days and very little of the discussion had shown the old man in a very flattering light. Hermione was infamous for her above average adherence to rules and near reverence for authority figures. Over the last week, both of those attitudes had been bent and forged into a new way of viewing the world.

His mother, Harry felt, was the biggest influence on his girlfriend. Lily had grown up in a lower middle class household where government was respected but always regarded with more than a healthy dose of cynicism. Lily's success at life had shown Hermione a different way of life that she could follow. Plus, Harry knew that she really liked Lily, looking to her as a witch she could emulate.

Pursing his lips, Harry considered the question. His father's laughter in front of him as he snaked his arm across Remus' shoulder provided the answer for him. “Not my problem,” Harry told Hermione. “He's their problem,” he nodded toward his father.

“Fair enough,” she agreed.

.oOo.

Remus stood in the back of the group as they entered the school. With a soft smile, he watched the family unconsciously group around Harry and Hermione. James and Lily were up front with himself and Sirius flanking the teens. Of course, the Headmaster was waiting for them at the doors. Strangely enough to Remus, so too was Stephen Maturin.

The shark like grin on the face of the solicitor made Remus shiver, then smile. Whatever makes a solicitor that happy is usually not very pleasant. Next to the solicitor was a sober looking wizard dressed in the red robes of the Auror corps.

“James, Lily, it's so good to see you…” Dumbledore began before he was interrupted by the wave of James' hand.

Turning to the solicitor, Prongs nodded. Maturin, in turn told the Auror, “Please proceed.”

Shuffling to the Headmaster, the Auror held out a bound scroll, “Albus Dumbledore, by decree of the Second Wizard Magistrate, you are hereby constrained from initiating any contact with the minor wizard, Harry James Potter. If there is any need to address any of his academic issues, it shall be handled by the Deputy Headmistress. Under no account are you to initiate any discussion with, or seek out, the minor wizard, Harry James Potter, or through an intermediary, initiate conversation with said minor wizard. This writ it in effect until the minor wizard, Harry James Potter, achieves his majority.

“Do you acknowledge receipt of this writ?”

When Dumbledore nodded, the Auror countered, “I'll need a verbal acknowledgment, sir.”

“Yes, I acknowledge receipt of this writ,” Dumbledore replied in a low, sad tone.

Without saying another word, the Auror turned and headed down the path to Hogsmeade, apparently to return to his duties.

Remus saw Albus heft the scroll in his hand as if it weighed four stone instead of the few ounces it really was. Like the others, Remus' image of Dumbledore was recently shattered, therefore, he was unsure why the old man seemed so sad. With hope, Remus ascribed the emotion to regret on the old man's part.

Watching the scroll with a rueful expression Albus slowly tucked it inside his robes before turning to James.

With a sorrowful expression, the old man nodded once at James before turning back into the castle and shuffling away. It seemed to Remus that the man had never seemed older than he did at that moment.

“Solly,” Remus called softly.

With a quiet pop, a female house elf arrived in the entrance hall. “Master Remus has returned to Hogwarts?” she asked softly.

“For now,” he smiled down on her. “Would you please tell the Deputy Headmistress that we require her presence?”

With a quick curtsey, the young elf popped away.

The group was quiet as they awaited Minerva. Sirius was glaring at the interior of the castle, in the direction Dumbledore had left. Remus could almost imagine that he old friend was daring the Headmaster to return.

Harry and Hermione had settled on one of the benches, cuddling somewhat. Despite their comfort level with the adults, Remus knew that no teenager was completely comfortable snuggling in front of their parents. James leaned on the wall, staring off out the doors while Lily sat next to him, leaning on his hip.

For the first time, Remus was struck by how young his friends were. They were still in their early twenties where Sirius and Remus were in their middle thirties. Smiling, he realized that it hadn't mattered in their relationships one whit. They were still family.

The clackety-clack of a woman's heels on the stones roused Remus from his reverie. Rounding the corner, Minerva paused when she saw the Potters. He saw her visibly stiffen her upper lip as she approached the waiting group.

James cut his eyes to his right. Seeing the Deputy Head, he stood up straight. “Minerva,” he greeted in a somewhat friendly tone. “Are you aware of what we require?”

The middle aged Scot nodded as she replied, “Albus tasked me to see to your needs.”

Gesturing with his hand, James asked, “Shall we, then?”

“Follow me,” she requested as she turned into the school.

Once again, the adults formed up around the teens. James and Lily were in the front of the procession while Sirius and Remus were in the rear. The former Defence Professor assumed the teens were tagging along so as to know where everyone was going to stay.

On the far side of the castle, away from the bulk of the classrooms, Minerva stopped in front of a hallway filled with portraits. “These are the guest suites I've set aside for you. Pick which ones you'd like.” She trailed off, “They're all very similar.”

Walking to a door, she opened it to show a smallish sized classroom, “You may use this classroom for your studies. If you require different facilities, let me know and I shall work out something.”

Something was off and Remus couldn't figure out what it was. Looking about, nothing seemed out of order. James and Lily…fine. Sirius and the teens…fine. Minerva…not fine. She was nervous and uncomfortable he realized. None of the visitors had spoken outside of James' initial greeting. Her sense of guilt was palpable. Sirius, James and he had discussed Albus and Minerva's role in Harry's placement with the Dursleys.

Feeling sorry for the woman who'd chosen badly, Remus told her, “Thank you, Minerva. We'll be fine from here.”

After a small sigh, she nodded jerkily before moving off toward the Great Hall.

With a hint of sternness, James turned to Harry, “We'll be in this first room,” he gestured toward a portrait of Hermes. “If you have any hint of trouble, I want you here, even if we're not.” Turning to Hermione, he added, “Both of you. I know that you're used to doing things on your own.” His lip twisting, he interjected, “Mainly because the adults in your lives have repeatedly failed to provide for you.” He looked his son in the eye as he declared, “That's all over now. We're here to help you.”

A surprisingly stern Sirius echoed his friend. “You have to let us help you. It's time to become part of the family.” It was sound counsel to which Remus nodded his agreement.

Shrugging, Harry replied, “Sure.”

Remus smiled when Hermione glared at her beau. When she pinched his arm, he flinched. “Fine,” he relented with more honesty. “We'll come to you first.”

With a smile, Lily asked, “Would you rather we eat in our quarters or in the Great Hall?”

Smiling Remus caught her drift. Most teenagers would be mortified to have their parents eating with them in this situation. However, Harry had just been granted his parents from the dead, as it were, and had only had them back for a short five days.

Shrugging again, he replied, “Whatever you want.”

Lily cocked her eyebrow before glancing at her smiling husband. James solemnly told his son, “I promise, no kissy faces during meals from us.”

“Just before and after, right,” Sirius teased.

Hermione quashed the humour with a well-placed glare at her new pseudo father.

.oOo.

After deciding to forgo the decision to a later day, they took a communal meal in James and Lily's rooms. The teens skipped back to Gryffindor Tower as the clock struck twelve.

“We are in so much trouble,” Hermione moaned.

Rolling his eyes at her, he teased, “But we have a note from Professor Padfoot.”

Smiling, she countered, “A note that says `The bearer of this note is so incredibly bad-ass that they can do whatever they want due to incredible bad-assery' hardly counts as a `note from a professor' Harry.”

He didn't reply, merely walked her into the common room and the foot of the girls' stairs. Ignoring the stares for the few Lions who were still awake, Harry took his girlfriend's hands in his own. “Love you,” he whispered.

She squeezed his hands back, “Love you, too.” They met in the middle for a quick kiss. The gentle peck grew a bit heated as their tongues entwined. Coming back to her senses she realized that she had a hand on Harry's bum while the other was in his hair.

Slowly breaking the kiss, she gave him a `goodbye' squeeze, feeling the answering squeeze in her own posterior. She loved that Harry found her so desirable. Sure, part of it was teenage boy hormones, but Harry could have bedded almost any female in the castle - and some of the males - but had chosen her over all the rest.

After one last peck, she headed up to her dorm. Hopefully, she'd get a good night's sleep. She had a feeling that the next day would be rough.

She was right.

Waking early, she found herself in the common room an hour before she expected Harry. Despite his age, Harry was an early riser.

The glares in the common room were quite unsettling. It began with a few of the seventh years. Like a fungus, it spread to the others as they came down from the dorms. Soon, it seemed as if the entire house was glaring at her - for what she didn't know, but suspected that it was about the tournament.

Harry bounced down the steps, his hair still wet from his shower. In a moment of her own teenaged hormonal moments, she had to admit that her boyfriend was quite yummy. His smile, when he saw her watching him warmed Hermione's heart.

Glancing around, she saw the glares ratchet up a notch. Sighing, she accepted the inevitable; Harry was about to be ostracized - again - by the sheep of Hogwarts.

He must have noticed he3r survey of the room and her downcast reaction. Handing her out of her chair, he whispered, “Remember, they don't matter.”

Surprised at his attitude, she cocked her head in her habitual enquiring expression. The stares and glares had reminded her of her primary school experience. That in turn triggered her `turtle' reaction. Tuck in your head to stay out of the way. For Harry to ignore it all was surprising, considering his childhood.

Replying to her unasked question, he told her, “Moony and I had a chat back at home and I realized a few things. Like I told you yesterday, they don't really matter.”

In the corner of her eye, she saw a few of the glares shift of surprise before settling in haughty disdain. A few of the others showed juvenile hurt.

Their walk to the Great Hall was very similar to their experience in the Gryffindor Common room. Glares or stares dominated with a few - a very few - friendly waves and smiles.

They piled their plates high before digging in. Harry paused mid bite before muttering, “I didn't think I'd ever say this, but I like the food at home better.”

She smiled at his sentiment. “Well, Rauri was cooking for just the family. The elves here are cooking for the whole castle. It's good food, just not as good as a meal cooked in smaller portions…” she trailed off at his chuckles.

His eyes danced when he told her, “Don't ever change.”

Their laughter died away when Ron entered the hall. The red head's neutral expression hardened when he saw the young couple sitting together. His long strides quickly took him to the other end of the house table. H didn't meet their gazes once.

Simultaneously sighing in regret with her best friend, Hermione looked to the left to gauge his reaction to Ron's behaviour.

She saw the expected regret and resignation, but didn't see any stronger emotions. Hurriedly, they finished breakfast. On their way out of the hall, he scooped up her hand in his own.

“Ron?” she asked.

Shrugging, he told her, “He's a good friend but from what you told me last week and what I saw this morning, he's obviously not as good a friend as I thought he was.”

Looking at his feet as they ambled to their new classroom by the guest quarters, he added “If he wants to be a proper friend, I'm here. IF he's going to be childish about it, well, I just don't have time to deal with him.”

Hermione blinked. Although Ron deserved a bit of Harry's ire, she never expected him to focus it in any meaningful manner. Instead of petulance, Harry was demonstrating a maturity that had recently grown. Her face pinking, Hermione admitted to herself that it was quite a turn on.

After a brief stop in a broom closet, they continued on to their destination. Passing the main stairs, Hermione was about to ask Harry to give Ron another chance when their discussion was interrupted from a most unpleasant source.

“So, I see you've condescended to re-join the student population Potter.” Hermione looked forward to see their sneering former potion's instructor. The levitated crate of ingredients gave away that Snape was heading to the dungeons.

“Now that your Saintly parents are back, I expect that you'll be even more arrogant than before. Now you have a proper role model.”

Astonished at the man's vitriol for he was nearly snarling at two teenagers, Hermione gaped. He was a professor and yet…in a moment of realization, she saw Severus Snape for what he was.

A bully.

Thrown off balance by the epiphany, she was silent as Harry's face burned red. Just as he opened his mouth to say something that would undoubtedly land him in detention for months, Hermione recollected herself and tugged her boyfriend away. With a muttered, “Good morning, Professor,” they headed off.

Once they rounded the corner, Harry sputtered, “That…that…urrrhg!”

Tugging his hand, again, she cajoled, “Come on, let's see what they've in store for us.”

.oOo.

Lily was wading through a pile of charms books, Filius Flitwick at her side. She'd always had a fondness for the diminutive professor and he, in his turn, had a fondness for the former Lily Evans.

Padfoot had spread his Arithmancy plans across a conjured conference table while Remus was thumbing through his lesson plans from last year. James was looking over Moony's shoulder as Remus explained why he placed certain spells in the order they were taught.

Despite their individual areas of expertise, James, Lily and Sirius were working hard to put together a coherent lesson plan for the teens, which explained Filius' presence.

After discussing the matter with Harry, James and Lily had approached the Charms professor to request his assistance. After a brief “non-prophecy” discussion, Filius agreed to help with Harry's non-standard education path. His only stipulation was, “You must motivate him, Lily. He has exceptional potential but doesn't' put forth the effort needed to excel.”

Finding the spot on the long roll of parchment she had stretched in front of her, Lily double checked her notes as Filius hunted through a book nearly as large as he.

The door banged open, causing all the adults to look up as Harry barged into the room, Hermione right behind him.

Her eyes narrowing at his obvious anger, Lily asked, “What happened?”

Snarling, Harry spat, “Snape being his usual witty self.”

Frowning, Lily remembered the earlier conversation with Remus where he alluded that Severus wasn't very kind to Harry because of who his father was. Her eyes cut to Flitwick for confirmation. The Head of Ravenclaw house's carefully blank face told volumes. Filius was a very emotional man whose inner self wasn't very inner. A blank face meant he was hiding an unpleasant emotion.

“Sit down,” she directed the teens. “Tell me about how Severus has treated you in the past.”

Harry blinked at Lily's use of `Severus' but was too wound up to process it.

Twenty minutes later, Lily stormed out of the classroom, Remus holding back James and Sirius. Harry's explanation began with, “He's a dick,” but soon became more descriptive than emotive.

The entire time, the fires of Lily's anger were stoked and fed.

Severus Snape was a very complicated topic for her. When they were first dating, Lily had told James that Severus had been her best friend since she was six years old. Young Severus had explained to her that she wasn't going mad when Petunia's hair turned green as they were having a fight. That she wasn't an abhomination for having shattered her Mum's favourite vase after being spanked - without touching it, mind.

He'd very kindly explained about magic, what it was and that she was a witch. That it was Ok.

She and he had shared many academic interests; potions being their favourite. She leaned toward Charms were he preferred the Dark Arts.

There had always been that underlying feeling of inferiority in Severus. Perhaps it had come from his horrid father. Perhaps from his less than handsome looks. Whatever the source, Severus had turned to magic to provide him the feeling of power and security - even superiority - that he couldn't find elsewhere.

Then came fifth year and Steven Yaxley. The then sixth year Slytherin had everything Severus didn't: money, looks, clothes, and pretty girls - all of it. She still remembered how excited her friend had been that day in the library after Yaxley had condescended to speak with him.

It was the first session of Severus' recruitment into the Death Eater, yet neither of the friends had recognized it.

By Christmas, Severus was beginning to occasionally turn his sneer at her. He would pass it off as a poor attempt at being droll, but Lily always wondered about the truth of the matter.

In retrospect, it was the first signs of her friend becoming a Death Eater. He was beginning to adopt the attitudes and beliefs of that group. When the infamous blow up occurred during OWLs and Snape called her that word, it was the last visible sign of his betrayal of her.

He who had proclaimed her to be his only friend. He who had pledged their friendship. He whom she had defended against those who he engaged in a perverted mutual torment.

He had joined a group which classified her as sub human; an animal.

Then he called her a mudblood. And meant it.

It wasn't a betrayal of all muggleborns or even of decent folk. No, Lily saw Snape's embracing the Pureblood Voldemort agenda as a betrayal of her. How could she not?

All the other factors were irrelevant. His father, his economic status, his looks, his connexions…none of them held a wand to his throat demanding he choose the darkness and evil. Yet he willingly did and in so doing not only repudiated his friendship with Lily Evans, but cast himself among those who would gladly rape, torture and kill her.

Is it no wonder she hated him? Is it no wonder she could never forgive him?

Therefore, as she stormed to the dungeons, there were no fond feelings for her former friend bubbling up from her memories. No, Lily Potter was protecting her son from an enemy - for that was what Severus Snape was to her.

It was still early, so she didn't halt her stride. A Bludgeoning hex to the door slammed it into the wall, stressing the hinges.

“Who the…” she heard him begin until she rounded into the room. Snape's hard sneer softened to something approaching a welcoming expression. “Hello, Lily,” he greeted in a fairly neutral tone.

“Don't you `Hello, Lily' me Severus Snape.” Her face hard and her tone harder, she asked, “How many times must you betray me?”

His face drained of all blood as his expression melted to one of shocked horror. An interminable number of seconds passed as Snape stared at Lily. She couldn't tell if he was shocked that she'd spoken the truth aloud- finally - or that he was shocked at her audacity.

Either way, she didn't give a fuck. He'd best leave her son alone.

“I know how you treat my son,” she declared. Her expression and body language not giving an inch, she told him, “I don't care why you torment him, nor do I really care what you may claim he has done to provoke you.” Nearly growling she leaned on a table to focus her glare, “But if you don't treat him with, at least, neutrality, I'll be back. And Severus,” she caught his eye, “I'll cut off your goddam hand. Your right hand. Do not fuck with me and mine.”

Spinning on her heel, Lily stormed out. There was nothing for him to say. In an unexpected show of generosity on her part, she prevented him from grovelling or even lying to her by immediately removing herself from his presence.

A bit calmer, but still wound up, Lily headed back to what they all called “The Classroom”. She had work to do.

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first four chapters. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on FanFiction(dot)net.

2. Recommendation for the chapter is To Be Loved by Silentclock. It's an excellent Harry/Daphne fic that moves much slower in any of mine, relationship-wise. Find it on FF dot net.

3. For the ballroom, think Sound of Music, but better.

4. Before the outrage regarding Lily and her view on Snape begins, remember this is from her perspective and no, she doesn't know that he dimed them out to Voldemort.

5. Sorry for the delay in posting. We've been on vacation for the last week and my `computer' has been called a `spiral bound notebook'. I just finished transcribing this chapter and half of 6.

Chapter complete 5/22/11

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

“So, Dad. While Mum is opening a new orifice in our friendly neighbourhood potion's master's forehead, maybe we could have a little talk.”

Sirius frowned at Harry's aggressive tone, but didn't say anything. The teen was still wound up from the earlier altercation with the current head of Slytherin house, so Sirius was willing to cut him a little bit of slack. Apparently, this crap from Snivellus was a long time brewing and seemed to be coming to a head.

Filius silently left, seeing that the confrontation to come was definitely of the `family' nature of which he wanted no part. Smart man. When the door clicked shut behind the Head of Ravenclaw, Sirius turned his attention to his cousin and closest friend.

Padfoot was shocked at how wretched Prongs appeared. His shoulders sagging while his head drooped, James slowly made his way to a chair. After he beckoned Harry to sit across from him, Sirius slipped into the third side of the table while Moony occupied the fourth. Hermione pulled a chair up next to Harry as they all waited for Prongs to begin.

With a choked voice, James admitted, “I was a bullying punk who was a borderline thug for many years.”

Sirius felt his back get up. Rushing to his friend's defence, he shouted, “Bollocks to that! What about…” but was cut off by James' raised hand.

“Padfoot, I love you, but shut up and let me tell my story.”

Fuming, Sirius sat back in his chair. Absently he noticed Harry's nod of approval regarding his father's actions. On some level, Sirius agreed that it was rather mature of James to own up to his activities, but still…

“I met Severus Snape on the train before first year. I admit that at first I was insanely jealous of him because he had your mother's ear.” With a wan grin, he told his son, “Even then I loved her.”

Harry's face softened a bit, but not much.

Sirius remembered the meeting. Neither he nor James had known any spells of note, but Snivellus sure had. The greasy berk had nailed them with the Body Bind before casting the Tickling jinx. After ten minutes, it began to hurt like hell.

“When I saw Snape tell Lily that I was sure to be a `worthless Gryffindor', I saw red.” Dropping his head to avoid his son's gaze, he admitted, “I began to taunt him about his second hand robes and greasy hair.”

“But his hair was greasy!” Sirius objected.

“Padfoot…” James whined.

“Fine, fine, I'll shut it so that you can tell all kinds of misleading things that make you look like a monster. Fine.” He crossed his arms, swearing that he'd grab Harry at the earliest possible chance so that his godson knew the truth about his Dad.

In a touching gesture, Harry leaned across the table, grasped his father's hand before he told him, “I love you Dad and could never think you a monster.” His grin brightened when he added, “A bloody wanker maybe, but not a monster.”

James gave a short laugh before becoming serious again.

“That kind of set the tone for our encounters for the next five or so years.”

“Hold on, James,” Remus interrupted. “I know you want to tell Harry about how you behaved, but it's dishonest not to include Severus' behaviour. He was no saint in the matter.”

“Yeah!” Sirius cut in. Quickly explaining about the tickling hex payback by Snape, Padfoot saw Harry's expression become contemplative.

Shrugging, James continued, “Anyway, every time we met up after that it was bad. Sometimes it was just taunting about his looks or robes to later when jinxes and curses were cast. To be honest, after first year, he did begin to make it plain that he was interested in the Dark Arts.”

James' eyes narrowed, “And I hate the Dark Arts. The Grindlewald War killed most of the Potters, leaving just my Mum, Dad and me. Those bastards went after us and a few other families to `make a point'. Well they made their point alright and, therefore, I hate any and all Dark Arts practitioners.

“Anyway,” he sighed as he ran his left hand absently through his hair. “This rivalry turned into a little war over the years. By third year, Minerva was pulling me into her office warning me with suspension. He put me in the Hospital wing for a week with a Slicing hex during fifth year.” Nodding to Sirius and Remus, “These two retaliated the next day. Damn near killed him. It was right before OWLs if I remember aright.”

“Prongs, you almost bled out from that curse,” Remus reminded him forcefully.

With real regret on his features, James summed up, “It took on a life of its own after a bit, this rivalry. We hated each other and to be honest, I think we forgot why. I know I did.”

“Why did you save him from Moony, then?” Harry asked.

With an affronted look, he scolded his son, “I couldn't do that to Remus. Could you imagine the guilt? No, I'd never do that to my friend.”

Sirius looked into his lap to avoid the stares of the others. Despite Prongs' words, he'd not take back what he did to Snape. He was sure that Snape had informed the Death Eaters about Marlene McKinnon's parents being muggles and where they could be found. They'd been slaughtered the weekend before. He and Marlene had been friends and her devastation over her parent's murders still haunted him. Her death a few years later was even worse for him.

No, he didn't regret trying to send Snivelly to his death at Moony's jaws. After explaining the situation to Remus, the lycanthrope had knocked him flat with a right cross. After that, Remus had helped him to his feet and it was over. It was like that in the Marauders. Except for Peter. He would die for his betrayal.

Noticing Harry's abashed expression, Sirius piped up, “Remus and I have had it out about the whole thing. We're good.” Padfoot ignored Harry's expression of curiosity. It was none of his business.

“Why the big change, then?” Harry asked his Dad.

“My parents were killed.” Harry's shocked expression was the opposite of James' dismayed one. “I realized that what I was doing was horrible. I'd never told my Dad about this back and forth of escalating violence with Severus, but I knew that he'd have been extremely disappointed in me.” Looking off out the window, James whispered, “The day I buried him, I promised my Dad that I'd be the man of whom he could be proud.”

Remembering Charlus Potter, Sirius choked up. Softly, he told his best friend, “He was proud of you, James. Always.”

“That was sixth year,” James continued. “Snape still started shit and I occasionally fired back, but on the whole, the `war' between us petered out.” He got a goofy grin, “Your Mother and me started dating over Christmas that year. I haven't hexed old Snivelly since.”

“What about the pink robes the other day?” Harry asked, his eyes narrowed.

Sirius got his back up, “Hey, kiddo. Back off.”

Waving off his friend, James answered, “After all the physical damage we did to each other, pink robes is almost like a hug between the two of us.”

To Sirius, the truth of this statement was so painfully obvious, he was almost surprised to see Harry internally debate the issue. Finally, he admitted, “Ok, I see that.”

“My behaviour, as I think I've made pretty clear, has been less than stellar and at times reprehensible. But make no mistake, son,” James tone became icy and his eyes narrowed as he leaned over the table, “Make no mistake. That man is a Death Eater. Once a man takes that Mark, there's no going back. The things that he had to do to earn that `distinction' change a man forever.”

Sirius' lip curled as he remembered Mad-Eye's briefing back in '79 about the minimum requirements of becoming a full-fledged, marked Death Eater. Rape, Murder and Torture were all required. Not one, but all three. Once that line is crossed, the person is forever changed.

“Severus Snape is a violent man who is not to be trusted. Ever. Always be on your guard around him.”

.oOo.

Lessons began fast and furious. Transfiguration, Charms, Arithmancy, Runes and Defence were all on the agenda. The agenda for the first day, that is. The second day was the same with Potions added into the mix.

Hermione was impressed. Harry wasn't whinging at all about the workload. For that matter, neither was she. Despite the lunacy of her schedule last year, this rapid-fire schedule was the most intense she'd ever had and she loved it.

Just like a runner enjoys pushing themselves during a workout, so too did Hermione Granger enjoy pushing herself as long and as hard as she could with her studies.

Every day, Harry kept up. He studied late, socialized not at all and woke early. Lavender Brown had tentatively brought up the situation with her the day before.

“So, Hermione…what's, er, how come you and Harry aren't in class with us any longer?” The buxom blonde-haired woman's expression was a mix between curiosity and apprehension. Hermione was well aware that she and her boyfriend had changed substantially. Harry carried himself entirely differently. Where he'd once slouched through the corridors, hoping not to be noticed, he now strode through the middle of the passageways. Hermione now walked to her destination, her head held high, meeting the gazes of those she passed.

Shrugging, Hermione obfuscated with her reply, “Harry and I are on an experimental educational track that the Headmaster has allowed us to take.”

“Is it for the tournament?”

“Sort of.” Squinching her face in faux regret, Hermione evaded, “I'm not really allowed to discuss it.”

Her expression becoming understanding, Lavender waved her hand, “Oh, I completely understand. Don't worry about it.” Her expression narrowed as a mischievous smile crossed her mouth, “Does he kiss as good as you hoped?”

Hermione couldn't help her answering smile, which told her gossipy dorm mate all she needed to know. “Lavender…” the big sigh was all the answer she gave as she left the room.

Returning to the present, she watched Harry struggle with their assigned Transfiguration topic. Reiterating James' favourite saying about his topic, she whispered to him, “Visualize, Desire and Will.”

Without looking up from his book, Harry rolled his eyes. Eventually, he centred himself, took a deep breath and cast. The lump of wood on the table became a hummingbird. He smiled as the spell held for a good five minutes. When it lapsed with a loud pop, Harry looked at his watch. Turning to her, he told her, “It's holding longer.”

She smiled, her pride in him overflowing.

“What?” he asked.

“You're the best,” she told him with a smile.

“Oh, yeah. I'm the best, just ask Snape, Malfoy or any of my other best friends,” his laughter bubbled over at the end of the statement. Eventually, he squeaked, “Rita Skeeter, she loves me, too.”

“Don't make fun,” she complained. “I'm being serious. You just keep at it until you get it. It's pretty inspiring.”

He ducked his head as he nodded, his embarrassment evident.

Sliding next to him, she nibbled his ear before husking, “Very inspiring.”

His hand slipped under the edge of her shirt, caressing her hip. “How inspiring?” he asked before kissing her neck.

Her reply was lost as she bolted out of her chair, dragging him with her. Five minutes later, they were all over each other in a broom cupboard.

.oOo.

“Dragons.”

Albus nodded solemnly. The allusions that James had made to the fact that he and Sirius were majority shareholders in the Daily Prophet had not gone astray. The leverage of control of a public mouthpiece could not be ignored. Their controlling share had something to do with a timed short sale where both men had coordinated their brokers in a sale by James. The how was irrelevant, the fact remained that between James and Sirius, they owned the primary news outlet for magical Britain.

The old Headmaster reflected that blackmail for personal gain was far below James. However, he knew that the time-disjointed man would do anything to protect his family. Charlus had been much of the like and James had learned at his father's knee.

This thought prompted a deep sigh in Albus accompanied by a stab of guilt. This entire situation was quite unusual for the old Headmaster. He'd never been one for excessive remorse. Once he'd grieved the loss of Gellert, he'd not thought of him more often than happenstances and he'd considered Gellert to be his true love.

However, upon reading in the newspaper about Harry's years of torment with the Dursleys, he'd plunged into the deep storm waters of self-recrimination, rarely surfacing for a breath. He also knew better than to ever raise the issue with James or Lily. He'd been surprised so far that neither Potter had resorted to violence against him. The restraining order, he knew, was merely the opening salvo in their vengeance.

How could he have done it differently? Albus wondered about this point incessantly. Harry was the Child of Prophecy. Voldemort was definitely not dead. Albus was sure that the wizard had undergone at least one of five different methods for surviving his `accident'.

In the end, five different attempts on Harry's life were thwarted solely by the wards surrounding the Dursley home. Four of the five nascent murderers were repulsed so violently - in proportion to their intent - that the prospective attackers were permanently hospitalized.

“Dragons,” James repeated bringing Albus back to the present. To conclude his inner musings, Albus resolved that he'd settle later whether the ends justified the means in Harry's situation.

“Yes, dragons. Each champion shall face their own beast. The objective being to retrieve an egg, which is also a clue to the nature of the second task.”

James stared at the old man with such supressed rage and ferocity that Albus feared the physical confrontation between the two of them had come at last. He wasn't afraid of James, despite the man's combat prowess. Rather, he was afraid of the break, which such a confrontation would bring.

Once again, Albus misread a Potter. James' jaw clenched twice before slowly standing. Pausing in his turn to the door, the young man asked, “Breeds?”

“It's not really relevant, but I believe that Igor has arranged for a Welsh Green, a Chinese Fireball, an Hungarian Horntail and a…oh, blast what was the last…” he trailed off. Magicking the TriWizard folder into his hand, he flipped through it. Finding the right page, he murmured, “Ah, yes. A Swedish Short Snout. That's the last.”

“Igor? Who's Igor?” James asked with a casualness that put Albus on his guard. Of course, the Headmaster chided himself; James would recognize the name.

“Igor Karkaroff. He's the Head of Durmstrang.”

The sarcastic laughter that bubbled up out of James surprised Albus. He expected rage or denunciations, not a cynical fatalism from the man.

“You know, I don't know why I'm surprised. You already employ one Death Eater. Why not let another one in the castle when Voldemort's on the march?”

His expression angry, James leaned on the desk. “Tell my old friend Igor, that the thrashing I gave him back in '80 will seem like a love tap should he ever speak to my son, much less bring him harm.”

Albus remembered the situation quite well. James and Sirius had been attending a clandestine meet with continental `fence sitters' in the first Blood War. As Lords Richmond and Blackmoor, it was felt that they would hold sway over the Russian and French aristocrats who Voldemort was courting. Someone - Pettigrew most likely - had betrayed the rendezvous. Igor Karkaroff had led the four-man Death Eater force that Voldemort had dispatched. Their orders were to `teach the uppity blood traitors a lesson'. When James and Sirius were done with them, Igor, along with Augustus Rookwood required three and two week stays in St. Mungo's prior to their trials.

Augustus Carrow and Steven Yaxley had been buried three days later.

Needless to say, Voldemort was unsuccessful in his attempt to court the wealthy continental aristocrats whom he wanted to supplement the Malfoy, Lestrange and Macnair wealth.

James was a competent fighter. Paired with Sirius, the duo was deadly. Adding Lily and Remus to the team made them a power that could stand against most of the forces that the Dark Lord could muster.

This was the only reason he allowed James as much leeway with Harry's schooling as he did. Albus would have to go very far afield to find a better tutoring group than James, Lily, Sirius and Remus. Adding Filius to the mix was a stroke of genius. Lily's doing, no doubt.

James' glare intensified. Albus shook away the mental digression. It seemed that he was more distracted than ever these days. Usually, it seemed to revolve around young Harry Potter.

“I have to wonder which side you support, Albus. You bring two known Death Eaters into the castle wards. You harboured Peter for years,” holding up his hand to forestall the old man's objections, James added, “Knowingly or not, you harboured him. The `misadventures' my son had forced upon him the first three years here…

“It makes me wonder, Albus. Good intentions pave the road to hell. You have done very little to stand against the darkness in your deeds as opposed to your words. In fact, you've been rather incompetent and even criminally liable. Keeping the school open and exposing the students to a threat, which was continually petrifying the students? Albus…” Prongs reproached with a maliciously benign tone. The flash in his hazel eyes told the real truth and it took Albus aback, all sails flapping.

James Potter Hated Albus Dumbledore.

Not disliked or even resented. James Hated Albus with a white hot passion.

After one last long awkward silence, James left.

After the door closed behind the Head of the most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, the Earl of Richmond, the Baron Potter of Gwynedd and the heir to the legacy of Godric Gryffindor, Albus Dumbledore experienced a feeling he hadn't felt for many years.

Shame.

Slowly, he stood before shuffling to his quarters. Perhaps a long soak in the tub and a good night's sleep would help.

“I doubt it,” he muttered aloud. He was right.

.oOo.

“Good Lord.”

“Harry,” Hermione chided. He was in the middle of revising the entire third year curriculum for Arithmancy. Sirius had an unusual understanding of the subject. Once Harry had his mind around the visualization of the subject matter, he began to progress rapidly.

I didn't mean that the topic wasn't drudgery, though.

Hermione was studying the Patronus charm. Where Harry excelled in the practical application of magic, Hermione approached a spell from the other direction. Once she understood why a spell worked, application came easily to her.

“Hermione,” Harry began in a falsely patient tone, “I'm doing my best under extraordinary conditions here. Give me a break about my language.” He paused, an expression of curiosity taking over his face. “Why does cursing bother you so much?”

Setting her book down, she considered the question. The first thing that came to mind was a wholly inadequate answer. Blushing a bit, she admitted, “Well, my Mum is always having a go at Dad whenever he curses.”

“Ok,” he grinned at her, “it's partly a learned habit. Lame, but I understand.” His eyes danced as hers narrowed in response. After jabbing him in the ribs, she thought a bit more.

“It's also uncouth.” Waving aside his immediate objection, she told him, “When your Mum let's go, it's usually in private and just us. It's more as if she's letting her hair down. Here,” she swept her hand in a gesture to include the entire library, “Others can hear. It's somewhat trashy. Other than when your Mum is really mad, she never curses in public.”

Lapsing back into thought, she considered some more. Most people would allow the other two answers to be sufficient, but Hermione wanted to know all the answer. Even if it wasn't very complimentary to herself.

Lost in her thoughts, she almost missed his timid venture, “Could part of it be related to the infamous `bossy witch'?”

Her mouth was open to snap a refusal at him when her brain caught up. The blood drained from her face when she took his statement to its logical conclusion. She tried to control those about her because she firmly believed that she knew best. Horrified, she couldn't help but admit that there was more than a bit of truth in the statement. The most shameful aspect was the concluding thought: And it didn't matter what that person wanted.

Her mouth cycling like a fish out of water, she turned to her boyfriend hoping for support. She dreaded an accusatory glare. Her stomach unclenched when she saw the soft accepting expression there. He reached out his hand in an encouraging gesture.

“It's amazing how blind I can be about my own faults,” he told her in an understanding tone.

“Mum gave me what for yesterday about me trying to take the blame for the whole Dumbledore and tournament nightmare. The whole time I was whinging about being The Boy-Who-Lived. He gave a quirky grin, “It wasn't much fun being on the receiving end or her tongue, let me tell you. The thing is, she could see how I take too much on myself. In retrospect, it's not a pleasant trait.”

Looking her in the eye, he told her, “So, I'm working on it. Don't expect an overnight miracle, but I'm working on it.”

His meaning clear, she took his little story to heart and decided to apply the same principles to herself. She smiled to match his. Taking his meaning as graciously as she could, she squeezed his hand tight. “I love you so much. What did I ever do to deserve you?”

He gave a soft laugh. Kissing the back of her hand, he countered, “It's more like `what did I ever do to be worthy of you'?”

Without further comment, they resumed their studies. They were a bit closer, a bit more in love. Definitely, they were better friends. Hermione mused that it was amazing what honesty, courage and a willing vulnerability could do for a relationship.

.oOo.

Lily had a headache. It was one of those throbbers that starts behind the eyes before swarming out radially back across the skull. Eventually, she'd have to go to bed, all the lights doused. Lily had hoped to avoid puking her guts up, this time. However, it was a fate that was unavoidable. Four of Poppy's best hadn't done the trick, so she headed to the toilet where she purged her stomach. It helped. Slightly.

Pressing the heel of her hand to the centre of her forehead helped a little more. She and James had been researching dragons for the previous few days. They'd hit upon a solution which they felt Harry could execute.

Their son had made significant progress in his Transfiguration skills once his Dad had taken over his schooling. Just like that night back in sixth year, Lily had been proud of how well James was teaching his son such a difficult and complex subject.

They'd decided that Harry would put his newfound skill to work for him. James had shoved the fifth Universal Law of Transfiguration down Harry and Hermione's throat so that he'd be capable of performing the spells.

First, they had Harry transfigure some of the material in his coliseum (as Sirius called it) into birds. Right now, they were leaning toward falcons, as they were swift and agile. A quick Compulsion charm would have them swirling about the dragon's head causing a distraction and irritant for the beast.

“We want to anger the dragon?” a pale faced Hermione asked as Harry gaped at his parents as they explained the plan.

“When it's mad, it won't think straight,” James had reasoned.

Harry and Hermione had exchanged a doubtful look before Harry conceded. “Ok. I guess.”

Once the falcons were attacking the dragon, Harry would transfigure four dogs. Compulsion charms would send them running opposite Harry's intended path. They would draw the incited dragon away from her next.

The Disillusioned, Silent and Sterile (a series of charms, which removed all scents and odours) would then sprint to the nest. After retrieving the egg, he would sprint for the nearest exit.

The plan was sound. Harry had already mastered the charms. James had told her earlier that Hermione and Harry had mastered the avian transfiguration today, so that was well in hand. The dogs were a minor variation that he'd master within hours of the falcons.

Lily was beginning to relax a bit about the whole thing. Not much, for Harry still had to face a dragon. A fucking DRAGON. What Albus Bloody Dumbledore was thinking when he agreed to this ridiculous task, she'd never know.

James was off with young Neville Longbottom. The boy was the spitting image of his father. James and Sirius had taken Neville down to Hogsmeade, regaling the softly smiling boy with tales of smart, witty and popular Frank Longbottom. As they left, Sirius was launching into the story of how Frank successfully won Alice Strothers' heart.

From what Harry and Hermione had related, poor Neville hadn't been brought up in the most supportive environment. She remembered the Dowager Lady Longbottom - for Lily couldn't think of Augusta in any other way - remembered here well. The Lady Longbottom was a taciturn woman to the point of severity. Hopefully, Prongs and Padfoot could help the lad.

The knocking on her door caused a jet of pain to rocket form temple to temple.

“Come in,” she groaned.

The door opened, allowing a wall of light in the darkened room. Just before she slammed her eyes shut, Lily recognized her son's silhouette in the doorway.

“Mum?” he called into the room.

“Come in and close the door,” she moaned. Pressing her hands to her head, she fought back her gag reflex. After regaining control of her body, she heard him sit in the chair next to her.

“Are you Ok?” he asked with tenderness. “I can get Madam Pomfrey.”

Sure that her smile more closely resembled a grimace, Lily explained, “It's just a really bad headache. I get them from time to time. Already taken my potions,” she finished as she waved toward the small collections of empty vials.

“Oh,” he observed. Through squinting eyes, she watched him fidget.

Eventually, her poor temper gave way, “What do you want, honey?”

He gave her a fleeting grin at the endearment before starting to stand, “You're not well. I'll come back tomorrow.”

Grasping his arm, she insisted, “No, you'll tell me now. What's going on?”

With a wry expression, he began speaking no louder than a whisper. “I've been thinking - about the task I mean. Talking with Hermione, she insisted I speak to you and Dad.”

With a slight growl, Lily asked, “What's the problem? I think we have a good plan.”

“Sure, sitting here we have a great plan. When I'm twenty metres from one of the most powerful and deadly creatures on the planet, I think we don't have such a good plan.”

Frowning, Lily really tried hard to keep from shouting. On the one hand, she didn't want to shout that her son. On the other hand, she didn't want the puking and retching, which were sure to follow the shouting. “Explain,” she commanded through her screaming headache.

Glaring a bit at her tone, her son began, “I believe that I have the most experience in our family with class five and six dangerous creatures.”

Slowing her breathing, Lily made a reluctant sound of agreement. She'd forcibly suppressed the idea that her son had fought and slain an ancient basilisk as a twelve year old boy. Nevertheless, he had a point.

“When the balloon goes up, I'll be so scared that I really doubt I'll be able to pull off all those fancy transfigurations. Yeah, I can do them in the classroom, but with a huge dragon bellowing at me? Don't think so. The charms are easy, but the falcons and dogs? Not so much.”

To be fair, Lily had had a truly shitty day. Therefore, when she snapped, “So what's your plan then?” she wasn't completely in control of herself.

She saw him brace himself before answering. “Fly. I'll summon my broom and out fly the dragon.”

Staring at him, she was astonished. “Of all the hare brained ideas I've heard from your father, this one takes the cake. You want to give up all control of the situation and hope you can out fly a beast that could very well weigh in at twenty tons and shoots bloody flames out of its mouth!”

She was shouting at the end before she subsided with a groaning, “Oh, fuck this hurts.”

His hand on her shoulder steadied her inner balance. A few moments later, she took a deep breath, “Thanks.”

He nodded before tentatively picking up the thread. “Look, Mum. Trust me when I tell you that simpler is better out there. I'm confident in my flying.”

“What does Hermione say?” she asked in an attempt to bring her son `round.

Narrowing his eyes at her, he replied, “She agrees with me.”

Flinching in pain after rolling her eyes, Lily laid down the law. “Harry, we'll be going with the plan as discussed. The task is the day after tomorrow; it's too late for changes.”

Laying her hand on his clenched one, she tried to console him. “Look, I know you're scared. I'm scared and I'm not going into that ring. It'll be alright, honey.”

Closing her eyes to regain her sense of equilibrium, she told him “I'm really sorry, but I have to get to bed before I spew all over you.”

The last thing she remembered before sleep took her was, “I love you too, Mum.”

.oOo.

The day of the first task was a nightmare. Sirius had taken it upon himself to wake Harry. After the obligatory flirt with the Fat Lady, he scooted up the steps to the Fourth year boy's dormitory. Opening the door, he was assaulted with the strong odour of unwashed teenage boy. Unused to the smell after so long away from school, he recoiled for a minute before drawing his wand. A quick Air Freshening spell left the room smelling pine fresh.

The chainsaw of snores from the redheaded teen caused Sirius' to shake his head. A few days after returning to the school, Harry had pulled his godfather aside.

“Sirius, I need help.”

“What?”

“I'm going to kill Ron Weasley and don't want to go to Azkaban.”

With feigned confusion, Sirius asked, “So, do you want help with the `killing' part or the `staying out of prison' part? I'm probably not the right guy to help you with the `staying out of prison'. Though, I'm pretty good with the `getting out of prison without a formal release' part.”

By the end of his meanderings, Sirius had elicited a grin from his godson so he sat back in his chair, waiting.

`Ron's being a complete arse,” Harry told the dark haired animagus as he deflated.

“Ok, tell me what's the what.”

“Well, you know how he got all jealous about me getting forced into the tournament?” Sirius nodded. He and Harry had chatted about the topic back at Rowan Hill.

“Well, it's worse than I thought. At first it was just the silent treatment, but now he's making all these snide little bitchy comments that make me want to tear off his ears.” Shaking his head in frustration, He sighed, “I've been talking with Hermione and told her that if Ron wanted to be friends, I'd be here for him. But now…” he trailed off, his intent clear.

Harry explained further, “If it was anyone else I'd tell them to fuck off and get on with it. But this is a guy who was my mate for years, you know? The biggest part of me wants to wait and see if he can get his cranial-rectal inversion unfucked, but….he was my friend,” Harry finished softly.

His eyes narrowing, Sirius asked, “Like Peter?”

Scrunching up his face, Harry demurred, “No, I don't think it's like that. Yeah, Peter did a runner on you guys, but Ron isn't killing people or what.”

“Yet.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry admitted, “True. Anyway, I guess the gist of your opinion is telling him to bugger off and find a new friend.”

“Pretty much. Gotta remember, being The Boy-Who-Lived and the scion of Richmond, lots of people are going to suck up to you to get access to your fame or money. I'd not give a lot of second chances.” Pausing for a minute, he recommended, “Neville Longbottom seems a good sort.”

“He is. We've been hanging out with him in the library or common room. He's studying other stuff, but he's one of those genuinely nice people, you know?”

“Yeah. Look, I'm not saying give it to Ron in the neck, but be wary. Let him run his mouth and play his little games. It says a lot more about him than it does about you and Hermy.”

“Mate, don't call her that,” Harry joked as he looked about for his girlfriend. “She'll murder you if she hears that.”

“But I'm her loving pseudo father, the great Pad Footed One.”

Laughing as he smacked his godfather upside the head, he corrected him, “No, you're a moron.”

With a slight smile, Sirius returned to the present as he passed by the now former friend of his godson and his Hermione. Neville was laying there on his back, snoring like a buzz saw - good lad that one. Too bad about Frank and Alice. In the corner, he saw his godson.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Harry was already dressed in the robes provided for the tournament. His head in his hands, Harry was in a praying pose.

Sirius was suddenly terrified for his godson. In a few short hours, Harry would be face to face with a dragon. While he considered a Basilisk more dangerous, a dragon was a very close second. Scrubbing his face to get a hold of himself, Padfoot gave a great shuddering sigh.

Harry must have heard him for when Sirius dropped his hands, Harry was watching him. “Hey, Padfoot,” Harry greeted softly.

Beckoning his godson out of the room, Sirius turned to leave. Heading to the common room, he sat on a chair in the corner of the room, under the large bay window. Harry settled opposite him and they were both silent for a long minute.

“It'll be Ok,” Sirius attempted to reassure Harry. When he only got a sarcastic expression in return, Sirius rolled his eyes before shrugging. “Ok, I'm hoping really fucking hard that it'll be alright.”

“At least it's honest,” Harry muttered.

“So where's Hermione?” Sirius asked.

Harry glanced at his watch, “She'll be down in a few minutes.”

Time seemed to slow as they sat there, chatting. In later years, Sirius would tell Harry that he had no idea what they talked about for that half hour. They filled up the time with nattering to keep from running mad. Life became flashes of colour and bursts of sound for Sirius as he tried to hold himself together. The affected mirth and good humour seemed to be working as Harry relaxed a bit. At least, he appeared to relax.

Soon enough, the whole family was congregated around the far end of the Gryffindor house table. Lily's cajoling resulted in a plate of food in her son's belly before he realized what was going on. Sirius smirked; Lily was their `little mother' during seventh year when she and James had been seriously dating. Looks like it was a practise run for her real kid.

Walking down to the champion's pavilion en masse, Sirius watched Harry. On his left was Lily, gently - but firmly - grasping her son's hand. On his right was Hermione who had her left arm wrapped in Harry's right. Sirius wanted to smile at the sugary sweetness of the situation, but just couldn't muster the smile for his humour. He was tapped out of false humour, having worn himself out in the morning. To his surprise, his hand shook as he raked it through his hair.

There were no words. Try as he might to think of something witty or even wise, nothing came. Seeing Remus and James wordlessly hugging Harry, Padfoot figured it was the same for them. Of course, Lily held Harry longest, though Hermione waited with her boyfriend as the adults all moved off to the stands.

It seemed as if the entire event was a dream. Everything was moving in slow motion once again. Eventually, Hermione wordlessly joined them. The silent tears on her face gave the truth of her feelings

Time seemed to slow, yet move at a rapid pace. Sound dribbled to nothing, while people moved by Sirius at such a quick pace, he had a hard time keeping track of what was going on around him. He felt Hermione take his hand to tug him to their seats. She didn't even look at him, her face terror stricken and drawn in fear for her boyfriend. He savoured the stray thought that it was pretty neat that Hermione depended on him for comfort .

Sitting next to Moony, Sirius fixed his gaze on the opening of the ring where the champions were to meet their fate.

First in came the Diggory boy. The Swedish Short Snout didn't buy the feint. The transfigured dog was roasted and then the boy caught the tail end of another burst of fire. Lucky for him that a Short Snout can only breathe fire after a full minute recovery period drifted through Sirius' head, unbidden.

As Madam Pomfrey tended to the wounded boy, Sirius vaguely heard Lily panicking on the other side of Moony. Unfortunately, he didn't have the energy or focus to pay attention. The entirety of his being was focused on the tunnel where the champions were arriving. Again, time slowed. The Chinese Fireball was tugged and beaten into place by her handlers. An untimely explosion of flame killed one of the poor sods.

That stopped things for a bit, as the corpse was taken away. Didn't stop the tournament, though. “Fuckers,” Sirius muttered to himself.

Next up was the Bulgarian Quidditch player. Sirius dismissed him as he focused on the tunnel to the tents. Vaguely, he noticed that the foreigner evaded the dragon while retrieving his prize.

The shaking of his right arm roused Padfoot a bit. Turning to Hermione, he saw her hyperventilating. Her arm was still hooked in his as she gasped for air, hence the shaking. Tears were streaming down her face as she gasped for breath. Used to Peter's vapours from school, Sirius effortlessly conjured a paper bag before handing it to Hermione. He tried to offer her a gentle smile, but couldn't muster the will to follow up on the effort.

When Hermione calmed, Sirius noticed that the next dragon, a Welsh Green, was in place. A stunningly beautiful young woman strode out of the tunnel. The letch in Padfoot admired her assets, but quickly resumed his vigil. Harry was to be next out of the tunnel.

He drooped a bit as he caught the edge of the high power Sleeping Spell cast by the part Veela girl, but quickly shook it off as he refocused on the tunnel.

A part of his mind processed that the incredibly hot chick got her egg, but he ignored it.

Harry was next.

`Holy Fuck,” Sirius muttered as he heard the first shriek of Harry's dragon. The Hungarian Horntail was out of sight, but the squealing sound of metal ripping as the dragon let known her displeasure almost brought up Sirius' breakfast.

Holding his face in his hands, Sirius felt Moony's hand on his back as he heard Hermione repeat, “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.”

Then he was there.

He looks so small was the only thought that Sirius could muster. As Harry dove behind a rock for cover, Sirius saw his godson cast a spell but couldn't make which one due to the noise by the Horntail.

“Come on, come on,” became Hermione's new mantra.

From his left, he heard Lily, “What's he waiting for?” Seconds passed as the Horntail jockeyed for a better angle at her opponent as he hid behind a humongous rock. Harry was immobile; waiting.

Just live, boyo.

Then the Firebolt screamed into the ring. Leaping out of the way of a new stream of fire from the enraged Horntail, Harry landed on his broom, shooting into the sky.

Sirius couldn't help but smile and scream his approval as Harry took wing. Jumping to his feet, Sirius saw Harry live up to his billing as the best flyer in Hogwarts. Whirling and diving, Harry defied Icarus' fate. Corkscrewing down at the dragon's head, he buzzed by the nesting mother doing at least 300 knots. The boy was a blur of red, black and white.

Smiling, he cheered, “GO HARRY!”

Sirius didn't even realize he was standing as his godson engaged in a deadly dance. Just as the mongoose fights the cobra, Harry bobbed left then right looking for an opening. Darting in toward the dragon was a bad idea. The Horntail shot a stream of fire followed up by a diving lunge. She missed Harry by mere centimetres.

As he rocketed off to the sky, Sirius saw Harry shake his head as if to say, “That was close.”

“Come on, come on,” Hermione repeated on his right.

There was silent watching from Prongs, Lily and Moony on his left.

Now the dragon was pissed. Rearing on her hind legs, she flapped her wings, once, twice got her balance before filing the sky with flame.

Sirius paled. It looked like the entire sky was burning and he couldn't see his godson anywhere.

“THERE!” he heard Hermione shout.

Following her pointed finger, he saw the blur that must be Harry. He was a mere five feet off the ground as he screamed in to the dragon's nest.

Before Sirius could take breath to cheer, Harry had his egg and was peeling off to the right. He jerked as the dragon took a swipe at him with her tail, but still cleared the arena.

He made it. Dropping his head in his hands, Sirius wept in relief.

Once again, time resumed its normal pace.

.oOo.

Hermione had never seen James and Lily so angry. She was sprinting through the crowd, but before leaving Sirius and the others, she'd seen Lily's red face accompanied by the set way James gets when he's about to tear someone to pieces. It was the expression he wore when he lit into Rita Skeeter.

Ignoring the reactions of the elder Potters, Hermione focused on reaching the younger Potter. Weaving through the stands, she finally saw him as he emerged from the healer's tent. Her guts unclenched when she saw him roll his shoulder, testing the recent healing. When he didn't wince, she knew he'd be all right.

All that was in the back of her formidable mind as she launched herself through the air at her best friend. Fortunately for her, he saw her coming and held out his arms to her. Wrapping her legs about his waist, she held on for all she was worth.

“I love you, I love you, I love you…,” she whispered in his ear.

“I'm Ok,” he told her. “Naught but a scratch.”

What seemed like an eternity later, but was in reality just a short minute, Hermione placed her feet on the ground. Moving into the loose circle of his arms, she became aware of the rest of the family catching up with her.

Harry smiled at his family when they approached. The smile faded when Lily fumed, “Harry, what in the world was that?”

Hermione frowned, “Didn't you talk to your parents about changing the plan?” she asked her boyfriend.

“Yeah,” Harry glowered. “Mum thought I was being…'hare brained' I believe was her term. She decided that `we' would go with the transfiguration based plan.”

“We?” Remus asked, surprised.

Snorting, Harry replied, “Yeah, `we'.”

Hermione turned her frown on Lily, waiting for her reply. Boy, did she get one.

“I told you that you were to use the transfiguration based plan. I'll have a very good reason from you why you disobeyed me, young man.”

Hermione's eyes went wide. This wasn't going to be good. Turning to her boyfriend, she felt like a spectator at Wimbledon. Back and forth, back and forth. Serve, volley, return.

With narrowed eyes, Harry gave truth to the fact that he'd not only inherited his mother's green eyes, but her temper as well. “Disobeyed?” he asked in a quiet tone, his displeasure clear.

“Yes.” Lily wasn't giving an inch, despite Hermione's belief that she was out of order. Strangely, James had been silent during the entire exchange, but his position at his wife's side told his opinion as loud as words ever could.

Harry looked at the ground while he toed a loose rock. It was evident he was really exerting himself to hold his temper, so she wound her arm in his while whispering, “It's Ok, Harry. They just don't understand. They love you. They were just scared…” She didn't finish what she'd planned to be a deeply insightful and reassuring statement as she was interrupted by a volatile redheaded witch.

“What don't we understand, young lady?” Lily barked.

“Don't you talk to her that way,” Harry thundered.

Out of the corner of her now narrowed eyes, Hermione saw Sirius stiffen. “Hey, Lily, take it easy,” he began.

Without looking at him, she snarled, “Shut it Padfoot.”

Remus stepped in, literally. Moving in between Lily, James and the rest of the family, he held up his hands in a placating manner, “We're all emotionally upset. That wasn't much fun for any of us.” He caught Harry's eye, trying to make his point without elaboration.

Hermione leaned into her boyfriend as he nodded his understanding. Hermione was exhausted from watching Harry in his task, much less participating in it and facing a huge dragon. Taking a deep breath, she collected herself.

“Lily,” Remus began. When the redhead didn't let up her high intensity glare from her son, Moony stood in her way. “It's over. Shouting now won't change a thing.”

Her face softening Lily nodded.

Apparently, Harry had reached the limit of his endurance, though. Lashing out, he snarled, “What the fuck do you think you're on about?”

Taken aback by the words and tone from their son, James and Lily stared.

Uh oh. Not good… Hermione observed silently. She'd seen Harry this angry only a few times. The first had been shortly after the Troll incident in first year. Draco Malfoy had just gone off on one of his buffoonish rants when Harry had cold cocked him. There were no words or threats from Harry; just a right cross that left the blond prat senseless.

Not wanting to repeat that situation, Hermione started to push Harry away from his parents. Unfortunately, he was far stronger than she was so he didn't move too far.

“I mean, I've been fighting Voldemort, killing creatures that make that dragon look like a puppy,” he gestured wildly at the ring where the handlers had finally subdued the enraged Horntail.

“Now you lot show up and are going to be all in charge? “ Raking his left hand through his hair, he calmed a bit, “Look, don't get me wrong, having the two of you in my life is easily the best thing that's ever happened to me, but you've got to remember that I've been effectively on my own for years now.” Pointing his finger at his mother, he declared, “There was no good reason to go with the transfiguration based plan other than `because you said so' and I'm sorry, but that's not a good enough reason.”

Hermione saw Harry glare at his now shamefaced mother, “So back the fuck off, alright? I have no problem following you if it makes sense. So far, everything has made sense. Except this. And you know what?”

He leaned in to whisper with more than a bit of vehemence, “Our `hare brained idea' worked.”

Spinning on his heel, Harry took off for the castle, Hermione's hand in his. As she hurried to keep up with her irate boyfriend, Hermione heard Padfoot tell his cousin and cousin's wife, “Well, you completely bollixed that up. Good job.”

She couldn't agree more.

.oOo.

Harry was in the corner of the library staring at a book he was supposed to have finished reading yesterday. Hermione was at his side, doing her own impression of reading an advanced Arithmancy book, but he'd noticed her lack of page turning twenty three minutes earlier.

“Should I go apologize to them?” he whispered to her.

The agony in his tone must have betrayed his inner fear. Despite the voluminous proof to the contrary, Harry was terrified his parents would one day realize what a freak he really was before leaving him in their wake. It was inevitable, he thought. The sound of Vernon's screams rang in his ears, “YOU'RE A NO GOOD FREAK!”

Dropping all pretence at studying, Hermione tossed her book on the table before wrapping an arm about her boyfriend. “You're family. They'll never willingly leave you. They love you, despite their atrocious behaviour this morning.”

Catching his chin, Hermione turned Harry's face toward her. Placing a soft kiss on his mouth, she told him, “We were all of us terrified for you. Sirius was nearly comatose he was so scared. I guess your Mum and Dad just got angry in reaction to their fear. It's a common response.”

He frowned. Cupping her cheek, he asked the logical question, “And how did you react?”

She gave a forced laugh, “I hyperventilated before crying my eyes out.”

His frown softened to a look of regret. “I'm sorry…” the oh so familiar guilt welled up in his chest. Aside from the physical abuse his Aunt and Uncle had heaped upon him, they'd also conditioned him to accept the blame for every situation where there was discord. He and his Mum had a long talk about it and Harry had resolved to move past it. However, old habits die hard. Just as he was threatened to be overwhelmed by guilt and misplaced shame, he heard exactly what he needed.

`I love you,” she blurted. Obviously, Hermione didn't know what to say to help Harry, so she reached for the old standby. One could never go wrong in declaring their love for their beloved.

Harry couldn't help himself, his smile was wide and genuine in response to her declaration. He'd had so few tell him that they loved him, that her love was a wondrous thing for him. In his turn, he placed a loving kiss on her warm mouth. Their lips parted and tongues duelled in that age old dance of lovers.

The nervous clearing of two throats brought Harry and Hermione out of each other. Slowly, they parted to see James and Lily standing there. Instead of his parents' usual happy and buoyant expressions, Harry was saddened to see them both morose and nervous. It was especially depressing to see the glum face on his perpetually happy father. It was disheartening for Harry, despite his success in the first task.

Holding Hermione's hand firmly, he silently gestured for James and Lily to sit across from them.

James took a deep breath before beginning. “I'm not going to beat around the bush. We were completely in the wrong this morning. I hope you understand that the emotion of the moment overtook both of us and we reacted badly. That doesn't make what occurred acceptable by any means. It's merely the reason.”

When James looked his son in the eye, Harry was astonished to see a hint of a tear, “I'm very sorry for my behaviour, son. I love you and will do my best to prevent a repetition of my boorish behaviour.”

Harry was very impressed, though he didn't consider James' silent agreement and encouragement of Lily to be too egregious. Turning his gaze on his mother, Harry waited.

With a slowness that gave Harry the impression that his mother had a ten ton weight about her neck, Lily raised her face to meet her son's gaze. She flinched when she saw his expression. Harry quickly realised that his resentment of his mother's words and deeds must have been very plain on his face.

Feeling the squeeze in his hand, he nodded in Hermione's direction. Once again, she was his anchor. Promising to himself to snog her senseless later, he waited for Lily to say something.

In a low voice she told him, “These last hours I've reviled myself for my hot headed words. You deserve a far better mother than I've been to you over the last few days. I'm very sorry that I said those things. Not only the harsh words of this morning, but also when I called your idea `hare brained'. That was unfair and unwarranted. I'm very sorry for it all.”

Realizing that high emotion was the culprit in this scenario, and a vicious headache, Harry decided to end it all before it got any worse. He'd made his point: he wasn't a little boy who needed Mummy and Daddy to hold his hand and tell him when to pee.

“I forgive you.” Glancing at his Dad, he clarified, “Both of you. Let's just move on.” His discomfort with the situation gnawed at him as he shuffled in his seat. It was a great relief when his parents nodded in assent.

“So, there's going to be a ball over Christmas. Who're you going to take?” James asked with his usual grin.

Harry couldn't help the groan that escaped as Hermione gave a very un-Hermione-ish squeal. The sharp jab in his ribs produced the requisite, “Hermione, would you please go to the Yule Ball with me?”

She leaned over, placing a kiss on his cheek as she replied, “I'd love to.”

“So?”

Harry's attention was brought to his mother who had an expectant expression as she arched her brow at Harry's Dad.

“Dearest of my heart, woman of my world, witch who owns my very soul,” James began dramatically. Standing with a flourish, he knelt before Lily, grasping her hand tenderly. After placing a chaste kiss on her knuckles, he asked his wife, “Would you do me the unparalleled honour of attending a school dance with me even though we be not students?”

Harry and Hermione were both laughing by now. Lily couldn't supress her own grin as she replied, “I'd love to.”

Turning to Hermione, she extended her hand, “Come on, let's go talk dress robes.”

.oOo.

Because of their new study schedule, Harry didn't have much interaction with the rest of the school outside of passing in the hallways or sharing a table in the library. Nonetheless, Harry and Neville were quickly becoming friends. The shy Longbottom scion was spending more time with his godfather, James, and as such became part of the greater family. Many times the teens would snicker and laugh as the Marauders would be overcome by their inner chaos, causing mayhem and mess in their classroom. Most of the time, Lily walked out, but on occasion, she would hex them all within an inch of their lives. Remus still had excessive body hair in unmentionable places while Padfoot had his knees reversed for two days.

“So, who are you taking to the ball?” Hermione asked Neville. They were taking a break from studying. Lily had admitted that they weren't going to make her goal of finishing Fifth year by Christmas, but it would be close. They'd be in the heart of Sixth year material by Valentine's day.

Neville shuffled a bit as he rearranged his parchment. “I was thinking of asking Ginny Weasley,” he replied in his soft spoken voice.

Harry frowned, “I didn't know that you liked Ginny.”

“I don't. Well, she's nice enough and all, but I think the entire country knows who she's really in to.” Harry rolled his eyes as Hermione laughed.

“He's mine.”

Neville smiled, “Yeah, I think everyone else in the castle gets that.”

“So who do you really want to go with?” Harry pressed.

Pulling at a loose thread, Neville muttered, “Sue Bones.”

Nodding his head, Harry gave Hermione a `look'. The look, which meant, `Help a Bloke Out Who Doesn't Know His Arse From A Hole In The Ground'.

Giving Harry a surreptitious wink, she asked Neville, “Why don't you ask her?”

With wide, panicked eyes, Neville nearly shouted, “Are you insane? She's beautiful and popular and…well a lot better than I could ever hope to fancy me.”

Now Hermione frowned. “Neville, you're a very nice guy who is filling out nicely. I know for a fact that many of the Gryffindor girls have commented on how good looking you've become.”

His face crimson, he muttered something probably self-deprecatory. Harry recognized the response. Giving Hermione a wink in return, he told his friend, “How do you think I got this wonderfully beautiful and intelligent young witch?” he gestured to his girlfriend as he asked. “Be a Gryffindor, Nev. Ask Sue, I'm sure she'll say yes and if she doesn't? Well, then you know, right?”

With a sarcastic look, Neville gibed, “Easy for you to say with your soul mate on your arm when you're fourteen.”

Now it was Hermione and Harry's turn to blush crimson. Through her emotion, she urged Neville, “Ask her Neville. She's a really sweet girl who has the disadvantage of having an Aunt who's the head copper for magical Britain. Scares off a lot of boys.”

Frowning, Neville countered, “But Miss Bones is a really nice lady. She comes over for tea with Gran occasionally.”

With wide eyes, Harry asked, “And you chat with Sue then?”

Shrugging, Neville put him off, “Some.”

Standing, Harry hooked his friend under the shoulder as he pulled him out of his chair. “Come on, we're going to find the younger Miss Bones right now.”

Hermione smiled as the two boys left on their `mission'. Digging into her books, she didn't even notice that an hour had passed before Harry returned.

Plopping into his chair, he wore a shit-eating grin. Hermione knew the answer, but asked it just to hear the details. “So, how did it go?”

“Miss Bones assented to allow Mister Longbottom to escort her to the Yule Ball.”

Hermione smiled, his Dad was having an impression on his son and Hermione had to say she liked seeing Harry so carefree. “And?” she pressed.

“They are currently becoming better acquainted.”

Confused, she asked, “But I thought they were old friends?”

Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, he answered, “Love, that's a euphemism for snogging. She got this big look on her face before nearly shouting, `I'd love to!' then jumped him. I beat a hasty retreat along with Hannah Abbot and Justin. It was quite amusing, really.”

Hermione stood, walked around the table before sitting on Harry's lap. Slowly, she kissed from his ear to his collarbone. By the time she got to his collar, Harry was squirming. When she sucked lightly on his neck, he moaned. When she nipped at his collarbone, he pounced.

Thirty minutes later, she was casting the Bruise Removing curse on both their necks while sporting a lust addled grin.

“Where did you learn that spell?” Harry asked as he checked his neck in a conjured mirror. He knew better than to see his Dad, Godfather or `Uncle' whilst sporting a hickey.

She laughed lightly, “Do you really want to know?”

Shrugging, he replied, “Sure.”

“Your Mum.”

Closing his eyes, he groaned in a manner very different from the previous hour. “Could you hit me with a short Memory Charm?”

“Nope,” she grinned.

“Ugh. Next thing you'll tell me that she taught you a Contraceptive charm.”

When Hermione was silent, he realized what he said. Quickly, he told her, “Don't tell me! For the love of all that's holy, I really don't want to think of my Mum casting either of these charms, but will live with the Bruise Remover as I can think of lots of un-squicky ways that it can be used. The other…” Harry shuddered as he finished his thought.

Smiling, she gave him one last deep kiss. “Love you,” she whispered.

“Love you too.”

***OMAKE***

Ok, this came from a review by Bobmin356 that left me giggling. I told Bob that I'd put it in the story at the end of this chapter. I wanted to use it in the story, but as you just read, I wanted Harry and his parents to have their first real disagreement/conflict. Therefore, you get this hilarious idea in an OMAKE. Read on! Thanks Bob…

.oOo.

Harry steps from the tent and enters the arena with the dragon. Carefully, he moves until the judging and visitor stand is directly behind the dragon. He eyes the vicious snarling beast for a moment, then lifts his wand.

“Accio Snape! Accio Dumbledore!”

With a deft flick of his wand, he cancels the spell and the two professors fall on to the dragon, who rears back and screams in defiance of the attack.

Grinning widely while Snape shrieks like a little girl and is trampled under one clawed paw, Harry darts forward and grabs the egg, taking advantage of the distracted dragon.

Once he's safely beyond the reach of the dragon, he places the egg on the ground, urinates on it, then calmly walks off to the tent, giving everyone a middle finger salute.

The audience is stunned to silence except for Harry's Dad, godfather and uncle who immediately start cheering.

Inside the tent, Harry knows his mother isn't going to be happy. Nor will Hermione, and he isn't sure which lecture he's more worried about.

Now that's a good dragon tale.

.oOo.

*muggledad giggles like his four-year-old daughters*

“Do it again, Bob. That was funny.”

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first five chapters. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on FanFiction(dot)net.

2. Recommendation for the chapter is Into the West, by elecktrum. I've been reading a lot of fics in the Chronicles of Narnia genre and I'm here to tell you that elecktrum's stuff is amazing. She takes children's stories and approaches the universe from an adult perspective while still maintaining the wonder and beauty that Professor Lewis instilled in his books. Amazing are her works. They get a bit gooey in the brotherly love between Peter and Edmund (no slash), but if you've read any of my stuff, overly emotional is my middle name. Actually, it's Charles but that's not the point. Into the West is an excellent story where I began to read her stories. The companion fic, They Also Serve, is fantastic as well. I dare you to read just one of her stories.

3. As I mentioned last chapter about Lily's perspective regarding Snape, it's very important, sometimes, what a character doesn't say. Such is the case with Dumbledore's internal monologue.

4. Yule Ball and Second Task next chapter. Muse on possible reactions from Sirius when he realizes that Hermione should be `what he misses most'. Oh yeah, Harry might be a tad upset, too. And James. And Lily. And Remus. Hell, even Rauri will be angry.

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7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

“Absolutely not!”

“Easy, Padfoot,” James soothed as he moved to his cousin's side. “We won't let them take Hermione. The old man was just telling me his intentions for the second task. I told him it would be a cold day in Hell before we let him take our girl.”

Harry and Hermione were with Filius discussing large-scale illusions and the mental control required therein. Lily and Remus each had errands to run, so it fell to James to break the news of Hermione's selection as Harry's `The One You'll Miss Most' to Hermione's unofficial father.

Said father who was currently irate. A large part of James was astounded in the change wrought in his cousin and oldest friend by the bushy haired witch. It was good to see Sirius so…parental. “We're leaving today, Prongs. Hermione and I are going to Rio. Catch up with us after the school year is over.”

Rolling his eyes, James grabbed Padfoot's arm as the older Marauder spun about to leave, presumably to pack. “Mate, cool off. Hermione would have your head if you try to take her from Pronglet, so just relax.” Prongs didn't say that he thought The Smartest Witch of the Age would tell him to bugger off for trying to railroad her life.

Without replying, Sirius flung himself into the chair in front of his disk. Writing furiously, he finished his letter in minutes. Stalking to the perch where their communal owl was resting, Sirius tied the short missive to the bird's leg. Without comment, he shooed the raptor out the window.

The triumphant smirk on Padfoot's face caused James to shudder. The last time he'd seen that expression, the entire Hogwarts staff had been transfigured into barnyard animals for an entire week. Filch had been a gravid sow to the delight of most of the student population.

“What?” James asked.

“Just a bit of a note.”

“To?”

“Maturin.”

The solicitor's name brought a shark like grin to Sirius' face. James laughed. They'd moved from their juvenile pranks that encompassed flatulence and hair colour to more adult mischief involving solicitors and the press.

However, the flatulence pranks were still pretty funny, come to think of it.

“Wanna see something funny? Let's go talk to the kids. Five Galleons says Harry insists Hermione leave the country while she tells him where to get off.”

James smiled, “Ten says that he tells her she needs to go to Rio.”

.oOo.

“What!” Harry exploded. The library was silenced at his outburst. Three seconds later, he stood. Turning to his girlfriend, his face set, he told her, “Come on. You need to pack.”

“What?” she exclaimed in her turn.

James smiled at the back and forth. Under his breath he muttered, “Come on boy, make your Dad proud.”

“You're leaving,” Harry continued. “Rio or maybe the Seychelles.”

“YES!” James cried as he jumped to his feet, all traces of seriousness gone. Doing his victory lap around the table, James pumped his arms in muted jubilation while Padfoot scowled as he reached for his money bag.

Through the fog of his celebrations, he did notice that the teens were staring at him as if he'd gone mad. Noticing their expressions, Sirius began to laugh uproariously. “What?” James demanded of Harry and Hermione.

Speaking to Hermione, but watching his Dad, Harry stated, “My Father's gone mad.”

Waving a correcting finger at his son, James told Harry, “Not mad. Just the winner of ten Galleons.”

“Whatever,” Harry muttered. “What are we going to do about all this?” The Boy-Who-Lived asked as he resettled in his seat.

“Excuse me,” Hermione interrupted with an icy tone. “As this concerns me, I do believe that I should be able to decide for myself regarding my course of action.” The quietly furious expression on her face drove all jocularity from Prongs' mind.

“But…” Harry countered lamely.

Hermione turned on her boyfriend, a scathing comment on her lips. However, when she saw the forlorn and terrified expression on his face, she melted. Giving him a soft kiss, she asked, “Let's see what your Dad and Sirius have planned, Ok?”

Subsiding, Harry turned his expectant face to Padfoot and Prongs.

Sirius took the lead. “I wrote a letter to Maturin. Jamesie here is going to write a letter to the new editor of the Prophet and we'll be off.”

.oOo.

Harry was wandering the halls while Hermione and Sirius had a discussion regarding their thwarting of Dumbledore's machinations for the second task. Harry loved his family. He trusted his family. However, this was Hermione. He didn't even trust himself with her well-being much less trust anyone else.

It was in this furious funk that Harry rounded a corner into that which he needed least, but wanted most.

Draco Malfoy and his merry band of sycophants were taunting and bullying a pair of Hufflepuff first years. The ring of green and silver trimmed robes nearly blocked out the young boy and girl in the centre of the jeering and threats.

A part of Harry screamed triumphantly for this opportunity to release the dogs of war. There had been too much stress in too little time, too much tension and too little play. Given these considerations, Harry's behaviour was quite predictable.

“Leave off, Malfoy,” Harry growled.

With deliberate slowness, The-Ferret-Who-Bounced turned to face The Boy-Who-Lived. With his usual drawl, the Malfoy heir replied, “Potter. How nice of you to condescend to mingle with us mortals.”

“Shut it and leave the `Puffs alone,” Harry countered. Motioning with his hand, he beckoned to the terrified youngsters.

They wormed their way out of the distracted goons before sprinting away from the confrontation.

“You know, Potter, I'm really tired of you.”

With a knowing smile, Harry taunted, “It must be hard not being the heir of an Ancient and Noble House. I've just realized that all this time, you've wanted to be the Head of an Ancient and Noble House and you never will be.” With each repetition of `Ancient and Noble' Harry grinned maliciously while the blonde boy flinched. “You're just a latter day Norman invader with a lot of money. `Bad Faith' is it?”

Snapping his fingers in feigned surprise, Harry announced, “All this time…you've been jealous of me haven't you?”

Without comment, Malfoy raised his wand before casting the Reductor curse.

Game On, thought Harry as he sidestepped the poorly aimed curse.

“Sloppy, Malfoy,” Harry taunted. “You missed when you had an open shot. Now, you'll pay for it.” In a three second span, Harry demonstrated Flitwick's first lesson: Spell chaining.

Bone Crushing

Cutting

Binding

Blinding

The spells flowed from the holly and phoenix wand with a grace and precision that told of The Boy-Who-Lived's recent efforts and refocusing on mastering the magical arts. As a torrent, the spells bore down on the Slytherin pretender. The first two missed, but Harry's wand tracked on to his target, leaving a bound and blind Draco Malfoy lying on the floor.

As the blonde boy screamed in panic because of the loss of his eyesight, Harry caught a Bludgeoning curse in his ribs. Grunting in pain, he ducked under a Cutter before taking down Crabbe with a well aimed Piercing charm in the hand paired with a Bone Breaker to the pelvis. The lumpish teen fell on his bleeding hand which was transfixed with the remains of his rowan and unicorn hair wand.

Goyle's Reductor curse was so poorly cast that Harry didn't feel anything when it hit him in the shoulder. Harry's Bone Breaking curse left Goyle on the ground clutching his shattered leg.

Another Bludgeoning curse hit Harry, this time in the head. With blood running from his nose and left ear, the green eyed Gryffindor turned on his assailant.

Theodore Nott's face whitened at seeing the ferocity in The Boy-Who-Lived's face. Turing to run, he was rendered combat ineffective by a high powered Bludgeoning curse to the back of his head.

Tit for tat. It's only fair after all.

Turning to his last opponent, he saw Pansy Parkinson holding her empty hands in front of her while shaking her head. Her pleas for mercy were obvious, even to Harry who was addled with blood lust.

With contempt, he raised his wand. Shaking his head in disgust at her wide eyes before incanting, “Stupefy,” he finished his self-appointed task. The last of the tormentors slumped to the ground.

Bending over to catch his breath, Harry sheathed his wand. Hearing running feet, he shakily stood upright while surveying his conquered foes. Five stupid teenagers. Hooray.

“Oh my!”

Turning, Harry saw Professors Sprout and Sinistra hurrying down the hall toward the aftermath of the fracas. The wide-eyed expression of astonishment tinged with horror brought Harry to an abrupt stop.

Looking at the situation calmly, Harry was more than a bit scared at what he'd done. In a split second, he analysed each exchange coming to the conclusion that once he'd involved himself, there wasn't much he could or should have done differently.

However, should he have involved himself in the first place? Without time to ponder the question, he thrust it aside as the teachers rustled into the area. Professor Sinistra immediately stunned the still wailing Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. Only when they stopped their wailing and blubbing did Harry realize they'd been making a racket the entire time.

“Mr Potter! What happened?” Professor Sprout began but quickly broke off when she saw his bloody head. “Come, sit here,” she indicated to a blank space on the floor. Casting a Cushioning charm on the floor, she helped him to lie down as dizziness threatened to catapult Harry to the floor with much less grace than he desired.

As he slowly lowered himself, a wave of nausea overcame Harry. Moaning, “I don't feel so good,” he promptly passed out.

.oOo.

Lily Potter hadn't been this afraid since Voldemort promised to kill her child. Hurrying through the halls of Hogwarts, she was nearly sprinting for the infirmary.

James' message had been necessarily short: “Harry in Infirmary.” The spell only allowed for five seconds or less of speech to be transmitted, but it got the point across.

After dropping her selections on the floor of the shop, she violated all rules of propriety by Apparating straight out of the Quidditch Supply store. After running from the gates of the school, she was nearly out of breath, but still moved at a good clip.

Hearing raised voices from the open doors of the infirmary concerned her. That one of those raised voices belonged to her husband urged her to sprint the last twenty metres. James rarely shouted in anger, but when he did, he was usually in a right state.

Turning the corner into the wing, she saw her worries confirmed. Sirius had his arms wrapped around his cousin's chest while Remus stood between James and Severus Snape.

“You keep those bloody pricks in line!” shouted James.

“The way I understand the students' testimony, including that of your whelp, your spawn started the entire altercation,” Snape nearly shouted in reply.

James didn't bother to reply, merely surged forward while still wrapped in Sirius' arms. Remus scolded both men, “James! Severus! Stop this!”

Ignoring the loud drama in front of her, Lily's eyes searched for her son. Finding first Hermione, she looked down to find Harry in a bed beside which his girlfriend was ensconced. Scuttling around the posturing men, Lily hurried to her son's bedside. She didn't care nor notice that all four men had subsided when she entered the wing.

Seeing that her son was asleep, Lily asked Hermione, “What happened?”

Without looking away from her boyfriend, The Smartest Witch of the Age replied, “He came on five Slytherins who were bullying two first year Hufflepuffs. He told the older kids to leave off. Malfoy cast the first spell, so Harry put them all in here.” She absently gestured to the other filled beds.

“His injuries?” Lily choked out.

“Concussion and significant bruising on his side.” Hermione finally turned to look at her boyfriend's mother. “Consider yourself lucky that there's no Quidditch this year. These injuries are fairly common for him. Last year he fell two hundred feet off his broom.”

Sighing in relief that her son would be fine, she noticed the worry lines in Hermione's forehead. Rubbing the teen's back, Lily asked the young woman, “Are you well?”

Silently, Hermione shook her head in negation.

Realizing all too well, the momentary grip of all-encompassing fear that had hold of her when she heard that Harry was injured, Lily gripped her young protégé and future daughter in law as the girl began to tremble. The quavering became shakes until Hermione was sobbing in Lily's arms. Slowly, the tension and stress was released by both witches as they had a good cry.

The hand on her shoulder caused Lily to turn. Seeing James standing there, she drew strength from his silent presence. James glanced at his wife before refocusing his gaze on his unconscious son.

Now that her fear was ebbing, her anger began growing. Five Slytherins against two Hufflepuff firsties? Harry had to break it up? Where were the professors? The prefects? Why did the fourth year Snakes feel they could act without check?

Her renowned temper began spiralling upward as she stood. Squeezing Hermione's shoulder, Lily gave James a quick kiss before heading out. Her destination: the Dungeons.

.oOo.

“Tell the Headmaster that Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are here to see him.”

When he was teaching during the previous year, Remus had been told that the gargoyle could relay a message to the Head via the portraits in the office. If the Head chose to allow entrance, he could.

Otherwise, they'd be waiting a while. Fortunately, the gargoyle promptly leapt aside, allowing Moony and Padfoot entrance.

The moment the door to the office proper was open, Sirius began his rant.

“Albus, what kind of school are you running here? You let students bully younger children, then start hexing another student they have outnumbered five to one! What the fuck!”

Remus caught up to his irate friend just in time to see the office already crowded. Dumbledore was rolling his eyes under Sirius' crude verbal lashing while Minerva visibly became angry. Severus' face was already red with his ire, but he literally began to froth at the mouth under Sirius' words.

“That's awfully rich coming from you, Black!” the Potion Master spat.

Remus internally acknowledged the truth of Snape's words, but was surprised to see the restraint in his old friend. Slowly Padfoot turned to his old nemesis before calmly replying, “Very true, Snivelly. But my actions as a mentally retarded thirteen year old are not in question here. The action or inaction of the esteemed Head of Hogwarts are in question.”

The fire roaring back into Sirius' speech, he turned to the seated Headmaster before shouting, “So why are you continuing to allow children to bully and nearly kill one another?”

At his most irritating, Dumbledore merely stared at Sirius, a half smile dancing at the edges of his whiskered face.

Attempting to save his friend the embarrassment of attacking and then being soundly trounced by one of, if not the most, powerful wizard alive, Remus intervened.

“Albus, as you have no doubt divined, we are all very upset and concerned about the events of this afternoon.” Satisfied that he had the attention of the room, Remus glanced at Padfoot. He exhaled slowly, gratified that Sirius had control over himself, Moony continued, “Harry has a concussion as a result of having to step in when five older students were bullying two youngsters. This is obviously unacceptable. A fourth year should not have to police the student population. Even Prefects do not have the authority or are expected to intervene in physical confrontations. What is the plan to move forward so that this doesn't happen again?”

Remus hoped that his calm, reasoned approach would cool the rest of the occupants of the office. He was wrong.

“If Potter had minded his business and reported the situation to a professor, none of this would have happened. Instead, we are treated to his ridiculous and aggressive behaviour once again…” Snape's oily diatribe broke off at the sharp glance from the Headmaster. A short bow from the neck was the Potion Master's only acknowledgement of the subtle rebuke.

Remus took a deep breath to regain control of his temper. It seemed that over the past year he was affected to various degrees by Severus' petulant and boorish behaviour. Sometimes it was water off his back, other times, he wanted to throttle the childish moron.

Sensing that Padfoot was in the throttling mood, he reached over to grab his friend's arm. Squeezing tightly, he felt Padfoot subside.

“Albus?” Remus asked in order to re orient the discussion in a more positive manner.

Steepling his fingers, the old man refocused on Remus. “This is a tenuous situation. Harry is a student in name only. He is not enrolled in any courses here at Hogwarts, nor is he receiving any formal instruction from any of the Hogwarts professors.” Holding up his hand to stay Filius' budding objection, he amended, “You are technically his tutor, Filius. The bylaws are quite clear on the distinction between a professor and tutor.

“Despite the behaviour of the five Slytherin students - who shall receive in school suspensions, by the way -“ Remus nearly smiled at the apoplectic expression on Snape's face, “Despite their behaviour, Harry did exchange violent spells with them. Severus is correct, Harry should have found a professor to handle the situation. Since he is not a student, the Slytherin students in question cannot be accused of attacking another student.”

Before Remus could reply, Sirius intervened. In a voice so harsh as to be nearly a whisper, he rasped, “You fool. There wasn't time for him to find a professor and you know it. You're hiding behind the technicality of the rules when the reality of the situation is that Malfoy scum and his cronies know that you'll not do a damn thing to them. With this in mind, they roam the halls, looking for victims. In school suspension? It's a vacation from classes, not a punishment.” The disdain on the face of the Earl of Blackmoor was palpable.

Never had Remus expected his old friend to maintain control of his temper and emotions in this type of situation, especially considering how the discussion began. Usually, Padfoot would be ranting and raving, possibly even throwing items at this stage of the conversation. For him to have control over himself, be coherent and even make an excellent point nonplussed Moony.

It caught the rest of the room by surprise as well. After a long moment, Dumbledore tried to catch up by murmuring, “Well.”

“Oh, stop it Albus!”

Now even more wrong footed, Remus turned to see the exasperated and angry Deputy Head glowering at her old friend. “Sirius is correct in all the salient facts. You and I should have thrashed not only young Malfoy, but also these ones when they were in school.”

Her offhand gesture toward Sirius and Remus caused a slight blush of embarrassment for the Lycanthrope. Most of the time, the Marauders' pranks were in good fun, but the `war' with Severus and a few others was very vicious and mean. A responsible Head and Deputy would have squashed them all like bugs and if that failed to end the situation, expelled the lot of them.

There was a protracted silence before the truth dawned on Remus. Sadly, he asked in a low voice, “You're not going to punish them in any meaningful way, are you?”

In his reassuring, `command' voice, Dumbledore countered, “They shall all receive in school suspensions.”

“And when they do it again?” Moony pressed in a weary tone.

When Dumbledore didn't reply, the Quiet Marauder nodded his head sadly. “I was afraid of that.” Motioning to Sirius, he beckoned, “C'mon Padfoot. Nothing to be gained here.”

“You bastard.”

Blinking, Remus turned to see an irate Padfoot quivering in rage as he glared at the old Headmaster. He spat, “You disgust me, sitting here in the image of the righteous man when you are as conniving and manipulative as the worst dark wizard you've always deplored. You are a liar and a cheat. You repulse me.”

Turning on his heel, Sirius fled the room, his face white and expression set. Flabbergasted yet again, Remus chased after his friend.

The sound of retching at the foot of the steps cued Remus into his friend's emotional state. He found Padfoot having just Vanished his sick and casting the Breath Freshening charm on himself. Gently clapping a hand on Sirius' back, Remus asked, “Better now?”

Silently nodding, Sirius began to head back toward the hospital wing. “All those years I couldn't protect him Moony. I couldn't protect him because I didn't use my bloody head. Now, I will protect him - and her - as best I can.” Moony watched his friend in admiration; Sirius had handled the situation in Dumbledore's office far better than Moony had expected. Maybe Padfoot was growing up. A little.

.oOo.

He didn't light any of the wall sconces as he moved toward his office, so he didn't see her leaning on his desk. His simmering anger at that bastard Black distracted him.

“I warned you.”

Snape stopped mid stride. Without turning, he asked, “What are you going to do, Lily?”

“Face me.”

Severus turned to see the hard eyes of Lily Potter. Since her return to the land of the living, the illusions and delusions that he'd woven regarding Lily Evans and himself had been evaporating. The girl he thought he loved didn't exist any longer - if she'd ever existed. The woman in front of him hated his existence. That much was clear in her glare.

Her savage thrust of Legilimancy took him by surprise.

Rocked on his heels, he reeled against the stone wall. Frantically reinforcing his Occlumency shields, he turned away from his onetime friend. He'd not been this viciously attacked since he brought news of the Prophecy to the Dark Lord.

Strangely enough, he didn't feel betrayed by her assault. If Lily knew the full extent of his betrayal of her, he had no doubt that she'd kill him without an ounce of remorse. In the whirlwind of a vicious mental battering, the Truth of his utter abandonment of the person who'd stood by him was laid bare.

Falling to the floor under the combined assault of an enraged witch and the painful dissolution of his carefully constructed rationalizations and self-deceits, Severus Snape began to scream.

It was agony. His self-loathing and recrimination was a consuming inferno that made the hellfire of Fiendfyre seem tame. The Truth of not only his behaviour toward Lily, but in general, had been held at bay for so many years by his resentment of James Potter. Buried under the self-deceit that Lily had been stolen from him, he had escaped the worst savages of his conscience.

No longer. He screamed, the mental torment exceeding that of the Cruciatus. Instead of a slow reveal, his guilt and shame flooded him in an instant. Perhaps it was because of her attack. Perhaps it was merely her presence. The reason was of no account, because for so many years, the Truth had been denied. It had been covered up in lies of love lost and love denied. Slathered in resentment of the better man, the Truth had waited.

It seemed that over the years the guilt and remorse that had been denied and evaded had earned interest. Quite a bit at that. The mental agony caused him to stagger about the room, vainly trying to escape the Truth.

As the Legilimancy probe eased, he began to sob under the burden of his own behaviour. His terrorizing of the student body in a petulant displacement of his own mutually encouraged torment. Revenge on boys long dead or gone. The daily mauling of Lily's child to fan the flames of resentment toward the boy's father in a different attempt at revenge against a man believed to be dead. The overall failure as a person and a man.

All of it flooded him, bearing him under the wave from which he couldn't escape.

Finally, he succumbed. Falling to his knees, he keened his remorse to the remorseless.

The shame caused him to roll away from the witch who was pitilessly following him about the dungeon. As she leaned over him, Lily Potter - never again would he think of her as Lily Evans - snarled, “I'm letting you live, for now. Next time…”

The receding footsteps were more ominous than the Cruciatus of the Dark Lord. Physical pain he'd endured and eventually mastered. This agony, though…

His weeping followed her nearly to the stairs before the door to the Potions laboratory slowly swung shut.

.oOo.

She saw him swim to consciousness as he'd done so many times before. Just like all the other times when she'd been there for him as he woke, Hermione handed Harry his glasses as he mumbled, “Where am I?”

The emotional tidal wave which had born her down earlier threatened to surge forward again. Taking a deep breath to anchor herself, she slowly took his hand in her own. “The infirmary,” an unbidden grin flashed across her face, “Again.”

He didn't laugh. “Are the others…?” he trailed off. It seemed to Hermione that he couldn't voice his fears that he may have killed any of the Slytherin bullies.

In as soothing a voice as she could muster, Hermione reassured him, “They'll all be fine. Malfoy and Nott have already been released. The others will be out sooner than you.”

Closing his eyes, he lay back on his pillow, exhaling in relief. “How long have I been here?”

“Just a few hours. Your parents were here with Sirius and Remus, but they left ten minutes or so ago. They'll be back around dinner, your Dad said.”

Her trembling hand gave her away. All the worry and fear was slowly bleeding out of her like a dripping faucet.

“I'm sorry,” he apologized. “I didn't mean to…”

“I know,” she admitted as the first tear dripped from her right eye.

“They were going to hurt those kids…”

“I know, Harry,” Hermione soothed. “I know and agree that you did the right thing. I just…” More tears dripped down her face. “I've just been sitting here thinking that if this is what five fourth years can do to you, what will Voldemort do?” She finished in a whisper as she buried her face in her hands.

His grunt of pain caused her to look up just as he wrapped his arms about her. It was typical Harry. Completely ignoring his own desires or needs in order to take care of her. Was it any wonder that she loved him so?

“I was foolish,” he admitted. “I'm not ready to take on a half dozen opponents of any level. It's just too many points of attack for me to defeat. Yet.” She heard the wolfish aggression in his unspoken promise to be able to easily dispatch at least a half dozen opponents.

“I should have got help. One well cast spell would have killed me. Luckily, Crabbe and Goyle can barely cast the Levitation spell.” She half heartedly smiled at his jibe. He was right. Once again, Harry Potter was extraordinarily lucky to survive another encounter with his enemies.

“I need a way to rally all of us in case we're in need.”

Nodding she wiped her face. This was a task for which she was well suited. After firmly kissing her man, she lay him back on the bed. “I'll talk with your Mum and Remus. We'll come up with something soon.”

The mischievous grin on his face was a new development. Since his parents had returned to the land of the living, Harry had let his inner `little boy' out of the cage on more occasions than before.

“So, will you tell me about your dress?”

Smiling at his persistence, she replied, “Just like the other thirty two times you asked, No, I'll not tell you anything.”

“Come on, luv, just a hint.”

Every time he called her `love', it lit a fire in her belly. Bending over, she claimed his mouth. Kissing him, she poured out all the caring, love and fear she'd felt over the past few hours. Hermione smiled inwardly for she could tell that Harry was on the way to recovery. His hand was on her bum.

After a few moments, she stood, “I'm going to get our books. We've got to answer Remus for tomorrow about Magical Dispersion counter curse and how it can be used in a combat setting.”

Yawning, Harry grumbled, “That's easy. Use the curse to destroy an inbound spell.”

Stunned at his offhand, but prescient use of the spell, she probed, “But how do you get the curse in time? This is a ward breaking curse.”

“Use smaller wand movements,” he mumbled just as he fell asleep.

Her mind abuzz with the Arithmantic possibilities, she nearly ran to Gryffindor tower to fetch her books.

.oOo.

The elder generation of the Marauder family simultaneously converged on the infirmary. Sirius was still emotionally wiped out from the confrontation in the Headmaster's office, but felt strangely light hearted. Ever since James and Lily had rejoined them, life had been confused and strange. Now it was simple, for he had clarity.

They were on their own.

Albus Dumbledore was bound and determined to act as he saw fit, regardless of outside opinion or desire. Well damn him, I'm not going to listen to him any longer.

The Ministry seemed to be firmly entrenched in their ways - nothing new there - so there was little to no assistance available to the family from that quarter.

Sighing, he let the tension bleed out of him the best he could. Turning the corner, he saw James and Lily approaching from different hallways; Lily from the dungeons, James from the entry hall.

Concern flooded Sirius when he saw the pale and shaken face of Lily, but before he could ask her what was wrong, Prongs jumped in, “You alright, love?”

“Had a bit of a chat with Severus. I think he'll reign in his little beasts now.”

Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Sirius figured it must have been some `talk' to get Snivelly to change his spots. Glancing at Prongs, he saw James wave him off pursuing the topic. Shrugging, he filled his family in on what had happened in the Headmaster's office. How Dumbledore had effectively told Sirius and Remus to bugger off, he'd run his school how he saw fit. Which included, by the way, continuing his extraordinarily lax disciplinary procedures.

“No shocking news there,” James snarked.

“Prongs…” Remus remonstrated half-heartedly.

“What? What Moony? He's been an utter and complete bloody failure for the last fifteen years. He failed Harry. He failed as Headmaster. He failed as Chief Warlock. What fucking good has Albus Dumbledore done in the last ten years or so? Huh?” There was no anger at Remus in James words, but there was force. Sirius found himself nodding in agreement with his cousin's assessment of the old Headmaster.

The Lycanthrope's head dropped to his chest. “He was the only one who would help me…”

Sirius laid his hand on Remus' shoulder, “I get it, Moony, he did a wonderful and good thing by accommodating you here during your school years. For that, I think I can say for both of us, that Prongs and I are eternally grateful.” Sirius looked to James who gave a firm nod with emphasis before continuing.

“But that doesn't make him infallible. It means that he has a big heart, but what Prongs is saying is that Dumbledore isn't going to help us because he either can't or won't. Either way, we don't have the luxury to be fucking about with this.”

Nodding, Remus sighed dispiritedly. “You're right.”

Brightly, Sirius replied, “Of course I am.”

The flick on his ear was unseen, but it could only be Lily. “Come on you jesters, let's see how my son is doing,” the redheaded witch cajoled with a half smile on her face.

Sirius caught the look of concern on Prongs' face before he smothered it. Whether Sirius was there or not, he had a hunch that James and Lily would be having a chat about old Snivellus in the near future.

.oOo.

DUMBLEDORE TO HOSTAGE HEIR OF BLACKMOOR?

“Oh, damn. This is really good James.”

Lily was beaming as she read the morning edition of the Prophet. The new editor, James Shanahan, was much more agreeable to the Potter agenda that the old guard. A quick note from `The-Father-Who-Lived', followed by a Floo interview led to a front page blasting of Dumbledore and his `intentions'.

“And there's not a lie in the entire article,” James smiled across the breakfast table.

“Hmmm,” Lily hummed as she drank off her second cup of coffee.

“Hey, Mum. Dad.” Harry greeted as he and Hermione passed through the door warden. The teens had started taking their meals in the parents' rooms shortly after returning to school Where James and Lily had dreaded eating in the Great Hall, it seemed that everyone wanted to continue to eat together, but not as part of the school As Harry had put it, “Well, we're not really part of the school anymore, are we?”

That had broken Lily's heart a little. When they were talking and becoming better acquainted, Harry had told his Mum how much of a true home Hogwarts had been for him. To feel so `apart from' his first real home was very sad to the young mother.

“How'd you sleep?” she asked her son.

Shrugging, he replied, “The potions helped but my head still hurts.”

Handing her boyfriend his morning tea, Hermione told him, “Madam Pomfrey said that your head would be a bit tender for a while, yet.”

His grunt was the only reply.

Silently, the family dug into their meals. James had been up late the night before in preparing the teens' Transfiguration lesson for the day. He had been tempted to push the kids to become animagi, but Lily had bent his course by reminding him that they didn't have a lot of time for non-core pursuits.

He eventually agreed. Today, they would take the potion, which would tell them if they had the capability to become an animal. Many people discovered their form in this potion induced meditative trance. If they wanted to pursue the task of becoming animagi…well, it would be a point to discuss.

Pushing the academic pursuits to the side, Lily sat back in her chair as she poured another cup of coffee. James had stolen the paper and was reading the front page article which scolded Albus. Harry was quietly shovelling a plate full of food down his gullet while Hermione surreptitiously watched her beau.

Life was good. Lily's childhood had been less than pleasant. Her parents were good people who tried hard to provide for their daughters, but they were destined for a hard life. Their mother had become pregnant with Petunia when she was fifteen while their father had just turned sixteen. When Rose, their mother, dropped out of secondary school, Joseph, their father, had pushed through to his A levels. Scraping together a few passable scores hadn't really set the young couple up for the future.

Joseph had a natural affinity for engines and the like, so he found himself working in an auto repair shop. He was good and became the lead mechanic in short order, but it wasn't a profession by which a man becomes rich any time soon.

Lily didn't have a new frock until her Hogwarts robes. She'd worn hand me down's from Petunia her whole life. It never really bothered her, because no matter how tight money was at home, it was a firm belief in Lily Evan's mind that her parents' loved her. It helped when her dresses were thrice mended and the socks were nothing more than a spool of thread held together with a few scraps of cloth.

Having her family in good health, unafraid of the future was a dream come true for the redheaded witch. Well, unafraid except for that bastard Voldemort, that is.

She was distracted from those morose thoughts as she watched her son and his girlfriend converse in shorthand.

“You want to?” he asked, inclining his head towards his satchel.

“Sure,” she replied without looking.

“Lunch?”

“No, let's do it after dinner.”

James broke in, “No having sex directly after dinner. You should wait at least thirty minutes or you could get a cramp and drown.”

Lily smothered a laugh as the teens blushed beet red in combined embarrassment and mortification. “Dad…”

“James, we were discussing our Arithmancy assignment from Sirius.”

“Sure you were. Anyway, remember it's a counter clockwise rotation with the right hand while pointing your wand at her abdomen as you incant `Inconcievous'. Got it?”

Now Lily was laughing aloud. James could just tickle her funny bone on occasion. Other times she wanted to knee him in the bollocks, though those times were few and far between these days.

Hermione's face was so red that Lily thought the girl might have permanent blush damage. Having pity on the witch, Lily plucked the front page of the paper from her husband's hands before tossing it to the teens. “Take a look at that.”

They read together, but it was obvious that Hermione read faster than Harry did. “Will this stop the Headmaster?” she asked.

It was James who answered, “It should. Dumbledore is a complete arse in many ways, but he's a political animal. He knows that he'll be crucified should he touch you for the second task. Then there's the little plot that Padfoot has cooked up with Maturin.” Pointing his fork at The Smartest Witch of the Age, he reminded her, “Remember, you are Lady Hermione Granger-Black, heir of his Lordship, the Earl of Blackmoor. To some people, that means something.”

Harry was still pensive, “I don't like it. We're assuming that Dumbledore won't try to take her in the middle of the night? He or his people can get in the girls' dorm any time…”

Lily smiled a wolfish smile. Pointing to the spare room of their suite she replied, “That's what that room and Rauri are for. He was most put out when James told him that someone wanted to hold our girl hostage. I doubt anyone can get past him when he's on watch.”

Visibly relaxing, Harry sat back in his chair while nodding. “Good.”

“You do have a far more serious task ahead of you, though,” Lily informed the teens with mock gravity.

Hermione immediately twigged her meaning, so she turned to her boyfriend with an expectant expression. “What?” he asked.

“We've to open the ball,” Hermione told him. When he groaned, she jabbed him in the ribs with a finger. After he yelped, she told him, “European Waltz is the next dance on our list.”

“Tomorrow,” James told them. “Today, you get to take a truly vile potion that ought to make you lose your lunch.”

“Joy,” Harry intoned with heavy sarcasm. “Can we do it tomorrow also?”

“No, son. Only today,” James lobbed the sarcasm right back.

“Darn.”

.oOo.

Remus had only seen James this excited a few times. Obviously, the day he married Lily and the day Harry was born were tops of the list, but this day was a very close second. There was that day back in '77 when they were pranking the entire population of the castle, but that didn't count. The prank failed.

Back and forth, Prongs paced while Harry and Hermione were in Neverland. Truth be told, he too was excited. Frowning, he turned to his old friend, “Do you want these two to run with us on Full Moon?”

Stopping short, James' brow furrowed. “I'd not thought about it. My first inclination is `no'.” Looking at Moony, he asked, “What do you think?”

“My first inclination is `no' also. However, can you see either of these two listening to us? If they go through all the pain to transform, they'll see Full Moon Run as a right, not something to be denied because of overprotective parents.” Shrugging, he conceded, “They may very well be lions who could kick all of our arses.”

“Or a robin,” James countered with a smile.

Moony smiled wanly. Full Moon was in four days and he was feeling a bit peaked. The low level nausea, cramps, fever and general discomfort would increase to the point where on the day of the Moon, he was in near agony. Lily had once called it the worst PMS of which she'd ever heard. She was brewing the Wolfsbane potion for him, which alleviated the worst of the symptoms, but not all.

Sirius opened the door before entering quietly. Narrowing his eyes at the unconscious teens, he asked, “How long?”

“They've only been out twenty minutes or so,” Remus replied for James.

Grunting, Sirius moved to the couch, pulling a letter out of his robes.

“That from Maturin?”

“Yeah. He says he's got everything ready in case Dumbledore fucks up.” Shaking his head, Sirius smiled, “The man is a maniac. I think he lives for this shit.”

Harry began to blink while Hermione stretched. The adults tried to be restrained but couldn't help themselves. James leaned forward as he asked his son, “Well?”

Harry exchanged a look with Hermione before he turned back to his Dad. “Woof,” was his reply.

Hermione smiled mischievously. “Woof,” she echoed.

“YES!!” Sirius shouted. Laughing, James slid to the floor as Sirius pranced about the room shouting the superiority of canine animagi.

.oOo.

In the end, though, they all decided that pursuit of their animagus forms would be a part time effort at best.

“We've much more important things to be doing,” Hermione had summed up to Harry's agreement. For sentimental reasons, though, they were going to pursue their full transformation; Harry as a Great Pyrenees dog and Hermione as a German Shepherd.

Soon enough, the holidays were on them. It was a weary Harry and Hermione who packed their trunks with a quick wave of their wands.

Lily had insisted that the teens master silent spellcasting. “The ability to silently cast spells has nothing to do with magical maturity, rather it's about a mental discipline and state of mind that's independent of their ages. They need to start now.”

And that was that.

For the past six weeks, they had been driven to cast silently. Every day, all day each of their instructors were implacable about the topic. Surprisingly, Professor Flitwick was the hardest taskmaster.

There was never any other option; Harry and Hermione were going to master silent spellcasting before Christmas. Therefore, they did.

None of their tutors told the teens how impressed they were with their progress. The entire effort demanded that the two push themselves to accomplish the impossible, so the fact that they'd mastered a method of invoking magic that those two years older than them started the path toward was nothing.

Padfoot had them creating hostile wards followed by breaking them. That was really hard.

Remus made them duel while blindfolded, forcing the two to use the mage sight spell until it became second nature.

James had them mass transfiguring rubble into mammals - the hardest transfiguration that existed outside the animagus effort. By Valentine's Day, he'd promised the teens that they'd have their creations fight for them in a coherent manner.

The teens soaked up Lily's lessons like sponges. The first week she spent explaining why ingredients reacted the way they did. The relationship between the lunar ingredients and the solar, the harsh mixtures of the acidic and basic on top of the noble and eternal ingredients made the `exact art and subtle science' of potioneering infinitely more clear to both teens.

Filius had them all beaten. Hermione had a natural affinity for the creation of illusions while Harry was merely `good'. The diminutive Charms master tasked her to create an illusion of the Great Hall during their sorting to show the Marauders and Lily what they'd missed. In an attempt at a prank that misfired, Harry created an illusion of the happenings in the Chamber of Secrets.

Filius had vomited when Harry slew and was slain by the Basilisk. Lily wept while James, Sirius and Remus had stared thunderstruck as the images told the story.

Hermione had held Harry, whispering, “I love you,” repeatedly as she sobbed.

By the time December 12 rolled around, Harry and Hermione needed a break.

But first, Hermione had a letter to write to her parents.

With shaking hands, she attached the soft pedalled, friendly letter to Hedwig's leg. The snowy owl must have twigged The Smartest Witch of the Age's fear, for she affectionately nipped at Hermione's hair before barking her farewell.

Hermione stood in the owlry long, watching Hedwig until the owl faded from sight. Harry stood next to his girlfriend, he arm around her shoulders.

“It'll be Ok,” he told her, unconsciously mimicking the words of his godfather from a few months before. “We're together, we have our family. Your parents love you, so in time they'll realize that and act on it.”

“Do they?” she whispered.

“Do they what?”

“Love me?”

Grasping the teary witch by the shoulders, Harry forced her to look him in the eye, “I don't know your parents, but I know you. If they don't love you than they don't deserve you.” Delving into the heart of the matter, Harry addressed Hermione's issue of self-worth and her parents' love of her. “You're the best person I know or ever will know. You deserve the best and if they can't provide it than they can bugger off.

“I love you.”

Slowly crumpling into his chest, she breathed deeply of his scent.

“I love you too.”

.oOo.

“It's good to be home.”

Hermione turned to her boyfriend, who was smiling in a tired way. This was probably the first time that he'd ever looked forward to leaving Hogwarts. Hooking her arm in his, she dragged him up to his room. “We need to discuss Christmas.”

At his puzzled expression, she tossed her bag on the chair next to his door. Closing the door, she told him, “Presents for your parents, Sirius and Remus.”

“Oh.”

Rolling her eyes, she told him, “We can Floo to the Alley tomorrow or even head to the magical shopping area in Cardiff.”

When he frowned, she suggested, “Why don't we go to Cardiff? You might get a little bit of privacy in Storio Ale.”

“Sure. Rauri?”

The diminutive elf who'd very quickly become a favourite of both teens arrived with a small pop. “You called, my Lord?”

Hermione saw Harry shake his head a little at the title. Neither of the teens had become very used to their sudden elevation to the peerage; more amused by it than anything.

“Rauri, can you get some gold for us from my trust vault?” Harry asked.

“Of course, my Lord. How much do you require?”

With a mix of nervousness and pride, Hermione interjected, “Er, you don't need to get me any galleons. Sirius set up a vault for me.” When Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise, she reminded him, “Lady Hermione here.”

Harry shrugged before turning back to Rauri. Unprompted, the elf told Hermione, “My Lady, I shall require written permission from yourself to withdraw funds from your vault as I am bound to the House of Richmond and your vault is of House Blackmoor.”

Nodding to herself, she zipped to Harry's desk, wrote out the needed permission before sealing it with a spell Sirius had taught her. This spell took the place of the old fashioned wax seal as it magically verified the sealer of the missive.

“One hundred galleons each should do the trick, Rauri. Thank you.”

Bowing low, Rauri intoned, “I shall return shortly.”

When the elf disappeared, the teens simultaneously looked to each other. Feeling a bit giddy, Hermione asked, “Was that the weirdest thing we've done in the past few months or what?”

A laughing Harry took her into his arms. After kissing her thoroughly, he breathlessly told her, “I don't know, but it's close.”

.oOo.

Focusing more on book learning than the practical demonstration of magic, the training schedule for the teens continued while at Rowan Hill. Harry was accompanying his father to Gringotts when James told him, “We can go outside to cast these charms. I don't think your Mum would like us destroying half the house with the Siege Engine Spell.”

James laughed when Harry snorted before replying, “Forget Mum, can you imagine what Rauri would do to us?” Remembering how the house was tastefully decorated for the upcoming holidays, he rolled his eyes. Rauri would have a fit should anything be slightly out of place, much less wanton destruction.

Lily and Hermione were out doing Christmas shopping for their men while Remus paid a visit to his parent's graves. It was a yearly visit for him right before Christmas. He'd been infected on December 23 of 1970. His parents had died defending him from the beast he found out later was Fenrir Greyback.

Sirius was accompanying their old friend on this visit. In the past it had sometimes been James, sometimes all the Marauders had gone to pay their respects to the late Donald and Georgiana Lupin. This year, Remus had asked Sirius to accompany him.

James didn't feel left out. It was a very emotional visit for Remus, even after all these years. It was a visceral reminder of all that he'd lost due to Lycanthropy combined with the basic loss of his family.

Harry and his Father had started their day alone talking about the family. About what it meant to be The Potter, Earl of Richmond and Baron Potter of Gwynedd.

“Not much, and yet it means quite a bit,” James had summed up for Harry. “The titles are so much empty air, but the position our family has held in British magical society is that of leadership.” Waving his hand at Harry, James added, “This whole The Boy-Who-Lived thing is the same. It means about the same as a pile of beans, but people look to you as a symbol of hope.” Rolling his eyes as he remembered the newspaper articles about him and Lily since their `return', James added, “I suppose they look to your Mum and me in the same way now, too.

“The point is that we have to put our family first. In doing so, we stand up for the light. The dark wizards decimated the Potter family because they knew we'd resist.” Harry frowned at his Dad's logic, so James continued, “They'll always come for us. To take care and protect our family, we've to stop those bastards. Either with our wand or our vote,” he referred to their Wizengamot seat, “we need to stop them.”

It was heart-warming for James to see Harry in such violent agreement on so many principles that he'd held dear. While his son was a Gryffindor, James had been afraid that Vernon and Petunia had driven some of what was good from his son in their animalistic treatment of Harry.

Nervously pulling at his collar, Harry asked, “Do we really need to go to this party tonight?”

“Yes,” James replied. “The Bones family has hosted a Christmas party on the 23rd for centuries and a Potter has always attended.” He paused as he considered his statement, “Well, always attended when we could. The Bones are long time friends of our family and powerful in the Wizengamot.” Harry rolled his eyes causing James to pull him up short with a sharp bark, “It's important, young man. Don't roll your eyes. You'll one day sit in the seat and you've a long bit of learning in front of you.”

Chastised, Harry nodded as he muttered, “Right, sorry about that.”

Sighing, James admitted, “I had this same conversation with my Dad when I was your age and he ended up shouting at me too, so don't feel bad.” Staring off out of the window, James told his son, “I've had so many friends slaughtered. So many faceless people - good people most likely - who were killed by Voldemort and his ilk. I didn't know Edgar Bones very well before he was killed, but I understood that he was a good man.”

With an earnest expression, he turned to his son, “If we can save just one person by our actions in the Wizengamot, it's our duty to do so, don't you think?”

Moved by his father's passion, Harry met James' gaze before nodding firmly. “It is. Can you begin to tell me what I need?”

Gifting Harry his genuine smile of affection, James told his son, “Later, first we've business to tend,” as he gestured to the entry hall fireplace and the Floo powder pot.

As James helped his hapless-Floo-Travelling son to his feet, he cast a quick cleansing charm on the teen. “One of these days…” Harry muttered.

“What? You'll actually Floo travel in a dignified manner?” James snarked.

“No, I'll demolish the fireplace so that we can only Apparate or Portkey.”

James laughed as they headed toward the imposing edifice of the Goblin run bank.

A mischievous smile flitted over Harry's face. “You know, I almost pranked you the other day.”

Frowning, James' silent query prompted Harry to continue. “You know how you're always messing with the Goblins about their names?” James eyes flashed with a hint of fear as they narrowed. “Well, I was going to stop midway during signing the forms to relinquish control of the family assets back to you. You'd have to sign a form that would allow the Goblins to call you a specific name. Otherwise, I'd have kept the galleons.”

“What name?” James asked with more than a bit of trepidation. This was his son, after all.

“I couldn't decide between Lord Port-a-Potty and Lord Todger. Either way, my hand was cramping too much to play about, I just wanted to get it all over.” Harry's wide smile gave James a shiver.

“Well, thank Merlin that you are a poofter when having to write anything.”

“Poofter!” Harry exclaimed in mock outrage.

“Poofter.”

Both Potters chuckled at James' near miss while they climbed into a cart to take them to the family vaults. “So why are we here?” Harry asked.

Shrugging, James told him, “Same reason I showed you the grimoire and our little chat this morning; you're the heir and need to know some things about the family.”

“Isn't that what we've been doing all day?”

“Yeah, but if that Halloween taught me anything, it's to not take our lives for granted.”

With this sobering thought, they hurtled down the tracks to the bowels of the bank in silence, lost in their thoughts.

.oOo.

James approached the Potter Family Vault, not stopping as the magic of the area recognized him as the Lord of the Family and therefore, opening for him and the Heir.

Stepping aside, he gestured for Harry to precede him. He shoved down a smile at what he anticipated his son's reaction to the vault.

“Er, Dad?” Harry asked with a hesitant voice.

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure this is the right vault?”

Now smiling, James replied, “Pretty sure. Let me double check.” Hustling out the door, James made a spectacle of checking the number atop the door. Running back in the vault, he puffed, “Yup, vault seven. That's us. Has been for a thousand years or so.”

Harry turned about the small space which was nearly empty. With a diffident gesture, he asked, “Where's all the gold, though?”

“Gold?” James asked, puzzlement evident.

That gave it away. “Ok, Prongs,” Harry blurted. “That's enough.”

James chuckled. “Have you no magical sense, son of mine?” Pointing to a large chest, he asked, “What do you think that is?”

Confused, Harry replied, “A trunk?”

James rolled his eyes, “No, it's over a billion Galleons.” When Harry's face stayed confused, James added, “Space Expansion charms.”

After face palming, Harry muttered, “Ok, I'm an idiot.”

“Don't worry about it. I want you to look here.” Moving over to a tall dresser, James pulled out a series of wide but shallow drawers. He heard his son's breath catch as he saw the contents.

“These are the most priceless of our families magical heirlooms. Most aren't all that nifty nowadays, but all have been forged, wrought or crafted by Potters. The magic of the family ensures we must keep them in the family. Entailed as it were.”

With fond remembrance, James watched Harry run his hands over the battle axe forged in the Welsh smithy that once stood at Rowan Hill. Euan ap Owain created the magical axe in the fourth century. The leather wrapping of the handle had long since been lost to time, but the steel head and shaft glimmered as if they'd just been doused in the tempering waters next to the anvil.

Just as his father had done for him, James did for his son by telling the stories of each item.

“This is the coronet given to the family by Arthur when he bestowed the Richmond title on the family. It's the only exception to the `Potter Created' rule in the case.” Gesturing to the drawers, he began to walk Harry through the family's more tangible history.

Portable Ward stones created by Aneirin Potter in 1054.

A pensieve crafted by Gwil Potter in 587.

A quarterstaff with a magical core, capped in mithril, created by Cadomedd Potter in 1108.

A shield crafted of Welsh Green Dragonscales wrought by Hadyn Potter in 324.

Much of the cache was weapons, as the more useful items were at Rowan Hill for the family's use. However, the most expensive things were also held in the vault until they were needed.

Harry's hand hovered over the bracelet. James smiled a sad smile. “Pick it up.” he softly encouraged his son. When Harry reverently scooped up the magnificent work of art, he hefted it.

“How is it so light?”

“Mithril.”

“Dad, mithril is just an invention in Lord of the Rings. It's not real.”

James regarded his son with more than a bit of annoyance. “Hello? Father here who grew up with this stuff. If I say it's mithril, that's what it is.”

They both fell silent as they regarded the artisanship of Aine Potter of that which she wrought for her daughter in 1164. The bracelet appeared to be a series of cords or wires about half the thickness of your smallest finger. They looped and wove, darted amongst themselves to create a pattern that was obviously deliberate in its complexity and randomness.

Those wizards and witches who were not married off via contract and therefore allowed to pursue a marriage based on love and affection usually bonded with their intended far, far earlier than the non-magical counterparts. Maybe it was the type of training Hogwarts provided. They were taught from a very young age to responsibly handle lethal weapons. Maybe it was the nature of magic; searching, seeking and looking for its counterpart.

Whatever the reason, most magical couples married young. Those that didn't marry young, usually married foreigners when grown and further exposure to the wider world became possible. It was anecdotal evidence that they just hadn't found `the right one' yet.

James didn't need Legilimancy to read his son's thoughts. Harry wanted to give it to Hermione, but was scared.

“Why wouldn't you give it to her?” he asked.

When Harry shrugged in a non-committal manner, James was a bit hurt. He thought that he and Harry had built a fairly good relationship, the aftermath of the first task notwithstanding. Eventually, Harry murmured, “What if she doesn't want all that this entails?”

“You mean eventual marriage, sprogs and lots of hot, sweaty sex.”

The faint smile and nod prompted James to place his hand gently on Harry's shoulder. With a reassuring tone, he asked, “Didn't she tell you that she'd always be there for you? Didn't she tell you that she wanted to be the mother of your children?”

“Yeah, she did.”

“Well then, there's your answer.”

Nodding to himself, he picked up the velvet bag the bracelet had rested on before slipping the bracelet into the bag and then into his pocket.

“My mother was the last Potter to wear it,” James told his son. “I'd be proud to see Hermione wear it.”

.oOo.

Hermione and Lily were giggling like little girls as the redhead side-along Apparated the younger witch home. Hefting her bottomless shopping bag to her shoulder, Hermione cried, “I can't believe you said that to him!”

Rolling her eyes, Lily Potter bluntly told The Smartest Witch of the Age, “Ludo Bagman has always been a moron and a letch. He was slapped so many times at school for `accidentally' feeling up girls that I think he set a record. Combined with his mania for Quidditch, it's a wonder he can cast the Colour Changing charm.”

They both laughed as they moved to the main staircase. Hermione was still in more than a little awe of the house. While not Blenheim Palace's size, Rowan Hill was the superior to the Duke of Richmond's home in decoration and style. One of the benefits of magic was that the Potters hadn't bankrupted themselves over the years to maintain their near-palatial home, where the Churchills were routinely trying to find new ways to finance the upkeep of their magnificent home.

Skipping up the marble steps, Hermione hoped that Harry liked the gift she'd purchased for him. Well, the public gift, that is. The lacy number she'd picked up at Witch's Secret wasn't for public consumption.

Humming Away in a Manger, Hermione put away her purchases in the massive room that she'd stayed in during their initial visit. Lily had informed the teenaged witch that as a matter of course, the room was now hers.

Frowning, Hermione reflected on the dichotomy of her feelings. Her virtual disownment by her parents was not a rarity in the magical or mundane world. She knew of three teens who'd been tossed out of their homes for various reasons; some valid, others not so valid.

She'd still not received a response to the letter she'd sent her parents. Sirius had been very helpful by not making a fuss, just treating her as if it was another day. That helped, but in the end, she felt the loss of her parents keenly.

In contrast was her unconditional acceptance into the houses of Blackmoor and Richmond. She knew that at first, her inclusion into the family was due to her relationship with Harry. Now, she was an integral part of the two families and a member in her own right. Without artifice or pride, Hermione knew she was entrenched in the greater Richmond-Blackmoor family in her own right - as Hermione.

All of it came back around to Harry: her love, best friend and hopefully much more after this night was concluded.

The knock on the door derailed her more lascivious thoughts. Shoving the bag to the back of her walk in closet, she called, “Hold on!”

Once the bag was obscured by her dress robes, she hustled to the door. Opening it, she found her boyfriend shuffling his feet and noticeably nervous.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Hey, yourself. Come on in,” she beckoned as she shut the door behind him. Amusedly confused, she watched him begin to pace in front of the crackling fire. Deciding to wait him out, she took a seat in the chair next to his path of pacing.

Finally, he stopped before turning to her.

“I love you.”

Smiling widely, she replied, “I love you, too.” Silently, she watched him pull a velvet bag from his pocket. Forcing down her curiosity, she waited for him to speak. This was obviously a big deal for him.

“I know it's the day before Christmas, but I want to give you this so it's not a `Holiday Gift'. I want you to have this for what it means. What it means to me, to you and to my family.”

Her breath hitched as he pulled the bracelet out of the bag.

“Mithril,” she whispered. Her reverent awe of the object in her boyfriend's hand was shattered when he snorted.

“I told Dad that Mithril was just something from Tolkien. You recognize it immediately. Figures.”

Hermione smiled briefly before her eyes refocused on the bracelet.

“This was wrought in Eleven-Sixty-Four by Aine Potter, for her daughter, Maire.”

“Aine was Gryffindor's wife, right?”

“Yeah.”

Glancing at his face, she saw that he was pale and sweaty. Pushing her inquisitiveness to the side, she stood, rubbing his back. “What's wrong?”

Harry took a calming breath before telling her, “Let me finish and you'll understand.” She nodded before retaking her seat. Now, she focused more on the boy than the bracelet.

“This,” he hefted the bracelet still in the palm of his left hand, “Is magically entailed in the Potter family.”

“Oh,” she replied, her massive intellect immediately coming to the conclusion that made him so nervous. Harry was going to gift her the bracelet. Should she accept it, they would be, for all intents and purposes, betrothed.

There was no real thought required for her, though. She'd thought it through after the Rita Skeeter interview and the offer of Protection from Sirius. She'd thought it through when her parents had cast her from their home. The highly analytical mind of The Smartest Witch of the Age had gone through all the permutations, combinations and issues regarding her future with Harry. Magic itself seemed to bind them, but in the end, she couldn't live without him, nor did she want to live without him.

Deliberately meeting his gaze, she smiled and waited.

He let go a shuddering breath of relief. With a much easier air about him, he knelt before her. “Would you accept this bracelet as a token of my affection, esteem and love with all that it entails?”

She smiled, again. His Dad had to have prompted him about what to ask, but she didn't care. Leaning forward, she passionately kissed him before pulling back to reply.

“Yes. I shall, with all that it entails.”

.oOo.

The portkey deposited the family in the entry hall of The Ossuary, the Bones family home. Harry couldn't help but notice when Hermione's bracelet bumped into his arm. After gifting her the beautiful mithril creation, she immediately placed it on her right wrist. The snogging session that followed left both teens wearing far less clothing than they started.

The Boy-Who-Lived recognized Susan Bones who was standing next to a woman to whom the teenaged witch was obviously related. The witch was in her late fifties with Susan's shocking red hair that was beginning to streak with grey. Cut short, it emphasized her delicate features, which were offset by the odd monocle the woman wore.

Harry couldn't help but notice that the elder Bones had the same bust line as her younger relation. Quickly, Harry looked away from the twin edifices before his girlfriend caught him noticing. Not that Hermione's weren't good enough, though. On more than one occasion, he'd complemented her on `the girls'.

Nodding to Susan, Harry followed his Dad to the elder woman who he found out was Amelia Bones, Director of Magical Law Enforcement. After the friendly but distant formalities of greeting were accomplished, the Potters and Hermione moved into the house. In the middle of the hall was a tall woman that Harry vaguely remembered from somewhere, but couldn't place her.

“Lady Augusta,” James greeted with a deep bow.

There was a moment when Harry was taken aback as the elder Longbottom embraced James and Lily. From everything he'd ever heard from Neville, his Gran was a distant sort of woman, yet here she was embracing the Potters in the middle of a very public place. It was a quiet embrace between those who have known and cared for each other. He had to listen especially close to here the woman murmur, “It's very good to have you back. You've been missed.”

Lily replied for herself and her husband, “It's good to be back, Augusta.”

With one last squeeze, they separated, Lily and Augusta dabbing at their eyes with lacy handkerchiefs. James half turned to Harry and Hermione, “Augusta, You've not seen him in a while, but this is our Harry and his friend, Hermione.”

A kind smile peeked out of the woman's wrinkled face, “I last saw you as a babe in arms, Harry. It's good to meet you.” Turning to Hermione, Augusta greeted her, “I've heard much of you from both Neville and his Susan. It's good to meet you as well.”

Nodding with a half blush, Hermione replied, “It's good to meet you, Ma'am.”

Augusta gave a half nod, in acknowledgement. Her gaze was caught by an older wizard who was beckoning to her from the far side of the room and the taciturn mask for which she was so well known, returned. “I'm sure that I'll see you later. Neville's inside.”

Moving in to the house toward the party, Harry asked his Dad, “What was all that about?”

“Augusta Longbottom is a good woman who helped me quite a bit when your grandparents were killed. She was the executor of the estate who helped guide me in my first steps as Lord Richmond. As the widowed wife of another head of house, she helped me understand what the hell I was doing in the Wizengamot. What I owe Augusta Longbottom can never be repaid.”

The emotion in James voice struck Harry. He'd seen his Dad angry, in a rage even. Mischievous didn't even cover those amused moods, and the sober, sad moments when considering Harry's youth were poignant. However, the grateful tone he used when speaking of the elder Longbottom surprised Harry. It passed quickly, though.

“Come on,” he shouted. Taking Lily by the waist, he dragged her into the ballroom, “Let's dance!”

Harry smiled, scooping up Hermione's hand as they headed out to the dance floor. As he took her in his arms, Harry was once again struck at how beautiful his girlfriend was. Granted, he knew that most of the boys in the fourth year dorm thought Hermione to be `decent looking'. However, to him, she was beautiful. To top it, this night, she was stunning. Her hair up in a French braid exposing her delectable neck while the strapless gown gave Harry a stunning expanse of creamy skin. Her midnight blue silk gown shimmered and clung to her curves…

Shuddering, he ruthlessly supressed his desire.

Driving Hermione in an open frame waltz, they found Susan and Neville on the far side of the dance floor. The other teenaged couple was dancing much less energetically than Harry and Hermione. Where The Boy-Who-Lived and The Smartest Witch of the Age were in high spirits, it was obvious that Neville and Susan were in a much more…loving…mood.

“Oh, no, let's leave them be,” Hermione urged her boyfriend when she saw Neville sneak a kiss from Susan.

“Too late,” Harry murmured when Susan noticed the approaching couple, her face lighting up in a smile.

“Here's the couple I owe for making him get off his duff,” the feisty redhead teased. When Neville began blushing, she wormed a hand into his ribs to tickle him.

Hermione laughed while Harry smiled. “He just needed a little encouragement, that's all.”

The four teens made their way to a refreshment table. The lads fetched their girls a glass of eggnog. Susan surreptitiously sniffed it before wrinkling her nose. “Smells like grog.”

Harry laughed, “And when have you drunk grog?”

“You're about to wear some grog.”

“Ah, right then,” he backpedalled before Susan's straight face gave way to giggles.

They chatted and danced the night away. Harry was a bit thrown the first time he danced with Susan. He was so used to Hermione and her dance `mannerisms' that it took him a second or two to catch up, but got there in the end.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked his girlfriend at the next turn.

Her beaming smile was all the answer she needed, but she told him, “Immensely. I had no idea this type of party would be so much fun.” Giving him a heated look, she added, “But I think it's more the company than the event.”

.oOo.

Harry was taking his mother for a turn while James danced with Hermione. He'd thought it would be awkward dancing with his mother, but Lily was in bubbly spirits more prone to teasing and laughing than correcting his dance.

“Good Lord, look at that woman! She looks like a miniature troll!” Lily exclaimed under her breath.

Laughing, Harry turned them in order to see whom his mother was referring. “The witch in the red dress,” Lily prompted.

“Oh, my…” The poor woman was short, squat, ugly as sin and completely unaware of it. Even with her makeup applied by a trowel, it did nothing to hide her unfortunate genes. Both Potters recoiled when she turned her reptilian gaze on them. There was an inherent malice in the woman's scrutiny that caused a shiver down Harry's back.

Turning away from the woman, Harry drove his mother through the crowd to the far side of the room. “You've become much better,” Lily commented. “It's not easy driving through a crowded dance floor like this.”

Harry shrugged off the complement. Smiling, Lily commented, “I see that Hermione accepted the bracelet.”

This observation incited a wide grin by her son. “Should your father and I approach Sirius any time soon?”

Horrified, Harry replied, “No thank you. I think that Hermione and I can take care of the rest by ourselves.”

Rolling her eyes, Lily told her son, “James and Sirius will need to do some paperwork. Obviously, there won't be a contract between the families, but this is the Richmond and Blackmoor Heirs that will be marrying someday. It's the combination of two substantial fortunes.

Contemplating, Harry thought about the situation from the position his mother put forth. The Lady Hermione Granger-Black, heiress of the Blackmoor title, properties and monies was a formidable person in society. Linking herself with the Baron Potter of Gwynedd, heir to the Earl of Richmond and one of the richest wizard's in the country…Harry could see her point.

“What do we need to do?” he asked.

Before Lily could reply, James scudded up to them, Hermione in tow. “I need to go,” he informed his family. “Sirius is…well he's having a hard time so I'll get him home.”

All frowned at the nebulous statement. At Lily's unspoken prodding, James explained a bit. “He's in his cups and not dealing too well with his first Christmas since his unofficial release from Azkaban.”

“Got it,” Lily replied. Harry was grateful for her discretion. He caught Hermione's eye before cocking an eyebrow in query. Her nod was all he needed.

Turning, he found Neville and Susan dancing not too far away. Catching them on the turn, he made their excuses before hustling to the entry hall to catch up with the rest of his family.

Hermione was waiting for him, her fur stole draped over her shoulders, his cape in her arm. Silently, he took it from her before twirling it over his shoulders.

“Your Dad left this for us,” she told him as she held up the used invitation for the party.

Nodding, he turned to see Director Bones watching them with a waiting expression. “Ma'am,” Harry began. “Hermione and I have thoroughly enjoyed ourselves this evening. Our only regret is our early departure. Thank you for inviting us to your pleasurable assembly.”

After the polite nod of acknowledgement, Harry bowed while Hermione curtseyed. Neither were very deep, as the Bones family, while prominent, was not titled. Hermione had drilled Sirius, James and Lily about protocol for the previous two days on top of reading two books. She had told Harry that she was not about to embarrass her family due to her ignorance.

The swirl of the portkey brought the teens home. “Rauri,” Harry called. Rowan Hill was far too large to search for James or Lily. Rauri would instinctively know where everyone was in the house.

The arrival of the major domo prompted Hermione to ask, “Rauri, where is Lord Blackmoor?”

“He is sleeping in his rooms, my Lady. The Master and Mistress escorted him thence just a few minutes ago. I believe they administered a Sleeping Draught.”

Harry was still caught up every time that Rauri went `all formal' on them. He felt as if he were being dipped in Jane Austen for the moment. He kept expecting Captain Wentworth or Colonel Brandon to come into the room at any moment.

Shaking off the digression, he wrapped his arm about Hermione. She'd taken a shine to her Pad Footed Father so Harry knew she was probably fretting for his well-being. “Rauri, where are my parents?” Best find out ground truth and his parents would know what was really going on with his godfather. It seemed to Harry that he worried worse when there as a vagueness about the situation. His imagination always ran wild with the silliest extremes.

“They are in the Master's study, my Lord.”

“Thank you, Rauri,” Harry replied as he and Hermione stepped off together to James' workspace. A minute later, Harry opened the door for Hermione without knocking.

Obviously, Hermione didn't notice the lack of knock as she strode into the room. Fortunately, James was sitting on the coffee table across from his wife as they talked in low tones.

Hearing the door open, James turned to face his son. “You know, you could have very well walked in on something you really didn't want to see. I think you were conceived in this room. Next time give a knock.”

“Ugh, Dad. Too much information. Far too much information, but I'll knock from now on.”

“Good. What's up?”

“How's Sirius?” Hermione asked as she twirled her bracelet about her wrist.

James sighed as he shifted to a seat on the couch next to Lily. “He's asleep for now.” Shaking his head, he added, “Sirius has never really been enthusiastic about the holidays. When he first came here he would hide in his rooms over hols. He only put forth an effort after you were born,” James nodded to Harry. “I think he was starting over, as it were. He never explained, but he hinted that Yule for the Black family was not much of a celebration.”

“Add to that the aftereffects of a dozen years with the Dementors…” Lily added.

“Can we do anything?” Hermione asked, a helpless note to her question.

“Not really,” James replied. “Just keep on being here and don't treat him any differently than you have all break.”

Nodding glumly, the teens stood to leave. Harry noticed the exchange of `looks' between his girlfriend and his mother. He and Hermione headed out toward the second floor where the family bedrooms were located. Hermione stopped in front of her door, chewing on her lip. “Go ahead to your room. I'll be down in a little bit.”

Puzzled, Harry gave her a soft kiss, “Sure. See you soon.”

.oOo.

Hermione lay cuddled in the arms of her lover. Harry had almost passed out from amazement when, after re-joining him in his room, she shed her robe to reveal the lingerie beneath. She had been surprised that once he recovered from his shock that she didn't need to cajole him into bed.

Harry was an extremely respectful lover who never pushed her physical boundaries. Part of it, she was sure, was an underlying fear that he'd drive her off should he be more `hands on' than she desired. Part of it was also a reflection of his shyness. Either way, she was somewhat surprised when, after a moment of admiration of her body, he'd swept her up on to his bed.

Their joining had been wonderful, even if a bit tentative due to their inexperience. Fortunately, Hermione had had a rather painful fall as a young child that relieved her of the throes of her loss of maidenhood.

Snuggling into his arms, she breathed deeply of their combined scent. The musk of their lovemaking hung in the room, mixing with that unique scent that just screamed `Harry'. Shifting, for despite her lack of intact hymen she was still a bit sore, she prodded Harry awake.

“Hmmm, alright, love?” he muttered.

Placing a kiss on his neck, she told him, “Never better. You?”

“What do you think? I have the best witch on the planet in my arms and we're both naked. I think I've never been happier.”

“So, is it the `witch' part of your statement or the `naked' part which is making you so happy?” she teased.

He laughed in response. “Both.”

Chuckling, they settled down for a long winter's nap. It had been the best day of her life.

.oOo.

Christmas Eve day was Lily's favourite day of the year. The house was primed and decorated, the family in anticipation of gifts and wonderful meals. The societal gatherings were done with so the family retreated to their home, venturing out only for the inevitable last minute purchase. Which is where Sirius and James were right now.

Looking across the table, she saw Hermione and Harry reading their assignment for the day. Everyone had agreed that the teens would continue their studies through the holidays, pausing only for Christmas Day and Boxing Day. Watching her son and his girlfriend, she could tell something was different, but couldn't put her finger on it.

Glancing at Remus, she saw a small smile on the lycanthrope's face. When he saw her watching him, his smile widened at her confused expression.

Whatever.

Settling down into her needlework, Lily kept on. She wanted to finish this by the afternoon so as to gift it to Hermione in the morning.

.oOo.

Remus was very aware of the change in Harry and Hermione's…situation. Her scent was all over him, and his all over her. Added to that was that unique scent of those recently intimate and the conclusion was obvious.

Pursing his lips, Remus wondered if the teens weren't too young to be intimate. Surely they were committed to each other and would most likely by wed before she turned eighteen. At the same time, Harry was still a very young fourteen. Shaking his head, he corrected himself; Harry was a very old fourteen.

.oOo..

Images, impressions and flashes of memory are what we usually retain from the holidays.

.oOo.

James watched his family open presents. The wonder in Harry's face was reflective of his enjoyment of the experience, not necessarily the gifts. He did like the wireless that Hermione got for him, though.

Remus had pulled James aside earlier to tell him of his suspicions regarding the teens intimacy. He'd talk to Harry about it later. Christmas wasn't the time.

.oOo.

Lily laughed heartily as Sirius transfigured his own robes to a mini-skirt/Father Christmas getup; white fur peeking out of the plunging neckline mixing with his dark chest hair. Padfoot dancing a Tango with a simulacrum of Amelia Bones was hilarious in a very twisted way.

Wiping the tears from her face, she was grateful her brother in all but blood was beginning to heal.

.oOo.

Hermione clutched to her chest the book gifted to her by James and Lily. It was an Omni-Book for the Potter library. The first page had a scrolling list of every book in the library. A wand tap brought the contents of the selected book to the Omni-Book for reading.

It wasn't the knowledge aspect of the book which made it so priceless, though that did make her hunger to sit with the book for a few days. Rather, the acceptance shown by James and Lily in gifting this familial proprietary magical object to her. By gifting her unlimited access to the Potter library, they were confirming and embracing Harry's gift of the bracelet. Hermione Granger-Black was a Potter now in all but name.

.oOo.

Sirius smiled as he hefted the complete works of Led Zeppelin. Hermione had discovered the translation spell for muggle to magical recording and laboriously transferred the collected works of Messrs' Plant, Page, Bonham and Jones to magical recording, knowing that he loved to get the Led out.

Hermione made him feel needed and useful. Padfoot wanted to give to her that which he'd never received from Orion and Walburga Black. He hoped that she understood the significance of him granting her access to the Black Family Vault as one of her gifts.

.oOo.

This was the first Christmas where Remus wasn't financially strapped as he shopped for his friends' gifts. Nonetheless, he found that he still purchased gifts that were substantially less than a king's fortune. Lily loved the updated Potions Master's Guide. She'd quipped that her copy was thirteen years out of date.

James had smiled when he saw the new snitch. Immediately, he let it go only to recapture it before it got too far away.

Sirius had laughed at the dog bowl and box of dog treats. Inside the empty box was a framed photo of all present that was snapped during their little jaunt to Paris.

Harry looked to his Uncle Moony with understanding in his eyes as he unwrapped Magical Careers: A Guidebook.

Hermione had squealed as she opened the small box to find two tickets to the London Symphony Orchestra's next performance of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. This gift was the most expensive as they seats were in the orchestra pit.

Now that he had money from James' will, Remus had it driven home to him that family and love was far more important than gold. Granted, having a quantity of gold in one's Gringotts account made life a bit less stressful. He reflected upon his Christmas from five years before, shuddering at the desolation and loneliness he felt as he had illuminated his little tree, the only one in the room.

Looking around he saw his family. Love lost and found. Family reborn and family found anew. Tears brimmed over as Remus' heart overflowed with joy, love and happiness.

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first six chapters. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on FanFiction(dot)net.

2. Recommendation for the chapter is Tempus Fugit, by MattD. It's an excellent post DH/EWE story. As usual, Matt puts out a quality product.

3. Before the uproar begins, I'd like to remind everyone that at this stage of the story, Snape hasn't had to defend his mind against outright attack in over ten years. Therefore, when Lily lashes out at him, he's unprepared for the attack. Combined with his `Lily issues', the man was wide open when she hit him.

4. My kids were watching HP & SS movie today. As I ghosted through the family room while doing one of a thousand chores (hello! Dad here!), I caught the scene in the library where Hermione makes the comment about `a little light reading' to which Ron makes some snarky comment. The glare that young Emma Watson shot at Rupert Grint made me stop and laugh aloud. My kids thought that Dad had finally lost it, but that expression by the actress just seemed so true to character that it really tickled my funny bone.

5. The Lord Port-a-Potty and Lord Todger prank came from a review by Bobmin. Again. I think I'm going to have to give Bob and Alyx co-authorship credits here soon should we keep this up! ;) If you haven't read Saying No, by them, make the time. Humorous and poignant by turns, it's another quality story by our favourite husband & wife team. Or are they the only husband and wife team? Hmmmm…..

6. I had hoped to get to the Yule Ball in this chapter, maybe even the second task, but that's obviously impossible without creating a Harry and Gabi sized chapter (that story isn't dead! Talk to the muse about story priorities!). Those events will be in Chapter 8.

Chapter finished 8/19/2011

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

“Hurry up! We're going to be late!” James shouted down the hall towards his son's room. The Yule Ball was to commence in an hour. As a champion, even an irregular one at that, Harry was required to be present to open the ball.

“Coming, coming,” Harry muttered as he trotted out of his room before hurrying up to his Dad.

James straightened Harry's tie before brushing a small bit of dust from Harry's shoulder. “Let's get to the Entry Hall. Dumbledore's sent a portkey.”

“Thank God, no Floo,” Harry groaned. After a moment, he asked James, “Do you trust Dumbledore?”

“Not with your life. But the portkey should be fine.”

“If it isn't?”

With a feral expression, James replied, “Then we kill everyone at our hijacked destination.”

Considering that Hermione would be accompanying them, Harry nodded decisively in agreement.

Harry had been undergoing an intensive regimen of healing and nutrition potions since his parents' return to real time. As they passed the floor to ceiling mirror in the hallway, James reflected that they looked more like brothers than father and son. After a momentary pang of guilt at what had been lost, Prongs shook it off as irrelevant.

Swinging into the entry hall, James was taken aback. Lily was a vision. Her hair piled up on her head in a stylish hairdo, she was wearing a dark green silk creation that left James gaping. The copious emeralds that adorned her neck highlighted her eyes. Out of the corner of his field of view, he noted that Hermione was well dressed as well, but Lily…ravishing, gorgeous, radiant and beautiful all fell far short.

Taking her in his arms, he tilted her smiling face up to his own. Softly kissing her, he murmured, “I love you.”

“Love you, too, loverboy. Let's go.”

Turning to his son, he saw what his subconscious had noted. Hermione was gorgeous, as well. Her dress was a deep red - borderline scarlet - and around her neck was the famous Black Diamonds.

An even one hundred carats of perfect diamonds in exquisite platinum and mithril glittered and sparkled. The teardrop earrings alone were fifteen carats each. The tiara worn only by the Lady of the House of Blackmoor sat elegantly in her sculpted hair. Sirius had mentioned that he was going to Gringotts for Hermione, but James didn't realize he was fetching The Diamonds.

Harry was speechless.

Hermione smiled. “Let's go,” she urged Harry in a whisper.

James smiled widely when Harry silently approached his Intended, swept her into his arms before passionately kissing her.

“Ahem,” Lily teased. When that had no effect on the osculating couple, the newly arrived Sirius fired a quick Stinging hex into his godson's backside.

“Ow!” Harry exclaimed as he rubbed his arse.

“Come on,” urged Lily. “We've to hurry.”

A quick portkey ride brought them to an anteroom of the castle. After a quick rearranging of Harry's jacket, they opened the door to the entry hall of the castle, outside the Great Hall.

James looked around seeing more adults than teenagers. Those over the age of majority were slowly working though the crowds toward the Great Hall where Minerva was allowing them admittance to the room.

Turning to Harry, James told him, “Look, we're to go in early with all the Ministry types. We'll see you inside, right?”

Harry had his arm about Hermione's waist as he nodded and replied, “Right. See you inside.”

James and Sirius led the way through the mass of humanity, shifting a path, which Lily followed. At the door, Sirius nodded politely to Minerva who gave a half smile in return. To be honest, James admitted to himself that he didn't hate Minerva. In fact, he liked her quite a bit. However, her servility to Dumbledore and his agenda caused too much pain for many, not just Harry, so that James doubted he'd ever trust her again. Deciding to throw his old head of house a bone, he lightly grasped her hand before kissing her cheek.

“It's good to see you, Minerva.”

When he pulled back, he saw that her eyes were suspiciously bright. “It's good to see you, too, James.” Turning to the Lady Richmond, Minerva added, “Lily.”

Lily was obviously feeling the Christmas spirit as well, evidenced by her light hug of the Transfiguration mistress.

Ending the emotional scene, James led Lily into the hall. Checking the seating chart listing next to the door, he found them listed under `Richmond' as opposed to `Potter'. Odd, that. All through his school years, he'd been addressed as James Potter, even after he'd inherited between sixth and seventh year. Shrugging off the change, he figured Albus was just sucking up to him.

“We're not at the same table?” Sirius wondered aloud. Pointing to `Blackmoor' on the list, James saw that Sirius was sat at table seven while the Potters were at table four.

“Can you function in society without me watching your every step?” Lily teased.

The two-fingered salute from Sirius answered the question quite succinctly: no.

Moving toward the drinks table, James shot Sirius a baleful eye. He'd warned Padfoot that if he got drunk this evening like he had at the Bones' he'd turn Lily loose on him. Sirius had shivered at the thought before pledging to keep his drink intake to three or less.

Handing Lily her Manhattan, James hoisted his gin and tonic. Toasting his wife, he sipped from his glass as he scanned the room.

He kind of recognized more than a few people, but they all looked so old. “Everyone's so different,” he whispered to Lily.

Sadly, she nodded her head as she hooked her arm in his. There was Arthur and Molly Weasley across the way speaking to Amelia Bones and a Frenchman that looked vaguely familiar to James. Prongs stared a bit to see the baldpate of Arthur's head and Molly's, well; podginess was a strong word but the only one that came to mind.

“Did you ever find out what happened with the Weasley boy and our two?” James asked his wife.

“From Hermione it seems that young Ronald was always a wee bit jealous of the attention that Harry got by being The Boy-Who-Lived combined with the lad's persistent immaturity and…” she paused, “Boom.”

“Yeah. Too bad.”

“Hem, hem.”

James paused, his drink halfway to his mouth. “Did you hear something?” he asked his wife.

“Hem, hem.”

Turning to his left, he saw a squat, ugly woman. After staring for a moment, James blurted, “Hello?”

With a grin that was all teeth and no dimples, the woman replied, “Hello. I wish to speak with you, Mr Potter.”

Taking in the woman's expensive dress robes, he figured she was either Ministry or the retainer of a wealthy family. Either way, the robes did nothing to hide the fact that she was so incredibly ugly as to be nearly deformed. James was stunned for a long moment before Lily budged him in the ribs. “Oh, yes. What would you like to discuss?”

“The ridiculous lies being circulated about you and your supposed statements about the goblins.”

Frowning at the woman, James reflected on the - what he thought was subtle - campaign to raise the public's awareness of non-human magical being rights. In fulfilling his agreement with Fahgmahther, James had done a bit of research, coming away from his books appalled at the enforced servility by wizard kind on non-wizards.

Blinking didn't remove the disgusting record of accomplishment by humans or the disgusting visage in front of him. Forcing down his gag reflex, James asked, “I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?”

With an ungraceful movement that James thought might be an approximation of a bow, the witch replied, “My apologies, I am Ms Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to our Minister of Magic.”

Blinking again to buy time, James swallowed the comment about “So what exactly does that mean, your toadiness?” Instead, he automatically replied, “Pleased to meet you.” Half turning to Lily, he added, “My wife, Lily.”

The reptilian grin continued with an added nod to the petite redhead at James side. There was a long silence as James waited for the grotesque to either get on with her business or move along. Finally, it spoke.

“I was told by Dirk Cresswell in Goblin Liaison that you had spoken against the Werewolf Suppression Act, as well as, the most recent Goblin Accords. Surely, he must be mistaken.”

James couldn't resist. “Actually, I did and please, don't call me Shirley.”

Umbridge blinked stupidly, not understanding the play on words. Lily, whom James had taken on a date to see Airplane! in the cinema, smiled in remembrance. She and James had snogged for the last half of the movie. She had always had a nagging wonder if Captain Kramer had talked down that pilot with the drinking problem.

Shaking off the misfired joke, Umbridge persisted, “But you're a fine upstanding member of our society. How could you support half-breeds and creatures?”

Clenching his jaw, James swallowed an insult while Lily pinched the inside of his arm. Obviously, `fine upstanding citizen' translated to `Pureblood Head of House' for this Umbridge bitch. Neither Potter wanted a scene, despite the fact that this Umbridge woman desperately needed to be bitch slapped so hard that her grandmother would grunt in pain.

Feigning recognition of someone on the other side of the room, James muttered, “Ah.” Turning to the now florid Senior Undersecretary, he apologized, “You'll have to excuse us, Ms Umbridge.”

“I'm not done with you,” the amphibian posing as a witch objected.

At the end of his considerable patience, James snapped at the woman, “As a Senior Undersecretary in the Ministry, I'd think that you'd know your station.” He paused to turn back to the now flummoxed witch. “You have just committed career suicide by first insulting and now accosting a member of the Wizengamot and the Earl of Richmond.” When the woman recoiled, he added, “You Ugly Bitch.”

James stomped away, Lily following as gracefully as possible, her short stride attempting to keep up with her taller husband. “James,” she called softly.

He half turned, his temper cooling some. As a boy, he'd hated when people questioned his intelligence. James Potter was a smart person who was always more than a bit insecure about his standing in adult society. His parents, while good people, had always cossetted him more than was good for a boy, so deep in the back of his mind he'd always wondered if he belonged in the rarefied air on his own merits or because of his family name (or vault balance).

Umbridge's unfeigned surprise and shock that James would support Goblin or non-human magical being rights struck that chord for James, prodding him to his verbal assault.

He paused when he felt his wife's dainty hand wrap around his arm. Turning to her, he immediately felt ashamed. The expression on her face was a friendlier version of the reproachful expression she'd worn all through school when he went too far with his taunts and teasing.

Remorse swept over him like a wave. Sighing, he dropped his head, “Sorry.”

He'd explained to Lily many years ago about is insecurity, so she understood his position, but still…it had been a major cause of disagreement between them for years. James' lashing out at Severus and others had kept them apart despite their mutual attraction, even if it was unacknowledged by Lily.

Therefore, he'd changed. It didn't mean that the change was permanent, though. Occasionally, like thirty seconds before, he'd have a relapse.

Without another word, James turned back to Umbridge, who was stock still after James' castigation. “Ms Umbridge, I apologize for my harsh words, but not for the intent behind them. I despise bigotry in all forms and your statements fit quite nicely in that description. Nevertheless, my insult was unnecessary and unpardonable. I apologize.”

Without waiting for a reply, James turned away from the squat woman to find his wife beaming at him. He knew he'd done the right thing, but crow, even warm, is still rather ghastly.

.oOo.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Great Hall, Sirius was having as disagreeable an encounter as the Potters were having, just of a different nature.

“Ah, Black,” said a voice behind Sirius. Turning away from the most delectable Hestia Jones, Area Director of British Magical Foreign Relations to the Eastern European Magical Confederation, Sirius saw the disagreeable Joseph Jugson. The pureblood supremacist had escaped the sweep of Death Eaters into Azkaban back in 1981. Some said he'd suborned those who would have prosecuted him; others said that he'd escaped on a technicality. Either way, he'd kept his family fortune and his freedom. As head of the Jugson and Yaxley families, Joseph Jugson had more than a little sway in the social circles of Magical Britain.

Hooking his arm in Sirius', he steered them toward a more secluded section of the Great Hall, nodding to a few persons in greeting as they walked. The room was sparsely populated with governmental officials and influential members of French, Bulgarian and British society. The students were to be admitted shortly.

“I have been very pleased to see you and Potter resuming your place in our society. It's been a travesty what you `ve been forced to suffer.”

Frowning at the friendly words, Sirius paused to consider what the man wanted. Ideologically, he and Jugson were polar opposites and both men knew it.

“I understand you've brought a daughter into your family?”

Understanding flooded Sirius along with a fierce protectiveness.

“Yes, I have; the Lady Hermione.”

“Yes, those quaint titles…” the man muttered with a smile. “I'd like to propose an arrangement.”

Deciding to have a little fun before body slamming the man, Sirius feigned ignorance, “Oh? What kind of arrangement?”

“Why, between your girl and my grandson, Paul.”

“And you've settled what on Paul?” Sirius asked as he affected a most nonchalant drawl. It was really hard to swallow his smile; this was going to be a good one.

Thinking that he had Sirius in his pocket, the Jugson patriarch smiled. “Well, I've already settled ten thousand on him, but am willing to increase it to fifty thousand upon your girl being wed to him.”

“But what about Potter?” Sirius asked. He couldn't force down a smile when the older man was completely thrown by the seeming non-sequitur.

“What about him?” Jugson asked in confusion.

“Well, Baron Potter has put himself forward. Hermione has accepted him and I approve. I believe that the Potter heir can stand forward a bit more than fifty thousand. Don't you?” And he's not an inbred moron and Hermione is completely in love with him, and I like him and I don't like you and…this is fun.

“Potter heir…?” Jugson muttered in a lost tone.

“Sure!” Sirius exclaimed with false jocularity. Really getting into it, he threw his arm across the man's shoulder, “You know, `The Boy-Who-Lived' and all. Him.”

“Ah. Then I see that…”

“It's completely impossible to tie your grandson to my girl,” Sirius confirmed as his false jocularity faded away to reveal a deadly seriousness. Without further comment, he turned to stalk away from the pseudo Death Eater. Hopefully, he could find Hestia. She was sure looking good.

.oOo.

All the while that the elder generation was manoeuvring through the political and societal minefields within the Great Hall, Harry and Hermione awaited their turn to lead the students into the ball.

Hermione was putting forth all her considerable will to keep from fidgeting. Between the Black Diamonds and her Mithril bracelet, which she'd taken to calling Aine's Gift, Hermione was wearing in excess of a half million galleons in jewellery. Based on the intensely jealous looks she was receiving from the older girls, it seemed that many others were aware of it, which was the source of her desire to fidget.

Harry's hand on her arm brought her out of her preoccupation. Turning to face him, she broke out into a grin. He was regarding her with the most heartfelt expression of love she'd ever seen from him. Leaning into her, he whispered, “I love you.”

Impossibly, her grin widened, “Love you, too.”

Without taking his eyes off her, he nodded his head at the crowd, “They don't matter. Remember?”

It had become a refrain of his: although I desire `their' affection and esteem, in the end They Don't Matter. Only The Family Matters.

Her reply was a quick kiss on his lips.

“Champions up front!” called Professor McGonagall.

As Harry led the way through the crowd, Hermione trailing him, Hermione heard a hated voice, “Is that how much you cost Granger? You'd better be a good fuck for all that.”

She didn't have to turn to recognize the voice as belonging to Pansy Parkinson. Deciding to ignore the chit, Hermione tried to move on to the doors. Harry turning to face the Slytherin girl circumvented that plan.

The eyes of the Boy-Who-Lived were glowing with agitated power. Magic poured off him in waves, causing the hall to groan under the pressure. In a near whisper, Harry harshly rasped, “Do we need to do this again, Parkinson?”

Fear flooded the teens face. The toadies who had crowded about her to `see her put the pretend pureblood in her place' fled from the scene. Alone now, Pansy shook her head frantically, her expression that of a chastened child.

Hermione almost felt sorry for the pug nosed girl. Almost.

Out of the corner of her eye, The Smartest Witch of the Age saw Harry's arm twitch. Having duelled him incessantly for Remus and Flitwick, she knew he now had palmed the front of his wand. Lily's admonition came to mind, “You don't need to hold the handle of your wand. Skin contact is all that is really needed. Many spells don't even need to be pointed at their target, so long as the caster has a sufficiently strong will so as to steer the spell with mental desire only.”

Harry had a very strong will.

After he stared at the Parkinson heiress for a long second Harry turned to leave. Hermione gave the girl a pitying shake of her head before turning to follow her intended. Just as she passed into the crowd, the sound of an enormous fart ripped the air from the direction of Pansy.

Squeezing his hand, Hermione leaned forward when they stopped at the doors. “Did you?”

She knew that he was full aware of what she was asking. “My Dad is Prongs, my godfather is Padfoot and my uncle is Moony. Do you think they might have had a few impromptu prank lessons over the last few months? Besides, how better to hit back than to utterly humiliate her?”

The desire to reprove him was strong. He'd broken the sacrosanct rules, but damn if it didn't feel right that he'd hexed the bitch. Deciding to go with it, she gave him a little shake of her head when a faint sound of another tremendous fart tore the air.

She couldn't help it. Her smile matched his as they began to laugh.

.oOo.

Lily never knew that she could be so proud. Harry and Hermione were the second couple to process into the room; the champion from Beauxbatons led the way with her date followed by Harry and Hermione.

She shook her head as she watched her kids - for Hermione was hers as much as Harry was - enter the Great Hall.

“They look all grown up,” she murmured to her husband. They did indeed. Harry's baby fat had all melted off over the previous months with his exercise and potion regimen while Hermione had always been slim. Together, they looked like…well; they looked like a youngish married couple. The diamonds twinkled from her hair and her throat. The signet ring that James had commissioned for Harry glinted from her son's right hand. His tie matched her dress as they came together in a natural movement. The music swelled as the champions began to dance.

Leaning on James, Lily became a bit teary eyed. Harry and Hermione were smiling and even laughing as he led her about the dance floor. Not looking away from the other, they were the stars of the dancers as the other champions stiffly sketched the steps of the waltz. Moving naturally with the music, Harry displayed his natural balance and rhythm as he effortlessly led his intended about the dance floor.

The strings quivered to silence as the horns quieted at the end of the song. As if by design, Harry and Hermione were in the centre of the dance floor, surrounded by the other champions. In a moment of spontaneity, Harry turned Hermione in a quick spin before dipping her. Bringing his laughing girlfriend upright, he kissed her quickly yet deeply.

The assembled students and few adults began to clap. Ostensibly, they were applauding the champions as a group, but all present were unabashedly clapping for the young lovers in the centre of the room who were still deep in each other's gaze. They were clapping for love.

.oOo.

“Pork chops?” James asked himself. Looking at the other occupants of the table, he counted the Ministers for Magic of Bulgaria, Germany and France. If old Fudgie hadn't caught a cold, he'd be there too.

Shaking his head at the menu selection, James was thoroughly convinced that Albus had lost his mind. Turning back to Heinrich Stass and his very interesting wife, Ada, he continued their discussion about the Black Forest. They'd been comparing stories about the Bavarian wood to the Forest of Dean in Britain. Despite his talent in Transfiguration, James had a passion for history. Half listening to his wife talking with the French Minister, he asked, “I forget, but doesn't the muggle legend of the tooth fairy come from the Black Forest.”

“Ja, ja,” Mrs Stass replied as she nodded. She too was a history enthusiast, having a muggle master's degree in the topic. Her thesis had discussed the impact on European political and social issues due to the fall of the modern European monarchies.

“But surely your son…he cheated,” James heard from his left.

Stiffening, he turned to see Lily's face drawn and white. Glaring at the Frenchman, James asked, “Could you repeat yourself sir? I could've sworn that you just impugned my son's honour.”

Lily was looking in her lap while she worried her napkin. To her husband it was obvious that she was exerting all she was to keep her temper in check.

“Ah,” the man temporized. Obviously, he'd had a few drinks and in turn had spoken before thinking. “I withdraw my statement. Of course, I was…”

James looked away to give the man the opportunity to engage his other neighbour in discussion. Holding Lily's hand, he exhaled a long breath. Everyone at the table was tense as they watched The Parents Who Lived to see if they'd explode.

In the most genial tone he could muster, James told the group, “Our son was placed in the tournament against his will. We've been pursuing various means to remove him from the contest to no avail. Believe me when I assure you that Harry has no desire to be in this contest.”

Murmurs of, “Of course,” and the like burbled from the others at the table. James began to relax when he saw his wife's colour begin to return to normal. On the whole, it seemed that their tablemates believed James, but then again, they were politicians.

Glancing at the other table, James saw that Padfoot was deep in a conversation with a woman he thought was Hestia Jones. The smiles and laughter from his cousin lifted Prongs' spirits a bit. Rubbing Lily's arm, he waited. Eventually, she gave him a nod followed by a smile. She was fine or would be soon enough.

“Come on, let's dance,” James asked as he stood.

With a sigh of relief, Lily nodded before standing into her husband's arms.

Seconds later, they were swept up into the music. A traditional three beat waltz was filling the hall as the older generation - and some of the younger - stretched their box step about the room.

“Thanks for the save,” Lily admitted to James.

Shrugging, he told her, “I love you. This was nothing.”

Smiling back at him, she closed the gap between them to lay her head on his chest.

James closed his eyes to savour the moment. Being this close made dancing difficult, but he loved holding Lily. Breathing deep of her scent, he gave her a squeeze. Across the room, he saw Harry and Hermione dancing and laughing as he gave a quick turn in the step.

The evening after he'd cursed those fucking Dursleys, James had a fleeting thought of killing himself. His utter failure to protect and care for his son was all encompassing and all consuming. Fortunately, for him, Lily needed him. Forcing himself out of his own selfish and self-centred concerns, he'd refocused on his current priorities. As he and his wife lay in the afterglow of their desperate lovemaking, he rededicated himself to his son and wife.

Seeing Harry so improved made it all worth it. James had gone against Albus Dumbledore, a man he'd revered most of his life. He'd thrown aside a treasured teacher and mentor in Minerva McGonagall. His life began to be framed in simple terms: You support my son or you're my enemy.

Despite the joy in Harry's eyes, he knew full well that his son wasn't `fixed' by any means. Prongs knew that even sharing a bed with his intended, on more nights than not, Harry would be revisiting 4 Privet Drive while in the realm of Morpheus. Most likely, they weren't fond remembrances.

Shaking off the maudlin thoughts, he remembered one of Lily's sayings, “Stay in the now.” It was one of those muggle saying that was so simple in its wisdom. Reframing himself with his wife, James gave Lily a wide smile as he stepped off into a broad, deliberate step for the dance.

“Life's too damn short,” he told her. Her nod of agreement was permission for both of them to move on in life.

.oOo.

Hermione was having an incredibly good time. The other night at the Ossuary had been a lot of fun. So too was tonight. Dressing to the nines and dancing with Harry the night long was far more fun than the description implied.

They headed off the dance floor after a fast pop dance. Impishly, she pulled her intended behind a pillar for a modicum of privacy. Grasping Harry by the head, she pulled him into a fierce kiss. Delving her tongue into his mouth, she vaguely felt him push her up against the pillar, his hands cupping her bum.

Reluctantly, the parted after a long minute. “Tonight?” she asked him. They'd only had the one night so far in which they'd been able to make love. Tonight, her body was yearning for his with an intensity like the cry of a Banshee.

“Most definitely,” he replied, a little breathless from the kiss.

Her response was another enthusiastic kiss.

When they broke apart, Hermione looked deeply into his eyes. She supposed that this was a romantic moment where she should say something deep and meaningful, but her heart wasn't in that kind of mood. She was happy, irrepressibly happy, so she laughed. Harry caught the mood and began to laugh with her as they revelled in their joy of being together.

“You thirsty?” he asked.

Nodding in reply, she curled her arm in his as they chuckled en route to the drinks table. On the far side of the room, she saw Sirius dancing with a very beautiful blonde witch. Nudging Harry, she indicated to his godfather with her chin.

“That's brilliant,” he commented with a smile.

“Yeah, he deserves it.”

“Hey Potter!” a voice called.

Turning in tandem with her boyfriend, Hermione saw a very drunk wizard who was vaguely familiar. He was an older student, Ravenclaw or maybe Hufflepuff. The intoxicated young man giggled to himself as he wrapped his arm about his date. The blonde witch looked extremely uncomfortable with the entire situation. With his tie undone and robes dishevelled, the unknown wizard sneered, “You let any muggles thrash you lately? I hear you like that.”

Hermione had never experienced rage before, but she did that night.

Harry stood next to her, stock-still. Later, she'd reflect that she was unable to tell if he was shocked at the wizard's audacity or hurt by the young man's words. Either way, she wasn't really focused on her raven-haired paramour.

In a moment of absolute clarity, Hermione's focus sharpened on the laughing wizard. Not bothering to draw her wand, she shot her hand forward.

Remus had insisted that the teens train in hand to hand fighting styles alongside their magical duelling. Neither would win any tournaments, but Harry was actually very proficient at mixing the two styles seamlessly in a duel. Hermione wasn't so good at it, but tonight wasn't a duel.

It was a beat down.

When the heel of her left hand hit the sneering boy's nose, there was a crunch as the bone broke. Most people pull their hand back at that point. Following Remus' dictum of `put `em down hard and fast', she followed through by stepping through her strike.

The one hundred and five pound witch lifted the fully grown wizard completely off his feet before he fell to the ground in a heap. During the two seconds from the word `that' to the man falling to the floor unconscious, Hermione's mind was devoid of thought for the first time in her life. There was a desire - no, a need - to hurt the person who had lashed out at her beloved.

Lifting her right foot off the ground, Hermione was about to finish the offender with a stomp to his Adam's apple when a hand on her arm stopped her. Her nostrils flaring, she spun toward the imbecile who would interrupt her disciplining of this…person.

It was Harry. “Don't.”

His soft entreaty broke the red haze of her rage. Calming a bit, she realized that she was puffing like a locomotive while her magic arced from her hands to the floor.

Cradling her face in his hands, he stared into her soul. “Don't.”

The first tear fell. “But he said…”

Nodding, Harry blinked long as if to collect himself. “They don't matter. You deserve better than to sully yourself like this,” he whispered.

Dropping her head to his chest, she let him envelop her in his arms. More tears of frustration and rage fell. Some of her weeping was for the situation. The bleeding wizard who was unconscious on the floor had been completely out of line and deserved what he got and more.

Admitting to herself that she had enjoyed punishing the man was not so nice, though.

The other source of her frustration was residual guilt and anger at the Dursleys. Vernon and Petunia had been sentenced to ten years in the Dementor wing of Azkaban, while Dudley had been assigned to nine months in the low security wing on the island.

Dementors or not, the punishments of the Dursleys didn't matter, for it didn't take back one single blow, harsh word or moment of fear and pain that Harry had experienced as a boy. This arsehole's taunting had brought it all back for her.

He had learned a very harsh lesson: never, ever, harm the beloved of a budding Sorceress; it doesn't bode well for one's future endeavours.

“Oh my God,” she whispered as Harry led her away from the scene to the rose garden. Looking up at her lover, she realized that she was so wrapped up in her own issues; she hadn't considered the emotional state of her Harry.

Pulling him into an alcove, she drew her Disillusioned wand to conjure a wall to give them privacy along with a floating light so they could see. “Are you Ok?” she asked as her hands caressed his cheeks.

With a sad shrug of his shoulders, he admitted, “I'm surprised it took this long for this to happen. I expected it a lot sooner after the article.”

Closing her eyes as she admitted the truth of his statement, she curled into him again. Her anguish over his humiliation and exposure threatened to overwhelm her. Holding him close, she whispered, “I love you so much.”

“As I love you.” There was a hint of sadness in his voice when he encouraged her, “Let's get back to the dance. I was having fun.”

.oOo.

“I can't feel my legs.”

Harry chuckled as he pulled Hermione up his chest a bit. They were lying in his bed, naked and sated after an emotional and passionate lovemaking. “Is it a good or bad thing that you can't feel your legs?” he asked her.

“Very good.” Kissing her way up his chest, she purred, “Very, very good.”

He groaned as she playfully nipped at his neck. Panting softly, he asked, “Are you sure it's not from the dancing?”

Smiling wickedly, Hermione threw her leg over Harry before sitting up. Straddling him, she moved her hips in a delightful way. “No, I think it's because you shagged the life out of me earlier.”

Trembling, Harry stuttered, “That's…that's good…to know…oh, God.”

Quickening her movements, she groaned, “I intend to repay you.”

.oOo.

James waited until Hermione came downstairs for a late breakfast before heading to his son's suite. He and Lily had talked long about how to deal with the situation. Both agreed that James should talk to Harry alone, but Lily insisted that he tell their son about her parents and their teenage parenthood.

After a quick rap on Harry's door, James entered. “Morning,” he greeted his sleepy son.

Harry was laying on his back staring at the ceiling. “Morning,” he grunted.

Sitting in a chair next to the merrily burning fire, James directed his son, “Go get cleaned up and dressed. We need to talk.”

Awake now, Harry half sat up while looking at his Father questioningly.

“You're not in trouble, but we need to talk.” Pulling a book out of his pocket, James began to read, his intent clear: We're not talking yet. He heard his son trudge off to the attached bathroom and the water start. Ten minutes later, a washed and clothed Harry sat across from his father.

Rauri had popped in with a tray of tea and scones, so Harry helped himself to a light breakfast.

Prongs was a Marauder, so he waited until Harry took a deep draught of his tea. “So, you and Hermione are having sex now.”

His wand in hand, James cast a quick Shield charm, which was a good thing. It seemed that Harry spattered a litre of tea and other liquids towards his Dad.

Wiping his mouth, Harry regarded his father with a hint of fear as James cast a quick Cleansing charm about the room.

Waving at his son so as to allay his fears, James reassured him, “Like I said, you're not in trouble. You've found your counterpart and are in love with her as she is with you. Your magic is pulling the two of you together and it's a wonderful thing. I get that. If you'd like, you're mother has said that she'll perform the bonding potential ritual for you two. It'll tell us the status of the intermingling of your magic. You may or may not know is an accurate representation not only of your compatibility with each other but also how much you love each other.

“But that's not the point.”

James could read the confusion on his son's face. Lily had told him that most teenagers in the muggle world would expect to be flayed alive at this point in the discussion. In the magical world, relationships and sex were much different, though.

“What is the point then?” Harry asked with a tentative tone.

“The point is: are you ready to be a father?”

Eyes round, Harry stared at his Dad.

“If you're having sex with the girl you love, you should be ready for her to carry your child. It's an adult activity with adult repercussions.”

Leaning back in his chair, James stared at the fire. “Your mother's parents were good people. It was a blow to both your mum and me when they died, for they died far too young. You see, your grandmum Evans got pregnant with your Aunt Petunia when she was only fifteen. Your grandfather was sixteen.”

Relaxing a hair, Harry leaned back in his chair. Despite the circumstance, he was soaking up the knowledge of his family.

James went on to relate the story of Rose and Joseph Evans; their ups and downs. “Now, you and Hermione have a financial advantage that Rose and Joe didn't have, but…”

The sentence didn't need to be finished. Harry nodded jerkily in understanding. Voldemort.

James had been trying to make this discussion as non-confrontational as possible while still bringing home the seriousness of the situation. “Contraception charms work well when they're cast. Right now, your mum is discussing the Contraception Potion with Hermione in hopes that both of you will take it. It will irreversibly prevent you two from conceiving a child for a twelvemonth. That way, if you two get caught up in the moment, I won't be a grandfather before I turn twenty five.” Both Potter men chuckled at that. Prongs had taken advantage of a whole host of age related jokes since re-joining the time stream.

“Harry, I don't expect you two to be celibate, but I do expect you to be responsible.”

More relaxed, Harry regarded his father closely. Realizing that he was being examined, James looked back with as serene expression as he could muster.

“Thanks Dad. Thanks for…” waving his hand, Harry tried to convey what he couldn't verbalize.

“You're welcome. I wish my Dad had been able to be understanding when he and I had this talk. The whole time I was thinking about Lily…”

“Ewww, Dad. That's my mother!”

“And what a sexy mother she is!”

“Aaahhh! My ears!” Harry screeched as he smiled.

“Yeah, she does this thing…” James broke off in laughter as Harry began to pelt him with shoes.

.oOo.

“Today we're going to work on the amount of power in your spells.”

Hermione and Harry stood side by side in a dell not too far from the house. A quick Impervious charm coupled with a Warming charm allowed them to head out into a light mid-winter's rain in relative comfort.

Harry's brow furrowed as Hermione nodded. He glanced at his girlfriend and smiled. They'd had a very frank and serious discussion about their sex life after James and Lily finished with them. Afterwards, Hermione started brewing the potion. Two days later, they were infallibly protected.

Hermione had also moved into Harry's room that day.

That was two days before and Harry wondered if the penny would ever drop. He had his family; his best friend and he were in their proper orbit about themselves…life was beyond good. Harry was trying not to be pessimistic, but something really bad was going to happen soon. His life worked the way.

Remus turned to The Boy-Who-Lived, “Harry with the magical power you've displayed, I think we need to harness that potential. You've used it so far in an emotional situation, which is the proverbial, `lady lifts the auto off her child' situation. Your access to your magical potential needs to be a more conscious activity.”

Baffled as to what Moony was referring to, he stared at his uncle.

The nudge from his left caused him to turn to The Smartest Witch of the Age. “Your Patronus that drove off the entire population of the Dementors of Azkaban?”

Blushing a little, he nodded, “Yeah, that.”

“What I want you to do is first cast the Lighting charm.” After a quick silent `Lumos' by both teens, the ends of their wands were glowing. “Did you feel the pull on your magic when you cast the spell?”

“No,” Hermione answered promptly. Harry shook his head in negation.

“Right. Don't worry, I didn't expect you to.” With a smile, he turned to the side of the dell. Remus cast two quick spells, which caused to targets to illuminate on the hill. “Cast the Reductor curse at the targets.”

Harry snapped his wand up, his spell leaving the holly and phoenix feather combination a short second later. He'd been practicing at increasing how fast he could cast a spell. The confrontation with Malfoy and his goons had taught him a few lessons.

First: make your spells count. Accuracy is important.

Second: time is money. The faster one can get a spell off, the faster you can move on to your next opponent.

Third: don't be stupid. If faced with overwhelming odds, even the playing field - by whatever means necessary.

Every day, Harry had practiced his casting. Where it took him five seconds to cast a Reductor curse when he started back in early November, now he could cast four Reductor curses in the same span of time.

Target practice had been profitable. It was no surprise to Harry that Hermione was far his superior for accuracy, but Harry's aim to hit ability had increased significantly nonetheless.

His curse dug a very large hole in the hill. Next to his target, Hermione dug a similar hole, just a tad smaller.

“Did you feel a tug on your magic that time?” Remus asked.

Frowning, Harry remembered. “No, not really,” he replied.

When Remus looked to Hermione, she shook her head in negation as well.

“Hmm,” Remus mused. “Ok, try this. The incantation is Coracis and the wand movement is thus.” Remus spun his wand in a tight circle before jabbing it forward.

Hermione went first. Narrowing her eyes in concentration, she flashed through the wand movement, incanting silently.

The side of the dell exploded.

Wide eyed, Harry met his girlfriends stunned gaze. Slowly, his expression melted to mirth. “You totally rock,” he sputtered as he began to laugh. He knew that Hermione was incredibly intelligent, but it now seemed that she had enormous magical reservoirs as well.

Brushing some dirt out of her hair, Hermione offered Remus a sheepish smile. “I felt a little tug on my magic that time.”

Stunned at the power potential of the bushy haired witch, Remus nodded absently. “Harry?” he asked before holding up his hand. “Hold on.”

Scurrying to Hermione's side, he cast a Bunker Shield over both of them. “Ok, go ahead.”

Wondering what his uncle was on about, Harry turned back to his target. After a deep settling breath, he snapped up his wand, beginning the wand movement en route. With another silent incantation, Harry cast.

There was a detonation as the entire hill of the dell lifted from the earth, creating a valley where before there had been merely a small dell. With a yelp, Harry dove for his girlfriend, hoping to be covered by Remus' shield.

Earth splattered on the shield while a few chunks of trees and bushes bounced off the glowing golden barrier.

“Holy Mary, mother of God,” Remus muttered.

Hermione helped Harry to his feet as they looked around. Between the spells by the two teens, the once cosy little dell looked like the front line of the Battle of the Marne.

Running his hand through greying hair, Remus surveyed the damage. Glancing at Harry, he raised his eyebrows in query.

“Nope,” Harry replied. He'd felt nothing.

“Let's try this,” Remus muttered. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a few shrunken books. Conjuring a bench, he sat to search through the books.

Hermione pulled her boyfriend away from their tutor while he flipped through the books. “Do you have any idea how sexy you looked casting that spell?” Kissing him quickly, she smiled, “I thought I might jump you right there.”

Harry smiled. His girlfriend had a very sensual side that they were exploring. It was always the quiet ones.

Leaving off her teasing, she brushed a bit of debris from his shirt. “You know, I knew you could do this,” she indicated to the churned and obliterated earth. At his questioning expression, she continued, “Honestly, Harry. Last year, Remus told you that very few adults can cast the Patronus charm and once you got your mind straight about the spell, not only did you drive off a Dementor, but all the Dementors. I started to try to figure the power requirements to cast that level of spell, but the power required was off the charts.”

Great, another reason to be a freak. Running his hand through his hair, he asked, “What do you think about that?”

Her only response was a soul searing kiss. After they broke apart, she told him, “I think about it as much as I do the whole The Boy-Who-Lived thing, which is not at all.”

“Ok, you two, none of that here,” Remus interrupted. Turning a book on his lap, he beckoned. “Try this.”

Looking over Hermione's shoulder, Harry read the spell. It was a landscaping spell which rearranged the ground into the shape desired by the caster.

“This is used for small areas of earth, a metre square at most,” Hermione observed.

“Yes, it is. I want you both to cast it to fix all this,” he waved his hand to indicate the destruction. Pointing to the northern end of the wasteland, Remus instructed, “Hermione, you go first over there.”

Harry stood back to watch his intended. She stood still, obviously rehearsing the spell in her mind. After a deep breath, she waved her wand in a wide, sweeping motion.

Watching in wonder, Harry saw the earth begin to move and reshape. “Wow,” he whispered as the earth formed a perfectly terraced slope, fifty metres wide and a good fifteen metres tall. The entire area was beautifully landscaped with flowers and bushes. Down the middle was a stone paved staircase. She'd completely blown the doors off the power requirements of the spell.

When Hermione fell to her knees, Harry sprinted to her side. Reaching her, he saw her panting, but conscious. “I felt it that time,” she offered with a smile.

“You alright?” he asked.

Her nod was all she replied as she held out her hand. Pulling her to her feet, he led her to the conjured bench. Flopping down, she motioned Harry to fix the rest of the dell. Turning back, Harry looked over the destroyed area. Picturing his desired shape and form in his mind, he quickly cast the spell.

The best comparison Harry could think of was a portkey. Just like the magical transportation device gives one that magical tug behind their navel, Harry felt a similar tug, but this time deep in his chest.

As the earth shifted like water, Harry concentrated and pushed from that area in his chest. With a grumbling groan, the earth responded. In the moment it takes a wave to break, nearly an acre of land was reshaped into a beautiful wild garden. A brook -when there had been none before - ran through the middle of the area surrounded by conjured flowering bushes and trees.

Overcome by tiredness, Harry turned back to his uncle and girlfriend. Remus was nonplussed. He alternated his staring from Harry to the garden and back. Hermione was smiling proudly. He gave her a brief grin as his arms hung limply at his sides.

“I felt that,” Harry muttered before falling on his arse.

.oOo.

“They're goddam Merlin and Nimue.”

Lily rolled her eyes. Remus had returned to the house a few minutes ago. As expected, he helped the teens to Harry's bedroom where he put them to bed for the rest of the day. Finding the rest of the family in the conservatory, he silently beckoned to them.

Wrapping a cloak over her shoulders, the petite redhead witch had followed the silent Lycanthrope. Seeing the newly created garden, she furrowed her brow. Turning this way and that, she saw that the bushes and trees extended for tens of metres in all direction.

Catching her husband's eye, she silently asked the question to which he put voice. “What happened out here, Moony?”

“They completely levelled the area then reshaped it.” Moony's flat toneless delivery caught her attention.

“How many spells did all this take?” Sirius asked as he looked around.

“Four.”

“Bullshit. Pull the other one, Moons. How many? Ten? Twelve?” Sirius didn't even look to this brother.

Lily was stunned for she could see the truth in Remus' face. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw James' mouth drop open.

“No bullshit, Padfoot. Four spells. A Siege Engine each followed by a Earth Mover each.”

Sirius turned about. “Really?” he asked in a small voice.

Remus only nodded.

“They're goddam Merlin and Nimue,” James breathed.

“Really, James,” Lily chastised but stopped when she saw the serious expression on her husband's face.

“Lils, you don't understand. Sure, there are strong witches and wizards out there. Dumbledore and McGonagall are just two of the examples.” Waving his hand over the huge expanse of revamped garden, he added, “But I doubt they could do all this with only two spells.” He was ignoring the Siege Engine destruction of the area in the first place. The Earth Mover didn't need freshly ploughed ground with which to work. “You and I can't and we were some of the strongest in our year.”

“Should we tell them?” Lily mused aloud.

“Tell them what?” Sirius asked.

“Tell them that they're in the top one percent of all witches and wizards in all of Britain for magical power and potential.”

Remus rubbed the back of his neck. “I already told them, sort of.”

James frowned. “Sort of?”

Holding up his hands in supplication, Remus explained, “I was looking at them all funny after Harry did his `God on the First Day' impression. Hermione pressed me, so I explained that I didn't know anyone who could have done what they just did together.” Pointing to the huge terraced garden on the north ridge, Remus told them, “Hermione did all that with one spell.”

“Bloody buggering shite.”

Lily nodded numbly to her husband's succinct description of the situation. Eyeing James, she asked the group, “Should we get Filius over here tomorrow?”

Remus nodded in agreement. James concurred when he told them all, “Yes. I've no idea what to do with all this.”

Turning back to the house, Lily took James' hand in hers. They were all quiet; lost in thought. Lily was broken from her musings when Sirius began to giggle.

“What?” she asked.

“Harry is gonna fuck Voldemort so hard, the dark bastard won't be able to walk straight ever again.”

The other two wizards displayed their roots in the Marauders as they burst into laughter. Lily rolled her eyes again. Why did she love these losers?

.oOo.

Since it was two days until the start of term, they delayed their discussion with the Charms Master until they returned to school. Hermione thanked Rauri as he popped off with her and Harry's things, but she was depressed. Flopping on their bed, she stared at the ceiling.

“Did Rauri take our stuff already?” Harry asked as he came in from the bathroom.

Her only reply was a nod.

“What's wrong?” he asked, sliding onto the bed next to her.

“I'm not sure how I feel about going back to Hogwarts. When we returned after first coming here after Halloween, I really didn't want to leave here, but was excited about getting back to school.”

Harry snorted and smiled, earning a glare from his girlfriend.

“Now, I really don't want to go back.” Rolling toward him, she began to play with the buttons of his shirt, “For one thing, we can't share a bed at school.” With wide eyes, she asked him, “Does that make me a slut?”

Kissing her softly, he reassured her, “No, it makes you in love with me.”

Sighing, she laid her head on his chest as she rolled into his arms. “We're going to have to find a way to have some alone time, though.”

“I talked to my Dad. He said that occasionally we can use their guest rooms.”

She smiled, “He stressed the `occasionally', did he?”

Rolling his eyes, Harry groaned, “Oh, yeah. Why else?”

“Why else don't I want to go back?” When he nodded, she elaborated, “We're different.” Sitting up, she toyed with a loose thread on the bedspread that lay on top of the bed, “Not only are we on this highly specialized tutoring path because a Dark Lord is out for us…”

He interrupted, “Out for me.”

Grabbing him by the front of the shirt, she kissed him thoroughly, “What is done to one is done to us both. If he's out for you, then he gets me in the bargain.”

Accepting her statement, he teased her, “I thought I was the only one to get you?”

Rolling her eyes, she teased back, “Pervert.”

“And you love it.”

“Anyway,” she said around her smile. “We're just so different now. We have tutoring, this high-end level power reservoir and the Dark Lord. Quidditch and classes seem so small now. Provincial even.”

Harry was quiet, taking in what she said until he murmured, “Does it matter?”

Thinking about his question, she asked, “Do you mean, does it matter in our day to day life?” When he nodded, she rolled her eyes, “Harry, it completely changes our everyday life.”

“Do you want it to be different? Do you wish we weren't together, or you and Sirius weren't making your own little family?” There was more than a hint of fear in his voice.

Realizing his point, she sat up, straddling him. “Never. I love you. I love Sirius, your parents and Remus. I don't want to change anything.” After kissing him on the neck, she glanced at the clock. “You know, we've got an hour before we leave.”

Rolling over on top of her, he nestled between her legs. “Well then, we mustn't waste the time. Whatever shall we do?”

.oOo.

The meeting with Flitwick was not what Hermione expected. Filius Flitwick had always seemed to her to be a happy-go-lucky professional who knew his craft inside and out.

When Remus described the power display by Harry and Hermione over the holiday break, Filius' expression became stern. Turning to Harry, he chastised him. “You could have killed those children.”

Hermione could tell that Harry was still ashamed of his behaviour with Malfoy and the Incredibly Stupid Followers. At the same time, neither teen could think of another way to have handled the situation while still protecting the Hufflepuff firsties.

“With this kind of power available to both of you, you must gain control so that you will be able to exercise restraint.” Nodding toward Hermione, Flitwick asked, “What would have happened should Miss Granger-Black have been with you that day? If she should have been injured?”

“I'd have exploded,” Harry whispered in reply.

“Which is why you both must learn restraint. There is a time and a place for high powered casting. At Hogwarts with thirteen and fourteen year old children is not that place.”

Having had enough of the `beating up on Harry show', Hermione interrupted, “So how do we learn this control?”

Flitwick's eyes flashed to her, aware of her changing the topic. Finally, he gave in as he answered, “There are a series of spells that you shall be casting. They progress up and down the power scale so you can more readily identify how much power you are using when you cast. After that, we shall begin the process of controlling how much power you use when you cast any spell. You could make the Lighting charm as bright as the sun or as dim as a taper candle. Control, you must learn control.”

.oOo.

“Hey there.”

Hermione looked up to see Sirius looming over her, a soft smile on his face. “Hey.” They'd been back at school for a few days. Strangely, there'd been no transition. Their tutoring had continued over the hols. They'd been studying at Rowan Hill, though, instead of the Hogwarts Library.

Turning a chair about, he straddled it, a pensive expression on his face. “I've been thinking a lot about us being the Head of the Black family and all.” Her expression sharpened as her attention focused on her adopted father. They'd not talked about the practicalities of the magical adoption. Instead, they'd just fallen into a comfortable relationship where they did their utmost to earn the others trust.

His face fell when he told her, “I really don't want to carry on any of the traditions or perpetuate anything I experienced or learned when I was a child.”

Her heart sank. There was so much focus on Harry and his abusive upbringing, that most forgot that Sirius had a very similar experience. Reaching out, she took his hand in sympathy.

He squeezed back as he continued, “My thought is that together, we'll reinvent the house of Black; making the Lord or Lady Blackmoor a person that stands for what is right as opposed to Toujours Pur.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. When Sirius had sneeringly related the motto of the Black family, she'd tried to be charitable in suggesting that maybe the motto referred to `pure of heart'.

Sirius was stunned to silence for ten seconds before laughing uproariously.

“The first thing I'm doing is officially changing the motto of the house of Black. Gone is that legacy of bigotry and feigned pureblood superiority. From now on, our motto shall be `Semper Fidelis'.”

She smiled. `Always Faithful' described both her and Sirius quite well.

“However, one part of our family that we'll have to work hard to reinvent is our financial holdings and investment portfolio. I'm going to the Bank today. The goblins have our account manager standing by in order to start the revamping of the Black Family from the inside out.”

“Can I come?” she asked.

His wide smile brightened her day. “I hoped you'd say that.” After leaving a note for Harry and donning her cloak, hat and gloves, she followed Sirius to the fireplace in James and Lily's suite. Dumbledore had allowed this fireplace to be connected to the Floo network, for which Hermione was very glad. The weather outside was horrible; sleet and freezing rain.

“The Leaky Cauldron!”

Ten seconds of swirling later, she popped out of the fireplace. Sirius cast a quick Cleansing charm on her before leading the way out of the pub via the back door. In London, a soft snowfall started to coat the street. Since it was mid-afternoon, the alley was quiet. Hooking her arm in Sirius' she lay her head on his shoulder for a moment. “Thank you, Sirius.”

She felt a soft kiss on the crown of her head, “You're very welcome, my dear.”

Silently, they headed down the nearly empty alley. From the corner of her vision, she thought she saw someone scurrying, but when she turned that way, there was no one to be found.

The bank was warm, so Sirius took her over clothes before shrinking them. After stowing them in his pocket, he headed to the tellers.

“Hello, Shitheap.” Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry had told her all about his father's penchants regarding goblin names.

“Blackmoor you little slut. What do you want?”

Sirius was stunned to silence, while Hermione began to laugh heartily. She was leaning on her knees, gasping for breath by the time Sirius managed to grin. “Got me.”

“Yes, we did. Now, what do you want?”

“We've an appointment with Gripsack.”

Grunting, the goblin heaved his impressive girth off his stool. Five minutes later, she and Sirius were sitting down in a richly apportioned conference room. Spread about the room was piles of documents. An older, well-dressed goblin was seated in the middle of the table, while four younger goblins in plain attire bustled about the room.

“My Lord, my Lady,” the old goblin intoned as he rose from his chair. “I am Gripsack, your accounts manager.”

Having read no less than seven books on wizarding etiquette, Hermione stayed silent as Sirius replied to the Goblin for both of them.

Gesturing about the room, Gripsack told them, “The Black portfolio is divided into seven different groups. Based on your instructions, we've taken the liberty of placing al questionable investments in one group. The same is true for questionable or cursed objects in the Black vaults.”

“Let's get that out of the way first,” Sirius said grimly.

As they sat, Sirius turned to her, “I want you to look through the forms first. Divide the objects and whatnot into `keep' or `liquidate or destroy' piles. I'll then go through your piles to double check. While you're doing that, I'll go through the investments then we'll swap.” His reassuring smile punctuated his instructions.

Completely stunned at the trust Sirius was placing in her, she didn't realize that he was also training her. Most people learn how to run a fortune by `doing', so he had her `doing'.

The first object was a cursed necklace, which caused any pregnant muggle woman to miscarry the pregnancy unexpectedly. Nearly vomiting, she placed the sheet in the `liquidate/destroy' pile.

An hour later, Hermione was still a bit queasy - some of the items had been truly disgusting - but she also had an immense respect for the enchanters who'd created some of the objects:

A breastplate, which made the wearer immune to all non-magical attacks.

A matched pair of plain gold rings, which allowed the wearers to communicate via a type of telepathy.

A book of spells, which was self-updating whenever a new book was added to the Black family library.

The dark and dangerous items were many and varied too. They didn't bear remembering, just destroying.

Sirius glanced at his watch. Tucking it back into his pocket, he rose. Helping Hermione from her seat, he nodded to Gripsack. “We must be going, but we'll return tomorrow at the same time to continue this effort.” Bowing from the waist, he told the goblin, “We are most satisfied with the services provided for the Black family by the Goblin Nation.”

Gripsack rose. Returning the bow, the old goblin replied, “The Goblin Nation is honoured to serve the house of Blackmoor in any capacity and pleased to provide acceptable service.”

Without further ado, they headed out of the bank into a now heavy snowfall.

With a soft voice, Hermione told Sirius, “Thanks.”

Patting her arm affectionately, he replied, “You're very welcome, daughter.”

She smiled at the term. Her parents had never been very affectionate; to have Sirius be a bit lovey-dovey was very welcome.

Sirius falling down while screaming wasn't what she expected next.

In a flash, she registered his shattered leg with blood pooling under it.

Turning, she automatically shielded him. Four more spells deflected off her Arx Bunker shield.

All the hours of duelling paid dividends over the next ten minutes. Quickly conjuring a thick marble dome, she levitated it over her unconscious protector. With Sirius safe, she turned her attention on their attackers.

“Kill the mudblood pretender then kill the blood traitor!” There were five of them in Death Eater robes.

Since she and Harry had started to flex their magic with high-powered casting, she found it much easier to push more power into her spells with less draining effects on her.

The Bone Breaking curse shattered a Death Eater's shield along with his skull. The pulp that remained dripped to the ground as the rest of the corpse fell to the paving stones.

The other four all paused when they saw one of their own savagely dispatched. This delay cost them their lives.

A Reductor to the chest jellied the leader's intestines before they moved. At this point, they were no longer charging toward the `mudblood pretender and the blood traitor'. Now, they were in full flight. Unfortunately for Hermione, they went into a dead end alleyway.

As everyone knows, a cornered beast is at its most dangerous.

The three remaining Death Eaters turned on The Smartest Witch of the Age with desperation.

Two Cruciatus curses along with a Killing curse lanced out of the alley.

Hermione dove to the side, avoiding the spells while still keeping Sirius in sight. Rolling to her back, she snap cast a spread of Paralysis curses.

One of the Death Eaters was caught up on the curse, causing him to crumple to the pavement. The other two pressed on to the now standing witch.

Her anger boiling over and mixing with her fear, Hermione's magic began to loose its bounds.

With her eyes glowing blue, the alley groaned under the chaotic wild magic. With her naked hand, she batted aside an Entrail Expelling curse, returning fire with a Cutting curse.

One more Death Eater out of commission; his head sliding from his shoulders most ungracefully.

Her lip curling over her teeth like a wolf, she stalked after the last Death Eater. A modicum of sanity intruded, though, slowing her down. When the coward slave of Voldemort threw down his wand in terror, she had the sense to Stun and Bind him for the Aurors to interview.

Turning back, she ran to Sirius. With a wave of her wand, she Vanished the bubble overtop her adopted father. His leg was bleeding heavily and his face was pale.

As the residents and shoppers in Diagon Alley began to poke their heads out the door, she screamed, “SOMEONE GET A HEALER!!!”

.oOo.

Harry was sprinting through the halls of St Mungo's hospital. When the Communication charm sounded in his ear that Hermione and Sirius were at the hospital, he'd boltered for the Floo shouting the news to his parents as he went.

Jumping out of the Floo at the hospital, he didn't even realize that he'd made his first successful Floo landing - nor did he care.

The receptionist was completely overwhelmed by the sight of The Boy-Who-Lived running up to her desk. She gaped when he shouted, “Hermione Granger and Sirius Black! Where are they?!”

When she continued to gape, Harry shouted again, “Dammit woman! Where are they?”

“Four-fourth floor. Spell damage,” she stuttered.

Bypassing the lift as he didn't want to wait, Harry ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Turning the corner from the stairway, he saw two red-robed Aurors standing guard outside a door. Assuming his intended and godfather where inside, he ran to the door.

“Sorry, Mr Potter. You can't go in there,” the taller Auror announced as he stepped in front of the door. Sometimes it was a real pain in the arse to be a public figure and therefore everyone knew you by sight.

“Why not?” Harry asked. He didn't mean to be churlish, but couldn't help it. Didn't they know that Hermione was in there?

“Lord Blackmoor and the Lady Hermione are considered materiel witnesses in a felony attack.”

“And I'm her fiancé.”

The Auror's eyes bulged. Glancing at his partner, he turned a questioning eye on the teen. “Are you sure about that, Mr Potter?”

“Yes. Didn't you see that mithril bracelet? That was my engagement gift to her,” Harry had no compunction lying to the men. “Now, I'll be seeing my intended and my godfather.”

Pushing past the startled law enforcement officers, he found Sirius and Hermione in side by side beds. The room was darkened, the curtains closed. Hermione was on her side, snoring softly while Sirius was on his back, still very pale.

Rushing to her side, he took her hand. Relieved at the warmth, he saw that she'd opened her eyes. “Are you Ok?” he asked.

Softly, she croaked, “Yeah. Just tired. How's Sirius?”

Confuse after finding her fine, he turned to his godfather. Not knowing what to do, he prodded Sirius in the shoulder. When he didn't awaken, he turned back to his girlfriend. “He's still out.”

Sitting on her bed next to her, he retook her hand. “I was so scared.” He nearly broke down in tears, when she smiled through her muddle-headedness.

“I'm fine. Don't need to worry about me.”

Taking a deep breath he forced himself to relax. The tension bled out of his body slowly but inevitably. “I er, had to tell a bit of a lie to get in here.”

Softly smiling, she poked him in the ribs, “What did you tell them?”

“Er,” he fidgeted, “I told them we were engaged.”

Surprisingly, she didn't scold him. Softly kissing his palm, she closed her eyes as she lay his hand on her cheek, “Sounds good to me. Go fetch my ring.”

Smiling widely, he relaxed. She was fine or would be soon. “Seriously, are you well?”

Nodding her head, she replied, “Yeah. Just wiped out. A Pepper Up and I'll be able to head back to school.” Looking at the other bed, she added, “I didn't want to leave him here all alone. He's woken up all alone for far too many years whilst in Azkaban.”

Harry nodded. “My Mum and Dad are right behind us. I'm sure they've called in Remus as well. Handy, that charm, isn't it?”

Hermione nodded, but her expression was far from cheerful. Chucking her under the chin, he asked, “What's on your mind?”

“I killed three men today.”

Silent for a minute, he mused on how to proceed. Finally he began with the most important item first. “I still love you and I'm sure everyone else does too. You do realize that we've all killed, don't you?”

Her face clouded before she had a minor epiphany, “Professor Quirrell…”

He nodded. “My Dad told me that the first time he and my Mum killed during the war they both cried like toddlers.” Looking away, he admitted, “I never told you, but that night in the infirmary after…well after I realized that I'd killed him…” he paused.

“I've never told anyone that I sobbed most of the night. Now that I think about it, I'm sure that Madam Pomfrey knew, but gave me the privacy I wanted.” With emotion filled eyes, he told her, “You did what you had to do to protect Sirius and yourself, just like I did what I had to do to protect myself.”

She stared at him long, waiting for what he didn't know. Finally, she whispered, “Thanks.” Squeezing his hand tightly, he knew that she was on the right road. Even though he knew that he did what he had to do regarding Quirrell, Voldemort and the Stone, he still had nightmares about it occasionally. He expected to be comforting Hermione for some time now.

There was a knocking at the door. “Mr Potter? Your parents and a Mr Lupin are here to see your fiancée and your godfather. Should we let them through?”

Harry closed his eyes and groaned. His Dad and Remus were never going to let this one die. “They can come through,” Harry called.

The door opened, admitting Lily first. She smiled at the couple on the bed before her eyes flicked to the still sleeping Sirius. Harry really didn't want to look at his Dad or Moony, but decided to rip the plaster off instead of prolonging the torment.

His Dad had an amused smirk on his face. Moony had a much more dangerous expression: confused innocence.

Sighing, he leaned back on the bed. “Get it over with.”

“Why Little One, whatever do you mean?” Moony asked with a voice dripping with sincerity and caring. “We just want to know how your beautiful fiancée and her lecherous adoptive father are doing.”

Turning to a now laughing Hermione, he groaned, “Kill me now.”

.oOo.

The entire family had gathered in James and Lily's suite for dinner. Sirius was mostly recovered from his encounter in Diagon Alley, but his leg was still a bit tender. Sitting on the corner of the table, he stretched it out with a loud groan.

Harry looked to his godfather. “You Ok?”

Sirius shrugged.

Knock-knock

James frowned as he stood from the table. Lily was passing around the pudding course so he told her, “Spoon me up a serving, will you love?”

Turning back to the door, he opened it as Moony told an old joke. James smiled. That one about the Veela, the Quintaped and the Leprechaun never got old. The smile faded when he saw Albus Dumbledore at the door.

In as polite a tone as he could muster, James asked, “Yes Albus? What can I do for you?”

Evidently bracing himself for an argument, Dumbledore began, “As we discussed before Christmas, Miss Granger shall be Harry's hostage for the second task…” That's as far as he got.

“And we told you that was an impossibility,” James countered with steel in his voice.

“Who is it James?” Lily called from the table.

Without turning away from the Headmaster, James replied, “Dumbledore. He wants Hermione.”

There was no reply from the table, just the scraping and scattering of chairs.

“Hey!” came from Hermione. James assumed that Sirius or Harry was pushing her into one of the bedrooms.

Forcibly pushed aside from the doorway, James scrambled for his footing. Sirius had taken his place. He'd never seen his cousin so angry.

Glancing back in the room, he saw Remus and Harry with their wands drawn while facing the doorway. It must have been Lily who took Hermione into the other room. Prongs had no doubt that Rauri was with them by now as well.

James was cynically amused by the situation. Dumbledore didn't learn, did he?

“Stay away from my daughter, Dumbledore,” Sirius hissed.

The old man's eyebrows arched at Sirius' use of `daughter' but said nothing. After a long moment, he pressed, “She is required for the tournament.”

“For which neither she nor my son volunteered,” James interjected as he came shoulder to shoulder with Sirius.

Dumbledore sighed, “James…”

“No Albus. Just go away, for you'll not get her,” Sirius interjected.

The Headmaster's gaze sharpened as he focused on Padfoot. After a long moment, he nodded, “Very well. I must say, it's good to see you so paternal, Sirius.”

When the old man turned and began to head down the hallway, Sirius called, “Don't send an elf for her either, Albus. You'll not like the consequences of that action. I'd rather not have to kill one of your elves.”

Turning back into the room, James saw Harry make a beeline for the guest bedroom.

The door was thrown open before Harry got there to reveal a furious Hermione Granger. Her face red, she pointed a finger at first Sirius, then the rest of the men, one at a time.

“I just finished yelling at Lily, so now I'll ask you all who the bloody hell you think you are to stuff me in a closet because the Headmaster is at the door?”

James winced. The magic was roiling in the room as Hermione lashed out. Sometimes they forgot that The Smartest Witch of the Age was nearly as powerful as The Boy-Who-Lived. Not only that, but she'd just proven herself in battle against five Death Eaters, emerging victorious.

With his head hanging, Harry approached his girlfriend. “Love,” he whispered. “I'm sorry, I just wanted to protect you. I'd die if you were hurt….”

In frustration, she nearly yelled, “Harry! How can I be mad at you when you do that?!”

James swallowed his laughter. Witches. Confused, Harry looked up at her, “Hunh?”

Her hands on her hips, she scowled at her man. “How can I be mad at you when you're sincerely sorry like this?”

Still confused, Harry stared. Taking pity on his son, James came up behind him. Bending over to talk in his ear, James stage-whispered, “Now would be a good time to kiss her.”

Everyone laughed as Harry took his Dad's advice to heart.

.oOo.

“What are we doing here?” Harry asked his father for the fourth time. “I thought we were telling the old man to bugger off.” The family had talked long after everyone calmed. They reaffirmed their intention of non-participation in the task, with a backup plan in reserve that Harry had been practicing.

Every so often, The Boy-Who-Lived checked the crowd to ensure his intended was still sitting between Padfoot and Moony. Based on the expression of the two Marauders, blood would be spilt should anyone make an attempt to whisk away Harry's bushy haired paramour.

Sighing, James placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, “Play the game, son. Let Dumbledore say something stupid, demand you participate in the task. Stick your hand in the lake and you've met the requirement of `attempting the task' and you're done.”

“Fine,” Harry grumbled. James didn't give Harry a hard time because he knew what was running through his son's head. Neither Potter trusted Albus Dumbledore so both were waiting for the other shoe to drop. Despite James' words, he fully expected a complete bollixed event.

Dumbledore and the other Heads finally arrived with Ludo Bagman. After a ridiculous introduction of the task, a cannon was fired off, signalling to the champions to begin.

Before any of the older champions had entered the water, Harry shoved his fist in the Black Lake before shouting, “I'm done!”

`What?” Bagman asked in sincere confusion. The splashes of the other champions entering the water distracted him for a second before he signalled to Percy Weasley to join the discussion. As the redheaded lickspittle strutted to the platform, Bagman turned to Dumbledore, “Albus, would you please join us?”

With a chagrined expression, Dumbledore demurred, “I'm sorry, Ludo, but that won't be possible.” The restraining order was still in effect preventing the Defeater of Grindlewald from talking to the Defeater of Voldemort.

James smiled as he saw that the Head of the Department of Games and Sports was befuddled by Dumbledore's refusal. “Okay,” Bagman muttered.

Turning back to Harry, he asked, “So, what are you on about, Harry?”

Percy chimed in with his two cents, “Really, Potter. Quit your teenaged angst and commence the task.”

Harry took a deep breath and held it before slowly exhaling. James took the hint that his son was on the verge of hexing the Weasley idiot, so he interjected, “My son has completed the requirement of the task and is required to do no more. He's tired of playing your little game and will do so no longer.”

“But what about the Longbottom boy?” Bagman blurted, true incomprehension on his feeble expression.

“Neville? You took Neville?” Harry asked in a harsh whisper. James glanced at his son. Seeing the rage on his son's face, James jerked Bagman and Weasley to the deck of the dock for their own protection, guessing that they would be the focus of his son's temper.

James guessed wrongly.

Harry spun on the old Headmaster, snapped up his wand, casting a silent Reductor curse.

Reflexively, Dumbledore slashed his wand in a defensive motion, calling an Aegis Fortis shield into being. Harry's high-powered curse reflected off the old wizard's duelling shield before it impacted a centuries old oak tree.

As the ancient tree exploded to small bits with a thundering crack, James turned back to see Harry employing their standby plan for the task. He'd already cast the transfiguration spell on himself which gave him gills. A quick wand wave caused the Anti-Friction and Impervious spells to cover his body and clothes followed by a Warming Charm and the Night Vision Charm. With one last glare at the Headmaster, Harry turned to the water and dove.

The gust of bubbles gave proof to Harry's use of the Air Compressor Charm as his means of propulsion. Within minutes, he'd be at the Mer-Villiage to hostage his friend.

Picking himself off the dock, James glared at the Headmaster. “You took my godson, old man. If Harry doesn't kill you, I'd be very afraid of what Augusta Longbottom and I will do to you, Albus.” James closed his eyes as his anger at the old man peaked. “I suggest you leave now and let Minerva be your proxy to judge the task.”

The old man cocked an eyebrow as if to ask, “Do you really think your son could hurt me?”

“Yes, Albus, I do think Harry could hurt you. Very badly at that,” James replied to the unspoken question. “You've threatened those he cares about. If you'd have actually taken Hermione, Lily or me, I do believe Harry would have killed you outright before rescuing us. You've been warned.”

After a moment's consideration, Albus nodded. Turning to find Minerva, he repeated his nod to her, indicating her relief of him as judge. “I believe I'm feeling unwell,” he told no one in particular. “I shall retire to my rooms as Minerva continues in my stead.”

“Very wise, Albus,” James muttered as he turned back to the lake, watching in agitation for his son to resurface with James' godson in tow.

.oOo.

Seventeen minutes later, Harry and Neville broke the surface of the lake. Together, they began to swim to shore.

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first seven chapters. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on FanFiction(dot)net.

2. Recommendation for the chapter is The Power of the Press by Bobmin. Find it over on Fanficauthors(dot)net. Excellent character driven story of Harry and Hermione.

3. I give up. Bob did it again. Check the reviews of Chapter 7 for his impromptu Harry Potter/Lord of the Rings crossover. *muggledad clears his throat* “Attention everyone! Special guest authorship for this story is now conferred on Bobmin356! Should anyone know what the `356' stands for, please contact customer service. That is all.” Personally, I think the cup runneth over from Saying No, but hey, I can't write crack like that, so who am I to say.

4. So we're eating dinner the other night when one of my daughters asserted herself in the family circle. In the middle of a delightful meal (my wife is a phenomenal cook), Daughter The Younger Twin ripped a fart that had to last a full 60 seconds. For her to let fly isn't unusual, but time it; 60 seconds is an incredibly long fart, especially coming from a 35 pound, five year old little girl. I was astounded at her gastroenterogical capacity. Truly amazing. My wife and I really tried hard to be the stoic and stern parents, but couldn't help it. Our seven year old son was rolling on the ground halfway through the mammoth exposition while Daughter The Older Twin giggled nonstop. By the end, our entire family was roaring with laughter. Why am I telling you this? First, `cause it's a really funny story, second, the cacophony created by Daughter The Younger Twin was the inspiration for the payback to Pansy before the Yule Ball.

5. Siriusly, Serious by Chem Prof came out yesterday. I swear, I had my Airplane! joke in Last Casualties before his story came out. It tells two things: he and I are `of an age' where we both saw it on its first run and that great minds think alike!

6. Ok, I'm a father of three, two of which are girls. Am I condoning two young teens having sex in my house on a recurring basis? Would I let my son and daughters do that? Uh, that would be no. Besides, my wife would castrate me.

It's James and Lily doing who are allowing Harry and Hermione to shack up. They tried the `stern parent' routine after the first task and it got broken off in their ass. Now, the pendulum is swinging the other way. In this case, though, I think it'll work out. Harry and Hermione aren't human, their a wizard and witch so the rules work differently. As you read in the chapter, magic (in the muggledad `verse) plays a significant role in non-marriage contract relationships.

.Chapter complete September 5, 2011

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9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

“Dad, I want you and the Marauders to prank Dumbledore until his shits himself.”

Despite the tension, Hermione wasn't surprised to see James roll his eyes. They were all on the dock of the Black Lake, blankets about Harry and Neville while Lily fussed over both teens. The crowds had receded shortly after the event was completed, so they were alone.

Hermione noticed Neville switching his gaze from James back to Harry. Finally, he asked, “Uncle James, what's going on?” Susan Bones, at Neville's side, was quietly curious. She'd come sprinting down to the lakefront when she realized Neville was Harry's hostage. Once the teens reached shore, she wouldn't be dislodged from her beau's side come hell, high water or both.

Hermione frowned. “Didn't Dumbledore explain it to you when they summoned you for the task?” Prongs asked.

“No. They just called me to the Headmaster's office last night. I remember getting there, but not much else after that.”

Hermione's jaw dropped open while James and Lily paled. Susan frowned before tightening her grip on Neville's arm. Sirius and Remus had headed to the castle. They were to use the Floo to summon the Lady Augusta to the school. James was sure that she'd want to know about the events of the morning.

In a dangerous tone, James asked, “They didn't ask your permission for you to be in the task?”

Shrugging, Neville replied, “Not that I remember.”

His jaw clenched, James closed his eyes to reign in his displeasure. Lily was breathing hard, doing her best to control her own temper. In a mental digression, Hermione realized that Lily had become much better at governing herself in stressful situations. When they first rejoined the time stream, the redheaded witch was very volatile. Now, she would become upset, but refrain from lashing out. It was probably a result of the aftermath of the first task, but then again, Lily was still growing up.

After a loud exhale by James, he told them all, “Right. Let's head up to our rooms. Padfoot and Moony are going to meet us there with Lady Augusta.”

Hermione grinned when Harry's arm snaked about her shoulders. Harry was becoming much more affectionate and even possessive in his physical touching with her and she loved it. In silent reply, she wormed her arm about his waist. Ambling behind the elder Potters, they took their time.

James, Susan and Neville were deep in a discussion about what Hermione couldn't tell, but it was good to see. James had been carving out more than a bit of time to be with Neville. Sometimes it was as part of the greater Potter-Black family but also just the two of them. Before break, he and Neville had gone to St Mungo's to see Neville's parents. The irrepressible Prongs had returned shaken and quiet. He had taken Lily's hand, dragging her to the bedroom before closing it. Before the Silencing charm was cast, she heard his sobs along with Lily cooing, “It's alright, love. Let it out. Frank and Alice were good friends.”

“Neville's good people. I like Susan, too,” Harry told her in a soft voice breaking her out of her musings.

Nodding her head, she agreed. “Susan has always been very shy, but very smart. She and I paired up for some Arithmancy projects last year. Neville…well, he's coming into his own, now that your Dad and Sirius are back. I think he missed that kind of male interaction.”

Staring at the ground as they ambled, Harry muttered, “He needed his family.”

Realizing that Harry was speaking not only about their sandy haired friend, but also himself, she countered, “But he had his friends and his Gran.”

Slowly shaking his head, he replied, “But it wasn't enough. Nothing can replace the love in your Mum's hug or the warmth in my chest when my Dad tells me he's proud of me.”

Catching his transition from `your' to `my', she was silent.

“Even Sirius was a pale imitation.” Turning to her, he regarded her over the tops of his spectacles, “Don't get me wrong, I love Padfoot, but he's not my Dad.” He was quiet a moment before adding, “But I need my godfather and Uncle Remus, too.”

“It's about family,” she whispered.

“My life is completely changed in the last six months. I've completely changed,” he mused

Stopping midstride, she stared, the epiphany powerful. When he tugged on her sleeve to catch her attention, she stared at him. “That's it.”

She could feel his confusion. “What's it?”

“The Power The Dark Lord Knows Not.”

Stilling, he stared at her. “Explain.”

Staring deep into his eyes, she whispered, “You've been able to do so much more since your parents returned. You've calmed, become able to harness this power reservoir, you study and apply your studies much better. It's all because you've your parents back!” She nearly shrieked at the end, but quickly subdued. Harry's eyes were narrowed in a contradictory expression.

“No.”

“No?” she repeated, confused. It seemed so logical in her head when it came to her.

“No. It's not just my parents. It's the whole family. It's Prongs, Mum, Padfoot, Moony and most importantly, you.”

Her heart melted at the emotion in his voice. A tear trickled from his eye. Truly did he say that he was different. The cup runneth over; the joy in her intended's heart brimmed. Pulling him into a desperate hug, she told him, “You deserve it all, my love.”

“It all started with you,” he whispered and she knew that it did. For that, she was honoured and grateful.

.oOo.

Lady Augusta had had a long day already. The head House Elf for Green Hills, the Longbottom estate, had passed in the night. Old Solly was well over four hundred years old and had been a good servant and elf. Sighing, she nearly cried as she remembered presiding over his internment ceremony earlier in the morning. The other four elves had been distraught. Dilly had been the natural choice to replace Solly, but had cried her little eyes out when asked to assume the role. Eventually, the petite elf had curtseyed before sobbing, “As Mistress wishes.” The pop as she left had been extra loud.

Then the family solicitor had called. With Neville coming closer to his seventeenth birthday, she had decided that he needed to become more involved in the family business so she'd directed Williams and Villiers to begin a process to bring the Longbottom heir into the day to day management of their fortunes.

Neville was a good lad, but so timid as to frustrate her to no end. Shaking her head, she couldn't for the life of her understand why he was that way. James Potter's miraculous return from the dead had been a godsend. Over the hols, Neville had displayed more backbone and confidence than he'd ever done in his entire life. Even that rake Sirius Black had been a positive influence. If only poor Frank and Alice hadn't…

The fire flaring green interrupted her train of thought. A grim faced Sirius Black appeared in the fire. “Lady Augusta, Neville is well, but you're needed at Hogwarts.”

Her eyes narrowing in protective anger, she stood before commanding, “Step aside, my Lord. I'm coming through.”

.oOo.

Harry had seen glimpses of Lady Augusta Longbottom in person. He knew her much better through the stories Neville had told over the years. When the tall iron-grey haired widow strode out of the fire, all the stories about Neville's Gran being `a right Tartar' came back to The Boy-Who-Lived. This was one witch he never wanted to cross.

Except for maybe his mum. Or his girlfriend. All right, all three of them were to be avoided in the `angering' column.

Shaking off his mental meanderings, he heard Lady Augusta ask the assembled witches and wizards, `What happened?”

James answered, “The second task of the tournament was this morning. Each of the champions was required to retrieve a hostage from the bottom of the Black Lake. In addition, each of the hostages had sentimental value to the champion; Dumbledore selected Neville to be Harry's hostage.”

Her eyes narrowing while her nostrils flared, she asked in a quiet voice, “Neville was at the bottom of the lake?” Harry shivered at the tone. Water should be freezing somewhere nearby as her tenor was so cold.

“Yes, ma'am,” James replied. Fighting back a smile, it seemed to Harry that his Dad was slipping back into the ways of his youth.

Lady Augusta turned her piercing gaze on her grandson, “Did you volunteer for this?”

Shaking his head slowly as if trying to remember, Neville replied, “No ma'am. All I remember is going to the Headmaster's office in response to his summons.”

Turning back to James, she spat, “Did you know of this, my Lord?”

Narrowing his eyes at the unspoken accusation, James replied, “I was aware that Dumbledore desired to use the Lady Hermione,” he gestured to the witch next to Harry, “as the hostage. This was unacceptable to Potter, Blackmoor and me. We were completely unaware as to Dumbledore's selection in replacement of the Lady Hermione.”

Harry frowned. His Dad didn't use their titles unless he was playing about or extremely mad. He would retreat into stiff formality when riled and it seemed this was one of those times. To call him `Potter', as in `the Baron Potter of Gwynedd' was very unusual.

His mum must have noticed as well. She laid her hand on his arm, softly entreating him to calm down with a softly spoken, “James…”

After a deep breath, James apologized. “I'm sorry, Augusta. We've all been very tense since last night when Dumbledore tried to take Hermione for the task and we've been waiting for the penny to drop. After the dragons of the first task, I was terrified what they might have under the lake.” Looking away, he muttered, “My son and godson were down there.”

Looking a bit abashed, Augusta reached out for the time-displaced man's hand. “Think nothing of it, James. I, too, am sorry for my words.” Turning to Neville, she evaluated him with a practiced eye, “Are you well?”

Shrugging before a quick nod, Neville replied, “'m fine, Gran.” His blush gave away how much he was embarrassed by the attention. At his side, Susan beamed.

Remus piped up for the first time in the meeting, “Should we confront Albus?”

Eyes narrowing, Lady Augusta pronounced, “I think right now would be a very good time to have a discussion with Albus.”

.oOo.

Minerva McGonagall was very upset and it was an uncommon occurrence. Oh, to be sure, she was angered by students most every day, but it never truly upset her inner equilibrium in any way.

But now, she was very upset.

It started with the miraculous return of the Potters. Teachers ought not to play favourites, but the Marauders and Lily Evans had been her favourites in the `70s. When James and Lily had `died', she'd had to cancel her classes for an entire week for she was unable to face students while her heart broke.

Yet, she stood by while Albus left little Harry with those monsters.

Being called to account by James and Lily had torn at her soul. Minerva McGonagall was a woman who prided herself on doing that which is right, even if it cost her. The Potters had pointed out that Minerva had done that which was easy, letting that which was right fly by like an unmanned broomstick in the night.

She'd protested quite vigorously to Albus when he'd told her that he was going to use Miss Granger as Mr Potter's hostage for the second task. “Albus, ye canna do that,” she'd exclaimed as her burr broke through her usual neutral accent. Whenever she was upset, her Highland roots showed.

“Ye've hurt them enough!” He'd stopped still at her pronouncement. Eventually, nodding in agreement, she could tell that he was still undeterred.

“They'll break with ye. They'll break with ye and if You-Know-Who does return like you think. then we'll all be the poorer.” Pointing a finger at her old friend, she scathingly chastised, “All because ye willna listen to any counsel save yer own!”

“What else should I do, Minerva? The rules of the Tournament are clear. The Headmasters are as bound as the Champions are bound. I must provide a hostage.” He was sincerely asking her for a different solution. Unfortunately, she couldn't think of a different plan, except, “Take another person, Albus. They'll kill ye if you take her.”

Of course, he'd done the next worst thing. Instead of taking the young woman who would be The Boy-Who-Lived's wife, Albus took the young man's virtual cousin.

She knew that Albus was making mistakes of gargantuan proportions that were hurting people left and right, but she didn't know what to do instead. She knew that while her intellect was great, she was lacking in imagination. It was probably why she was so well suited to the Deputy Headmistress role in lieu of the Headmistress role. Therefore, she found herself in the Head's office this late morning waiting for the storm to break.

She didn't have to wait long. Seconds after she finished debriefing Albus about the end of the second task, Armando Dippet's portrait announced, “An incensed Lady Augusta Longbottom along with a furious Lord and Lady Richmond, Lord Potter, Lord Blackmoor, the Lady Hermione…”

Sighing, Albus waved to the portrait, “Let them up, Armando. Thank you.” If Minerva didn't know better, she would have sworn that the portrait really enjoyed that exchange.

The head of Gryffindor house caught the Headmaster's eye, “Should I go?”

Heavily, he replied, “No. I think it best if you stayed.”

Seconds later, the troupe stormed into the room. Minerva stood, moving to the side of the office so as to be out of the line of fire.

“Albus, I'll have an explanation why my grandson was shanghaied into this tournament of yours without his or my permission,” Augusta announced imperiously. Her eyes flashed and narrowed as she waited.

Turning to Albus, Minerva saw the confused expression on his face clear. “Augusta, we have a miscommunication here.” Opening a drawer in his desk, he withdrew a folded and sealed piece of parchment. Handing it to the grand dame, he asked her, “Would you please verify that Neville's seal is affixed to this parchment?”

With a frown, she did. Puzzled, she looked up at the old Headmaster, “Yes, It's his.”

Nodding, Albus prodded, “Would you please open the parchment?”

Lily had reached the end of her tether, though. “Albus, enough with the dramatics. What's on the parchment and how does it relate to Neville's involvement in the task?”

Nodding soberly, the Defeater of Grindlewald sat in his chair, motioning for the others to sit as well. “Last evening, after I left your rooms,” he nodded to James and Lily, “I decided that Mr Longbottom would be the best alternative to Miss Granger-Black in being Harry's hostage.”

Minerva slowly closed her eyes as she shook her head. A statement like that was sure to result in drawn wands. Opening her eyes, she was impressed, no one had drawn their wands, but James and Augusta looked very close to doing so.

“Explain,” James snarled.

“You must understand, the geas of the tournament binds me as much as the champions. I must do what I've done. I had to provide a hostage for the task.”

“No you didn't.”

It was Sirius who had spoken. Sprawled in his chair, he drawled, “Did IQs suddenly drop while I was in prison? The riddle said `that which you'll miss most', not `the person you'll miss most'. You could have stuck his Firebolt at the bottom of the lake while fulfilling the terms of the task.” Sirius' expression finished the little monologue: You Stupid Arrogant Arsehole.

Minerva was stunned. Silence reigned for a full ten seconds before Albus replied, “Well…yes, I suppose that may have worked…”

Rolling her eyes, Lily urged, “Returning to the topic at hand: Neville's involvement?” The sandy haired wizard and his redheaded girlfriend had been quiet the entire time, but Susan's scowl had only deepened during the discussion. She's a true Hufflepuff Minerva thought to herself.

“Yes, quite.” Gesturing to the parchment in Augusta's hands, Albus explained, “The potion that was used to enchant the students who were placed in the Lake also caused short term memory loss. Since that was the case, the Headmistress of Beauxbatons insisted that we observe the legalities. Unfortunately, the persons acting as hostages would be unable to recall giving their permission to participate in the task. What you hold is Neville's contract stating that he fully understood the terms of the task and willingly volunteered his services.”

More stunned silence flooded the room. In a moment of hilarity, everyone simultaneously stared at the parchment in Augusta's hand as if it were about to leap in the air while singing an aria from La Traviata.

Minerva was astonished at the change in the Longbottom scion. When he strode into the room, his head was high in the manner in which she'd become used to seeing him since James took an active role in the young wizard's life. The glare by Augusta Longbottom at her grandson seemed to be causing him to wilt like a plant in a drought.

“Gran, I'm sorry…”

Now, he was slouched over, staring at the floor. Minerva saw the furious look that Susan was sending to Augusta and remembered never to chastise the lad unjustly whilst the redheaded witch was in the room. Her fierce expression caused Augusta to flinch, something the Transfiguration Mistress had never seen.

Harry spoke, “Thank you, Neville. I have no doubt that you were trying to help me and I appreciate it.” The Boy-Who-Lived glared at the Headmaster, “You may have been given reassurances that the task was safe, but after the first task, who really knows what was intended to happen down there. Thanks, mate, I appreciate the thought.”

The little speech by Harry seemed to bring Augusta `round. Reaching out, she took Neville's hand in her own. “Lord Potter is correct.” The withering stare now focused on Dumbledore. Minerva nearly rolled her eyes. The man had faced down Gellert Grindlewald, the magical SS hordes, the Death Eaters and Voldemort himself. Some old widow from Lancashire wasn't very intimidating.

“My grandson is not of age, Albus. He was unable to give legal consent to participate.”

Sighing, the headmaster replied, “Augusta, the forms you sign every year allowed me to legally allow his participation in the task once I obtained his permission.”

“You should have still fire called me.”

Nodding, he conceded, “Yes, I should have but I didn't. I was preoccupied with my disintegrating relationship with the Potters and Sirius, so I failed to contact you.” Ignoring the glares from the aforementioned families, Albus formally intoned, “You have my deepest apologies.”

All the wind taken out of their sails, Minerva watched the visitors deflate before they picked themselves up to leave the office.

The last one to leave, James stared at Albus for a long moment, “Why?”

The Headmaster's eyes narrowed slightly. For all his errors, Albus Dumbledore still had a towering intellect to match his magical capacity. “Why select Mr Longbottom or why force Harry to participate at all?”

“Both,” James replied. It seemed that both men had forgotten that she was in the room.

Shaking his head, Albus answered, “I told the truth about why I selected him. He seemed to be the best selection given the criteria of the task.” Shrugging, Albus added, “There was no danger, James. I would never knowingly place a student in danger…”

“Except when it's Harry,” Prongs interrupted. “Dragons ring a bell? Dementors? How about the Philosopher's Stone or the Chamber of Secrets?”

Pursing his lips, the old man nodded, “True. True indeed. I can understand why you and your family assumed the worst about the danger of the task.”

There was an awkward silence as both wizards held in what they most urgently desired to say. It was evident that James wanted to lash out, calling the old headmaster a fool and other such things.

Albus, in his turn, wanted to tell James that he'd never hurt a child, but in Harry's case, the evidence of his behaviour gave lie to that truth.

Exercising the best option, both men remained silent until James asked, “The third task?”

“It shall be in June, probably during the week of the 20th. There shall be a maze on the Quidditch Pitch leavened with various creatures, enchantments and plants. In the centre of the maze shall be the TriWizard cup. First to the cup wins the tournament. James…” he trailed off before regaining his courage. “I just want to tell you that I hold no animus towards Harry and shall not contact the Aurors about the Reductor curse he cast at me during the task. I understand more fully his emotional reaction. However, I'd caution you that most others will not be so understanding.”

James gave a short nod before he turned on his heel.

After the door closed behind, him, Albus turned to Minerva, “That could have gone better.”

Her raised eyebrow was her only reply. In this case, she sided much more with James than her old friend.

.oOo.

The next day, the teens had a break from their instruction. James and Sirius were slated to retake their seats as High Lords of the Wizengamot. Sirius had been unjustly stricken from the roll, his seat held in abeyance while the Potter seat was sat by the hereditary steward for the line, Arthur Weasley.

“Mr Weasley is the steward for our house?” Harry asked in a despairing tone.

Lily watched her son closely. Something was afoot here and she didn't like what she was seeing.

Frowning at his son's reaction, James nodded, “Yeah, he is. The second son of the Weasley family has always been our family's steward. There's even a house on the grounds for his family should he wish to live at the estate.”

Holding his head in his hands, Harry was silent while Hermione rubbed his back consolingly. Asking the question Harry was afraid to put voice to, she put to James, “Do you think Mr Weasley knew the extent of the Potter holdings as well as the Richmond and Potter titles?”

“Of course he did. He had to know in order to fulfil the most basic activities of his charge. The man had quarterly meetings with the bank to review our accounts.”

“Oh, God,” Harry moaned.

Alarmed, Lily moved to Harry's free side. As she sat, she noticed Hermione's pale face; the teen muttered, “It can't be…”

Showing a sensitiveness that wasn't always present, James asked, “What's wrong?” in a soft tone.

Harry gulped a few mouthfuls of air before shaking his head in negation. Lily looked to Hermione for explanation, her wide green eyes nearly demanding an answer from the witch who was nearly her daughter.

Staring straight ahead, Hermione began to tell of her and Harry's relationship with the Weasley family. The early friendship with Ron, Fred and George's rescue of Harry before second year, Mrs Weasley's concern and fondness for the young Harry and Mr Weasley's affable affection for both Harry and Hermione. How they took Harry into their home, showing him the love and affection for which he'd starved.

Trembling with rage, Lily took her son in one arm, reaching across his back to grasp Hermione's limp hand. Turning to her husband, her intent was clear. Oh, she'd known that Harry and Hermione were friends with the youngest Weasley boy for a time, but never this level of entanglement with the Steward's family.

James' narrowed eyes reflected her intent. Nodding to her, he leaned forward, taking his son's hands in his own. Lily whispered something she'd heard from Harry not so long before. Just loud enough for all of them to hear, she told Harry, “They don't matter…”

“Only the family matters,” he replied. Nodding, he looked up at his Dad for strength.

Over James' shoulder was Sirius, looking on with a decided expression. Giving his godson a reassuring nod, Padfoot echoed, “Only the family…”

`What do we do?” Hermione asked. Lily was surprised. Usually, the witch was very confident and self-assured. Now she seemed adrift at sea.

“We make `em pay,” Harry snarled.

“No,” James countered.

Looking up, The Boy-Who-Lived replied, “No?”

“No. I take this for action. I'm the head of the family, it's my task.” Harry seemed as if he were about to rebel, but gave in at the last moment, nodding in agreement.

Standing, James nodded to Lily. “I've some things to see to at home. I'll meet you in the atrium of the Ministry after the Convocation?”

Pulling him down for a kiss, she couldn't be prouder. Before he'd matured, James would have ranted and raved about the duplicity and two timing that it seemed the Weasley steward was culpable of executing. Now, he took charge and protected those whom he loved. Was there any wonder that she loved her man? After breaking their kiss, she answered, “The Atrium afterwards. We'll be there. I'll grab Neville also as we talked about. I agree that he should see this.”

Nodding, James gave his son one last clap on the back before he headed for the Floo. Lily couldn't help but smile when Sirius squatted on his haunches in front of the still pale Hermione. “You Ok, sweetie?”

Is this Sirius Black using a term of endearment for a girl he considers a daughter? I've to tell Remus this one.

Shrugging, the teen replied, “Not really, but I will be. Go, I'm sure you and James have some matters to discuss.”

Standing, he frowned at both teens. Harry nodded, “I'll be alright. Just a bit of a shock, yeah?”

Finally acquiescing, Padfoot nodded. “Atrium afterwards then. We'll go to a late lunch.” Turning to Hermione, he reminded her, “Black Family robes?”

She nodded, a bit of strength returning to her expression. “Got `em.”

After the Floo flare died down, Lily asked the teens, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“What's there to say?” Harry whispered. “They set me up to use me for my money. I wouldn't be surprised if they `borrowed' a few galleons.”

Her face sad, Hermione murmured, “We don't know that.”

“Why wouldn't he say anything, then? Why wouldn't any of them? They all had to know! Even Ginny and Ron had to know! This kind of thing isn't a secret!”

Seeing Harry's temper ramping up, Lily wrapped him in a hug, while telling him, “Easy, son. Easy…”

Eventually, he nodded, indicating to Lily that he was under control again.

“It doesn't make sense, though,” Hermione stated as she stared off into space. Turning back to the Potters, she explained, “The Weasleys' are dirt poor. While I'm sure that Mr Weasley's salary at the Ministry isn't a fortune, I would think that his pay as the Steward for the House of Richmond would more than offset any deficiencies…” Staring off into the ether, he mind jumped to different track.

“How did he have time for a job?” Focusing on Lily, Hermione asked, “I've seen what the Black family fortune entails and the management of that, in lieu of the Lord, would be a full time job. How did he have time to work his Ministry job?”

“I don't know, Hermione,” Lily replied. Both teens' crestfallen expressions pulled at her heartstrings. “I know you both must feel betrayed right now, but let's see what Arthur has to say for himself.”

Glancing at the clock, she stood, “We need to get cleaned up and changed if we're to be on time. Harry would you be a dear by making sure Neville is ready to go?” He nodded before silently standing.

As Lily headed toward her bedroom, she heard Harry whisper, “You're the only one who's ever been there for me. For `just Harry'.”

Hermione's reply, “Because I love you,” made Lily's heart sing.

.oOo.

Hermione emerged from the fire elegantly, Harry thought. Standing as tall as her five foot four allowed, she looked beautiful in her family robes. The large crest of the House of Blackmoor stood on her left breast. The gold embroidery about the cuffs of her robes indicated her status as heir to the line.

When they'd headed back to Gryffindor tower to change, she'd told him, “I'm a bit nervous about all this.” Seeing Harry's frown, she added, “Not about being declared a Black or Sirius' heir, but just the whole `Pretend Pureblood' thing and what people might say.” Before he could say anything, she smiled before adding in a sing song voice, “'Only the family matters', got it.”

Neville was ready and waiting, his dark green robes embroidered similar to Hermione's except the crest of Longbottom stood on his chest. The Longbottoms qualified as `Ancient' as they were one of the founding families of the Wizengamot, but weren't `Noble' as they had never been elevated to the Peerage. Harry had found out from Sirius that there were only five `Ancient and Noble' families: Black, Potter, Jones, Boot and Abbot, though Black and Potter were the only Earls. Jones, Boot and Abbot were either Viscounts or, in the case of Boot, a Baron.

Harry's robes of dark blue with the red Welsh dragon on the chest had the Richmond crest overlaid. He, too, had the gold embroidery about his cuffs signifying his status as an heir to the Lordship of his house. He thought he, Hermione and Neville cut a fine figure as they followed Lily to the Wizengamot Convocation Hall. Unlike the courtrooms, which were Spartan and utilitarian on purpose, the Convocation Hall was lushly apportioned with a large box for a viewing section. Family members of the delegates to the Wizengamot always had two seats available for spouses and heirs to watch the proceedings while the press had to jockey with the public in vying for the remaining twelve seats.

Lily was dressed in robes similar to those Harry was wearing. The design of the dragon and the crest of Richmond indicated her as the Countess Richmond. Contemptuous, Harry noticed that many of the Ministry workers scuttled out of their way as Lily strode briskly toward the Convocation Hall. Had she not been the Lady Richmond, The-Mother-Who-Lived, most would have nearly knocked her down, knowing that she was muggleborn. The hypocrisy of magical Britain staggered him at times.

In due course, the foursome settled in their seats. Hermione occupying the `heir' seat for Blackmoor was halfway across the balcony. Neville was a bit closer in his `heir' seat, but still too far away for discussion. Leaning into his Mum, Harry asked, “Is this going to be…”

“Boring as hell?” Lily finished with a grin. When Harry shrugged while smiling, she shrugged back. “I don't know. Before everything went to hell in a hand basket that Halloween night, I'd only attended once before becoming pregnant with you. Neither of us felt too comfortable with my appearing in public while pregnant, so I didn't attend any other Convocation until now.

Harry nodded in understanding. He decided to be patient, so he drew a shrunken book from his pocket. Holding it out to Lily, she tapped it, resizing it so he could continue his studies. Halfway through his reading about magical potentiality and how to realize it, he heard the Sergeant at Arms call out, “Hear Ye! Hear Ye! Lords and Ladies, Members and Proxy Members of the Wizengamot of Great Britain and Northern Ireland call you to readiness to serve the subjects of Her Royal Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, and of Her other Realms and Territories, Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith!”

Eyes wide, he met Hermione's surprised gaze, “The Queen?” Hermione mouthed.

Harry held up his hands in bewilderment. Turning to Lily, he asked, “The Queen?”

She whispered in reply, “Long story for later.”

“My Lords and Ladies, Members and Proxy Members of the Wizengamot, please be seated so we may begin,” Dumbledore was heard to call over the rumble of voices. The noise quickly subsided as the old man waited. Harry was impressed with the man's presence in the chamber. Standing tall and regal, he controlled the assembly through his position and sheer force of personality.

Of late, Harry's attitude toward the Headmaster had oscillated like a windsock in a typhoon . Toward the beginning of the year, he'd felt near reverence for the old man. He was a saviour and a hero; the wizard who'd saved him from the tortuous life he'd experienced in Surrey.

After the disclosures about Dumbledore's role in Harry's abusive upbringing, Harry had felt a hatred that bordered that for his now imprisoned Aunt and Uncle. The man had sent him to hell and left him there, unmonitored.

Now, he was more confused about how he felt toward the man. Hatred or grudging respect? Loathing or a realistic appreciation for the man's achievements? Most clearly, Harry didn't trust Dumbledore in any way, shape or form. Frowning, he thrust the ponderings aside as irrelevant.

“We celebrate an historic occasion this day,” Dumbledore began. Looking about the room, it seemed as if the old man made eye contact with all in the well apportioned chamber. “Today, we not only welcome back two of our members, but two High Lords of our Wizengamot. The Earl of Richmond and the Earl of Blackmoor return to us today; both heads of their families, both have lived through many trials and tribulations in order to return to us today, Both men stand before us today to be welcomed back to this august body of which their forefathers' stood as founders.”

James and Sirius stood tall in the doorway of the Convocation Hall. Dressed in their finest robes, the gold embroidery on their sleeves wound up to nearly their shoulders. After Dumbledore gave a short bow to the men, he intoned, “My Lords, will you retake the seats of your forefathers so that this body may gain from your wisdom and guidance?”

Harry's eyebrows rose at the flowery language. When he leaned into his mother to ask, she anticipated him. “Just rhetoric. They even asked the Lestrange seat the same question when it changed hands.”

With a wry smile, Harry turned back to watch the proceedings with keen interest.

.oOo.

“So, what did you think?” James asked his son. On Harry's other side, Hermione and Sirius were chatting, probably about the same topic, James reflected. Neville had a exam the next day in Charms, so he'd used the Floo to head back to school.

“Very interesting,” Harry replied with a hint of enthusiasm. “I was fully prepared to be bored to tears, but it was very interesting.” Prongs noticed a hint of aggression when Harry asked, “I noticed that Dumbledore was being especially nice and that Mr Weasley wasn't present.”

“Dumbledore, for all his faults, is invariably polite,” James replied, ignoring the second half of Harry's observation. It wasn't a topic to be discussed in the Ministry Atrium.

Catching his wife's eye, he asked, “Anthony's?” It was a four-star steak house that had a renowned lunch menu.

Lily nodded as she wrapped her arm in the crook of Hermione arm. Lily had become the self-appointed side along Apparator and general protector of the bushy haired witch, despite Sirius' protestations. Narrowing her eyes at Padfoot's protruding tongue, she Disapparated with a crack.

James took Harry, so it was a few minutes later when they were sat in a private room at the posh restaurant. Sirius ordered the wine for before while everyone studied his or her menu. He nearly began laughing when he heard Harry lean over to Hermione asking, “Do they have Bangers and Mash in all this?”

Her hissed reply of, “Harry!” was smothered under The Boy-Who-Lived's amused laughter. It was obvious to James that his son was winding the girl up so when she came to the same conclusion, he was ready for the change in expression from anger to annoyance to mild embarrassment.

With a hint of smugness, Prongs told Hermione, “Always remember that he's my son, too.”

“As if I could ever forget,” the teen muttered as she went back to her menu.

The meal passed quickly. All were hungry as the Convocation lasted far longer than expected. The Minister `was so moved by the return of the brave and noble members' that he felt `compelled' to speak for forty very long minutes extolling their virtues.

Sirius was less than impressed. “I'm wonderful and yet the order for The Kiss for me was still in effect a few short months ago. Hmmm…what a jackass.”

James shrugged it off. Even though he was a member of the Wizengamot, he didn't consider himself a politician. The belief that politicians were parasites and scum was integral to his worldview. The protracted self-important arse kissing from Fudge merely reinforced that belief.

On the way to the Floo fireplace for the restaurant, Harry tugged his sleeve. “Dad? Can we talk about the steward situation when we get back?”

James frowned. He had an idea about the whole situation, but wanted to bounce it off Lily first. Talking with Harry couldn't hurt anything, though. “Sure.”

Harry must have spoken to Hermione beforehand, because when they arrived back at the castle, she just squeezed Harry's hand before wordlessly heading back to Gryffindor tower to change her clothes.

Heading into the spare bedroom, James plopped into the chair by the fire, motioning for Harry to join him. “What's on your mind?”

Cutting to the chase, Harry told his Dad, “I want to be there when you confront Mr Weasley.”

Leaning back in the chair, Prongs rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Why is that?” When Harry looked at him with a hint of incredulity, James amended, “I think I know the reason, but I don't want to assume that I'm right.”

Visibly deflating, Harry leaned back in the chair, the internal fires quenching. “I just want to know why. Why they lied, why they befriended me and why…” he looked away. “Was it all a game for them? Did they think it was funny? `Hey, watch Potter beg for affection from Mum?' was that their idea of a good time?”

The bitterness in Harry's voice was palpable. “Arthur doesn't strike me as that kind of man. While Molly is a bit controlling…”

Harry interrupted, “A bit?”

Rolling his eyes, James continued, “Alright, a lot controlling. Even though they have their flaws, I doubt they were sadistic enough to be like that.”

“Maybe…”

James felt a pinch in his heart as he saw another bit of his son's innocence slip away. Harry had suffered in so many ways over the years, that James felt helpless to stem this tide. “If it makes you feel better, you can be there, but it's just the two of us. Your mother and Hermione won't be there as this is official family business. I can square your presence due to your status as the Heir of the house, but no more.”

Harry nodded, grimly relieved.

Clapping his son on the shoulder, he encouraged him, “Lighten up. It's not the end of the world. Go find your pretty girlfriend so she can drag you into a broom closet for a bit.” When Harry blushed as he smiled, James added, “Seriously though, don't get worked up. Only…”

“The family matters,” Harry finished.

“Right.”

.oOo.

Remus looked up from his books. He'd been tasked by Filius to develop a regimen of spell work and rune enchantment so that Harry and Hermione would be able to control their magic with pinpoint accuracy as regards to power level applied in their spells. When it was complete, he would review it with Filius and Lily.

Easier said than done.

Despite the `little present' he'd left for Sirius, he was a bit down. Just like in school, he was alone. James had Lily, Sirius was beginning to regain his life (he'd been on three dates with Hestia Jones) and once again, Moony was alone.

Rubbing his face, he tried to shake off the self-pity. Being a lycanthrope was a difficult cross to bear at all times of the month, not just the three days of the full moon. Some Healers have speculated that an extension of the curse was a depressive personality that developed in the afflicted. Others hypothesized that the lifestyle of a werewolf was so `unfortunate' that depression was a result.

Either way, Remus was depressed.

He was beginning to get a handle on the programme that Filius had tasked him to create. The first stages were easy for he had leveraged well-known spells. Given their demonstration over the holidays, he was starting the teens with the Siege Engine spell as their baseline. He's smiled as he shook his head when he wrote that spell as the first in the series. As with the Patronus charm, most wizards and witches couldn't cast the Siege Engine, much less be standing afterwards. The rest of the list delved into the deepest reaches of magic of which mainline British magical society had never heard.

Conjuration of living animals, animation of noble metal statues, permanent enchantment of objects and the like were all on the list. He'd solicited his friends for ideas as well, resulting in Lily's addition of solo casting of high-powered wards, which Sirius had not only echoed but provided a list. Now Harry and Hermione would be learning how to cast transfiguration wards along with Memory charm and Confundus wards. Remus had been aware that the mental affecting wards were high power sumps, but had no idea how much magical power had been required. A quick check with James had resulted in Moony scheduling Rowan Hill to be warded with a Hostile Confusion ward, which would drive off any invaders who possessed ill intent. The notes for the ritual were eleven pages long but Padfoot and Moony expected both teens to cast the ward over the next weekend.

Focusing on his work helped, somewhat. Nevertheless, in the end, Remus Lupin lived a loveless life. A very sensitive man, he screamed for a mate, a person with whom he could share all of himself, but who would want to share their life with a slavering monster? No one, that's who.

The opening door distracted him from his morose thoughts.

“Hullo James, how'd it go?” Remus asked disinterestedly as he returned to his books.

“Fine. I need to talk to you about something fairly important.”

Frowning, Remus looked up. Since returning to the time stream, Prongs had changed significantly. Where he'd once been a jolly, mischievous man who would occasionally lapse into seriousness, his old friend's personality seemed to flip. Now, he would occasionally slip into `Prongs' where most of the time, he was `Lord Richmond'. No doubt Harry's upbringing and his own perception of his failure as a father was the root cause.

Indicating the empty chair across from him, Remus asked, “What's on your mind?”

“Tomorrow, I'm going to give Arthur Weasley the sack as steward of the house of Richmond.”

Remus nodded, he'd expected that since the discussion earlier in the day. Lily had filled him in on the particulars. Remus felt a bit of culpability, for it never occurred to him to explain to Harry, and to a lesser extent Hermione, about Arthur's role in the Potter family.

“I completely understand,” Remus replied when James fell silent.

The following look that James gave his old friend gave Moony the shivers. The intensity and raw emotion was startling. “I need you to do something very important for me and my family, Remus.”

Surprised at being addressed by his name, for despite the changes in James, he still addressed his lycanthropic friend as Moony. In all sincerity, Remus replied, “Anything. You've but to name it.”

James' eyes flashed in triumph. “Then be the new steward for my house. You and your heirs.”

Nonplussed, Remus stared. Finally, he croaked, “James…” in a weak protest.

Gaze unwavering, James pressed, “I need you to do this, Remus.”

“No,” Remus replied with the hint of a snarl. He'd always been a bit vain about his finances, now his pride was screaming that this was charity from his wealthy friend. “I am well off enough in my own right now due to your bequest; I don't need any more of the Potter gold.”

Remus pushed his chair back when James exploded out of his chair, incensed. “Damn you Moony! You just said `anything' didn't you? This isn't about you, you bloody prick!”

Infuriated, James swept Remus' books from the table. “You're the only one I trust! Only you, Remus! This isn't about your problem, damn your stiff neck!”

As the last shout echoed through the room, Remus stood, “Really? Then why now?”

Rolling his eyes, James replied, “You stupid pillock. Just this morning I found out that my current steward completely abnegated his responsibilities to the point where he never identified himself to his supposed overlord. With everyone believing that Lils and I died, Harry was his Lord, yet he told him nothing.”

More softly, Prongs beseeched his friend, “Dammit Moony, I need you. You're the only one I trust. As much as I love him, Sirius is barely getting through his days; Azkaban hurt him too deeply. On top of it, he has his own business to manage. Harry is far too young and has a fairly important task that takes priority,” he snarked. “I trust you. Lily trusts you. We both agree that we need you to do this.”

“But,” Remus whispered, “I'd be your employee, not your friend.”

The slap on his cheek was unexpected.

Looking at his friend, with shocked surprise, Remus gaped at James who stood there glaring and panting with emotion.

“You are first, last and always Remus Lupin, Moony of the Marauders and one of my closest friends. You will be the godfather of any other children Lily and I are blessed with having. The reason I offer this position to you is because I know that you can do this and not let it interfere with our relationship. Never, ever, imply that you are my employee. You are my brother.” James' puffing eased as he calmed somewhat.

“Sorry,” Remus offered. “You're right. It would never happen. I'm sorry.”

James reply was to pull his brother into a rough embrace. “I don't know if I've ever said it, but I love you, Moony. We're all of us standing into danger and I want you to know that I respect and love you like few other men. Sirius and my father are the only others in the same category.”

Blinking in surprise for James had revered his father; Remus merely hugged his brother in return before murmuring, “Very well. I'll do it.”

At that moment, Sirius barged into the room. James turned before immediately falling to the floor in hysterics. Remus grinned widely; his prank had finally born fruit.

Sirius stood there with his skin blaze orange while purple polka dots marched across the bridge of his nose before doing a lap around his face. His poison green hair stood up in a three foot Mohawk. The miasma emanating from the rear of Padfoot was reminiscent of a cesspool. “Which of you fuckers did this?” he squeaked in a high pitched voice.

Moony's grin became a chuckle. “Mischief managed.”

.oOo.

Hermione was in the library doing her best to control her more `primal' instincts. Whenever he looks at me like that…urgh, I can't get anything done!

More plainly, she wanted to shag her boyfriend's brains out.

Harry was sitting across from her, his nose deep in a charms text as he studied the basics behind healing magic. They'd all agreed that both teens needed a basic healing course, similar to that which soldiers receive as part of their instruction in the armies of the world.

Offering to take the lead on the studying, Harry had diligently culled books from the library's surprisingly massive collection of healing texts. A few gems had been found which focused exactly on their needs. The Casualty Healer's Guide was far too in depth, but steered him in the right direction.

Hermione reflected on his efforts causing her to smile. She'd always known that Harry was smart. She'd also known that he was extremely attractive. Put the two together and she arrived with one very distracted and bothered Smartest Witch of the Age.

Shaking her head in the hope to clear her thoughts, she readdressed her own reading. This ward that Sirius and Remus had them casting this weekend was a big one. She had completed the Arithmantic equations to cast the ward and to integrate it into the complex ward schema at Rowan Hill. The seven pages of differential equations was a wonderfully complex task into which she threw herself. Comparing her results to Lily's, Remus' and Sirius' she was proud that they were all within tolerance levels of each other. The simple part was left; casting a ward that would leave her and Harry drained for a day or so.

What about the Weasleys'? she wondered to herself. That hurt ran deep. Despite her and Ronald's constant bickering, she did see him as a friend. Hermione didn't have too many friends so the appearance that he'd never been a friend at all hurt her deeply.

I can't even imagine how Harry feels. Betrayal and hurt compounded with anger and resentment with an undercurrent of fear, most likely. Thank God, his parents returned to his life, they'd probably saved his life.

Tomorrow James was going to confront Mr Weasley and Harry was going to be there. They'd already discussed the issue and she was going to remind him of the thing that they'd discussed. Don't Say Anything. Let Your Dad Handle Everything.

It was interesting. For in the previous few weeks Harry had been `the calm one' in most situations, some of which he'd even calmed his parents and `adult' relatives. She felt good that she was able to be there for him when he displayed his admirable humanity. Harry was far from perfect; she knew that. However, he was perfect for her.

He didn't like their mutually agreed path of silent observation during the forthcoming discussion, but agreed it was probably the best course of action. The anger and other emotions he'd already shown were very strong and neither of them wanted him to derail the discussion. All the Potters wanted the truth from Arthur but Hermione was afraid that the reason would circle back to Dumbledore. The old Headmaster had proven to be a meddler when it suited his worldview.

She was even more afraid that it wouldn't come back to the man because then it meant the Weasleys' were probably just common thieves.

Looking across the table again, she saw him watching her. Her breath caught in her throat when he smiled that damnable smile. Giving in to her desires, she stood. While extending her hand across the table, she told him, “Come on. We've some very serious things to discuss in your parents' suite.”

Puzzled, he took her hand as they left their books on the table. “We do?”

“Yes. In the guest room.”

Smiling like the cat with the canary, he echoed, “You're right, we do have very important discussions to work through.”

She squeaked when he pinched her bum, but smiled nonetheless.

.oOo.

Harry was alone as he paced in his father's study. James was in the library looking for a few things as they waited for Arthur Weasley to arrive. He and Hermione had discussed it repeatedly: you must remain calm. Anger and other emotion will only make a tense situation that much the worse.

But damn if he wasn't mad as hell.

All his life at the Dursleys' they'd made Harry the fool, the freak. He thought he'd be free of that once he left them behind, but it seemed all too clear that he was once again being made the fool. Arthur Weasley, a man whom he'd once liked very much and even tentatively respected - which was a significant feat for a boy who had been so abused - Arthur had played him the fool it seemed.

Back and forth he paced, his anger waxing and waning as he remembered Hermione's counsel, “Be the man I know you can be.” They had been cuddling in bed, awash in the afterglow of their love. Could he let her down by succumbing to his thirst for retribution? Never.

A startling thought occurred to him. “Rauri,” he called with a hint of a tremor in his voice.

The next moment, a pop sounded as the house elf appeared. Bowing stiffly, he asked, “My Lord?”

Cutting to the chase, Harry asked, “Rauri, why did you never try to find me when I was a baby?”

The usually stoic house elf quickly melted into a puddle of remorse. “I am sorry, my Lord. I could tell that you were alive, but try as I might, I could not find you. Falling to his knees, he prostrated himself, “I know of your sufferings and had I tried harder, I'm sure I could have found you. I…I…”

The elf was weeping now. Moved by his obvious and sincere remorse, Harry fell to his knees. Gathering the old elf into his arms, Harry murmured, “I forgive you Rauri. I'm sure that you did your best in trying to find me.”

“Every day, my Lord. Every day for half the day I searched Britain for you.”

With a small smile, Harry ventured, “And for the other half you attended your duties here?” to which the now sniffling house elf nodded. “Do you know why you couldn't find me?”

“No, my Lord. There was strong magic about you that interfered with my usual sensing of your presence. Since you returned to the house over Halloween, I've always been able to find you, even at Hogwarts.” After a sniffle, he whispered, “I'm sorry.”

“You are a good and loyal elf, Rauri. You have my thanks and gratitude for your service.” Hermione wasn't the only person to read the etiquette books.

“My Lord is too kind,” the old elf replied as he wiped his face.

Shaking his head, Harry countered, “No, you are too kind. That will be all, Rauri. I give you my thanks for your efforts past and present.”

With an extremely deep bow, Rauri popped away. It was with a sad smile that Harry heaved himself into the chair next to the fire. Running his hands through his hair, he tried to calm down. It'd been a shock when he realized that Rauri had never come for him. The evidence that house elves always knew where their family was had thrown him. He'd come to care for the family retainer and the moment of panic engendered by his realization had been disturbing. He'd wondered if Rauri had chosen not to rescue Harry. The question before him now was why couldn't Rauri find him?

Knowing next to nothing about House Elves and their abilities, he decided to shelve the discussion. He'd just heard the Floo roar in the entry hall. Arthur Weasley had arrived.

Before Harry was ready, the door to the study opened. A pasty-faced Arthur preceded James into the room. Harry's eyes snapped to the man's face. The usually happy expression was long gone. The eyes that usually twinkled in mirth or curiosity were dull as he avoided Harry's searching gaze.

Frustrated at the man's avoidance, Harry hissed, “Good morning, Mr Weasley.”

Slowly, Arthur lifted his head. His expression sad, he nodded, “Good morning, Harry.”

“Don't you mean, `my Lord'?” Harry harshly countered.

Wincing, the patriarch of the cadet branch of the Weasley family nodded. “Yes, that's true. I apologize, my Lord.”

James followed Arthur into the room, glaring at Harry as he mouthed, “Not now.” This was neither the time nor place for the young man to vent his spleen. Feeling a bit ashamed for losing control, Harry nodded to his father in a mute apology.

James took his seat behind his massive mahogany desk, Harry stood at his father's shoulder. Arthur was not invited to sit.

“I've spent the previous few days with the goblins at Gringotts. You've done fairly well, steward. Not only does it appear that none of our funds are missing nor did any investments lose their value due to negligence or mismanagement, but you've grown the trust a modest four percent over the last thirteen years.”

James paused, watching Arthur. Finally, the redheaded man replied, “Thank you, my Lord. I have strived to fulfil the obligation of my forefathers.”

James narrowed his eyes, “Then explain your behaviour toward my son. To the world at large, Lady Richmond and I were dead, so our son was your overlord. Why did you fail to inform him of not only your role, but his position and his assets?”

It was the decisive moment. Harry gritted his teeth as he curled his nails into his palm to keep from lashing out at the man. It was a bit anti-climactic, though.

Arthur's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. His face showed an internal strain, but the man was unable to speak.

Completely confused, Harry nearly missed his father's sigh of frustration. Leaning back in his chair, James asked, “Let's try this. I shall ask `yes' or `no' questions. If the answer is no, leave the room, then come back. Understand?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Arthur replied with a hint of relief in his voice.

“Are you under a secrecy spell of some kind?”

The steward of the family stayed in his spot.

“Do you know who placed you under this spell?” Arthur left the room.

“Damn,” James muttered. Raking his hand through his unruly hair, he stared at his desk as Arthur re-entered the room. Turning to Harry, his father told him, “That's why he didn't tell you, he was unable to speak of it.”

“But what of his family?” Harry countered with a hint of aggression. James' cocked eyebrow was sufficient to cow The Boy-Who-Lived.

Turning back to Arthur, James asked, “Did your family know of your stewardship for our estate?”

The frustration was back on the man's face so James narrowed the question. “Did your wife know?”

With a sigh of relief, Arthur stayed put. “Is she under the same spell?” The perplexed expression on Arthur's face led James to conclude, “You don't know. Does Ronald or Ginevra or any of your older children know of your duties?”

Arthur left the room.

“Damn!” Harry exclaimed.

He wanted to yell, rant and rave at the man. He wanted to expiate all the pain and sense of betrayal he felt by tearing the man to virtual shreds, but here it seems that the entire family was either bound in some secrecy spell or ignorant of the situation.

“Look, we know some things,” James told his son as Arthur returned. Indicating the older man with his thumb, James listed, “We know that he was bound in this spell when his oldest was young and after we were sent into the ether. Therefore, that had to happen in late '81 or early '82. That leaves the next question, `Who would gain by isolating you from your inheritance?' The world believed your Mum and me dead, so it was Harry and the Potter trust, not James and Potter trust that was the target.”

Harry nearly growled, “Dumbledore?”

Shrugging his reply, James turned back to Arthur. “Despite the good work you've done, I'm sure you realize why you'll no longer be our steward; you'll be unable to communicate with my heir about the status of his estate when he inherits. You know Remus Lupin,” they'd all been in the Order during the First War, “Contact him at Hogwarts to begin the turnover of your accounts and duties.”

Through his bewilderment, Harry saw his father impulsively reach for a scrap of parchment. Scribbling down a number, James folded it before handing it to the now fired Potter steward. “This shall be your severance pay, I'll have it transferred to your vaults. I'm sorry it has to be this way, Arthur, but you and presumably your heirs can't function in your hereditary roles any longer.”

Harry barely noticed his father rising to escort Arthur to the Floo. Slumping into his chair, Harry tried to wrap his head around what just happened. Arthur Weasley and the Potters. Arthur Weasley and the family money. Arthur Weasley and Harry's role…

“Dad,” Harry began as a thought occurred to him.

“Yeah?” James replied as he flopped on the couch.

“What if the goal wasn't to separate me from the family legacy, but to separate Mr Weasley from our family?”

Eyes round, James stared off into the distance. “Hunh. But why?”

“Why keep me away from our legacy?” Harry countered.

Rolling his eyes, James mock beckoned to Harry, “Because we're bloody rich and keeping you away from our massive vaults keeps you under wraps.”

“But that indicates Dumbledore,” Harry concluded.

“Or a Death Eater.” When Harry scrunched his face in disbelief, James added, “They would want you weak and an easy target. Living with that scum that Albus sent you to had you pretty downtrodden, yeah?”

His face closing a bit, Harry nodded as he looked at the ground.

The cushion sinking caused Harry to look into his father's eyes as James settled next to his son. “It's not your fault,” James whispered, a hint of a tear in his eye. “You did nothing wrong, but someone like Lucius Malfoy wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of that state of affairs.”

“How would he know?”

“Hire an investigator.”

“Oh.”

“He'd also do it for petty vengeance. On more than one occasion the Potter family has stuck it to those bloody invaders in the Wizengamot.”

Half smiling, Harry asked, “Invaders?”

“Yeah, those Norman pricks. Bunch of Johnny come lately-s. Think their shite doesn't stink and butterflies and sunshine emanate from their collective superior arses.”

Now Harry was chuckling as he smiled. He knew his Dad was trying to cheer him up, but that didn't distract him. It made him love his father even more.

“How much did you give him for severance?” Harry asked.

“Hundred thousand galleons.”

Harry whistled at the amount, but wasn't surprised. His Dad was generous, and it was a fraction of what Arthur had earned for the family. The severance was for not only Arthur, but his heirs as well. Nodding, he relaxed a bit.

“This stuff is pretty stressful,” Harry admitted.

“Yeah.” After a moment of silence, James playfully slapped Harry's thigh, “Come on. This deserves a visit to Quality Quidditch Supplies. We'll get some tickets to the next United match and maybe browse for something wonderful for our brilliant ladies in Storio Ale. I like the Cardiff shopping area better than Diagon Alley, there's usually not so many crowds.”

Smiling, Harry jumped to his feet. He'd been thinking about a gift for Hermione but hadn't the time to get away from the school without her at his side. Following his Dad to the Floo, he had a fleeting thought about how wonderful it was to do something so ordinary with his Father.

.oOo.

The whole family had gathered. James' message to Lily, “We're fine, unexpected developments. Will return for dinner,” had Sirius frothing at the mouth all afternoon. It was endearing to Hermione to see Sirius so concerned for his godson. Nonetheless, everyone waited in James and Lily's suite for the afternoon.

Remus was still working out the power exercises. Hermione read Arithmancy, asking Sirius a question now and again while Lily was brewing Remus' Wolfsbane. “I'm a far better brewer than Severus has ever been,” she commented to break the silence. “Technically he's a good brewer, but he has no subtlety.”

Hermione had supressed a snicker at the comment. It was rather amusing for Lily to accuse Snape of having no subtlety, as it was the dour Potion Master's favourite epithet towards Harry and Neville.

Other than Lily's potion progressing in its natural course, no one got much accomplished. Every few minutes, Hermione was checking the clock to see how much longer it was until five, when Harry and James were expected to return.

Finally, the fireplace fired green as the Floo connection opened. Of course, Harry tumbled out first shortly followed by James elegantly stepping out of the fireplace. Hurrying to her young man, she helped him to his feet after casting a quick Cleansing charm.

Disregarding the packages in his hands, she asked, “How did it go?”

His expression was a bit confused with a hint of frustration. “Strangely,” he replied. Motioning to the table, he added, “Dad'll explain it. It didn't go as expected.”

Forcing herself to be patient, she occupied herself by pouring tea for Sirius, Harry and her. After arranging her tea (one sugar), Harry's (milk with one sugar) and Sirius' (far too much sugar for any human to safely consume), she sat next to Harry to hear James' explanation.

“Well, it seems that Arthur is under a binding spell or potion that prevents him from speaking to a Potter about his being the steward of our estates.”

Flummoxed, she sat there staring at her boyfriend's father for a long minute before he brain re-engaged. She'd been bracing herself for betrayal by the Weasleys or subterfuge and manipulation from the Headmaster, but not this.

“But who cast this spell or applied the potion?” Hermione and Lily asked at the same time.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Harry smile. Sirius and Remus were still staring open mouthed at their old friend while Lily and Hermione wore the same narrow-eyed inquiring expression.

“Arthur didn't know, or so he claimed,” James answered as he sat back in his chair. Flopping his head back, he stared at the ceiling as he held up the first finger on his hand, “Harry and I batted it back and forth. It could be Dumbledore trying to keep his Child of Prophecy under his thumb by denying him access to the family funds.”

Hermione bristled at the thought, but she'd expected that to be a possibility. James held up the next finger on his hand, “Or it could be a Death Eater who was trying to exact revenge on Harry for his unwitting defeat of Voldemort. Said Death Eater didn't know where Harry was, but it was fairly common knowledge that Arthur was the family steward. He or she could be acting against Harry through Weasley.”

The next finger ticked up, “It's an unpleasant thought, but it's possible that Weasley cast the spell on himself and Molly in order to embezzle funds. The Goblins haven't found anything missing, but with a fortune as large as ours…”

“It's easy to miss a few thousand here and there,” Sirius finished with a growl.

Nodding, James ticked up the fourth finger, “Or, heaven help us, it's a completely unknown player with completely unknown motives.”

Hermione groaned. That was worst case. What if it was someone completely outside of the Voldemort War circle of aggression? What if a family with a six-century-old grievance against the Potters was attempting to exact vengeance? How was she supposed to discover a completely faceless aggressor with unidentified aims?

“Well, that just sucks arse.”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione snarked, “Thanks, Sirius, that's ever so helpful.”

“Well, I'm just saying…” his smile was evident in his tone.

“Shut it, Sirius,” Lily commanded in a distracted tone. “This is bad.”

“Yes, it is,” Remus agreed as he stared off into space, deep in thought. Rousing, he asked, “Are Arthur and Molly willing to submit to testing to determine the nature of the curse?”

Nodding, James answered, “He indicated they were.”

“So we start there,” Lily announced. Standing, she began to pace. “First we isolate the type of magic and then, if we can, determine the duration it's been in place.” Muttering to herself, she tapped her nose as she thought. “But that won't tell us `who', only `when'.”

Glancing about the room, she announced, “I'm going for a walk. I'll be back in a bit.”

Hermione looked to Sirius for an explanation. Shrugging, he elaborated, “She does this. There's a problem that she worries like a dog with a bone. Instead of chewing, she walks. I think she must have walked a gajillion miles during OWL and NEWT years.”

An unsettled expression settled on Padfoot's expression. Standing he narrowed his eyes at James. “I think I'll take a little walk, too.”

The relieved reply from James, “Thanks, mate,” confused Hermione until Harry piped up.

“Should I go, too?”

Divining Sirius' intent now, she rolled her eyes, “Your Mum is a big girl now Harry. She's duelled Voldemort on more than one occasion.”

“So?” Harry countered, his voice hard. Taken aback by his tone, she looked to him. Seeing his eyes narrowed, she waited for him to explain. “I'd do the same for you and anyone else I love. It's not that I think Mum can't take care of herself, it's more that she's too precious to lose.”

Deciding that this wasn't some `stupid guy thing', she gave him the benefit of the doubt. “I understand, but think that Sirius is bodyguard enough.” Turning to the preoccupied James, she asked, “He'll be Padfoot?”

Prongs reply was a curt nod.

Nodding to herself, she stood to dig up the book she'd found a few days ago. Magical Diagnoses should prove to be interesting reading right about now.

.oOo.

The Dog was Man, yet the Man was Dog.

The huge Grim trotted down the halls of the castle, his nose automatically finding the scent for which he searched. His unerring senses shortly brought him alongside the redheaded witch.

Flopping open, the muzzle of the Grim gave a wide doggy smile when she didn't notice his presence for a few minutes. Finally, she gave a start when she noted the two hundred pound dog walking next to her.

“Dammit, Padfoot! You scared the shit out of me,” Lily chastised the Dog with a smile on her face.

His soft wuf wuf was his only reply.

Frowning, she asked, “Are you my bodyguard?”

Becoming Man once again, Sirius replied, “There are two Death Eaters in the castle, LIls. I knew you'd hurt Prongs if he trotted after you, so I came instead.”

Nodding absently, she muttered, “Thanks,” before resuming her trek.

Knowing her mind was driving her body to move, he didn't take her behaviour seriously. Becoming Dog again, he fell into step with her, a dozen or so paces behind her. It was far enough back so that she wouldn't be distracted by his presence, but close enough so that he could intervene should something untoward occur. He had enough practice in the Forbidden Forest keeping Moony under wraps to know the full capabilities of Dog.

The scents of the castle were always overwhelming. Food from the great hall, the horrid stink from the potions laboratories, the rank smell of unwashed teenager and the funk of a castle that had stood for over a thousand years combined to create a series of odours that were decidedly unpleasant.

Used to it from so many years ago, he shoved it aside, focusing on his hearing to discern any threat to his cousin-in-law who was a sister in all but blood.

There was a rustling ahead that preceded a haughty voice which called, “Look, it's the Mudblood-Who-Wouldn't-Have-The-Good-Manners-To-Die.”

Beginning to run, he heard Lily reply, “You little shite. I've killed better men than you'll ever be. Run away, little boy. I'll let you live if you say sorry before scuttling back to your hole. I've not forgotten your part in my son's injuries not that long ago.”

Dog could now see a group of youngsters who were thoroughly cowed by the irate witch. He could smell alcohol and a potion that was fashionable amongst the young, wealthy and stupid as it created a high that was unmatched by muggle narcotics.

“Apologize to a Mudblood whore?” Malfoy laughed. “You stupid cunt…” The intoxicated boy never finished his thought as the enormous Dog landed on his chest after a mighty leap. Both tumbled to the ground as the other intoxicated teens shouted incoherently.

Quickly becoming Man again, Sirius stood over his undesirable cousin's spawn. Draco paled when he recognized the Lord of the house of Blackmoor. “My Lord…”

The slap to the boy's cheek silenced him.

“Maggot,” Sirius hissed. “You dare say those things.” The hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“I've already summoned Minerva. She'll deal with these children.” Her dismissal of the Malfoy heir seemed to infuriate the boy further. Catching her drift, Sirius smiled as he casually placed his foot on Draco's hand. He put just enough weight on his foot to hurt the boy, but not break any bones.

“Are you well, milady?” Sirius asked with a serious expression behind the light tone.

“I'm well, thank you, my Lord. These little vermin have actually helped me solve a little piece of my riddle for the evening.”

The other students groaned when they heard the exchange. Sirius smiled, as he knew their parents were going to rout them for this incredible insult. The Potters and Blacks were not only incredibly well known, but also incredibly wealthy. The approaching hurried footsteps of Minerva made the crowd groan once again.

“You just wait, you fucking Mudblood,” Draco hissed from the ground. Glaring at Sirius, he said, “You Blood Traitor, you and your whore there will get what's coming to you soon enough.”

“Mister Malfoy!”

Minerva had arrived, it was time for Padfoot and Lily to depart.

.oOo.

Holding hands, they headed back to the tower. “I have no idea how to feel right now.”

She looked at him with a small smile, “I know how you feel.”

Harry shook his shaggy head, “I was all ready to hate Mr Weasley or find more reasons to hate Dumbledore but now…”

“Now we've one more riddle in front of us,” Hermione finished for him as she wound her arm behind his back. She lay her head on his shoulder for a moment before adding, “Which is just the latest mystery.”

Searching his memory, he eventually twigged her meaning; who were the Death Eaters who attacked her and Sirius in the Alley? Were they acting on their own or under orders from some unnamed (or worse yet a named) leader?

The entire family had discussed this many times. It was highly unlikely that Voldemort had forgotten that he'd sent the Potters forward in time, so James had been adamant that everyone in the extended family be on their guard. As the Dark Lord had shown in the teens' first year, even as a wraith he could command his followers

Harry had snarled, “Pettigrew,” to which all present nodded in agreement.

They'd all been expecting attacks from the remnants of, or a reconstituted force of Death Eaters, but none had happened. That, combined with Dumbledore's games, had the family cycling from tense to relaxed and back.

“So, the Weasleys'?” Harry asked, bringing her back to the present.

Shaking her head in mild exasperation, she told him, “I think we play it by ear. Ron's stopped his stupid comments, which is nice. Ginny's cold shoulder has run its course.” Smiling she leaned into her boyfriend which caused a shiver of thrill to run up his spine, “You know she still wants you.”

“Too bad. I'm yours,” he growled playfully before pulling her into an alcove to snog for a moment. A few moments later, they were back on the move.

“I guess we just play it by ear. “

“Hmm,” he mused. “I hate to say it, but I don't think that I can trust Mr and Mrs Weasley. Even if we find out that they were completely innocent in this whole matter, I don't think…” he trailed off, his tone bleak.

Wrapping her arm in his, she was silent. Much was learned, yet little had been resolved.

.oOo.

“Is everyone ready?”

“Not yet, my Lord. I've contacted all but three names on the list. The rest are ready to do your bidding at the appointed hour.”

“And the other three?”

“We know where two are: one is faithful, the other is unknown. I've just learned that the last is also with the other two. He is a traitor.”

“Very good, Wormtail. You've done surprisingly well. Surprisingly well…”

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first eight chapters. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on FanFiction(dot)net.

2. Recommendation for the chapter is Mage Rising by DeusExMatty. An interesting story about how a few changes during the Battle for the Department of Mysteries change the timeline. Hopefully, the author will continue.

3. My apologies to all. Last chapter I said that the Black Forest was in Bavaria. Barkeeper has informed me that it is NOT in Bavaria, but rather in Baden-Württemberg. Thanks Barkeeper for the pickup.

4. I'm scared. This story was going to end when the family returned to Hogwarts after becoming better acquainted. I was going to do some quick fades through the tasks and we'd be at the end. I figured about 50-60k words. The problem was that Chapter Five wouldn't stop. It was supposed to be the end of the story, then Snape had to show up being his nasty self after which Lily handed him his arse. The story just kept rolling. Here I am at Chapter 9 and am approaching 110k words. Oh, crap.

This chapter has broken the story wide open. You see, I don't sketch out a story ahead of time. That approach to a story kills my muse quickly (that's what happened with To Stand Against the Darkness). Usually, I have an opening scene/image that starts it along with a general direction e.g.: kill Voldemort. I try to get my head around the characters in order to let them drive the story. Their decisions and actions drive the plot (you know, like in real life?). I've no idea where the story is going, but I feel like I just stepped into the abyss. This story is going to be fucking huge and that scares the crap out of me. Stand by for much much more.

Chapter complete 9/25/2011

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10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

“So it was a potion.”

James leaned back on the headboard, handing the test results to his wife. Lily was far his superior in the subtle science and exact art, so he let her examine the letter that had just arrived.

They were currently in bed, naked as the day they'd been born. Things had been stressful since Christmas, so Lily had told him, “A mid-afternoon romp is called for.” Who was he to quibble with such a provoking argument?

The owl had perfect timing, too. Ten minutes `after'. Good show Mr Tawny Owl.

“So?” he asked after a minute. Arthur and Molly had quickly assented to an in-depth medical evaluation and diagnoses. It was intrusive, unpleasant and required if they were to find out the mysterious assailant of the Weasleys.

“Well, the testing was very thorough. It looks like Arthur had a compound fracture of his leg when he was five years, three months and four days old. Do you want to know the details of all of Molly's pregnancies?” Her smile was wide.

James shivered. “That would be, `No'.”

“Right…Molly had torn tendons in her hand when she was twenty five…here we go. They were both administered a massive dose of the Draught of Binding in January of Nineteen Eighty Two…oh shite.”

“What?” he asked. Her bleak curse startled him and truth be told scared him a bit.

“Molly was placed under the Imperius curse on December thirty first of eighty one at ten fifteen in the evening.”

“Oh God. The Ministry New Year's Eve Ball.” He rolled over to his back and stared at the stone ceiling. “Why can't it be easy? Anyone could have placed her under the curse and subsequently forced her to brew and administer the potion.”

“Exactly,” Lily groaned.

“So it could be anyone from Dumbledore to a Death Eater like Malfoy or some unknown persons.” He paused, cynicism rearing its head, he added, “Or Weasley could have hit his wife with the curse to cover their tracks.”

“Yep.”

“Bloody buggering shite.”

“Yep.”

They lay there for along minute. His mind kept coming back to a possible solution that he wanted to discard for a host of reasons. Laying there, staring at the ceiling, he fought the idea, but it wouldn't go away. Giving in to the persistent thought, he asked, “What do you think about Peter?”

“I was wondering when you'd say that.”

Turning his head, he looked at her. Her auburn hair was wonderfully mussed and she still had that `recently shagged' afterglow, but the serious expression on her face drowned any lascivious ideas that surfaced for him. “Explain,” he whispered.

“Peter had motive and opportunity.”

James closed his eyes. For all he hated his former friend, Prongs was still besieged with memories of Peter, Wormtail of the Marauders. It was completely incongruous with the idea of Pettigrew the Death Eater. Pettigrew the betrayer. This time, as he lay next to his wife, the memories of past fun, friendship and camaraderie didn't inspire longing for a lost brother. This time it incited a fury he'd hitherto never known.

“He betrayed me.”

Lily rolled into him. Wrapping her arm across his chest, she kissed his shoulder and waited.

“That fucker betrayed me. After everything,…he was my brother, LIls. He fucking sold us to that monster!” His anger pulsed in his veins like a living thing. Chest heaving, he tried to rein in his feelings. They'd surged and ebbed over the past months, but he'd never really spoken of Peter since their second day back when he, Moony and Padfoot had briefly discussed him during breakfast.

This was a conversation long delayed.

“You loved him and thought he loved you in return,” Lily observed. “And in his betrayal, you see that he never loved you at all.”

Wincing, he couldn't hide from the truth of her words. Like coals, the words fell on his heart, searing and burning wherever they touched. He wanted to rend and tear. Throw the bed out the window as he bellowed his brother's betrayal.

“Do you wonder if you or we did something to drive him to Voldemort?”

Shaking with emotion, he nodded. Every instance where he'd belittled Peter flashed in front of his eyes. Once again he cursed himself for a fool. His first five or so years in school he'd been the paragon of arsehole-ness. This was yet another field that he'd sown and therefore had to reap his planting.

Nestling her mouth next to his ear, she told the Truth as she saw it. “No matter what we may or may not have done, nothing can justify his behaviour. Nothing. I know that at times you and the others may have treated him as the butt of jokes, but love, you were the butt of jokes just as often and you never turned to Voldemort.

“I know for a fact that Sirius teased you relentlessly about your crush on a certain redheaded witch,” her impish smile relieved a bit of tension.

“It wasn't a crush,” he growled, “It was a burning passion.” Kissing her hard, he rolled on top of her.

Her hands on his chest prevented him from hiding from the ghost of Peter through their love.

Sighing again, he laid his head on her shoulder. This time a tear leaked out of his eye, “He was my brother and he sold us to our deaths.”

“Yes, he did,” she agreed matter-of-factly.

“I'll miss him. No, I'll miss what he was,” James declared in a wistful tone. Peter had been his friend, no matter what else happened. The vision of his roly-poly friend donning a black robe before placing a bone white mask over his face rose to supplant the other, more happy, memories. James' face hardened as he added, “But if I ever see Peter again, I'm going to kill him.”

Rolling back to his side of the bed, he pulled her close, “But I don't think he had the ability or imagination to pull this off.”

He felt Lily hesitate before she said, “He was an animagus.”

“Yeah, because Padfoot and I shoved it down his throat for an entire year,” Prongs scoffed. All the long nights during fifth year when Sirius and James had forced Peter to study and his incredible stupidity at not grasping the basics for so long had left James at his wit's end. So many late nights of studying and potion brewing. Sirius had brewed the Animagus Revealing Potion three times for Peter because he kept bollixing up the incantation for the spell to be cast beforehand.

“But in the end, he did it. I'm not saying he's a prodigy of magic, but you do realize that you, Remus and Sirius were the smartest boys in our year, right? To hold him up to you and the boys for comparison isn't a very accurate understanding of his abilities.”

“Do you think he could have done it?” James asked. He was completely baffled. Always, he'd thought of Peter as the lovable buffoon who'd just as soon ignite his own hair as successfully brew a potion, but then again, that wasn't really true, was it?

“He was a Marauder,” Lily observed. “While you three are very intelligent, I think that Peter was at least fairly smart. Remember how you treated poor Alex Smythe?”

“Yeah,” James answered. “Poor guy couldn't cast a spell without hurting himself or someone else.”

“That's my point. You pitied him, but never really chummed with him, did you?”

“I see what you're saying,” he replied. Weighing her example, he admitted to himself that she had a point. If Peter had been a village idiot, James would've never befriended him. Defended him from bullies? Yes. However, he'd not have been friends with him.

“So it seems that old Wormy could have ensorcelled the Weasleys,” Prongs admitted with more than a bit of sorrow.

“Maybe,” she countered.

“Maybe,” he agreed. Jesus Wept, would they ever know?

.oOo.

“Again!”

Hermione grunted as once again she cast the mass transfiguration followed by a Compulsion charm. The herd of magically created cattle began to run in the intricate pattern she'd commanded, but she didn't see it as she fell to her bum, exhausted.

Wiping the sweat from her brow, she felt Harry run up to her. When his shadow lay over her, she looked up to him with a wan smile.

“Takes a lot out of me too,” he commented. “Here, drink,” he offered as he handed her a water bottle.

Taking a deep draught of the bottle, she conjured a towel to wipe her face. Wrinkling her nose, she cast a quick Drought charm to get rid of the sweat stains on her long sleeve T-shirt. “It's getting easier,” she replied. “Still, the five times in a row part is less than pleasant.”

“Yeah,” he agreed as they moved over to Flitwick who was counting the herd as it cycled in the complex knot pattern Hermione had commanded. He nodded when he counted the requisite thirty long horned bulls.

“Do you see the purpose?” Flitwick squeaked.

Ignoring the silly sound of the man's voice, the teens gave a short bow at the neck as they acknowledged his mastery of the craft, “Yes sir. The level of fine control in the Compulsion allows a high fidelity of control for any activity of a conjured animal,” Hermione answered.

“And it allows for us to command them to fight for us independent of our activity,” Harry extrapolated.

“Good, good. Now, I want you to each conjure a dog. Then, I want you to have them attack a dummy I conjure. I want you to have your dog destroy the human shaped dummy as fast as possible.”

Hermione's revulsion and horror at the thought was plain on her face as Flitwick merely raised an eyebrow. “You have something to say, Miss Granger-Black?”

In their independent studies with the short Charms master, they'd found him to be a demanding taskmaster, very different from his Hogwarts persona.

Swallowing the bile which threatened to rise, Hermione replied, “It's a bit much, isn't it sir?”

Turning to Harry, Flitwick asked, “Is it, Mr Potter?”

Harry scrubbed his face before replying, “No, it isn't. I'd conjure a tiger to kill every enemy I could if it allowed me to safely get my family through an engagement.”

Nodding Flitwick turned back to the now shamefaced witch. Before he spoke, she added, “And in the end, it's only a conjured animal, not a real one.”

“Good,” Flitwick praised. “Now,” he conjured a large pit with high walls. At the far side, a human looking dummy began to walk back and forth like a duck in a shooting gallery. “Begin.” Flitwick failed to tell them that the dummy would fight back. The first two dogs were quickly dispatched with a kick to the head by the faceless automaton.

Despite the repugnance of the act, both teens did as instructed so as to learn how to create effective and efficient battlefield distractions. One by one, they learned through trial and error how to conjure and control an animal avatar to fight for them.

Hermione felt that she'd succeeded in that she vomited less often than Harry did during the `lesson'. She'd only spewed once where her boyfriend had lost it two times. Although necessary, all three agreed that it wasn't their favourite topic.

.oOo.

The eternity of spring rains had begun. Overall, the British Isles are fairly wet, but the Highlands of Scotland take that rule to the extreme.

“Dad, let's go home. I'm going bugshit here.”

James smiled at his son. Harry was staring out the window at the sheeting rain. “Miss Quidditch?” he asked.

Harry turned away from the window, a scowl on his features, “God yes. I just want to get out in the sun for a bit. I think it's rained for ten days straight.”

“Twelve.”

“Thanks,” he snarked as he flopped onto the couch next to his father. Lily and Hermione were in the library researching some topic or the other while Sirius was in London reviewing the proposed reorganization of the Blackmoor Portfolio. Remus was at Rowan Hill, reviewing the estate's accounts. He'd taken to the task with a gusto that James hadn't seen since the brief stint when Remus had dated that girl back in sixth year. What was her name…?

“I think we need a spring break,” James announced. Harry turned to his Dad with an expectant expression.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. What do you think of the BVI?”

“I don't think anything of them at all.”

Jabbing his son in the ribs, he rolled his eyes. “I'm thinking we take the portal to Tortola and then a quick portkey to some ultra-swanky resort to spend two weeks on the beach.”

“Really?” Harry excitedly asked.

“Really, really. You and Hermione have been killing yourselves. You're two thirds of the way through your fourth year age-wise, but have completed nearly all of sixth year material for the core courses. We all need a break with lots of sex on the beach with our respective partners,” James added the last just to provoke his son. He succeeded.

“Aaaahhhh! No! No! I didn't just hear that!” Jumping from the couch, Harry glared at his laughing father. “Why must you do that?”

“Cause it's fun?”

“Not funny!”

“Sure it is.” Clapping Harry on the shoulder, he stood. “Come on, let's go arrange the portal time and surprise our ladies. Your Mum and I visited the Caribbean on our honeymoon. I think you were conceived there.”

“I thought you said I was conceived at home?” Harry asked. Immediately, his face adopted a sour expression as he realized what he'd just said. The horror was immediate and intense.

“Well,” James remarked with the most suave tone he could muster, “There were so many places and so many times.”

“Aaahhhh!” Harry mock screamed as he ran from the room.

The laughing from Prongs stopped as soon as the door closed. His son was wound far too tight and so too was Hermione. He'd talked it over with Filius, Sirius and Lily the day before where all agreed that a quick vacation to the sun and sand would be very beneficial. Both teens, despite their intelligence and drive, were beginning to burn out. It was only a matter of time before they snapped and none of them wanted a repeat of Harry's confrontation with the Slytherin douche bags. He'd kill them this time.

Strolling to the door, he followed his son. James had promised he'd be there for Harry and by God, he would be even if it was only as comic relief.

.oOo.

Hestia Jones was stunned. Sitting on the divan in her fashionably decorated flat, she realized that she'd fallen in love with Sirius Black.

Oh, he wasn't the rake from their Hogwarts years that made it a quest to collect knickers from every year and house from his fourth year and on. Nor was he the immature brat who was a borderline bully in his pranking.

No, the man she'd fallen in love with was the new and some would say damaged Sirius Black. He was the one who'd survived Azkaban, preserving his sanity by a hair's breadth. The man who was devoted to his new daughter and their family. The man that she had come to love was a passionate, loyal, intelligent, funny and capable man. He made her pulse pound, her breath stutter in her chest and her brain lock.

Hestia was a very intelligent woman; a year younger than the famous Lily Potter, she was the Head Girl and first in her class. Born of a muggleborn mother and a pureblood father, she'd exploited her father's contacts to be hired into the Department of International Magical Cooperation. From there, she'd earned her position as the Area Director of British Magical Foreign Relations to the Eastern European Magical Confederation. She was a career focused witch; husbands and family were not a high priority.

Everything changed in that moment, though. Her brain was awash with the epiphany: She Loved Sirius Black.

They'd been dating fairly seriously from the beginning. There was something about the new Sirius that entranced her; pulled at her mind. He was addicting in the most wonderful way. She wanted to be near him. Hear his voice and touch him. They'd shared a bed after two months of dating. Had he not been so devoted to Hermione and the Potters, she would have insisted he move into her flat.

But love? That was new.

She'd never been in love before. Dating? Sure, many men had taken her to dinner or parties. She was an extremely attractive witch who was in high demand amongst the wizards of her age. None had captivated her like Sirius Black, though.

It was during packing for the trip to the Caribbean that it struck her. She wanted to be with him every morning when she awoke and every evening when she went to sleep. It was an incredible shock to admit that she'd finally found her wizard. After so many years of avoiding male entanglements in order to pursue her career, she'd fallen and fallen hard.

The firing of the Floo jostled her back to the present.

“Love? You here?” she heard Sirius call.

The endearment of his meant much more now. Standing, she walked quite deliberately to the fireplace.

He was standing with his back to her, peering up the stairs. “Hestia? You upstairs?”

“I'm right here,” she told him, her low voice husky with emotion. He spun about in surprise, his wide smile a bright lamp in the dark. Embracing him, she savoured the feeling of his arms about her. It made her feel safe and loved.

Pulling back so she could see him, yet remain in his embrace, she studied him for a long moment.

“I love you.”

His features melted into smile of genuine delight. “As I love you,” he whispered through his emotion.

“Marry me,” she asked.

Leaning back his head, he let loose his barking laugh. “Shouldn't I be asking you that question?”

“I'm a modern witch who doesn't need to wait for my man to get his head out of his arse. Well?” Her beautiful features were marred with trepidation.

“I shall,” he whispered before kissing her deeply.

The next thing she knew, he'd scooped her up and was carrying her upstairs.

“I love you,” she whispered as she rained soft kisses over his face and lips. “I need you. I want you.”

“My love…” he muttered as he kicked the door open to her bedroom.

.oOo.

“Did you hear?” Hermione asked as they queued up at the portal station.

Shaking his head, Harry scanned the crowd for possible threats as he listened to his girlfriend. So far, he'd identified two reporters plus a few photographers. His Dad's glare had kept the paparazzi at bay so far.

“Hestia proposed to Sirius and he said `yes'!” Harry smiled at Hermione's excitement. Thinking about how fast Hestia and Sirius' relationship had moved, he wondered if it was a good thing. Turning around, he saw them in a loose embrace, smiling and whispering to each other. His wonderings ceased.

“Good for them,” Harry replied. “Good for them.”

Her mischievous smile caused him to smile in reply. As she pulled at the buttons on his polo shirt, she teased, “When do I get a ring?”

Harry snorted. Prodding the mithril bracelet which she always wore, he replied, “Soon enough, love.”

Her bubbly laughter was as infectious as her smile. Soon they were both smiling and laughing at nothing, yet everything.

Things transitioned from happy to unpleasant at that point. It happened quickly. With the flash of light, Harry reacted instinctively. Diving to the ground, he pulled Hermione with him. By the time he'd rolled to his knees, both teens had their wands out and tracking for the source of the spell fire.

Only James' hand on their shoulders kept them from casting.

A white faced, shaking and wide-eyed photographer slowly set his camera - the source of the light - on the ground. “I'm sorry,” he whimpered.

Glancing about, Harry saw that most everyone in the queue for the portal was staring at the family: some with awe at the teens' fluid reactions, others with annoyed mistrust. Unfortunately, the glares far outweighed the smiles.

Sighing, Harry holstered his wand, noticing Hermione doing the same from the corner of his eye. The metal coil in his guts began to unwind. Absently, he remarked to himself how quickly he reacted. There was improvement over the last scenario he'd faced; this time, he'd not hexed anyone undeservedly. Restraint and control was one of Flitwick's focus areas. In maintaining control over their actions, he was sure that the diminutive Charms professor would be satisfied with their performance.

Checking his girlfriend over, he saw her let go a deep sigh. Meeting his eye, she gave him a wan smile to show she felt the same as he. Moving to her side, he nearly stumbled when Lily pushed between the teens to get to the photographer.

She'd just raised her hand to begin telling the man off when Hestia swooped in to the rescue. “I'm sure that you understand what it's like to be startled,” she cooed to the petrified wizard. The gorgeous witch turned up the `dazzle factor', tossing a bit of her honey blonde hair over her shoulder while giving the man an inviting smile.

“Yeah. Sure,” he drooled. Harry nearly puked when the dick looked down Hestia's top. He didn't know the witch very well, but Sirius loved her so that was good enough for him.

“It's been a tough day all around.” Harry marvelled at the woman's skilful handling of the man. She looped an arm across his back, steering the now leering wizard to the door, all the while convincing the man and any eavesdroppers - which was everyone in the queue - that Harry and Hermione were finishing their preparations to take their OWLs early and were a bit on edge.

“Oh, yeah. Sure,” the idiot agreed.

“Bye now,” she waved before turning back to her family.

Harry nearly laughed aloud when the smiling, flirtatious expression dropped to disgust as she wiped her hands on her skirt.

Hermione groaned.

“What?” he asked as he turned back to his intended.

“Now we've to take our OWLs soon or else the press will crucify us,” she whispered into his ear.

“Crud.” His eyes narrowed, “No studying on the beach.”

“But...”

“No.”

“But…”

“No.”

“Just one little book?” she asked in a little girl voice.

“Ok, just one little book.”

Her grin was infectious. Before he knew it, they were all laughing as they stepped across the portal gateway to arrive at Terrance B. Letham International Airport and Portal facility.

.oOo.

“James, the bloody boat has two hulls.”

Sirius wanted to punch his cousin when Prongs rolled his eyes, replying, “It's called a catamaran, Padfoot. Shut up and get on.”

“Why can't we portkey?” Sirius temporized petulantly. Why would a boat need two hulls? Is it so fucked up that they had to add another to be safe? What is that?

Hestia got on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “I won't get naked tonight if you…”

She didn't need to finish. “Ok, let's get this outstanding boat moving!” Sirius called as he hopped aboard the private charter which was to take them directly to Rosewood Little Dix Bay on Virgin Gorda.

As the teens headed to what passed for the bow of the dual hulled craft, Sirius cornered James. “Where's Moony?”

Shrugging, James let out a sigh of exasperation as he ran his hand through his hair.

“Let me guess,” Sirius pre-empted, “He's being a prat and didn't want to come. Was it a lack of female company or paying his own way?”

Wrinkling his nose, James ventured, “Female company, I think.”

Shaking his head, Sirius muttered, “Wanker.”

“Mate,” James countered, “What if you and Hestia weren't together? Wouldn't you feel a bit awkward coming with two couples even though one of the couples were teens?”

Half turning away, Sirius admitted, “I suppose.”

His eyes drifted over to watch the two adult witches who were engrossed in a discussion about the resort where they were going to stay. Lily gesticulated with her hands, causing the blonde headed witch to laugh uproariously.

A soft smile blossomed on his face. Ever since he was a small boy, he'd felt different. Being an island of sanity in a sea of bigotry, dark magic and worse, Sirius had always wondered if he'd have anything resembling `normal'. The beatings from his parents didn't help, either.

Hogwarts, his cousin and the other Marauders had been a glimpse of belonging to and with a family of sorts, but even then, it wasn't completely fulfilling. The frenetic pranks had been fun and a release of a sort. To be honest, he'd enjoyed the lifestyle immensely in its juvenile way.

When James began to settle after his parents' deaths and started dating Lily, Sirius tried to keep the pace of the old raucous lifestyle. Firewhiskey, girls and pranks hadn't been the same, though. It wasn't the same not because Prongs wasn't as involved, but in comparison to what James and Lily had, the other things were about as satisfying as flat beer on a hot day.

Then came that day.

It still gave him the shivers to remember his screaming meanderings through that rental cottage. The piles of ash had caused him to throw himself up the stairs to Harry's room in hysterics.

A tear trickled down his cheek as he remembered baby Harry's screams. They echoed Sirius' own. He'd felt as if his soul was hoarse from shrieking.

Azkaban was a blur, punctuated by terror and pain. The guards had been vicious. Truncheons seemed to be de riguer as not a day passed when he wasn't at least threatened with the clubs. They appeared to be a favourite, as there was never a magical trace afterwards for anyone to detect.. The warden was the idol of idiot worshippers who never thought that a wizard would beat another wizard with his fists or a club. The Dementors weren't much fun either.

Never did Sirius have that for which his soul longed: someone who loved him more than her own life. He had his three…no…two brothers, but now he had her.

Now he had Hestia and she had him. For the first time in his life, he began to feel whole. Between Hestia and Hermione, the entire focus of his life was changing. Their happiness was paramount, his was secondary. He wanted to be of service to these women who had captured his heart in different ways. They, in their turn, placed his happiness above their own. It was love.

He didn't realize he was moving until he wrapped his arms about his fiancée's waist.

Lily gave him a knowing smile before moving off to find her man.

Leaning forward so his lips nestled in her hair next to her shell-like ear, he whispered, “I love you with all that I am, with all that I will be and all I can ever be.”

He felt her close her eyes and snuggle back into his embrace.

“As I love you,” she replied. Closing his eyes, he thought that might be enough.

.oOo.

Though the resort was completely mundane, none of the witches or wizards had difficulty with the experience. Applying the Sunscreen charm was done in the morning, lasting all day. After that, no magic was required to lie on the beach, sip at sweet drinks and frolic in the surf.

Rosewood Little Dix Bay resort also has a world renown spa. Lily, Hestia and Hermione were taking full advantage of it.

All three were midway through their `Sense Spa Journey'. Sirius and James had broken into fits of giggles at the names while Harry smiled as he shook his head. When Lily had casually mentioned the price per `Journey', all three collapsed in laughter that something with such a silly name was so insanely expensive.

Transitioning from the Wrap to the Seaside Meditation Massage left Hermione an extremely relaxed puddle of goo. The Luxurious Pedicure that was next would be a slice of heaven. While Hermione had never been obsessed with her looks or cosmetics like some of her sillier classmates, she was still proud of her looks.

She'd dismissed her hair's bushiness with as much casual contempt as she could, but it still hurt her that it wouldn't do what she wanted. This pampering by some of the best massage therapists in the Caribbean was in line with her thoughts of how she cared about her body and looks.

I think I may just take Harry to bed after this to have my wicked way with him, she mused to herself. Stifling her smile as much as she could, she listened to Hestia and Lily chat.

The older witches were trying to become better acquainted, but for the first time, it seemed that Lily and James' youth was a hindrance. While it allowed them to get to know their son and his intended more easily, the difference in age seemed to cause discomfort for Hestia. She'd know Lily as the slightly older witch in school whose example she tried to emulate. Now, Hestia was a dozen years older with a dozen years of experience that the Potters didn't possess. The women's relationship was like a hesitating engine. Sputtering…running smoothly…coughing…purring.

It was evident to Hermione that both women were ready to please and be pleased by the other, so she had no worries that it wouldn't work out in the end. In the meanwhile, it was interesting to hear the conversation.

“…so Malfoy's little brat spouted off `mudblood' this and that. Sirius and I put him in his place until Minerva arrived,” The Smartest Witch of the Age heard Lily say.

“I know that term is especially offensive to you,” Hestia hesitantly observed.

The shrug was unheard, but assumed. “After fifth year…”

Hermione's listening was interrupted as her masseuse, Inga, kneaded a troubling area in the small of the teen's back. Inga was a walking contradiction. A Swedish name for a woman who stood over six feet tall and was coal black. Her hands could have squashed a cantaloupe. At the same time, her voice was soft and delicate, like a glass flower. Contradicting still, the woman's grip was as strong as a vice; Hermione had no doubt that Inga could bend a steel bar. What conversation they mustered convinced Hermione that the woman was a sincerely sweet woman who delighted in taking care of her brother's four children from time to time.

While Inga was working this particular area of Hermione's body, it seemed her ears stopped working. A few moments later, reality returned through the sublime fog, “Minerva said that Albus gave all the kids another in school suspension for possession and use of controlled substances.”

“What?” Hermione exclaimed.

Sitting up, Hermione held the towel to her front, preserving her modesty. What Harry saw was very different from what the rest of the world saw. Lily and Hestia seemed surprised by Hermione's near shout. Inga took the verbal cue, slipping out of the glass walled room without a word.

Ignoring the panoramic view of the Caribbean, Hermione focused on the older witches. “In school suspension? Again?” she objected. Hermione's entire worldview of authority figures and rules had been rocked to its foundations over the past months. Once again, she was experiencing another seismic shift.

Sighing, Lily explained, “Minerva said that Albus was adamant, the boys and girls were to be treated like any other who was caught with potions or Firewhiskey.”

“Please,” Hermione's scorn was a living thing. “That is such a load of rubbish; I don't know where to begin to tear that apart. It's a wealth of tripe.”

Hestia then made a mistake. “Lily,” she murmured, but not too soft so that Hermione didn't hear her, “Do you really think we should be discussing this with…,” the head nod toward Hermione made her intention plain.

Hermione turned white with mortification. Ever since James and Lily had returned to the time stream, she'd been treated as an equal in the family. While possessing less than fifty percent of a vote, she was always included in every discussion, every debate and always was allowed to make her feelings and objections known. Many times, she'd carried the day with her logical arguments.

Now it seemed that Sirius' fiancée wasn't of the same mind.

Like children the world over, she wanted her pseudo-step-mother to approve of her but still was afraid of what Hestia's presence and wishes would do to her close relationship with Sirius.

Before the thought could continue, Lily snapped her back to reality like a cold bucket of water over her head.

“Hestia,” the redheaded witch snapped, “Hermione is fully in our confidence. Even more so than you are. I have no idea what your intentions are regarding her in your family, but remember, she is nearly my daughter as well. I expect her to be treated with respect and courtesy as the future Lady Richmond.”

The iciness of Lily's tone left no doubt in Hermione's mind that Lily had her white hat on and was riding to the rescue. By accepting the mithril bracelet from Harry at Christmastime, they were, in effect magically betrothed. Still, it was always shocking to remember that someday, she would be the Countess Richmond.

“I cannot tell you what you should and should not do regarding Sirius' adopted daughter, but I will tell you that she is fully in my confidence. She has earned that confidence through demonstrated loyalty, maturity and capability.”

Hermione nearly burst into tears of happiness at Lily's words. Most persons thought that Hermione a logic machine. Those people didn't know her very well. True, she was an extraordinarily intelligent young woman, but she was moreover a passionate woman.

Lily's words had struck a chord within her that had never been played before by anyone. Even her birth parents had never given such an unequivocal vote of confidence and support. Lily made it very clear that she'd have words with anyone should they disrespect Hermione. To use the words the redheaded mother of her boyfriend had used those months ago: Hermione was hers. It warmed the teen's heart like hot cider on a winter's day or Harry's embrace. Either way, Hermione's respect and affection for her future mother in law ratcheted up another notch.

“Ah, well, er…of course,” Hestia backpedalled in the face of Lily's cool fury. “I just don't' know…”

The rules yet, Hermione thought to herself, finishing the sentence. Giving the blonde witch the benefit of the doubt, she extended the olive branch. “I understand. We should probably sit down with Sirius to talk this out.”

She'd really wanted to say, You need to have Sirius set you straight, but chose the more inoffensive phrasing.

“Yes, yes of course, we will.” Hermione's heart went out to the beautiful blonde witch when she said, “I'm so sorry Hermione, I just want so badly to make this work and now I've made a mess of our beginning together.” Her face fell, “I'm sorry that I offended you.” Turning to Lily, she added, “The both of you.”

To her credit, Hermione was a fairly honest young woman; even with herself. She admitted the truth that she'd not spent much time with the blonde witch during her and Sirius' courtship. Padfoot was as much to blame for this hubbub as Hestia. What an experienced father would have known instinctively, Sirius had been oblivious to; he needed to get his daughter's buy in for his new wife. He'd not done that, so Hermione and Hestia were near strangers to one another.

“I accept your apology,” Hermione replied with a soft smile to lessen the harshness of the words. Hestia's relieved expression told her that her goal had been achieved.

“Harry's going to go crazy when he finds out what their punishment was,” Hermione observed to change the subject and avoid an awkward silence.

“Forget Harry,” Lily interjected as she reached for her clothes. “James, Sirius and Remus are going to string the man up by his thumbs.” Hermione got dressed as well. They would finish the `Journey' another day or perhaps indulge in one of the other extremely expensive treatments. The turquoise bikini and pareo wrap were sufficient covering for where she was headed to find her man. Harry, Sirius and James were to snorkel the bay at the foot of the hill below the spa.

Leading the way down the tropical trail to the beach, Hermione shook her head. They were a family. They loved, laughed, cried and fought with each other. There were miscommunications alongside heartfelt declarations. She'd never felt more `a part of' a group or family in her whole life.

Breaking out of the trees, she saw a trio of wet dark heads bent over something on the beach. Her mouth widening to a grin, she made her way unerringly to the youngest of the group. Wrapping her arms about him from behind, she intentionally pressed her breasts against his wet naked back.

“H-hey,” he stuttered.

Her grin became predatory. “I need to talk to you about something very important back in the villa,” she told him once he turned around.

Not breaking eye contact, he smiled in return, “Lead the way, my love.”

.oOo.

Lily watched her son and Hermione head back up the hill to the villa. Hestia hooked her arm in Sirius' as she began to lead him down the beach. She caught Hestia say, “I'm afraid I've made a mess of things,” before they got out of earshot.

James' silent caress of her back gave her the shivers. They'd only been married a few years, so they still qualified as newlyweds despite their parental status. She wanted to give the teens a significant head start to set up Silencing charms and the like before she thought about heading up to their shared villa.

“How'd this morning go?” he asked. “Did you all enjoy your `Journey'?” His supressed laughter inspired her massive eye-roll.

“There were a few hiccoughs,” she began before explaining Hestia's massive faux pas. James pursed his lips before nodding his agreement to Lily's proposed, “Let Sirius and his almost-bride work it out on their own.”

“We had a moment down here,” James began. Expecting a ludicrous situation involving a juvenile prank, she was brought up standing when James told her in a surprisingly serious tone, “Sirius and I had to have a talk with Harry about the scars on his back.”

Closing her eyes in impotent rage, she let it build and swell in her breast. She'd never forgive her sister for the years of torment and torture of her baby boy. Never. The scars that crossed Harry's back like white ropes were significant, though. Guilt and shame for all the Potters were invoked for various reasons whenever they were bared. Seeing the damage in her mind's eye deflated her anger. Being angry wouldn't help Harry any.

“Long term, he can have the procedure where the healers remove the entire affected area re-growing the skin via potion; just like a snake sloughing off its skin. That will remove the scars entirely. In the short term…” James sighed as he stopped.

Pushing her own anger and regret to the side, she sidled up to her husband. Wrapping her arm about his waist shot a jet of spurious desire through her belly. Shoving it aside, she gave him a squeeze with an understanding expression to match. It was evident that James was feeling much the same as Lily; the regret and anger was plain on his face for those with the eyes to see.

Nodding to her in understanding, he finished, “In the short term, we talked about Notice-Me-Not charms or the like.” He shook his head, “Our son is such a Gryffindor. He looked me in the eye before he asked, `Do the scars embarrass you, Dad?' I almost wept. How could I ever be embarrassed because of that?

“When I told him `No' he turned to Sirius. Padfoot shook his head `No' also. I thought the old man was going to either start crying or go break back into Azkaban to kill your sister. Harry looked out the windows over the bay for a long minute, just thinking. Turning back to us, he told us, `Hermione said they don't bother her. They don't bother you so I won't let them bother me. If I do, then the Dursleys win and I'll be damned if I do that'.”

Lily's eyes brimmed over with pride and love.

James sniffled in his emotion. “He's such a good lad. Brave, courageous and just a good lad…”

“A man,” Lily corrected. Anyone capable of such maturity in the face of adversity of this kind had earned the title of `Man'.

Again, James nodded his concurrence with his wife. “Man, you're right.”

Sighing explosively, he continued, “So we came down here and had fun. Harry's not so good at swimming, so Padfoot and I showed him how. Once he got the basics down, he was like a frog out there,” he jabbed his thumb into the bay. “He saw someone going by on this little sailboat thing that you stand on so now he's keen to do that.”

“Is it what you've dreamed?” she asked. Long ago when they were first dating, James had told Lily that he imagined having a son with whom he could participate in his growing up. James' father had been very old during James formative years. Despite his near reverence for Charlus Potter, James had missed playing Quidditch or just having a hike in the woods around Rowan Hill with his Dad.

Now, Prongs was being allowed to do that he wished for with his own son. Lily could nearly see the deep satisfaction welling up within her husband. His firm nod told volumes. Holding out her hand, she nodded up the beach the opposite direction Sirius and Hestia had gone. “Walk with me?”

She was surprised but gratified at the seriousness of his expression when he told her, “Always.”

.oOo.

“I'm so sorry.”

Sirius scrunched up his face, so Hestia couldn't get a read on his emotions. Assailed by nerves, she belatedly realized that Sirius and Hermione were a package deal. For that matter, so too were the Potters and Remus Lupin. Was she prepared to have an immediate family?

Too late now for second thoughts, she chastised herself. Closing her eyes, she let Sirius guide her down the strand as he considered the situation.

His deep sigh brought her round. “I love you,” he began, “But you must understand that for all intents and purposes Hermione is my daughter - will be our daughter. She and Harry have been through some extraordinary circumstances. Some of which you are aware, much you are not. When they become more secure with you and trust you, I'm sure they will tell you their stories.”

Taken aback, she wanted to blurt out a query as to why these two mid-teens were accorded the respect and liberties of adults. Fortunately, her long discipline in the political sphere paid off. His statement, “much you are not” came back to her. Whatever had occurred of which she was unaware must be significant. His parents and hers allowed them to share a bed whilst here in the islands and accorded them much respect and autonomy.

The situation kept revolving around trust. James and Lily trust Harry and Hermione. Sirius trusts Hermione and Harry. Harry and Hermione need to trust Hestia. It occurred to her that she needed to trust Sirius. Trust that he would not lead her astray nor allow the teens to go astray as well.

“Are you sure you want to marry me?”

His question jolted her from her musings. Horrified, she stared at him blankly for a long minute. Her beautiful features distorted in shock and dismay at his question, she gazed at him fixedly.

The knife twisted in her gut when his face fell. “I'm sorry I can't be the man you want, the man you deserve,” he whispered. Slowly, he raised her hand to his lips before turning away.

Now that she had him, the concept of life without him was abhorrence. Hurting him was a dagger in her heart. Dammit, her body wouldn't respond! He was leaving. He was leaving her forever. Walking right out of her life. “No…” she croaked.

Confused, he turned back.

“No…don't go. I love you. I need you. I'm sorry, please don't go.”

His confusion melted to resigned humour. Gathering her into his arms, he gave a weak chuckle. Ignoring his mood for the moment, she burrowed into his arms. Nestling her cheek against his hairy chest, she savoured the experience. Why would he ever think that she didn't want him? His parents' treatment of him? Damage from Azkaban? The apparent loss of the Potters along with the actual loss of Peter? All the above?

“Let's get something straight,” she began. Pulling back, she looked him in the eye. “We may quarrel, but I'll always want you.” Poking him on the sternum, she rebuked him, “I'm actually disappointed that you gave up on us so easily.” The more she thought about it, the more she understood his issues. While a bit disappointed, she said that more to make a point than anything.

His face fell again. Damn! she exclaimed to herself. She kept stepping in it no matter how hard she tried. “Look, let's move forward. I'll trust you, James and Lily on the Hermione and Harry situation, while you trust me to never leave you.” Grabbing his chin, Hestia forced him to look her in the eye. “Never,” she repeated.

They resumed their walk. Tenderly, she wrapped her arm back into his. Laying her head on his shoulder, she apologized, “I'm sorry I'm bollixing all this up. I'm not very good at this relationship thing.” Sirius was her second lover and only serious adult relationship.

He puffed his chest a bit. Flinging his free hand out in a dramatic pose, he boomed, “Fortunately for you, my delectable Miss Jones, you are affianced to the massively competent and capable Sirius Black. Padfoot of the Marauders, Leader of Men, Lover of Women, Beloved by One and All; He who slays dragons with naught but a feather…”

She couldn't help but burst into a fit of the giggles. Leaning on him, she squeaked, “I love you, you maniac.”

.oOo.

Dinner that evening started with a slightly tense atmosphere. After a passionate lovemaking, Hermione told Harry of the `dispute' with Hestia. To his credit, he was more upset by the situation than she was.

“Don't worry about it, love,” she cooed as they exited the shower. “Your Mum was great.” When Hermione told him of Lily's defence of her, Harry's heart warmed. No matter how many times his parents demonstrated their love for him and those that he held dear, it was a surprise every time. It seemed reflexive for him to expect to be let down or even maliciously trampled underfoot at every opportunity.

For his Mum to stand up for his girlfriend so forcefully and definitively was just one more sign to him that life was entirely different from the Dursley days.

Shaking his head as he buttoned the ivory coloured linen shirt his girlfriend and Mum had purchased for him, he admired Hermione as she dressed.

“Damn,” he muttered in admiration.

Hermione shot him a curious expression over her shoulder. Seeing where his eyes were focused, she wagged her naked bum at him before slipping her lacy knickers up to her waist.

Smiling, he pulled his tan trousers on before belting up. He loved the sexy give and take with his girlfriend. Granted, the bedplay was beyond fantastic, but the intimate play between them out of the bed was just as important to him.

Shoeless, he sidled up behind her after she pulled her dress over her head. After she straightened the top, he wrapped his arms about her waist. She laid her head back on his shoulder without prompting. Smiling, he breathed deeply of her. Her subtle perfume accentuated that natural scent which was wholly Hermione.

He was realizing that he was a romantic. Maybe it was due to his emotionally starved upbringing, but regardless of the cause, Harry revelled in their relationship. Nothing could replace her in his life, nor did he want a replacement. Most persons don't realize contentment in their lives. Some do at a later age, but Harry Potter, at age fourteen and one half was content. He had the young woman who was his best friend, his lover and the woman of his world. His parents had returned from the dead, his godfather from the brink of insanity and prison and his uncle from exile.

“I love you.”

“As I love you,” she replied in a low, serious voice. Turning her in his arms, he saw that she was near tears.

“Why?”

His simple word caused a ribbon of wetness down her left cheek. As he tenderly wiped it away with the pad of his thumb, she answered in a near whisper. “I've never imagined being so happy, so…content.” Framing his face with her delicate hands, she leaned forward as she earnestly told him, “You make it all possible, Harry. All you.”

He smiled at the simultaneity of their contemplations before kissing her. “Come on; let's go have dinner with our family.” They slipped their naked feet into shoes before heading to the door.

Laughing for the sheer joy of life, she threw back her head. Her tight curls loose, it was a glorious riot of chestnut, brown and steaks of blonde. Her face the personification of happiness and joy, she radiated bliss. An enthusiastic kiss was the prelude to her skipping from the villa down the path to the Sugar Mill Restaurant.

Hestia was waiting outside the restaurant for the teens. Harry saw her wave to them as the teens approached. Moving to the side of the path, the three magicals had a bit of privacy. Hestia didn't waste time. Facing The Smartest Witch of the Age, she reiterated to Hermione, “I'm sorry for earlier. As I'm sure you've figured, I'm still working out how this family interacts. I was an only child with no extended family, so I've little experience in these matters.”

“And I'm sure that Sirius didn't do you any favours by not explaining our family dynamic,” Hermione graciously conceded. It was evident that Hestia sincerely felt remorse over her earlier attitude.

“True,” Hestia replied. Hesitantly, she told the teens, “He said that you two have extraordinary stories and have earned the right to be treated as adults. Whenever you're ready, I'm more than willing to listen.”

Harry nodded in acknowledgment. While not very happy with the blonde witch, he had to admit that there seemed to be no malice in her intent. Maybe someday soon he'd be willing to tell her a story or two. Making the first step, he smiled, “I hear from Dad and Mum that this restaurant is pretty good.” Holding the door for the ladies, they trooped inside in much lighter spirits than they'd had not five minutes earlier.

The four star restaurant, complemented by the spa and coupled with the luxurious setting and lodgings earned Rosewood Little Dix Bay's four diamond rating. The Sugar Mill lived up to its billing that evening. The three couples laughed and told stories the night though as they feasted on miso glazed grouper, five-spiced pork belly and Mediterranean sea bass with soba noodles. Wine flowed as spirits soared.

Harry met his father's gaze across the candlelit table as the sun set. Raising his glass, Harry toasted his hero.

James smiled broadly, toasting his son in return.

Hermione's hand wormed into his own, giving him a squeeze. Glancing about the table, he felt a pang for Remus' absence, but was nonetheless surrounded by love and family. Could it get any better?

.oOo.

Harry lay on his back, soaking up the Caribbean sun. Next to him, Hermione lay on her stomach, reading a book. Earlier, he'd told her, “You know, I think I should spread this suntan lotion on you to keep up appearances. Don't want the muggles to think anything's out of the ordinary.”

She grinned as her eyes narrowed. “You just want an excuse to grope me in public.”

“Yup.”

Laughing, she lay down on her stomach, untying the strings of her top as she did so. Neither complained too much about Harry's ministrations, though. Strangely enough, soon James and Sirius began to apply lotion to their witches as well.

“How's it going?” he asked. Hermione was reading a book about magical combat and tactics.

“It's fascinating,” she commented causing him to smile. Had she ever read anything that wasn't fascinating?

“You really need to read this. The author does a very good job at breaking down the types of engagements from skirmishes, duel type combat, massed forces in a meeting engagement and asymmetrical warfare. Very interesting. There's a whole science to the approach.”

“Really?” Harry commented, rolling over to his stomach to read over her shoulder.

Tilting the book toward her man, she showed him a moving diagram showing how to infiltrate a magically defiladed position using a combination of charms and transfiguration. The noise most magicals cause when Apparating ruled that form of travel out for scouting purposes.

“Hunh,” he commented as he reached for the book. Smacking his hand, Hermione tutted.

“You'll get your turn.” Smiling impishly, she told him, “My back needs more suntan lotion. Be a dear and take care of that for me?”

“As you wish,” he replied, meaning far more than he said.

.oOo.

The sweat poured off him as he sat bolt upright in their bed. Chest heaving and eyes wide, he panted like a racehorse. The terror of the dream still about him like a stench, he looked this way and that trying to find his pursuer. His pulse throbbing in his ears like the war drums of old, Harry forcefully swallowed the scream that was forcing its way up his throat.

“Harry?” she asked.

Slim hands took him in an embrace. His body was taut as steel cords as he resisted the comfort and security offered. Nearly snarling, he pulled away.

“Harry?” she asked again, but this time it was an entirely different question.

“He's coming.”

Dimly, as if through a dirty pool of water, he saw her eyes widen. “Now? Did you have another dream?”

Swallowing another snarl, he jerkily shook his head.

“Love…” she began. He knew she was trying to offer him comfort and sanctuary. In her arms he'd always felt secure, but right then, he didn't want to be safe. The sharp edge of danger beckoned and a part of him responded with a will. The beast that lives within us all bellowed and raged to be let loose.

“I want this over. I want him dead. I want to be free.”

Her arms surrounded him. Intellectually, he knew that he loved her with all his being. This knowledge did nothing to either assuage his high emotion or allow him to take refuge in her arms. Shaking her off as gently as he could, Harry turned on her. “Don't you get it? He'll never stop. Never.” His voice was a harsh bark; not nasty but very far from friendly nonetheless. He couldn't explain his emotional state, but he was angry. Angry and even furious in reaction to what he was feeling.

Harry had always been a survivor. As a survivor, he'd fought back as best he could in any and all situations where he was in danger. Many times, he was overpowered, but he always fought back never submitting to his opponent. At the Dursleys', he fought back in his meekness and subservience. Beat him they would. Belittle and attempt to degrade him they did. Never did he submit. Never did he give in to them.

This evening, though, it was a wave of despair surrounding and engulfing him. During the long years in Surrey, there were many nights when he lay curled up in a ball inside the cupboard under the stairs nursing wounds and hurts. The pain - both physical and emotional - drove him to despondency. Wondering if he'd ever be loved, ever be happy, Harry nearly gave up on more than one occasion. There was always a glimmer of hope, though. He knew that someday he'd be free of them. The three times he ran away, but returned by the police, hadn't daunted him in the least.

Tonight, though, he didn't have that glimmer of hope. Voldemort was a psychopath who was relentless and remorseless. Never forgetting, never forgiving, the wizard born Tom Riddle would always want the body of Harry Potter broken and dead at his feet. The man could conquer all of Britain and still pursue Harry for he knew Harry could be his death.

And so he was angry. The survivor in him shrieked defiance against the inevitability of his murder. He bucked and screamed against the night. He'd read Dylan Thomas' famous poem in primary school and immediately comprehended and consumed by the spirit of the piece: Do Not Go Gently Into That Good Night.

It seemed that the violence of his emotions was heightened because he'd pushed Voldemort to the side for a few days. For a few days, he'd forgotten. “He'll never stop,” Harry repeated in a harsh muted scream.

Harry flinched when he saw Hermione's expression. Eyes steely, she glared at him, “I completely understand that fact, my love. I also understand what you're feeling right now, so I'm not too upset. However, if you keep shouting at me, I don't think I'll be so understanding for much longer.”

Deflating, he turned to the large open window. The warm tropical breeze wafted through the room, billowing the voile curtains. He knew that she was trying to shock him out of his panic with her words, that she wasn't upset with him. It worked to an extent.

The rage and frustration that was mixed with fear peaked before burning out, leaving only the fear behind.

Gripping the windowpane, he leaned forward as he began to weep.

Once again, slim hands encircled him. This time, he welcomed the comfort. This time, he turned to his best friend and beloved, not only physically, but emotionally and spiritually as well.

“I'm sorry,” he apologized. Muffled as it was in her hair, he was fairly sure she heard him.

“I understand. Don't worry about it, love.” Her embrace was a promise of better days, a testimony to the joy of their present and a demonstration of all they'd come through. Despite the inexorable monster that was Voldemort, with Hermione he had hope. Wiping his face, he calmed in her arms.

“Now I understand,” he told her.

Nodding, she concurred, “Neither can live while the other survives.”

He was silent in his agreement. Leaning back on the windowpane, he pulled her close. “For you,” he pledged. For her he would scale the mountains and swim the seas. For her he would walk through fire and battle the darkness. For her, he would face and kill the most powerful Dark Wizard that Britain had seen in a score of centuries.

Hermione Granger-Black was a very determined witch. On many occasions, Harry had seen her display what some called stubbornness, others wilfulness. Whatever one called it, she possessed a force of human will that Harry found to be impressive. When she looked up into his face that early morning in the moonlight, it took the dark haired young man's breath away.

In this moment, she was beyond persistent or even headstrong. The set of her mouth, the slight narrowing of her eyes coupled with a slight flaring of her nostrils conveyed an unshakable truth to which she gave word a moment later.

“You will triumph. You will beat him and you will live.”

At that moment, Harry felt that he could not only defeat Voldemort, but he could complete the tasks of Heracles should he only have this slip of a woman at his side. With Hermione, he could do anything.

Forcefully pulling him to her, he kissed her passionately. She gave as good as she got, dragging him down to her, raking her hands down his back. Hiking her legs about his waist, he carried her to the bed. In the haze of their passion and emotion, they joined in determination; as a promise to each other. Neither would let the other go on alone. Neither would let the other go gently into that good night.

.oOo.

Sirius watched Harry from the parlour. His godson was on the patio that overlooked the bay. Staring out to the sea, Harry had the look of preoccupation mixed with a seriousness that was becoming a far too familiar expression on the teenaged Potter.

Intellectually, Sirius understood that Harry was buried underneath the implications of the horrible Prophecy. Over time, he was digging out from the horror that it portended. Sirius was not a patient man so he was sick of Harry suffering from his demons.

Opening the sliding door, the fresh breeze swirled about him. The linen shirt flapped in the breeze as Sirius padded barefoot out to stand next to Harry. Silent, he stood next to his godson, waiting.

Finally, he gave in to his curiosity. “Bad night?”

“Yeah.”

The tone of the one word spoke volumes. After another long pause, Sirius asked, “Want to talk about it?”

Shrugging, Harry muttered, “Not really.”

Exasperated, Sirius abandoned the tactful and delicate path. It'd never worked for him before so he wasn't surprised that it failed now. “Let me rephrase. Tell me what happened.”

The wry grin on Harry's face gave Sirius a jolt. It couldn't be that bad if he could smile about it.

Then the grin disappeared.

Crap.

“Just a bad dream about Voldemort.”

Sirius cocked an eyebrow in disbelief that he'd been told the entire truth. After another long pause - Sirius was becoming quite annoyed by these pauses but smothered it - he prompted, “And?”

“And nothing. Just a bad dream.”

Sighing, Sirius laid a hand on his godson's shoulder, “Kiddo, you've got to realize that we're here for you in the bad times as well as the good. I'm your godfather; James is your Dad and so on. We want to help you through these times. Anyone would be raving should they find themselves in your shoes. It's completely understandable for you to be upset about this situation.” Pulling a face, he added, “In fact, I'd think you mad as a hatter if you weren't upset by this.”

Harry stared out to sea again. Like a sliver of light at sunrise, Sirius heard Harry say, “I talked with Hermione about it, but I…” Shaking his head, he looked down. “I need help, Padfoot.”

Sirius was surprised. He'd never heard of Harry asking for help before. “How can I help? Name it.”

“I don't know. Kill Voldemort for me?” he mused with weak humour.

“I wish I could,” and he meant it. If Sirius could take the cup from his godson, he would in a minute even if it would be his own death. Sirius loved with a fierce passion and he loved his godson as his own blood. Related to this love for Harry was Sirius' love for Hermione. Harry had brought the young woman who Sirius considered his daughter. Padfoot could never repay the gift.

Squeezing Harry's shoulder again, he told him, “I'll be here at your side the entire time. I'll fight with you, bleed with you and kill with you.” When Harry turned to face Sirius, the older man was surprised that he'd shed a tear. “I'll die with you should it come to that.”

“I hope it doesn't.”

“So do I.” He stared into Harry's eyes for along moment, “But I would.”

His words had the impact he desired for Harry's expression lifted a bit. Not only Hermione, but also Sirius would stand by his side until the end. Sirius knew that James and Lily were there as well and it seemed that Harry knew this also.

When he was dying inch by inch in the cold wet dungeons of Azkaban, the worst part had been the crushing loneliness. The pervading sense of aloneness had nearly murdered Sirius during more than one long night. Knowing that he wasn't alone -nor would he ever be so - must have been an enormous relief to The Boy-Who-Lived.

“I love you, Sirius.”

It was the first time that Harry had ever said the words. He'd shown it many times, but it was the first time he'd ever said it. Roughly embracing each other, Sirius muttered into Harry's hair, “I love you too, Harry. Very much.”

.oOo.

Harry was windsurfing and having the time of his life. Much harder than riding a broom, it still inspired that free feeling that his old Nimbus or the Firebolt created. It had taken him a few days to get the hang of it. Figuring out how to balance his weight to drive the board through the waves coupled with working the wind wasn't easy. Harry decided windsurfing was a close second to riding his broom. He had just cleared the top of a wave and was suspended in mid-air as if God Himself was supporting him when the Communication charm sounded in his ear.

“Come in now. We need to go home.”

Harry's wipe out was of near epic proportions. Surfacing, he spit out what seemed like a litre of saltwater as he glared at the beach. His Dad was standing on the sand, fully dressed and all alone. Narrowing his eyes, Harry re mounted his board before hurriedly riding it ashore. Striding through the surf, he called out to James, “What's going on?”

James glanced up and down the beach. Seeing no one observing them, he shrunk the windsurfer. “I'll take this back, you head up to the Villa to get cleaned up and pack. I'll explain when I get back.”

Frowning, Harry trotted up the path, his board shorts slapping against his bronze skin. They were due to leave the next day anyway, so their vacation wasn't cut too short, but his Dad's sombre expression set Harry on guard.

The Villa seemed to be the headquarters of pandemonium. Sirius was hollering from his and Hestia's room about where the gift was that he'd bought Remus at the local shopping area in Spanish Town. Lily was shouting back at him that he was a “bloody fool who'd lose his bloody head if it weren't stapled to his bloody neck.”

Ignoring the adults, he scurried up to his and Hermione's room. Opening the door, he ducked as flying clothes leapt from the drawers to land in their shared suitcase. Hermione's mumbled, “Sorry about that,” went unheeded as their shoes jumped out of the closet, shrinking as they went. The miniature footwear landed in the suitcase with a soft clatter.

She pointed to a pile of cold weather clothes on the chair. “Right,” he said in understanding. Scooping them up, he headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. By the time he was clean, dry and dressed the family was all packed and gathered in the hallway. Scampering down the steps, he saw Sirius enchant a portkey as James Apparated into the hallway from wherever he'd gone.

“Come on,” James encouraged.

“Wait a bloody minute,” Harry exclaimed. Putting his foot down literally and figuratively, he demanded, “What is going on?”

Without blinking, James replied, “The Death Eater contingent in the Wizengamot is making a push on some legislation.”

Frowning, Harry asked, “Like?”

“Like legalizing hunting sentient magical creatures.”

“What? Centaurs and whatnot?”

Sirius nodded, holding up a multi-page letter. “And with the way the law is written, that would also include Werewolves, Goblins and even Unicorns. Moony says that it's a rider to the DMLE appropriations bill. The vote is tomorrow.”

Without further comment or question, Harry reached for the portkey.

“Activate,” Sirius incanted. The magical vortex whirled the six people to the Terrance B. Letham International Airport and Portal facility

.oOo.

Another OMAKE from Bob. This time, it's the teens' response to Neville's selection as Harry's hostage. Enjoy…

"Mr Potter, please! Can't you talk to him?" pleaded Minerva.

James looked at her critically. "Minerva," he said with a sigh. "We've tried talking to him, and he refuses to budge."

"What about Hermione? Surely she can make him give in," pressed the haggard Deputy.

Lily barked a laugh. "Give in? Minerva if I know Hermione, she probably helped."

Minerva collapsed in her chair and waved the note that read. "What was good for my God brother is good for meddling arseholes.”

"It's been two weeks and we've checked every lake within fifty miles of the school and we still can't find Dumbledore!" she exclaimed. "Longbottom and your son refuse to say what they did with him!"

James shrugged. "I'm sorry Minerva but you can't honestly expect me to care much about what happens to Albus Dumbledore."

She sighed and nodded unhappily. "I'll go tell the board that it looks like he's taking an extended leave."

Lily smiled sympathetically at her as she left the room. A moment later Harry walked in followed by Neville, Susan and Hermione.

"Harry," Lily said in a pained tone, "Please tell me that Dumbledore is alive and safe?"

"And where is he?" pressed James, "They've checked every lake and river for miles."

Neville grinned. "Oh he's due to wake up in about an hour. I'm surprised that no one found him since technically he never left the castle grounds."

All four teens broke out in laughter.

"Where is he?" pressed James.

Harry buffed his nails. "Well if it was ok to put Neville into the lake we figured it was ok to put him someplace wet too."

Hermione collapsed on to a chair in a fit of giggles.

"But where is he?" James repeated.

"The castle septic tank," replied Harry. “Up to his neck and enchanted with a flotation charm to keep his head above the mess.”

"Mischief Managed," Neville said calmly.

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first nine chapters. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on FanFiction(dot)net.

2. Recommendation for the chapter is …you tell me. I'm too tired to find one, so give me your recommendations.

3. I wrote nearly the entire spa scene while listening to `In My Time of Dying' but Led Zeppelin followed by `Cygnus X-1' by Rush. It's not too hard considering the songs' length, plus they're incredibly good tunes.

4. Yes, I really meant to use the word `defiladed', not defended. No inane comments about word choice. There's an amazing new invention called a `Dictionary'. Just out. Try it before making a absurd suggestion.

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

“Hear Ye! Hear Ye! Lords and Ladies, Members and Proxy Members of the Wizengamot of Great Britain and Northern Ireland call you to readiness to serve the subjects of Her Royal Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, and of Her other Realms and Territories, Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith!”

Hermione settled into her seat, eagerly awaiting the forthcoming debate and vote. When they arrived back from the Caribbean, they'd immediately portkeyed to Rowan Hill.

It was Hestia's first visit to the magnificent home of the Potters, but she'd set it aside when Rauri arrived. Taking the luggage, he gravely intoned, “Steward Lupin shall meet you in the Master's study.”

No one blinked at the gravity of Rauri's proclamation. If the law made it legal to hunt werewolves, it also made it legal to hunt - and murder - house elves.

James and Sirius rounded the Lord of the Manor's desk to read the pre-positioned copy of the `Human Rights Bill' addendum to the Appropriations Bill for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for Fiscal Year 1995. Lily and Hestia shared another copy between themselves. Just as Hermione was about to lose patience and grab a copy from someone, Remus strode into the room.

“Good, you've read the bill.” Nodding to James and Sirius he added, “I've been contacted by Sir Edward Grey and Lord Salisbury. They want to talk. In fact, they were very eager to speak with the two of you.”

Hermione nodded. Sir Edward Grey and Lord Salisbury were leaders in the Wizengamot who held sway in both the muggle and magical governments. The men had been the Foreign Secretary and Prime Minister, respectively, in the mundane government. In fact, for many years, Lord Salisbury had been both Prime Ministers and Foreign Secretary. With the extended lifespans of wizards, they'd had to `die' to the world when they were in their seventies.

Salisbury was currently in the latter half of his second century and the elder statesman of the Wizengamot. He'd never sought the Chief Warlock position, electing to work with Sir Edward to be the kingmakers of the body. It always struck Hermione as odd that these two men were staunch allies for in the mundane government, Lord Salisbury had been a Conservative while Sir Edward had been a Liberal.

Although ennobled in the mundane world as Viscount Grey of Fallodon, Sir Edward preferred to be addressed in the Wizengamot by his magical title as the Baronet of Fallodon.

Not only were the elder statesmen allowing James and Sirius into their councils, but also to invite them was a sign of change. Both men, while not pureblood supremacists, were staunch conservatives in the Wizengamot. While the Potters hadn't been historically liberal, they had been a progressive element over time. The Blacks…well they all hoped no one would hold his ancestry against Sirius.

This shift by the movers and shakers of the British Magical government was an indication of the consolidation. There must be more afoot than merely this bill for Salisbury and Sir Edward to make overtures to James and Remus.

Fully formed into her mind, a most disturbing thought appeared. To the rest of the family, Hermione's expression would have been horribly funny had she not whispered in fear, “The Goblins.”

Lily's eyes widened. “They'll revolt,” she concluded.

James sat heavily in his chair, his head in his hands, “And the economy will fall like a stone. No one will be able to access their money.”

In stunned amazement, Lily wondered aloud, “They had to think of this. No one is that stupid.” Turning to Sirius, she asked, “Who sponsored this bill?”

Scanning the top of the parchment, Sirius read, but it was Remus who answered. “Joseph Jugson.”

“Why?” Lily shouted. “What does he hope to gain?”

Hermione fully understood the redheaded witch's frustration. The elite, rich pureblood Death Eater supporter would lose immensely should this bill become law. For that matter, so too would Malfoy, Macnair and Lestrange lose access to their fortunes. “Why?” Hermione whispered.

“They don't expect the bill to become law. They can't, it's too radical,” Hestia muttered as she read through the text of the bill. Tapping a stray quill against the side of her nose, she muttered, “So what's to be gained by this bill?”

Hestia was all business. Hermione was surprised at the change in the woman. After the faux pas in the spa, the blonde woman had sought out Hermione's company nearly every day. They'd had long talks and walks becoming better acquainted. The Smartest Witch of the Age had been impressed by the effort by the woman and began to form a real affection for the woman who would become her adopted stepmother. That's an odd title.

Switching gears from the affable woman to the mien of the witch who was an Area Director of British Magical Foreign Relations, Hestia told the group, “The ministry has a hand in this in some way.” Gesturing at the copy in her hands, the blonde expanded as she thought aloud, “This is too encompassing and has very pointed language. This was at least co-written by a Ministry insider.” Frowning, she told her lover in an aside, “You need to insure that Fudge isn't backing this.”

Nodding, Sirius sighed. “I really don't know what I'm doing with all this.”

Privately, Hermione agreed that James and Sirius were about to be tempered in the fires of politics. Sirius had sat his seat for one session and James a handful spread across thirteen years.

Lily turned to James who beat her to the punch, “I'll talk to Fahgmather at Gringotts. He'll be beating the war drums should that rubbish pass. I just want to talk to Salisbury and Sir Edward first.” She nodded before returning to ruminate over the document.

Remus' chuckle broke the tense atmosphere and in a comedic moment, everyone looked to him with an expectant expression. Holding up his hands, he explained, “I'm just really glad I reached you all because I'd no idea what to do. That was a laugh of relief.”

Hestia motioned Sirius toward the door, “Love, I know you're still finding your feet with this politics thing, but you've got the first lesson down flat.” When he regarded her quizzically, she smiled, “You know what your constituency desires.”

Sirius barked a laugh, “Yeah, my constituency is me.” She mock glared at him so he added, “And you of course, my love.” His expression sobering, he added, “I still don't have any real idea what to do, though.”

Chuckling, she told him, “That is why you're about to change clothes before heading over to The Reserve to meet with Sir Edward and Lord Salisbury before you go to Gringotts to warn and mollify the Goblins,” Hestia reminded Sirius as she gently shoved him out the door. “Go. You need guidance that we can't provide. Go.”

Nodding, Sirius left but not before Hermione saw an expression on his face she'd never expected: uncertainty. Sirius was one of the most decisive men she'd ever known. Like Harry and James, the three men were not afraid of making a decision. If they found it to be the wrong choice, they'd course correct, making a new decision to get back on track. For him to be hesitant and indecisive, he must truly be at sea in this situation.

“Come on, Padfoot. Let's get going,” James cajoled. James had the advantage of having been tutored by his father as he grew up. Charlus Potter had been a giant in the Wizengamot and any of his tutelage was to be respected.

Sirius turned back into the room. Catching Hermione's eye, he told her, “Hestia will be on the Government bench, but I want you in the Heir seat. You'll need to see this.”

Smiling, she couldn't help but feel good that he remembered her in this stressful situation. “I'll be ready. Tomorrow at one?”

“One,” he nodded before giving her a brief smile. Kissing Hestia, he headed out after James.

.oOo.

James led the way into the private rooms of Sir Edward Grey at his club, The Reserve. In the traditional décor of dark woods and leather, the aroma of tobacco and fine whisky mixed with the chatter by knots of men deep in discussions.

“You should have seen him. Fastest Seeker I've ever seen…”

“Yes, well, you know my family has significant interest in that sector, so I'd be obliged if you could see your way…”

“That stupid whore couldn't keep her bloody mouth shut…”

James rolled his eyes at the last. Obviously, someone was doing something - or someone - he ought not. Prongs had a reputation for being a ladies man at school, but in reality, Lily had been his second girlfriend. He'd dated Alice Strothers for a grand total of three weeks before she threw him over for Frank Longbottom. He'd not been too crushed. James was an incurable flirt, though. However, that was more a function of his extrovert nature than being a man-whore.

Sirius, though…

His thoughts were bouncing from topic to topic as his brain whirled. Like a soldier in the heat of a battlefield, his consciousness was hyper aware and acutely focusing on all the details around him as he focused his intellect on the problem in front of him: The Human Rights Bill and the repercussions therein.

Opening the door, James led a silent Sirius into Sir Edward's permanently reserved rooms.

Two old men looked up as the young wizards entered. The early afternoon sun illuminated the room in a rainbow of colours through the stained glass window on the wall. The scene depicted of the Battle of Hastings seemed oddly appropriate.

Refocusing on the men, James regarded some of the most famous politician ever to grace the British governments - both magical and mundane. Salisbury was famous for the bushy beard he wore in his youth. He maintained it even now when it was snow white. Trimmed and neat, it was the only hair on his head aside from outrageously shaggy eyebrows.

Sir Edward was lean with iron grey hair. His piercing blue eyes held very little warmth but more than a little intensity. His wife had died nearly one hundred years before, and those who knew the man said that he never got over losing his Dorothy. He'd remarried sixteen years later, but it had been a marriage of convenience for both parties. She had passed during the Forties and most wondered if Sir Edward even missed her. Throwing himself into politics as a relief from his inner demons, he'd risen to the heights of both magical and mundane worlds.

Neither man rose, but Salisbury indicated the two empty seats with a silent wave of his hand. Both men resumed their late lunch; grouse for Sir Edward and Cornish Hen for Lord Salisbury.

When Blackmoor and Richmond took their seats, Sir Edward amiably asked, “Have you eaten yet?”

Taken aback at the inconsequential, yet strangely intimate question, James replied, “No, sir. We've not had time. My steward contacted us in the Caribbean while on holiday and we returned immediately.”

Sir Edward handed James and Sirius menus before returning to his grouse.

Trying to maintain his equilibrium, James glanced at the menu before noting the house elf's name at the bottom of the menu. In a conversational voice, he announced, “Sippy, I'd like the wild boar with greens.”

Sirius added, “I'd like the Filet Mignon.”

Moments later, the two dishes appeared in front of the two men. In silence, the four men ate. The memories of his youth with his father in situations like this filled James mind. British magical politics was supposed to be a civilized effort and many times, one expressed allegiances in the niceties. Fallodon and Salisbury would never have eaten with Richmond and Blackmoor had they any intention of hostilities.

The Marquess of Salisbury leaned back in his chair, an involuntary contented sigh escaping him as he did so. Cocking his head to one side, he regarded James.

Unable to avoid feeling as he were being judged James smothered the desire to fidget. At that point, Sirius came to the rescue.

Nudging his cousin in the side, Sirius whispered, “Prongs…”

That nickname reminded James of who he was. He was a powerful wizard who'd fought, killed and bled for what he believed. He was the heir of Charlus Potter, the best man he'd ever known and the father of Harry, a young man who would become the most famous and powerful wizard to be seen in Britannia since a young half Roman by the name of Myrddin Emrys was born oh so long ago.

He was James Charlus Potter and he bowed before no man.

With a bit more steel in his spine, he caught Salisbury's eye, daring the old wizard to find him wanting. The soft smile under the beard gave away the game. Not resenting the man's efforts, James returned the smile.

Grey's soft clearing of his throat gathered everyone's attention. “Gentlemen, I believe we all know why we are here.” Sober nods accompanied the statement, Blackmoor frowning as he did. “For some reason, the arch conservative pureblood movement is forcing a confrontation with this bill.”

Frowning, James couldn't help but speak, “You mean the Death Eater contingent.”

Dryly, Sir Edward replied, “Quite. They are forcing this situation and we must defeat this bill.”

“Yes, yes,” Salisbury growled, “And we shall, but the question remains, Edward. Why? And the answer is easy to see.”

“It is?” Sirius yelped. James couldn't help but smile along with Sir Edward. He hoped his own inexperience wasn't as blatantly obvious as Sirius'.

“Yes, young man,” Salisbury rebuked softly. “They are forcing the entire Wizengamot to declare themselves as either supporters of the so-called Death Eater agenda or in opposition to the same.”

“But why?” James wondered. “Actually, why now?” he corrected. His befuddlement clear on his face, he turned to both of the older men as he said, “I would have understood had this vote come fifteen years ago when Voldemort,” to their credit, neither man reacted, “Was running rampant, but now? To what end do they work towards by forcing the legislators to declare themselves now?”

“We don't know,” the soft spoken Sir Edward replied. “We do know that we must marshal the votes to bury this…” the distaste was evident on his face as he gestured to a pile of forms on the table.

“The Goblins,” James brought up.

“Yes, that is a most troublesome and touchy aspect of this patch of nastiness,” Sir Edward agreed approvingly. “Your thoughts?” he tested.

“I have a somewhat personal relationship with the head of the Great Goblin Horde,” James ventured, confident in his assessment of Fahgmather's role. “I could call on him this afternoon at the bank to both prepare him and attempt to reassure and soothe him.”

“Soothe a goblin?” Salisbury asked with more than a touch of humour. “Is that possible?”

Sirius snorted, “Oh yes, Richmond and Fahgmather have an understanding of sorts.” James gave a small smile as it appeared that Sirius was becoming a little more comfortable in the august company. Rarely did Sirius use their titles as a casual name, but in this room with a Marquess and a Viscount along with the two Earls, it was completely in order.

“How very interesting,” Sir Edward commented. Steepling his fingers in front of his mouth, he leaned back in his chair, regarding James and Sirius with new eyes. “Blackmoor, I understand you have an arrangement with Director Jones in Foreign Relations?”

James blindly grabbed Sirius' arm. He knew that Padfoot wouldn't take too kindly to this type of question, but James had an idea where the old Foreign Office hand was heading with the question.

Surprising his cousin, Sirius calmly replied, “Yes, we are recently affianced.”

“Congratulations. I would suggest you make some inquiries into the government circles to see who on that bench is supporting this…” his distaste was again apparent, as Sir Edward was unable to disparage the Human Rights Bill accurately. “I believe that the toad woman whom Cornelius calls his Undersecretary is the `inside man' for this little effort.”

Salisbury grunted, “She's ugly as sin but not a Death Eater.”

Remembering the Yule Ball at Hogwarts, James commented, “She's an extraordinary bigot. Regardless of her status in support of Voldemort, she would most likely wholeheartedly support that…” James followed Sir Edward in his inability to name, politely, the Human Rights Bill.

“That steaming pile of shite,” Sirius declared. Apparently, Padfoot was tired of beating about the bush.

Salisbury looked surprised before he began to laugh a creaky, dry chuckle. Again, Sir Edward replied, “Quite,” but this time there was a small smile lurking about the edge of his mouth as his eyes flared with amusement.

“Sir Edward and I shall begin calling on the others; insuring that we have the necessary votes in hand before tomorrow's session. Dumbledore has already been by to pledge his block in opposition to this,” he smiled at Sirius, “to this steaming pile of shite. So too has Aldershanks. Between those blocks and the votes between us four we have most of what is needful.”

Sir Edward picked up the thread, “I've sent notes to Darcy, Fitzwilliam and Bennett asking them to come over later this evening. Based on their interests and past records, I believe they will also pledge their votes.”

James was tallying votes in his head, but lost track. “I'm sorry, but how many votes do Fitzwilliam and Bennett marshal?”

“Seven and twelve respectively,” Salisbury croaked. Coughing, the old man took a sip of his newly appeared after meal port. “You've a good mind for all this, young Richmond, like your father before you. These little facts are very important in the day to day infighting of our government.”

James nodded his head, acknowledging the combined compliment and rebuke. Whether or not he decided to fully immerse himself in the Wizengamot was yet to be seen. Once Voldemort was a cooling corpse, he'd revisit the issue.

Standing, James nodded to the elder statesmen as he Duplicated the `steaming pile of shite' before shrinking it. “I should return soon, the goblins are delightfully direct in these matters.”

Sirius stood, wiping his mouth. “I'll either send word or return. If you don't hear from me by…” he glanced at the clock on the mantle of the fireplace. “If you don't hear from me by ten, I'll be here at eight in the morning.”

Salisbury gave a smile as Sir Edward rose. The lean man shook both of the young peers' hands before gracing them with a smile, “It seems that it shall be good to work with the two of you.”

Warmed by the compliment, James smiled in reply. “'Til later.”

.oOo.

Watching his father and godfather hurry from the room, Harry decided to take action on the little idea he had a few days before. Squeezing Hermione's hand, he told her, “I'll catch up with you later.” The cant of his head toward Remus told volumes.

She cocked her eyebrow, for he'd told her about his concerns and they'd talked about it at length. He nodded, acknowledging her unspoken question. “Good luck,” she whispered before heading out.

Lily and Hestia left, leaving Harry and Remus. Turning to the Lycan, he saw Remus watching him, a half smile on his worn face. “What did you want to talk about, Harry?”

Not bothering to contest Remus' assumption, he sat on the leather couch. Remus sat opposite him in a wingback chair.

“I missed you this last week,” Harry began simply.

Remus looked down, pursing his lips in thought. Harry couldn't help but have his heart go out to his uncle. The man had seen and had such heartache in his relatively short life. No matter what anyone says, the human condition seems to need a mate with whom one shares his or her life. Harry couldn't imagine his life without Hermione any longer. True, he had his friends back in his life, but Moony didn't have a mate or the prospects of one any time soon

However, that was Remus' own fault.

“I was busy here,” the older man tried to explain.

Snorting, Harry retorted, “Bollocks.”

“Excuse me?” Remus snapped. The indignation was warring with embarrassment at being caught in a lie by the teenager who was no teen. Harry narrowed his eyes at his former professor for a long moment.

“Bollocks, I said and still say. If you don't want to tell me the truth, that's fine. If you don't think it's any of my business, tell me to bugger off, but don't fucking lie to me Moony.” Nearly sneering, he added, “And don't get all high and mighty with me, either, Professor.”

Completely nonplussed, Remus stared.

Harry was glad his tactic seemed to be working. He'd talked it over with his Mum, Dad and Hermione in separate discussions and all agreed that if anyone could pull this off, it was Harry.

“You didn't come because it was either your continuing pig-headedness about money or the fact that you've no girlfriend. Either way, it's your own fault.” Standing from the couch, Harry glared at Remus, “I thought that having Mum and Dad along with Sirius back in your life meant something to you. Apparently, I was wrong.”

Taking a long step toward the door, Harry felt a shiver of fear. What if the gambit failed? He was going for broke right out of the gate.

“Hold on a goddam minute!” Remus shouted.

Harry had to swallow a smile. It worked.

Turning back to Moony, Harry nearly took a step back in fear. The man was quivering with emotion, nearly irate. “I have loved those three since before you were born you little squit. Where the hell do you get off saying those things to me?”

“Oh, you loved them so much that you didn't come on holiday with us. You love them so much that you spend most of your time holed up here in your office when you're not teaching Hermione and me. Yeah, you love them lots and lots.” Adopting an insulting little boy tone, Harry mocked, “I so sorry Unka Moony. I was wrong.”

To an extent, Harry understood Remus' predicament. As The Boy-Who-Lived, Harry was subject to a cycle of reverence and ridicule that he found to be incredibly hurtful. Remus was in a similar cycle. He'd get to know people and become friends. Once they found out about his Lycanthropy, he was usually left behind in short order.

Even Prongs, Padfoot and Lily had left him, even if it hadn't been of their own volition. His mother had commented that he'd withdrawn from his friends in the years immediately following Hogwarts. It was this behaviour which had caused James and Lily to doubt their friend, not understanding the true motive behind Remus' actions.

Moony would have placated his lifelong friends with calming words. He would have completely ignored Hestia and even Hermione. However, Harry was, and always would be, `Little One' in Remus' heart. Like explosives, the words that Harry was hurling at Remus were designed to hurt. They were designed to irritate and hopefully even puncture the armour that Remus wore to shut out the world.

To have a chance to reason with Remus, to have a chance to work at bringing Remus truly into their family, Harry had to get past the defences that Remus had built over the years to protect himself from the painful world in which he lived. The problem was that the defences not only kept those out who would hurt him, they also kept out those who would love him.

True, Remus did participate in Christmas and regularly ate with the family, but he always held himself apart. Even Harry could tell that he was trying to protect himself from being hurt in the future should James, Lily, Sirius or the teens `come to their senses' and reject him.

Fool.

“I so sorry Unka Moony. I was wrong.”

“You bastard,” Remus whispered as his face paled to the colour of chalk.

“Actually, I believe you know that my parents were married at the time of my birth, so I am not, technically, a bastard.” The expression on Remus' face made Harry think that maybe he'd gone a step too far with the last taunting.

When Moony sat heavily in the chair, holding his head in his hands, Harry switched gears. When talking it over with Hermione, he asked her how he should act. Her response had been simple, “How would you want me to confront you?” That had been all the prompting he'd needed.

“Remus,” he whispered. Gently, he laid his hand on his uncle's shoulder. “We love you more than you know. It hurts us to see you stay away from what you need so much. You need us as we need you. Remember what you told me back in November? We must fix how we're broken.”

Eyes blinking tears, Remus looked into Harry's sad face. Looking like a lost child, Remus waited for what he had to hear so that he could accept. “We need you and you need us. You aren't a werewolf in this family; you're Remus Lupin, Moony of the Marauders and my uncle whom I treasure.”

There was no more prevarication. They were both past that point. Harry was inside Remus' defences and both knew it. The time for lies was long past so Remus could only nod his understanding and acceptance of Harry's words.

It was time.

It was time for the self-pity to be thrown to the winds.

It was time for the self-loathing to be scattered to the four corners of the seas.

It was time to move on.

The curse would always be a part of him, but it didn't have to define him. Harry knew all too well about that fact. It was the reason he loathed being called The Boy-Who-Lived. He didn't want to be defined by his parents supposed death while he survived.

He'd much rather be defined as the son of James and Lily, lover of Hermione, Quidditch Seeker or something else. It was part of the lesson that Remus had taught him and which he was trying to remind his mentor. He was trying to tell and show Remus that he didn't have to let the curse define him.

Roughly, Remus pulled the dark haired young man into his arms. “I love you Harry. Thank you for being brave enough…for being strong enough to do this.”

“We're family, Remus. For family, I'd do anything.”

.oOo.

Hermione turned away from the open door, having heard everything that just transpired between Remus and Harry. She waited until she turned the corner to wipe the tears from her face and softly blow her nose.

Despite his emotionally stunted upbringing and the damage done by his animalistic relatives, Harry possessed the ability to touch those about him in the most meaningful ways. She didn't know how he did it, but Harry could instinctively reach out to those in need, addressing their pain in his plainspoken way, inevitably helping them in ways she'd never been able to fathom.

Remus wasn't `fixed', far from it. Nevertheless, Harry had helped him break down the walls of his own construction. Walls that Harry himself had in his own psyche until not too long before. The return of his parents, falling in love with Hermione and the return of Sirius and Remus into his life had forced Harry to reach out in ways he'd never dreamed he would or could.

Turning the corner toward the kitchen, Hermione found Lily leaning on the wall.

“How'd it go?” the redheaded witch asked.

Hermione smiled. Had Harry grown up with this woman as his day-to-day caretaker, he'd never have got away with anything.

“It went far better than I expected.”

Lily gave a deep sigh of relief. “Good.” Hooking her arm in Hermione's, she told the younger witch, “Let's get a spot of tea. I find myself in need of fortification.” The amused twinkle in Lily's eye coupled with the ersatz haughty tone caused Hermione to laugh.

She truly loved being in this family.

.oOo.

“Good afternoon, Ashcraik. I need to speak with Fahgmather immediately.”

The goblin raised his hairy eyebrows. First, Richmond had addressed him by his true name not that teasing juvenile appellation and second he was nearly demanding a meeting with the Head of the Horde.

After all that transpired the previous fall, the Senior Teller knew that Richmond and Blackmoor were throwing their not inconsiderable support behind the Goblin Nation. Due to the realities of modern politics, the two men had to work behind the scenes in order to make any headway.

Regarding the man for a moment, what he saw gave him a spike of fear for the first time in over three hundred years. Slightly wide unblinking eyes that held his gaze combined with nostrils flaring and a slight flush told the goblin that the walking roast in front of him was either in a near panic, excitement or a mix of both. Despite the man's habitual juvenile behaviour, Ashcraik knew that James Potter was a warrior. For Richmond to be in such a state and demanding to see Fahgmather…the two conditions at the same time did not bode well for the Goblin Nation.

A short nod preceded his grunt of assent. Heaving his bulk from the high stool that was his prerogative as Senior Teller of all Tellers at Gringotts London, Ashcraik beckoned to James. Leading the man to a nearby waiting area, he opened the door.

All jocularity was missing from the usual exchanges. The Goblin sniffed at the idea that most humans wouldn't understand the subtlety of Goblin humour anyway. “Wait here. We shall return shortly.”

“Thank you, Ashcraik,” the Potter lord muttered distractedly. He moved to the table, withdrawing a shrunken sheaf of parchment from his pocket as he walked. As the parchment was resized, the Goblin saw a flash of the seal of the Wizengamot.

This couldn't be good. He decided to run to Fahgmahter's office.

.oOo.

With a pop, Sirius arrived at Rowan Hill. Greeted by Rauri, he asked the elf, “Miss Jones? Is she still here?”

Rauri nodded before replying, “She is in your rooms, my Lord.”

Not wanting to waste time, he Apparated to the rooms they shared in the east wing of the second floor. The loud shriek caused him to drop to the floor, avoiding whatever must be threatening him.

“Sirius Black!”

Turning his head, he saw his mostly naked fiancée glaring at him with her hands on her hips. Her lacily clad hips.

“Nice knickers,” he commented. It was all she was wearing.

Ignoring his lusty grin and comment, she yelled at him, “What the hell are you doing scaring the life out of me?”

Gods above and below, but he loved her. Ignoring her nakedness, she was showing all the fire and passion that she usually kept tightly under wraps. Standing, he straightened his robes before approaching her. Without replying, he took her into his arms and kissed her deeply.

Her struggles ended quickly before she returned his kiss eagerly.

Breaking off, he panted, “Not that I don't want some afternoon delight, but we really don't have the time. I need your help.”

Nipping his lower lip, she gave his arse a squeeze, “You owe me.” Spinning toward `her' closet, she asked over her shoulder, “What's going on?”

.oOo.

James had decided that the blunt truth was the best method to approach Fahgmather. Since he was approaching the goblin as `James' and not `Lord Richmond, High Councillor of the Wizengamot', he figured that directness was best.

Placing a copy of the Human Rights Bill in front of the spare chair, he waited. After only two minutes, the door opened to admit a panting Ashcraik along with a scowling Fahgmather.

Cutting to the chase, James indicated to the spare copy of the bill while handing his own copy to Ashcraik. Apparently, the Senior Teller was in the confidences of the Head of the Horde, so James adopted the same attitude.

It took less than a minute before Fahgmather reacted. James wasn't sure what he'd expected. Goblins aren't big on emotional displays - aside from grumpiness - so screaming or whatnot was definitely out. The reptilian glare was very intimidating, though.

“Why are you here, human?” Fahgmather asked in a low, dangerous tone.

Rolling his eyes, James decided to shake things up a bit. With more than a bit of humour, he snarked, “Because, Fuckyourmother and Asscrack, I am attempting to avert a near catastrophic Goblin Rebellion and…” the twinkle in his eye faded, “…and because I don't want this insanity to be realized as law.”

The simmering anger and resentment flared from the goblin's eyes to his entire expression, “Yet, you bring this?”

“Oh, come now, man! If I had it out for you and your race, would I have brought this in the first place? Would I have given eight interviews over the last eight months espousing equality among the magical races? Would I?” Now it was James' turn to scowl, “My fourteen year old son is far more mature than you.”

There was a long heartbeat of silence where James thought he might have crossed the line with the Goblins. They weren't known for their finer feelings or expressing themselves in a controlled manner when angry. Nor did they tolerate insults well. Nevertheless, he was not expecting laughter.

It started when Fahgmather began to grin that gave way to a chuckle. The chuckle became laughter, which gave birth to full on roaring. Both Ashcraik and Fahgmather carried on for a long minute before their merriment subsided.

“Good, good…” Fahgmather muttered to himself. Much more under control of his anger and mirth, he asked, “What are you doing about this…?” he gestured to the document as his words trailed off.

“Sir Edward Grey, Lord Salisbury, Lord Blackmoor and I are building the coalition to defeat the bill. Unfortunately, the bill is a rider on the DMLE Appropriations bill for the next fiscal year. We'll have to have the budget resubmitted at a later date, but that's just an annoyance more than anything.”

Fahgmather grunted as he frowned. Re-reading the bill, he scowled once again.

“It is my intent,” James began with more confidence than he felt, “To address the Wizengamot and express my certainty that the Goblin Nation shall revolt should that,” he jabbed his finger at the bill, “Become law. And that the Goblin Nation would be justified in doing so.”

Fahgmather was silent as he leaned back in his chair. Tapping his long fingers against his chin, he observed, “That is a very interesting statement.” For the first time, he turned to Ashcraik, “Very interesting indeed, don't you agree Senior Teller?”

Ashcraik nodded silently as he glared.

“I say that so that you are forewarned that I shall be taking some bold steps to insure this bill does not pass. At the same time, Sir Edward is confident that we have the votes in hand right now to squash the effort. He needs a few allies to check in before categorically declaring success.”

“Wise he is,” Fahgmather muttered. After a long moment, the head of the Horde told James, “We shall show restraint during your debate.”

Eyes narrowing, the head of the Great Goblin Horde threw the parchment on the table as he added, “But know this, should that become law, there will be war and many shall die.”

.oOo.

Hestia was dressed in her smart, pinstripe robes. Somewhat form fitting, they showed to the world that Hestia Jones - soon to be Countess Blackmoor -was a very attractive witch. Without being crass, that is.

Sirius at her side, she suppressed a smile. Her earlier display of anger had left her `all worked up' without the time to do anything about it. Padfoot was in for the shag of his life later this evening. Turning a corner, she put on her game face.

“This is her office,” she muttered out of the side of her mouth.

Sirius nodded before turning on the charm. Grinning his devilish smile, he approached Amelia Bones' secretary. “Hello, darling. Is Director Bones in this afternoon?” Leaning into her personal space just enough to be intimate, he added in a husky undertone, “Sirius Black to see her.”

Hestia nearly rolled her eyes when the young witch flushed and stammered, “I-I-I'll see…that is - she's in, but…”Bolting from her seat the attractive brunette secretary hurried to the door, smiling back to Sirius as she did so.

When the door shut, Sirius cackled to himself, “I can't help being awesome, awesomeness just happens. Still got it.”

“No you don't,” Hestia corrected.

When he turned to her, a confused expression on his face, she pulled him into a rough kiss. “I've got it.”

His goofy grin was all he could muster before the Director's office opened. They secretary reappeared, an expectant expression on her face. With a breathy voice, she told them, “Ms Bones will see you, sir.”

Sirius turned back to the girl, his smouldering smile returning. “Thank you, my dear.” He gave her hand a squeeze as he passed and Hestia could have sworn she heard the girl whimper.

The secretary's gaze absently swept to the blonde witch. Hestia was surprised when the girl recoiled forcefully. Apparently, the blonde witch's expression was transmitting something along the lines of, “He's mine, back off bitch!”

Closing the large double doors behind her, Hestia heard Sirius, “Amelia, so good to see you again.”

When Hestia turned back, Sirius added, “You know my fiancée, Area Director Jones?”

Hestia liked and respected Amelia Bones. A career civil servant, Amelia had risen to the heights of government in a strictly patriarchal society. True, she'd had to sacrifice a family to do so, but in an unfortunate stroke of luck, she'd gained custody of her brother's infant daughter in the closing days of the last war. The rumour mill seemed to be right in stating that the Director was devoted to her niece. Many times, she'd taken leave for the two weeks after Hogwarts let out for the year as well as arranging for meetings in Hogsmeade that `happened' to coincide with the Hogwarts Hogsmeade visits.

`Of course,” the redhead replied to Sirius. Turning to Hestia, she gave a modest smile, “My felicitations on your engagement,” her smile became impish when she added, “Even if it's to this man-child.”

Theatrically raising his hand to his chest, Sirius moaned, “You wound me, my dear.”

They all laughed as they moved to Amelia's sitting area in front of the large fireplace. “Tea?” she asked.

Shaking her head, Hestia declined, “I'm sorry, Ma'am, we really don't have a lot of time.”

“It's that disgusting rider that Jugson added to my budget, isn't it?”

“Exactly,” Sirius replied. “Who's his hatchet man?” he asked. Hestia had tutored him about the process to append such a pointed rider to a well-established appropriations bill like the DMLE budget. There was always a Ministry person who had to shepherd the process. Amelia Bones knew everyone and where every skeleton was buried.

“That bitch Umbridge, of course,” the no nonsense Director answered. “She's been raving for years about `half-breed' this and that. Should have found a way to `accidently' shove her through the Veil or into a vat of bloody acid. Something…” Shaking her head, she resumed, “She finally found a sympathetic ear in that fool Jugson.”

Frowning, Hestia asked, “You think that Umbridge is behind this? I was thinking that he used her inside knowledge and expertise to design his bill. If it's the other way `round, then I'm all back to front.”

Amelia paused, frowning. Leaning back in her chair, she tapped her middle finger on the arm of the chair. The tune was familiar to Hestia, but she couldn't put the name on the piece. A Beethoven sonata, she thought.

“You may be right,” Bones admitted. “Umbridge is incredibly stupid. The more I think about it, the more I find it unlikely that she started this whole thing. She's much more of an opportunist who'd work with someone else to achieve her ends.”

“Fudge?” Sirius asked, his meaning clear.

“I think that as likable as Cornelius Fudge is personally, he must be the dimmest man I've ever met. Ever. If he's involved with this I'll eat my hat.”

Hestia really liked Amelia Bones. Used to working with foreign relations personnel all day, the Director's candour was refreshing.

“Who's on the DMLE committee?” Sirius asked. Hestia nodded approvingly, it was a prescient question.

“Well, Jugson is the chair with Malfoy, that mental defective Goyle along with Boot, Diggle, MacMillan and Aldershanks.”

“So Jugson could ramrod any rider he wants to the bill whenever he wants,” Sirius observed in an undertone.

“I don't understand why, though,” Hestia muttered. “It makes no sense.”

Bones snorted before shaking her head. “What?” Sirius asked.

Regarding the Lord Blackmoor with an incredulous eye, she told him in terms meant for toddlers, “This bill will stop my budget from becoming approved. The fiscal year ends on May thirty first. Come June first, I'll either be shut down or you idiots in the Wizengamot will have to pass a Continuing Resolution or - heaven help us all - get off your lazy arses to pass my budget.”

Hestia went cold. How could they not have seen this? “Wait,” she countered. “The DMLE budget is already negotiated; this rider just delays its passage. The vote tomorrow will send it down, but it can be resubmitted next week, unaltered.”

“And what inanity will be added next week?”

Pursing her lips, Hestia glanced at Sirius to see him deep in thought. Her first reaction was to dismiss Amelia as being parochial and viewing the Wizengamot machinations though her own DMLE coloured glasses.

However, she might have a point.

Might.

“But why? Why cripple the DMLE now?” Hestia asked again. There was no answer.

.oOo.

James arrived home late in the afternoon. Greeted by Rauri, the Lord Richmond asked, “My wife and son, where are they, good Rauri?” The hint of cheek brought a wry grin to the old elf's withered features.

“Why, my Lord, don't you already know?” the old elf bantered. A flash of white teeth was the only giveaway at his humour.

“Rauri, you know we can't function without you,” James moaned.

“True.”

“You little scamp!” James protested, momentary delight filling him up like a glass with water. It'd been a hard day and he needed this bit of fun. However, back to business.

“Seriously, where are they, Rauri?”

Nodding now that they were back into their roles, the major domo of Rowan Hill replied with his usual gravity, “Lady Richmond is in her study while Lord Harry and Lady Hermione are studying in the Library.”

“Excellent. Would you please ask Harry and Hermione to meet me in Lily's study?” he asked as he hustled off down the hall.

Moments later, he turned into Lily's study. She'd converted the Lady of the Manor's study from its Louis XIV style to a combination workshop and potions laboratory. Rauri had nearly cried when the fine furniture had been stored and the tapestries and woodwork taken down. Nevertheless, Lily's study was far more functional than decorative. It was not intended for public consumption.

Lily's head was bent over a bubbling cauldron, her beautiful hair up in a messy knot on her head. No matter how many times he saw her, James always smiled as he realized anew that she'd chosen him. Shaking away the wonder, he greeted, “Hey, love.”

“Just a minute,” she replied. Her slow, deliberate stirrings in seemingly random motions told James that she was brewing some extremely rare and most likely powerful potion. He'd scored an E on his potions NEWT, but he always felt like a firstie next to his wife when she discussed or brewed potions.

The pattering of feet outside the room told him that his kids were almost there. Kids, he chided himself. Nearly adults themselves which was why he had returned home.

As Hermione rounded into the room, followed by Harry, Lily announced, “There, that'll do it until tomorrow.” Casting a stasis charm about the cauldron, she moved to the sink to wash up. Over her shoulder she asked, “How'd it go?”

James gave his family the quick rundown, finishing with “The Goblins won't immediately revolt, but the situation will rapidly deteriorate should we not stop this immediately.”

“But I thought you said Sir Edward and Lord Salisbury were confident that the coalition would prevent the bill's passage?” Harry asked.

Nodding his head, James agreed, to a point. “My Dad used to preach that nothing is certain, which is why I've come home.” Pointing to the teens, he told them, “You've got a half hour. Get cleaned up and changed. You're coming with me to meet Sir Edward and Lord Salisbury.”

When Harry's expression went blank, Hermione reminded him, “We're both heirs of our seats and need to see how this works. Also,” she quirked a grin, “I think it'll be extremely interesting to meet the man who served as Prime Minister to Queen Victoria. Imagine the stories he can tell!”

James laughed at Harry's expression, shooing the teens from the room.

When the door closed, Lily asked with gravity she'd not shown when Harry and Hermione were in the room, “Are you really confident?”

Sighing, James ran his hand through his hair, “Enough. I freely admit that I'm not very experienced here, but Sir Edward and Salisbury don't seem too worried, so I trust their judgement.” Shaking his head, he added with a hint of awe, “Fahgmather was really brassed off, though. Really, really brassed off. I wouldn't put it past them to declare war just to vent it all off.”

.oOo.

More than a bit nervous, Harry held the door for his parents and girlfriend. Wearing expensive robes, he was doing his best to be comfortable in a situation where he was decidedly uncomfortable.

After hearing a soft clearing of her throat, Harry turned to Hermione. His quizzical glance was answered by her wrapping her hand in his arm so that he could escort her. It was a multi-fold action for first it calmed Harry. One thing he'd learned through the years was that if he had Hermione at his side, he'd be fine in the end.

Secondly, it told any who were watching, which was everyone in view, that she and he had a more than friendly relationship. Harry thought back on the discussion he'd had with his mother at the Bones' Christmas party and wondered if it'd do for him to move towards formalising the relationship at this point. True, they were still very young, but the Compatibility Ritual that Lily had conducted returned an astounding score of 99.7.

Thirdly, he just liked it when she claimed him in public. He liked to let everyone know that he was hers just as much as she was his.

Following James and Lily through the exclusive club, Harry wondered if he'd ever belong to a place like this. Six months before, the idea would have been ludicrous, but his life had changed drastically and as a result, so too had his ideas and attitudes.

“Love you,” she whispered so that only he heard her.

“Love you, too,” he replied at the same volume.

They were there for each other. What better definition of a relationship was needed? Good times and bad. Carnal and friendly. Sickness and health. Happiness and rage. He was for her as she was for him and in the end, that was what the story of his life was about.

Holding the door for Hermione again, he realized that his life was no longer centred about the mortal struggle with the Dark Lord Voldemort. That had become a sideshow. Harry Potter's life now centred about Hermione Granger and peripherally Lily and James Potter, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Voldemort projected a very dangerous and real presence into his life, but he refused to let the wizard born as Tom Riddle occupy centre stage.

Holding onto Hermione in the literal - she'd retaken his arm - and metaphorical sense, he stepped forward to meet two giants of British politics.

“Ah, Richmond,” Lord Salisbury greeted James, “looks like you've brought the entire family.”

“Indeed, my Lord,” James greeted the aged Marquess with a respectful nod. “We're to head over to End o' the World for dinner shortly, so I thought it'd do for them to come with.”

The twinkle in his pale blue eye was far friendlier than that in the Headmaster's when Salisbury observed, “And get a bit of tutoring to the next generation while we're at it?”

James smiled in agreement as he introduced Lily to the two men.

`How did it progress with our Goblin friends?” Sir Edward asked.

Everyone sat and Harry couldn't help but notice that he and Hermione leaned forward a bit, trying to soak up everything. James recounted the discussion he had with Fahgmather, as well as, pointing out that during the discussion Ashcraik was named as the Senior Teller of Gringotts.

Salisbury shook his head, “This whole thing could explode should that arse Jugson upset the Goblins too much. It wouldn't matter what we do in session. If the Goblins take too much offense they'll revolt.”

Harry shuddered. With more than a bit of asperity, Hermione had recapped the most recent Goblin rebellion that took place in 1898. It was also the most bloody revolt as over four thousand British wizards had been killed while many more had emigrated to escape the violence.

At that point, Gringotts hadn't been the defacto bank for all of Britain. The Dwarves and Gnomes had still maintained their banking facilities in London and Cardiff while the Gnomes also had a branch office in Edinburg. Now, the Goblins were the monopoly for the banks in Britain so they had full control of the British economy. Hermione had reflected that it had been an extraordinarily planned and executed plan to take over the British banking system, for in so doing, the Goblins had made themselves indispensible.

The older men were silent as they reflected upon James' news. Lily had been silent alongside the teens. It hadn't been any of their places to comment or interject into the discussion, so they left James to his task.

Hermione had asked Lily if it bothered her that she had no direct voice in the debate. The auburn haired witch had smiled, “Do you really think that I have no voice?”

Harry had barked a laugh. Knowing his parents as he did, they'd generate a coherent voice on all topics upon which James was to vote. Where they hadn't a chance to discuss the issue beforehand, James would most likely vote with his knowledge of Lily's opinions and preferences in the forefront of his mind.

Not that James was a spineless worm. Far from it. It was evident, though, that he valued his wife's input and opinion. Harry had watched his parents very closely. They had a teasing relationship when they were light hearted, but when matters turned serious, they usually were able to have a thoughtful discussion that moved toward a resolution. He wanted his and Hermione's eventual marriage to be similar to his parents' in that they had a relationship built upon mutual respect and love coupled with a strong desire to make the other happy.

Harry smiled to himself as he watched Sir Edward and James discuss their next moves. Sometimes, James and Lily would not be on the same page, as it were, and they'd have a spot of bother. Usually, though, they thought alike.

Turning to Hermione, he smiled. Just like him and his girlfriend.

The door opened again, admitting a windblown Sirius and an amused Hestia. After one more round of greetings, Harry watched Sirius relate the discussion with Amelia Bones. Then he paused.

Hestia spoke up, “What my fiancé is hesitant about discussing is the subsequent meeting we had with Percy Weasley.”

Harry's brow furrowed. Why would they talk to Percy?

Hermione leaned into Harry's side, whispering, “Although not a decision maker, Percy is in nearly every meeting of Crouch and Fudge as a note taker. He's also stuck-up enough to boast about what he's seen or heard.”

“The lad is an utter boob,” Sirius observed flatly. Harry had to smile, he'd not thought of Percy as a fool, but his pretentiousness surely shoved him into that realm.

“He confirmed that Umbridge is the ministry force behind this rider, though,” Hestia added.

“True, but it was painful,” Sirius whinged slightly. Shaking his head, he told everyone, “Weasley the younger told us that Umbridge has been lobbying Fudge for his support of this bill for a few weeks. Fudge's wavering, but still tells her he's going to stay out of it.”

“A few weeks…” Lily mused as she sat back in her chair, eyes unfocused.

Thinking back, Harry tried to remember the biggest events within the last month. The only event that came to mind was the second task of the tournament, but beyond that…nothing of note.

“Is this Voldemort? Is he behind all this?” James asked in a low tone.

“It may very well be, James,” observed a voice from the doorway.

Turning to the sound of the voice behind him, Harry saw Albus Dumbledore standing in the entryway of the room. Bristling at the sight of the man, The Boy-Who-Lived was still upset about Neville's participation in the task. Hermione's iron grip on his forearm helped him keep his tongue in check.

Turning to her, he caught her eye, noticing the warning expression on her face. Nodding his understanding and acknowledgement that he was under control, he saw her relax infinitesimally.

Around him, he heard James stiffly ask, “What do you mean by that, Albus?”

The old man moved into the room. He studiously avoided Harry and Hermione, which was fine by Harry. After the Headmaster nodded his greeting to the elder statesmen in the room, he sat. There was a long pause as Dumbledore seemed to collect his thoughts. With more than a bit of spite, Harry waspishly thought that the man was doing it merely to focus the entire attention of the room on him. Mayhap he was right.

“We've seen stirrings of Lord Voldemort these past few years.” Nodding to Sir Edward, he added for James' and Sirius' benefit, “I've informed Lord Salisbury and Sir Edward of the events surrounding the possession of Quirinus Quirrell, the Chamber of Secrets and the escape of Peter Pettigrew.

With reluctant gratitude, Harry noticed that it seemed that the old man had held back Harry's role, or at least the prominence of that role.

“Evidently, Lord Voldemort is attempting to accomplish his revival. This move by his followers seems to be an indication that said revival is close to fruition, for they would not act in this manner of their own accord.”

Dumbledore's flat delivery of his conclusion made the information all the more chilling. Almost suppressing a groan, Harry ran his hand through his hair. Self-pity welling up within him, he wanted to whinge Why Me? or other like sentiments. Looking about him, he was shocked out of his self-indulgence.

Here were the movers and shakers of British society doing what they could to avert the forthcoming catastrophic storm. They were, to paraphrase the American revolutionaries from the eighteenth century, mutually pledging to the other their lives, their fortunes and their sacred honour. They were doing so in order to stand for what was right. They, like Harry, were fully engaged in the war against Voldemort. The venue was a different arena but the wager no less precious. They were all dead men should Tom Riddle be reborn.

Refocusing, he paid attention to the reactions of those about him. Like him, Hermione was studying the older generations. James, Lily, Hestia and Sirius didn't seem surprised at all by the headmaster's announcement. Consummate professional politicians that they were, Salisbury and Sir Edward were ciphers, though.

Shaking his head Harry chuckled to himself. Looking up, he saw that Sir Edward had focused his pale grey eyes upon him. “Your thoughts, young Potter?” he asked in a quietly amused tone.

“Sir Edward, I meant no disrespect…” the soft spoken plea was waved off with a nonchalant hand.

“I know that, but I am very curious as to your thoughts. You must have a very…unique perspective on these events.” The light hearted delivery of the words belied the extreme gravity of the situation and all knew it. Sir Edward was exerting himself to achieve an end of which Harry was unaware.

Glancing to his Dad, he saw a silent nod of encouragement. If James trusted these men, then so too could he. “I know that Voldemort is a deadly, implacable foe.” Glancing about the room, he took a chance, “I believe I've fought him face to face more than anyone in the room, save perhaps the Headmaster.”

Looking at his feet, Albus nodded graciously, but didn't reply further.

Taking a deep breath, Harry centred himself as he did when casting the Patronus charm. Reaching deep within, he called upon what he believed. Pushing aside fear, regret and knowledge, he reached for Truth. Grasping it as if Truth was a life preserver and he a drowning man, Harry immersed himself in the blinding, searing state of being that exists when Truth is revealed.

“I believe that we shall not only vanquish this man and his slaves,” the word vanquish was specially selected for Dumbledore's benefit, “But we shall see our society move to a new golden age to rival that of Camelot under Arthur with Merlin at his side. I believe that I shall grow old with this woman beside me and we shall bring forth a new generation to build the Shining City on the Hill.”

“Cibola…” Salisbury whispered as he stared at nothing.

The confidence and power emanating from Harry brought all up short. Bemused, he watched them all gaze at him, open mouthed. Later, he'd ask his girlfriend exactly happened to everyone and she would tell him that they all knew that all would be well. Somehow, he'd infused them all with his vision, with his Truth. Continuing, he wasn't sure where the words came from, but they couldn't be denied.

“There shall be dark days. There shall be pain. There shall be death.

“There shall also be victory. The victory shall be complete from which there shall be no recovery.”

The old and young men in the room looked to the fourteen year old young man with hope, love and certitude. None knew why they had complete confidence and belief in Harry's vision, but all were certain that it would come to pass.

“You know this, young man? You believe this?” Sir Edward asked with fearful expression. It could've been a fear of the establishment of this new world or maybe a fear of failing, Harry didn't know.

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied at his most forceful. “I do.”

.oOo.

“Hear Ye! Hear Ye! Lords and Ladies, Members and Proxy Members of the Wizengamot of Great Britain and Northern Ireland call you to readiness to serve the subjects of Her Royal Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, and of Her other Realms and Territories, Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith!”

And so it was that Hermione settled into her seat. Jumping a bit, she looked to her left when Harry sat. On her right, Neville took his seat. Both wizards wore mischievous smiles. Susan sat on Neville's right, her smile a bit less mischievous, but no less amused.

“Why are you two rascals sitting next to me and why are you here Sue? Both your seats are on the far sides of the box?” she asked, fully expecting an answer that would most likely make her groan.

Neville sat forward before turning around. Pointing to the coat of arms embossed in the leather of his seat, he commented, “Longbottom.”

Harry repeated his friend's action, but said, “Richmond.”

Now she narrowed her eyes, “You two will get into a world of trouble should the protocol officer find out you moved your chairs.

With amused gravity, Harry raised his hand in a pledge, “Hermione, we didn't move our chairs.” She nearly burst before he added, “The protocol officer did.”

As Neville sat and straightened his robes, he breezily commented, “It's amazing what one can do when The Boy-Who-Lived asks politely.”

Demurely, Susan observed, “Neville offered me use of the Longbottom spouse seat for this historic gathering.” The twitching at the corner of her mouth gave away the game, though.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione wondered if the return of the Marauders hadn't had a deleterious effect on her boyfriend and their friend. Ignoring the lads and Susan, she refocused on the proceedings as the members of the Wizengamot took their seats. Surreptitiously, she took Harry's hand, stroking her thumb across the back of it.

Dumbledore began the proceedings with the ritual order, “Call the first order of business for Her Majesty's Wizengamot!”

The scribe called, “First order of business is bill 95-024; Department of Magical Law Enforcement budget with various amendments.”

Immediately, ritualistically Dumbledore intoned, “What say the Ministry?”

Amelia Bones stood forth from the government bench. As Bones approached the podium, Hermione did a quick scan. It appeared that all the seats were filled for this session. There was an eager anticipation that bordered on tension in the convocation hall. Usually, there were more than a few members doing other tasks and on occasion, even sleeping. Not today. Today, all were sharply focused on the proceedings to see what was to be said. Like sharks, the members smelled blood in the water and were circling.

The redheaded witch resettled her monocle before beginning, “The bulk of this bill is the negotiated budget for the DMLE and the Ministry is fully supportive.” There was a long pause where Hermione had a momentary pang of fear that the Ministry was to remain mum on the so-called `Human Rights Bill'.

“However,” she added, so Hermione let go her breath that she'd not been aware she'd been holding.

“Here we go,” Harry breathed as he leaned forward in his seat. It seemed the other two hundred and six members of the Wizengamot did the same.

“The so-called `Human Rights Bill' that has been amended to the duly negotiated and conscientious budget for the DMLE has made this bill an abhomination and even ridiculous. The government cannot support 95-024 because of this amendment and even goes so far as to urge this body to reject summarily bill 95-024 due to the stain that is the so-called `Human Rights Bill'.

When Director Bones took her seat, Harry muttered, “Damn, tell it like it is.”

“Go, Auntie,” Susan cheered under her breath. Her face shone in pride as she watched her aunt survey the members for reaction. Murmurs and mumbling became a dull roar as many of the members turned to their neighbours to comment on the Director's remarks.

“The Wizengamot recognized his Lordship, the Earl of Richmond!” Dumbledore cried.

The roar petered away to silence as James stood. This was the first time he'd spoken in session since returning to the time stream. Many of the members, most if truth be told, were familiar with Charlus Potter. Not all liked the strong willed Earl, but all respected him. There were very high expectations for his son. So they waited.

Deliberately James looked about the convocation chamber, his face sombre. “I have no objection whatsoever to the budget put forth for the support of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It is a fair appropriation which, given the current status of our country, shall allow Director Bones and her Aurors to keep us safe for another year.

“However, I was appalled to see what was amended to 95-024 whilst in committee by the Honourable Mr Jusgson.” Shaking his head in disbelief, he continued, “I have been gone from our society - punished by the Dark Lord who terrorized our nation thirteen years ago - and have missed much. I do not believe that I have missed the dissipation of honour and justice from our land. I do not believe that I have missed the dissipation of decency.

“This so called `Human Rights Bill' is vile; yet let us look beyond the moral repugnance inspired by this revolting concept embodied in the amendment. Let us review the practical implications.”

Holding up his left hand, one finger extended, James called, “The Goblins shall revolt should 95-024 become law. I have spoken with the Leader of the Goblin Nation, just yesterday in fact and he told me that - and I quote - `there will be war and many shall die' should this bill become law.”

His expression now a scowling glare, the Lord Richmond surveyed his peers as he snarled, “And I can't help but agree with him for this amendment would make it legal for a Witch or Wizard to kill any Goblin as they see fit without repercussions. Were I a Goblin, I would take up arms in response to this bill.”

Pausing for effect, he allowed the full implications of a new war with the Goblins to settle for the members. Bypassing the issue of the catastrophe to magical Britain's economy, many of the members remembered the bloody war of a hundred years before, some had even fought in the conflict. None wanted a repeat of that horrible struggle. More than a few expressions turned to thoughtful contemplation from eager anticipation.

“We would declare open season on unicorns, centaurs and even the majestic phoenix. Is this how you want to be known by history? The phoenix killers? The murderers of unicorns?” Now the expressions became those of discomfort. No politician wants to be remembered as a monster, even if by association.

Hermione slowly shook her head in amused respect as a small smile crept across her mouth. James was bullying and shaming the Wizengamot for even considering this bill. Any fence sitters were surely off the fence by now.

“I will not be a party to this revolting bigotry. I will not sully my name, my family's name and the name of our country by this attempt to drive our fair nation back to the dark ages.” He seemed to swell as his eyes sparked with power. Hermione reflected that James was a powerful wizard in his own right. Applause burst out in response to James declaration.

“I WILL NOT!” He roared into the storm of cheering. “I will not sacrifice my honour in the face of this effort. It is surely an essay by the enemy or his minions to subvert us. I will fight against the enemy and all who hold to his ideals wherever he makes an inroad. Should he attempt to undermine our personal honour and the honour of our country with twisted words paired to equally twisted actions, I will fight.”

Breathing heavily, James surveyed the now roaring convocation hall. Harry was on his feet, clapping so hard, Hermione was sure that he'd hurt his hands. Neville was cheering while Susan clapped and laughed with joy in the moment. Hermione didn't even notice when she'd stood, but she was right there with her friends, cheering and clapping. Throwing his arms into the air for silence, James waited as the crowd came back under control. When Hermione thought she could have heard a pin drop, James finished in a harsh tone so soft that many strained to hear him, “I will not allow our country to sink into the savagery this bill portends. Our children deserve better, our families deserve better. We all deserve better. I will fight against this evil in all its forms and I plant my standard here. No further.”

The roar swelled again as a wave, bearing emotion, noise and people away in a flood that nearly deafened all present.

“Vote!”

The call was taken up and repeated, “Vote!”

“Vote!”

Dumbledore looked about to see If any would stand opposed to a vote. Hermione wasn't watching the Chief Warlock, she was watching Sir Edward Grey. The man was ignoring the emotional outbursts as he looked about the chamber. He seemed to be making eye contact with his allies. Finally, he turned toward the Chief Warlock. Catching Dumbledore's eye, he nodded.

This seemed to be what the Defeater of Grindlewald needed before he shouted, “I call this bill to a vote before the Wizengamot! My Lords and Ladies, members and proxy members, I ask you to vote your conscience in the best interests of the realm!”

Wands flashed as the automatic vote tally began to be read out. The blue numbers in support of the bill slowly inched up. A vote here and there. The red numbers were a blur, as a slot machine whirls before it runs its results. Hermione smiled when it tallied one hundred and ninety when it stopped. Bill 95-024 had been summarily rejected. They had won but the nagging question persisted: why?

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first ten chapters. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on FanFiction(dot)net.

2. Recommendation for the chapter is Meet the Godparents by apAidan. Great story that had me on edge for the first bit, but is working out into an intriguing storyline

3. Old Crow asked how many people I envisioned in the Wizengamot. Well, currently there are 826 members of the British House of Lords, after which I imagine the Wizengamot to be patterned. Divide by four and you get the number I use in the chapter. I wanted it to be large, but not huge.

4. Yeah, no line item veto in the Wizengamot, although, that would have solved all the problems.

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The days after the defeat of the `Human Rights Bill' were exhausting for Harry and Hermione. Typifying the adage that `children should be seen but not heard' the two heirs followed their respective heads of house to various meetings; some formal others not so much. The drudgery was that they weren't always together. Nevertheless, there was a lot of watching with no talking for the teens.

On more than one occasion, Harry had to fend off The Boy-Who-Lived groupies of all ages and genders. It was very disquieting when the octogenarian grandmother took a very avid interest in him. His Dad had chuckled as Harry scudded away from the woman to the protective shadow of his girlfriend.

“Unngh,” Harry moaned as he flopped into their bed. At nearly midnight, it was one of the earlier nights that he'd been able to get to bed. It was also the first night since their abrupt return from the BVI where Hermione was still awake when he crawled into bed; although `awake' was a relative term. She wasn't snoring.

Stripping bare, he hurriedly scuttled under the sheets and duvet. The early spring weather had turned cold and although Rowan Hill was magnificent, the massive fireplaces were in each room for a reason. “Freezing,” he murmured as he spooned with his intended.

“Mmmm,” she hummed. “How'd it go?”

“Alright. Neville represented his Gran and between him and Dad, they let Fudge know that what had happened was a waste of everyone's time and it was his fault.”

Hermione half turned, “Neville did that?”

“Well,” Harry backtracked, “He agreed with Dad.”

“Right,” she agreed. “That sounds better.” Harry silently agreed that although Neville had come a long way since James had returned into his life, there was still more than a hint of the shy, reserved boy he'd been as a firstie.

His body relaxed, moulding itself to Hermione's more supple womanly shape. His breathing began to deepen when he heard her say, “Your Mum says we're to return to Hogwarts tomorrow; back to studies. Lily says she's a bad feeling that something's coming.”

His tired grunt was the last sound he made that night.

.oOo.

“Did she say yes?” Lily asked.

Sighing, James rolled over to his side. “Eventually. Took all my prodigious powers of persuasion, though.”

Running her hands through his perpetually messy hair, she teased, “Which means you begged.”

“Yeah.”

There was a long pause and Lily thought James may have drifted off before he commented, “You know, this idea of yours could backfire magnificently.”

“Or it could save him,” she countered.

“Or it could save him,” he repeated in reluctant agreement.

.oOo.

Striding down the halls of Hogwarts, Harry reflected upon Hermione's statement after Christmas, “Classes and Quidditch seem so small, provincial even.” My oh my, did she hit the nail on the head.

Hermione's hand nestled in his own; they wended their way through the crowds of students as they made their way to the library. For a while, they'd continued to wear their Hogwarts robes while being tutored. It helped ease their sense of being apart from the rest of the student body. Now, they really didn't care.

Harry wore dark blue robes trimmed with silver while Hermione wore beautiful robes of the palest blue. They stood out like giants at a house elf convention amidst the ocean of black Hogwarts robes. Harry ignored the stares and whispers that followed them down the hallway. The bulk of his mind was occupied with the Potions assignment his mother had assigned, but the unoccupied portion of his mind just didn't care what the students thought of him and his girlfriend.

Holding the door for Hermione, they made their way to their desk in the back corner of the library. It was a fairly secluded study location in the middle of the magical law section that ensured they were never bothered. Without comment, they dropped their bags on the table before heading into the stacks; Hermione for their Arithmancy project and Harry for Potions.

Absently, he pulled down the books that he thought might be useful. Lily had assigned them the task of compiling a list of ten possible potions that could be used in a battle situation, narrowing the list to a single selection with the proofs, logic and other supporting evidence.

The Arithmancy project was a bear. They were to calculate the necessary so that one would be able to Apparate at Hogwarts. Harry wore a wistful smile at Hermione's subdued expression of indignation. It was a signpost of more innocent times when Hermione had blared the trumpet loudly about their inability to Apparate whilst at school.

Stacking the five books in his arms, he meandered back to their table. Since Hermione was still in the stacks, he opened the first book and began to take notes. So absorbed in his task, he didn't hear the visitor approach.

“Er, Harry? Could I talk with you for a moment?”

Looking up, Harry saw Ron Weasley standing across from the table, a decidedly uncomfortable expression on his already reddening face.

In an uncharitable moment, Harry wondered if Ron was uncomfortable because he was speaking with Harry or because he was in the library. He'd not thought a lot about his former friend in the weeks past. Studying, his family, Hermione and life in general had completely dominated his attention. In retrospect, he figured that fact alone told him more than it implied.

Pushing the cynical musings aside, Harry nodded as he told his former friend, “Sure. What's on your mind?”

Looking off to the side, Ron fidgeted before he muttered, “I reckon that I've been a right prat.”

Not in the mood to indulge Ron, Harry stared at the redhead waiting for more. After all the cold shoulders, the comments that Ron may or may not have thought Harry could hear, all of the hostile behaviour since Halloween that surged to the fore of Harry's mind, a mild admission that he'd been out of order just wouldn't do. A mental digression niggled at Harry; mingling amidst the unpleasant memories was a leavening of bewilderment that Ron would resent Harry's parents return. How could anyone begrudge that?

Silence was not what the standing teen expected. With a blank expression, he stared at Harry before fidgeting with the hem of his new robes. Robes probably purchased with the generous severance his father had paid Mr Weasley. Finally, Ron asked, “Well?”

“Well, what?” Harry replied coldly. “You've been backbiting, snide and mean since my pressing into the tournament. Now you come here and state the obvious. Do you want a biscuit?” His face twisting into false good cheer, Harry cheered in an insincerely jocular tone so that he was nearly sneering, “Good show Ronnie! You finally acted like a human, much less a friend!”

The redhead's face paled but Harry couldn't tell if it was anger or shame that fuelled Ron's reaction. In the end, Harry didn't care. Leaning over the table, The Boy-Who-Lived snarled, “You were my mate. I trusted you and you shit all over me and our friendship. So watch me not give a flying fuck for what you want.”

Still pale, Ron gave a hesitant nod. Halting his turn halfway, he told Harry, “I understand, but I really am sorry.”

Now Harry stood, “You know, if it was just me, I would probably call evens and we could be mates again. But that's not all that happened, is it? I heard what you said about Hermione. The time you called her a whore under your breath. The time you asked her if she was putting out for all the Potters or just me. I heard all that Ron. The only reason I didn't call you out was because she forbade it.” Slowly standing from his seat, Harry was exerting all his will to keep his temper under control. Forcing his palms flat on the table, he glared at Ron, “She saved your life by doing that, Ron. If you ever say anything to or about Hermione again, you'll answer to me.” When Ron didn't answer, Harry asked, “Clear?”

“Yeah,” Ron replied as if his throat was parched. “Yeah I understand and I…I won't be a prick anymore.” He flinched before nodding and moving off.

Harry watched his former friend until the redhead disappeared. Ron was his past. It was nice that the teen had apologized, but Harry wasn't in the mood nowadays for second chances.

Returning to his seat, the dark haired teen noticed that the table was warped where he'd flattened his hands. Apparently, his magic hadn't been under as much control as he'd thought. Drawing his wand, he scratched his ear as he tried to figure out how to fix the table.

“I heard every word you just said.”

Freezing in place, Harry was concerned at the tone of his girlfriend. She sounded less than happy. “Oh?” he asked.

With a flick of her wand, Hermione slowly rotated Harry's chair about so that he was facing her. Another flick of her wand caused the Arithmancy books in her left arm to float to the table.

“I'm a big girl who can take care of herself, my love.”

Taking heart at the endearment, Harry thought about her words before replying. Unable to avoid the truth, he sighed. “You're right. I'm sorry I got all Neanderthal with Ron.”

In a surprise move, she hiked up her robes before straddling his lap. The long, languid kiss was most welcome. It had been a very long, trying day.

“I appreciate the sentiment, though,” she whispered, her voice husky.

“I don't like anyone to think ill of you, much less say…” he replied.

“I know. I feel the same about you.” Harry had absorbed more than a few unkind words in the months past.

After another long kiss that was accompanied by wandering hands, she whispered in his ear, “Tonight, we're using your parents' spare room.” She sighed before telling him in a normal tone, “But for now, we've work to do.”

He pouted for a bit. Work could wait until after sex, couldn't it?'

Her bright smile brought him `round. “Love you,” she whispered, her pride and happiness evident.

Returning her smile was automatic. The brightening of his day was all due to her. She had that ability that not many others possessed in that she, with her smile, could usually make a cloudy day clear. Maybe it was because he loved her. Maybe it was because she loved him. Maybe it was a bit of both.

For whatever reason, it was one more occasion to love her just that little bit more.

.oOo.

Remus was tired. Bone tired if truth were told. He was six days from the Full Moon, but this weariness was far beyond his normal experience. While the Wolfsbane that Lily brewed was a lifesaver, his transformation wasn't all peaches and cream. Still, what he was going through was pretty extraordinary. James had arranged for a healer to come take a look at him this afternoon; a healer who specialized in Lycanthropy. If he'd not been so tired, he'd have known immediately who it was that his old friend had arranged to come.

Most other werewolves didn't trust Remus. He didn't exile himself from mainstream society like most had. He'd been awarded his certificate from Hogwarts, something no other living werewolf had accomplished. Trying to make a life for himself in whatever way he could, he'd even worked in the muggle world to make ends meet. Since he wasn't very welcome in the Lycan community, Remus didn't know if his symptoms were normal or worse or yet milder than those experienced by the greater werewolf population. Poppy did her best, but he was the only werewolf she'd ever treated, so her experience was the same as his.

Rolling his shoulders, he yawned widely before returning his attention to the book in front of him. He felt that he was nearly finished with the teens' power control exercises, as he called them. Harry and Hermione had been performing the spells for weeks with adjustments as they went, but now, he thought they were a finished product.

Magic is a wondrous thing, even to a pureblood wizard like Remus who'd been raised around it. The Earth Shaker curse was amazing, though. Only Harry could cast it to full effect, but the effect was massive. Harry had caused a localized earthquake equal to a 9.6 on the Richter scale the other day when he cast it. Remus had been terrified for a moment that the Astronomy Tower was going to topple; the effect had been so massive. When the shaking stopped, the now taken aback threesome had trooped into the forest for Hermione's turn. Harry could nearly synthesize the Apocalypse should he put his all into the spell, he wanted to be far away from the castle when Hermione gave it a go.

She'd cast the spell creating `only' a 7.8. It was still enough to topple buildings and bring down bridges.

Knock-knock

“Must be the healer,” he muttered to himself. Standing, he made his way to the door. Opening it, he began his welcome, but it lodged in his throat.

She stood in the doorway.

“Hello,” he whispered.

Her cold blue eyes narrowed, “I believe we've an appointment?”

Recollecting himself, he stood back to allow her entrance. “Of course. Please, come in.”

The beautiful blonde in the healers robes strode briskly into the room, placing her bag on the table. “James said you're suffering beyond the normal.”

Her statement was obviously a question. Sails flapping, he replied in a distracted undertone, for he was mesmerized by her seemingly miraculous appearance. He'd not seen her in over ten years.

“Yes. It's been especially bad these last few months.”

Without looking at him, she sat, withdrawing a form and quill as she did so. Placing spectacles on her nose, she asked, “Has anything changed in the past months?”

“Lily has been brewing Wolfsbane for me,” he replied in automatic. His eyes hadn't left her form since she sat. The last time he'd seen her, she was begging him not to leave her. His curse didn't matter, she had told him. She loved him and only him.

Yet he walked out.

Granted, Lily and James were recently `buried' while Sirius was beginning his incarceration. Peter was dead to him and Harry had just disappeared, so to say that he was a bit confused would be to say that Noah encountered a small rain shower as he was building his dinghy.

There was a prolonged silence. He didn't want to say anything that would dispel the spell that brought her there but it was killing him to speak with her in such a clinical, detached way as if they'd never known each other. Never slept together, dreamed together and never loved each other.

“It's good to see you,” he whispered, unable to bottle up his emotion any longer.

She spun on him, fury in her eyes. “Never, ever speak to me in a familiar manner, Mr Lupin. You sacrificed that right a decade ago. The only reason I'm here is because James asked me to look into your case. Had anyone else asked - even Sirius - I'd have told them where to get off.”

Breathing hard, she returned to her notes. There were a few more per functionary questions before she stood. Her composure regained, she was a cool professional when she asked, him, “Please remove your shirt and take a seat.”

The curse did much to his body, but it also made him much stronger than the average human. In a physical confrontation, he could defeat most any opponent without much effort and this capability showed in his rippling muscles.

He expected some reaction, but she never even blinked.

The usual ears, nose, throat and heartbeat examination preceded a series of diagnostic spells focused on his liver and pancreas. As she analysed the results, she played with her long blonde hair. As she always had.

Absorbed in her analysis, she told him in a distracted manner, “I'll need a blood sample.”

“Of course,” he replied. Hesitantly, he held out his arm.

Dipping into her bag, she withdrew the syringe and vial. Magical means hadn't been generated to draw blood in a way that didn't contaminate the sample with the magic of the spell. Therefore, it was drawn the old-fashioned way.

He flinched when she inserted the needle. Not daring to look at her, he thought he saw a wistful smile flit across her face out of the corner of her eye. She'd teased him mercilessly about his fear of needles.

Quickly, she packed up her kit. Without looking at him, she told him, “I'll be back in two days with the results. In the meantime, I'll have Lily owl me a sample of her Wolfsbane to see if there`s a contaminant, but I doubt that's the problem. She's the best brewer I've ever known.”

Her face softened for a millisecond, the coldness melting to show the raw agony that lay behind the facade. The power and majesty of her pain stole Remus' breath, choking him with emotion.

The glimpse of her true self was gone. The mask firmly in place, she nodded. Without hesitation, she strode to the door. In the blink of an eye, she was gone.

The door closed behind her.

Remus meandered to his chair, consumed with grief born anew for he thought he'd recovered from the devastating loss when he'd forsaken her. Falling into the chair, tears stole down his cheeks unbidden yet undeniable. The Truth was still as real for him today as it was those years ago. He still was desperately in love with Alexandra Price but it seemed that she hated every bone in his body. Justifiably so, he cursed himself.

.oOo.

“Two hearts.”

Susan pursed her lips. “Three diamonds.”

Neville scratched his head. “Four spades?” Hermione glared at her partner's bid.

Jumping the bid, Harry announced, “Six clubs.”

Hermione's scowl changed its focus from Neville, her partner, to her boyfriend. “Really,” she drolly commented.

His reply was a happy little smile.

The four friends had been playing bridge for the last hour and a half. Susan had quickly acclimated to the game, while Neville was still bumbling about. Harry was an indifferent player who enjoyed being with his friends more than winning. Hermione was ruthless.

She had told Harry that her parents had taught her to play with her mother's mother as their fourth. All the older generation took their bridge very seriously. In fact, Hermione's grandmother, Cecilia, brought a ruler to each game, smacking Hermione on the hand whenever the young girl played a poorly selected card.

“Hermione?” Neville asked with quiet reservation. “Do you think we can call it a night? I'm pretty tired and have a Transfiguration exam the day after tomorrow.”

Harry smothered a smile. The best way to get Hermione to succumb was to cite an upcoming exam. Since Harry and his girlfriend had left the mainstream Hogwarts curriculum, they'd lost track of the exam cycle so it wasn't too hard to `create' an upcoming test.

“Oh, sure Neville,” Hermione replied with a hint of wistfulness.

“Walk me back to my common room?” Susan asked her boyfriend as she stood.

Neville's small smile told Harry volumes. Neville wanted to study, but he doubted it was Transfiguration.

“Of course,” the shy Gryffindor replied.

“See you all tomorrow,” Harry called as he scooped up the cards. Hermione walked their friends to the door. They were in Sirius' rooms at the castle. He and Hestia were out for the evening and expected to stay at her flat for the evening. Sirius had told Harry that the younger crowd could use the rooms but, “You better not mess about too much.”

Harry had snorted, “Talk to my Dad, godfather of mine. Prongs seems to have a slightly different opinion than you have.”

Stoking the fire, he smiled when Hermione extinguished all the other lights in the room. She sat on the sofa in front of the fire, holding her arms out to Harry. Settling next to her, he gathered his intended into his embrace.

“That was fun,” he mused.

She shrugged, “I guess.”

Rolling his eyes, he gave her a half squeeze, “You're not being hyper competitive, are you?”

“Maybe a little,” she admitted. “A very little.”

Deciding to give up the topic as a bad job, he asked, “Are you ready for tomorrow?” Flitwick had scheduled a melee duel with himself, Remus, James and Lily against the teens.

“As ready as I can be.” She gave him a little smirk, “Though, I believe I could use some tension relief this evening.”

He laughed, but it was tight and full of strain, “Is that all I am? Tension relief?”

Her smirk broadened into a smile, “Well, your foot rubs are to die for.”

He smiled, but didn't laugh. The affected mirth quickly drained away as he pondered the next day's events. While Susan and Neville had been there, he'd been able to submerge his thoughts, enjoying the presence of his friends. Hermione was his other half; he couldn't hide anything from her for any extended period.

The poke in his side brought him `round. “Huh?” he asked her.

“What?” she asked, her meaning clear.

All traces of levity gone, he reminded her, “Remember earlier in the year when I had my little `altercation' with Malfoy and his goons?”

She nodded her understanding, the expression on her face narrowing. Harry pulled her a little tighter. That had been an awakening for both of them to their mortality. The Prophecy had just been disclosed and Harry seriously hurt shortly afterwards. The combination of the two had banished the sense of immortality that most teenagers possess. Their repeated exposure to life threatening situations coupled with the real deaths of Quirrel, the Basilisk and culminating with this event had fully convinced the young couple that they could be seriously hurt and even killed in the altercation to come.

Both took deep breaths to push aside the grip of momentary panic that resurfaced. While not the most dangerous situation either had experienced, it was easily the most emotionally jarring.

“Well, tomorrow is the test. Remember how I said that I wasn't ready to take on that many opponents? Tomorrow, we'll do just that and they'll be a helluva lot more competent than Gregory Goyle.”

Reflecting on what he said, Harry added, “I don't think they'll hurt me. I'm not afraid of pain or such. It's more about me passing a test. Being ready to face real opponents.”

His last word rebounded a bit in the stone rooms as they both considered his statement. Hermione worried her lip as she thought, staring off into the ether. Finally, she brought her gleaming brown eyes back to his. “You're ready. I took those five Death Eaters in the Alley last fall. I'm good, but you're a better fighter than I am. You can do this”

“But Voldemort…” he countered. The sinking feeling in the pit of his belly expanded to become full-blown despair.

“You're not fighting the Dark Lord tomorrow,” she immediately reminded him. “You're fighting - with me I might add - very capable adversaries who are the skill equivalent to the senior Death Eaters.” Frowning, she added, “Or so we've been told. Sirius didn't really get a chance to fight back in the alley but I've heard rumour of your parents' abilities. Remus is more than competent, we've seen that in our individual instruction. I personally think that Professor Flitwick could take Professor Dumbledore in two out of four encounters. We all know that Dumbledore is the only one that Voldemort ever feared.”

Shaking away the stream of consciousness digression, she riveted him with her stare, “You can do this. I know it.”

With a small voice, he asked, “You think so?”

Her expression fierce, she answered with a decided tone, “Yes. I do.”

The uncertainty that had pooled in Harry's gut had been cold and oily. Leeching his strength, he hadn't even noticed until this moment that it'd been there. With Hermione's affirmation - no, her unswerving confidence and faith - the doubt began to drain away pushed aside by a growing confidence that had been lacking. Now noticing the situation by the absence of the doubt combined with the presence of confidence, Harry seemed to swell and reform as she watched.

His spine straightened, his head held a bit higher while his eye sharpened. Years later, Hermione would tell him that at that moment, she knew he would defeat Voldemort. Some would call it his presence, others his aura of power. Harry called it the manifestation of Hermione's belief in him.

“Harry, if you don't take me to bed and make love to me right now, there will be a serious problem.”

He laughed. The unfettered sound burst out of him in relief and joy, as was her intent, he knew. Standing, he extended his hand to help her to her feet. “I would never deny my lady any of her wishes.”

“Any?” she asked coquettishly, the gravity of their discussion long gone.

“Any,” he affirmed with more than a bit of randiness. She squealed in delight as he chased her into the bedroom.

.oOo.

Hestia watched the participants limber up prior to their duel. She mused on a series of seemingly unrelated issues that all came round to the same fact. There was an enormous secret within the greater Potter-Black-Lupin family, a secret that dominated all discussion and interaction. Sirius had counselled patience regarding gaining Harry and Hermione's trust, and in turn, the trust of the entire family. At first, she'd felt resentment for not being brought into the truth of the affair, but a long talk with Sirius had cured her of that spiritual affliction. His intimation that there were significant issues at work mollified her somewhat.

In the beginning, Hestia thought that Harry might have been sexually abused by his relatives. Like the rest of magical Britain, she knew that Harry had been abused by his Aunt and Uncle when a boy. The idea that the relatives had gone the next horrific step was, unfortunately, not beyond the realm of comprehension. Of course, that aspect wouldn't be printed in the paper.

Fortunately, that had proven to be a false lead. She'd approached Sirius about the idea, concerned about her physical interactions with the dark haired teen. Most victims of sexual abuse have issues surrounding physical contact. She asked Sirius about it so as not to possibly exacerbate the situation.

With a grim expression that hinted at a heretofore-unknown rage in her man, he'd replied, “They did everything but that and may they rot in Hell for what they did to him.” The relief had been short lived when she realized the consequences of Sirius' statement.

After that, she decided to be patient; ignoring the elephant in the room. Allowing the family to come to her when they were ready seemed to be the best choice.

The invitation by Harry to observe the melee had been a moment of hope for her. The teens seemed to occupy central positions in the family so when Harry had arrived at her door early this morning, she'd been more than a little nervous.

“Erm, good morning,” he'd greeted. “We're having a bit of a training session later today and Hermione and I were wondering if you'd like to come watch.” Looking away, he ruffled his hair, “You've not been able to see some of the other exercises we've done.” His expression became mischievous, “And I'm going to beat on Padfoot like a drum today,” he announced loudly, ensuring that her frowzy fiancé heard the trash talk.

“Bugger that!” she heard over her shoulder. So erudite was her Sirius.

“I'd love to,” she replied with a winning smile. She really wanted the family to accept her. Outside of Sirius, the jury seemed to be holding judgement in abeyance until Harry and Hermione pronounced her fit.

Nodding, his discomfort evident, he muttered, “Well, we'll see you at ten in the large classroom down the hall here.” His gesture was superfluous, but she followed his pointing finger to be polite.

“Ten it is.”

So, here she sat. Filius had cast the duelling barrier that was routinely used in tournaments to protect spectators. His jovial question, “You do remember how to cast the Bunker shield, don't you?” had seemed to be a joke. However, given the forbidding expressions on all present, she was beginning to wonder…

Harry was lying on his side, pulling a leg up behind him while Hermione performed a full split as she twisted her torso nearly full around. James was palming the floor while Lily had pulled a foot up to her forehead. Even Sirius was displaying an athleticism of which she'd been unaware. Filius bounced on his toes while Remus calmly meditated in the corner.

Harry turned to his Dad, “No quarter?”

The serious expression on James' face caused Hestia to blanche. Prongs' reply of “No quarter,” nearly caused her to stand and demand a bloody explanation. Bewildered, she refocused on Remus.

Watching the lycanthrope, she realized that he was focusing his inner strength. Having done a little reading about werewolves, she'd been surprised to read that most Lycans were magically stronger than the average witch or wizard, but were unable to focus this advantage in a meaningful manner. True, much of that was due to their general lack of formal schooling, but even more so, the afflicted witch or wizard experienced what the foremost researchers in the field called `magical storms'. The curse magically raged throughout the Lycan's magical core, disrupting the path of their power that could be channelled at a given moment. Remus' meditation was the natural reaction to this handicap. Woe betides his opponent.

Turning to the side, she regarded Harry and Hermione. Watching the two lithe teens, she realized they were unconventionally beautiful. Hermione had strong facial structures that weren't easy to appreciate, individually. However, all her features complemented so that she was a strikingly beautiful young woman

Harry had an inner light that seemed to illuminate his strong jaw and narrow face. He still wore the ugly glasses seemingly out of habit rather than preference. Surely, James and Lily could afford glasses that are more stylish even if he was unable to use the corrective potion yet. Its expense would be negligible to the family.

The settling at her side brought Hestia back to her surroundings. Poppy Pomfrey sat next to her on the bench conjured for the occasion. With a bang, she dropped her oversized bag on the ground.

Responding to Hestia's unspoken question, the irascible nurse told the blonde, “With this group, it pays to be ready.” She nodded toward the group, “They're beginning.”

.oOo.

“Gentlemen of the committee, it has been proposed by the Honourable Mister Malfoy to add this addendum to the resubmission of the DMLE budget.”

Steven Aldershanks groaned to himself. Here we go again. Sure enough, this time it was a bill that would make it legal for wizards and witches to kill any muggle should they `feel threatened' by said muggle.

The vote was swift: 3-2 to add with one member not present. Aldershanks wondered if Richard Macmillan had been `encouraged' to be ill for this meeting.

.oOo.

Filius had elected to be the referee of the melee. Originally, he was to be a combatant, but thought that 5-2 odds were a bit much, even for Harry and Hermione. Instead, he would join the fight only when the odds were evens. Until then, he was the referee and observer. Truth be told, he hadn't been this excited for a duel in many years.

Sometimes duels are like eating dinner from fine china. Cultured, refined and proper. They can be extravagant or simple, but always polished.

Other times, they can be brawls with the metaphorical bottle being broken and wielded as a makeshift knife.

This fight portended to be mix of both. Harry and Hermione were prodigies; Hermione far more than Harry in the academic sense. In raw magical terms, while Hermione was more powerful than any other in the castle save possibly Albus, Harry was a god made human. Poseidon, Zeus, Hades and Ares would have been good company for the young man given his magical capacity. In time, Filius was sure Harry could confidently face Voldemort should it become necessary.

James, Lily, Sirius and Remus were a well-oiled machine. Despite the years apart or suspended in time, they still worked well together. Individually, they were formidable, but together, they were a fighting force that had caused the Death Eaters to tremble. Harry and Hermione would not steamroll the older generation with their power; they'd have to work to win.

For that matter, so too would the older foursome.

Glancing about, he saw the combatants arraigned in the predetermined formation. A rough circle with the foursome to the east and the teens to the west. All six had their backs to the opposition.

With more than a hint of eagerness, Filius asked in a loud voice, “Are all present ready to begin in accordance with the ancient laws of duelling?” His experience lent the query gravity and force.

“Aye!”

“Aye!”

“Aye!”

“Aye!”

“Aye!”

“Aye!”

Each of the combatants raised their wand as they responded; committing themselves to the rules, which only limited them to any spell save the Unforgivables. Given the relationships involved, here, Filius didn't expect too much damage to be inflicted.

Giving one last glance, he noticed Harry's expression along with Lily's. Reconsidering, he thought there might be quite a bit of damage.

“Begin!”

.oOo.

Harry gritted his teeth as Madame Pomfrey reset his arm. Sirius had clipped him with a Bone Breaker halfway through the duel. Adrenaline and concentration had overridden the pain somewhat. Once the duel ended, though, it hurt like billy-oh. He gave worse than he got, though. Sirius had already downed two Blood Replenishing potions.

When Flitwick called “Begin,” the room exploded. Literally.

Per their plan, Harry and Hermione both rolled away from the other in order to get moving. Being outnumbered so greatly, they realized that they would have to be violence in motion to succeed. At the same time, their spellfire had to be mutually supporting else they get cornered and picked off one at a time.

It was James who started the party. Without turning, he cast the Aeolus Curse. A tricky spell to cast, it created a whirlwind of steam that flooded the room. By concentrating, the wizard controlled the steam so that it would swarm the target of the spell. The drawback was that the caster had to focus completely on the spell, which usually made them immobile.

Scalding steam surrounded the teens, blinding and distracting them. Rolling while pursued by the vaporous opponent, Harry growled in frustration. Jumping to his feet, he found Sirius right in front of him. Reflexively lashing out, he cold cocked his godfather with his left hand. His right hand snap cast a Reductor in the direction of his father.

Impacting at James' feet, the spell scattered stone chips into the man's face. It was sufficient distraction to end the curse. As James panted to regain his breath after the taxing spell, Harry moved again.

Lily and Hermione were at it hammer and tongs. Shield. Piercing charm. Reductor, Reductor, Reductor. Flechette spell. Bone Breaker. Advanced Shield.

Both women were moving like snakes. Darting left and right, Shielding when necessary. Neither realized that their lips were curled back in a snarl. A surprise Blinding charm by Hermione followed by the simple Binding charm left Lily immobile.

Remus woke Sirius, casting a quick healing charm to repair the man's broken jaw before turning. There was Harry, his eyes glowing blue with magic.

“Fuck.”

Remus didn't even have a chance to raise a shield before he was hit by Harry's unnamed spell that created a concussive wave of force. Like a tsunami, the raw energy rolled across the room, tossing Remus from his feet into the wall. The skull fracture and broken collarbone rendered him ineffective for the rest of the fight.

Sirius had dived out of the way, rolling behind a conjured boulder that took the brunt of the force of Harry's spell. Popping up, he grunted the incantation of the Fire Whip.

Lashing out, he caught Harry about the ankles with the spell. When his godson screamed as his feet burned, Sirius jerked hard. Harry fell to his back, the motion freeing him from the Whip.

Padfoot didn't see her spell coming.

Hermione's Banishing charm flung him across the room like a bit of litter. He thought he saw The Smartest Witch of the Age rushing to stand over Harry, but wasn't sure. The impact of his head on the oak door left him insensible for a bit.

Hermione heard a skittering on the stone behind her. Turning, she nearly screamed. A half dozen transfigured Gorgons were slithering across the floor. Prongs was back in the fight, attacking with his strength. As black talons at the end of green scaled arms reached for her and Harry, Hermione shrieked the elemental spell. “Infernalis!” The conjured monsters of old were vaporized in the resultant fury of fire. She began to turn back when the newly freed Lily took her down with a simple Stunning spell to the back.

It was a friendly duel after all.

Right?

In the corner, Filius became worried. Harry was staring at his intended as she fell. The moment couldn't have even been a full second, but it seemed to be an eternity. The situation that he'd feared for so long had come. Hermione had been hurt in front of Harry. Tightening the grip on his wand, he readied the Bubble Head charm for himself. Should things go sideways, it was his intention to cast the Vacuum spell, which would instantaneously remove all air from a room. The Bubble Head charm would allow him to disarm the combatants in safety before restoring atmosphere to the room and reviving them. It was an effective endgame manoeuvre. Hopefully.

Based on the expression emerging on The Boy-Who-Lived's face, he might need that spell soon.

Before Harry could move or even look up, the now rejuvenated Sirius clipped Harry on the left arm with a Bone Breaking hex, fracturing the limb just above the elbow. It also broke the chain of events for the approaching apocalypse.

Harry didn't look; he raised his wand as he cast the Piercing charm ten times in rapid succession. He and Hermione had practised this over the preceding months. The Piercing charm required no wand movement and was an excellent choice to put maximum magic into a spell in order to bring down an opponent's shield.

In this case, it turned Sirius into a pincushion. Four holes in his arms followed by six in his legs had Madame Pomfrey Summoning the man to her side so she could keep him from bleeding out.

A wave of the hand on his injured arm caused a grimace of pain but also woke Hermione. Without greeting, she shot to her feet. Back to back, they faced James and Lily.

Behind the shield, Hestia was torn between concern for Sirius and absolute shock at the magical display in front of her.

Still watching, Filius seriously considered stopping the duel. James and Lily would never give in, neither would Harry and Hermione. Someone could die given the way things had progressed.

Before the diminutive Duelling Master could speak, Harry lashed out, casting the Ice Spear hex.

Lily dove to her left avoiding the five foot long lance, only to be swept along by Harry's follow up wave of water. Sputtering, she transfigured the floor on which Harry was standing into quicksand.

As he began to sink, Harry conjured a swarm of bees that attacked his mother. Looking up, he conjured a rope ladder that was attached to the ceiling so he could climb out of the muck.

Hermione smiled a little grin that nearly caused James to whimper - and he'd faced Voldemort three times.

Her harsh, guttural incantation was unfamiliar to Prongs, but the effect was astounding. Immediately, he was overwhelmed with the most horrifying experiences of his life.

He heard Voldemort's cackles of glee as he banished them to the ether, “…. After you are shown your son's grave…,” he taunted again and again.

Weeping uncontrollably at his parents' graves.

The time Lily had been wounded by that savage Mulciber and he feared for her life.

When Remus had attempted suicide during fourth year and James had found him in the dormitory.

Hermione turned away from James. The Dementor hex only lasted for ten seconds, but she figured he'd be incapacitated with the emotional aftereffects of the spell for the rest of the duel. She'd been reluctant to use it against family, but the duel was quickly approaching deadly for the remaining combatants and this spell seemed to be a non-lethal means of ending the encounter.

Harry and Lily were fully involved. He knew that he'd never best her with charms, so he was attacking with transfiguration and power spells.

Surrounding Lily was a veritable deadly menagerie. Two lions, a tiger and three bears were hammering at her shield while Harry was chaining Reductors, Piercing charms and Bone Breaking hexes.

Lily's shield flared repeatedly before failing.

She fell to her knees as Filius' magically amplified voice shouted, “CALL OFF!”

.oOo.

Unceremoniously, Hermione fell to the floor, bruising her bottom in the process. Exhausted and in considerable pain, she stared about the room.

Sirius was sitting up, gazing about stupidly. James was weeping on the floor. Lily and Remus were both unconscious. Holding her hand up to swipe a bit of hair out of her eyes, Hermione realized her left hand had been pulverized. Must've been one of Lily's Reductors , she mused to herself.

The pain flooding her brain made her nearly pass out. Hearing Harry grunt in discomfort, she saw Madame Pomfrey setting his obviously broken arm. Shoving a goblet in his hand, she commanded, “Drink that and then put the burn balm on your legs. Use your good hand, mind.”

The nurse scuttled to Hermione. With her usually brusque tenderness, she quickly examined Hermione's wound. Clucking her tongue, she reached into her bag. Turning back, she thrust a potion vial in Hermione's uninjured palm. “Hold this.”

A wave of Pomfrey's wand caused Hermione's injured hand to fall limp and boneless. Fortunately, this also took away the pain. Hermione couldn't even comment before the vial was wrenched from her hand. Dumping the contents in another conjured goblet, the nurse added a bit of water. “Drink,” she commanded before moving over to James.

The odour emanating from the goblet forcibly reminded Hermione of a garbage pit on a thirty-degree day: rank and disgusting. Given the state of her left hand, she couldn't even pinch her nose as she drank off the repulsive brew, so she sucked in a deep breath before downing it in one go.

It was so revolting she nearly vomited it right back up.

Shuddering, she watched Harry shuffle over to her, the legs of his trousers rolled up and the skin on his legs shiny with the burn balm. As the sharp pains began in her hand, he wrapped his good arm about her.

The steam still puffing from Lily's ears, she flopped down across from them, James shambling behind her. As she leaned back into her husband, Lily regarded the teens. Hermione stared back unflinchingly. There was no hostility in the exchange, merely both women seeing the other pair in an entirely new light.

Sirius was helped to the circle by Hestia while Pomfrey finished up with Remus. Moments later, he sat in the circle as Flitwick and Pomfrey quickly vacated the room.

There was no aggression or recrimination in any faces. This duel was necessary for all. Finally, Hestia spoke.

In a calm voice that hinted at her extreme frustration and even fear, she began, “There is something extraordinary going on here. I don't know what it is, but I believe I deserve to know. I've been very patient, enduring the long silences when I enter a room as it's obvious that the topic is being forcibly changed. I'm going to be part of this family very soon and part of family is trust.”

Hermione looked away when Hestia looked at each of them in turn. The blonde witch was right and Hermione couldn't deny it. She felt more than a hint of shame at their exclusion of Hestia. Ignoring her had been the easy path so no one challenged the status quo.

Her brown eyes boring into them, Hestia finally told them, “If you don't trust me, I don't know if I can be a part of this family. You all nearly killed each other here today and it was about this secret. If it's so important that you could hurt your family, I think I deserve to know what I'm signing up for before it happens.” From next to her, Sirius' eyes bored into James'.

Hermione felt Harry sigh. “You're right,” he observed.

Looking over at James, she saw him cock his eyebrow at his son as if to say, “You sure?”

Harry's nod was enough.

James took a minute to compose his thoughts before he began. Hermione turned to the blonde who sat half in Sirius' arms. She was right; Hestia did deserve to know what was going on with them all. Patience only lasted so long and Hermione was surprised it'd lasted this long.

“Before Harry was born, a prophecy was made…” James began with gravity.

It took ten minutes of him talking with no interruptions by anyone to explain everything. Hestia listened attentively, her gaze concentrated on James. Sirius sat next to her, his head down and his arm about her. Remus lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, his expression sober and attentive. Lily fidgeted with the sleeve of her robes, becoming more agitated as the story advanced. Harry was silent, watching his father while Hermione closed her eyes, soaking in the moment. At the end of James' story, the now fully in the know witch turned to Harry.

“Before this morning, I would probably have said something along the lines of `You poor dear' or the like. Pity and regret for your burden, I suppose. After seeing this,” she waved her hand to the room, indicating the duel just past. “I can't help but feel confident. I'm far from a soldier, but I know what I saw. I saw you two,” she pointed to the teens, ”crush four very advanced Sorcerers in relatively short order.”

Behind her, Harry nodded soberly, pulling Hermione deeper into his embrace.

“But why all this?” Hestia asked with a wondering tone.

“We had to know,” James replied.

“Know what?” the befuddled witch asked.

“We had to know that Harry can handle himself.” Turning to his son, he added, “And he had to know that we could all take care of ourselves.”

Harry nodded his agreement with a slow movement. “I believe you now.”

“And I you,” James replied. Slowly, he stood, helping Lily to her feet as he did. A bit gingerly, he turned to leave before he paused. “We're going to bed. Consider today a day off from lessons and tomorrow as well. Go to Hogsmeade on a date or something.”

“But it's midweek,” Hermione objected without consideration. Immediately she realized how ridiculous she sounded. The blush in her cheeks caused the others to laugh.

“Don't ever change, my love,” her boyfriend whispered in her ear from behind. She felt him rise. Looking up, Harry was holding out his unhurt hand to her. “Let's get a nap in, eh?”

Bone tired, she nodded her head. “Together. I need your arms around me.”

“I'd like nothing better,” he agreed as they joined the crowd moving to the door.

.oOo.

Sirius led his fiancée back to their rooms. He nodded to the Potters and Hermione as they disappeared into James and Lily's suite. Holding the door open for Hestia, he waited.

Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long.

“Why didn't you tell me? Did James forbid it?”

Mutely, he nodded.

Her eyes bored into his, measuring and evaluating. Finally, she announced, “This is the last time. No more secrets ever.”

Silent, Sirius mused. On the surface, the statement appeared to be perfectly agreeable. Ten years ago, he would have immediately agreed to her demand. Now, though, he was a bit older, a bit wiser and a very little bit more mature.

“If it's my secret to share, I will. If it's not, I'll tell you whose secret it is that I can't tell.”

He could see that he shocked her a bit with his statement. Her training kicked in so she mused on his counter proposal. “That's fair,” she announced. Her face softening, the stridency left her tone as she asked, “Do you understand why I'm a bit upset?”

Moving to her, Sirius took her in his arms. Kissing the top of her head, he told her, “I completely understand. You know I tore into James when he told me I couldn't tell you, right? He told me to - and I quote - `Stop being such a bloody drama queen. It's Harry's story to tell so stop your bloody whinging.'”

Sirius' face twisted in outrage, “I am not a drama queen, nor do I whinge.”

She stared at him, her face expressionless. Still he held on. Timing was everything. Finally, her lips twitched upward as she began to chuckle. Shaking her head, Hestia melted against him. “What am I doing marrying you?” she mumbled against his chest.

Not replying, he was glad his gambit paid off. Of course, Hestia had every right to be peeved, but at the same time, it wasn't his story to tell, it'd been Harry's story. With everything that had happened to the lad, it was vital that the family treat him with respect and this was part of it. He could tell that her vitriol was ebbing away as was her resentment. It'd be fine in the end.

.oOo.

Hogsmeade was completely empty of students. They bumped into Professor McGonagall as she left the stationer's, arms full of packages. She gave Harry and Hermione a friendly nod but continued on her way without stopping.

With her arm in his, he should have been happy. Chattering about the new book she'd just purchased, she gushed about the topic. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes bright. Usually, Harry delighted in her happiness, yet, Harry was feeling…hollow.

Walking down the empty high street of the magical village, Harry couldn't help but superimpose his worst fears on the empty landscape. A heap of corpses in front of Scrivenshaft's. Zonko's aflame, the screams of the trapped reverberated in the roar of the fires. Dementors clustered about the Three Broomsticks waiting for the trapped to attempt to flee. The shiver that clattered down his spine wasn't due to the spring wind.

He didn't notice that she'd stopped talking.

In his mind's eye, he saw The Happy Harpy Inn explode. Beyond it, the Hog's Head imploded. The inhabitants of the village were crucified, one after the other alongside the road.

Hermione grabbed his face, turning it to her.

He'd not even been aware that he'd been weeping.

Her expression was near panicked. “What is it? What? Tell me!”

“When he comes, he'll destroy all of this,” he croaked through his visions.

Slowly, comprehension began to dawn in her eyes. The panic slowly melted to understanding that then became something else. Something fierce and unyielding. Her lips thin, face drawn and eyes narrowed, she leaned into him.

“We will beat him.” As if the sirocco were blowing, Harry's vision of the Future That Could Be blew away like so much smoke.

“You must not succumb to the terror, my love,” she whispered with a fierceness he'd never heard from her. “Never surrender.”

“Never,” he echoed. Just like earlier in the day, he had doubted. This time he'd been able to see what could be. A few weeks before, he'd been able to see Cibola - the Golden City that was far more than just a city - and give hope to the legislators who were embattled with Voldemort's minions. Today, however, he was able to see the opposite possibility. It didn't seem to be any in between solution. Neither Voldemort nor Harry would accept any other solution. Neither would accept any other world.

Choice? Was there truly choice for him in this conflict, this opposition with the wizard born Tom Riddle? Voldemort was returning, of that, there was no doubt. He was laying the groundwork for something big with the diplomatic moves he was making. Not content to slither back into the night, the Dark Warlock was making his moves now, so that when he was returned to his corporeal form, he would be unstoppable.

But what was the Dark Lord doing? What could Harry do to stop his vision from being realized? What choices did Harry need to make? How could he avert the Armageddon that he saw this day? What did he need to do? Shaking his head, Harry tried to ward off the visions that attempted to cling to his consciousness. His Dad. He needed to talk to his Dad. James would know what to do.

Turning to Hermione, his unspoken plea was evident. After placing a soft kiss on his lips, she told him, “We can finish this later. Let's find your parents.”

.oOo.

Lily was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. At her side, James was sound asleep. Despite escaping the melee physically unhurt, the Dementor spell Hermione cast on him really sapped his strength. He'd tottered into their rooms, stripped his clothes off as he walked before collapsing on the bed. With a smile, Lily had pushed him into place before taking her place at his side. Unfortunately, sleep wouldn't come.

Physically and magically she was exhausted. The endgame match between her and Harry had drained her significantly. Come to think of it, so too did the engagement with Hermione. However, right now she was being held awake by a thought that was unbidden and unrelenting.

Despite evidence to the contrary, she didn't think that Harry was ready to face Voldemort.

She and James were two of three people in the castle who'd fought Voldemort, so she was well acquainted with the capabilities and limitations of the Dark Lord. His main limitation was his ego. Other than that…

The only reason she and James had survived - not defeated - Voldemort so many times was because they'd encountered him in a two on one situation that allowed them to saturate his defences so that they could make their escape. In the only straight up encounter they'd had with the maniac, Voldemort had overpowered them with ease.

If Harry were to face the Dark Lord today, he'd need support to kill the man. Most likely, he'd need Hermione and his parents at his side. Sirius and Remus would be able to keep the Death Eaters busy, but for Voldemort himself, it would most likely take the four of them to chop off his bloody head.

Maybe.

Knock-knock.

With a groan, Lily levered herself from the bed. James hadn't even responded to the noise, so Lily belted her dressing gown as she shuffled to the door. Poppy had pronounced her fit, but Lily still was sore.

Opening the door, she was disturbed by what she saw. Harry and Hermione stood there, Harry's eyes haunted and Hermione's worried. The Smartest Witch of the Age's eyes continuously flickered from Harry to Lily conveying her distress for the dark haired wizard.

Frowning, she backed up and beckoned, “Come in. I'll wake your father.” Through her tiredness, she was still afraid. Her son and his girlfriend were two of the bravest people she'd ever known and for them to be this upset about something, it had to be bad. Deep down, she had a passing wonder at how much more she could take of all this.

A bit more purpose in her stride, she hurried to the bedroom. “James, wake up,” she cajoled as she shoved him on the shoulder.

“Huh? Whazzat?”

“Get up, something's wrong with the kids.”

That woke him completely. As Lily moved to the boudoir to dress, James got out of bed. Three minutes later, the three Potters and one nearly-Potter were crowded around a newly brewed pot of tea.

As Lily poured for them, Harry explained about his Vision of Times That Could Come To Pass. With each vivid description, Lily shuddered. It was her worst nightmares made flesh. Grateful she had the mundane task to occupy her and thus mute the full impact of Harry's vision, she handed the tea to all as Harry finished his recitation.

“Help me, Dad. Help me prevent this,” Harry plead.

Lily frowned. What the hell did he think they were doing? Playing cauldrons and candles?

Fortunately, James picked up on Harry's intent. Leaning back on his chair, he sipped at the black tea. “We saw last week that the battle isn't only to be fought only with wands and potions. Not only do we need to kill these bastards, but we need to beat them politically to achieve your Cibola.” He nodded at the last. Lily had been a bit disturbed by Harry's pronouncement during the meeting with Sir Edward and Lord Salisbury. His definitive assertion of victory at first had seemed juvenile, but when she considered the tone and undercurrent of his voice when he made his statement, she was even further disturbed.

There are various different type of Seers. The most famous are those who are gifted visions of the future and are able to not only recognize what they are seeing but are able to interpret the events they see. The other famous type is the oracle who is merely a mouthpiece for a Greater Power. Some call it Fate, others God. Whatever was the motivating source, the oracle was a conduit for the prophecy from `beyond'.

Harry seemed to fall into the more common and most often unrecognized category where the witch or wizard's ability provided hunches and firm beliefs about future events. This would explain the shifting nature of Harry's belief of the future. The previous week, they were on the cusp of rolling back Voldemort's effort to subvert political Britain, so the `hunch' about the future and the instantiation of a Cibola was firm and strong.

Now, the opposite `hunch' rode on Harry's mind. Something had changed.

“What's different?” Lily asked aloud.

James held up an unopened letter. “Let's see if this sheds any insight.” Breaking open the seal, he scanned the missive. Shaking his head, he told the others, “This time it was Malfoy. He placed another addendum on the new DMLE budget. This one allows a witch or wizard to kill a muggle if they felt threatened.”

The room was quiet. All realized that there was more afoot than a pureblood bigot attempting to slide through a revolting piece of legislation. This had to be what had changed Harry's `barometer' of the future.

“But why?” Lily asked aloud. They'd all asked the same question the previous week.

“I don't think it has anything to do with the specifics of the addendum,” Hermione ventured. When James frowned at her, she quickly added, “Of course, the addendum can't stand, but I don't think this…” she looked concernedly at her boyfriend, “change has anything to do with the addendum per se. More, I think it's about the machinations that drove the addendum.”

Lily couldn't help but smile. This girl was good. “I agree,” she told Hermione as she gave the young woman a reassuring smile.

In a flat, emotionless tone, Harry asked, “We're not going to find out what's going on until the trap is sprung, are we?”

There was silence in the room. James sipped his tea before replying, “That's most likely.”

Once again, Lily felt that she and her family were being held hostage by Voldemort. Thirteen years before, they'd run from the man in order to protect their son. Voldemort knew about the prophecy…

How did Voldemort know the prophecy and how did Albus know that the Dark Lord knew?

The question sprang into her mind full force, as if a dam had failed allowing the water to run free. Shaking aside the `why' she thought further about the questions. How did Voldemort know the prophecy? How did Albus know that Voldemort knew?

It's not important now, she told herself. Or is it?

Shoving aside the question, she looked up to see James, Harry and Hermione watching her while wearing expectant expressions.

“What?”

“You were muttering, my love,” James chided softly.

“Oh,” she replied as her face coloured. She hated when she muttered to herself. When none of her family showed any hint of letting her off the hook, Lily told them, “I was just chasing a hare about the prophecy.”

Harry's brow furrowed, “And?”

Shrugging, Lily topped her tea, “I was wondering how Voldemort found about the prophecy and how Albus knew that he knew.” Scrunching her face, she added, “If you follow.”

Hermione's expression was stunned. “Good Lord…” she whispered.

The others were immediately stricken. With more than a intimation of fear, Lily asked, “What?”

“No, it can't be…” Hermione murmured as she stared off into space.

“What, Hermione?” Harry asked impatiently.

“Could the Headmaster have either told him or allowed him to be told?” she asked in a near whisper. It seemed that she wanted to deny any truth in her statement by quietly voicing it.

Lily shook her head slowly. She'd completely lost faith in Albus Dumbledore since they returned to the time stream, but this? This was…horrible, no, it was treason.

“Does it matter?” Harry asked, his voice dead.

“I don't know. Maybe,” Hermione replied.

“I dislike Albus Dumbledore more than any other non-Death Eater I've ever known, but I don't think he's in bed with the Dark Lord.”

Lily turned to her husband, weighing his words. Hoping he was right as opposed to believing he was right, she nodded.

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first eleven chapters. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on FanFiction(dot)net.

2. Recommendation for the chapter is Quoth the Raven, Nevermore by GenkaiFan. Although the chapters are short, it's a very original and entertaining story.

3. Ten magical bongo bucks to anyone who recognizes Remus' old flame and where I got her name (yeah, I changed her appearance, but the name is the key…'Oh, I'm a Pepper, you're a Pepper, wouldn't you like to be a Pepper too?').

4. The grandmother with the ruler while playing cards? That was my Great Aunt Bertha who taught me how to play Euchre. She was one of the sweetest women I've ever known, but Lord Help you should you trump her ace. I'd rather pour acid in my ears than to call trump and be euchred with her as my partner. She passed away years ago, but I still remember going fishing with her during the day and after a hearty meal, playing Euchre with her and my grandparents until bedtime.

This chapter completed on 11/18/11

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Alex Price was confused.

One moment she was the embodiment of `a woman scorned,' therefore righteously angry with her former lover, Remus Lupin. He was the man she'd loved, counted on and devoted herself. He was the man she wanted to marry, have his children and live `mostly happily ever after' as they'd joked. He'd turned her away, shattering her heart and mind for years. It took her five years as opposed to the usual three to complete her healer training due to the emotional destruction she'd suffered. She was a bit upset with the man, to say the least.

On the other hand, deep inside her she yearned to see him again; to feel giddy and heady just by being in his presence. To hear his deep voice reverberating in her chest as he spoke while they cuddled in front of a fire. To call his name in the throes of passion. For him to still have that effect on her years after their parting reinforced what she already knew: she never did, nor ever would, `get over' Remus Lupin.

Both issues were all well and good, but didn't solve the immediate problem. What should she do about this man who'd unexpectedly returned to her life?

The old defences jumped into place as she knocked on his door. She knew that she loved Remus, but she didn't know if she liked him all that much. In the end, she had her professional task in front of her. She didn't relish it much regardless of the patient.

When Remus opened the door, Alex had to swallow a laugh. He had a quill perched over each ear - obviously he forgot that he'd put the first in its place before grabbing the second. There was a large blot of ink on his nose, smudged and smeared from repeated wiping and rubbing. His attention was wholly focused on the parchment in his hand as he opened the door. Alex was convinced he didn't realize who was at the door and mayn't have realized that he opened the door in the first place.

God she loved him.

And she hated him.

“Lupin,” she began to catch his attention.

“Hmm,” he replied distractedly. Still standing there, his eyebrows lifted to show that a very remote part of his mind had noticed that he'd been addressed but nothing further than that.

Annoyed, the blonde healer reached out to prod the man in the shoulder. Giving him a good poke, she wondered at his noticeable wince of discomfort. Remus had an extraordinarily high tolerance for pain. Whatever ailed him must be bad or recent.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he stood back from the doorway. “I'm now James' steward and catching up on the history of the estate while keeping the tenants happy, the grounds cultivated and the crops tended is a full time job.”

Smothering a frown, she diverted the conversation. Alex didn't want to talk about his life or how Remus was doing. That could very well derail her and encourage the blossoming affection for the man. “What's wrong with your shoulder?”

Striding past him, Alex set her bag down on the desk where she'd worked during her last visit.

“Broken collarbone. Poppy set it and dosed me with Skele-Gro, but you know how well that potion works on us.” His tone was resigned.

Frowning, she turned to him, “Skele-Gro works for shite on Lycanthropes. Poppy should know that.”

“She does, but what alternative does she have?”

Annoyed, Alex dove into her bottomless bag. Withdrawing a vial of calcium accelerator, a vial of Vitamin D and the biggest needle she had, Alex told her patient, “Sit down and roll up your sleeve.”

Silently he obeyed, his remorse written in every movement and every expression. Goddam right, she muttered to herself. It was hard to forget the long nights staring at the vial of poison or the one night she'd taken it. The fortuitous early return of her roommate had saved her life. Just as she'd earlier had to swallow back a laugh, now she had swallow a sob.

She'd devoted her entire life to him and he'd tossed her aside like a bit of rubbish.

With a little more force than was strictly necessary, Alex jabbed the needle containing her ad hoc Skele-Gro mixture into Remus' arm. His wince of pain caused more than a flash of guilt.

“That should do the trick. Two days at most and you'll be up to snuff.” Stowing her vials and needle, she absently nodded to his murmured thanks.

The pressure that had been building since she saw him the other day came rushing back. She had to know. Leaning on the table, the silence stretched out about them until it took on a life of its own.

“Why?” Her hoarse whisper was reminiscent of Remus' post full moon voice.

He was silent for a moment, but she'd expected this. Remus would want to ensure he told her the truth, so he would mull over his words for a moment before speaking. Eventually, he cleared his throat. “I was in one of the lowest periods of my life. Even when I slit my wrists in fourth year, I hadn't been as low as I was when I left…”

His voice trailed off into a weak warble. Looking over to him, she was surprised to see him weeping. While Remus had always been a sensitive and caring man, he'd also been very reserved. For him to weep in front of her was quite shocking for the blonde healer.

“For all I knew, James, Lily and Peter were dead. Sirius was a traitor who'd betrayed them all to their deaths and Little Harry had disappeared to heaven knows where. I was…” he paused, thinking. “Confused and distraught.”

Her eyes narrowed, “You were confused so you dumped me in the bin like a piece of trash.”

His eyes narrowed in return, a small spark of amber flaring to life. Had she not been so emotionally invested in the discussion, Alex would have realized that she'd just gone a bit too far.

His face tight, he asked, “How are your parents?”

Taken aback, she replied, “Fine.”

“Good. Mine are still dead.” He pressed on with force in his query, “How're Jeanette and Stephanie?”

Again, she automatically replied. “They're well. Jeanette just had her third child.”

“Good. My best friends just returned from the dead and Azkaban. Oh yeah, the other one is a Death Eater.”

Catching her bearings, she also caught his point and it infuriated her. Jabbing her finger at him, Alex stabbed out, “You bastard. Don't you blame all that for what you did to me. Do you know what you did to me? I died that day!” All the pain, the rage, the self-doubt, the recriminations against both him and her flooded to the fore causing her to break free to swirl into the maelstrom of her emotion.

Bolting to his feet, Remus yelled, “I had nothing! As far as I knew, my entire family was dead! Again!” Panting hard, he continued his rant, “I was wrong to push you away! Utterly and completely wrong, but dammit woman, I wasn't trying to hurt you!”

Coldly, she cut at him, “Well, you succeeded.”

Deflating, he nodded, “I know and I'm sorrier than you can imagine.”

“I don't know; I can imagine quite a bit.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, he smiled. “Yes, you can.”

She wasn't ready to give in yet, though. “I wasn't trying to be funny, Lupin.”

He nodded soberly. “True. I…” he trailed off, struggling to find the right words. “I…”

“What do you want?” she spat.

Meeting her cold gaze unflinching, he told her, “I was about to ask you that.”

“I want to know why. I want what we had before you ruined us,” she baldly accused him.

“Why?” he asked himself as he sat. Running his hands through his hair, Remus leaned back in the chair until he was staring at the ceiling. “Because I was scared, confused, hurt and a complete mess. It's not a very good reason, but it's the truth.”

Sitting up straight, his eyes focused on hers, “As far as recapturing what we had then, I think we both know it's impossible.”

Standing, he made his way to her, an implacable predator. She was mesmerized, haunted. Yearning for him, she still backed away. When the back of her legs bumped into the table, she couldn't retreat any farther - metaphorically and literally.

Remus didn't stop. He pressed into her, wrapping her in his embrace before passionately kissing her. Her body reacted of its own accord, melding into him. Pulling him closer to her in a desperate claiming, her mouth opened to him, deepening the kiss.

She didn't know if it was he or she that moaned, but her body was quivering with desire and supressed longing.

“Wait, wait…,” she panted as a semblance of sanity returned. As her vision unfogged, she was shocked to see that his shirt was open and her hands on his body. Ok, so I still want to shag him, but…

As the lust passed, she began to weep. This time, his embrace was gentle and supportive. He'd reclaimed her and she him, but there was much to do. First, she needed to grieve.

All those years she'd believed that he still loved her - rightly so it turned out. Yet, there had still been so much pain, doubt and self-loathing that Alex had to purge that poison from her system.

When her storm of weeping tapered to sniffles, she accepted his proffered handkerchief with a nod of thanks.

“We can never have what we had, but are you willing to try to build something new?” he asked her in a soft undertone. His nuzzling of her neck was driving her to distraction.

Turning away, she pulled him after her. Opening the door to his bedroom, she told him, “Ask me again in the morning.”

.oOo.

Alex propped herself up on an elbow, watching her newly regained lover sleep. Remus was - had been actually - a very light sleeper yet he was down so far he'd not moved at all when she got up to use the toilet.

The healer inside her frowned. All the tests she'd run pointed to progressive liver failure for him, but Alex'd been unable to pinpoint the cause. One doesn't turn the corner while stepping in a big pile of liver failure she sniped to herself. There has to be a cause of some sort.

As the blonde healer stroked his chest with tender affection, he finally roused. Remus' expression was momentarily confused. She could nearly see the wheels in his brain whirring until he grinned. Turning his amber eyes on her, his grin widened to an unaffected smile.

She tried to return his warm friendly smile, but must have failed. His face crumpled into a frown. Tentatively reaching for her, Moony asked, “Do you feel you made a mistake?”

Given her thought process, the question befuddled her. Alex's reply of “I don't think so,” was pushed asked when she caught up to his line of thinking. Knowing he deserved an honest reply - they both did as a matter of fact - she curled up to him as she considered. Eventually, she told him, “I think it depends.”

“On what?” he asked with more than a bit of concern. If the discussion hadn't been so serious, she would've laughed at his expression, it was so earnest.

Her eyes narrowed as the old anger fired deep within her. Alex sighed as she saw through the old habit. This anger was but a pale imitation of what she'd felt for years, a routine as much as washing one's hands before mealtime.

Was it only yesterday? when she'd asked him why he'd left her. In so doing, the old resentment had broken as a dry twig underfoot. A great heaving sigh gave truth to the situation. She still loved Remus, but she didn't trust him a whit.

Which was the crux of her present predicament.

Returning her mind to the conversation with her lover, she flatly told him, “It depends on whether you're going to leave me again when things get hard.”

She could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. The man's guilt was tangible, As it should be, she thought scathingly. Just because she'd conceded her on going love for him, didn't mean that Alex had completely forgiven Remus.

Nevertheless, she had committed to try to move past the pain, so she waited for his reply with as open a mind as she could muster.

“I promise that if we ever separate, it will be a mutual decision or at least I won't unilaterally be an arrogant prick again.”

She frowned. This was far from the unequivocal pledge she wanted from him. The frown deepened when he remained silent, choosing to let the statement lie where it was.

“Is that the best you can do?” she asked with a hint of resentment. She wanted reassurance and security from him. She loved him and wanted to be with him, but she was afraid. He'd loved her before but still left, shattering her in the process. Dammit, she wanted a bloody guarantee that he wouldn't bolter again. In a moment of clarity, she realized that what he was offering was everything short of a marriage proposal.

His eyes cycled away from her face for a long moment. Considering, he finally nodded to himself absently. “It's honest,” he declared.

The venom faded from her veins as she nodded. For years she'd oscillated between a red hot fury toward Remus to a desperate longing for their `mostly happily ever after'. The fact remained that, regardless of the reason, they'd been apart for a dozen years. People can change quite a bit in that time. Yet, do they fundamentally change?

Remus' hair was mostly grey now, a direct by product of his disease. Paradoxically, his life expectancy had nearly doubled. Her dissertation advisor has once speculated that, while not sentient, the disease of lycanthropy still wanted to survive as long as possible in its host. The incredible magic that forced the cursed change also seemed to extend the sufferer's lifespan.

If Remus could live that long.

Had he made some bold, dramatic and utterly ridiculous commitment to her, he'd have been a fool. And she'd have been a fool to accept it. People change over time. They were both willing to try again. He was being mature and honest, for which she was grateful.

Since they were being honest, she told him, “I've something I need to tell you.”

He visibly braced himself for the news, eyes wide.

“The tests I ran the other day indicated that you've significant liver damage. As a result, your biochemistry - which is already in constant flux due to the lycanthropy - is out of order even more so than usual. This results in your tiredness.”

Alex paused, waiting for a reaction. A big goofy grin that melted into laughter wasn't the reaction she'd expected.

“That's it?” he gasped between guffaws. “Thank goodness. I thought you were going to tell me you were married or dating someone else. Oh, dear…” he trailed off, a few tear squirting from the sides of his eyes.

Annoyed, she snapped, “You idiot! You could die!” I may just have you back, I can't lose you already, she protested to herself.

His chuckles became a smile as he pulled her closer. “I've been told that I'm near death a dozen times or more. We'll figure something out. I assume you're going to recruit Lily?”

She nodded against his chest, her ire fading.

Feeling him plant a kiss on the crown of her head, he told her, “It'll work out. One way or the other, it'll work out.”

.oOo.

“Oh, that's good Harry.”

“Is it Ok?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yeah, twist a bit…there. Now harder.”

“Like this?”

“Yes! Oh, that's it!”

Harry grinned. They'd been working at the Barrier spell all day for the wand work was rather tricky. It was an obscure spell that was very short lived, but while active, created a barrier impassable by any spell, object or spirit. The literature was unclear as to whether it blocked the Unforgivables, but neither teen was willing to test that aspect of the spell.

Extending his hand, Harry poked his fingers at the translucent orange barrier. Touching a solid wall, he regarded his girlfriend on the other side. He couldn't help but to start sniggering.

“What?” she asked as she planted her hands on her hips.

“Through the barrier, your hair looks the same colour as Crookshanks' fur,” he laughed aloud as he plopped on the floor.

Hermione arched an eyebrow, but waited in silence. Five seconds later, the barrier fell.

“Uh, oh,” he whispered playfully.

Harry could see her stifling a smile as she strode to him with obvious purpose. Straddling his lap, she slowly leaned forward before nibbling on his ear.

Harry's reaction was immediate. His hand moved to her bum when she purred seductively, “Oh, Harry.”

He groaned. Without warning, she hopped off his lap, her grin mischievous. “Don't you have the meeting with Mr Bagman in a few minutes?”

Harry gaped, then smiled. Standing, he strode up to her as Hermione's grin widened. Backing away from him, she held her hand up. “You've an appointment.”

“Yeah, with you,” he told her. This kind of play was an expanded aspect of their relationships that Harry enjoyed.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she cautioned. Diving behind the sofa, Hermione told him, “Harry, you need to go. Susan will be here in a few minutes.”

“You started it, she can go away,” he pouted.

As he turned to leave, she told him, “We'll finish it later, but next time? No Crookshanks jokes.”

“Fine,” he grumbled as he shut the door behind him on the way out.

.oOo.

The walk to the Quidditch pitch was pleasant - once his blood cooled, that is. The weather had warmed, while the continuous spring rains had finally relented allowing the ground to catch its breath as well. Usually, through April and May, the ground was a veritable sponge with the same consistency.

Harry pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. Lily had quietly handed it to him a few weeks before. Opening the Patek Phillipe watch, he'd seen the inscription, For Harry, all my love, Mum - May '96.

Seeing that he was on time, Harry's eyes lingered on the inscription. His right hand caressed the inside of the watch, bringing Harry's attention to the signet ring his father had gifted him before Christmas. The ornate `P' engraved on the ring was strangely comforting.

Half smiling to himself, he joined the group. Bagman beamed disingenuously before launching into a hearty explanation of the third task.

.oOo.

Susan and Hermione were nattering. It was an extraordinary event for both witches. “I don't think I've ever gossiped before,” Susan giggled as she sipped at the butterbeer she'd brought.

Hermione smiled, returning the sentiment. Sipping the beer, she thought about her burgeoning relationship with the redheaded Hufflepuff. She'd never really had a girlfriend. Her Mum never talked about just `stuff'. Alice was always focused on `getting ahead', or `improving oneself'. When Alice had sat Hermione down for `the talk' before sending Hermione off to Hogwarts, the then bushy haired pre-teen thought she was in a biology class, her mother had been so detached and clinical about the topic. Granted, the primary motivation for the discussion was to inform Hermione so that if or when her cycle started while away at school, the budding young woman wouldn't panic. Still, the tone of the discussion was rather indicative of their mother-daughter relationship.

She really liked Susan, though. The witch had a very pragmatic view of the world, most likely due to growing up with a police officer as a guardian. At the same time, the redheaded Hufflepuff was a very sensitive and caring person. The combination made Susan Bones a very nice person with whom Hermione was quite glad to become better acquainted.

“So?” Susan asked, her eyebrows arched.

Hermione thought she knew what her friend was asking, but was a bit shy. “So what?” she rebutted as she took another sip of her drink.

“What's it like?” Susan asked with real interest. The `bubbliness' fell away to reveal a young woman who was very interested in the potential answer.

The Smartest Witch of the Age sighed. Leaning back in her chair, she stared into the fire, gathering her thoughts. Deciding to trust the girl, she told her, “I've never felt…more like the `me' that I can be now.” Redirecting her gaze at the now round-eyed redhead, Hermione added, “It's not just the sex, but that is wonderful. It's our relationship. I love him and he me.” Looking away, she stared out the window. “I intend on marrying him as soon as we're able.”

“Whoa,” Susan muttered. “I had no idea you two were so serious.”

For a while now, Hermione had fears that she was reluctant to give voice. She knew that in the mundane world, most fourteen and fifteen year olds don't find their `true love'. In fact, most of the teens don't even remember whom they were dating at that age come ten years later. She was worried that she was being a silly girl who was dressing up her first romance as `the one'.

Taking the plunge, Hermione asked, “You grew up magical. Tell me, is it unusual for couples to pair up at such an early age like Harry and me?”

Susan sat back in her chair, the butterbeer forgotten. “For many couples it seems to be the norm. Look at our class. Outside of the weirdo marriage contracts like Malfoy and Parkinson, only the really magically strong kids have paired up in stable relationships.”

Chewing her lip, Hermione considered. Terry Boot and Hannah Abbot had been dating seriously since the beginning of the year. While not on her and Harry's scale, they would most likely approach Sorcerer grade as they aged. Tracy Davis and Blaise Zabini, Padma Patil and Justin Finch-Fletchly all of them were formidable in terms of power in their spellcasting. Now Susan and Neville were paired up. Turning her gaze on the slightly blushing redhead, Hermione smiled as she asked, “What about you and Neville?”

Without missing a beat, Susan replied, “We'd have been dating last year if he wasn't so shy.”

“And?”

“And I intend on claiming him as soon as he's comfortable. I won't push him. His Gran has done that far too often with him. I…” she trailed off. The confident tone became one of wonder, “I've loved Neville for a while now.”

Hermione smiled. When Susan met her gaze, the redhead smiled to match the first generation witch's own expression. “I don't know why, but it just is.”

Nodding, Hermione realized that her question had been answered. Her fears calmed, she toasted her friend, “To the future Lady of House Longbottom.”

“To the future Lady Richmond,” Susan rejoined with a wide smile.

.oOo.

“I don't like it,” Sirius proclaimed softly. Hestia squeezed his shoulder in a reassuring manner, but stayed silent. She was still a fledgling member of the family and didn't want to speak out of turn.

“Neither do I, Padfoot. But unless we're all misunderstanding what's afoot, Voldemort will be back within the year,” James coolly rebutted.

“Or sooner,” Moony murmured.

“Or sooner,” Lily agreed, sipping her tea.

“But they're…” Sirius began to object.

“Don't say `kids' Padfoot,” Remus interrupted. Hestia watched Alex Price pay close attention to the discussion. Where Hestia had been with the family longer than the blonde healer, Alex had been deep in their machinations during the previous war. It seemed to be a short step for them to accept her back into their counsels. A very petty part of Hestia resented that immediate acceptance. At the same time, Alex and Remus had nearly married before everything fell apart that fateful Halloween night.

Refocusing on the discussion, Hestia raised her eyebrows in surprise. She didn't expect Remus to be such an advocate for the teens, but here he was promoting for Harry and Hermione. “They've seen and done as much or more than all of us put together, so that whinge about their age is bollocks.” Narrowing his eyes playfully, Remus added, “It's what I'd expect from Molly Weasley.”

Sirius stuck his tongue out at his old friend. “Bloke gets shagged and he's chipper all of a sudden.”

The group dissolved into laughter as Alex blushed and Remus ducked his head. Remus' reuniting with Alexandra Price had been received with universal approval by the motley family. The healer had returned to the hospital for her shift, but was to back to attend their communal dinner. Hestia was vaguely aware of the witch from school. She knew that Alex was a Ravenclaw that Remus dated after school, but not much more beyond that.

“Seriously,” Prongs interjected. “You know how overprotective I can be about Prongslet, but he and Hermione deserve to know.” Looking at his hands, he added in a soft voice, “They'll need to know if we want them to survive.”

The group was silent as they mulled over James' conclusion. Hestia decided that she had a very different view of the situation, as she was the newcomer to the group and not a parent to either of the teens.

“Love,” she addressed Sirius, “James is right. Harry and Hermione can more than defend themselves.” Gesturing to the others, she baldly reminded her fiancé, “They handed you all your arses, didn't they?”

“Yeah, they did,” Sirius answered with a half-smile.

Remus told Hestia what had them all worried. “We've all lost far too many friends and family to Voldemort and his Death Eaters and we don't want to lose Harry and Hermione. They're too valuable.” At his side, Alex's face paled as she nodded in agreement.

Hestia too had lost friends in the Blood War, but not nearly as many as the others, it seemed. “What do Harry and Hermione think?” she pondered.

This took them all aback. After a stunned silence, it was Lily who broke it with peals of laughter. The other watched her in a mix of surprise and amusement until she regained control of herself. Wiping her eyes, she choked out, “We're all idiots. If we asked them, I'm positive that they would both tell us that they want to be involved but don't feel that they can be front line fighters yet.” Shaking her head, a few weak giggles faded into silence.

“So, we're agreed that we'll be fully open with Harry and Hermione in the upcoming war?” Prongs queried with a seriousness that sobered all present.

“War?” Hestia asked sceptically.

Sirius turned to her, “Love, we were all on the front lines of the Blood War and it was most definitely a war; battles, casualties and the lot. With all the political manoeuvring and the snippets that Dumbledore's little spies are feeding him and in turn us, it's going to be as bad as or worse than before.”

“And there's the prophecy,” Remus reminded them all.

Hestia was taken aback at Lily's snarl of “Remus!”

The werewolf mildly cocked an eyebrow when he clarified, “The one that Sybil gave last year.”

“Last year?” Sirius asked in befuddlement. Hestia could tell that Alex was confused. A part of her sympathized with her position, but now knowing the whole story, she agreed with James' reticence in disclosing the full nature of the Prophecy. It was evident that Alex could tell that based on the conversation and the reactions of Lily and Sirius, there must be more than one prophecy. Frowning at the others' reactions, Remus settled back in his chair. Closing his eyes, he recounted the foretelling.

“The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight, the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid, greater and more terrible than ever he was.”

Remus' recitation from memory was chilling to Hestia. In retrospect, the meaning behind the words was obvious: Peter Pettigrew was to flee the last opportunity for redemptions or possible justice, by setting out to find the Dark Lord. The consequence of that pursuit - Voldemort `greater and more terrible than ever he was' - was terrifying for the blonde witch. She was a politician and diplomat, not a warrior.

There was a long pause before James angrily asked, “Why am I just hearing about this now?”

The surprise on Remus' face was unfeigned. He looked to Padfoot who was just as shocked, but for a different reason. “I've never heard this before, James,” Sirius whispered. Holding his head in his hands, Sirius mumbled, “Dear God.”

Remus looked back to his other friend, “I'm sorry James. I thought you knew…”

James face was white while Lily sat in stunned incredulity. “That's that,” she murmured. “That's the missing key.” Turning to Remus, she asked, “And when did she give this prophecy?

“At the end of last school year. The day that I got outed and Sirius fled Britain.”

They all mulled over the news, letting it wash over and through them until their emotions settled. Finally, Lily turned to James, “We need to get ready.”

He nodded. Looking to his friends, he told them, “Since it's `more terrible than before' or what, we need to move our funds offshore.”

Sirius nodded, “Caymans?”

“Or even Hong Kong. Maybe eventually Dubai, Luxembourg or Bahrain. Don't know, yet. Hong Kong may be good enough.”

“Yeah, the accords don't lapse for another four years,” Sirius mused.

“Why not New York or Switzerland?” Lily asked.

Hestia fielded this one, relieved to be more than a `stupid question person'. “Neither New York or Switzerland have a Gringotts branch. The gnomes run all the banks in Zurich and the dwarves split the business with the gnomes in the States. The Middle East is a free for all. The gnomes, dwarves and goblins are all over the place there. Historically, the goblins have run the banking system in the British Empire and the later Commonwealth.”

“And it's easier to move the massive sums of money we're talking about by staying within the goblins' system, if we want to spread out further once the funds are out of Britain, it's a lot easier to do outside the country.” James finished.

“As he said,” Hestia agreed.

“What about Voldemort's money?” Lily mused as she stared at the window. “If we could cripple him now, it would be a big benefit.”

“Who would we target though?” Sirius asked. “Malfoy? Lestrange? Jugson? Macnair? Or maybe the midlevel wealth like Crabbe, Goyle or Nott?”

“We get it, Padfoot,” James interrupted. “He has too many funding sources to shut down his operations.”

“What about places to stay outside of Britain?” Hestia asked.

Remus replied, “There are Potter properties in Ireland and Spain.”

“Ireland feels too close,” Lily replied. “I'd feel better about Spain.”

Drawing a quill as he conjured a piece of parchment, Remus told her, “I'll get the particulars.” Hestia was impressed. It was the first time she'd seen Remus filling his role as steward for the house of Richmond and it went seamlessly. There was no sense of servitude or subjugation at all. The meeting continued as a conference of peers.

James turned to Sirius, “What about the Black properties?” Padfoot shrugged as he made a note to check with the goblins. They were all silent as they realized the magnitude of their discussion. They were talking about preparations in case the government fell and Britain were overrun by Voldemort's forces.

Sirius asked the question that all had been considering, “What about the Order?”

Hestia had been approached by Albus during the previous war. As a low level bureaucrat with a bright future, she didn't have a lot of insight into the inner workings of the Ministry, but she did her best to contribute to the war effort as best as she could. As she mentioned before, Hestia would never be confused with a warrior.

James shook his head in confusion, “I don't know if I can work with Albus any longer.”

Hestia pursed her lips but remained silent. Lily's expression was murderous as was Remus'. Whatever transpired, it poisoned the others against the old Headmaster. Being a diplomat, she was very used to working with people she despised. Hestia didn't think that the family could indulge in the luxury of their nicer feelings of working with the greybeard should the Dark Lord return `greater and more terrible than ever he was'. Nevertheless, she remained silent as she felt it wasn't her place to cajole the family - yet.

At that moment, the door burst open, revealing a red-faced, panting Harry. “Dad! Come quick! It's Mr Crouch!”

.oOo.

It had begun innocently enough. “So, Harry, you'll be starting first into the maze. Despite your late start for the second task, you still finished far and away in the lead. Well done.”

Harry rolled his eyes at Bagman's arse kissing. His Mum had filled him in on Bagman's proclivities while his Dad finished the story with some words from the goblins regarding Bagman's financial `issues'. Obviously, the Ministry man had a bet of some such on The Boy-Who-Lived. Too bad. Since there was no hostage for this event, Harry did not intend to participate beyond the bare minimum in the third task.

Giving a shrug to show that he heard Bagman, Harry took the opportunity to watch the other champions. Viktor Krum was standing off to the side, his usual surly expression on his face. When the gaze of the two most famous young wizards in the world met, Harry couldn't help but smile. Viktor gave him a surreptitious wink in response. The Boy-Who-Lived knew all too well about fawning fans and hostile press. Where Harry removed himself from the public eye to deal with the troubles, the Youngest and Best Seeker in All Of Quidditch chose to intimidate his harassers with his perpetual glower.

Bagman was loitering about after he finished his description of the task. Fleur and Cedric had both hurried up to the castle, leaving the threesome on the Quidditch pitch.

“Ah, being here reminds me of the old days. Some Quidditch for the ages,” Bagman observed grandiosely.

Meeting Viktor's gaze, Harry rolled his eyes very deliberately. Neither student rose to the bait of a discussion with the man.

“Well, lads, are you ready for this event?”

Harry was silent while Viktor grunted his reply. Both teens stared off to the forest, hoping the man would take a hint.

“I must say it's been quite exciting so far,” the washed up Beater proclaimed in a last ditch attempt to kindle a conversation.

When neither teen replied, he jovially announced, “Well, I can't stay to chat. Lots to do!” Harry couldn't help but grin when the man gave a beaming smile before trudging up the path to the castle.

“Fool,” Viktor muttered.

“More like buffoon,” Harry corrected with a smile. “He is using us for publicity and I'm sure he has a few bets on the outcome of the tournament. I don't think he wishes us harm, though.”

Shrugging, Viktor frowned at the forest. Lazily pointing, he asked Harry, “Do you see that?”

Squinting into the failing light, Harry saw a figure stumble out of the edge of the forest. a figure that looked astonishingly like Bartemius Crouch. “Is dat de man from your Ministry who has been ill for so long?” Viktor asked as he and Harry trotted to the edge of the forest.

“I think so.”

Catching up to the man they both heard his rambling. As the man slipped in and out of incoherency, Harry did the only sensible thing. “Stupefy,” he cast. When the dishevelled man finally relaxed on the ground, Harry turned to Viktor. “Can you take him to the Infirmary? I'd like to get my Dad.”

“Ja,” Viktor nodded, the bored expression long gone. Catching Harry by the arm, Viktor cautioned the green-eyed Seeker, “He looks to be suffering from either de Imperius or Compulsion charms.”

Harry took the hint. Crouch had escaped from someone who had been controlling him. Nodding, he changed his mind. “Let's take him to the infirmary together. Once Madam Pomfrey has him, I can fetch my father.”

.oOo.

James decided to have a bit of fun. When Harry raced off to return to the infirmary, James shifted to Prongs. Hearing a yip at his side, he saw Padfoot lolling his tongue. Pawing his front hoof, Prongs lowered his antlers, giving them a shake. With a howl, Padfoot sprang out the door, following his godson. A leap and bound later found the majestic stag rocketing down the hallway after his cousin and son leaving behind a shocked and stunned Hestia Jones and Alexandra Price.

It's been a while since I let loose he thought to himself. Unfortunately, hooves and stone floors aren't all that great for turning, so long after Prongs went shooting past Padfoot, he piled into the wall at the intersection where he needed to make a hard left to the infirmary.

Padfoot gave a barking laugh as he breezed by the rising stag. Snorting, Prongs stood, shaking his massive head to clear the ringing in his ears. A small squeal off to his side caused him to turn. Four students were staring at him with wide eyes. Shifting to his human form, James waved while smiling widely. “Hi!”

Shifting back to the regal stag, Prongs shot away, leaving the fifth year Hufflepuffs gaping.

Prongs caught up to the other two just in time for them to enter the Infirmary together. If a deer could laugh, Prongs would have fallen down in hysterics when he saw the expression on Madam Pomfrey's face.

Granted, a forbidding faced Harry Potter flanked by a Grim and stag was unusual but her astonishment quickly turned to outrage.

“Get those dirty animals out of my Infirmary Mr Potter!”

Harry smiled before replying, “Yes ma'am.” Turning to Prongs, he asked, “Dad?”

James and Sirius changed back to their human forms, laughing as they did so. Smiling widely, James turned to the nurse, “I apologize for the unhygienic nature of my entry to your realm, Madam.” He bowed deeply before becoming more serious. “How's Crouch?”

She shook her head in frustration, as he noticed that the Headmaster and Minerva had entered the room. “He's shifting rapidly from lucid to delirious and it's difficult to tell which is which.”

James frowned as he silently interposed himself between Harry and Albus. Albus had been fully compliant with the restraining order that prohibited contact between the Headmaster and Harry, but James didn't want to tempt the old man. They had a wobbly truce that he felt was as far as they could go, but didn't want to upset that apple cart.

Moving to the old man, Albus asked over his shoulder, “Has he said anything that makes sense, Poppy?”

“Well, he keeps mentioning his son and a mistake, but that's it. There's quite a bit of rambling about a Weatherby character and snippets of what seems to be his past, but that's it. I'm afraid his mind may be broken.”

“Did you call for Healer Macdougal yet?” Albus asked as he leaned over the Ministry man. James assumed the Headmaster was performing Legilimancy on the man's damaged mind.

Figuring Macdougal was a Mind Healer of some kind, James half listened to Poppy. The details of Crouch's diagnoses were irrelevant, he decided. The fact that Crouch had been under the Imperius for a significant length of time was very disturbing and fed James' belief that Voldemort was on the march. But why Crouch?

“Oh, God,” Sirius muttered. Turning to his cousin, James raised his eyebrows in a silent question. “It's Crouch that got Harry into the Tournament at the bidding of whoever used the Imperius on him.”

Silence fell on the ward. James gulped back his anger. Crouch wasn't responsible for his actions while under the curse so hexing the broken man wouldn't give James the satisfaction for which he longed. The clop-clop of Alastor Moody entering the wing caused him to half turn, giving the old Auror a distracted greeting.

Watching Harry, James looked for a sign of upset or distress, but was surprised to find his son fairly calm. Gesturing with his head toward the doors, the threesome left the Infirmary as they heard Moody ask, “Has he said anything yet?”

Harry obviously anticipated James' question. Before Prongs could ask, Harry told his Dad and godfather, “It really doesn't matter to me who put me in the tournament. The only thing that I care about along those lines is to shove a hot poker up his arse just `because'. Beyond that…” he trailed off with a shrug of his shoulders,

“Alright…” James acknowledged. Trading a glance with Padfoot, he saw his cousin was a bewildered as he was. Had someone crossed a Marauder like this, they would have nearly tortured him in response. “Whatever. Come on, dinner's nearly on and you need to meet Alex.”

“Who's Alex?” Harry asked as they walked down the hallway.

The bark of laughter from Sirius prompted James to say, “I'll let Padfoot tell you,” for he always liked Sirius' stories.

“Listen up little man, for you are to be exposed to the ways of the world,” Sirius began. Harry's snort of derisive laughter was an appropriate reply.

.oOo.

Hermione looked up the table and smiled. At her side, Harry was animatedly chatting with Neville and Hestia about Puddlemere United's chances in the upcoming championship tournament. Remus and Alex were quietly talking as they ate. James was making faces at Lily who was desperately trying to smother giggles while Susan laughed at him off to the side.

It was family.

The delight in Harry's face was food for her soul. On September first, he'd no family that he'd acknowledge. Now he was surrounded by family of blood and heart. Where his home had been a dungeon of despair, now home was a refuge that he savoured.

She met Sirius' gaze as she looked about the room. He too had suffered for so long, but now was healing. As he dropped her a wink, she couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled up from within. Her entire world was upside down and back to front, but it was a sight better than it'd been at the beginning of the year. Reaching under the table, she caressed Harry's thigh, causing him to hitch in his discussion, but after a quick drink of water, he shouldered on with a slight smile on his face.

James was done being silly. Standing, he held out his goblet of mead. The action caught the attention of all present, the chatter fading away to silence. With a gentle smile of affection, he met everyone's eye in turn.

“Ostensibly, we are gathered tonight to welcome home Alex,” James began. The blonde ducked her head as she blushed. Remus' hand disappeared under the table. Hermione assumed he was just holding her hand, but remembered that Moony was a Marauder so anything was possible.

“So welcome home,” James nodded to her. “But we are also celebrating. My godson and his Susan are with us,” he nodded to Neville and Susan. “Sirius and Hestia are here. Harry and Hermione.” James eyes settled on his wife with an adoring expression, “My beloved Lily.” Rousing from his contemplation of his loved ones, James continued, “We've had a hard go for a while now. Reaching back to that Halloween night, it seems that our lives have been scattered as ashes in the wind. Many are missing who should be here.”

Hermione watched Neville close his eyes as the inference of his parents was recognized. Susan also ducked her head as she remembered her slain parents. “Many have gone on, others have left.” The slight hardening about James' eyes was the only indication of his feelings about Peter.

“In the end, we are gathered here tonight as family.” Nodding to his son, he added, “Harry has coined it quite well: Only The Family Matters and we are family.” He was silent again as he regarded the people gathered in his room. “I love you all,” he told them softly. Holding his goblet aloft, James toasted them all, “To Family.”

On her left, Harry took a deep, shaky breath as he held out his goblet. Neville was bright eyed and Susan smiling happily. With a high-level government official as a guardian, it was unlikely the redhead had an active family life. Hermione knew how the Hufflepuff felt for she too had been easily and quickly assimilated into the greater Potter-Black family. Now it seemed that they were adding Longbottom and Lupin to the mix.

Remus smiled as he wound his arm about Alex. With an uncertain smile, Alex lifted her goblet to toast the rest. Of course she was a bit hesitant, but based on the way she looked at Remus, Hermione had no doubts that the two star crossed lovers would work things out.

Sirius and Hestia first toasted each other before raising their goblets to the rest of the room. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Lily blow James a kiss.

Wrapping her arm around Harry's, Hermione joined her family in celebration, dedication and commitment. In unison, they all proclaimed, “Family!”

.oOo.

Lily was doing her best to focus on the plan. In a few hours, Harry was to commence the third task. As had been their plan for the second task, Harry was to step into the maze on the Quidditch Pitch before stepping out, announcing the completion of his attempt at the task. This time, there was no hostage to circumvent the plan.

Hopefully, nothing else would arise.

Despite James', Remus' and Sirius' confidence in the plan, Lily couldn't help remembering how easily their attempt to keep Harry safe in both the first and second tasks had been bypassed, throwing Harry into the thick of things. Hermione had dealt with this pattern far worse than Lily. It'd been a simple grouse by Harry that set it all in motion, “I wonder what's going to happen this time to shaft me?” Hermione had stiffened at his side, her eyes narrowing.

Hour after hour she'd researched all the previous tasks in the long ago tournaments, compiling a spell list for Harry to learn. She'd even read through the Greek classics for the stories of Theseus and Perseus to try to divine what types of spells would be beneficial for this type of challenge.

Dutifully, Harry had bowed to her will as he learned each spell. He learned them in addition to finishing their seventh year courses, that is.

Both teens were exhausted from the effort they'd put into their studies. Talking it over with Filius, Lily was of the opinion that while the teens would most likely score an Exceeds or better for the practical portion of their NEWTs, they'd most likely fail the written section. The focus of study for the teens had been the practical application of magic in a combat or at least a real world situation. Hermione put forth every effort to embrace and affect a well-rounded study plan, but that was discarded quickly in the face of the pace of their studies. There's a reason it usually takes seven years to prepare a student for their NEWTs.

Either which way, the family was gathered to have a meal together. Lady Augusta and Amelia Bones had joined the greater family for the late lunch. Rauri, who had joined the family for the meal, merely bowed graciously to the additions before expanding the table to accommodate the now twelve diners.

Lily was chatting away with Amelia Bones. They'd only briefly met the one time when returning to the time stream. A no nonsense witch, Lily liked Amelia.

“It was the same day that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacked your home,” Amelia explained as she stared off to see scenes of long ago. “I was the duty section chief when the Floo call came.” Amelia looked into her lap, the emotion just as strong as it had been all those years ago. “It was my brother calling for help. He refused to leave baby Susan or his wife, Julia. He shouted that there were a dozen Death Eaters before the connection terminated.”

The slow shake of her head belied the intensity of Amelia's emotions. Lily gently laid her hand on the older witch's arm as Amelia continued the story. “Immediately, I enchanted a portkey before departing with the duty six Aurors. It was a suicide mission - six Aurors against twelve Death Eaters - but…it was my brother. By the time we got there, Julia and Edgar were both dead while their house elf, Polly, was mortally wounded. The little thing had stood in front of the door to Susan's room as the bastards went for the clean sweep. She killed four of the fuckers.

“By the time we got to the house there were nine dead and two wounded Death Eaters. We never could tell if there'd been another perpetrator at the house or if my brother had just miscounted in the confusion and stress…” the Director of the MLE's voice tailed off into silence. The usually confident and strong woman was emotional and vulnerable. Apparently, she'd been much attached to her baby brother and his family.

It was the same story with different characters in a different setting. “So many,” Lily murmured. At Amelia's nod, Lily reiterated, “So many uselessly taken by that madman.”

Taking a deep breath, Amelia picked up the tale, “So I got my little girl,” she smiled brightly as she nodded to the redhead across the table from her. “She's so grown up.”

“And in love,” Lily added with a smile.

Rolling her eyes, Amelia agreed, “And in love. I expected it, mind you. She and Neville are very powerful - regardless of Augusta's prattle - and they've had a strong attachment for such a long time that I'm surprised it took this long for them to formalize the relationship. Either way,” Amelia smiled as she sat back in her chair, taking a sip of her wine, “I approve. He's a good lad.”

“He is indeed,” Lily agreed. The lull in the conversation allowed her previously distracted mind to refocus on the forthcoming third task. With a shudder, she ruthlessly shoved aside her fears and forebodings.

Harry had mentioned that he still felt that things would be `bad'. Apparently, this Foresight was becoming more active and more refined.

“I see Voldemort and the Death Eaters destroying everything we love,” his eyes watered as he looked into his lap. “Even home.”

Lily had gently squeezed his shoulder, “Your Dad is already working on that. Rowan Hill will be fine, don't worry.” Harry and Hermione had jointly cast a series of wards around the entire property. That was unheard of, given the power requirements of the casting, but The Boy-Who-Lived and The Smartest Witch of the Age had power to spare. In addition, James was working with his goblin contacts to place the property under Gringott's protection. While not perfect, combined with the existing wards, Rowan Hill would be safe.

Despite that reassurance, Lily had to close her eyes to keep from screaming in the tension and fear that spiked deep in her gut. The soft hand on her arm caused her to look to her left. The sympathetically smiling Amelia Bones told her, “I'm not only here because my girl's good friend is in this task. Something is wrong and has been for the past few years. My gut tells me something untoward will happen tonight. I've brought an entire Auror division with me. We'll be ready.”

Recognizing the turnabout of their situation, Lily nodded her appreciation. The Aurors helped but Lily was terrified of the unknown. Nothing could assuage that fear until the situation was resolved for better or worse. Hopefully, for the better.

.oOo.

Hermione wouldn't let Harry out of her reach.

All through lunch she kept him at arm's reach, usually with a hand on his arm or leg. After dinner, the family ambled about the grounds for a bit, chatting and whatnot. His hand was firmly ensconced in hers the entire time. At one point, Harry pointedly looked at their joined hands before he whispered to her, “Love, I need to use the loo. Want to come with?”

She'd considered it. After all, he'd been in the girls lavatory on more than one occasion, why shouldn't she go with him?

It was the longest twelve minutes of the day for her. They'd spent the previous two nights together. In her fear, she'd ravished Harry both nights. A small smile curled her lips as she assumed he had no protests. Hermione knew that she was being obsessive and not dealing with the third task very well. The `adults' were all calm and confident about the plan of non-participation in the task. Something deep within her dreaded the event though. She'd been panicked before the first task while calm before the second. Both events turned out to be in line with her feelings.

Shaking her head, she didn't think that she had the Foresight that Harry seemed to be exhibiting, but she did get hunches. There was something to `women's intuition'. All the studying and research she'd done in preparation for this task had prepared Harry to survive being dropped in the middle of the Alps with only his wand.

“God, I hope it's enough,” she murmured.

The entire day she'd been touching him trying to establish a physical connection to him as if to tether him to her. She was - admittedly irrationally - afraid that he'd suddenly disappear or have been a phantom of thought in the first place. Neither was tolerable to the young woman. Hermione needed him as the body needs air, sunshine and sustenance; to give, to receive, to love and to live. The pressure and tension had grown all day. When she began to tremble, Harry glanced at her in concern.

The dark haired young man made the excuses, “I need to speak with Hermione. We'll be just over here,” as they moved to a secluded section about the lake. After he set her on the small boulder, the green eyed seeker crouched in front of his paramour.

Hermione knew she was a wreck, but couldn't help herself. Didn't they know that the world meant nothing without him? Didn't they know that the sun would refuse to shine, the flowers refuse to bloom and the crops refuse to sprout should he be lost to the winds of time?

Didn't they know?

Looking him in the eye, she hoarsely whispered, “I love you, Harry.”

Even amidst her distress, Hermione's heart did a pitter-pat when he smiled at her. “I love you, too.”

“I…” she began but the tears welled up. Ruthlessly shoving them aside, she gently grasped each side of his face. Staring into his eyes, she poured every ounce of emotion into her words. “I need you. I want you. I love you. You must come back to me.”

Her declaration seemed to settle the maelstrom within a bit. Instead of a hurricane of emotion, she'd settled to a gale.

With tenderness, he stroked her cheek before leaning in to kiss her. It was tender, full of promise and love. Short, it was a kiss of affection, not passion. She closed her eyes as she gently touched her forehead to his. Drawing strength from his presence, his dedication to her - to them - she took a deep, calming breath.

“Marry me, Hermione.”

Stunned, she opened her eyes to see him watching her with a pleading expression.

Before she could reply, he pressed on, “This isn't how I wanted to ask. I wanted this grand setting with us all dressed to the nines after a stupendous evening. I'd say something terribly impressive while sweeping you off your feet. I'd give you this enormous ring that would show you how much I adore, esteem and love you.”

“Harry,” she began but was cut off as he continued on as if she'd said nothing.

“Instead, we're behind a big rock on the south side of the Black Lake while I crouch in mud and you're sad. I don't even have a ring for you.”

“Harry…” she tried again to no avail.

“I can't help it, though. I've wanted to ask you for a while, but hadn't the courage.” He reiterated her words from earlier, “I…I love you. I need you. I want you.”

“Harry, shut up.” Hermione chided with a smile through her tears. All through his rant, she was dropped into a different maelstrom of feeling. This new sweep of emotion was of love, happiness and joy. As he stumbled and bumbled his apologies and declarations, she couldn't help but smile. This was Harry: courageous and shy in turn. He would face Jormungandr the Midgard serpent with naught but a harpoon. At the same time, he was the young man who was terrified of being turned away by the witch he loved and who loved him in her turn.

She loved him more than she could say, so she said the only thing she could.

“Yes. Yes, I will marry you.”

His face bloomed into a wide smile and she felt her own smile responding to his.

.oOo.

“Wahoo!” James heard from behind the rock. Turning to Lily, he raised his eyebrows in confusion. He saw her smiling with the hint of a tear in her eye. Further confusing him, she beckoned everyone on down the path.

“Let's give them a moment or two,” Lily urged as she moved further down the lakeside.

As the group ambled toward the forest, James leaned into Lily, “What just happened?”

Lily smiled as she laid her head on his shoulder, “I believe that our son has taken steps to formalize his relationship with his beloved.”

“Oh,” James replied, completely lost. After a moment, revelation hit and he brightly added, “Oh!” Half turning back to where Harry and Hermione were still hidden behind the big rock, he asked, Lily, “Really? You think so?”

She nodded.

“Why?”

“Call it a woman's intuition and leave it at that.”

James was fully exposed to the `wonders' of the feminine gender so chose to leave it alone. With a bounce in his step, he also chose to ignore the upcoming task in order to revel in the moment. An unpleasant thought occurred to him, “What about her parents?””

The growling reply of, “Fuck them,” coincided with his own thoughts so he smiled. Turning to Lily, he verbalized what they'd been talking around.

“Our son is getting married.”

.oOo.

Harry had made his way to the front of the maze a few minutes before, so Remus was at loose ends. At his side, Alex and Lily were chatting about who knew what. No idiot, Remus was still lost amidst their deepening discussion regarding potions, ingredients and their effects. Instead, he was people watching.

In front of the entrance to the maze, he saw Albus taking with Minerva and a woman who could only be Olympe Maxime. Next to them, the scowling visage of Igor Karkaroff was very known to him. When James had told the others about `their old friend Igor' being in the castle, Sirius and Remus had had a very serious discussion about paying the man a visit with lethal results. Only their amorphous fear of repercussions on Harry because of Karkaroff's role in the tournament had held them back.

Beyond them, the Ministers for Magic from Britain, France, Germany and Bulgaria had clustered with their assistants and a retinue of security personnel. By his count, the obvious bodyguards numbered thirty-two. Remus was sure there were others under invisibility cloaks or Disillusionment charms or at a distance. He'd heard rumour of the protective details employing snipers for outdoor situations like this. Apparently the anti-mundane bias that was pervasive in the wizarding world was shucked off in the face of security concerns. Remus didn't bother looking about, he was sure he'd not find them. It was their job to be present yet hidden.

Minerva, Alastor, Hagrid and Filius were to be stationed on the four walls of the maze along with a half dozen Aurors on brooms overtop the hedgerows. The champions shouldn't be hurt too badly by some of the beasties patrolling the maze.

Narrowing his eyes, Remus recognized the bellowing roar from the maze as that of a Minotaur. Earlier he'd heard the shrieking cry of a Hippogriff along with the coughing bark of a Dire Wolf. The former Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was very grateful that Harry wasn't going to enter that trap. Who knew what else was in there?

Ludo Bagman bounced to the front of the maze to confer with the Heads of the schools. Remus had to forcibly supress a sneer. The man was a moron who was moving quickly to one labelled `more ear wax than brain'. “Tosser,” the Lycanthrope muttered to himself.

“Who?” Alex asked from his side.

“Bagman,” he replied while waving a dismissing hand at the man.

She snorted, “Did I ever tell you about the time he felt me up?”

Remus stiffened, “No. You didn't.”

Alex rolled her eyes, “Easy there, cave man. It was sixth year and I was heading into the Great Hall for a meal. In the crush of people, I felt a hand squeeze my arse. Turning about, I saw him looking suspiciously innocent as he waved to someone in the hall.”

Smiling now, for he knew his woman, Remus asked, “What did you do?”

Her answering smile was a tad feral. “Hit him in the mouth. Knocked out three teeth. Every time I saw him after that he suddenly found something to do in the other direction.”

Remus laughed, but quieted down when the magically amplified voice of Albus Dumbledore requested the crowds to settle and take their seats. Minerva and Alastor moved to Dumbledore's side, Alastor brushing past Harry as he did so.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Dumbledore intoned with his friendly gravity. A magical spotlight illuminated him in the growing darkness. “We are gathered here this fine evening to witness the conclusion of this thrilling tournament. Our champions have displayed courage, ingenuity and dedication. For that, I believe we can all applaud their efforts.” The stately old man led the applause as he half turned to where the champions were paraded in a line. Remus smothered a smile. Harry looked much less than pleased by the entire affair. His scowl told volumes.

“Doesn't look too happy, does he?” Alex's voice tickled his ear.

“Not too much,” Remus agreed with a chuckle.

“The leader in points for our tournament is Mister Potter from Hogwarts. As the leader, he shall be the first champion to start into our hedgerow maze. The others shall follow him into the labyrinth based on the overall point standing,” he swept his arm in a wide motion, encompassing the pitch. “There are various obstacles placed in the maze. Overhead,” he flicked his wand, revealing a jumbotron sized monitor that was divided into quadrants. “You can follow the champions as they make their way to their destination. At the centre of the maze is the TriWizard Cup. The first champion to the cup wins the day.”

Ludo Bagman edged his way into the spotlight that Dumbledore occupied. The glare from the old man froze the Head of the Department of Games and Sports. Apparently, Albus had learned about some of Ludo's less than savoury behaviours. Whatever the washed up Beater was going to do or say was lost as he gulped before edging away.

“Tosser,” Remus repeated in disgust.

Alex smiled as she scooted closer to him. As she leaned against him, he revelled in the renewed closeness with his mate. It was as if the years apart had never happened. Turning to look at her, the pang of guilt that involuntarily ran down his spine reminded him that they indeed had been apart and it'd been his fault. There was still the hint of rings about her eyes and despite their (eventual) joyful reunion and the subsequent wonderful weeks, there was still an aura of pain about her that was visible to those who could see.

“So we shall begin!” Dumbledore announced with a ringmaster's flourish.

Shaking off his remorse, Remus refocused on the task. A last glance at the blonde healer at his side reminded the Lycanthrope that Rome wasn't built in a day nor would their relationship be repaired in a few happy weeks.

The cannon blast announced Harry's `entry' into the maze. On the jumbotron, there was a clear picture. Off to his right, Remus heard James mutter, “Come on lad. In and out does the trick.” Which is exactly what Harry did.

Harry took three steps into the maze, his wand raised in a defensive position. In his mind, Remus counted, one, two, three, four, five…. When Remus got to five, Harry stepped out of the maze, standing to the side so the other contestants could enter the maze.

Remus saw Dumbledore nod resignedly at Harry's action. Ignoring the old man, Harry cast a quick Loudspeaker charm on himself. “To everyone in the stands,” The Boy-Who-Lived announced. “I was forcibly entered into this tournament by person or persons unknown. As such, I stand aside to allow the real champions the opportunity to compete in this final task without the interference of my presence and actions.”

Short, sweet and to the point. Remus nodded to himself as he heard murmured approval from the others in the stands. Seeing that his Little One was safe, Remus exhaled loudly as he leaned back on his seat. Alex's soothing hand on his shoulder brought his attention to the tension in his body. Remus thought he'd been rather laissez faire about the task, but it seemed his body knew better.

“That's that,” he muttered. He heard Sirius exhale loudly before muttering something to Hestia. Probably something similar to his own sentiments. Peering into the early evening gloom, Remus found Hermione sitting at the end of the row, next to Lily. The two witches appeared to be holding hands, their expressions tense.

Did they know something he didn't or was it simple nerves?

Down at the entrance to the maze, Harry chatted with Viktor and Fleur. Cedric had already entered the maze. Fleur tossed her head in laughter while Harry and Viktor were smiling widely. It was good to see his `nephew' interacting outside of their little family. Remus realized they'd isolated themselves quite a bit over the last seven months or so since James and Lily had returned to them. Part of him didn't give a damn but the other side - the Professor side - realized that they all needed to expand their interactions. A closed cycle withers and dies, after all.

As the cannon fired again and Viktor gave Fleur and Harry a wave as he sprinted into the maze, Remus couldn't find himself caring too much about their outside relationships. The greater family had been healing from extraordinary pain, suffering and distress that had been inflicted for years. As a dog curls into itself to lick its wounds, the Family had pulled into itself.

The last cannon fired, leaving Harry alone as Fleur followed Cedric and Viktor into the maze.

“Do you think we can go down there?” James asked.

Turning to face his friend, Remus shrugged. “I don't see why not. I'm sure Albus wouldn't care and as we saw earlier, I think he'd browbeat any Ministry hack that complains.”

As the family stood en masse to head to Harry's side, Sirius added, “Just stay out of the way of those security blokes. They don't look too friendly.”

Murmurs of agreement accompanied the inevitable “Excuse me,” as they shuffled down the aisle to the steps. Four short minutes later, they were all congregating about Harry. Remus smiled when he saw that Hermione had Harry's hand firmly in her own.

Padfoot mocked, “How are you champ? Was that too much for you?”

With amused gravity, Harry wiped his brow with his free hand as he exclaimed, “Whew! That was a bit of a chore. Get us a bitter, will you Godfather?”

Everyone laughed as Lily's eyes narrowed. Lily had been hell on underage drinkers in school during her years as a Prefect. Remus tried to spring to Harry's rescue. “How about a butterbeer instead?”

With a shrug, Harry mildly protested, “But Padfoot promised me a night on the town and he was buying.”

Now Lily and Hermione were glaring at the visibly nervous Sirius. Trying to change the topic, Sirius asked, “So are we heading home tonight or tomorrow morning?”

“Tonight and don't think you're off the hook, Black. We'll talk later,” Lily hissed.

“Aww, Lily, c'mon,” Padfoot whined.

James clapped his cousin on the shoulder, “Get your skates on Padfoot, you're fucked.”

This led to uproarious laughter from the Marauders. Remus fondly remembered that phrase being their general admission that McGonagall had them dead to rights and there was no evasion possible. Based on Lily's expression, Padfoot needed big skates.

The atmosphere lightened as they waited patiently for the task to end. Occasionally a screech or explosion from the maze stopped all conversation for a moment. Each time it happened, Remus found himself looking to Harry as if to reassure himself that the young man who meant so much to them all was still with them.

Finally, there was the sound of trumpets. The hedge dropped, showing Fleur Delacour standing in the centre of the maze, her uniform singed but the smile on her face showed she didn't care a whit. Cedric Diggory was in a full on fight with a King Acromantula while Viktor Krum was tangling with three Hippogriffs.

Out of the corner of his eye, Remus noted Hagrid rushing to Krum's aid while Minerva and Filius began to herd the Acromantula into a pen that the Transfiguration mistress had conjured. Unseen `til now, a series of handlers rushed the pitch to subdue the previously identified creatures and what appeared to be a Sphinx, a Vampire, some odd cross of a firecrab and an oversized scorpion and, lastly, a Quintaped. The professional in him admired the choice of creatures to be obstacles, but the guardian in him screamed at what could have been.

As the students and adults in the stands began to applaud for the victorious witch, everything went to hell. Quickly.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Instinctively, Remus fell to the ground, pulling Alex with him. Rolling on top of her to protect her with his body, he heard the screaming begin.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The cacophony from the stands and the surroundings added to confusion caused by the flashes of green death intermingled with the colours of the other just as deadly spells being cast. The screams nearly deafened the hyper alert Lycanthrope. Squinting through the pain, Remus tried to make out just what the bloody hell was going on.

“Avada Kedavra!”

An errant spell hit the stands that held spectators and students. The cacophony increased exponentially as shards of oak splinters scattered into the crowd, spreading their lethal message. Fires started, shedding inconstant light that further confused the situation. Remus ducked his head as he felt his back peppered with debris.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Looking up, he saw the security forces falling like wheat. In their midst, their fellows were firing Killing Curses at point blank range. Rage boiled up inside of Remus. Not so much for the particular loss of life, but that the war had come so soon. They all knew it was coming, But not yet, he complained to himself with bitterness.

As he watched, Cornelius Fudge fell, his dead face frozen in surprise.

The Bulgarian Minister for Magic was already dead while the German and French Ministers had been portkeyed away, their security details bristling as they searched for more assassins. Now that the Bulgarian Minister was dead, no one seemed to pay his corpse any mind. Remus had a moment of sick fascination to watch the head of the French security detail, as he fought an opponent in hand to hand combat, stand on the face of the fallen Minister.

Looking to his right, Moony saw Harry lying on top of Hermione while James and Lily crawled to the young couple's side. Hestia lay on her side, her arms over her head. Sirius…where was he?

The barking of Padfoot caught Remus' attention. “No…” he groaned in fear. Sirius was stupid enough to go charging into the fight without thinking.

Across the way, the big grim had ripped the arm off one of the attackers and had moved on to the next. Beside him, Albus Dumbledore waded into the fray, his face a mask of cold, efficient fury. Snap conjuring a boulder overhead of his opponent, he crushed the man. His Piercing charm drilled a hole in the breastbone of the next man. A wide area Stunning spell brought down nearly the whole group. With the mass of people on the ground, Remus saw a panting Amelia Bones across the way, her wand in hand as she stood over a fallen opponent.

“Remus let me up!” Alex shouted from underneath him.

“Not yet,” he growled at her. The wolf within screamed to protect his mate. Not since the last war had he felt this strongly about anything and it rocked him a bit. The last time had been while shopping with Alex for Harry's first birthday gift; the Death Eaters had attacked Diagon Alley. Four of them had paid for their folly that day.

His eyes scanned the area for further threats. Alastor was stumping toward Albus. Minerva and Filius moved to herd the panicking students up to the school. Remus could see Sprout, Pomfrey, Vector, Snape and Babbling trying to gain control, but over four hundred teens and preteens were in the process of losing their collective head.

“Dammit Remus, there are people hurt!” Alex protested.

Regaining his own head, Remus stood, allowing Alex to sprint to the battlefield to try to save those that could be saved. Forcibly, he stopped his hands from shaking. The adrenalin had flooded his system and was quickly being flushed.

The fierce expression on Albus Dumbledore's face took the Lycanthrope aback. For all the time that Remus had known the old headmaster, the man had preached tolerance and capture of their opponents. Tonight, though, he'd killed at least two men. Something had obviously changed.

As Alex sprinted away withdrawing her shrunken bag from a pocket, Remus saw Sirius returning to the group, his shirt covered in blood. Hestia stifled a scream as she ran to her fiancée. Moony heard Padfoot murmur, “I'm fine. It's not my blood.”

Hermione was in Harry's arms. Despite her involvement in Harry's `adventures' through the years, she'd never seen a person killed before this evening. Remus could hear Harry's murmured, “It's Ok. I'm here and it's ok.”

Lily was rubbing Hermione's arm while James had his arm about Harry's shoulder, whispering something in his son's ear.

Things went from bad to truly shitty. Alastor turned on the Potter group, his battered face contorted in rage and hatred. Nearly snarling, he spat, “The Dark Lord shall rise!”

Harry, Hermione, Lily and James disappeared. Remus could only gape; realizing that the voice activated portkey that Alastor had surreptitiously placed on Harry earlier had just been triggered. Raising his wand, he turned to Alastor only to see the man grin maniacally before disappearing.

In panic, he screamed, “SIRIUS!”

.oOo.

James' feet hit the ground with a jarring thud. It isn't easy to do much while travelling by portkey, but he had repeatedly screamed to his family, “DRAW YOUR WAND!” When he felt the impact of their landing, he blindly cast a wide area Stunning spell even before he could make out where they were.

Silence.

Crouching low, he backed up until he felt someone directly behind him doing the same thing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lily's distinctive red hair. Reaching for her, he grabbed her arm, pulling her to his side. It seemed like just yesterday that Voldemort was breaking down the door to the rental cottage. Here they were again. There was a rising foreboding of despair in James. Last time they'd been cornered by the Dark Lord, the Potters had been trounced with ease. Maybe it was social conditioning, perhaps it was ingrained in his DNA, but James lips curled back as the aggressive feelings rose within him to protect his family. Every fibre of James' being screamed in defiance at being unable to defend his family again.

“Harry? Hermione?” he whispered harshly. Looking about, he saw that they were in a graveyard. It was small, but well populated so it was most likely a family or clan resting place.

“I'm here,” he heard Hermione from directly behind him.

“Here,” his son replied from near Hermione.

“Good, let's get the fuck out of here.” James pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and incanted, “Portus,” without taking his eyes off his surroundings. The better part of valour, it seemed, was retreat. They were in an unknown place with unknown opponents with no backup at hand. A very bad situation but at the same time, it was eerie. There was no one about. He expected a hostile welcoming committee so this empty silence was a bit unnerving.

Everyone clustered about, placing a finger on the handkerchief. “Activate,” James said with a rush of relief.

Nothing happened.

“Not again,” Lily groaned from his side.

Not wasting time, James cast Remus' Communication charm. Summoning Remus and Sirius should also bring the cavalry. A thought occurred to him so he called, “Rauri.”

Nothing. Their loyal house elf either couldn't hear him or was being prevented from joining them. The net result was the same. They were alone.

“Dad, can we please get the hell out of here?”

“Seconded,” Hermione added.

“Follow me,” James replied. Glancing at Lily, he saw the ferociousness in her gaze. There would be no gentleness in any exchange of spells this evening.

“Ahhhh!” Harry screamed as he fell to his knees. His wand in the grass, he held his hands to his forehead. Panic flooded James. Harry had never shown this kind of pain. He'd had broken bones, concussion, cuts galore and never whimpered. Now, he was writhing on the ground in agony.

“Stupefy!”

Glaring at Hermione, James nearly snarled before his brain caught up with reality. Harry was incapacitated and the only way to move him in an easy manner was to have him unconscious. Lily scooped up Harry's wand as James turned on his son's intended.

Instead of the curse he was going to hurl at the teen, James pointed as he told her, “You Levitate him.” Turning to Lily, he added, “You've got the rear. We're running the hell out of these wards.”

“Oh, really.”

.oOo.

Hermione was furious and terrified at the same time. It seemed that all her fears were being realized. Once again, Harry was Fate's plaything. She was sick and tired of her fiancé - Fiance she rejoiced for a moment - she was tired of him being tossed about as if he were a ragdoll held in the chubby clutches of a three year old.

Turning to the sound of the voice, she sneered. She had expected Lucius Malfoy to be here, but this wasn't he. The man who was standing directly behind them, kitted out in his Death Eater robes, was lumpish who spoke in an East End accent. Hermione felt James stiffen in recognition as Lily snarled, “Carrow.”

“Long time, there Potter. I don't think you'll be going anywhere any time soon. See, the Dark Lord wants to have a chat with you once he's feeling up to snuff.” His wheezing gasping that passed for laughter reminded Hermione of an asthmatic after they'd finished smoking a fag.

The rage boiled and roiled inside Hermione. The man's insolent draw and perverse enjoyment of the family's situation, combined with the now quiescent Harry at her side fomented a `situation'. With a snarl, she snapped her wand up. The silent Reductor curse left her wand before any of the others had processed the fact that Hermione had raised her wand at all.

It was amazing, she thought later, what a truly brassed off and motivated witch could do. Amycus Carrow was vaporized by the force of her spell.

The man exploding in a mist of red with bits of gore falling about energized the seen and unseen. James, Lily and Hermione turned away from where the Death Eater had stood and began to run. Hermione hoped that they were headed toward the edge of the wards and not into the middle of the Death Eaters, but tried to focus on keeping the floating Harry from slamming into a headstone as they ran.

Behind them, she heard people running and shouting. Despite her pounding feet, harsh breath and grunting in effort as she hurdled a low grave marker, she heard one voice that she'd been imagining in her nightmares for some time now.

“Get me the boy! We must have him!”

It could only be Voldemort. Lily had told her how he spoke of himself using the `royal collective'. That oddity of speech combined with the bone chilling tone gave away the speaker's identity.

With a deft move, she placed Harry on the ground before conjuring a granite dome overtop him. “James! Lily!” she called. The-Parents-Who-Lived pulled up. Seeing her plan, they ran back to cover the helpless Harry.

Casting the Springboard charm, Hermione jumped a good twenty feet in the air. Twisting about, she cast a chain of curses across their back trail. Reductor, Siege Engine, Reductor, Explosive, Concussion, Reductor. The Cushioning charm she spot cast at her feet let her land softly. Spinning about, Hermione Vanished the conjured granite dome before sprinting off, Harry in tow. James and Lily covered her retreat, their spells adding to Hermione's efforts.

Behind them, they left a nightmare. The area affect curses had cratered the landscape while killing seven Death Eaters. Four recent recruits had been jellied as Hermione's Concussion curse crushed them as if they'd been in an hydraulic press. The area was ruined and any pursuit from behind was severely hampered - as had been Hermione's intent.

All the conditioning and running were paying off for The Smartest Witch of the Age. Now that she was warmed up a bit, she transfigured her robes to shorts so as to move easier. Vaulting a headstone, she found herself face to face with four enormous, bestial men.

“Hello, pretty,” the leader leered. Standing forth, he was huge. His foul reek reached Hermione's nose causing her to recoil in disgust. The man had not only not bathed in weeks, but there was an overlying smell. A rotten corpse smell. Then she noticed, he had several mouldering fingers on a cord about his neck. Repulsive trophies of a sort.

James and Lily caught up, Lily puffing with the exertion. Prongs stepped in front of Hermione as he snarled, “Greyback. I'd hoped you'd died in the years we were gone.”

“No such luck, pretty boy. I'm too damn mean to die. You, however…”

The sentence was left unfinished as the unchanged Lycanthrope hurled himself at James. Before Hermione could react, one of the other men had her in his grips. To her side Lily grappled with the third man.

That left the fourth running away with the unconscious Harry over his shoulder.

Once again, the rage roiled and boiled. Pulling with all her might, Hermione freed her left hand. Shifting her weight, she shot forward like a snake, striking out at the man. The vicious jab hit the Lycanthrope square in the throat crushing his windpipe. He was dead, but didn't know it yet. His eyes wide in pain and surprise, the now choking Lycanthrope reflexively reached for his throat as he doubled over. Without pause, Hermione kicked him in the stones. Dropping like a bag of old shit, he left the way clear for Hermione to follow the man who had carried off Harry.

Glancing to her left, she caught James' gaze. “Go!” he shouted. “We'll be fine!” To give truth to his statement, Lily's wand flashed, Banishing her attacker across the clearing. Hurriedly, Hermione Summoned Harry's wand from his mother. As the Holly and Phoenix feather slapped into her hand, Hermione stuffed it into her waistband.

Not turning back, Hermione sprinted back the way she'd come as she heard the crunch of the Banished Lycanthrope breaking his back as he hit a tree.

.oOo.

The jostling woke him. Harry forcibly supressed a groan as he came to his senses. It felt as if someone had used a hammer on his head and followed it up with a few swift kicks right in the centre of his forehead. Squinting, he tried to make out his surroundings.

It was hard to see anything as he was hurled from the shoulder of whoever had been holding him. Topsy turvey went the world until he had a most unpleasant alighting upon Terra Firma. The violent landing forced the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping.

“Quickly! Get his blood!” the high, cold voice of Lord Voldemort commanded.

Dizzy, Harry felt a sharp pain on the back of his hand.

“That's enough! Do it! Finish the ritual!”

Harry raised his head as the dizziness began to ebb. His nut still hurt like hell, but if Voldemort was close enough to hear, he was close enough to kill. Determination welled up from within to finish this contest of wills. He would kill Voldemort or die trying.

There was a splash as a…thing…was reverently placed in the cauldron by one of the masked Death Eaters.

“Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe,” a silently weeping Peter Pettigrew intoned as he dashed the bloody knife overtop an enormous cauldron.

Harry looked about in dismay. Ringing the cauldron, Peter and himself were a dozen or so Death Eaters in full regalia. As surreptitiously as possible, Harry felt for his wand. Not in his holster. Nor his waist. Not in his boot. Damn.

Looking about, Harry felt a mix of defiance and despair. He'd not go easily for he'd not sell his life cheaply. Goodbye, Hermione. I wish…I wish so much he thought to himself.

“Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master,” Peter intoned. A Death Eater left the circle, approaching the cauldron with noticeable trepidation. Finally, he extended his arm over the magically boiling potion. Harry was confused at the kind expression on Pettigrew's face. The confusion rapidly became revulsion when, without a change of expression, Pettigrew cut off the man's hand. The splash of the severed hand falling into the cauldron made Harry gag.

Once again, Harry wondered at the fanatical devotion displayed by the Death Eaters. Why? What did Voldemort offer that so inspired his followers?

Everyone's attention was on the ritual, so Harry began to slowly inch his way toward the closest edge of the circle. Despite his resolve to confront Voldemort, he knew he was a dead man should he challenge him while surrounded by Death Eaters. Harry needed help. Unfortunately, he only made it a few feet when he heard Pettigrew call, “Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son.”

A flick of his wand allowed the kind faced Pettigrew to Summon bone dust from the grave of Voldemort's father. What is with him? Harry wondered.

The Boy-Who-Lived was about five feet from the ring of Death Eaters when the cauldron exploded with light. Dazzling white light shot up like a rocket causing all the assembled to look away lest they be blinded. When it cleared, he could clearly see that the Disillusioned form of Hermione was standing over him.

She had come.

.oOo.

After casting the Disillusionment charm on herself, Hermione had dashed into the ring of Death Eaters just as the cauldron flared with light. Standing over Harry, she ducked down, shoving his wand into his hand.

“Can you stand?” she whispered.

His reply was to Disillusion himself.

She held his hand as he slowly stood. From their experience with Master Filius and Remus, if they moved too quickly while Disillusioned, they gave away their position as if they were still visible.

“Robe me.”

The terrifying voice caused Hermione to look up. A naked skeletal thin…being…stood before her. It was sexless and waxy white. Red eyes glowed as hands like skeletal spiders grasped at nothing. She watched in horrifying fascination as Pettigrew draped a plain black robe over its shoulders.

“C'mon,” Harry murmured. Nodding, she slowly turned away.

“Harry Potter,” the cold voice of Voldemort called. Hermione flinched as the sound of his voice was like metal being torn mixed with fingernails on a chalkboard. “Where are you and your little mudblood going? Our party is just beginning.”

.oOo.

James and Lily finished with their attackers. As the headless corpse of Fenrir Greyback fell to the ground, Prongs looked to his wife. Her grimace and sweaty face alarmed him. “Can you go on?” he asked as he moved to her side.

Nodding, Lily gasped, “Give me a minute. Go on. I'll catch up.”

Now he was really alarmed. “What happened?”

“I think…I think I'm losing the baby.”

Horrified, James' eyes widened. Lily was just over two months along and they'd told no one. In fact, he'd not even thought about her pregnancy this evening until now. Kneeling in front of her bent over form, he cajoled, “Let's lie you down. Come on. We'll get you to St Mungo's. We should be outside the portkey ward now.”

“No,” she moaned even as she obeyed James' instructions. “Harry,” she protested. “Must help him.”

“I'll go. You take care of our second child.” James and Lily had a marriage of partnership. As such, he'd never directed his wife to do anything, nor she him. This was one time, though, that he was going to ignore that rule. When he set his jaw and stared at her, James could see the resignation in her expression as she nodded in agreement.

Snatching a leaf, he tucked it into her hand. “Portus,” he incanted before immediately commanding, “Activate.” He breathed a sigh of relief when she soundlessly disappeared. Standing, he cast the Communication charm to Rauri, directing him to join Lily at the hospital. Between him casting the privately held spell and the destination being a public facility, he doubted that the elf would be warded against joining Lily.

Turning to head in the direction that Hermione had run, he heard a series of pops. His wand raised, he turned to see Sirius, Remus, Albus, Minerva and a few Aurors he recognized. One was a big black fellow, Shacklebolt or somewhat and the other was his distant cousin, little Nymphadora, Andi's daughter.

“Where are they?” Sirius snarled.

Ignoring his cousin, James turned to Remus, “Can you cast the spell to ask Alex to join Lily at the hospital? She'll be in Casualty. Rauri should be with her.”

Remus didn't say anything, just concentrated as he cast the spell. All frowned as the earth shook. Looking at his friends, James realized what had just happened. Harry or Hermione had just cast the Earth Shaker spell.

“What the fuck Prongs?” Sirius demanded.

Ignoring Sirius again, he turned to the group, “Harry and Hermione are up ahead,” he gestured in the direction that the witch had pursued her intended. “I've no idea of the opposition is, but it must be significant.”

All gave solemn nods of understanding, even Sirius had calmed. Looking to Albus as the most experienced fighter, he ignored the flare of his resentment towards the old man as he proposed, “Sirius, Minerva and I should transform to scout ahead. You and the rest move up the path until you see the headstone that looks like a huge falcon. We'll rendezvous with you there in two minutes.”

Albus nodded, “Be careful, James. I'm sure that Peter has told Voldemort's forces about your animagus forms.”

James nodded as he was shifting forms. By the time the stag looked up, the Grim was at his side. Prongs indicated to the east with his rack, Padfoot giving a small yip as he bounded off to reconnoitre. Stealthily, Minerva shot down the direct path, her colouring and size hiding her nearly immediately in the early evening darkness.

Without looking back, Prongs bounded off to the west, letting loose his full speed. The stones and trees went past in a blur as Prongs focused on what lay ahead, his fear for his son and Hermione drove him faster. He could hear shouting and screams. Through the trees and headstones, he could see flashes of light. Leaping over a headstone, he found a man in Death Eater robes standing in front of him

“What the…” the man began, but the exclamation was cut off as Prongs lowered his head and charged.

Eight points of his magnificent rack ran the man through and gored him. The Death Eater's heart, lungs and stomach punctured, causing the man to die in seconds.

Shaking his head to clear his antlers, Prongs bounded off toward the commotion. Racing down a small path, he began to distinguish individual voices. It didn't seem like there was time to backtrack to the rendezvous. He flowed from Prongs to James in a fluid second. Casting Remus' handy spell, he sent to Albus the position of the fighting and that the reserve force should come up immediately. Repeating the spell to Padfoot and Minerva, he turned back to the fighting. His blood ran cold when he heard Hermione scream, “HARRY!” With utter disregard for himself, he sprinted forward, casting Blasting curses as he went.

.oOo.

“Where are you and your little mudblood going? Our party is just beginning.”

It was completely ridiculous. Harry was surrounded by Death Eaters. A reborn Lord Voldemort had his gaze fixed firmly on him. Yet, here he was getting his back up as Voldemort called Hermione that word.

Taking a page from Sirius' book, Harry adopted an air of nonchalance. He had to buy time for his parents and others to arrive. With Hermione at his side, he might be able to take Voldemort, but not if they had to deal with a dozen or so black robed lackeys at the same time.

“I always knew you were a fool, Tom, but didn't know you were so vulgar and lower class, as well. I mean, really, using such language is just so unnecessary.”

Harry could feel Hermione's shocked stare as she turned to look at him. Harry had to swallow forcibly as the silence from Voldemort grew. The wizard's rage was nearly visible, but Harry had to buy for time. Turning about, Harry made a show of counting. “…twelve, thirteen…seventeen all told.” Turning back to the glowering Dark Lord, harry mocked, “You need seventeen followers to subdue two teenagers.” Nodding his head as if he were musing over the information, he mumbled, “Must be a lack of magical capability. Granted, we're very good…”

“Enough Potter. You are just as amusing as your father attempted to be. Your end shall be very similar to his.”

“Oh, you mean being sent into the future with my lovely Hermione?”

The Reductor curse at Harry's feet silenced him. As the debris spattered about him and Hermione, Voldemort hissed, “No. We are tired of playing games with the house of Richmond. You and your parents shall die.”

Slowly, the Dark Lord began to pace. “You see, We've learned quite a bit during Our time of banishment.” Glaring at the Death Eaters, he bit out, “We've learned that some are faithful while others are not.” Turning his attention back on Harry, he added, “And We've learned that my previous approach to domination of this island was flawed.”

He stopped; staring at Harry like a snake regards its meal, “What do you know of Our last rise, young Potter?”

Continuing with the bored tone, Harry inspected his fingernails, “That you attempted to dominate the country through asymmetrical warfare combined with blackmail and the Imperius curse while exploiting the long held biases and prejudices of the established governing body.”

With a chilling smile, Voldemort nodded, “Well said, young one. You have studied. We have learned from Our mistakes. As we speak, Our minions or their Imperius'd puppets are executing Our will.”

Harry's eyes narrowed as he heard Hermione's sharp intake of breath. “The bills,” Harry murmured.

“Yes. My, my, you are bright. Just like your parents. Very smart, magically powerful,” the light and complimentary tone turned to a snarl as Voldemort added, “And enthralled by mudblood trash.”

“But yes, the bills,” Voldemort began again as he regained his composure. “All those who voted against those ridiculous bills that Joseph and Lucius introduced made the list.”

“The list of those to be executed,” Hermione elaborated, speaking for the first time, her tone of shocked horror.

With the expression of a well-fed crocodile, Voldemort smiled. “Yes.”

Resuming his pacing, the Dark Lord gloated, “We expect most, if not all the list to be ready for the undertakers come morning. By now, Our supporters will be the majority in the sitting Wizengamot. Most, if not all, of the Department Heads should be dead alongside the `glorious' Minister.” Voldemort's sneer gave lie to his words of appreciation.

“Come tomorrow, We'll be directing the government of magical Great Britain. It shall even be legal,” his chuckle was unnerving. “Unfortunately, you'll be dead so you can't enjoy my triumph.”

Harry was numb. He had no reason to doubt Voldemort. The plan was convoluted and yet simple enough to work. Most of the Heirs for the seats wouldn't be sat until the existing members called for their seating. In the meantime, the Voldemort controlled Wizengamot would pass any law they liked.

Yet in front of him was the source of all the evil. The numbness began to give way to fury. It must have shown on his face, for the Dark Lord clucked his tongue in amusement.

“Are you angry, Harry? Do you hate Us?” Voldemort asked with mock concern. “Oh, dear. Whatever shall We do now?”

The chortles and sycophantic noises from the onlookers reminded Harry of his surroundings. He couldn't win. Even should he kill Voldemort, the seventeen- or more- Death Eaters would cut him down.

Slim fingers entwined in his, “I love you, Harry.”

Closing his eyes to stifle the tears that threatened, Harry replied, “As I love you, Hermione.”

“How sweet.”

Harry opened his eyes, the despair banished by the raging fury. “Do you mind?” he demanded of the deformed wizard.

“Enough of this twaddle,” Voldemort announced with a flourish. Drawing his wand from the inside of his robes, the newly reborn wizard told Harry, “We do believe it's time for you to die, young man.”

Reflexively, Harry and Hermione took a step away from the other. Forgoing emotion, feelings and regret, Harry fell into the repetitively drilled practice. He already knew what his and Hermione's first four spells would be.

“Now!” he shouted and began.

Earth Shaker.

He squatted in place, jabbing his wand into the earth as he incanted “Terra Motus!” The world quavered like a ride at an amusement park. In his excited state, Harry overpowered the spell, inducing an earthquake measuring 10.6 on the Richter scale. From his kneeling position, he saw Voldemort and his Death Eaters fall to the ground as trees toppled and the huge mausoleum collapse on itself.

Looking up, he saw Hermione overhead at the apogee of her leap. She began to cast the Reductor curse as fast as possible. In front of him, clumps of Death Eaters were blown to pieces and huge craters formed where she missed.

Fire.

Shouting the incantation, “Infernalis,” Harry swept his wand in front of him. The blaze burst from his wand like a wave, incinerating all that stood in its path. Through the flames, Harry saw the risen Dark Lord cast a shield of some kind that protected him. Two Death Eaters were turned to ash, though.

Mass Transfiguration coupled with Compulsion.

Without pause, Harry whipped his wand in a complicated motion. At the end, a dozen of the Headstones were transfigured into wolves. A simple Compulsion charm had them all sprinting at Voldemort to rend, tear and kill.

Hermione landed next to Harry, immediately shielding them both. Five spells whined off her Bunker shield just as it formed. Giving her a wordless nod of appreciation, Harry moved on to the next preplanned spell.

Sleeping.

When Remus had suggested this as the finale to their immediate assault, Harry had looked askance at his Uncle Moony. Remus' reply of, “It's quite hard to kill you when the opposition is asleep,” had made sense. It was also an easy to cast area affect spell that couldn't be shielded.

Waving his wand like a lasso, Harry shouted, “Somnus,” before turning to the now asleep witch at his side. A quick Reviving spell woke Hermione.

Glancing about, Harry felt like he was standing in the eighth circle of hell. There were pits of fire that consumed the sinners as others struggled to climb out of the rents in the earth. There were no trees standing, nor any headstones. The area for a quarter mile round had been ravaged by his magical assault.

Fires raged as Death Eaters screamed in agony. There was a bubbling hope that he may have been successful. Voldemort could actually be dead. The shadow of the spectre showed in the flames, catching Harry's attention. Moving slowly, but gaining shape, The Boy-Who-Lived couldn't help but stare. Step, step, step the figure resolved itself until the form of Lord Voldemort emerged from the flames.

There was a small tear in his robes, but he was otherwise unharmed. The glare from his inhuman red eyes scared Harry as nothing to date had ever done.

With a negligent flick of his wand, the ten or so surviving Death Eaters woke.

The curl of Voldemort's lip showed that playtime was over. Harry raised his wand to the Flitwick defence position. Named after his master, the position allowed for a fighter to smoothly transition to six different shields, as well as, conjuration of physical shields.

“Avada Kedavra!” the Dark Lord incanted with a shout, his wand pointed at Harry.

Dodging to the left, Harry cast as he fell. Casting the Advanced Shield spell had no effect as Voldemort's Killing curse passed through it, just missing Harry.

Jumping to his feet, Harry dodged another hex of unknown identity before diving behind a fallen gravestone. The Bone Exploding hex left his wand before he fell.

It missed Voldemort, Harry's aim off due to his movement, but the Death Eater directly behind the Dark Lord suffered the effects of the curse. His back to the conflict, the man's spine exploded outward.

Harry ignored the man's death throes as Voldemort ripped off a string of curses that Harry could only dodge. Most the dark haired teen didn't recognize, but he did see the Entrail Expelling curse mixed into the attack.

Rolling away from the attack, he heard Hermione engage the now awake Death Eaters. Her transfigured wolves were having far better success than Harry's had. Casting the Barrier spell, Harry popped to his feet. The orange wall sprang into life as a half dozen spells splattered on its surface. Harry narrowed his eyes at his nemesis. Across the way, Voldemort nodded approvingly at Harry's choice of spell. “Very nice,” he could hear the former head boy mutter.

As Harry couldn't cast through the barrier any more than Voldemort could, he began to use his newfound skill in transfiguration to his advantage. Four tigers, a lion and three bears swarmed out from behind Harry's spell as it began to fade.

Refocusing on his opponent, Harry was reminded why Albus Dumbledore respected the magical ability and might of Lord Voldemort. While Harry was busy, Voldemort cast a temporary ward that incinerated organic material. Instead of having to engage and destroy the transfigured animals, the ward turned them to ash before it faded.

When the Barrier spell fell, there was a moment where the two regarded one another. Then Voldemort moved, and Harry's vision went black.

.oOo.

“HARRY!” Hermione shrieked as her fiancé fell to Voldemort's curse. It wasn't the Killing curse, the colour was wrong, but she didn't know what it was.

Without thought, she turned on the now laughing wizard. Her wand seemed to rise of its own accord. Instinctively, she attacked the Dark Lord. Years later, she would still be unable to recount what she'd cast. Only in a pensieve was anyone able to discern even half of her spells, she cast so fast.

On the receiving end of this avalanche of magic, Voldemort's laughter swiftly became concern. The distraught witch watched his face shift from laughter to concentration to something approaching fear.

Blinding, Reductor, Binding, Bone Breaking, Reductor, Piercing, Siege Engine.

Voldemort shielded with spells Hermione had never seen. His movement fluid, he edged toward a path that led from the clearing.

Redoubling her efforts, Hermione grimaced with the effort. Changing up the pattern, Hermione tried to transfigure the Dark Lord into a parrot but he dodged the spell. The Battering Ram hex was shielded with a purplish area affect spell that created an enormous shattering sound as if a thousand oaks had just exploded. Drawing her reserves, she cast Chain Lightning.

Panting at the effort from her high powered casting, she grimly smiled as one fork of her attack struck the Dark Lord on the leg. His screams were chatters as electricity shrieked through his newly reconstituted body. Falling to the ground, his body shook and convulsed as the electricity found its ground.

Her hands on her knees, The Smartest Witch of the Age shuffled to stand over her fallen betrothed. A corner of her consciousness heard James and Sirius shouting her name, but her focus was entirely on the smoking Dark Lord. Part of her wanted to fall on her knees, weeping for her fallen lover. The more rational aspect of her knew that this wasn't over until they'd verified that Lord Voldemort was well and truly dead.

Impossibly, he rose.

With wide eyes, she met his eye and trembled. It was evident that he was furious at her for injuring him so, exposing vulnerability before his followers. His hard gaze moved to the side and Hermione heard a voice that caused relief to flood her body.

“Hello, Tom.”

Albus Dumbledore strode into view, interposing himself between the Dark Lord and the overwhelmed teens.

“Dumbledore.”

The two titans stared at each other, daring the other to move. With a quick spell, Hermione Levitated Harry. Inch by inch, she retreated, never taking her eyes off the Dark Lord.

The Terrible Foe shifted his gaze from his former teacher to sneer at the retreating teens. Dumbledore raised his wand as if to do battle. Voldemort rolled his eyes in exasperated derision in response. Hermione was stunned at the incongruity but didn't have time to process it as Voldemort barked, “Now!”

Completely exhausted emotionally and magically, Hermione could only watch as Voldemort laughed at the old Headmaster. “You may think you've won old man, but you've lost everything. We own Britain now. We'll be seeing you soon, Dumbledore.” With the portkey wards dropped at the Dark Lord's command, he vanished.

Hermione collapsed. Pulling Harry into her arms, she wept as she screamed, “Somebody help me!”

End Act I

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first twelve chapters. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on fanfiction (dot) net. Sorry about the lateness of the chapter, but real life has been in session. Between the three kids, the job, the kids, the house, the kids, the 11 acres, the Cub Scouts and what else? Oh, yeah, the wife and life has been really busy lately. Oh yeah, it's also Christmastime. Alright, I give in. **I grovel in despair and supplication. I'm really, really sorry**

1. Recommendation this chapter is The Queen Who Fell To Earth, by Bobmin 356, an excellent HP/Dragonriders of Pern crossover. If you haven't read it, make the time.

1. Thus ends Act I of The Last Casualties. As I mentioned a few chapters back, this one time simple idea has exploded in my head into this grand scope and scale. I hope it comes out as I see it in my imagination. I'm probably going to continue the story in this file, mainly because I can't think of a name that's better than Last Casualties for the overarching story. I'm really enjoying writing James and Lily, they're a lot of fun and it allows Harry to be more of a teenager as opposed to this über mature person who can fall flat if not written well. We've all read stories where Harry comes across as petulant and ridiculous in his demanding and absolute attitude as a fourteen-year-old trying to act as if he's fifty. Having James, Remus and Sirius alive in this story allows them to act in the adult world while Harry feels his way into a position.

1. I had some questions in reviews about my terminology. One reviewer asked about my usage of titles (e.g. The Boy-Who-Lived and The Smartest Witch of the Age among others). I find that using `Harry' this and `Harry' that makes a story dull. Livening it up with a sprinkling of The Boy-Who-Lived and `dark haired wizard,' as well as, his Lordship, the Earl of Richmond, among others, helps ease any tedium of words. The other was the use of `mundane' as opposed to `muggle'. Far too often in canon the word muggle is used as a pejorative as well as rhyming with a well-known extremely vulgar and rude word. As such, I don't like the word `muggle'. At all. So I don't use it. As this is my story, it's entirely within my prerogative to use terms as I see fit. Not to be a snot about it, but hey, it's my story. Write your own if you don't like it.

1. To the canon police out there: if you find my story offensive to you because I don't adhere to every little point that JKR thought up then Don't Read My Story Any Longer. Write Your Own.

1. The Ireland/Spain debate was NOT a dig at Bob & Alyx's Sunset/Sunrise Over Britain. If you've read any of my recommendations over the years, you'll know that storyline is one of my favourite HP stores ever written (including canon).

1. I know the ritual was a different order in GOF. No comments are required. Oh, yeah, remember, my Voldemort uses the Royal We when referring to himself.

1. Alright, Bob. I'm braced for it. Hit me with it, brother…

This story dedicated to the memory of my loving Grandmother, Grace Ellen (November 26, 1920 - November 20, 2011). Mother of Charles, Patrick, Robert, David, Mary and Kevin. Grandmother of Sean, Erin, James, John, Patrick, Benjamin, Margaret, Cate, Claire, Will, Mark, Michael, Sarah, Molly, Olivia, Frankie, Keeley, and Vincent. Great Grandmother of Conor, Aine, Maire, Moises, Gracie, Holden and Beckett.

Beloved widow of Frank (Jan 1911-May 1991)

You'll be missed Grandma.

This chapter completed on 1/1/12

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Act II

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

“Harry,” Hermione murmured to herself before shaking her head.

En el nom del pare…

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

Hermione barely noticed.

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

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

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

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

I el Fill…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She missed them and needed them.

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

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

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

I l'Esperit Sant…

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

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

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

Harry. God in heaven she missed him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A més.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jo crec en un déu…

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

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

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

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

She needed that faith now.

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

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

Aquest és el cos de Crist…

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

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

So she prayed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her heart heavy, she turned to leave

“Perdre Granger?” the soft voice called.

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

“Pare,” she greeted in return, her voice muted.

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

Her lips firmly closed, Hermione silently shook her head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry, oh God, Harry,” she murmured.

“Es que el jove?” the woman asked.

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Does he still breathe?”

“Yes,” she whispered as she nodded, tears starting again.

“Does he love you?”

“Yes,” she whispered again.

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

I believe. I believe

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

.oOo.

“It's strange, you know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hermione is,” Susan observed.

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

“I had a long talk with Uncle James yesterday.”

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

“About losing your family in one swoop.”

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

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

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

“Susan?” he asked softly to catch her attention.

Turning to him, she replied, “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

Answering the unspoken question, Susan told Hermione, “No change.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forgoing thought as an unnecessary complication, Susan obeyed.

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

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

.oOo.

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

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

Failure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The worst part was that this was his entire fault.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rolling his wounded shoulder, he kept walking.

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

Three little Potters sounded really good to James.

“Uncle James!”

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

Still…

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

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

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

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

.oOo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When can you do the procedure?” James asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” Susan asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you find?” Hermione asked impatiently.

.oOo.

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

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

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

It was Hermione, though, that spoke first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” Susan asked.

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

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

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

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “How long?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.oOo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can we shag now? I love shagging you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Remus, leave off my physical attributes.”

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

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

“Are we going to shag now?”

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

.oOo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fifty seven,” she corrected.

“Really? That many?”

“Yep.”

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

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

“Oh?”

“Was it Severus?” she asked in a neutral tone.

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

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

“Yeah, he did,” James acknowledged.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“When? When it happened or after we started dating?”

“Both.”

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

“That was after we were dating, what about before?”

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

“What?” she asked.

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

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

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

.oOo.

En el nom del Pare…

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

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

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

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

Hermione grinned. “I heard some of it.”

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

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

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

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

I el Fill…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I l'Esperit Sant…

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

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

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

“Harry - you're a great wizard, you know.”

“I'm not as good as you.”

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

And love.

A més.

A/N

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

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

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

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

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

En el nom del Pare…

In the name of the Father…

I el Fill…

And the Son…

I l'Esperit Sant…

And the Holy Spirit

A més.

Amen.

Jo crec en un déu…

I believe in one God…

Aquest és el Cos de Crist…

This is the Body of Christ…

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

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

Chapter complete 1/16/12

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

“Hey mate.”

Remus looked up from his book to see James settling beside him. “Hey, yourself. How're you doing?” Shoving aside a few ledgers, he made room for his friend.

Half shrugging with his good shoulder, James grimaced. Remus' expression became stony. He'd been badgering James to go to Alex about his shoulder. It wasn't healing as it should have but his friend was too stubborn to ask for help. “You're being stupid,” is what he'd told him.

“I wanted to talk about Padfoot,” James began without preamble. Remus exhaled in relief. He'd wanted to raise the topic but hadn't known how. It seemed somehow disloyal to talk about another Marauder behind his back. Well, if he and James were going to prank Padfoot, that would be fine but this seemed different.

“Good,” Remus replied.

James eyebrows cocked in surprise but then he shook his head. “You've been seeing him more than me so I bet you know more about what's going on with him.” Remus nodded, his expression sober. James was on the same tack as his own thoughts.

“I'm getting worried,” James cut to the chase. “He's going too far.”

Remus' thoughts flashed back to the night he was so badly hurt. Things went balls up and Moony was hurt because Padfoot lost control on a mission, no bones about it. It was to be a simple intelligence raid. They were breaking into a long-term records facility that the Ministry Human Resources department used to house the tonnes of parchment they generated every day. Magic recalled it to their offices in the Ministry building when required, but for storage, the forms were all kept in a remote storehouse in rural Lancashire.

The objective of the mission was to penetrate the flimsy wards, copy as many rosters of the current ministry departments as possible and get the hell out before anyone responded or five minutes - whichever came first.

It all went balls up when they encountered a lone Death Eater in the facility. Walden Macnair was in the records doing his own snooping when Sirius opened the door. It seemed that old Walden was looking for some dirt on one of his `brothers'. Sirius lost all control when he saw the black robed figure in front of the filing cabinet. Without warning, he pointed his wand before casting a pain curse at the man.

As Macnair fell to the floor screaming, Remus tried to stop his friend. “Dammit Padfoot! No magic!” They didn't know for sure, but many facilities like this were warded to detect if magic was cast on the premises. It was a low fidelity intruder detection scheme. Most wizards wouldn't hesitate to cast a simple charm to help them find or hide their goal, so this defence worked well. Somewhere in the Ministry building, an alarm would sound to indicate that the ward had been tripped.

It also detected hostile casting just as easily as it detected the non-hostile. Swearing, Shacklebolt and Tonks had run into the boxes, crates and filing cabinets, casting as many Summoning charms and Administrative Filing charms as they knew. Stealth was out the window as they tried to bull rush to their goal before they were discovered.

Remus struggled with Sirius for a long moment before giving it up. The wide-eyed frenzied expression on his friend was a bit disturbing, if truth were told. Glancing down on the moaning Macnair, Moony told Padfoot, “Just finish it quick.” He had no qualms about killing the man; he just wanted to get the hell out of there before the bloody cavalry showed up.

They showed up too soon. As the other three stuffed their copies into bottomless bags, Sirius was still torturing the now fatally wounded Macnair. Seven Death Eaters arrived just as Remus', Shacklebolt's and Tonks' hands were occupied with forms.

Before he could even react, Remus caught a Bludgeoning curse in the left forearm, breaking it cleanly. Wincing through the pain, he blinked furiously to clear the tears that reflexively sprang to his eyes. Before he could focus, another Bludgeoning curse to the side of his head rang his bell. Drawing his wand and dodging incoming curses as he tried to clear his vision, Remus cast a wide area Cutting curse that left two Death Eaters without legs as the stumps below their waist spouted blood like a fountain.

Shacklebolt was duelling with a masked Death Eater who was surprisingly skilled. Most of the new recruits were thugs, but there were many of them. Voldemort and his followers had been very aggressive in their recruitment efforts before and after the Dark Lord's resurrection. Fortunately, most of those that the small band of counterinsurgents encountered were morons who could only cast the Unforgivables along with a few other nasty curses.

Remus dropped to his knees before he painfully rolled behind a crate. Once there, he pocketed his pilfered forms before looking about. After a few deep breaths, he stood, casting a series of Reductor curses as covering fire.

Tonks had felled a short Death Eater before moving to the next. Remus saw that she was holding her own as he turned to find his next opponent. The Reductor that clipped his leg nearly took if off. One inch to the left and the curse would've left him a three legged werewolf come full moon. As he grimaced in pain, another opponent pressed the former Defence professor with what was called the Broken Glass hex. The hex was painful, but not fatal. The end result left him with a bleeding and swollen face.

Snarling in pain, Remus cast a precise Piercing charm that emptied the content of his opponent's cranium out the back of his head. The charm worked the same as a .45 calibre bullet: small entrance hole, BIG exit hole.

Remus turned, determined to not be caught unaware again, but he was too slow. Between the Reductor curse to his leg, the Bludgeoning curses to his head and arm and the Broken Glass curse to his face, he wasn't moving too quickly. Like a punch-drunk boxer, he wheeled into the next assault. The Bludgeoning curse that hit him in the ribs was a Dark derivative that caused the grey haired Marauder to panic in fear. He was helpless to fight back as Lucius Malfoy drawled, “Oh, good. Another beast.”

Swelling from deep within his subconscious, Remus felt an unnatural uncontrollable panic rising up his gorge that scrambled his thought and drove him to scream in unmitigated terror. The shriek that tore from his throat was primal and wild, choked with emotion.

At that point, both Tonks and Shacklebolt overpowered their opponents, forcing Malfoy to withdraw. Remus had a vague recollection of Shacklebolt working over him for a few minutes until the unnatural fright receded. Then the pain set in. Grunting as he was helped to his feet, he saw Sirius approaching, bloody up to his elbows with spatters of gore on his face and in his hair.

“You alright?” he asked nonchalantly.

Remus didn't reply, just grunted to Shacklebolt, “Let's get out of here.” Ten metres of limping later, they portkeyed to a safe house that Shack had set up years ago. Only he and Amelia knew about it so the group figured it was secure.

Groaning again, Remus lay on the couch as Shack cast a series of diagnostic charms. Frowning, the quiet big man turned to his rookie partner, “Get me a vial of Taylor's Pain potion and a portkey to James' place. The potion is on the third shelf of the cabinet and the portkey should be in the second draw of the side table next to my chair.”

Looking back at the werewolf, Shack elaborated in his concise way, “I can't fix you. Your woman should set you to rights, though.”

Gritting his teeth against the rising pain, he asked, “Where the hell is Sirius?”

Shack paused, pursing his lips in disapproval. “Taking a shower I think.”

Two minute later, Remus was dosed with the pain potion and had a portkey shoved in his hand. After Shack carried him in his arms outside of the safe house's portkey wards, Remus was on his way to Spain and Alex.

James looked at his lap as Remus finished recounting the story to his friend. The morning when Remus had woken from his healing sleep, he'd been furious at his friend. So too, had been Alex.

“I'm going to fucking kill him!”

Apparently, so too was James.

Prongs jumped to his feet as he began to rant and rave. Pacing to and fro, he waved his hands in the air, punctuating each shout with a dramatic gesticulation. Remus couldn't help it. His laughter bubbled up from deep inside, from one of those places that we all hold dear and protect. This image of James was one only a few people had ever seen. The Marauders, Lily, of course, and maybe Harry and Hermione had seen this side of Prongs. No one else had seen James really let loose and it warmed Remus' heart to see it again after so many years.

As he wiped the tears of mirth from his face, Remus muttered, “I missed you so much, James. I can't even begin to tell you.” All the tension and fear were bleeding out of him as if from a punctured balloon.

Wiping his face clear of the wetness, Moony saw Prongs regarding him with a very familiar annoyed expression. This started another round of the giggles until Prongs starting cuffing him on the shoulder, “It's not funny, Remus!”

Gaining control of himself, Remus agreed with James, “You're right. It's not funny. In fact, it's rather disturbing. Look,” Remus placated, “When I woke up yesterday, I was pretty angry, too. I've had a day to cool off and think about what happened.”

He levelled his gaze at his time-displaced friend, “Sirius has always been the most vicious of us all. The little incident with Severus and Moony was not an aberration.” Remus paused, allowing James the time to think about this tidbit. Aside from the James/Severus rivalry, Sirius was always the first Marauder to draw a wand in a confrontation. Always the first to cast a dangerous or damaging curse.

It's always disquieting to acknowledge an unpleasant aspect of a loved one. To admit that one's son is a bit brutish, one's daughter is unmotivated or one's wife is more than a little self-centred. Yesterday, Moony and Alex had worked through this revelation about Sirius. While not new, it was a new admission about their friend - brother really. And like all family - true family that is - it didn't diminish their love one iota. Sirius was Remus' brother and he loved him. Would die for him come to that, but would never reject him.

As James calmed, he sat on the chair next to Remus, laying his forehead on the desk. Remus smiled. James would always do this when he needed to shut out the outside world in order to process some new or complicated fact. Finally, he took the deep breath that Remus had been waiting for as the signal that James had his mind around the problem.

When Prongs sat up, Moony was a little taken aback to see a tear down his friend's cheek. “He's been hurt so badly,” James whispered. “His parents, Azkaban, our supposed deaths, Peter's betrayal, Harry's abuse and now this Living Death thing.” James turned to his brother in all but blood, “We need to bring him home, Moony. We need to get him out of Britain. We lose him a little more each day that he's out there killing.”

Remus always knew that James was smart, but to see him emotionally reconcile himself to this new admission about Sirius then take the next three logical steps, two of which Remus hadn't even contemplated, was very impressive. On top of that impressive display of deduction, James was right. Nodding his agreement, Remus told his friend, “Alright. I'll go get him tomorrow.”

His face serious, James shook his head. “No. I'll go home and call to him with your communication charm. Then I'll bring him home. You have to start working on the list.”

Remus nodded again. The required ingredients for the potion and the ritual, while long, weren't arduous to purchase. The powdered Unicorn horn and the condensed mermaid tears were going to be bit tricky, though. Alex had already been to Paris apothecaries both legal and not so in order to get a healthy chunk of the list. With a few days' work Remus and his beloved should be able to round out the purchases.

“How's Lily?” Remus asked with a grin.

Rolling his eyes, James smiled. “She keeps asking me if I want honey with this or that.”

Moony chuckled. James and Sirius' malfunctioned attempt to contain the bees was a great story that Lily had spread about the villa within minutes of James' wakening. The old friends both relaxed; James placing his feet on the desk as they looked out the window to the sea below.

“You know, I'm absolute balls at sailing.”

Moony smiled, “Really? I thought all rich people were good at sailing. Isn't it required to inherit?”

The raspberry from his right wasn't unexpected.

The talk devolved into two friends just being together. Finances of the Richmond holdings forgotten, the two men reminisced about the past as they speculated about the future.

“Four,” Remus opined.

“No way. I'm thinking at least six,” James insisted.

“You're high. No more than four.”

Lily strolled into the room, hearing the exchange. Remus waved to her in greeting as he continued his argument with James. Knowing Lily, it would be a few short minutes before she interrupted. It happened after six seconds.

“What are you two children arguing about?” she asked in a dry tone.

This was the game that stretched all the way back to their seventh year and Remus loved it for he inevitably came out with Lily on his side. “James thinks that Harry and Hermione are going to have at least six children. I say no more than four.”

Remus was still enough of a Marauder that there was a hint of glee in his heart when Lily turned her incredulous face on her husband. “What, you think that genius of a girl is going to be some brood mare?”

Silently pumping his fist, the quiet Marauder celebrated as Lily gave her husband what for. The grin lurking underneath James' scowl warned Remus that a counterattack was soon to come. Moony sighed. He'd missed this so much. Now they just needed Padfoot alongside with a few pints and all would be right in the world. The friends moved to Harry's room after a bit to sit with him and Hermione, but for a few short hours, the clouds receded as they just lived.

.oOo.

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

Once again, Hermione made the sign of the cross at the end of mass. Genuflecting as she left her pew, she gave Father Sanchez a small smile that he returned. She didn't need to tell him that things were better; her whole demeanour announced her hope. She waved to Grandfather Chavez. Again, she'd walked into town with him for mass. He merely smiled to her as he chatted with some of the other widowers as they made their way to the tavern for a coffee and tapas.

Hustling out of town, she strode to her Apparition spot. A quick spell indicated that no one was watching so she twisted in place. A heartbeat later, she stood on the veranda of the La Retirada. Neatly folding her scarf, she strode into the house. Humming the Gloria to herself, she allowed a small smile to cross her lips. James had told the family that he was able to lead the ritual. Remus and Alex had assembled well over half the ingredients of the potion as well as the entire necessary for the ritual. Things were beginning to fall into place.

“You know, Harry, when I was pregnant with you, I was terrified.”

Lily's voice startled Hermione. The hope that Harry had awoken on his own flashed through her mind like a thunderbolt. Unable to breathe, she hurried to the door of her and Harry's room. Disappointment flooded her as the breath trickled out her mouth when she saw Lily holding Harry's limp hand. He was still in his coma.

“I was terrified I'd be a terrible mother. What did I know about children? My mum did the best she could with us, but look how Petunia turned out. I love James with all my heart and soul, but I was scared at our ability to be good parents for you.”

Stilling, Hermione watched the auburn haired witch stroke her son's lifeless hand as she told the story. The brunette witch could tell this was a story that Lily'd never told before. The hesitation in the woman's voice alongside the occasional hitch in her tone gave away the depth of emotion in the other witch.

“But then you were born.” Hermione smiled when Lily added in a wry undertone, “And wasn't that fun. Anyway, after James held you, kissing your little brow, he handed you to me. All my fears doubled then fled. I didn't know you very well and to tell the truth I felt incredibly guilty that I didn't love you instantly.” Lily leaned over, kissing her son's brow, “But I knew that I'd move heaven and earth for you. I'd throw myself under a lorry for you if that's what it took to keep you safe.”

She smoothed Harry's hair before cupping his face with one hand, “Not too long afterwards, I was completely in love with you and so too was your father. I was ready to die for you that Halloween night, but I'm very glad that I didn't. These last months have been the happiest of my life.

“Don't worry about your little brother or sister. They may take a lot of our attention after I deliver because he or she'll be so dependent on us physically, but you are, and always will be, my firstborn.”

Hermione strained to hear Lily as the older woman concluded, “I love you, my son.”

Leaning on the doorjamb, Hermione smiled. Hope. Love. Life. This was what they fought for. In about a month, Harry would be returned to them. Hermione remembered what the grandmother had told her about her own husband's injury in the service of `The Great Liberator' the other day after mass. “I cried over him for a week before I shouted at him for a month. Then I loved him for a week straight. He was too tired to go running off to war after that!”

It sounded like a grand plan to Hermione. Glancing at her watch, she wondered how James was faring. He was supposed to bring Sirius home this morning by hook or by crook and she had her own part to play in Prongs' plans.

Heading to the entryway, she pulled the portkey that James had left for her off the shelf. She had a quick visit to make. Hestia was in Zurich after all.

.oOo.

“Rauri,” James called.

The family retainer appeared in front of his master in the middle of a deep bow. “Yes, my lord?”

James smiled. He really loved this elf. “We'll be securing Rowan Hill in the upcoming days. You'll need to come to Le Retirada until we reopen the house.”

There was a crease of displeasure in Rauri's expression before he bowed again. “Of course, my Lord. I shall place all the food in stasis before departing forthwith.”

James left it alone. It was evident that the major domo of Rowan Hill was less than pleased with the idea of vacating the house. He knew that Rauri was passionately attached to the family seat and it was probably causing the elf physical pain to leave. However, the Swiss ward casters were arriving the day after next to lock down the property beyond what they'd already done. After the initial survey, the firm of Haus Schutz Ltd reported that the Rowan Hill had extraordinary wards - mainly the additions Harry and Hermione had cast in the recent months under Sirius' guidance. However, for foolproof protection they would need to Hide the house outside Space and Time.

The gist of the procedure was that the ward crafters were going to create a pocket dimension inside which nothing could survive. They would send the house and grounds into that dimension only to be recalled by the Head of the Potter family. The shrubbery, trees and wildlife on the grounds would automatically be placed in suspended animation, very similar to what happened to James and Lily. However, this banishment could only be ended upon the Head of the family summoning Rowan Hill back to this dimension. James had insisted upon that condition.

Not himself, he'd argued, but the Head of the family. October 31 of 1981 weighed heavily on James' mind so he had planned for the unexpected occurrence of his death. Even Harry's possible death had been taken into account. Should Harry sire a child in the near future then all would be well. If he shouldn't…none of it would matter anyway.

“Is there anything in particular you'd like moved to that Spanish house, my Lord?” Rauri asked in what was as close to an insolent tone as James had ever heard.

Looking about the entry hall with the suits of armour and the tapestries, James admitted to himself that he was a bit old fashioned in his beliefs, but at the same time, it hurt his heart to even consider anyone other than his own blood living in this house. He'd rather burn it to cinders than surrender it to interlopers.

There was a bit of a shiver that ran down his back at the thought of the house and grounds going to the same place that he and Lily had spent so many years after being banished by that bastard.

“Just the portrait of my father and Grandfather Cadfael, please. Just in case.” Rauri nodded, a bit of his equilibrium evidently returning before he popped away to attend his tasks.

Shaking his head to ward off the `goose over his grave' feeling, James plucked his wand from its holster. Deciding to get down to business, he cast the Communication charm, summoning Sirius to the house before settling down to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Now frowning, James glanced at his watch. “It's been an hour, where the hell is Padfoot?” Prongs mused in an annoyed tone. He recast the spell with force and more than a hint of urgency.

Ten minutes later, a soot streaked Padfoot Apparated into the entry hall. The scowl on his cousin's face took James aback. “What's the goddam hurry, Prongs? I was busy.”

Cocking an eyebrow, James wondered aloud, “And why were you conducting an Op during the midmorning? I'd be willing to bet you were alone, also.”

Shrugging, Sirius flicked some debris from his sleeve. “Had a window of opportunity so I took it.”

James stood there, waiting. This was a favourite tactic of Sirius'. He'd be nonchalant while firing out a brush off statement, trying to bluff his way past the questioner. It was too bad that James had taught him the technique.

“Really.” James' deadpan tone caused Sirius' confident posture to melt a bit Prongs was glad to see. The messy haired wizard pressed, “Want to pull the other one? It felt so good the first time. Might want to stand back, though. You're bound to get a bit messy.”

Sirius gave a short chuckle, the sound of dry twigs snapping underfoot. “Wouldn't want that,” he murmured as his eyes drooped and shoulders sagged. “We could get arrested in thirty countries for unnatural behaviour like that.”

Once Sirius finished with the usual comeback, James told his cousin, “You need to come to Spain for a bit.”

Frowning, the obviously muddleheaded Sirius replied, “Why would I need to do that? I'm doing good work here.”

“Like?'

“I just burned Malfoy Manor. Those bastards will need a new home plus all the dark goodies inside are gone forever.” The grin on Padfoot's face was scarily feral. In fact, James was more convinced than ever that Sirius needed the family as much as they needed him.

James nodded to fill the silence, which Sirius took to be encouragement to elaborate. “Since my bitch of a cousin is the Lady Malfoy and I'm the head of her blood family, I had access through the wards. I doubt that loophole will be open for very long. Yesterday I burned both Lestrange homes using the same gap.”

James' eyes widened. On the one hand, it was a stroke of pure genius. While much of the Malfoy and Lestrange family wealth was in their Gringotts vaults, the overall family value of both families had taken a significant blow. Combined with the loss of dark artefacts and the libraries of both families would most likely have them reeling. Combined with the strike at the heart of a man - his home - Sirius had accomplished much in the previous twelve hours.

On the other hand, though, “How did you do it?” At Sirius' questioning glance, James elaborated. “How did you burn them down?”

“Fiendfyre.”

A soft exhale was all the deflation that James wanted to show. Any loss of life in the destruction of the homes didn't bother him at all. Fiendfyre, though…that was pretty dark stuff. James was no fan of the Dark Arts. Flashes of his family that was long dead passed in front of his eyes. Aunts and Uncles. His twin cousins Haydn and Ioan who'd burned to death. Forcibly supressing a shudder, he kept his gaze steady.

Changing topics to avoid a useless argument, James told Sirius, “We think we've found a way to wake Harry.”

The lost look in Sirius' eyes grew, as he seemed to lose focus on his surroundings. The stoop became more pronounced as Padfoot's face fell. “Really? Good.”

It seemed to James that Sirius' physical demeanour was indicative of his confidence and how well he was holding together. Based on the slump of his shoulders and the pained look about his eyes, Padfoot wasn't doing too good at all.

“Hermione's been asking for you to come home,” James continued. He knew he was hitting below the belt, but it was necessary. That what he was saying was also true wasn't really the point.

“Remus is laid up for a few days, but is helping us gather the necessary to get Harry on his feet.”

Now Sirius covered his face as he drew a ragged breath, but couldn't answer.

“Lily keeps asking for you to come home. Moony told her he did his best, but you didn't want to come.”

James pushed harder, throwing his ace on the table with as much power as he could muster. With a tone dripping pain and sadness, he told his cousin, “Hestia stopped by yesterday. When I told her you weren't there, she started to cry.”

Sirius staggered. As he dropped to his knees, James enveloped him in his arms. The uncontrolled weeping finally began. At first, it was just a stuttering breath. James tightened his grip, holding his brother in all but blood. Sirius went limp as his psyche fell apart.

Sobbing alternated with groans. Sirius lay weakly in James' arms and all Prongs could do was wait. Again, he was waiting. This time he was waiting for this first of many storms to pass.

Looking back on the past months, he realised that Sirius had been holding on by his fingernails. Caught up in the excitement of his exoneration, Lily and James' return and his reuniting with Harry, Sirius had thrust aside his pain. James had been right when he told Moony that the combination of growing up the son of Walburga and Orion Black, his extended stay in Azkaban, their supposed deaths, Peter's betrayal, Harry's issue and all had really torn the man apart. Finding Hermione and Hestia had helped him to hold on even longer. Love was truly powerful. In the end, though, the damage always shows through.

Like the cracks in a plaster wall, they always return, despite how many coats of paint one applies.

Sirius wept.

And James wept with him. Sirius was wounded in mind and soul for which healing could only occur in time for time heals all wounds.

“It's alright, Padfoot. I love you, brother.” Sirius' fumbling grasp of a hand was all the answer that James needed. Now they could begin to heal him. First had been Harry, now it was Sirius' turn.

.oOo.

Alex sat at her vanity table going over her list for the day. Now that they had an actionable path to waking Harry, she spent very little time in Paris. The little smile that crossed her face wasn't missed by her lover as he watched her reflection in the mirror. Since their reunion, Remus had treasured every moment they had together. The old saw, `Absence makes the heart grow fonder' was true. He silently resented every minute they spent apart, even when it was his choice.

Remus watched her tick down the lines and smiled. She was infamous for her lists. One thing she must've forgotten from her list for the day was to get dressed. Right now, she sat in the chair mother naked.

Remus wasn't objecting.

“Hey,” he called softly.

“Yes?” she purred in reply. Turning in her chair, her expression was smouldering. Remus gulped, his mind going blank. As she stood, freezing for a moment for him to drink her in with his eyes, Moony thought he might die. They'd already made love once this morning but it looked like round two was imminent.

Remus wasn't objecting.

“You wanted to ask me something?” she breathed as she slowly crawled up the bed.

“Oh, God,” he groaned. The view was exquisite and her expression maddening.

“Really? You want to pray now?” she whispered as she lowered herself on to him.

There was no thought - nor prayer - for the next twenty minutes.

Remus wasn't objecting.

Sweating and trying to catch his breath, he held her as she cuddled close. “I remembered what I was going to ask before you seduced me.”

The husky chuckle from deep in her chest was just as sexy as her little seduction from earlier.

“Before I lose all control because of your ravishing beauty and incredible sexiness, I wanted to ask you if you were going to associate with a hospital in Paris or maybe Madrid to get back into practice.”

Her smile faded. With Voldemort's takeover of Britain, Remus knew that she had forsaken her position at St Mungo's. She had been the Assistant Head Internist, a fast track position to Department Head status. Her specialty had been magical diseases, but in her grief over his abandoning their relationship, she'd thrown herself into her career and her fast progression had been the result.

Now, though, her career in Britain was too dangerous to approach. Within minutes of her entering St Mungo's, the Death Eaters would know of her presence. Not expecting Voldemort's bold move to take over the country, he and Alex hadn't hidden the resumption of their relationship. Most likely, the Death Eaters knew of their connexion, as well as, that of Sirius and Hestia.

“I think…” she began in a pondering tone. “I think that I'll have more than enough work to do soon enough.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You becoming a seer?”

Her poke in his ribs caused him to squirm a bit. “No you arse. I doubt we were the only ones to get out of Britain before Voldemort shut down all public magical travel out of the country. I'm also sure that the Potter family isn't the only family in Britain with a private dedicated Floo out of the country like the one between Rowan Hill and Le Retirada. I also think that most, if not all, the half-bloods know how to use the ferry or drive out in the Chunnel much less ride in an aeroplane.” Shaking her head in disgust, she muttered, “Voldemort is such a bloody moron.”

Catching her drift, he pulled her closer. “We'll need to organize.” She nodded before he added, “And have a leader.”

“Albus?” she asked with a hint of distaste.

“Or James,” he countered.

“Or James,” she agreed. “Maybe there should be a council of leaders so as to consolidate all the factions that have escaped. Maybe even add some representatives from France, Spain and any other countries that are willing to assist the effort. That's how it works at the hospital with each Department Head on the Hospital's board.”

Remus smiled as he kissed the crown of her head. “You're so incredible in so many ways. I love you.”

He could feel her smile on his chest. “I thought you loved my cracking arse?”

The bubble of laughter caught him by surprise, “That too.”

The Floo fired as James left. That was their cue that the hard part of the day was beginning. Giving his beloved one last squeeze, Remus rolled to the side of the bed. Shuffling to the lavatory through the humid warm air, his joyful mood became grim. He wasn't looking forward to this.

.oOo.

Hermione staggered a bit as the portkey deposited her in the sitting room of the flat that Hestia worked from with Amelia and Albus.

Looking about, Hermione saw the threesome sitting about a conference table, frozen in comical expressions of conversation. Albus had his hand raised, a finger pointed to the ceiling and his mouth open. The old man's eyes had swivelled from the object of his interrupted discourse to take in Hermione's unexpected appearance.

Amelia was leaning back in her chair, staring at the ceiling while her hands were interlocked underneath her bosom. The woman's entire demeanour screamed `frustrated witch who wants to clout the longwinded old man sitting next to her'.

Hestia had a quill to parchment and seemed to be taking notes from an impressively sized tome that was open on the table. It seemed that she'd been writing as her posture had frozen except her eyes had swivelled up to see who the newcomer was through her brows.

Straightening her dress, Hermione ignored the well-apportioned apartment. While not overlarge, it was definitely plush. “Good morning, all,” Hermione greeted pleasantly.

Hestia unfroze, returning Hermione's smile as she replied, “Good morning, Hermione. What brings you here?”

The pleasant smile fell from The Smartest Witch of the Age's face as she replied, “I need to speak with you. Now.”

From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Amelia blink at her tone while Albus frowned. Ignoring the two as not relevant for the moment, Hermione gestured to the door from the room.

Her brows furrowed, Hestia rose, leading Hermione from the room. The apartments turned out to be much larger than Hermione expected. Following Hestia down a long hall, they ended up in a library, which was richly furnished. “Tea?” Hestia offered.

“That would be nice.” Politeness would help ease this forthcoming bitter pill.

The house elf popped in with a silver service before Hestia poured for the two of them. Hermione took hers with one sugar while Hestia took milk. Hestia settled back into her chair, regarding the younger witch with an evaluating expression and waited.

Hermione felt affection for Hestia, very much is she was honest. However, what was happening to her foster father was very preventable and Hestia was as to blame as Sirius. After a demure sip of her tea, Hermione began, “Right now, James is forcing Sirius to come home.”

The blonde politician's cool demeanour shattered as her expression became alarmed. “Is he hurt? What happened?” The tea was nearly cast aside in her rush to sit forward as if her posture would hurry the flow of information.

In a cool tone with her expression matching, Hermione told the blonde witch, “He's slowly losing his mind.”

The older witch's eyes widened in fear and surprise, before they closed in silent pain as she groaned, “Oh, God…”

“He was too busy torturing a Death Eater to death to assist Remus during a raid. Remus was almost killed.” Her deliberate lack of information regarding the happenings of the other night drove home the simple truth of the situation.

To anyone who knew the Marauders, that statement was an unequivocal description of one of them losing their grip on reality. Deciding to be honest as well as forthright, Hermione added, “I'm not sure that he's truly losing his grip on reality, but he's desperately hurt and needs the family about him.”

Leaning forward, Hermione's accusing and implacable gaze burned into the witch across from her, “All the family.”

Hestia looked away causing Hermione internally to swear in a fashion that only Harry had heard her do and even then infrequently. Reaching out, the brunette witch gently grasped the woman's hand, hoping to coax her back into the discussion. There was hesitancy, but Hestia finally returned Hermione's gaze. The two witches had had a rough and rocky start, but their relationship had blossomed since. Hermione respected Hestia's drive and intelligence, while Hestia, in turn, valued Hermione's regard and valuation. While not a sisterly relationship, neither was it parental. Hermione reflected that her attitude toward and interaction with Hestia was a case outside of conventional bounds.

In a softer tone, Hermione nearly pleaded with her adopted father's fiancée, “I don't know why you spend most of you time here, nor do I care. We need you at home. He needs you at home.”

Deflating, Hestia's expression became one of profound sadness and grief. If Hermione had any doubts as to the blonde witch's true feelings toward Sirius, the expression on Hestia's face gave truth to her declarations of love. As her body seemed to curl in on itself, the confidence and self-assuredness that Hestia usually had about her dissipated like smoke in the wind.

Finally, she spoke, “But I'm so useless to everyone.” It was barely a whisper, but clear nonetheless. “Here I can help. Here I can be useful.”

Stunned at the admission, Hermione stared for a long moment before reaching out to take the other woman's hand. It was all she could think to do for the moment, but it seemed to help.

With a pained smile, Hestia shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “Sorry, but it's how I feel.”

Understanding flooded Hermione. All those months at Hogwarts where Hestia would sit and listen but not offer an opinion became clear. The young woman who'd captured Sirius' heart was not a warrior, nor even an academic. She was a competent witch, to be sure, but she was a politician. She had nothing of technical merit to offer in their councils.

In a tone to match Hestia's, as if she were imparting a great secret, Hermione told the woman, “Because we love you, and you love us, you are of great value. Always.”

Hestia sniffled a bit. Withdrawing a handkerchief from a pocket, she dabbed at her eyes. “I know that here,” she replied tapping her temple, “But here,” she tapped her chest, “Is another story.”

“Would you mind if I were blunt?” Hermione asked.

Hestia gave a real smile, “And you haven't been so far?”

Wagging her head while smiling in return, Hermione blushed a bit, “True. I'll be more frank than I've been so far, today.” The smile faded as Hermione's eyes became more focused and her expression serious. “This isn't about you, it's about Sirius. It's about saving his soul and his life. It's not about what you feel or want.”

Hestia flinched. There was a long pause as Hermione could tell she was mulling over her words. A few seconds passed before the blonde nodded her agreement. “True enough. I'll tell Albus and Amelia that I need to go.” She gave a rueful smile, “It's not as if they're actually paying me.”

“I'm sure it won't be forever,” Hermione offered. “I'm sure that at some point in the near future you and maybe Sirius can come back to pick up your role here.”

Hestia gave Hermione a long, evaluative look before telling her, “You were right. It's about being there for the man I love. I'll sacrifice everything - my career, my ambition even Britain itself for Sirius.”

Hermione's smile was wide and genuine. That's what she wanted to hear. “Can I help you pack?”

.oOo.

Hestia was pacing the main sitting room as the family waited for James to bring Sirius home. A half hour earlier, Prongs sent Lily a quick message via the Communication charm to tell her that he had Sirius and they would be home soon.

Soon? What the hell is soon? Remus groused to himself. Shifting in his seat, he looked about the room in his nervousness.

Hermione was in with Harry, as usual. Something had changed in the young woman in the last few days. She was more at peace with herself about what had happened to Harry. Definitely, she was more open about her faith, which Remus thought was great. He was an occasional attendee at his local Anglican church, but mostly had lapsed from the faith of his parents. Part of him respected Hermione for not only adhering to her faith but also clinging to it in this time of need.

Then again, he respected the bushy haired witch very much for many reasons. This was just one more to add to the list.

Lily and Alex were reviewing the ingredients for the potion that Lily and Hermione were to start in two days. The lunar cycle was of great import to the fermenting of the potion, so they had to start it at the New Moon. There was an excitement in the family now. Despite the problems with Sirius, everyone was smiling again.

He'd never tell Padfoot, but it was evident that Harry was the axel about which the family turned. Now that there was a plan for his recovery, most everyone was able to breathe freely again. Even with Sirius' problems, there was concern for the wizard, but there wasn't the overwhelming gloom that had cast a pall over the family for the last month since Harry's incapacitation.

Except for Hestia.

Moony scowled into his lap. He was very disappointed with the shorter, blonde witch. He expected better from a woman who'd claimed Padfoot for her own. But who was he to judge? He'd abandoned the woman he loved more than his own life in his confusion and despair after that horrible Halloween.

Grudgingly, he admitted to himself that Hestia's life had fallen apart when Voldemort's coup was successful. She'd lost her job, her possessions and her friends in a day. In turn, Sirius had pulled away from her as much as she pulled away from him. Watching her worried face as the woman paced, he considered. Alex had been through the same, but hadn't abandoned him. Through narrowed eyes, he mused, Maybe Hestia is just as dysfunctional as Padfoot, it just doesn't show as much.

Jumping the tracks of his thoughts, he recalled when Neville and Susan had approached Lily a few minutes before.

“Aunt Lily,” Neville had begun in a questioning tone. “Susan and I figured we'd take a walk until lunch or so to give the family time to get Sirius settled and all.” When Remus heard that proposal, he'd smiled. Turning about, he leaned on the wall to watch the fireworks. Intervening, he tried to soften the blow, giving Lily a chance to exercise her newfound self-control.

“Neville, you and Susan are as much a member of this family as I am. You don't need to go anywhere. In fact, I believe that Lily was about to tell you that we need you here for Sirius.”

The newly ascended head of house Longbottom blushed as he nodded quietly. Susan fidgeted at his side but said nothing. It was clear that she was going to be wherever Neville chose to stand, come hell, high water or both. He liked the redhead. She had sand.

Lily had quietly laid a hand on Neville's arm as she reaffirmed Remus' words when she told first the young man then his girlfriend, “You are part of our family as much as Remus and Harry. James and I want you both here. We need you both here.”

Just at the edge of his hearing, he heard Hermione mutter in the other room. “That's a good shave, Harry. I'm getting quite good at this, if I must say.” Her words brought him back to the present while bringing a smile to his face.

She did for Harry just as a wife would. Smiling, he was glad that Hermione stood by her man. Just like Susan was for Neville. Like Lily and Alex were for James and himself.

Is that what's bothering me? he wondered. Watching Hestia turn in her pacing, he deliberated if he was standing in judgement of her and her actions. If so, it was a damn dirty thing to do. He'd treated Alex very shabbily indeed all those years ago. It would be hypocritical for him to stand in judgement of the woman when she'd been through her own crisis and not responded at her best.

Frowning a bit, he realised that he was being a bit sexist. To be fair, the men had been there for their women as much as the ladies for the gents. In the end, they were family and the family was rallying once more for one of their wounded.

The roaring of the Floo ended his internal discussion and delayed his resolution for a later day. James and Sirius were home.

.oOo.

Hermione rushed from the bedroom when she heard the Floo fire. Ignoring everyone, she focused on the fireplace. She noted that the family was all gathered, waiting but ignored the rest. From the corner of her vision, she saw Hestia move to the fore. Nodding to herself, she knew that was right. Sirius needed the blonde witch to be waiting for him, arms open.

Unconsciously, she moved with the others as they formed a loose semi-circle about the fireplace. It took less than a few seconds, but by the time James and Sirius stepped from the fire, the Family was waiting.

In a glimpse of the eye, she took it in. James was first. His face haggard, she saw him look to his Lily first. He moved to her as she moved to him. Whatever had transpired must've been significant. She'd only seen James this shaken twice before: when he'd found out about Harry's abuse and after seeing Frank and Alice Longbottom.

Sirius was next. In fine clothes that belied his obviously shaken and shattered state, he strode from the fire. Hestia had him in her arms before he was completely upright.

Right behind her, Hermione wrapped Sirius in her own embrace. Remus engulfed the three of them in his wide armed embrace. She could feel Sirius' deep breaths as he tried to keep control. Very low, she heard him mutter, “I'm sorry,” to Hestia.

She tightened her grip as he sagged against their collective embrace. Again, he muttered, “Sorry, Hermione.”

Her heart broke at the defeated tone that he used. “It's alright, Sirius. We all love you. I love you.”

There was a shuddering breath and Hermione could tell that he was steeling himself. It was easy to see how he felt that he'd betrayed Remus, especially given the relationships between the surviving Marauders.

“I'm so sorry, Moony.”

Remus nodded, shaking the little pile of humanity. Words weren't necessary at this point. Sirius had demonstrated that he knew he'd been wrong. He'd stepped beyond the pale for a bit. As all good people know, its family and love that brings them back. Only James Potter could have brought Sirius back from the edge. Any longer and he'd have been swallowed by the abyss.

Hestia couldn't have done it, neither could have Remus. Neither Hermione nor Harry could have brought him back. Only James, his brother, best friend, and if Sirius was really honest (and smashed) he'd admit that James was his hero.

The moment passed. Standing, they all backed up to give Sirius a moment. Hestia stayed in the circle of his arms - where she belonged. After wiping his face, Padfoot looked at the assembled family, one by one. Hermione could tell that her adopted father was a bit surprised to see so many there, but was gratified, nonetheless.

“I need to see Harry,” he murmured to Hestia. She nodded sadly before stepping aside, letting the dark haired man have an open path to his godson's sickbed.

No one followed, save Hermione. She knew that Sirius would never hurt Harry, but she trusted nobody where her fiancé's safety was concerned. Not his mother, his father or his godfather. Therefore, she followed.

When Sirius passed her by, she finally noticed the wafting smell of smoke that rose from him. Frowning, she noticed the smudges of ash on his clothes and face. Darting her eyes to James, she couldn't get his attention for a silent query. Giving it up as irrelevant, she stood in the doorway of the bedroom she shared with the stricken The Boy-Who-Lived.

Leaning on the doorjamb, she crossed her arms as she watched Sirius sink to his knees. Fall was probably a more accurate term. He moved like a puppet with its strings cut. Laying his head on the bed, she heard him sigh. “It's too hard, Pronglet. It's just too hard. I can't do it any longer. The dreams…”

Sirius was silent for so long, Hermione thought he'd fallen asleep, but after two minutes of silent prostration at his godson's bedside, he admitted, “Killing them is the only way to keep it all at bay. I can…” he paused, ruminating. “The best defence is a good offense, the saying goes and that's where I am. Running alone in the dark.”

Hermione was horrified at his next admission, “When I escaped Azkaban, I thought I was finally free. How wrong I was. I carry Azkaban with me wherever I go.”

Sirius wasn't telling Harry all this. He was the convenient immobile figure that Padfoot was talking at. The mess that was his psyche was overflowing and the words were full of pain, loathing and outright agony.

Holding herself, now, Hermione vowed to follow up with Alex. The other night at dinner, she, Lily and Hermione had discussed arranging for Sirius to see a Mind Healer. They'd all agreed that they'd adopt a `wait and see' attitude. Well, she'd `waited' and `seen' and it was evident that Sirius needed more help than the Family could offer.

There was another long pause. Finally, Sirius roused, his eyes red with fatigue and emotion. Shuffling to the door, he paused, raising his hand to his adopted daughter's shoulder. He gave her a brief squeeze before leaving the room. Behind her, Hermione heard Sirius tell the room, “I need a shower.”

.oOo.

There was a charm to dry her hair with magic, but Hermione preferred to towel dry her hair after a shower before letting it air dry. The feeling of her damp hair as it lay on her neck seemed to complete the `freshly showered and clean' feeling for her. True, it enhanced the bushiness of her hair, but she didn't care.

The house was quiet as the family had scattered to various pursuits prior to dinner. Sirius was `taking a nap' with Hestia while Neville and Susan took a walk down the beach. Alex and Remus were in Berlin running down a lead on an obscure potion ingredient. They had told everyone they would stay the night in Germany before returning the next day. James and Lily had run into town for takeaway dinner, as Rauri was unable to cook dinner.

Rauri had very solemnly informed James that, “This house is a veritable den of filth, my lord, and it will be some time before I can have it clean to Rowan Hill standards.” Hermione smiled as she held her face to the warmth of the setting sun. Rauri was in a very polite snit about being forced to leave the family seat and his very subdued and well-mannered outrage was amusing to the young witch. Every so often, she heard a clatter or scrubbing as the elf took the villa by storm.

The Master Bedroom that she shared with Harry was enormous so that it had windows that faced both to the sea and to the mountains in the west. Hermione found the sight of the setting sun slipping behind the veil of the mountains to be poetic and moving so she made a point to watch it most days. Sighing, she moved her fingers through her wet hair as she cinched the bath sheet more firmly about her torso. With her eyes closed, she took a deep breath, holding it to help steady her emotions.

Sirius had been home for a week now. He was hurt…actually, it was probably more accurate to say that his deep-seated hurt was finally showing. Either which way, her adopted father was home. Alex had murmured to Lily that she'd consult with Jeanette and some of her other Healer friends in Paris to see if they could find a discreet mind healer for Sirius to visit. He'd not had the obvious emotional collapse as he'd had upon return to the fold, but he obviously needed to talk to someone and the family was too close to him. What the situation called for was a dispassionate third party with whom he could lay all his issues on the table without that listener being affected. There was no one in the house who fit that description.

Hermione had come to really like Alex. The willowy blonde healer was a kindred spirit. They'd had many discussions. For some, Hermione had been too distracted by the sight of her immobile fiancé to pay attention to what was said. To Alex's credit, she never reproved Hermione, just picked up the thread of the conversation wherever it'd been dropped.

Slowly, she let the breath trickle from between her parted lips. The hope that had been planted the other day with Alex's discovery was slowly growing, hopefully to bear fruit - if I can stretch the metaphor a bit, she smiled to herself. Clamping down on her emotions, Hermione didn't want her hope to become unreasonable belief that everything `would be fine'.

The sun was warm on her face. The dying sea breeze filled her nostrils with a faraway scent. Africa? It wasn't that far off, but still quite far. Maybe it was just the olive grove…

“God, but you're beautiful. I love you.”

Smiling in contentment, she automatically replied, “I love you too.”

With a start, she processed what had just happened. Terrified, she opened her eyes before slowly turning to the bed.

Sitting up in the bed with a contented expression of love and devotion was Harry. A wide-awake Harry. “Harry?” she asked in a tremulous voice.

“Yeah,” he breathed, as he seemed to drink her in with his eyes.

Slowly, Hermione moved across the room. Her unreasonable fear prevented her from running. She didn't want to startle him, afraid that it would send him away from her. Her hand tentatively stretched out to his.

He smiled to her, that crooked smile that made her heart hiccough. It did so now and Hermione thought she was dying. Was this real? Was he really awake and loving her with his eyes? There was an air of unreality about the situation. In a very small corner of her mind, she was afraid that this was all a dream.

The electric moment happened when her extended hand touched his upraised one. His coarse, scarred hand was warm and dry, but there was an unmistakable knowing of Harry.

The deep breaths came unbidden as she attempted to stay calm. Her hand closed around her fingers, solidifying the connection. The tears were running down her cheeks before she knew that she wanted to cry. Gently, he pulled her closer to the bed. The sobs of relief - of love - began. Unable to control herself any longer, Hermione threw herself into his open arms.

How long is a moment? For some it is a mere second, for others it can be hours. Either way, when pressed years later, neither of the lovers would be able to tell how long they lay there in each other's arms holding each other, being held by the other.

Wetness dripped onto her cheek. From the circle of his arms, she looked up to see him weeping. His voice seemed to envelop her, “I heard you crying, but couldn't come to you. I heard your fears and tears and my thrice-cursed body wouldn't do as I wanted. I wanted to take you in my arms to tell you that I lived. I wanted to tell you that I loved you. I wanted to tell you that this separation was as much a hell for me as it seemed to be for you.

“But I couldn't and for that I'm sorry.”

More tears from her preceded the lengthening of their embrace. Her face turned up to his, reaffirming with her eyes what all her senses were telling her: Harry was back. His kisses covered her face, a physical love and affection that she'd desperately missed.

Hungrily, she returned his kisses. His hands were in her still damp hair, pulling her into him. Her hands pulled at his T-shirt, tugging it over his head. He stripped the bath sheet from her as he moved overtop her.

Their joining was a frantic reaffirmation and expression of their love. Eyes open, they loved each other with all their might. In a real sense, they were feverishly averring that they were both there, he that she lived and she that he lived. That their love still lived and thrived. All their hopes and fears were brought to the fore and released as they shuddered in each other's embrace. At the end, she called his name as he called hers, their terrors fleeing into the growing darkness.

She smiled in contentment like the cat with the cream as he nuzzled her neck. His weight was a comforting, safe feeling that she'd missed terribly. It wasn't just the sex, though, that was wonderful in itself. No, she'd missed this unique expression of their love. It was a irreplaceable part of their relationship where she laid herself open to him, trusting him with her body and soul. She felt honoured and humbled that he did the same with her.

“I think you're purring,” he whispered.

She kissed his ear. “I love you,” she whispered for him to hear, as well as, for the inevitable response.

“I love you, too,” Harry whispered again. Slowly, he rolled to the side, pulling her on top of his chest. The tears ran anew down her face.

“Why?” he asked in a low tone as the pad of his finger slowly wiped away the tracks of wetness.

“I've wanted you and been terrified that I was losing you day by day. I was afraid that you were going to die. I'd never hear you tell me that you loved me or recognize when I told you the same.” Shaking her head as the emotions crashed and swirled about her, Hermione pulled him tight. After a moment, she levered herself up so that she could look in his eyes.

Naked and exposed without his glasses, the green bored into her soul. She nearly trembled under the intense gaze. With as much emotion and feeling as she could muster, Hermione pledged to Harry, “I love you now `til the day I die.”

He smiled as his hand caressed her cheek, “As I love you.”

.oOo.

Lily bustled into the kitchen, arms full of bags. Humming to herself, she began pulling the boxes of food from El Polignon, she muttered to herself. “Sirius…James…Hermione,” she frowned as she looked about for the seafood salads she'd ordered for herself and Hestia.

“Mum.”

Lily froze.

“I'm glad the baby's alright.”

Her hand flew to her mouth, as she wanted to scream. The emotions were so strong; so confused and powerful. Her eyes shut as Lily nearly doubled over in excitement. When Harry's arms wrapped around her, she turned to see him. Familiar green eyes looked back at her. Over his shoulder, her mind saw that Hermione was watching the reunion from the doorway wearing a contented smile, but Lily ignored her future daughter in law.

For some reason, Lily was stunned that Harry was taller than she was. Looking up to his face, she framed it with her hands. “How?” she hoarsely asked.

Shrugging, he replied, “Dunno. I heard most everything around me, but,” he looked over his shoulder to Hermione, “But I couldn't say anything.”

Slowly shaking her head, she told him, “I don't care. I've got you again.” Relief flooded her, weakening her knees. Strong arms circled Lily as Harry caught hold of his mother when tile floor rushed up to meet her.

“Whoa there Mum. Let's get you into a chair.” The world became a bit unfocused as she was led to the table. A scraping indicated that Hermione had pulled a chair out.

Slim hands helped her to sit as she heard James call out, “Lils, I've got the wine. Do you want to eat outside or in Harry's room? I think inside would be…” she heard him trail off as his voice came in the room.

Looking up when she heard the glass break, she saw her husband standing in a puddle of wine with his mouth gaping open. Harry smiled as he walked to his father. Lily's smile matched her son's as Hermione placed her hands on Lily's shoulders. “Maybe we should get everyone up here to tell the story once.”

.oOo.

For Harry, the night turned into an emotional whirlwind. Sirius had sobbed as he held his godson while Hestia's eyes were suspiciously bright. Remus and Alex had been summoned home by James from wherever they had been. Remus ran in from the terrace, not stopping until he had Harry in his arms. Alex followed at a sedate pace, but her embrace had been nearly as emotional as Remus' had been, surprising The Boy-Who-Lived. Hermione had leaned in after they all settled to table, “She's really thrown herself into your cure.”

Neville had been the biggest surprise. While he considered the sandy haired wizard a friend, he'd still been taken aback by the fierce hug with the accompanying back slaps from his fellow Gryffindor. Susan's shy kiss on his cheek with a heartfelt, “Welcome back,” had been the capper.

Every so often during the dinner - which he ate his share from Hermione's plate and a bit from his Dad's - he saw one or the other of the family sitting stock still while watching him. The thought occurred to him that maybe, just maybe he was an important part of this family in more ways than he thought.

The dinner had been a bit awkward until Sirius had squawked, “Ok, Harry's back but I'm peckish and thirsty. Pass the food!” The laughter had broken the tension. The open windows and doorways let he breeze circulate through the house. Midway through the meal, Hermione had transfigured her chair into a love seat. Pushing Harry into position, they reclined on the seat, picking at her plate as laughter and conversation flowed. It was full dark as they ate, the sconces casting a light that flickered and moved.

Halfway through the meal, Harry felt a plucking on his elbow. Turning, he saw Rauri standing there, his eyes wide. Silently, Harry took the old elf in his arms. He was surprised to hear a snuffle from the stoic retainer, but gave him a smile. Here was the last member of the family.

Harry silently toasted each of them. Hermione was curled up into his side as she picked at her meal. Neville dug into his steak while Susan chatted with Hermione and Lily about a store in town that they all wanted to browse.

Harry turned to his silent father. James was watching his son with an intensity that was a bit intimidating. With a questioning glance, Harry asked his Dad if everything was all right. James Potter had a role in Harry's life that he'd never expected. Father, Dad, Hero and Role Model had shown up as `missing' all his life until the previous Halloween. Now, he had this man who had bequeathed him so much. He needed his Dad as much as he needed Hermione and his Mum.

James sniffled, telling Harry more than words. Nodding to his Dad, Harry wordlessly told James that he not only understood, but also was in complete agreement. Once again, he lifted his glass, this time in his Dad's direction. Softly, he told him, “I love you, Dad.”

With shining eyes, James told his son, “I love you, too, son.”

.oOo.

The skies were partly cloudy, denying the young lovers the benefit of starlight or moonlight some of the time as they meandered down the beach. For a bit, the sand and surf was illuminated by old Luna and her sisters, then it would be plunged into darkness as the clouds moved in. Eventually, Luna was revealed once again, her pleased face shining down.

His arm about her shoulders, Harry kissed the crown of Hermione's head. The family had talked long into the night, breaking up about one in the morning to head to their beds. Neither Harry nor Hermione was in the mood to sleep, so they headed to the beach for a bit. High tide had been a few hours before so the sand was solid enough to walk comfortably.

James had given them a warning. “Don't go too far. The wards don't go to the beach.” The simple reminder had put a crack in their little bubble of love and happiness. Voldemort was out there and ascendant. They couldn't be too careful. Harry had strapped his wand to his forearm as Hermione did the same. Neither made too much of the process, but he could tell that it had the same effect on her that it did on him.

Right now, though, he was bound and determined to forget the war. However, he knew he couldn't. He was the Child of Prophecy.

She stopped, pulling him up by their entwined hands. A bit curious, he looked to her to explain. Since his awakening, there had been few words, for words had been unnecessary. He knew what she felt, desired and needed just as she did for him. Expressions had been the subtle cue as to the intent of their communication and all that'd been needed.

As he expected, she said nothing, just looked at him. He knew how she felt. All those days that he'd lain there, trapped in his body, he'd wanted to scream in torment for what he felt and what he knew his family felt as they sat vigil over him. Right now, each was reassuring themselves that their lover was whole and with them in body, mind and spirit. It was glorious to be together.

“What do you See?” she asked.

Immediately understanding her question, he closed his eyes. Reaching deep within himself, he tried to find that hunch that had been his own minor manifestation of prophecy. The last few times it'd been a strong feeling, but this time, he couldn't find much there at all.

“Not a lot. There's darkness. Pain, but also there's a…feeling. Hope? Happiness? `M not sure. It's a positive feeling, though. It's like the future's a swirl of possibilities.” Smiling, he caught her eye, “That's a good thing.”

Returning his smile, she agreed. In a teasing tone, she told him, “It is. I was wondering, though. Your Dad thinks we're going to have a Quidditch team's worth of sprogs. I was wondering what you `saw' for us?”

Wrapping his arm about her again, Harry laughed as he told her, “Well, I don't know. Seven kids sounds good, though.”

She snorted as she wrapped her arm about his waist, “Says the bloke. You don't have to birth them.”

“True,” he laughingly conceded. “Seriously, how many do you want?”

A cloud passed over the moon, dropping a veil of darkness over them. He tensed slightly. This was the perfect time for someone to ambush them. It's when he would cast his first spell were he the attacker.

Hermione paused in her reply, her mind obviously following on the same thread as his own. After the moon reappeared, bathing the beach in the silvery white light, she relaxed, telling him “I like four.”

Nodding he agreed. “Four it is, then.”

They were quiet for a bit, holding the other and being held. Finally, he put voice to the gnawing feeling that had been growing since they left the villa. “The war…we need to get back to it.”

“Yes, we do.”

Nodding, he deflated a bit. The pink cloud of reunion had burned off in the harsh light of reality. Setting his jaw, Harry reached out with that sense that most magicals have. Feeling his beloved at his side, he reoriented himself. Facing into the light of that which was right, Harry felt his dedication grow. His belief in his calling - in the Light that stands against the Darkness - came rushing back. His back straightened and resolve stiffened.

He'd not been aware of his surroundings the entire time he'd been under the effects of the spell. Things were muddled for a quite a while. His thoughts and memories coalesced forming a coherent string starting about three weeks before. So, I lost about a week. He frowned as he mulled over the words. No, I lost a month. Hearing but unable to move or speak is not living.

At first, he'd been confused. Adrift in a sea of blackness, he heard voices around him, but didn't understand. The sound of the ocean was a strong, ever present background, that was easy to identify but everything else was so much nonsense. Still, he was confused. The persistent thought that he was still battling Voldemort in the graveyard haunted him. He kept looking about the void to find Hermione, to ensure that she was safe, but he couldn't find her. He thought, at first, that she was lost. Later, he concluded that he'd been lost.

Of course, Hermione's voice was the first he'd recognized in the seeming babble that encircled him. Once he concluded that he wasn't in the graveyard under the influence of a spell, Harry relaxed a bit. He'd also forced all thoughts of the confrontation in the graveyard far from his consciousness, focusing on the sounds of his surroundings.

A flash of memory washed over him causing his rediscovered resolve to waver. He had a distinct vision of Voldemort walking through flames. Body unhurt and malice sharpened, the Dark Lord had advanced on The Boy-Who-Lived. In the graveyard, Harry had thrown some brutal magic at the resurrected wizard, yet Voldemort had shrugged it off like a spring rain.

He remembered his fear and it was a festering wound. Wrapping his arm around Hermione, he steadied. Taking a deep breath, he told her, “C'mon, let's go to bed.”

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first fourteen chapters of Last Casualties. I was pretty blown away by the overwhelmingly positive response for chapter 14. Thanks to everyone who took the time to write a review. Between Chapter 14 and 15, I think we've set the tone for Act II, don't you? It's gonna be a bit grim. But, given that this is a muggledad story, there will be lots of romance and good stuff interspersed with the grim. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on fanfiction (dot) net

2. Recommendation for this chapter A Harmonian Way of Life by Seelvor mainly because of the following quote: “Ron was devouring his dinner with all the grace of a retarded spider monkey...” I always smile and laugh when I read that line. Hilarious.

3. Gilgameshone has pointed out an error I made in the last chapter. I had Alex say that Remus had a `greenstick' fracture. I was trying to say that he just had a crack in the bone; that it wasn't a compound fracture. Gilgameshone (who is a medical professional) pointed out that only children, not adults, get greenstick fractures as a function of the pliability of developing bones. Thanks Gilgameshone!

4. Ok, another whoopsie. I typo-d that Benicarló was in northwest Spain when it's in northeast. Come on guys, I said it's on the Mediterranean, south of Catalonia. Earth to nitpickers: typo!

5. Some of the readers of the last chapter took umbrage to my depiction (or allusion to be more accurate) of being Catholic in the UK. More specifically, some readers seem to think there are Catholics all over the place. In the last UK census in 2001, there were 4.2 million Catholics in England and Wales, some 8 per cent of the population. There are more Catholics in Belgium (overall population ten million persons) than there are in the UK (overall population 62 million). What does all this mean? Nothing, except that there aren't as many Catholics in the UK as some seem to think.

6. Translations from the Catalan text of the story to English.

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

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

Chapter complete 1/29/12

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

“Will you come to Mass with me?”

Harry looked up, pleasantly surprised by Hermione's request. He'd known about her faith that she kept under the proverbial wicker basket. A part of him had been curious about church and religion, but not overly so. The Dursley's had been strict attendees at their local church, but their behaviour from Sunday to Sunday hadn't endeared him to the idea of religion.

Hermione was different though. She'd told him how her faith was the reason she'd come through his debilitation with even a semblance of sanity. Maybe there was more to faith than dressing up on Sunday to impress the neighbours.

She was dressed in a fairly conservative linen dress, a handbag over her arm. The uncertain, yet hopeful, expression on her face as she awaited his answer told him exactly what that answer would be. He could never disappoint her.

“Of course. Give me a few moments to get dressed.”

Smiling, she handed him a pair of trousers (belt already in the loops), a shirt and socks before instructing her beau, “Your shoes are under your chair.”

Amused and exasperated, Harry bent over to see that his shoes were under his chair. Shaking his head, he smiled as he pulled on his socks. Two minutes later, she side along Apparated him to her little stand of trees.

“Oh, right,” she murmured. Glancing about, she insured there was no one about before casting a quick spell at his head.

Harry flinched, a bit gun shy at spells being cast at him. He didn't want to tell anyone, but he was still shaken over how easily Voldemort had overcome him in the graveyard. His blue mood from the beach stroll the night before had passed, but his confidence had still taken a few hard raps.

With a wan smile, Hermione apologized, “Sorry, should have told you first. I forgot to cast the translation spell on you.” Glancing at her watch she asked, him, “Would you mind waiting a few minutes? Grandfather Chavez should be here any minute and I really like walking into town with him.”

He smiled when her expression turned a bit shy, “I'd also like to introduce him to my fiancé.”

They'd not discussed his impromptu proposal as they walked about the Black Lake. He felt an urgent need to reassure her, though. Taking her hand in his, he emphatically told her, “I meant it. The day I turn seventeen I want us to marry.”

Smiling, he could see her savour the moment. Her hand wafted out, curling in his longish hair. Slowly, she pulled him in to a soft, tender kiss. All those weeks that he'd wandered the ethereal back roads of the void of his Living Death were fading a little more each time she kissed him. Deepening the kiss, he pulled her to him. Just as Harry's hand snaked into her hair, there was a soft cough behind him.

Harry had to exert all his considerable will in order to prevent his spinning about, ready to do violence. Hyper alert, his mind registered the weakness of the noise as that belonging most likely to Grandfather Chavez. Still, the muscles in his neck were whipcord taut when he disengaged from Hermione in order to meet the man.

Closing his eyes, Harry took a deep breath. Watching Hermione blush as she discreetly wiped her face, he couldn't help the grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good morning, grandfather,” she greeted over Harry's shoulder.

Turning, Harry realized that she'd spoken in Valencian as the spell she'd cast earlier had translated for him. The expression on the old man's face caused Harry to blush a bit. There was a vaguely hostile evaluative look when the grandfather softly asked, “I do hope that you are Harry. If you aren't, I believe I'll have to call for my sons.”

Harry had never been cross-examined by Hermione's father or by Sirius. To have this relative stranger standing up for his fiancée's interest gave him a warm glow. It was anecdotal evidence that she was as wonderful as he thought she was.

“Yes, sir. I'm Harry.” Glancing at the beet red witch at his side, Harry chuckled, “I hope you've heard good things about me.”

There was no answering smile. “She was heartbroken over your illness.” As the teens stilled, the patrician looked over Harry. “You are far too pale and thin. You must eat more.”

With that pronouncement, Grandfather Chavez turned toward town, holding out his elbow for Hermione. She gave Harry a shrug and apologetic smile as she wended her arm in the old man's. Harry's answering smile and nod tried to convey his understanding.

Falling behind the oddly matched duo, Harry thought about the Grandfather's words. Hermione had been through quite a bit, as he lay there in that bed, unmoving and unresponsive. Nodding to himself, he had what he knew Hermione called a `Harry Moment'.

If he learned anything from his confrontation with Voldemort in the graveyard, it was that the wizard born as Tom Riddle was a foe unlike any he'd faced. The longer he contemplated the situation, he felt a pressing sensation as if a band of steel was wrapping itself about Harry's chest. It was a suffocating feeling that caused Harry to rebel. Nearly snarling, Harry pushed at it. In an instant, he identified this feeling as fear.

Harry was no fool and his encounter with the Dark Lord had reinforced what he knew intellectually. The man was going to be very difficult to kill, but, I'll be damned if I'm going to be afraid of him. Harry was afraid of no man any longer. He'd faced more challenges than most persons on the planet and emerged victorious from almost all. Vernon, the Stone, the Chamber, the Dementors, the Dragon and the Graveyard. All had tried to kill him, yet he still stood. Still he pressed forward, denying the darkness while scrabbling for the light.

He's just a man. Evil and talented, but in the end, he's a man.

Back in the Caribbean, what seemed like a lifetime ago, he'd pledged to destroy Voldemort. Harry had told Hermione that he would walk through fire and battle the darkness in order to kill Voldemort. Now, he knew what that entailed. Frankly, it intimidated the holy hell right out of him, but…

His gaze lingered on her as he followed.

Yes. Harry's jaw set. Even if it should kill me, I will destroy him. Even more, I'll live through it. For her, if for nothing else. He was willing to die, if needs be, in order to `vanquish' the man, but he would do even more to live. For Hermione, for his parents, for Sirius and Hestia, for Remus and Alex, and even Neville and Susan.

The scratching of pebbles underfoot seemed to stand witness as he reaffirmed his pledge. The sun climbed the sky and the wind swirled her skirts as he picked up the pace. Striding next to his beloved, his heart warmed when she beamed at him. On her other side, Grandfather Chavez gave him a small nod of satisfaction.

The squeezing sensation in his chest began to ease. He had no answers, only resolve. There was very little illumination for their path forward, just a desire to do that which was right, that which was necessary.

As Harry followed Hermione's example, genuflecting before following her into the pew, he thought that resolve and desire might be enough for now.

.oOo.

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

Nervous, Hermione glanced to her left. Harry had a thoughtful expression on his face as he stood next to her. Leaning over, she whispered, “After Father Sanchez goes by, you scoot out into the aisle, genuflect and wait for me.”

Still wearing a serious expression, he nodded.

Hermione's nervousness increased as she began to regret inviting him to accompany her. Harry had never been very spiritual or religious. Had she gone too far?

The aged Spaniard strode by in his green vestments. Without further prompting, Harry slid out of the pew before dropping a graceful obeisance to the altar at the front of the old church.

After Hermione rose, she linked her arm in his. Slowly they stepped from the church. “It's nice here,” he told her in a low, reverent tone.

She looked about the plain church. Not an architectural marvel like Notre Dame or one of the other more famous churches, it was what it had been intended. A house of God for the faithful.

“I like it here,” she agreed. “It's been an island of comfort…” the pain of the recent past was a wave that threatened to bear her under. Shaking it off, Hermione refocused on the present. Feeling his arm in hers, she rejected the hurt. It was no longer relevant or real.

“Perdre Granger?” the familiar soft voice called.

Looking up, she saw Father Sanchez watching her with a smile. Hermione returned it as she tightened her grip on Harry's arm. “Pare, this is my Harry.”

Before the old priest could reply, Harry jumped in, “Thank you for your prayers for my recovery. When you next see them, please pass my thanks to the Sisters as well.”

She could tell that the priest was impressed at Harry's thoughtfulness. The Dominican waved away the young man's thanks, “It is of no account. We were all grateful to be of service to you,” his eyes slid to Hermione, “and to your lady.”

Hermione could feel her countenance droop. Despite having him next to her, loving her, Hermione still felt echoes of her pain, of her loss. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry's expression soften as well, “Thank you nonetheless, Pare.”

As the young couple moved out of the nave, Hermione saw the widow who'd been such a comfort to her. The white haired woman's eyes sparkled for a long moment before she pulled a face that made her question evident.

Hermione blushed.

The old woman broke into whoops of laughter before shuffling on her way.

“That's her?” Harry whispered.

“Yeah. Somehow she knows that you shagged me senseless yesterday.”

Harry chuckled, “That might have to do with the look on your face combined with the colour of your cheeks, my dearest.”

Hermione could feel her already magnificent blush intensifying. Poking Harry in the side, she scolded, “Oh, you. Come on, I'm hungry.”

She frowned when he told her, “We need to talk on the way back.”

.oOo.

James was ruffling through a pile of parchment while Remus was correlating a ledger with the latest report from Gringotts, Hong Kong. They'd been successful in moving the Potter and Black fortunes out of the London Branch of the bank before the world went tits up. Remus had also transferred his own money alongside a legacy Alex had from her Aunt on her mother's side. Hestia had already combined her working account into the greater Black accounts, so that wasn't an issue. When asked about her flat, she'd shrugged.

“Not much there that I can't buy somewhere else.”

Not so with Rowan Hill, though. The warders from of Haus Schutz Ltd had reported success in their efforts. Rowan Hill no longer existed on this plane of reality. Turning back to the form in his hands, he tried to avoid the morose thoughts that always rose to the fore whenever he thought about his home.

The trust fund enacted for the heir of the Lord Richmond was successfully transferred from Gringotts, London account number X-WN-GRD-5 held in vault 637 to account number M-RA-JDE-1 held in vault 733 at Gringotts, Hong Kong. The balance of said account was increased from 50.000 galleons to 1.000.000 galleons per the orders of Lord Richmond dated…

Shaking his head, he muttered to Remus, “Harry's vault is good. Moving to Lily's.”

The goblins had insisted that James establish accounts for each member of the family. This way, any one of them would have access to significant funds. James had had a very frank discussion with Fahgmather and Ashcraik a few days before the third task. Hopefully, the goblins had taken steps to protect themselves.

Shaking his head at the ludicrous nature of his thoughts, James muttered, “We should have hired the goblins. They would've taken Voldemort down in three days.”

Remus sniffed in amusement.

“James,” Remus began with a hint of hesitation. When the dark haired wizard turned to his lycanthropic friend, Remus asked, “What about the tenants?”

James frowned. “There are no magicals on the lands.” However, the lands were still Potter owned, which was Remus' point. The immediate grounds of Rowan Hill comprised approximately three hundred acres, but that was just the park about the house. The full extent of the estate was approximately seven thousand acres, most of it either under till or in one case, being mined for coal. If Voldemort found out - which he very well could - then the tenants and miners were dead men walking.

“We'll have to send them a note or maybe even visit. They'll need to go on an extended vacation.” Turning on his desk, he pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. Uncapping the fountain pen, he began to write in a brilliant copperplate. Five minutes later, he handed the letter to Remus to peruse.

“This should do for starters,” Remus murmured as he stroked his chin. Without looking away, he added, “You and I should visit each one to explain.”

Rolling his eyes, James flopped back in his chair. “And we'll do this how without violating the Statute of Secrecy?”

“I have no idea,” Remus replied in a soft tone.

“Hestia maybe?”

“Maybe,” Remus conceded.

The door opened, distracting both men from the duties. Harry and Hermione walked in before Harry asked, “Dad, do you have a minute?”

Waving to the sofa, he rose, “Sure. Have a seat.”

Sitting across from them, he noticed Remus shifting his seat also. “What's on your mind?”

Harry paused, thinking. “Hermione and I have been talking,”

“So that's what they call it these days? Talking?” James sniggered. Damn, I'm funny.

Hermione glared at James while Harry just cocked an eyebrow, waiting for Prongs' mirth to subside. Ok, maybe not so funny.

“Sorry. What's on your mind?”

Harry paused again. James leaned forward, watching his son. He could tell that Harry was searching for the right words, which put James on his guard. Usually, Harry just let fly. If he was trying to be precise in his speech, it didn't bode well.

“On the walk back from town, Hermione and I talked about the graveyard and our encounter with Voldemort.”

James sat back in his chair, serious and attentive. All traces of humour banished, he nodded in understanding. They needed to talk about what happened and it didn't surprise him that Harry had turned to Hermione first. He'd talk to Lily first.

“Hold on, let me call your Mum and Sirius…” James began as he twisted his wrist, releasing his wand from its holster.

“Actually, we'd prefer you not do that, just yet.” James was surprised that it was the witch at Harry's side who'd spoken.

James turned to Hermione, his expression closed. “Really. Why should we exclude my wife?” His temper flared slightly. He wasn't used to being given peremptory orders from anyone.

Harry reinserted himself to the discussion. “It'll be clear. Just trust me.”

Nodding, James cooled off. With a hand gesture, he indicated to Harry to continue.

“We're good fighters,” Harry said as he looked to Hermione and gestured to indicate the two of them. “I think I say without arrogance that we could take almost any person on the planet.”

“Except Voldemort,” Moony finished with a deadly serious tone.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. The muscle in the jaw of The Boy-Who-Lived flexed as he stared at the ground in front of himself. “With Professors Flitwick and McGonagall standing by to defend the castle from any attack by Voldemort, we're without outside sources of instruction.” Harry's eyes narrowed again as Hermione sniffed in obvious anger.

“Except Albus,” Remus whispered.

Like a volcano erupting, James wrath poured forth. “No! I forbid it! That bastard…” just like a bomb, his fury spent itself quickly in the light of the harsh reality. Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward, running his fingers through his genetically messy hair.

“Yeah, that was my reaction, too,” Harry snarked.

“And mine,” Hermione agreed, her tone cold.

“And yet, he's the only wizard alive who's not only successfully duelled Voldemort, but he beat Grindlewald,” Remus observed. James turned to his old friend. The man's face was pale with anger, but his voice was detached, almost uncaring. He'd seen Remus do this a few times. He would become so enraged about a topic that he had to distance himself from the situation emotionally else, he lose complete control. It's never a good thing to be near a lycanthrope when they go on a rampage.

Setting Remus' finer feelings to the side, James deflated. They were all correct. Only Albus possessed the knowledge, experience and possibly skills that Harry needed for his task. Based on her expression it was also Hermione's task. He also agreed that it would have been much worse had Lily and Sirius been present. Both of them would just as soon kill the old man as work with him. Now it seemed that James had the unenviable task of trying to convince his wife that she needed to let her son and future daughter in law be tutored by a man whom she detested.

For that matter, James wasn't too fond of the old man, either.

Based on their expressions, neither were Harry and Hermione.

Leaning forward again, James leaned on his hands as he let his mind wander. A comment by Hestia a month or so ago floated across his consciousness like a feather on the wind, “Politics is working with people you despise.”

Looks like he was going to be a politician, then.

“I think it'd be best if I broach the topic in private to Lily and Sirius. Separately, though. If we were all in the same room, they might band together to kill me,” James joked to relieve a bit of tension. He loved his wife and respected the strides she'd made in controlling her formidable temper, but truth be told he could be a bit intimidated by her on occasion.

“I think the sooner we get started, the better,” Harry observed, Hermione nodding her unhappy agreement.

Gloomily, James nodded, “Bloody, buggering shite.”

.oOo.

In the end, they decided that Remus would approach Sirius, ensuring that Hestia was with them when he had the discussion. Harry had laughed, teasing, “Hiding behind Hestia's skirts?”

Dead serious, Moony had snarked back, “Damn right.”

Shifting from his seat, Remus meandered to the Potion's laboratory. It was one of the first things Lily had done when they set up house here. She wanted to be ready to brew any potion required to cure Harry. It turned out not to be needed, but now she and Alex turned their formidable brains to his own situation.

Dealing with the fact that Remus was suffering from progressive liver failure had been put on hold while Harry was incapacitated. Now that The Boy-Who-Lived was seemingly cured, the family's attention was allowed to refocus.

Knocking on the door, he smiled. The first time he'd come to fetch Lily for James, he'd just opened the door before sticking his head in to yell for his redheaded friend.

The bollocking Lily had given him for violating safety protocols and “scaring me half to death you numb nuts, dim-witted, fuckstain of humanity” had left Remus both amused and abashed. Later that day, Lily had affixed a huge placard that read: “LILY'S POTION LAB. KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING. THIS MEANS YOU LUPIN!”

So he knocked.

The door was opened by Alex. She was wearing her white lab coat, spectacles resting on the end of her narrow nose. As usual, both their expressions softened. “Hey,” she greeted with a smile.

Leaning in, he gave her a soft kiss. “Hey. If it's safe, could you tell Lily that James needs her when she's available?”

“Sure,” she replied as she leaned on the doorjamb. Her face took on a mischievous expression as she asked, “Want to tell her yourself?”

Holding his hands in front of his chest, palm out, he shook his head, “I don't think I'll be welcome in any lab of Lily's for, say…fifteen years.”

Alex grinned. Changing subjects, she told him, “We think we might be on a good line to pursue.”

“Really?” he asked, taking her hand in his.

Nodding, she pushed her glasses to the top of her head. “Lily had an idea about enzyme malfunction which I expanded upon to investigate enzyme blockage. There are a host of blockers that could trigger the conditions of the test.”

Remus' blank look caused her to titter. “There could be bad things in your body that make you sick,” she translated.

Smiling at her good humour, he told her, “Could you tell Lily that James wants her? I'd like to talk to you in our room.”

She waggled her eyebrows, her suggestion obvious.

Remus' expression sobered. “Sorry, love. Not today. I really need to talk to you.”

.oOo.

Lily's eyes were so narrow, if James didn't know her eye colour, he'd never be able to tell. Based on his experience, he delved straight to the topic - no fussing about. She hated it when a person avoided the issue at hand, so he was direct. After relating Harry's desire to train with Dumbledore, James sat back in his chair, waiting for the wrath of his wife.

Her lips drawn so tight that they were white and bloodless, Lily Potter stared out the window. Leaning his head back on the chair, James listened and waited. Her breath was low and even as the morning sea breeze wafted through the window. The sun was warm and bright, so radically different from his native Wales. Glancing over at her, he was distracted by the play of the sunlight in her hair. It glinted gold, brown, red and blonde.

“I will kill him if he…” Lily whispered. Narrowing his eyes, he waited. She didn't continue.

“If he does what?” James asked in an equally low voice.

She turned on him, “If he hurts Harry. If he fails him, I'll kill him.”

He frowned. This wasn't going as he expected. He actually had expected Lily's wrath to fall on him. Her amorphous hostility towards Albus, while not unreasonable, was vaguely disturbing to him, but James couldn't put his finger on the exact reason. Therefore, he waited for her to elaborate.

She turned back to the window, “He's hurt Harry so much while we were gone. He better…” she trailed off, her meaning clear. Lily's face flushed red before she paled as her emotions fluctuated from anger to fear and back.

James nodded. Sometimes he forgot that his mercurial wife who had a ferocious intellect matched to an equally passionate nature was also a woman who was subject to the capricious whims of the early months of her pregnancy. Wincing, he remembered an argument they'd had when she was three months along with Harry. James had almost been decapitated and he never did figure out why she'd been shouting at him.

None of this invalidated her feelings or attitudes, but did explain the volatile nature of her emotional state.

Silently, he watched her. After a long moment, she turned to him, a beautifully sculpted auburn coloured eyebrow cocked in an unspoken question. Do you feel any different?

Pursing his lips, he considered. Eventually, he shook his head. Meeting her fixed gaze, he told her, “No. I feel the same. He's hurt Harry too much already. But I also agree with Harry and Moony. They need the old man to get Harry over the hump.”

“Is this some ridiculous wizard thing?”

Completely baffled, he stared at her.

“This insistence that our son duel the most vicious Dark Lord in a millennia. Why not drop a bloody bomb on the man's head?”

The coolness of her tone belied Lily's expression. Her eyes flashed and the mouth was nearly curled into a snarl as James considered her question. Staring at his hands, he recollected everything about the situation he could recall. The wording of the prophecy, their collective history with the Dark Lord, the bits and pieces that Albus had let slip about the man. Throwing it all into the pot, he let it simmer.

Raising his face to meet his wife's still piercing gaze, James slowly told her, “I don't have a very good answer. There's no fact that I can point to that says `Harry must duel Voldemort at ten paces' or other such nonsense.” Placing his splayed fingered hand on his chest, he continued, “I feel it here. Harry and Voldemort are Light and Darkness. Are they avatars of higher beings? Of ideals? I don't know. But destiny has placed them in each other's road.”

Shaking his head as he turned away from Lily's silent, accusatory glare, he moved to the window. “I believe that Harry will slay Lord Voldemort, but it won't be easy.” His head drooping, he muttered, “But we already knew that.”

Moving back to his chair, he raised his head again, “Call it my gut, or intuition or even some family precognitive trait…,” her glare softened at his attempt at humour that both Potters knew wasn't humour at all. “Either way, I believe that this is the path for Harry.”

Her eyes narrowed before Lily nodded in acquiescence. Deflating, she shuffled from her chair to sit in his lap. Smiling, James pulled her close. Breathing deeply of her scent, he steadied. In the end, this was what it was all about. Love, life, family.

.oOo.

James left Lily asleep on the bed. She was becoming more tired as the pregnancy progressed. Fortunately, her morning sickness had been brief. It'd been replaced with a general malaise that caused Lily to nap nearly every day. Stretching, James yawned as he looked about.

Harry and Hermione were studying in the common room. Her feet were in his lap as they read from different books. James couldn't make out which books but both teens were absorbed in the subject matter. As he debated whether to prank the oblivious students, the door to the Terrace opened, admitting Remus.

Nodding to his friend, James asked, “How'd it go with Padfoot?”

Wagging his hand, Remus told him, “So-so.” Inclining his head to the outside, Remus glanced at the teens, “Let's go for a walk and talk.”

Without speaking, they clopped down the stairs to the beach. It was an even thirty steps down the short cliff face to the stretch of beach that Remus and James had covered in repelling wards and Notice Me Not charms. Remus nodded to the south, “Let's go this way. Padfoot, Hestia and Alex are up the northern stretch.”

Without preamble, Moony told Prongs, “For a little extra protection, I had Alex along when I found Sirius. He and Hestia were on a blanket back that way,” he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “They were splitting a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread. Just chatting, you know?”

James nodded, gratified that Sirius was beginning to decompress. With the assistance of her healer friend in Paris, Alex had developed a short list of mind healers for Sirius to interview. Everyone who even had a slight acquaintance with Sirius Black knew that he would insist on making the final decision, so Alex had provided a list of three healers. He was to see the first one later this afternoon.

“We pulled up.” Remus grinned, “I was scared, so I sat opposite Padfoot, between the girls.” James chortled as his friend continued, “The discussion jumped into the deep end, reminding him of the Graveyard skirmish. That set the tone, but his eyes got so empty. All the joviality that'd been there just a minute before had gone.” Half shrugging, Remus was silent for a minute as they continued their walk.

The tide had just turned and had shifted to the flood. Walking slowly through the soft, sliding sand, they men meandered down the beach. James squinted as he looked out over the sea. Fishing boats rolled and yawed as they pulled in their catch. He could see the tiny forms of the fishermen as they worked the winches that did the bulk of the heavy lifting. There was still plenty of manual labour to be done while pulling the nets aboard with their weighty burden.

Shaking him out of his reverie, Remus went on with his recollections. “He set his jaw - you know how he does that - but before he could explode, Hestia started rubbing his arm a bit. That cooled him off.” Shaking his head, Remus added, “Padfoot did not like the idea at all, but nodded once when I asked him if he would agree to Harry training with Albus. He did make one proviso, though.”

James turned to Moony, who'd stopped walking. Raising his eyebrows in a `What?' expression, Prongs waited. “He said that he wouldn't tell Albus the Secret to this place. He said that he wanted a place that Harry could - and I quote - a place to escape from Albus when he crossed the line.”

A coldness settled over James as he considered Sirius' words that Remus relayed. He'd not considered that Albus would actually attack Harry. Truth be told, it seemed quite farfetched. Then again, their collective lives seemed to be a testimony to the farfetched.

With a jerky nod, James agreed with Sirius' decision to exclude Albus from their home. Upon further reflection, James decided that no one else ought to be added to the roster of those `in the know' about Le Retirada. A stray thought that he ought to procure rooms in Zürich occurred to him before he filed it away as `later'.

Returning to the present, James blinked. Refocusing on Remus, he began in a hoarse voice, “What else…” clearing his throat, he began again. “What else did he say?”

“Not much. He just kind of stared out to the surf for the rest of the time. Hestia brought up the logistics issue, but we put it off for later.” After a pause, Remus offered, “Sirius has a point. Harry and Hermione probably ought not to meet Albus in Spain, much less here. We can set up a place in the Italian Alps or somewhere else for them to work.”

Nodding, James agreed. Moony's idea gelled with his own preferences. “What do you say we go through the non-magical people to buy the place? That should help hide the purchase a bit more.”

Remus nodded, “That's a great idea. Should I give an agent a bell?'

“Yeah. A remote place…mountaintop is what I'm thinking. That way there won't be any snoopers and they can all let loose with some really nasty shite.” The kinds of things that James thought that Albus would need to teach the teens would need some privacy.

.oOo.

Mind healer Georg Plummer was reading through the file of his newest patient. Granted, the file was very slim, as he'd not seen the man yet. Born in Germany during the post war boom as the allies poured economic aid into what would become West Germany, Plummer had a Psychiatrist father and a devout Lutheran mother who was a homemaker. Dinner table discussion was always interesting growing up in the Plummer household.

When he'd received an owl bearing a letter on his eleventh birthday, it had been his mother who accepted the fact that her son was a wizard first. Georg still chuckled to himself when he recalled his father's obstinately confused expression that he wore for nearly a month afterwards until he finally accepted the irrational and moved on with their son's magical education.

Combining the best of both parents, he was an excellent mind healer. His familiarity with the mundane world (he still lived mostly non-magical), alongside his towering intellect served him well in his profession. A confirmed bachelor, he was wedded to his calling.

His three o'clock looked interesting. Sirius Black: exonerated Englishman who survived a dozen years in the hell that those bastard British called a prison. Animals. He should prove to be an interesting case. He'd not liked the requirement of an Unbreakable Vow though. Black was insisting that the Healer agree to a Vow if he continued to see Plummer. The mind healer was mildly insulted. He never disclosed any details of his clients `issues' under any circumstance. His professional vows forbade it and on top of it, to blab like that was unethical.

Snorting in professional indignation, the fussy man set aside the file, placing it perfectly parallel to the edge of his desk. Spinning in one third of a turn of his chair, he reached to the exact spot on his shelf. Withdrawing the book, he quickly perused the table of contents before flipping to page three hundred and four.

“Dementors, Dementors…” he muttered to himself as he smoothed his Bismarck moustache. His mother continuously chided him for the eccentricity. Outwardly, he waved off her words, but privately, he had grown it because he believed it made him look much older than his thirty one years. Now in his mid-fifties, he felt it gave him countenance.

There wasn't much information in the literature about Dementors, their origins or the exact nature of their abilities. Most victims didn't survive in order to provide any sort of data for researchers to mine. Unfortunate, that.

Shaking his head, he slowly rotated his chair to replace the volume. Returning to his desk, he withdrew a sheet of fine rag cotton paper, uncapped his Mont Blanc fountain pen and set to writing ideas and avenues to purse with the patient. Turning his head slightly to the left, he consulted his file again. A standard form for all his patients was a family tree. “One must know where one came from in order to understand where one was going, yes?” his father would routinely ask if he was in good humour.

Glancing at the form filled out in a strong bold script, Georg wondered who was the founding father of the Black family with a mania for celestial bodies. Bellatrix, Regulus, Sirius, Andromeda, Orion, Narcissa and so on. Very odd.

The sharp rat-a-tat-tat broke him from his reverie. It was his secretary, Elsa. Capping his pen, he cast a hurried spell to dry the ink. Replacing the notes in the patient's folder, Plummer performed his usual quick glance about the room. Everything was in its place. Perfect.

“Come!” he called.

.oOo.

Sirius walked out of the posh office of the German mind healer to find Hestia waiting for him. He had to smile. She was trying so hard not to look anxious, but was so obviously worried for him she was pitifully torn. At his smile, she relaxed a bit.

Answering her unvoiced question, he told her, “That was interesting. Let's get a cuppa and I'll tell you about him.”

Leaving the stylish office building in downtown Zürich, they walked to the corner pub. Pulling up the bar, Sirius gave Hestia a look that was confident and knowing. When the slim bartender slid in front of Sirius, Padfoot tossed a bill on the bar as he announced, “Tea for two, please.”

The young blonde man with the towel over his shoulder glanced at the bill before he snorted. “It's three Euros for the tea. You've put one down.”

Frowning, Padfoot looked at the bill in confusion. He felt his fiancée's giggle more than heard it. Her slim hand snaked around his waist, depositing two more bills on the counter.

The young man nodded, scooped up the bills before turning to his trade. Embarrassed and confused, Sirius allowed himself to be led to a table. “I don't understand,” he whinged.

“My poor sweet, handsome and stupid man,” Hestia teased.

“Hey…”

The bartender arrived with two plain white teacups and a generic metal teapot. Without comment, he deposited his burden before heading back to whatever vital task he was pursuing before being interrupted by the fool of an Englishman. Sirius' glare at the man's back did nothing to perturb the Swiss. Perhaps, Sirius wondered, the man was en route to the fascinating activity of contemplating the state of his navel or the freshness of his bath towels. “Arse…” Sirius muttered before pouring for himself and Hestia. Still annoyed, he blew on the tea before taking a deep draught.

“Gah…that's just,” he stared at his tea in disbelief. He'd never had tea this bad.

Hestia shrugged, “It's not as bad as what you get in the States. The swill they brew and try to pass off as tea should be illegal.”

Feeling betrayed, he stared at the cup for a minute before swallowing his pride. Another sip preceded another grimace. Shaking his head, Sirius thought of the Queen and country before finishing off the slops. He needed some fortification after that interview.

“So?” she asked. He glanced at her from his cup in time to see a look of self-reproach steal over her features. “If you want to talk about it, I mean,” Hestia backtracked.

Smiling, he reassured her, “It's alright.” Leaning back in his chair, he cradled his cup, the warmth of the tea feeling good in his palm. “He's a bit of a fussy pants. Immaculately groomed with these enormous moustaches, he looks like something from a book, but what a brain.

“I tried to have a bit of fun but he nipped that in the arse right quick. `Mr Black' he says in this clipped Hun accent, `If you wish to waste my time, feel free to hand me my fee before leaving my rooms'. I tell you, only Minerva ever went alongside my head like that.” Shrugging in amusement, he continued, “I like him. He's smart, doesn't take my shite and seemed to ask a lot of good questions. Reminds me of you like that.”

His guffaw seemed to take her off guard as Hestia's pensive and attentive expression became confused. “He asked me what was wrong with my family. Said that any family that had such a penchant for ridiculous names had to be, at the least, dysfunctional.”

Feeling an odd mixture of hopeful and vulnerable, Sirius settled into telling his beloved about the first interview with the man who would be one of the many who eventually helped save his life.

.oOo.

“Hey mate,” Harry greeted as he flopped on the sand next to Neville. “Susan,” he added leaning forward to greet the redhead on the other side of his friend.

“Hey. Where's Hermione?”

Leaning back on the sand, Harry groaned. “She and Alex are talking about the results of the bloody test they just put me through.” Squinting at his friend, Harry saw the puzzlement on Neville's face. Deciding to explain before asked, he added, “Alex wanted to make sure that I wasn't going to drop back into that magical coma again at the drop of a hat so she ran fifteen different tests on me.”

With mock gravity, he gripped Neville's shoulder, “If they ever put on rubber gloves before grabbing a long chrome cattle prod,” he paused dramatically, making eye contact with first Susan then Neville, “Run. Run as far and as fast as you can.”

The three teens burst into laughter, Susan holding her hand in front of her mouth to hide her giggles.

“Was it really bad?” Neville asked.

“Nah, not really. Just tiring.”

Straightening out his towel, Harry rolled on to his stomach, determined to take a nap. The two sharp intakes of breath from his side reminded him that he'd not told Neville or Susan about aftereffects of being raised by Vernon Dursley. The scars on his back were hardly subtle.

With a deep sigh, he rolled to a sitting position as he gathered his thoughts. Doodling in the bits of sand that puddled on his towel, he began in low voice.

“You both know how I was placed with my mum's sister and her husband when everyone thought my Mum and Dad were dead?”

“Yeah,” Neville croaked.

“Well, they weren't too fond of magic.”

“Oh, Harry,” whispered Susan to herself.

Narrowing his eyes, he stifled his anger. He hated being pitied and it sure sounded like the Bones scion pitied him.

“No one should live through that,” she continued. Her comment threw him off stride, but he realised she wasn't pitying him, but rather grieving for his childhood torment. There was a significant difference between the two.

“Yeah, well…” he shifted uncomfortably. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I'll go get a shirt…” he made to stand. It was one thing being open and unafraid with his family. These were his friends with whom he wasn't as secure or confident.

“No.”

It was Susan. Sweet Susan Bones in her electric blue swimsuit was wearing an expression of the utmost loathing. “You've done nothing wrong. It's those animals who did that to you who should cover up. They should hide their shame and sin. Never you.”

Reassured, he felt the wisp of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He met her piercing blue eyes for a long moment. Giving her a short nod, he sat down next to Neville.

There was a long silence before Susan broke it, “I'm going to be a freckled monster tomorrow after all this sun.”

Harry smiled when he saw Neville inspecting exactly where Susan expected to be a freckled monster. “Sue, I don't think that Nev minds overmuch. He might even volunteer to smooth some sun lotion on those hard to reach spots for you.”

Susan's expectant look coupled with Neville's bright blush caused Harry to burst into laughter. Flopping back on the sand, the three friends chatted the afternoon away.

.oOo.

“But why?” Hermione asked for the fourth time.

Shaking her head, Alex shuffled through the test results. There was no reason whatsoever for Harry to have woken on his own. No medical reason, she amended to herself. Pursing her lips, she shook her head in response to Hermione's question.

The younger witch stood, staring out the window. It was evident to Alex that the two of them shared a common trait. We need to know why.

“His magical reserves are off the charts,” she commented. “So, too, are yours for that matter. All his physical metrics are normal. Blood chemistry is normal. Biochemical readings are all within expected norms. His magical status is so far outside the norm that it's impossible to tell. Every reading is beyond the top end of the scale so I can't tell if he's having a problem. That fact alone tells me that he's probably fine.”

There was a long pause as Alex shifted her glasses to the top of her head in a familiar gesture. Rubbing her eyes, she slowly exhaled. Between Remus' liver issue and Harry's spontaneous recovery, Remus' liver was a far easier problem to address. This was threatening to drive her `round the twist.

As the breeze snaked about her ankles, Alex heard Hermione breathe out a long sigh. “You don't understand…”

Waiting for more, Alex didn't get it. After Hermione failed to continue her remark, Alex looked up. The other witch's expression was drawn with pain and fear. Her eyes faced the window, but saw nothing.

“What don't I understand?” Alex queried with a soft voice.

There was another long, deliberative silence. When Hermione turned to face the blonde healer, it was obvious she'd come to a conclusion. “There is a prophecy. The exact wording doesn't matter, but the thrust is that Harry is the only person who can stop Voldemort.” She paused before adding, “And Voldemort is the only one who can stop Harry.”

Reeling, Alex stared. No wonder this is a bloody mess. She'd taken the required course in Healer school regarding the interactions of prophecy with physical health. The course had been summed up in a simple phrase: We Have No Idea How This Works, It Just Does.

Which is exactly what had happened with Harry.

Her mind raced, recollecting the results of all the tests she'd subjected Harry. It all made sense in the manner that none of it made sense. Of course, he'd do the impossible. Suddenly the non-medical consequences of the prophecy flooded Alex, causing her to gasp in horror. Looking into Hermione's face, the blonde's mouth dropped open in dismay.

Nodding, Hermione confirmed all that passed through Alex's mind. All the combat training, the equal status accorded Harry and Hermione by James, Lily, Sirius and Remus, the…well, all of it now became clear. Despite the age of their bodies, Harry and Hermione were both adults in most every sense of the word.

Blinking, she tried to refocus. Finally, she stuttered, “I-I have to…well, I have no…” Frowning, she exerted her will to calm down. After a deep breath, which she held for a five count, Alex began again, “This explains much, yet nothing.” At Hermione's frown, Alex explained about what she'd learned in Healer school.

“Harry's extraordinary ability could be a function of fate, destiny or God if you will. It could be a side effect of surviving the Killing curse. It could be…well, I'm not sure, but his unknown magical reservoirs could - most likely are - the reason for his sudden revival.”

In a voice so soft that Alex had to strain to hear it, Hermione reminded her friend, “I have very similar magical reservoirs.”

In sober contemplation, Alex nodded. “True.” Anecdotally, the fact that Harry and Hermione were together in an adult, loving relationship while already Mages lent further credence to the burgeoning theory that Harry - and be extension Hermione - were under the Aegis of Fate and, therefore, not necessarily subject to the common experience. Once again, the sound of the surf and the gentle sea breeze was the only thing to disturb the room as both witches silently sat.

After a soaring seabird called its pealing, almost laughing, call, Alex slowly began, “I don't know, Hermione. The only thing I can say with certainty is that Harry's situation is not the first where a person involved in prophecy has been subject to incredible happenings. Look at Voldemort. He too survived the Killing curse that night so long ago. He too was under the umbrella of this prophecy. I have to admit defeat. Pointing to the prophecy I say, `That's why'.”

Slumping in her chair, Alex grumped. She hated now knowing why and this case in particular just bugged the shite out of her. Harry was such a likable young man and his Hermione reminded her so much of herself at that age that Alex wanted to be of service to the couple.

This prophecy - whatever it said - was a wild card that threw the normal rules out the window. No wonder Harry survived the Killing curse as a baby.

Looking up, she found Hermione's brown eyes boring into her. They held each other's gaze for along moment before Hermione asked, “What does this portend for Harry and a relapse into that magical coma?”

“I have no idea if he'll relapse, but given the collective experience of persons involved in prophecy, I'd say that it's unlikely that Harry will suffer a setback.” Slowly shaking her head in frustration, she amended, “I don't know this, mind. It's just the collective wisdom of the Healer profession.”

Hermione turned back to the window. After a long moment, she heard the young woman murmur, “That'll have to be enough. For now.”

.oOo.

“Here.”

Remus looked up to see a shirtless Padfoot handing him a beer. Nodding, he took the bottle. James was sleeping on his other side, sprawled in one of the many chaise lounges scattered about the huge patio. They'd come outside a half hour ago to take a break from the finances of the Richmond estate. Slug that he was, Prongs fell asleep. Reluctantly, Remus had cast the Sunscreen charm on his friend.

Sirius had no compunction about respecting James' repose, though.

“Wake up you bloody wanker.” The gout of water from Padfoot's wand placed punctuation on his `request'.

Remus smiled at the sputtering Earl who moments before had been murmuring, “Lily,” in his sleep.

“You…” James began. Remus was well aware that James knew exactly who'd woken him in such an unceremonious manner. Padfoot had first done it during third year and it became a favourite. Approximately every other week, James would be woken in such a manner.

“Shaddup,” the Earl of Blackmoor commanded as he dropped another bottle in his cousin's lap.

That too was tradition.

“Girls…” Remus warned as he lifted his bottle. After a long draught, he let out a sigh. “That's what was needful.”

On either side of him, Padfoot and Prongs lifted their own bottles, taking a long draught. First James, then Sirius let out their own sighs. Sirius added a belch for good measure. When Sirius scratched his scalp with his usual abandonment, James casually asked, “Fleas, Padfoot? Or is it lice this time?”

“Too much sex,” Padfoot replied deadpan. “I can't help myself. Eight, nine times a day and I still keep the train rolling down the tracks.” Stretching, Padfoot sighed in satisfaction.

There was a long silence. Remus swallowed noisily as he stared at the sun hoping to forestall the inevitable.

No good, the pressure still built a bit higher. Sirius took another drink.

Looking left, then right, he tried to find something to distract himself. Counting birds failed miserably. James gargled his beer for what had to be thirty seconds.

Remus pressed his lips together as hard as he could muster, but failed. The inevitable happened. His guffaws of laughter brought the other two out as well. Soon they were hooting and screeching; spraying each other from their never-ending bottles.

The mirth in Sirius' face was welcome. After he'd finally fled Britain, Remus had been fearful that Padfoot was too damaged to come back. However, come back, he had.

Remus would later realize that he'd not even missed Peter during the horseplay. Wormtail was dead. They'd just not found his body to bury. Yet.

.oOo.

“Usually, there's a bit of magic involved in protecting non-magical people in this type of situation,” Hestia had explained when James asked her about how to help the tenants of the Richmond lands. “You give them a watered down version of the truth. Something along the lines of `A terrorist is threatening this area' or the like. Pairing that with a few Compulsion charms does the trick.”

James had been insistent upon compensating these people for their lost time and likely lost crops. “They live one harvest to the next, many times. I'll not have them lose everything because of Voldemort. I'll not let him win that fight.”

Hestia had nodded her understanding and agreement. James could tell that there was something bothering her, so he prompted, “What's bothering you?”

Sighing, she slumped in her chair. “I talked to Amelia about this after you asked. It's not really my area of expertise, see? She gave me the answer I was looking for, but…well, Albus was there. He'd like to speak to you.”

James frowned. Dealing with Albus Dumbledore was right next to a voluntary non-sedated colonoscopy on his `to-do' list. “Did he say why?” he asked.

She shrugged.

“Great,” he muttered Scrubbing his face, he collected himself. “When?”

“At your convenience.”

Rolling his eyes, he asked the question for which he dreaded the answer. “What does he want?”

She frowned, “Didn't you just ask that?”

“No, before I asked what he told you. What I'm asking now is what you think he wants.”

“Ah,” she murmured, sitting back in her chair. James knew that despite her affected confusion, she knew exactly what he'd been asking. Hestia was a sharp cookie. She stared at the ceiling for a moment before returning her gaze to James. There was a half-smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, which James found himself returning.

“Albus wants to enlist you.”

Frowning yet again - he found his face making unpleasant expressions far too often when discussing the currently exiled Headmaster of Hogwarts - James asked, “Enlist me to do what?”

She wagged her head, her expression contemplative. “I'm not sure, but I believe he's building a coalition of British Expats.”

Rolling his eyes, he murmured, “Great. How about tomorrow?”

Hestia gave James a soft smile of understanding, “I'm sure that will be fine.”

.oOo.

“No, no…”

Hermione woke up to Harry's groans as he thrashed in his sleep. The sheets were sweat soaked as they bunched around their waists. Sliding over from her side of the king sized bed, she gently shook his shoulder. “Wake up, love. It's just a dream, wake up.”

Like switching on a light, Harry went from sleeping to awake. He sat up in bed, his eyes wide. Levering herself upright, Hermione wrapped her arms about his heaving chest. This was just like the dream back in the Caribbean, the first dream that'd manifested his obscure precognition.

“You alright?” she asked in an undertone.

Jerkily, he shook his head. Placing his hand over hers, he gave her a quick squeeze. “Be right back,” he murmured before slipping from the bed and heading into the bathroom.

The sink turned on with a hiss as she lay back on the pillow. It was hard, but she remained patient, her mind creating and discarding a host of possible reasons for his nightmare. She heard him brush his teeth and smile. Despite the Tooth Cleaning charm's perfection, both of them (and Lily) still manually brushed their teeth on top of the charm. She didn't feel as though she'd cleaned her teeth without that minty clean taste.

The water cut off after Harry spat into the sink. A moment later, he rejoined her.

“Bad?” she asked without preamble.

He nodded as he pulled her into his arms. “Yeah. I saw all kinds of destruction. Big Ben burning, the houses of Parliament exploding, even Buckingham palace in flames. It was confused and out of focus but definitely recognizable.”

She was silent, contemplating the scenes. Before darkness overtook her, she heard him say, “It's going to get worse.”

.oOo.

Remus pulled his robes over his head. He and Alex had gone shopping in Paris after James had brusquely told him, “You, me, Padfoot and Lily are meeting Dumblefuck tomorrow noon. Be ready for anything.”

A half dozen high end robes and three pair of stylish boots later, Remus felt prepared for the meeting, at least from a haberdashery perspective. Knocking on the potion room door, he waited for Alex. The door opened to reveal his very distracted mate. Leaning forward he gave her a quick kiss. “Love you.”

Absent-mindedly, she looked up from her notes, half smiled before muttering, “Love you too. Have fun,” before heading back into the room.

Remus smiled as he tugged at his cuffs. Turning the corner, he found the other three milling about the entry hall. He heard Harry from the other room, “Alright, mate. Rotate your wand counter clockwise - yeah like that - now jab. Good…”

Apparently, Harry was tutoring Neville.

“You ready?” James asked. Remus gave a short nod. “Right then, let's get this over.” He held out a stick on which the others placed a finger.

Thirty seconds later, he braced for a landing in Zürich. Shaking his head for portkey travel always made Remus a bit dizzy, he heard Dumbledore greet, “Ah, James, Lily, Sirius and Remus, so good of you to come.”

James frostily replied, “Albus.”

Remus had to give the old man credit for sheer balls. Ignoring the hostile reactions from the three wizards and one witch, Albus gestured to a sitting area where Amelia Bones was already sat next to Hestia. Remus nodded to Sirius' fiancée who gave him a smile in return. “Shall we?”

None spoke, but they all took seats leaving James the seat across from Albus. Remus bit the bullet, sitting next to his old Headmaster. He didn't trust Sirius or James to keep their hands to themselves. Lily was doing her level best to reign in her temper, but her mouth was closed so tightly that he could barely make out the hint of rosiness that was her lips.

“Tea?” the old man asked.

This forced the first words from the Remus, Sirius and Lily. Remus was surprised at the anger which ran up his throat, forcing out a hostile, “No, thank you,” to the old man. Can one ever `get over' what Albus had allowed to happen to Harry? It didn't seem that it was possible.

He felt Lily tense on his other side as she folded her hands in her lap. It was a slow, deliberate movement, the motion of a rose closing at nightfall. She's furious just being in his presence.

There was another long silence as Albus poured for him and Amelia. After an eternity, he spoke again, “Britain has need of you, James.”

Cut to the chase much?

“Really? Do tell,” James replied in a smooth voice.

In a sombre tone, Dumbledore explained, “Voldemort's government hasn't yet presented their credentials to the ICW. As such, the body still officially recognizes the Fudge government as the ruling body of magical Britain. George Cavendish was the Ambassador for Britain.” Albus glanced to his cup, “He was standing next to Cornelius during the melee after the Third Task.”

Taking sip to remember the dead, Albus returned the cup to its saucer before gently placing the set on the table. “Amelia, as the Director of the MLE, is the ranking surviving government official from the Fudge government. As such, she has the authority to issue credentials for Ambassadors…” he let the last word hang in the air knowing that everyone about the table was smart enough to connect the dots.

Remus sat back in his chair, evaluating Albus' proposition. On the surface, it was a stroke of genius. James would be the Ambassador for Britain to the ICW reporting to Amelia as the de facto Minister. Should the ICW recognize and accept James as the Ambassador for Great Britain it would force the body to accept the nascent government in exile. Voldemort's puppet government would be unable to recall him to issue new credentials to a Death Eater because James reported to Amelia.

It was a magnificent parliamentary manoeuvre that would further the general cause of retaking their homeland.

However, it would mean that James would be forced to work with a man he hated above most others on a day-to-day basis.

There was a long silence. Remus turned to see how his friend was reacting to the news. The neutral, considering expression the Earl of Richmond wore was expected. When the chips were down, James reverted to form and Charlus Potter had groomed his son to be the twenty-third Earl from the first day out of his nappies.

Knowing James the way he did, Remus knew that Prongs was considering all the angles - especially the aspect where he'd have to work with Albus on a recurring basis.

James had a furious intellect that he applied with a focus that could be intimidating. Right now, he was focusing on Albus Dumbledore.

“What, exactly, would my duties entail?”

Remus was almost surprised that James had directed the question to the witch at Albus' side. Then again, Amelia was to be the acting Minister until Britain could be re-established.

“Your duties or your tasking?” Amelia countered.

James smiled as he acknowledged the point.

“Your duties shall be minimal. There are assemblies that last for three months at a time. As the British Ambassador and, therefore, one of the founding countries of the ICW, you shall also be one of the permanent members of the Security Council.”

James nodded, this was all known.

“During this time of…unrest…at home, I believe that we shall have to work closely to align ourselves with certain countries,” Amelia said in a musing voice.

“France, Germany, Spain and the United States with the Japanese and Chinese being wild cards,” James said aloud.

Remus smothered a smile. James had spent an entire day quizzing Hestia about the state of the world in order to prepare for this interview.

The tired looking witch gave James a half smile. It was evident that she was warming to the young man who had such a scandalous reputation from school. Narrowing his eyes, Remus considered the situation from Amelia's point of view. James was but twenty-three, having missed thirteen years of the world and its comings and goings.

At the same time, James had been groomed to this station from his youth. He was obviously very intelligent who could move in the expected circles with the expected manners

In addition, James was the Father-Who-Lived. That notoriety combined with his recent headlines due to his work in the Wizengamot brought the argument full circle. James was the perfect choice.

Returning his gaze on his old friend Remus wasn't surprised to hear him reply, “I will, of course, discuss this matter with my wife and confidants before giving you a reply. Would tomorrow be quick enough?”

“More than sufficient, my Lord.”

Remus blinked. The pleased tone that accompanied the small smile told Remus who was really behind this entire recruitment. Amelia Bones didn't rise to be the Director of the most influential department in the ministry - a ministry that was wholly patriarchal - she didn't rise to such a position without more than a bit of wit and guile.

James chuckled. He too had come to the same conclusion as Moony.

“I believe that we'll retire for now,” Lily smiled at Amelia, wholly ignoring Albus.

“Of course,” Amelia replied with smooth grace.

Remus moved with Sirius and Lily to Amelia's side. They all began chatting about the inconsequential: weather, Zürich life as opposed to London and of course the news from home. Or lack thereof.

With Remus' acute hearing, he heard James corner Albus.

“I'll get to the point, Albus. Harry needs help that only you can provide,” the meaning behind the words clear.

Glancing over, Remus saw Albus' face become grave.

“Can you see your way clear?” James asked.

“I am completely at your disposal,” Albus replied with a gentle solemnity.

Nodding, James told the old man, “We're establishing a facility in the Italian Alps. Remus will contact you when it's ready. We'll provide you with a portkey when the wards are in place.”

There was a long silence before James added in a deceptively light tone, “Albus, if you…are less than helpful with Harry, I do believe that I'll have to kill you.”

There was a long silence. When Augusta Longbottom had threatened Albus after Neville's participation in the second task, it'd been laughable. Now, though, there was steel in James' words that gave his threat veracity and potency that no one could doubt. While Albus Dumbledore no doubt respected James Potter, it was also unlikely that the old man feared the younger in any way.

“I shall do my best for your son, James,” Albus attempted to reassure.

“We'll see.”

At that moment, a house elf popped into the room with a note that changed all their lives even further.

Amelia absently thanked the elf as she opened the note. Remus was alarmed at the shocking change in colour of the witch. First, a healthy, pleased pink that drained to a linen white then to a florid red, Amelia's expression cycled disturbingly.

“The muggle government has fallen. The Prime Minister is dead, the Queen is in Paris and Voldemort is on the throne.”

.oOo.

James and Lily exchange a `look'. With his eyes, he asked if she was amenable to the proposed post. He knew it would take him away from the family much more than he'd like, but this was important. Especially now with Harry on the mend and the baby on the way. James wanted to give his children a life of safety and security. While Harry hadn't had that so far, James was willing to work his fingers raw to give him that security for the balance of his son's life.

Her face softened for a second, showing him her reluctant acceptance. His heart fell a bit when she gave a short nod. He really didn't want this position, but he was a Potter and Potters stand for the light. Richmond turned to Amelia, “Director Bones, given the situation, I shall immediately accept your offer and the posting.”

This seemed to shake the older witch free from her shock. Out of the corner of his eye, James saw Sirius smile when Amelia reasserted herself over the situation. “Very good, my Lord. I believe we are needed in Paris, forthwith.” She held up the note in her hand.

James nodded and was glad they'd all dressed for the meeting.

Lily discreetly hooked her arm in James' giving Amelia a smile as they disengaged from the group. When they were on the opposite side of the room, affording a modicum of privacy, Lily told her husband, “I'll go tomorrow.”

Eyes widening, he'd forgotten about the trip back to Britain to warn off the tenants from possible depredations by the Death Eaters. “Lily…” he began. The last thing that James Potter wanted was his headstrong , pregnant wife running around in a Voldemort controlled Britain.

“James, shut it. I'm the Lady Richmond as much as you're the Lord. I care about these people too, and it's as much my duty to take care of them as it's yours.”

He slumped forward, kissing her brow, “Be careful, my love.”

The smile on her face was clearly forced, “It'll be fine.”

James placed a soft kiss on his wife's lips. A promise of love and life. Turning back to the group who was studiously ignoring them, James told Amelia, “I'm ready when you are.”

When she held out a cord that was evidently a portkey, James went to touch it alongside Albus. His heart broke just a little bit when Lily and the others used their own portkey to return home. The last he saw of the rooms in Zürich vanished when he heard Amelia intone, “Regnum.”

.oOo.

James sent a message to Lily around dinnertime, “Will overnight in Paris. Godspeed your journey. All my love.”

Lily, Harry, Hermione and Remus would Apparate to Calais where they'd board a ferry for England. From there, they'd hire a car before driving to the tenant lands in western England - primarily Shropshire - and Wales.

“I need to go,” Harry had told his Mum. “I'm the heir and, well…” he trailed off, not wanting to put name to his fear. In short, he wanted to protect his Mum and Uncle Moony.

“And I'm coming as well,” Hermione piped up from her fiancé's side. Harry nodded in agreement. Hermione would be a help should the worst occur and they would need to fight their way out of Britain.

Frowning, Lily looked to Remus for an opinion. She really didn't like her newly recovered son accompanying them on this effort. Then again, it must've been what James was feeling when she told him that she was going in his stead.

Moony shrugged. Lily knew that he'd seen both the teens in action so there was no disputing their abilities. “We'll use the non-magical means of travel as much as possible. Amelia says that with some adjustments, the Death Eaters could modify some Ministry equipment to monitor Apparition and portkeys. We'll only use the emergency portkey only if we're all evacuating. Anyone left behind will have a lot of unpleasant company within a few moments.”

Hermione hefted the map case while Remus ensured that he had all the addresses and directions for their stops. There were an even dozen farms to visit along with the manager for the mine. They were to start first thing in the morning. None of them wanted to sleep overnight in a Britain ruled by Voldemort without magical protection more times than was absolutely necessary.

.oOo.

The first leg of the expedition proceeded smoothly. They Apparated to Calais where they rode the ferry to Dover so that Remus could hire a car. Piling into the Bentley, they headed west, the rising sun at their backs. Remus had justified the luxury car as they'd need it to lend credence to their actual positions. Most of the farmers wouldn't believe that they were who they said should they arrive at their doorstep in a Fiat.

Hermione laid her head on Harry's shoulder. She'd not slept well the night before as she worried about the expedition, so Harry had encouraged her to take a nap. “I'll wake you if something important happens,” he told her with a smile.

Rolling her eyes, she took his proffered jumper, wrapping it about her shoulders before cuddling into him.

Harry sat in the back of the car; half his attention listening to his Mum and Remus chatting, the other half of his attention on the scenery as it sped by. He mused that it didn't look like Voldemort had taken control of the government. It just looked like England. Scowling, he admitted to himself that the pristine countryside wouldn't last like that for long. He'd foreseen it.

Skirting south of London, Remus stayed on the back roads into Hampton before cutting northwest through the Cotswolds and into Shropshire. They'd stopped for luncheon at a roadside pub where Harry had woken Hermione to a partly sunny day.

By the time they pulled into the Shrewsbury environs, all four were tired and tense. There was an inn near the ruins of the ancient Benedictine monastery, the Battered Monk, where they got a room with two double beds. None wanted the party to separate for the evening.

Harry and Hermione took to the streets looking for some takeaway. Remus was the only driver of the party so he was wiped out after a long day behind the wheel on the less than cooperative back roads of southern England. He'd flopped on the bed apportioned for him and Harry. When Harry suggested food, Remus had waved a hand and a muffled “Whatever,” had been heard.

Lily was reviewing the list of tenants and refreshing her memory. The last time she'd seen many of them was nearly fourteen years before. Even if she'd not changed much, they had. Before they'd left Spain, Hermione had cast a long lasting glamour on the time-displaced lady, aging Lily to her mid-thirties.

Glancing up and down the street, Harry pointed. “What about here?” he asked.

Crinkling her face in negation, Hermione replied, “We had fish and chips for lunch. I want something a little less greasy.”

Shrugging, Harry plodded on down the lane. Continuously scanning the surroundings, he had his wand palmed in case a situation was thrust upon them. He was fully confident that should any Death Eater short of Voldemort attack them, he and Hermione could easily defeat them. The harder task was to find food that suited his fiancée.

Smiling to himself, he remembered the hushed discussion he'd had with his Mother this morning as Hermione slept.

“So, when were you planning on telling me?” Lily had asked in an undertone.

Wide eyed, Harry paused for a second as he tried to remember what he'd forgotten. Lily jumped back in, “About you and Hermione?”

The wide smile had been unbidden and unaffected. “Yeah, that.”

“Well?”

“What's there to say? I asked. She said `Yes' and on my seventeenth birthday we'll wed.”

Harry could nearly hear his Mum roll his eyes. “Harry, Harry, Harry…listen and learn.” Half turning in his seat, Lily caught her son's eye. “Your father is gravid with excitement. He wants to celebrate in some way. Maybe a low key party, maybe some sky writing, I don't know. You need to get a ring. You need to get the business aspects started.”

Harry didn't like that. His and Hermione's marriage was going to be about love and happiness, not about galleons changing hands.

Lily performed a feat of incredible dexterity casting a Stinging hex at her son, hitting him between the eyes from the front seat of the compact car. Remus' guffaw earned him a glare from The Boy-Who-Lived.

“You're a millionaire in your own right.” Pointing at the sleeping witch at Harry's side, James continued, “So too is she. If Padfoot and Hestia have no children, She'll be a Countess in her own right as well as the Countess of Richmond when I'm gone. Your eldest son could be the Earl of Richmond and the Earl of Blackmoor. That's an enormous amount of contracts and paperwork that we need to get working on now.”

Lily's green eyes twinkled when she added, “And it's fun to see you so indignant every time I bring it up.”

Surrendering to the reality of the situation, he sighed, “What do I need to do?”

“Nothing right now. James and Sirius will get the paperwork moving soon enough. We got an owl from Maturin while you were…sleeping…that he'd escaped to Paris and set up shop there.” She sighed as she stared out the window. “It'll be good to think about something happy as opposed to war and death.”

Returning to the present, Harry noticed the sign. “How about Indian food? Feel up to some curry?”

Hermione smiled, “Sounds delicious.” Tugging at their entwined hands, she urged him to the shop door.

.oOo.

Stevie Greenfoot had inherited his father's lands just three years before. Well, they weren't really his lands, but he had a ninety-nine year lease that had been renewed for God knew how long. So it was fair to say that he'd inherited the use of the lands. He and his wife, Powys, had two beautiful girls; one dark the other light who brought immeasurable joy to his heart. Between his farm and his family, Stevie was a well-contented man.

The first year that he managed the farm after his Da passed on Stevie did fairly well. Raised there, he was still a bit tentative now that he was flying solo. The next year had been far better, clearing over ten percent on his crops, which was nearly unheard of in this day and age.

Yesterday had been a bugger. Spraying his corn for pests had been followed by late night repairs to the hayloft and it all had worn him out. Powys kept the house, milked the cow and tended the chickens between scurrying after the little ones. The other night, as they bedded down, she'd told him that, “I swear that I need a leash for them sometimes. I turn around and they could be halfway to Oswestry before I took a breath.”

The rain was coming down in sheets, so he was taking a day in, mending and cleaning some tools. He had to smile as his little blonde tornado shrieked by followed by the brunette laughing her fool head off.

The knocking at his door interrupted his enjoyment of his daughters. Setting the axe to the side, he called out to his wife, “I'll get it love.”

Hurrying to the door, for it wasn't fit for man or beast to be out, Stevie opened it to see four people crowded under umbrellas.

The redheaded woman looked vaguely familiar and was dressed like a lord. Well, Lady I suppose. The older man held the brally for the Lady, but it was obvious he wasn't her husband just by his body language. Friend or maybe employee. The other two were teens and they shared an umbrella as well. The lad, well, he was his mother's son if his eyes were any testament. The lass, she was definitely with the lad. They, too, were dressed well. Beyond them he saw a fancy car parked in the yard. What the bloody hell was going on?

All this passed through Stevie's mind in a flash as he was already waving them in and out of the rain, “Come in, come in.”

The lady who was in her thirties gave a genuine smile, “Thank you Mr Greenfoot.” The gents shook the brallys before following the ladies inside. The lad was looking about like a shark and it disturbed Stevie. Come to think of it, so was the lass. After a long moment's look they settled, giving Stevie and his now arrived wife a smile to match the mother's.

“I'm Lady Richmond,” the redhead began.

Before she could go further, Stevie gave her a bow while Powys curtsied. “My Lady,” he greeted her. “We're honoured to have you in our home.”

Powys interrupted her manners challenged husband. “Please, come sit. Would you like some tea to warm up?” The blonde woman bustled to the kitchen to put on the kettle.

“Tea would be wonderful, thank you,” Lady Richmond replied.

“This way, m'Lady,” Stevie entreated as he led the way to the kitchen table. The room was cosy and well worn, but not what anyone would call fancy.

“The water's just on, so it'll be a minute,” Powys told the crowd as they settled. She took her position at Stevie's shoulder, waiting for the Lady to say her business.

“This is my son, Lord Potter and his fiancée the Lady Hermione Granger-Black.”

Eyes widening, Stevie thought to himself, Jumped up Jesus! Who's next? The bloody Archbishop of Canterbury? Aloud, he half rose to another bow, “My Lord, my lady.”

“Mr Greenfoot,” they both greeted him with low voices. Once again, Stevie was struck by the fact that the younger pair was acting more like bodyguards than Lords and Ladies.

“And this gentleman is Mr Remus Lupin, our steward.”

Ah, now we're getting somewhere, Stevie mused. Nodding to the grey haired man, the farmer greeted, “Sir.”

“Mr Greenfoot, I come with rather unpleasant news,” the Countess began.

Alarmed, Stevie tensed, his back straightening. Powys hand on his shoulder kept him in his seat, though.

“As a superior steward of the lands entrusted to your family time out of mind by my husband's forebears, I felt it necessary to bring you news.” This immediately put him at ease. No one saying nice things like this was going to kick him off his land. It may only be three hundred acres, but they were his.

“There is a terrorist who has taken a dislike to the house of Richmond.”

“Like those Arab heathens?” Powys interrupted. Realising her faux pas, she immediately blushed while apologizing, “I'm terribly sorry, m'Lady. Please do go on and forgive me.”

The redhead seemed to be right sort. “Of course, Mrs Greenfoot,” she smiled. “This individual and his group aren't motivated by religion or anything resembling logic. They hate the house of Richmond. They've already tried to kill his Lordship and myself four times and our son,” she nodded her head to the cool eyed lad, “at least five times.”

“Lord…” Stevie breathed.

“We're here with unpleasant news that we believe this person and his followers may try to hurt you and your family because they've been unable to hurt us.”

Stevie's heart stopped. Barely able to breathe, he stared.

“Da, who's that pretty lady?”

Unable to process anything, he turned to the little voice. There were his girls, dark and light staring at the Lady. His precious girls. Unthinkingly, he swept them into his arms, holding them close lest they be taken away.

“Mr Greenfoot, his Lordship and I are prepared to help you protect yourself and your family.”

“What's the Bill doing about all this?” he croaked. Regaining a semblance of control, he set the girls on his knees.

The Lady frowned.

“Bloody hell.”

“Quite,” she replied, insinuating that his conclusion that the police were doing nothing or that they could do nothing. “But what Lord Richmond and I will do for you is twofold. First, we shall provide you three years income in cash for you to take an extended holiday abroad. Go to France, Spain, Ireland…somewhere that isn't the UK. Second, your lease shall be automatically renewed for another ninety nine years. Any costs you incur in restarting your efforts here will be compensated through Mr Lupin.”

Stunned, Stevie gaped.

The pretty Lady leaned over the table, her red hair shining, “Take your family to a place of safety until we tell you to come home. If it takes longer than three years, we'll provide. You are part of the greater Richmond family and we take care of our own.”

Completely nonplussed, he turned to see his wife. Powys was just as surprised as he was. Shrugging at her, he nodded. “Well…Ok,” she whispered.

Turning back to his landlord's wife, Stevie asked, “How long do we have to pack?”

.oOo.

“Goodbye and Godspeed your travels,” Lily said one last time as they hiked to the Bentley.

Harry held the umbrella over Hermione for the last time that day. Fifteen smallhold farms and fifteen visits. Fifteen cups of tea drunk with cheery expressions. Most of them were really good, though.

As he climbed in the back seat, he groaned. Hermione liked his suit and tie, but he'd be glad to be rid of them this evening. One last night in Shrewsbury, the mine in the morning followed by a driving escape of the country. Despite his confidence in his own abilities, Harry was edgy.

The constant tension of walking about in the invisible police state combined with the overhanging feeling of doom for the family tenants was starting to get to him.

“My feet are killing me,” Hermione moaned. Not feeling too compassionate, Harry grunted in her general direction. Turning his head, he saw her crack an eyelid at him, the glare generating enough heat to warm the car. “You wear two inch heels for a full day while walking about farms and whatnot, bucko.”

“Bucko?” he smiled.

“Bucko,” she said with finality. His laugh caused her to smile and in turn, Lily and Remus joined in on the joke. Some part of Harry realized that they were all letting off some steam from the day. They'd had fourteen successful visits. The rain had worked in their favour, keeping the man of the house inside for the day.

The fifteenth had been a crotchety old widower of about seventy. “If those bloomin' Irish bastards want to kill me than they're welcome to it. My bloody wife couldn't kill me with that horrible cookin' of hers so they're welcome to try. But you tell them that William Kinney don't kill to easy.”

Lily had been taken aback. She glanced at Remus for help but the werewolf was too busy smothering his own smiles. Hermione was giggling into her hand while Harry gaped at the man, a smile tugging his mouth upward.

“Good on ya',” he had breathed to the old man. No matter what Lily tried to tell him the terrorists weren't Irish, but rather English it took a good twenty minutes before he'd listen. Harry had not expected even more vehemence.

“Just as bad. Bastards have…” the rant that followed caused even Lily to blush. Mr Kinney had been Welsh and proud of it. By the end of the interview, they actually pitied a Death Eater who had the audacity to call on Wren House Farm in eastern Wales. They were in for a big surprise.

.oOo.

The mine was deep in the Cambrian Mountains east of Llangollen. Up early and a quick breakfast of buns and white coffee set the family on their way. Remus pointed the Bentley west and they headed into the mountains. While not as famous as the South Wales Coal Fields, the small colliery was profitable at its scale.

Hermione was fully awake for this day's ride. It'd been a bit odd sleeping next to Lily with Harry in the other bed, but it would've been even odder to ask Lily and Remus to share a bed. Nevertheless, she'd slept soundly so was enjoying the beautiful scenery as they wound through the mountains.

Bleakly beautiful was surrounded by the odd forest. As they got further west, she watched Harry. He seemed to relax the closer they got to Rowan Hill. Well, closer to where Rowan Hill should've been. These were his people though. They might not know him, but all had heard of Lord Richmond and many knew the family name Potter. This was home.

Twice they stopped for directions. Remus was very polite and one time had to turn to Lily after the old lady waved them on to ask, “What did she say?” The woman's accent was very thick.

Around lunch, they arrived at the mine. It was a small affair, not generating nearly on the scale of Tower Colliery. Nevertheless, they would do right by these men and their families.

The meeting began badly. “So where's his Lordship if this is so urgent? The mine manager and the union representative asked.

Lily had coolly cocked her eyebrow as she replied, “He is indisposed.”

Eventually, she's browbeaten them to accept her word, but neither man guaranteed cooperation for an evacuation. Therefore, Remus had played the trump card.

“Gentlemen, as the authorised steward of James, Earl of Richmond, I hereby suspend any and all operations of this mining establishment until some time in the future. All employees shall be given a severance pay equal to that outlined by her Ladyship. Do you have any questions?”

Harry had thought the bored tone that Remus delivered the news was an excellent touch.

After much protestation, the miners knew they'd lost. They agreed, grudgingly and under half steam, to pass the word to the men and their families that they should take a vacation for a bit.

Once again, the magical foursome trundled into the extremely expensive car, gratified that they'd done right by their people. As Remus pulled the car to the gate on the way out of the car park, there was a man standing in the middle of the road.

A man in robes.

With a wand in his hand.

He was tall and thin with a receding hairline. His brown robes were worn, but clean. Holding out his hand, it was evident that he wanted to talk, but Remus wasn't in a talking mood. Gunning the engine, he made to run the man down.

Since the family was traveling incognito, they'd not cast a spell the entire time they'd been back in Britain. The man in the worn brown robes was not under that same limitation. A quick Levitation spell had the tyres off the road, spinning futilely.

Realising they were caught; Remus applied the brakes before placing the car into park. As one, the family drew their wands. Surprisingly, the man in the brown robes placed his own in an inside pocket before walking to the passenger window.

Holding his empty hands in front of him, he bent down to look Lily in the eye. Harry didn't like the man's leer. As soon as Lily rolled down her window, the man's oily voice greeted, “Lady Richmond I presume?”

“Yes. And you are?”

“Oh, I'm an old friend of the family, you could say. Very old.”

The man's smug expression hadn't changed until he saw Harry in the back seat, that is. “Ah, young Lord Potter. How was your childhood? Did your redheaded steward take good care of you?” He burst into peals of laughter that made Harry doubt the man was sane.

Then he realised what the man had said. “You…”

But Lily beat him to it.

“You potioned the Weasleys.” Her voice was husky and burnt, the emotion leaking through the words.

Mockingly, the wizard clapped a slow time while leering at Lily. “Well done. Just tell your loving husband that Dormred ap Morag sends his love. If he shouldn't remember me, just tell him to ask his dear father about the horses. That should jog his memory.”

Without further explanation, he Apparated away.

Without looking, Lily commanded, “Remus, get us the hell out of here.”

So he drove. Their egress route took them to Holyhead where they dropped the car at a sister agency before catching a ferry to Kingstown, Ireland. The entire drive was done in silence. Each of the family was struggling with their emotions for different reasons. As the ferry made its way through the choppy swell of the Irish Sea, Harry approached Lily as she stood at the railing, staring out to the busy water.

The previous hour and a half, Harry didn't know if he was angry, sad, frightened or furious. Maybe I just cycled through all of them.

“Mum, what the hell was that?” he asked without preamble knowing she would pick up the thread.

“I have no idea, but we're going to find out.”

A/N

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

2. Recommendation for this chapter is The Phoenix Syndrome, by apAidan. Very interesting epilogue compliant beginning to what promises to be a deliciously emotional story. I've always liked how he writes Hermione and you get it right out of the box. On a separate but related note…gotta love Hedwig's Posse.

3. I'm the father of three wonderful children. My wife and I have a son and twin daughters. After my wife was delivered of the girls, she and I were talking one night. She asked me if I wanted to have a fourth child. In all seriousness, I looked her in the eye as I told her, “Honey, I love you. I'd throw myself under a bus for you, but I think I'll kill you if I have to live with you if you were pregnant again.” Her smile was rueful, but she didn't dispute my words. We've not had any children since and don't plan for any more. I put that part in for James from obvious personal experience.

4. Translations from the Catalan text of the story to English.

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

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

Chapter complete 2/20/12

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17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

“Your Majesty, his Lordship, the Earl of Richmond, Acting Minister for Magic Amelia Bones and Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore...”

Elizabeth was tired. Her husband was dead. Her son was dead. All three sons, actually and she had no idea whether Anne lived or not. Only William survived of her male heirs and she refused to let him out of her sight. Her eldest grandchild slept on the couch of the room, the poor lad too confused and sad to process the fact that his grandda, father, mother, aunts, uncles, cousins and brother were all dead.

He was the eldest now that all the others were dead or presumed to be.

A quick wipe of her cheek erased the evidence of her grief. Straightening her back in her familiar pose, the formidable Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Windsor-Mountbatten waited for her visitors. By her carriage and demeanour, no one would ever guess that in her youth, Queen Elizabeth's younger sister Margaret had called her Lilibet.

The footman opened the door to reveal an old man who sported a ridiculous beard that hung to his knees. Is he wearing a dress? she mused before her iron will reasserted itself refocusing on the situation. Dimly, she remembered being briefed about the magical aspects of Her realm and how they were a bit backwards.

As the old man shuffled into the room a young man in a well-tailored suit entered, followed by a woman in an severely cut business suit. The woman appeared to be exhausted.

“Your Majesty,” the woman began, “I am Amelia Bones, your Acting Minister for Magic of Great Britain. My companions are,” she gestured to the ludicrously dressed old man, “Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, our premier magical school.”

The old man sketched a short bow, “Your Majesty,” he intoned in a low tone.

“And his Lordship, James, Earl of Richmond and Baron Potter of Gwynedd.”

Now Elizabeth frowned as her gaze settled on the young man, “My Lord, you must excuse Us, for you have Us at a disadvantage. I know every Earl of the realm by name and face and you, sir, are not known to Us.”

The barely civil delivery coupled with the bags under her eyes must have given the overall delivery of the reprimand a ferocity she hadn't intended. Inwardly, she sighed as the woman - Minister Bones, she reminded herself - flinched.

She gave the purported Lord Richmond credit, for he not only held her gaze, but also replied with such a genuine emotion that she was impressed. Not many people could hold their water when scolded by the Queen.

“Your Majesty, I apologize. My family was elevated to the peerage by the ancient kings before the Conquest. In magical society, we are still recognized as such. My name is James Potter, ma'am,” he gave a deep bow that made her think of the Court of St James from another age.

Her mind was a bit frazzled as the sixty eight year old grandmother had been up for nearly two days. It wasn't surprising that she latched on to the unimportant detail. “Who did issue the letters patent to your forbears, my Lord?” She couldn't help falling into the habit of addressing the man by his title.

“King Arthur, ma'am.”

The immediate and genuine reply surprised her. “Arthur? The King Arthur?”

“Yes, ma'am. In 689. I am the twenty third Earl of Richmond and the thirty second Baron Potter.”

Her head swam in tiredness and shock. When her uncle had abdicated the throne in what now seemed to be an eon ago, her father had become George VI. On a rainy day in May, she'd been briefed into the existence of the magical world. Since she was the heir apparent, the then Princess Elizabeth had learned about Hogwarts, witches, and wizards. It'd seemed to be a fairy tale made real.

A small smile tugged the edge of her mouth. She'd had a thousand questions after the briefing, most of which she'd forgotten over time. Her titanic duties had overtaken her curiosity, but every so often, just as she was about to drop off to sleep, one question kept popping into her mind.

Refocusing on this long lost Lord, she asked, “I've always wanted to know if Dragons and Unicorns are real. Are they?”

Richmond's smile was broad and genuine. Right there, he earned the Queen's trust through his honesty and humanity. “Yes, ma'am, they are. In fact, my son fought a Dragon last fall and there is a small Unicorn herd on the grounds of my home.”

Returning her gaze to her lap, the Queen murmured, “I should like to see them.”

“You shall, ma'am. You shall,” Richmond reassured her in a determined, earnest voice.

“When I first assumed the throne, I toured Australia,” Through the mists of her memory, she remembered the teeming throngs that greeted her at every stop. She had been the first reigning monarch to tour the continent. Once again, Elizabeth was twenty-six, the mother of two and seeing the world through all new eyes. “I saw three out of four Australians in those short months. New Zealand, as well…”

Her eyes regarded the three magicals and to those watching her, she slipped back into her regal nature as easily as tugging on an old glove. “But now, because of one of your kind, We can no longer sleep in Our own bed, Our family is murdered and the realm that We have vowed to serve for all of Our life has been taken away from Us. Explain.”

The frostiness of the room was palpable. The ridiculous old man spoke, “Ma'am, the wizard who styles himself as Lord Voldemort is the leader of those who've seized control of the country. He was born Tom Riddle in the non-magical world and raised in an orphanage in London until he attended my school.

“To be plain, ma'am, Tom Riddle is a sociopathic genius the like I doubt the world has ever seen. He's as much a sociopath as Hitler or the worst of the Third Reich, but a genius on the scale of Albert Einstein. In addition, his magical might is nearly unmatched.”

Trying to keep control, Elizabeth took a breath, “This is all well and good, but you have not answered Our question, Headmaster.” Was he truly prevaricating? At this juncture?

The hairy old man nodded, “Tom Riddle has taken away your country because in his insanity, he lashes out at those he hates. He loathes the non-magical world because he deems it base, vulgar and weak compared to the magical world. Concurrently, in the non-magical world, he saw himself as inferior due to his orphan status and lack of real family. In the magical world, he must hide his true origins lest he be rejected as inferior. He despises those who revere him as simpletons led by the nose and those who oppose him as fools to stand before his - justifiable - significant magical might. In short, ma'am, he hates everything and everyone for different reasons.”

Understanding flooded the Queen. “He would either rule that which he hates or tear it down.”

This man, Dumbledore, did her the courtesy of merely bobbing his head in agreement.

“Ma'am,” the Acting Minster began in a soft tone. “I've been talking with the head of your security detail. He was very confused but there are some simple, magical answers to the situation.”

Now, Elizabeth narrowed her eyes again. Bones continued, “A person who looks like Prime Minister Major, a woman who looks like you and men resembling your sons have all been on the television over the last forty eight hours.”

“I suppose that this maniac Riddle has a magical capability to give persons the appearance of someone else?” the Queen asked bitterly.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“So the realm doesn't know that her leaders are either dead or fled. That a monster has wrested control of their lives.” Her dead, flat delivery turned what could have been a question into statements.

“Who does know?” she asked as the despair flooded her. All her life, Elizabeth had been strong. Through wars and crises, loved ones' failings and pains, she'd always been strong. Even after the annus horriblus, she'd not felt this level of helplessness.

“The Americans have been informed for quite some time that Voldemort had seized control of the magical government. They've been helping us in the magical United Nations that we call the International Confederation of Wizards,” the Acting Minister outlined.

“And?”

Nodding her head, Bones acknowledged the prompt, “Actually, the entire magical world knows of Voldemort's rise. I know for certain that Secretary of Magic Noonan has told President Clinton of the situation. Beyond that, I'm unaware of non-magical governments' knowledge.”

The odd old man interrupted again, “They are being very smart, ma'am. When Voldemort attempted to usurp the government in the 1970s, he acted as a brute - a thug with a large stick. This time, he's been crafty, cunning and intelligent.”

Closing her eyes, she sighed. “I understand that this…person…is a formidable foe. What do you suggest We do?”

There was a silence in the room so pervasive it seemed alive. “You don't know,” she answered for them.

Silent until now, Richmond spoke up, “Ma'am, I don't believe we know enough in order to move forward.”

Nodding, she saw the wisdom of his words, “True.” There was a long pause until she looked up at them. “Find out. Work with whomever, buy whatever you need and take what you can't buy. We will have this usurper hang from the Tower of London as in the olden days where the crows will feast on him.”

The steel in all three's expression gave her hope. Bones moved to the door first, followed by the old man. Richmond lingered for a moment before beginning, “Your Majesty, I am concerned for your physical safety.”

“We are well guarded here, James,” she nodded to her grandson, slipping from the royal `We' now that the matters of state were done. She didn't realize it but it was the first time she'd addressed any of the visitors by their Christian name.

“Try not to scream, ma'am,” Richmond warned with a little boy's smile on his face. He gave a twist before disappearing with a soft pop.

Shocked, the Queen stared. A voice behind her prompted, “Please don't scream, ma'am.”

With wide eyes, she turned about to see the apologetic smile of the young Earl. “This is one of many reasons why I worry.”

“Very well,” she began with a shaken voice, his point made. “You shall stay, my Lord, until we can arrange proper magical guards. Looking to the Acting Minister, she asked, “Can you arrange for guardians, Minister Bones?”

“Yes, ma'am. We're regrouping the expatriates of the magical government as we speak.”

“Very well,” the Queen murmured, the exhaustion taking over. “I must retire. My Lord,” she asked turning to Richmond, “Will you watch over William as he sleeps? I shall be within,” she gestured to the boudoir beyond.

Bowing from the neck, James replied, “Of course your Majesty.” Reaching into his suit coat, he withdrew what she could only call a stick. With a flick and a wave, the couch that William slept on became a plush king sized bed and the young teen's rumpled trousers and shirt to a set of nightclothes. Drawing up a chair to a desk, Richmond turned back to the Queen.

“I shall be here all night, ma'am. If you require anything, please call and I shall be at your side momentarily. If you don't mind, I would like to place a minor spell on your person that will notify me should anyone come closer than fifteen feet to you. I will, of course, cancel the spell in the morning.”

Impressed with the idea, Elizabeth asked, “Are there any side effects?”

“No ma'am. There's a slight sensation of being immersed in water for a moment after the spell is cast, but other than that, nothing. My wife designed the spell to monitor our son when he was a toddler.”

Nodding, she ignored the immediate question as to why James and his wife would need to monitor their son in such a manner. The race over for the moment, the grandmother gave over to her grief and exhaustion. She didn't notice Richmond casting the spell, never remembered entering the bedchamber, her ladies' maid undressing her or tucking her into the bed. The Queen slept for fourteen hours. It'd been a long day. Her waking wasn't the most calm, though.

.oOo.

Neville leaned back into his chair, rubbing his eyes. Since Britain had fallen, he'd had more than one epiphany. The first was that, though she loved him, his Gran had been a domineering old woman who had hurt him more than helping on many occasions. It'd taken a long, frank talk with Susan to admit that little titbit.

The second was that because of his shyness, Neville had closed himself off from close friendships. Always shying away from putting himself forward either physically or emotionally, he'd always been in the background, thus alone or nearly so. Since his `Uncle' James had returned, that had changed a bit. James was so outgoing and gregarious it'd been a bit of a shock to his system whenever they would do things together. Watching him interact with Sirius and Remus, Neville had seen that while he didn't need to be the extrovert that James and Sirius typified, he still needed to open himself up to take some risks, like Remus did.

The last epiphany was that he was falling in love with Susan Bones.

Watching her nap on the sofa brought an involuntary smile to his face. She was so beautiful and sweet. Determined and kind. A true Hufflepuff in the best sense of the house.

Damn, did she kiss well, also.

Blushing at where both of their hands had wandered the day before, Neville tried to refocus on his task. He'd not been involved in any of the fracas that had been happening of late. The closest he got was being Petrified by Hermione at the end of first year.

He was determined to be of use to his friends and family, though. Studying and practicing magic had shown him that he had a harder hill to climb than Harry and Hermione. Where Harry seemed to have a natural affinity for learning new spells and Hermione's towering intellect stood her in good stead, the newest head of house Longbottom had to slog through his studies. Of course, Herbology was a natural subject for him, but that didn't help beans.

Defence was becoming easier the harder he tried. Remus and Harry had pulled him to the side a few times in the last days to just talk about magic. Instead of approaching the casting of spells as a series of procedures, Harry had told Neville that he always looked at magic as an extension of himself. “It's a new limb that I became aware of when I got my letter. The courses teach me how to use that limb.”

That attitude had been eye opening. Instead of rote memorization (which he was horrible at doing) Neville adopted the attitude of `exploring the magical aspect of himself'. It'd already begun to pay dividends. While nowhere near a prodigy of magic, the young man had made definite strides in his Charms and even Transfiguration.

He doubted that he'd ever be a Battle Mage like Harry and Hermione, but he was determined to do his part. His Gran had always harped on the Longbottom motto: Vivere Nobilis Vita.

To Live A Noble Life

Living up to that motto was his mission now.

“What're you thinking about there, handsome?”

Smiling before he even met her gaze, he looked to his girlfriend. “Thinking about how wonderful you are.”

Susan gave a full, throaty chuckle, “Oooh, he's being charming now.”

Neville's smile broadened. “And how beautiful you are.”

Dramatically sweeping her hand to her forehead, Susan mock whimpered, “Heaven help me, I'm about to swoon.”

They both laughed as she rolled to her feet. Plopping down in his lap, she toyed with his hair. “Joking aside, what had you so serious?”

He gave a quick shrug before stealing a kiss. “I was just thinking about my role now.”

The good humour fled from her expression as Susan regarded him. “And?”

He gave a big sigh, as he nodded, “I don't know. I do know that I have to help.”

Had she not been sitting in his lap, he would have missed the miniscule flaring of her eyes. He attributed the action to concern or even fear. “I'm no warrior, Sue. I'm not running off to fight the Death Eaters.”

“Yet,” she countered with a hint of ferocity.

He held her gaze, the bright blue of her eyes melting into the soft blue of his own. “Yet. True enough.”

She kept looking into his face for a long moment before looking away. As she stared out the window into the bright mid-afternoon sun, she began to fidget. Frowning, he waited. Susan never fidgeted unless she was nervous.

Finally, he prompted, “Sue?”

Curling into his shoulder, she gave him a small kiss on the neck. “I worry.”

He thought he knew but asked, “About?”

“You.”

The warm feeling stole through him, reinforcing his latest epiphany. He loved this redheaded wonder who lay across his increasingly numb lap. Kissing the crown of her head, he enjoyed the immediacy of her presence.

As if stealing the thought from his head, Susan whispered. It was so soft that he wondered if she meant him to hear at all. “I think I love you, Neville.”

Closing his eyes, he smiled. Pulling her tighter, the sandy haired wizard whispered in reply, “I believe I love you as well.”

.oOo.

“Who are you?”

James roused out of his doze with a start. His wand up and tracking, he noted the teenager with the dark blond hair, but ignored him as non-threatening. Turning to the door and all the way about the room, he found no one else in the room.

“Oh. You meant me.” Rolling his eyes at himself, James readdressed the Prince. “I am James, Earl Richmond, your highness.” Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was nearly nine in the morning.

The sleep-addled teen nodded without comprehension before frowning. “But who are you and why are you here?”

Smiling, James replied, “I'm here to help keep you safe, your Highness.”

“From whom?” the young man persisted.

James felt his face tightening, he wasn't about to delve into the personal losses this young man had suffered. Keeping to a `business' perspective, Prongs replied, “I am here to protect you from the wizards and witches who may desire to hurt you and your Grandmother.”

“Are you a wizard?” The awe in the heir to the throne's voice was more `boy' than `man'.

James smiled. Harry just two years older than this young man but the difference was a chasm. Harry had grown up before he reached his tenth birthday. Unfortunately, it seemed that this young man was going to grow up in the next few weeks. War makes warriors of us all whether we want it or not. “Yes, sir, I am a wizard.”

“Really?” William asked with an eagerness that showed his age more than anything else he might do.

Feeling a bit mischievous, James stood, “Shall I show you a bit of magic?”

“Please!” the only Prince of Britain replied, all sleep banished as he sat up straight on his bed.

Holding out his hands to show they were empty, James rolled up his cuffs to reveal bare arms. “Nothing up my sleeve, as you see.”

An eager nod was the reply.

“Watch carefully,” James intoned with a forced gravity mocking the magician he'd seen on the television when visiting Rose and Joe just before he and Lily married.

Concentrating for a moment, James became Prongs.

“Balls,” the Prince whispered, his eyes round and mouth wide open.

Clack, clack clack went Prongs hooves as he pranced about the room first showing this flank then the other so his audience would be sure that he was indeed real.

The boisterous laughter accompanying the loud clapping caused Prongs to give an energetic leap over a divan to land directly in front of the amazed Prince.

“This is brilliant! Can you teach me how to do this?” the teen began before he was interrupted.

“William? What's going…” the Queen's question died in her mouth as she stared at the enormous stag standing in front of her grandson. Absently, she cinched the belt on her dressing gown.

Realizing that his mirth might have overflowed a bit too much, James quickly reverted to his human form. “Good morning, your Majesty.”

“Good morning,” the stately woman replied automatically. She stared a long moment, her gaze flicking from the red-faced Earl (from embarrassment) to the red-faced Prince (from humour). Without further comment, she returned to her bedroom.

“I've never seen Grandmother speechless. Never.”

James shrugged. “Sorry about that. Sometimes I get a bit carried away.”

“That was brilliant,” the teen whispered. “I suppose I can't do it.”

“Sorry, no.”

Breakfast was brought in by a maid, a ragged security person in tow. “Where are we?” James asked the Prince as he magically locked the door behind the departing pair.

Looking at him strangely, William replied, “We're at a house outside Paris that belongs to a friend of Dad's. How could you not know?”

Rolling his eyes, James repeated his Apparition demonstration from the previous night. Arriving next to the sideboard, he quickly cast a series of poison detection charms on the food; all returned negative.

“It's not fair,” William complained as he dished up his breakfast from the tray.

James ignored the comment. This jealousy was a direct by product of the young man having just turned thirteen but could lead to something far uglier. That would be a most unfortunate attitude in the heir to the throne.

“Ah, well. Yum,” the teen muttered as he dug into the food. When James looked to the Queen's door meaningfully, William shook his head. “She'll be out when she's dressed. I think earlier was the only time I've ever seen her in a dressing gown.”

Shrugging, James conjured a pad and pencil. Making a list of things to do, the first was to get relieved here so he could get back to Zurich. He had a host of calls to make when presenting his credentials and time was not his friend. Amelia had given him the basic flow of events the evening before as they waited for the Queen, but there was still a pile of work to be done. Then he could get on with the work at hand.

Those thoughts made him muse on the situation. He needed a deputy who he could trust inherently. Someone whose judgement he'd never doubt and whose character was beyond reproach. The last thing he wrote on his pad was: Ask Lily to be deputy? Sirius? Remus is too busy…

Could he work with his wife and still stay sane and married? Was his cousin able to take up this responsibility?

As he finished his meal, the Queen reappeared, fully clothed. After a mild, “Good morning,” she helped herself to a plate.

Catching the Prince's eye, he waggled his eyebrows while tilting his head at the older woman. William's definitive shake of the head told James to leave the Queen alone as she ate her breakfast.

Elizabeth ate in silence. When she finished, she looked to her grandson. “William, I need to speak with his Lordship. Please excuse us.”

“Of course, Grandmother,” the young man replied as he popped to his feet. When the young man bussed her cheek before bouncing out of the room, it seemed to James that he was used to being `excused' when his presence was neither requested nor required.

Keeping silent, James waited.

“My Grandson is all I have left, James. He must be protected.”

Nodding his head, he waited. Based on her raw, emotional reaction the night before, he'd expected a conversation like this.

Her red, tired eyes met his, “Can you protect him?”

James sighed. Deciding to be honest, he told her, “I can hide him. My home is concealed by a spell which secrets the location into the soul of another human being and that secret can only be revealed voluntarily.”

“And if this person proves to be false?” she asked.

The poignancy of the question caused James to close his eyes in pain and muted rage. There was still a reckoning coming for Peter Pettigrew.

“The man who is our Secret Keeper has sworn a magical oath never to reveal the Secret to an enemy of mine. Should he consciously attempt to violate this promise, the magic of the oath will kill him.”

Elizabeth blinked. “Well…” Clearing her throat, she began again, “That sounds very impressive. What about security forces?”

Realizing the point to her questions, he answered thoroughly as if he were in her shoes. He described the magical prowess of all the residents of Le Retirada including the fact that Alex was a Healer. He even made mention of Rauri.

“You have a magical domestic?”

“Yes ma'am. His loyalty to the family is beyond reproach. He would literally die before betraying us.”

She looked out the window a long time. James wondered if she'd ever request what he expected. Finally, she asked, “Please take my Grandson to your home. Please, James, protect him.” He was a bit shocked. She was nearly pleading.

“I'd be honoured, ma'am,” he replied in a low tone. Hesitating, he decided that he had to ask, “Does the Prince know about his family?”

She sagged. “No. I shall tell him before you leave, though.”

To distract her from this maudlin line of thought, he began to tell her of his family. This, of course, led to the odd fact that he and his wife were only eight years older than their son. By the time he had retold the story from start to finish - including the full nature of the prophecy - the Queen was enthralled. James was an excellent storyteller.

The knock on the door, interrupted them. Frowning, James stood, his wand in hand. A quick Transparency spell showed the same security guard from earlier on the other side of the door accompanied by two very familiar figures.

Turning to the Queen, James told her, “Ma'am, I recognize the other two. The woman is a distant cousin of mine and a…well I'd guess you'd call her an agent in the Security Service while the bald man is her supervisor. Is the other man…?”

“He's been the head of my security detail for the past fifteen years.”

Nodding he added, “I'll request that the two magicals make the oath that I told you about with me so that you're sure that they won't betray you.”

Her face softened a bit, “Thank you, your Grace.”

He did a double take, only to see a mischievous smile on the Queen's face. “Let them in, James.”

Shacklebolt and Tonks came in, escorted by Joseph Grigson. The two Aurors immediately agreed to the Vows and in front of the Queen and her head of security. They swore to protect her life with all means available. That settled, James cast a communication charm, summoning Sirius to the estate. There was a Secret to tell.

.oOo.

Neville was reading on the patio with Susan sunning herself next to him when the multiple crack of apparition put them both on alert. Surprising himself, he flowed to his feet, wand at the ready. What spell he was going to cast, he had no idea, but he was ready.

Turning to the designated Apparition zone, he relaxed when he saw Remus and Lily standing there with he assumed Harry and Hermione blocked from view.

Lily wasted no time, “Is James here?” He frowned at her worried tone.

“No. He sent a message for Sirius to go to Paris this morning. When Sirius left, he said he'd be back in time for tea.”

Alex came out of the house, her jacket on and glasses on top of her head. Neville smiled when she blinked in the bright sunlight. He really liked the muggleborn healer. She had a dry wit and used it to great effect. Earlier, the three of them had tried to play three handed bridge to no avail, but had quite a bit of fun in the attempt.

Harry beckoned to Neville with a wave as he headed into the house, loosening his tie as he moved through the doorway. Moving to the door, he heard Alex greet the group, “How'd it go?”

Following Harry, he felt Hermione and Susan behind him. A little thrill shot up his spine at being included in the doings of the family. He wanted very badly to be Harry's friend.

James and Lily had reclaimed the master suite, so Harry and Hermione had moved into one of the smaller bedrooms. The villa had twelve bedrooms, so space wasn't at a premium. The `small' bedroom that Harry and Hermione shared was larger than most master suites.

Tossing his jacket on the back of a chair, Harry unbuttoned a cuff. “Nev, have you ever heard of Dormred ap Morag?”

Blinking, Neville thought for a moment. He heard Harry ask, “Sue? What about you?”

When Neville replied, “No, mate. I've never heard of anyone by that name,” Susan shook her head in negation. “Of course, the `ap Morag' means `of Morag' as in `son of' or `daughter of' in English, but beyond that…” he trailed off to let Harry know that was the extent of his knowledge.

As Hermione dragged Susan into the huge en suite to change and have their own discussion, Harry told Neville about their encounter with this mysterious person outside the colliery and his admission of guilt in the potioning of the Weasleys.

“Part of me is relieved that I finally know and that the Weasleys' weren't playing me for a fool, but the other part of me just wishes it would be over.”

Neville shrugged, “So let it be over.”

Harry stared. “What?” Neville objected. He could feel the heat blooming in his cheeks, but before he could stammer and leave, Harry threw his head back and roared with laughter. His shirt unbuttoned, he grabbed the stunned Longbottom in a bear hug.

“Neville, you're a genius.”

Flustered, Neville pushed off as his face flushed red as roses. The girls came into the room, Hermione straightening her T-shirt. Still chuckling, Harry turned to the witches, “Neville, in all his wisdom, counsels me to get over it and move on.”

Susan smiled as she shrugged in modest concurrence while Hermione just stared. Looking from the still blushing Longbottom back to the smiling Potter, she finally gave a little laugh that encouraged Neville. Shaking her head, The Smartest Witch of the Age told Harry, “Well, I think that Neville is the fount of wisdom today, because that sounds like sage advice to me.”

Susan flopped on the bed. Staring at the ceiling, she said in a pondering tone, “I wonder why this Dormred has an axe to grind with your family, though.”

From the bathroom, Harry called out, “I think my Mum is asking Granddad Charlus' portrait that question right now.”

Neville sat next to his girlfriend, feeling a part of the group as an equal member for the first time. He shook his head as Harry buttoned his trousers while leaving the bathroom. “I think I'll wait out here until she calms down. She's cooled off a bit in general, but she can still get a bit…riled.”

The other three laughed at the characterization before Harry told them, “I'm hungry. When's tea?”

As if on cue, Rauri appeared with a tea tray and sandwiches. Neville had grown up with house elves doing for him and his family, but he'd never seen the level of devotion or service among the Longbottom elves as that Rauri provided for the Potters. He was a young elf, still, at only a hundred and thirty. He'd easily survive Harry and Hermione's grandchildren.

“You're a marvel, Rauri,” Harry thanked him. Neville smiled. It was good to see Harry in high spirits and to think that he played a part of that was a good feeling. His Gran hadn't been the most positive of persons. Living with the Potter/Black family and with Susan at his side, Neville's outlook was growing and expanding. He was beginning to believe that he could be more than just a millstone about the neck.

There was another crack of Apparition causing the party to pause. While they were all listening, Neville noticed that all present drew their wands.

“Where's Pronglet and Hermione?” they heard Sirius call.

.oOo.

Arthur Weasley was sure that he'd be completely bald within a week should events continue as they had for the past month. All Department and Division Heads in the Ministry were briefed into the pre-planned activities for a host of courses of action should a host of Really Bad Things happen.

A Really Bad Thing like a revolution had been one of the many topics covered.

Amelia had sent out the message the night of the third task, “Fall of the Realm.” Burying his initial emotional reaction, Arthur had overridden Molly's protestations (probably for the first time ever) as he packed everything in the Burrow that he could fit into five magical satchels. After the children were assembled, he used the emergency portkey provided by the ministry.

By the time the family arrived in the outskirts of Zurich, the Weasleys were fairly traumatized. The initial portkey had dropped them into a field south of Manchester that had been ringed with Death Eaters. Only Fred's earlier suggestion of having the next portkey ready had saved the family. Three other Portkeys between eight hours of walking across the western Irish burren, the Lowland fens and eventually the French Alps left the family exhausted and looking over their shoulder for more Death Eaters.

Fred and George were wide eyed while Ron whispered, “Dad, what's going on?” Ginny had silently wrapped her hand in his while Molly had just fretted. He knew that he was going to catch hell later, but for now, his family was safe. What else really mattered?

Handing one of the satchels to each of his sons, he hoisted the remaining two over his shoulders. “Come on, we've a long walk. If I remember right, there's a train at the bottom of this hill that will take us to the rendezvous point.”

The train station had been where he'd hoped and it had taken them directly into downtown Zurich. Rummaging through the storehouse of his memory, he led the family of very tired redheads through the darkened night time streets of the Swiss city. Eventually, they found the townhouse that they needed. The twins were bantering back and forth over which of them would look better in lederhosen. Ron was uncharacteristically quiet while Ginny and Molly talked about this and that in low tones.

Loud knocks led to the door being opened by a very tired Amelia Bones. “Arthur,” she breathed. Blinking owlishly, the Director of the MLE stepped back to allow the travellers entrance. When the door closed, Amelia cleared her throat, “You're the first to make it.”

Wide eyed, Arthur ignored his wife's gasp and the children's sudden silence. “But we've been traveling for nearly a full day; surely others had a quicker journey...” Dread built in his belly as the worst occurred to him.

Amelia had nodded in understanding. Then it hit him, “The others are dead?”

She was long silent before answering, “I don't know. A dozen or so Aurors have made contact. Shacklebolt is organizing them back home. Some of the lower level personnel have escaped, but you're the first Department or Division Head to make it out.”

Arthur had nearly wept when he came to the obvious conclusion. “You-Know-Who killed them all?”

“I don't know.”

But you strongly suspect, he had said to himself. Nodding to himself, he said a little prayer for his most likely dead friends. “What now?” he asked, a bit dizzy from the news and his long journey.

“Now, you go to the townhouse next door. Your family can stay there as long as necessary. We need to begin organizing.” Despite the late hour, the hard tones of her command demanded obedience while at the same time, conveying a similar desperation to that which Arthur felt.

That had been a month ago. Since then he'd made seven trips back to Britain and had become very familiar with the train and ferry schedules. His old winsome fascination for all things muggle was nearly burnt away. He was using public transportation to avoid detection and capture leading to an inevitably painful death. There was no time to wonder at the mechanical marvels about him.

He also became very proficient in casting Glamour charms over himself.

There had been two close scrapes that he'd not told Molly. The first had been when he accidentally bumped into Lucius Malfoy of all people, as he walked down the sidewalk in London. Arthur had been consumed with the image he'd just seen, a mass grave outside Leeds. It wasn't a large grave, per se, but it had been more than a few bodies, none of which he looked at too closely. The four or so on the top looked fresh, but the odour that assaulted his nose told Arthur that the poor souls on the bottom had been dead for quite some time. All this had preoccupied him, when he'd bumped into the blond wizard.

“Watch where you're walking, scum,” the wizard had snarled without looking back.

Stooping, Arthur had pulled at his non-existent forelock while mumbling, “Pardon, guv'nor.”

There had been no threat, but Arthur had still nearly shit his pants.

The second occasion had been far worse. While shuttling supplies to the fledgling resistance, he'd planned to use the train to exit the country via the Holyhead to Dublin ferry. From Dublin, he'd portkey directly to Switzerland. It was a pattern that many had used, and would use in the future, however, this time the perfect storm formed.

It seemed that an `inquisitive soul' among the Death Eaters had thought to rune ward the turnstiles at the ferry landing with a ward that dispelled Glamour charms. That in and of itself wouldn't have been too horrible, but the fact that Alecto Carrow was watching the passengers as they streamed through the unseen magical screening was the key to making this a horrible day for Arthur Weasley.

Afterwards, he realised that Alecto hadn't been looking for a particular person, just a person whose features changed as they exited the turnstiles. That person was a) magical, b) trying to disguise him or herself and c) trying to escape the country. All those things put together warranted death as far as the surviving Carrow sibling was concerned.

When Arthur's glamour of an old man faded, Alecto hadn't hesitated. Her Entrail Expelling curse was poorly aimed, though.

The teenaged student behind Arthur stared in shock when his intestines suddenly exploded from his body, spattering on the pavement. As the screaming about him began, Arthur ducked only to fall flat next to the dying young man.

“Why?” were his last words. He was about Percy's age.

Through his own tears and terror, Arthur saw the witch who was standing on top of a table, trying to find her quarry amid the panicked and screaming crowd. Using his feelings of terror to fuel his muscles, Arthur hunched over and began to run for the ferry, shouting like the rest of the passengers. Only when he was halfway across the Irish Sea, did his heartbeat calm.

Arthur's job was to coordinate the resistance that struggled to stay alive back home. Supplies were the bane of his existence, though. Healing potions, food and ward stones were the most needed items. It seemed that they consumed Veritaserum by the bucketful as they screened candidates for joining the effort. Fortunately, the European markets were still open to him - if he had enough gold.

For now, he did. Amelia and James had negotiated a deal with the Gringotts branch in Paris. The goblins would `earn' a ten percent `processing fee' upon transfer of all the British Ministry for Magic's gold to the Swiss branch.

Three days later, Voldemort's coffers were empty and Amelia had millions of galleons at her disposal.

Now, Arthur was trying to make heads or tails out of this last communiqué from Terry Sheehan, the supply chief for all the Aurors in Occupied Britain. Sheehan was a good man but his handwriting left a bit to be desired.

Holding the parchment, Arthur muttered, “Seven casks of pickled murtlap or seven crates of fresh picked nottgrass?”

The door opened to reveal Amelia Bones. Looking up, he was alarmed. Hurrying around his desk, he conjured a straight back chair, “Amelia, sit down before you fall down.”

The redheaded minister nodded as she slumped into the chair. Holding her head in her hands, she muttered, “The muggle government has fallen, but no one knows it yet.”

Jaded now, Arthur nodded in understanding, “Polyjuice and glamours?” Settling on the edge of his desk, he saw her nod. Sighing, he asked, “Did anyone get out?”

“The Queen and the Prince of Wales' oldest son.”

Closing his eyes, Arthur fought off the waves of hopelessness that threatened to drag him down. What else is going to go wrong?

Without changing her position, Amelia directed, “I left James with the Queen. I need you to summon Shacklebolt and Tonks back to be the Queen's guard so he can get to work in the ICW.”

Now Arthur frowned. “Amelia, Kingsley and Tonks are our two most effective agents…”

“And the Queen is more important!” Bones barked. Looking at him through red-rimmed eyes, she snarled, “We need her to win back our country!”

Pursing his lips, he finally acquiesced with a nod. “I'll send the message right now.” Turning back to his desk, he picked up a square piece of slate that had a gold band running across its midsection. On the top half he wrote, Chameleon and Lion to home base soonest.

Arthur and Amelia sat in silence as they waited. When there was no immediate response, in a low voice, she asked, “Are they running an Op tonight?”

Silent, he shook his head. They should have answered by now.

Finally, on the bottom half of the slate, the words, Understood, expect in twelve hours.

Sighing, he followed protocol. Erasing the original message, he checked his desktop code table. Authenticate K3F.

A moment later, he saw U7S. Sighing, he double-checked himself. Yes, that was the correct countersign. Erasing one more time, he wrote, Godspeed.

The reply surprised him, Rule Britannia. Out. Someone was feeling patriotic on the other end.

Looking up, he saw Amelia asleep in the chair. Checking the clock on his desk, he saw it was eleven at night. No wonder the team didn't reply very quickly. A quick transfiguration turned Amelia's chair into a twin bed. Dousing the lights, he stuffed the slate into his pocket before locking his office as he made his way out.

As a rule, they minimized the usage of magic. At home, before the fall, Arthur would have Apparated across the street to the house his family occupied. In Switzerland, he walked. As a rule, the British expatriates were doing their level best to avoid drawing attention to themselves. Switzerland, as a country, would be outraged if they knew about their activities for they violated the traditional Swiss neutrality. Amelia had a team working with Spain, France and Denmark to attempt to establish more permanent facilities.

It was a nice night, but Arthur had long ago decided that city life was not for him. He missed the quiet nights deep in the countryside of Devon. Ottery St Catchpole was naught but a village of five hundred and he longed for it. For now, though, his family was safe.

Turning the key on the lock to keep the night out of doors, the balding redhead turned when he saw the glow of a candle behind him.

“Arthur?” he heard Molly whisper.

“Hullo, love,” he greeted her. With a weary smile, he kissed her. “How was your day?” he asked.

“The twins are still too quiet,” she told him. Shortly after their arrival in Switzerland, Fred and George had a frank discussion with their father about the goings on back in Britain. Since then, they had been unobtrusive and focused; the antithesis of their usual boisterous selves.

“And Ron and Ginny?” he prompted as he followed her to the kitchen.

“Ronald is still withdrawn. It's like when he was little and had done something wrong. You remember the time he broke that vase when he was five?”

Nodding, the tired father remembered. “It's as if he's done something horribly wrong and is just waiting to get caught,” his wife explained.

“I'll talk to him tomorrow,” his sighed. “Ginny?”

Molly shrugged, “She and her brothers study and do the assignments that Albus provided but…”

Arthur nodded again. Ever since Ginevra's horrible first year, the happy bubbly girl who'd dreamed of being a princess had been extinguished. Molly had wanted to use their winnings from the lottery to pay for a mind healer for Ginny, but he'd thought that a change of scenery would be the ticket to cheer her up. He thought the trip to Egypt would do for her what a mind healer couldn't.

How wrong he'd been.

Even now, nearly three years later, she still struggled to come out of her shell. Following the settlement from Lord Richmond, the first thing Arthur had done was engage the best mind healer in all Britain to work with his daughter.

Sometimes he wondered if it was too little, too late.

Setting to table, he dug into the onion soup leftovers, soaking his bread before swallowing noisily. Normally, he loved Molly's cooking, for she was an excellent cook, but tonight, he was just feeding the engine.

“How was your day?” his wife asked in a subdued tone.

“Busy,” he replied.

“Was there any word?”

He frowned as his face fell. They'd not heard from or about Percy since Britain fell. Arthur had unofficially put the word out to the resistance cells to look for signs of their lost son. So far, none had reported any sightings or word. Shaking his head in reply to Molly's question was all the answer he could muster.

He considered his next thought, but decided she needed to know. “You-Know-Who has overthrown the muggle government. They're using glamours and such to impersonate the Prime Minister and the Queen. The Queen and one of the Princes got out, but the rest of the leadership are…”

Her lack of response garnered his attention.

Looking over, he saw her soundlessly weeping. Moving to her side, he gathered her into his embrace. “There, there, Mollywobbles.”

“He's won,” she hoarsely whispered. Arthur didn't need to ask who `he' was.

“For now. For now.” Closing his eyes, he laid his cheek on the crown of her head.

.oOo.

“Horses?” Charlus repeated in confusion.

The portrait tapped his chin as he muttered to himself, “Horses, horses, horses, horses…of what does that remind me?”

Turning to his right, he called, “Grandfather Cadfael! Wake up!”

The spade bearded portrait jolted from his doze, “Wuzzat?”

“Horses, Grandfather Cadfael. It turned out that a Dormred ap Morag potioned the steward to keep him away from young Harry. Lily here,” Charlus motioned to the redhead, “encountered this scoundrel who said…“ Turning to Lily, he asked, “What did this person say to you, my dear?”

“He said, `to ask his dear father about the horses. That should jog his memory'.” Lily was very annoyed by this whole thing. She thought that they'd all moved on but this bastard Dormred had brought it all back in a rush and she was mad as hell.

Cadfael frowned, “Horses?” His face cleared as his eyes opened, “Oh! Yes…let's see…it was in the late 800's if I remember aright.”

“800's as in 800 AD?” Lily asked incredulously.

“Yes, dear. As I was saying, our southern neighbour had contracted with Owain, the then Lord Potter, to purchase two breeding stallions.” In an aside, Cadfael muttered, “That fool loved horses more than his own wife.” Shaking his painted head, the eldest Potter continued, “There was a dispute about the quality of the horses. This Dormred claimed that he'd selected a bay and roan stallion but had been sent two black stallions. Owain disputed the claim as to the colour requirement.”

Holding his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture to the visibly fuming Lady Richmond, Cadfael admitted, “I've no idea who was telling the truth. I was already a three hundred year old portrait.”

Grumbling, she nodded before waving a `get on with it' gesture.

“The dispute came to blows to the point where the Potters and this Dormred…well, they made war on each other. Dormred was not a wizard…” Cadfael trailed off, his expression uncomfortable. “It was a slaughter. Dormred's home was razed and his crops burnt. Owain was brutal in his fury. Every so often, a supposed descendant of the original Dormred appears in our family history making mischief at various levels. Sometimes it's petty larceny, other times it's been murder.” He shrugged, “It's obviously not the original that you met, but most likely a descendant of him and he's continuing the legacy of the family to enact vengeance against the Potters while using the name of his wronged ancestor.”

There was silence for a twenty count as Lily processed the story. Finally, she burst out, “You've got to be shitting me!”

Ashamed, Cadfael shook his head. “It's a rather unpleasant section of the family history, my dear.”

“But…why didn't one of Owain's descendants - a decent one that is - try to make restitution? And this man we encountered was a wizard…” Her shock was interrupting her normally smooth thoughts causing Lily to grope for answers.

“Well, Owain's son, Haydn forsook all claims to Dormred's lands. He tried to pay a blood price, but Dormred's grandson refused the payment. Killed Haydn's steward in fact. A few others have approached the subsequent Dormred's in attempts to try to right the wrong, but all have been rejected. Usually with violence.”

“Do you know the family name?” Lily asked incredulously.

“I'm sorry, no.”

“I don't need this. Not now,” Lily muttered as she scrubbed her face.

“As far as the current Dormred being a wizard, well, it's entirely possible that they intermarried with a magical clan a purpose to help enact their revenge.”

Floored, Lily shot back, “Revenge for an act eleven hundred years old?”

Charlus smoothly interposed himself, “Revenge is never logical, my dear.”

Blowing out her breath loudly, Lily sighed. “True.” Shaking her head, she nodded to both Charlus and Cafael's portraits, “Thank you grandfathers, you've been most helpful.”

.oOo.

The castle was quiet. Even for the summer holidays, it was quiet. Minerva strode at her usual pace up the corridor to the Headmaster's office. Without pausing, she called out, “Ardu Aris,” causing the door warden to leap to the side.

Riding the steps to the top, she bypassed the office proper, opening a recessed door. “Lights,” she called, not pausing. In the centre of the room was a block of mithril that was roughly a cubic meter in size. To her knowledge, it was the largest single piece of mithril known on the planet. It'd been mined, in one piece, in Ireland about the time that Hogwarts had been built. Somehow, Salazar Slytherin had obtained the magnificent specimen so as to serve as the master ward stone for the school.

The unique ward stone was the only thing that was keeping Voldemort and his minions at bay. Over the centuries, the magical metal had absorbed the ambient magic in the castle to the point where it was nearly a magical being unto itself. It was not a boast to say that Hogwarts' wards were impenetrable, because they were.

Minerva did her usual inspection of the stone. Nodding, she was gratified to see that the wards hadn't flickered, despite the nearly continuous assault by the Dark Lord's forces. Since the Third Task of the thrice bedamned tournament, there had been between a dozen and two dozen cursebreakers attempting to bring down the Hogwarts wards

To her knowledge, the attributes of the unique ward stone of Hogwarts had never been written down so even the knowledgeable Voldemort didn't know that his efforts were for naught.

Nodding her satisfaction at the status of the wards, she moved to join the only other full time residents of the castle for dinner. Filius and Pomona would be glad to hear that the wards were holding. The bastard Death Eaters had been casting the Killing Curse at the wards as much as they could muster all day long in an attempt to shatter the magical protections. In their vanity and stupidity, they were reverting to form: brute force lacking in all meaning of scholarship or subtlety.

Shaking her head as she descended the stairs, she wondered at the lunacy. While the Killing Curse was unblockable and a powerful curse in its own right, the drain on a witch or wizard was enormous. Most average magicals could only cast it about four times in an hour. The magic expended was far disproportionate to the magic imparted in the spell. Voldemort, being a mage, was most likely not subject to that limitation, but still…

Sassenach morons, she derided them to herself. Pausing at the window, Minerva could just barely see the flashes of green impacting on the far away ward line. Shaking her head, she moved off to the teacher's quarters where they all ate these days.

She'd not seen Severus since the end of the school year, and To be frank, it's no great loss there. In his communiqués, Albus had insinuated that Severus had been tasked to do some great deed to undermine the new Voldemort regime. He requested that she provide aid and succour should Severus seek it. It was a difficult request with which to comply. The former head of Slytherin house was an odious man who had the manners of a troll and the compassion of a shark. His personality - despite his own assertions - was brutish and petulant. He was a model Death Eater, if truth were told. Despite Albus' reassurances, Minerva seriously doubted that Severus was her ally.

There wasn't much she could do about the Death Eater coup, but she was keeping the castle ready for whatever purpose that might be needed in the future. Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated what all the purposes might be.

.oOo.

“Where's Pronglet and Hermione?” Sirius called as he and Billy the Fish walked in the back door.

The young man was reeling from the multiple shocks he'd experienced. Sirius had immediately responded to James' call, Apparating to France. The introduction to the Queen had been a bit odd. James was in his suit that Lily had purchased for him, but Sirius was wearing bright yellow shorts and a purple tank top. Shrugging, he returned James' horrified stare, “I was exercising like the Hun doctor wants. You said it was urgent.”

“Quite right, my Lord Blackmoor,” the Queen had demurred after a pause. James then filled Padfoot in on the details of the situation, nodding to the blotchy faced teen who sat on a far off chair.

Sirius nodded, Poor kid. Parents, brother, aunts and uncles. Tough break.

Working out a communication system with the Queen so she and her grandson could exchange letters was easy. “I'll purchase you an owl, your Majesty,” James had cheekily told her.

The dry reply of, “Wonderful,” had Sirius smothering a guffaw.

Moving to the young man, Sirius nodded to his cousin, Tonks, and the big Auror - Shacklefoot? No Shacklebolt. Clapping his hand on the young man's shoulder, he greeted him in his usual Padfoot manner, “Hey kiddo, I'm Sirius.”

Through tearstained eyes, the Prince regarded him with a puzzled expression. “What are you serious about?”

The dark haired wizard roared with laughter. Turning about, he called, “Prongs! This kid is a keeper!”

Turning back to the young man who was smiling in a confused manner, Sirius explained, “I'm Sirius like the star, not the mood. Come on, you'll be staying with us,” he nodded to James, “for a bit. There's some kids your own age.”

Nodding, the distraught teen replied, with a shaky voice, “Of course. Let me pack my things and…well…”

In a moment of compassion for the young man, Sirius softly told him, “Don't worry. I'll let Hestia take you shopping. She's my fiancée and loves to shop. Maybe we can get Hermione and Susan to help.”

The young man stood, nodding absently. “What's your name?” Sirius asked.

“Really?” the Prince replied. “You don't know my name?”

Shrugging, Sirius replied, “Nope. Never heard of you before ten minutes ago.”

With what appeared to be relieved satisfaction, the Prince nodded. “I am William, Prince of Wales.” He teared up a bit as he announced his new title.

Deciding to go for it, Sirius gave him a devilish smile, “I'll call you Billy the Fish then.” There was a choking noise behind him, but Sirius didn't look to see if it was James, the security forces or the Queen herself. It didn't matter, because the Prince started laughing, as was Sirius' intent.

“C'mon, kiddo. Let's get out of here. Hold on tight.” Nodding to his cousin, Sirius Apparated back to Spain.

“You hungry?” Sirius asked when the teen had caught his breath.

“No, thank you. I believe that I'd like to lie down for a bit, though. It's been a…trying morning.” The last was barely a whisper.

“I'm really sorry for your losses. All of us here,” he waved his hand at the villa, “Have lost loved ones. Most have lost their parents. Others have lost all. James is an orphan, as are Remus, Neville and Susan. Alex lost her brother.” His expression sombre, he met the young man's eye. “You're among friends here is what I'm telling you.”

“Thank you, Sirius.” Nodding, the boy swallowed, “Will you introduce me to the family?”

“Attaboy,” Sirius whispered, chucking the teen on the shoulder. “C'mon.”

Inside the house, Padfoot heard Harry return his bellow with, “In our room!”

“You're not shagging are you?” Sirius shouted. “I'm not coming in if you and my daughter are horizontal, vertical or any other orientation while doing unspeakable things.” He winked at the now laughing Prince.

Hermione stuck her head out the door, glowering. “Sirius…” she began to reprimand him before she saw William. Her face was confused for a millisecond before recognition dawned and her eyes rounded. “Oh!”

Her head withdrew as Sirius turned to the young man walking beside him, “Looks like she recognized you.”

Billy sighed.

“Hey, they're good kids and I'm sure you'll get along.”

They rolled into the room, hearing Hermione hiss to the other teens, “Get up!”

Sirius saw Neville with a teacup in his mouth; Harry had a full sandwich stuffed in his gob while Susan was standing there, a confused expression on her face.

“Hey everyone, this is Billy the Fish. Billy, that red faced one is Hermione, my daughter, the redhead is Susan, the confused looking fellow with bits of sandwich on his shirt is my godson Harry and the last, but not least is Neville.” In a stage whisper, Sirius told William, “Susan and Neville are dating. Harry and Hermione are engaged. You're not getting lucky with either of the girls. Or the boys if you're bent that way.”

Mortified, Hermione hissed, “Sirius!” while Neville, Harry and William burst into laughter. Susan's broad smile did much to put everyone at ease.

“Ok, here's the actual introductions,” Sirius said in a haughty drawl. “Your royal highness, may I present my daughter, the Lady Hermione Granger-Black, heir to the title of the Earl of Blackmoor…” he cut off when Harry began to pelt him with bits of food from the tea tray. When a stalk of celery somehow became lodged in Sirius' nose, the entire assemblage dissolved into hysterical giggles.

Sirius looked about, pleased with his efforts as he picked food out of his hair. My work here is done. “Alright, you kids have fun, keep your clothes on, stay in the wards and be ready to head out for a late supper in an hour or two.”

Waving to everyone, he walked out. Behind him, he heard Harry ask, “Are you hungry, Billy? We've plenty of tea left.”

One last thing. “Rauri,”

The elf appeared in front of Padfoot, already in a deep bow. “Yes, my Lord?”

He may dissolve into quivers of happiness. “You'll need to set up a room for another long term guest.” Wait for it.

“I see, and who may this person be?” Rauri asked in his usual polite tone.

“The Prince of Wales.” C'mon, Rauri, do it!

The elf blinked thrice before he squeaked, “Of course…” Clearing his throat, he eyed Sirius for a moment to see if he was in earnest. Sirius stared back. “Of course, my Lord. I shall have his Highness' room ready momentarily.”

The elf popped out, leaving Sirius vaguely disappointed. He wanted some bug-eyed surprise or orgasmic delight. All he got was a little squeak. Can't have everything he mused. Heading off, he went in search of Lily and Hestia. There was news to impart.

.oOo.

Harry felt Hermione crawl into bed. He was nearly asleep, but when she cuddled up to his side, he had to smile. He'd never get used to the wonderful feeling that quivered up and down his spine when she did that. “Hey,” he muttered.

“Your Dad just got home.”

“Did Mum kill him?” he asked with a sleepy smile.

“No. After the discussion with the portraits, she was calmer. James didn't know the story at all.”

Bobbing his head, Harry began to nod off again.

“Poor William.”

“Hmm,” Harry murmured, somewhat aware that she'd spoken. The sharp jab to his ribs woke him fully. “What was that for?” he whinged.

“I need to talk,” she announced in a surprisingly subdued voice.

Rolling toward her, Harry asked, “About what?”

“I think we should get my parents out of Britain.”

“Oh,” he replied, a bit nonplussed. “Ok. Let me talk to Dad and Sirius tomorrow and the four of us will figure out how to get them out.”

She was silent for a moment before asking, “That's it?”

“What more do you want me to say?”

She humphed, rolling onto her back. “I wanted to talk about how I felt about it all.”

Rolling his eyes in the dark, for he knew he was safe in the dark, Harry gently replied, “Love, tell me.”

He could feel her narrow her eyes, “I wouldn't want to keep you up.”

Ignoring her petulance, he waited. Finally, she gave in, “I feel so conflicted. They don't deserve to die for their relationship to me and despite everything that happened they're still my parents.”

She was quiet so he prompted, her, “But?”

He felt the bed move as she nodded, “But it still hurts.”

Sighing, he rolled over, looping his arm across her. Harry had no idea what to say, if anything could be said so he just held her. Placing a soft kiss on her shoulder, he told her, “I love you and support you.”

“I love you too.”

A/N

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

2. Recommendation for this chapter is a Pride and Prejudice fanfic; Given Good Principles by TuesdayMorning423. It's amazingly well done. If you enjoy the works and world of Miss Austen, peruse this story on fanfic dot net.

3. The then Princess Elizabeth made her `duty' declaration vow on her 21st birthday (1947) while on a tour of Southern Africa. “I declare before you all that my whole life, whether it be long or short, shall be devoted to your service and the service of our great imperial family to which we all belong.” The Queen is an intensely private woman (can't fault her) so there's very little to read about her adult life that's not slanted by tabloid journalism and the like. Reading her words gives me the impression of a woman of great dignity. *shrugs* But I've never met her, so who knows.

4. The annus horriblus was 1992. Everything seemed to go wrong that year for the royal family.

5. “Ardu Aris” is Gaelic for “Rise Again.”

6. “Billy the Fish” is the Duke of Cambridge's call sign when he flies for the RAF on SAR missions. I think that's hilarious.

Chapter complete 3/4/12

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18. Chapter 18

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

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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19. Chapter 19

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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20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

“Your Grace, may we have a moment of your time?”

Lily looked up from her desk to see Steven and Alice Granger in the doorway of her study. James had run to town to select the wine for dinner the next day. They were to visit the Queen on the morrow and he wanted the dinner afterwards to be something memorable. Unfortunately, it left her alone as Harry and Hermione had joined the other teens at the beach for the day. Sirius had purchased a windsurfer for Harry, remembering how enamoured he'd been of the toy when they'd vacationed in the Caribbean. Actually, he'd purchased three for the house in case anyone else wanted to ride.

Sirius and Hestia were visiting some of the Roman ruins that dotted the coast. Hestia was an enthusiast for visiting ancient sites of all kinds. Lily envisioned trips to Greece and Egypt in their future. Remus and Alex were taking a nap. As Remus flushed more of the Aconite out of his system, he was forcing himself to stay up later and become more physically active. That, in conjunction with the approaching full moon, had him exhausted.

Bill and Bobbie were about somewhere. Where they were, she had no idea, but she liked the retirees. She envisioned her own parents to be like the couple, had they survived Voldemort's wrath.

All this meant that Lily had no one to hide behind now that her least favourite residents of La Retirada had cornered her. In addition, they addressed her by her title. Here, in their own home, titles meant little. Only Rauri continued to call her and James `Your Grace' but she believed the fellow did it out of a smug satisfaction that the Potter family was finally getting their just rewards. And he was savouring his role as the Butler to a Duke and Duchess.

Trying desperately to avoid rolling her eyes, Lily gestured to two seats on the other side of her desk. “Of course, please sit.”

Leaving the paperwork where it lay, she tried to forget about arranging James' schedule across the next month. There were so many demands on his attention from various members of the ICW who either had real business or wanted the fame by association of the Ambassador that Lily was near ripping her red locks out in frustration.

Adopting a professional tone, Lily waited. Whatever they wanted to say, she didn't care. They'd tossed their child to the side and proven themselves the worst sort of people.

“We'd like to apologize,” Steven began.

Nodding, Alice picked up the thread, “When last we spoke at our home, Steven and I behaved…,” she faltered, trying to find the right word. “We behaved abhominably,” she finished in an embarrassed and ashamed whisper.

Lily regarded the older couple coolly, waiting for any further comment. Steven caught her eye, telling her, “I was completely out of line with my statements to you and the imprecation on your character. I regret those and other statements greatly.”

Not in a charitable mood, Lily absently rubbed her baby bump. Still she waited.

He began to fidget while she looked at Lily's letter opener as if it held the secrets of life.

Finally, Lily told them, “I really don't care what you said to me. True, it was crude and crass but I've had much worse from much worse than you.” Leaning forward, she narrowed her eyes as her temper flared. “You stupid fuckers hurt Hermione, though. You tossed her in the bin and dumped ash on top of her.” Snarling she jabbed a finger at the couple across from her, “And that is beyond the pale. Your own daughter? You fucking scum.”

Lily hadn't really let loose swearing in a while. Writing it off to pregnancy while confronted with the intolerable, she leaned back in her chair. As a mother, herself, she figured she had a right to stand in judgement of the couple across from her.

The door opened. “Hey lover, I think I got just the right…” James' evaluation of his expedition for wine died on his lips. Blankly, he greeted the shamefaced Grangers, “Hello.”

“Your Grace,” Steven muttered in greeting without meeting the man's eyes.

James did roll his eyes. Moving to his wife's side, his expression asked the silent question. Her upset must have been evident and he read it. Nodding to him, she reassured her husband that she was fine or would be shortly.

“Sir,” Steven began, “We were just apologizing to her Grace for our obscene behaviour last fall. I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize to you as well. We behaved unbelievably badly toward you, your wife, your cousin and most importantly, our daughter.”

Lily narrowed her eyes in malice, Seems he learned by taking a drubbing from me to mention Hermione as the most offended.

James considered Granger's words, a thoughtful expression on his face. Giving a nod, James told the seated Grangers, “Very well. Our forgiveness,” he placed a hand on Lily's shoulder to include her, “is contingent upon your behaviour to your daughter. While your statements to my wife were offensive, you hurt your daughter whom I love as one of my own. Should you show your contrition to Hermione, then Lily and I shall forgive you.”

Lily didn't say anything. She knew her husband well enough that James would never forgive the Grangers. Once he formed a resentment, he nursed and held it forever. Nothing they could do would earn his forgiveness. Albus Dumbledore was living proof of that flaw in her husband. Still, he was motivating the Grangers to behave better toward their daughter, not speaking the truth. The fact that he felt he needed to encourage parents to behave toward their daughter was nothing short of a tragedy.

Nodding, Alice murmured, “You're very kind, your Grace.”

“That's another thing. Titles in the house are unnecessary. I'm James and my wife is Lily. I cannot speak for his Highness; you'll have to obtain his permission to be familiar there.”

Lily watched them nod in unison. She realised that James was being more mature than she was about the entire affair. Her anger was real as was her resentment. However, it didn't give her license to shriek like a fishwife. Taking a deep breath, she told the couple seated across from her, “I apologize for the mode of my address earlier. I was upset and…”

She didn't say she was pregnant so all bets were off, but there it was.

Steven and Alice nodded, Steven flashing a short grin. “Of course,” Alice murmured.

“If that's all?” Lily asked as she leaned forward over the desk to indicate she had better things to do than chat with them. Cleaning out of bucket of week old shit would have been more important than talking to the Grangers.

“Thank you for your time,” Steven told them both as he stood. Following Alice to the door, he closed it behind him when he left.

“So what did you say to them?” James asked as he moved behind her to massage her shoulders.

Groaning, she replied, “Pretty much what you said.”

Chortling, he countered, “Why don't I believe that? When I came in they looked like kicked puppies.”

“Maybe I was a bit more forthright about it all.”

“Translation: you cussed them out.”

“Pretty much. Unh. Lower.”

His fingers moved lower, working on the knot that was just to the left of her spine. “Everything ready for tomorrow?” she asked.

“Yep. Rauri has the kids' clothes ready. Ours are being cleaned today. Amelia is going to be there in her Minister role. We're ready.”

Lily knew exactly what he was thinking during a pause. “No. They're not coming.”

“Good. I was looking for a reason to exclude them.”

Pushing her chair back, she tugged on his hand, “C'mon. I need some special attention from my husband.”

“Yippee!” he cheered childishly.

Lily couldn't help the grin that spread across her face as he danced down the hall after her as she made her way to the master suite.

.oOo.

“You know, this Sunscreen charm is pretty handy.”

Neville turned to William as the younger teen dried his face and hair. Harry had been trying to teach the dirty blond teen how to windsurf, but it had been a slow process. William had spent more time swimming after the board than standing on it. Harry, of course, was like a bird. Shooting into the sky off waves, cutting tight corners and zipping across the surf, he looked to be a born windsurfer.

“It's a handy charm. My Gran never let me outside without it.” Or an Injury Alarm charm or a Danger Detection charm and a host of other spells for the coordination disabled.

Neville's gaze drifted back to the surf. Susan was Harry's latest student and she was doing very well. Her occasional `Whoop!' of delight made him smile. At first, he felt pangs of jealousy, watching his girlfriend have fun with another guy, but then looked to his left to see Hermione and William in a deep discussion about something or the other. If Harry and Hermione could have fun with people of the opposite gender, so could he. Besides, he trusted Susan not to run around on him; especially with Harry. He was nearly married; he was nearly the definition of `taken'.

“Why don't you give it a go?” Billy the Fish asked, his grin a bit mischievous.

“Because I have a hard time walking up and down stairs without falling down,” Neville replied without hesitation.

“Neville, you've really got a lot better,” Hermione encouraged. “I remember first year, you got all caught up in your robes…,” she laughed.

Neville chuckled with her, “And nearly fell down the grand staircase.” Turning to Billy, he added, “That in and of itself would be pretty bad, but the entire sixth and seventh years of our house were in front of me. It would have been like ten pin bowling as I knocked them all a-scatter with my falling corpse.” He could smile and laugh about those times now, so he did.

They all were chuckling as Harry ran from the surf. Neville was strictly heterosexual, but he could see why Hermione was so attracted to The Boy-Who-Lived. Leanly muscled, Harry had toned well with all the exercises. He'd a nice tan and those electric green eyes nearly jumped out of his face.

Neville's attention didn't stay on Harry for long, though. A vision of beauty was rising from the waves and her name was Venus. Or maybe Susan, it was hard to tell at this range.

Her hair was slicked back and the bright blue bikini left enough to the imagination to set his pulse racing. Neville couldn't help but stare at his girl as she sauntered to him. Her eyes never left his and Neville felt as if he were on a stairway to the skies with her as his partner.

She walked up to him, leaned over and planted a long, lusty kiss on him. Neville had to fight to maintain control of the placement of his hands. After a brief but violent struggle, they stayed at his sides.

“You look good,” she whispered after breaking the kiss.

“So do you,” he replied. She nestled next to him on the blanket so he made room. Leaning back on his hands, she slipped between his legs, leaning back on his broad chest as the two couples and William chatted.

Sharing a butterbeer with Susan, he asked Hermione, “Tell William about the end of first year.”

She frowned while thanking Harry for passing her the crisps. “I already told him about the stone and all. It was one of our tamer adventures.” Harry's snort of derision caused her to amend, “Well, tamer for me. I know an eleven-year-old idiot who was determined to face a dark wizard.” The tease cause the others to laugh.

Just barely, over the laughter, Neville heard Harry mutter to Hermione, “I did it for you.” His expression was swallowed by the butterbeer bottle, but Neville knew that it would be that look he got whenever he watched Hermione.

Wanting to divert attention away from Harry, Neville asked Hermione, “But when did you start the story?”

Now she blushed for she knew about what he was referring. “At Fluffy,” she muttered.

Susan looked to Neville curiously. “What is it?' she asked.

Neville tossed a balled up paper towel at Hermione. “Start the story in the Common room you fibber.”

After Hermione told of the now infamous Body Bind spell, the five some was roaring. Hermione was leaning on Harry as she giggled herself silly. Harry had a wide smile as he chuckled to himself. Susan was on her back she laughed so hard while Neville soaked up being the centre of the story - for once.

As William wiped his eyes, he asked, “Why did you want that part of the story told?”

Neville shrugged, a bit embarrassed about his real reasons.

Hoisting his butterbeer in salute, Harry told William, “Neville was the bravest of us all that night. We were scared and lonely eleven-year-old kids who were desperate for friendship. Neville stood up to his friends for what was right. Hermione, Ron and I faced physical danger. Neville faced something much harder for an eleven-year-old because he knew what he could lose. The rest of us,” he glanced at Hermione whose face had become contemplative. “We didn't really know what we were risking. What's death to an eleven-year-old? But to lose any friends you've made? We all knew that risk.”

After taking a long drink from his bottle, Harry said, “You're a good man, Neville Longbottom.”

Completely nonplussed by Harry's little speech, he could only nod his thanks. Susan wrapped her arm about his waist, “I couldn't agree more.”

.oOo.

“Your Majesty, his Grace, the Duke of Shrewsbury, her Grace, the Duchess of Shrewsbury, the Earl of Blackmoor, Earl of Richmond, the Lady Hermione Granger-Black and the Minister for Magic.”

William smiled. Earlier, he'd asked James to bring him to his Grandmother. He knew what she had planned, for he knew the old woman. In addition, he needed to see her. The Potters, Blacks and all the other residents of La Retirada were wonderful people who'd welcomed him with open arms. Unfortunately, they weren't his family. His family was dead.

He still remembered the security team running into his room as he studied for an upcoming exam. They didn't say much beyond, “Come with us,” as they nearly dragged him out of the palace to a waiting car. His grandmother had been waiting for him in the backseat. For the first time in his life, he saw her cry. As she wrapped him in a long hug, he heard the sniffles and whimpers from the strongest person he'd ever known and it scared him. “Grandmother?” he'd whispered in fear.

“Drive,” she'd commanded to the security forces in the front seat.

That had begun their painful exodus from their land. Using one of the security force's personal saloon cars, they drove until dawn before pulling into a roadside inn. William had wrinkled his nose at the odour in the room, but had been too tired to quibble.

“Sleep, Willy,” she'd cajoled, using his nickname from when he'd been a baby.

Somewhere in his fatigue fogged brain, he'd been alarmed by her behaviour, but was too tired to act on it.

When he woke a few hours later, his grandmother was on a phone, trying to get through to someone. Her frustration evident, William sat mutely, ignoring his hunger pains. When she hung up, he wondered why she was so upset and what the bloody hell was going on.

That's when she told him that they were fleeing the country to France. She'd arranged for an old friend of his father's to provide them shelter. He'd asked about his parents only to receive a wordless stare before she stood to use the lavatory prior to their leaving.

Remembering that conversation always brought a chill and shudder to the young man. That stare of hers had been full of agony and pain and it would never lose its poignancy over time. Everyone at La Retirada was wonderful, but they'd never replace his family. Therefore, every once in a while he felt a need, nearly a physical pull, to see his grandmother.

Looking over the visitors, he nodded in satisfaction. Despite all this warm feelings of family and whatnot, William was glad that Hermione's birth parents were not present. Subsequent to their first, very unpleasant, meeting, Hermione's father had shied away from him. The Prince smiled when Harry unconsciously straightened his tie while Hermione flicked a bit of something from his sleeve.

After the introductions, the Queen gave James a look. He shook his head to which she gave her miniscule smile. The broad smile that she gave in public was for the photographers and he could tell was a mask. When she was really amused or happy, her lips curled at the edges and her eyes glittered. Like now.

It was good to see. She'd lost so much in so short a time: her husband, her children and her country. Any diversion was welcome.

James escorted the knowing Lily to her seat while Sirius stood there like a lump. Amelia sat herself out of the way, allowing the family to take precedence. William sidled up to Sirius, pinching his elbow. “Come,” he whispered, leading him to a seat next to Lily. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione eyeing him with a suspicious expression. Seating Sirius, William scooped up his folder. Since the situation was so dire, they didn't have the proper facilities to do this correctly.

The Queen turned to James. “Your Grace, would you please?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” He withdrew his wand and after a few flicks, two kneeling benches appeared before the Queen.

Hermione immediately understood, her eyes widening and her face paling. He smiled to see her grasp her boyfriend's hand while he stood there wondering what was going on.

From his pocket, James pulled a small pouch. The pouch was evidently magically expanded, for he reached in and withdrew a sword of such beauty and majesty, that William couldn't help but admire it. The hilt encrusted with rubies and the blade long and unblemished, he saw letters engraved there but couldn't make them out. Truly, it is the sword of a king.

“The blade of my ancestor, your Majesty,” James told her in a low voice. Standing next to her, he held the blade, hilts toward the queen. William smiled to see the look of pride and love that crossed the man's face when he regarded his children, for Hermione was his as much as Harry was.

“Lord Richmond, Lady Hermione, kneel before your Sovereign,” William commanded from behind them. Reflexively, both teens moved to the kneeling benches. Taking a deep breath, William began to read.

“Oye, Oye, Oye. Be it made known amongst here present, and be it made known throughout the land at such time deemed prudent, that Harry James Potter, son of James and Lily, the Duke and Duchess of Shrewsbury, the Earl and Countess of Richmond and the Baron and Baroness Potter of Gwynedd, and Hermione Jane Granger-Black, daughter of Sirius, the Earl of Blackmoor, have performed numerous heroic acts in the defence of the Our Realm, and demonstrated loyalty, bravery and strength of spirit worthy of emulation for all across Our lands.” He paused for a breath before continuing. Harry had bowed his head as if in prayer, while Hermione closed her eyes.

“To honour these actions and their strength of character, Her Royal Highness, the Queen, hereby invites them to join the Most Royal Order of the Bath as Knight Protectors of the Realm.”

Normally, during the reading, attendants would place hoods lined with ermine and fox on their shoulders. Today, that wasn't possible. After the reading, the Queen took the sword of Gryffindor from James, tapping Harry on each shoulder saying, “Sir Harry James Potter, We name you a Knight Commander of the Most Royal Order of the Bath.”

The Queen then turned to Hermione and tapping her on each shoulder with the fabled weapon said, “Dame Hermione Jane Granger-Black, We name you a Knight Commander of the Most Royal Order of the Bath. Arise, Sir Harry and Dame Hermione, and go forth into the Realm with certain knowledge of the Crown's support.”

Mechanically, both newly invested knights rose to their feet. They lifted their faces to see the Queen smiling her sincere smile at them. William began to clap softly after the Queen told the teens, “Thank you for all that you've done in the past and will do in the future.”

The family and the Minister began to applaud for Harry and Hermione. Lily swooped in to hug both teens. William thought he heard a muttered, “Mum,” from Harry but all ignored it.

Breaking into a gaggle, his Grandmother led the way to a small buffet that'd been laid out.

William shook Harry's hand, “You knew,” The Boy-Who-Lived accused with a smile.

“Of course. She's my Grandmother and who do you think told her about the Chamber of Secrets and whatnot?”

“Thank you,” Hermione told him in an undertone as Harry moved off to grab a plate of food. “He deserves recognition for all he's done.”

William turned to her, “As do you. You've done as much as he has, Hermione.”

She gave a miniscule half-shrug before changing the subject. “What did she mean when she said, `and will do in the future'?'

William shook his head. “I've no idea. You'll have to ask her.”

The expression on Hermione's face became that of a scared rabbit. He laughed. “She's just like your grandmother; a formidable woman of a certain age. Besides, you're a knight of the realm. I thought you were supposed to be a fount of courage.”

With an exasperated expression, Dame Hermione regarded Prince William, “Billy, she's no more like my Granny than you're like Draco Malfoy.”

“Who?” he asked in amused ignorance.

“Never mind.” Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “I'll just collect Harry before I ask.”

As she moved off, William commented to no one, “She can do anything with him at her side.”

.oOo.

Hermione gathered a plate for herself. Her light breakfast wasn't filling her up. She and Harry had a hard run in the hills inland from the house so her stomach was insistently informing her that it needed to be filled.

“Congratulations,” came Sirius' voice from behind her.

Placing another stuffed shrimp on her plate, she turned to see him smiling at her. It wasn't his Padfoot smile where there was mischievousness alongside a hint of danger lurking in the background. “Thanks,” she replied. “I'm rather stunned, to be honest. We've always tried to help other people. There was never any thought about reward or accolades. People needed help. Harry went to the Chamber for Ginny. We had to stop Quirrell. You needed to be saved. We had to get my relatives out of England. In the graveyard…” she trailed off as that scene brought back memories she'd no desire ever to revisit.

“And that is the heart of a true knight,” came the Queen's voice from behind her.

Turning yet again, Hermione bobbed a short curtsey. “Thank you, your Majesty. I - and I believe I can speak for Sir Harry - well, we're both honoured beyond words.”

The Queen's eyes were tired, but she was serene. Returning the thanks with a slight nod, she turned on Harry, who'd just joined his betrothed. “Sir Harry, do you know what I was referring to earlier?”

Hermione blinked. She'd heard that Elizabeth was sharp but not prescient, surely. Paying keen attention to both the elder lady's words and body language, The Smartest Witch of the Age waited.

“Yes, your Majesty,” Harry replied with a hint of heaviness in his tone. Oh, Hermione chastised herself. That. With that tone, it could only be one thing.

“This prophecy that your father told me that concerns you. You have a task in front of you, Sir Harry. A daunting one but I believe that Dame Hermione will be at your side to help lighten your load,” the last was delivered with twinkling eyes.

The twinkle disappeared. “Just as I've charged your father to lead our effort to retake our land, I charge you to be his champion. You shall be our David to their Goliath. It is unfair to levy such a serious undertaking on one so young, but based on your past and what I've been told of your character,” her eyes bored into Harry's as he stood there silently, “you are fully capable.”

Hermione was thunderstruck. Should anyone else have said the exact words the Queen had said, she'd have ignored or doubted them. Coming from the Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, there was a confidence, sincerity and command that infused the listener with strength hitherto unknown.

Bowing at the neck, Harry replied, “I shall do all that is within my power, your Majesty.”

Elizabeth bestowed the young knights with another smile, “And that shall be enough, Sir Harry.”

.oOo.

Harry was walking a path in the hills above the house, meandering with no real fixed purpose. Remus could just make out his dark head in the brownish green scrub that grew on the hill. “He needs a task,” Remus told Sirius.

The dark haired animagus nodded his head reluctantly. He knew too well what Harry's immediate task should be. “Is the Italian place ready?”

Soberly, Remus nodded.

“Either you or me will be there every time when they're with Albus. I don't trust him,” Sirius spat.

The Lycanthrope nodded again. With his own issues regarding the probable poisoning by Snape, Remus wasn't feeling nearly as charitable toward the old Headmaster as he had felt the previous fall.

“What about Hermione?” Sirius asked.

Finally taking his eyes from the hills, Remus regarded one of his oldest friends. “What about her?”

Sirius resumed his watch over his godson, “Do we tell her?”

A bit affronted, Remus prodded, “About the poisoning? I thought we were past hiding truths from them, Padfoot.”

“Remus, she might try to kill Albus should she find out. Between Harry's upbringing, Albus' complete lack of disciplining the anti-muggleborn students, my imprisonment and now this poisoning, I think it might push them both over the edge. Together, I think they can take the old man.”

Moony mulled over Padfoot's observation. Finally, he told the former Prisoner of Azkaban, “We'll need to talk to James and Lily.”

Sirius nodded, “Lily's going to start shouting again, isn't she?”

“Yep.”

.oOo.

Lily's jaw was set, her brows thunderous as Remus outlined his plan for Dumbledore's tutelage of Harry and Hermione.

“That's all well and good, Moony. But you're forgetting something.”

Blinking Remus and Sirius exchanged puzzled looks before Remus asked, “What did I forget, Prongs?”

“You forgot that you're dealing with Albus Dumbledore who could possibly be the biggest schemer in the magical world. He'll not be put in a box by anyone,” Prongs opined as he sat back in his chair. “The only reason I was able to harness him at all was because of the combination of the court order and manipulating Albus' own guilt over Harry's treatment by my fucking in-laws.”

“What about Harry and Hermione?” Remus asked. “When we tell them about my poisoning, they may go off their head. I could easily envision them giving him a run for his money if not defeating him.”

Should the old man be defeated when Harry and Hermione were in such a mood, it would most likely be a fatal scenario. That didn't need to be said, all present knew it.

Except Lily.

“I don't think that you're giving them enough credit,” she murmured. “They're not the kids they were when we `came back'.” Shaking her head, she added, “And they weren't really kids then, either.”

Remus nodded, “True enough.”

Looking from one of his friends to the next, an exasperated Sirius finally asked, “So, for the stupid among us, what's the vote?”

“You're not stupid, Pads. Use the brain that got us into the Slytherin Girls dorm in fourth year,” Prongs said.

“Yeah,” Sirius murmured dreamily. “That was brilliant.”

Lily narrowed her eyes at her husband. James realised, too late, that he hadn't told his bride about this exploit. Backtracking, he sat up straight, “Anyway, back on topic.”

“We'll talk later,” she muttered.

“Damn.”

“Through the aftereffects of gallons and gallons of Firewhiskey compounded by a dozen years with Dementors, I think you mean that we can trust Harry and Hermione?”

Lily clapped sarcastically, “Give the man a brass ring.”

Trying to get back in his wife's good grace, James conjured a ring, tossing it at Sirius.

“We're still talking about it,” Lily commented in a singsong voice.

“Damn.”

Remus sniggered at his friend's antics before nodding to Prongs, “You'll set something up with Albus? I'll take you to the La Bella Vetta so you can make him a portkey.”

“La Bella Vetta?” Lily asked.

“Yeah, it means The Beautiful Summit in Italian.” Shrugging, he added, “I didn't name it.”

“So, who tells Harry and Hermione?” Sirius asked.

Standing, James donned his most serious face as if he were swirling a cape about his shoulders. “I am.”

.oOo.

“State your name and date of birth.”

“Dolores Jane Umbridge, April 15, 1943.”

“When did you earn your certificate from Hogwarts?”

“I never did. Dumbledore allowed me to eat with the others of my year for the Seventh Year Feast, but I had failed all but two of my courses.”

Arthur blinked. The first few questions were control questions. Glancing at Amelia and Hestia, he wasn't surprised to see the women shaking their heads in amused exasperation. Catching Amelia's eye, he nodded when she made a `get on with it' motion.

“Are you a Death Eater?”

“No.”

“Do you actively support the Dark Lord commonly known as `You-Know-Who', `He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' or Lord Voldemort?”

Even under the influence of Veritaserum, Umbridge shuddered when Arthur ground out the hated name.

“No.”

Amelia jumped into the conversation, “Do you support the Dark Lord's goals and, if so, which ones?”

“I am fully supportive of some of his goals. Blood superiority and predominance of witches and wizards over other magical beings are the largest items on his agenda that I support.”

Picking up Amelia's thread, Hestia asked, “If presented the opportunity, would you actively support the Dark Lord in any manner?”

“Only if I would gain power and authority.”

Shaking his head, Arthur saw this interview rolling down the tubes. Picking the next question on the list, he asked, “Have you ever knowingly violated the law?”

“Yes.”

“In what manner did you knowingly violate the law?”

“I embezzled over five hundred galleons via an expense account when I was the junior deputy assistant to the Undersecretary for the Implementation of Potion Regulation while serving in the Department of Health and Human Services.”

There were so many things wrong with that statement that Arthur could only stare for a long moment.

Amelia interjected again. “Do you know where any of the Death Eaters or the Dark Lord himself can be found?”

“He's taken up residence in Buckingham Palace. Many of the Death Eaters are either in Balmoral Castle or in Buckingham Palace.”

Arthur frowned. “How do you know this?”

“I am Joseph Jugson's mistress. I overheard him talking to another Death Eater after one of our afternoon assignations.”

All three questioners shivered at the idea that Dolores Umbridge could be anyone's mistress.

“Why did you leave Britain?” Hestia asked. Arthur nodded as he'd just been thinking the same thought. With such a powerful protector, why would she leave?

“Joseph severed our relationship. He gave me forty eight hours to be out of the county.”

“That sounds like Joseph,” Amelia muttered.

“Do you know if the Dark Lord has any agents in the Ministry in Exile and if so, how many?” Hestia asked.

Arthur waited with baited breath.

“Yes, there is one.”

“Who is it?” Hestia pressed.

“I don't know.”

Arthur released the breath he'd been holding.

Hestia didn't let it go. Following the vein, she asked, “How do you know that there is an agent in the Ministry in Exile?”

“Joseph told me that they had a tip that the Potter brat would be in the country a week or so ago. The Dark Lord had every Death Eater stand ready during that day.”

Her brow thunderous, Hestia snarled, “And what did they do?”

“When the magic detectors went off, a team of ten was sent to the site. If no one responded within a predetermined amount of time…” Umbridge trailed off as she began to blink and cough a bit. The Veritaserum was wearing off.

Moving in automatic, Arthur handed the rousing witch a glass of water. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Amelia stand.

“Well Dolores, that was an interesting interview. I'll have to ask you to stay in this room for the time being.” She nodded to Arthur as she left.

The redheaded man turned back to the woman. Her toad-like face wore a bewildered expression as he told her, “There is a necessary in the corner,” he nodded with his chin. “A house elf will bring you your meals.” A quick wave of his wand transfigured a chair into a single bed.

“I have your wand in my possession and it shall be returned to you in good working condition should the Minister determine that it is warranted.” Smiling to her, he cast a few more spells before moving to the door. “Goodbye Dolores,” he told her as he closed the door before casting a series of locking charms.

Dolores Umbridge wasn't under arrest, but her life was forever changed.

.oOo.

“So what do we do with her?” Hestia asked as she slumped into a chair. James and Albus were on the opposite side of the table. They'd watched the interrogation through a charmed wall that allowed one-way viewing.

“I could Vanish her,” James offered softly.

There was silence as Amelia, Albus and Hestia regarded the tired looking wizard.

“James, just because she's peripherally involved in the attack on Harry…” Dumbledore began.

“Yes! MY SON!” James interrupted snarling at the old man. “MY son was wounded - again - by some traitor that this bitch would willingly join. You heard her old man. If given the opportunity, she'd join Voldemort in a heartbeat.”

Hestia wasn't as upset as James was, but nearly so. She'd become very fond of Harry over the months. His incapacitation had touched her deeply. Not an overly demonstrative person, her firm hug of Harry when he'd miraculously woken was as near as jumping up and down while screaming, “I love this person,” as Hestia Jones would ever come.

Deciding that she needed to defuse James before he went too far, she calmly told him, “James, we can't just kill her. The Minister can't order an execution, only the Wizengamot can do that.”

Still riled, James gestured with his hand, “Fine. We've three of the surviving members of the Wizengamot here. I vote for execution. We know that Dumbledore wants to try to save her rotten little soul, so what say you, Amelia? You seem to be the deciding vote.”

Hestia blinked. She hadn't thought that James would have seen through her ploy to stall him. This was the last time she'd underestimate the Duke of Shrewsbury, though.

To Hestia's surprise, Amelia slowly told the others, “I need to think about it. I'll not execute someone in a passion.” The petite woman levelled a tiny finger at James, “And you'd best reconsider your hot-headed words, young man. I understand more than these other two,” she gestured to Albus and Hestia, “about protectiveness of a teen wizard. But we're talking about cold blooded killing.”

A mask fell over James' face that Hestia had never seen. She'd seen his `responsible' face, `the jokester', `Dad', `Godfather', `Brother', `Patriarch' and `Politician'. This face across from her was different.

It was `Killer' and it was frightening.

Once again, Hestia was reminded that she wasn't a fighter, she was a politician.

“I have no problem killing her. If you can't, I will.”

Amelia regarded James with a considering expression before he added, “For clarification, the primary reason I advocate her execution is because she will sell us to Voldemort in a heartbeat. She can't be safely brought into the government, so she'll go back and then? Then, she'll tell them all she knows and become someone we'll have to kill in retaking our country.”

“If Jugson doesn't have her killed first,” Hestia countered.

James nodded, acknowledging the point.

“James, I'd feel better about the Memory charm option,” Hestia told him. Lifting her hand to forestall his objection, she continued, “There's no need to kill her. We just need to make her a non-threat. We'll have enough blood on our hands in the end. Why add more?”

He regarded her in the same manner that Amelia had regarded him. Finally, he deflated, “Very well. I can't but agree with that logic. Memory charm her to Hell and back, but not kill her.”

Arthur opened the door before sliding into his seat. “I think we have a resolution,” Amelia told the redheaded man.

“Oh?”

“Yes. We'll Veritaserum her again tomorrow. If we get nothing new, I'll Memory charm her so that the last week is gone. Then we'll drop her…” she looked to the others for suggestions.

“Outer Mongolia,” James offered.

Rolling her eyes, Hestia suggested, “The United States is large enough for her to get lost. They roughly speak the same language, so it's not a cruel banishment. A few Compulsion charms ought to keep her there.”

Sulking, James shrugged his agreement.

Hestia turned to see Arthur looking out the window. “Arthur?”

Startled, he jumped a bit. “Sorry, wool gathering.” Resettling in his chair, Arthur opined, “I think the Memory charm option is the most humane while removing her as a problem.”

Amelia nodded. Glancing at Albus, Hestia saw him nod to the Acting Minister. She gathered her parchment as James dropped a rock on the table in front of Albus. The two men regarded each other for a long moment before James said, “Tomorrow at eight AM?”

“I shall be there,” the old man replied.

.oOo.

Harry and Hermione moved to the veranda. “Afternoon, Granny,” she greeted Bobbie. James had headed to the Ministry building with Amelia, while Lily returned home to nap. Sirius was seeing Mind Healer Plummer.

Squinting under the hand shading her eyes, the older woman replied, “Well, hello to you two. We missed you this morning at Mass.”

Hermione exchanged an amused glance with Harry as took seats about the table around which Bill and Bobbie were sitting. “Rauri, may we please have lemonade and snacks?” Harry murmured.

The distinguished elf appeared with a pop, Levitating a tray to the centre of the table. Standing, Harry told the now bowing elf, “Thank you Rauri.”

“Of course, my Lord,” he replied in an undertone before departing in the same way he arrived.

As Harry poured a tall glass of the tart refreshment, Hermione asked her fiancé, “Where do I begin the story?”

The Boy-Who-Lived smiled as he handed Hermione the full glass. “We were knighted by the Queen this morning.”

Rolling her eyes while her grandparents were stunned into stillness, she snarked, “Thanks Harry,” as she sipped the cool beverage.

“No worries, love.”

“Hermione?” Bill asked. “What's Harry talking about?”

Reaching into her pocket, Hermione withdrew the medallion of the Order of the Bath. Opening the box so they could all see it, Hermione was still astounded by the sight of the eight pointed silver cross and its attendant crimson ribbon, which shone in the sun. The small gold balls at each tip glinted in the sunlight, perfect beads of metal while the three crowns in the centre were amazing miniaturizations of the Queen's crown. The red and green bands about the centre looked a bit odd given the colour pattern of the rest of the insignia, but the medallion as a whole was unmistakably beautiful.

“Oh.” Bill breathed. Glancing at her, back to the medallion and back to his granddaughter, he finally broke into a grin. “Well, Dame Hermione and Sir Harry, what shall we discuss?”

Bobbie leaned over, placing a gentle kiss on Hermione's cheek, “I'm very proud of you, my dear. Tell us all about it.”

Harry poured for Bill, Bobbie and himself as Hermione recounted the tale, including a brief overview of their `adventures' during their Hogwarts years. She diplomatically left out the Queen's `little tasking' at the end of the event. “William is staying with her for a few days. I think he gets melancholy after a while, remembering his parents.”

In the corner of her eye, she saw Harry nod meaningfully. For Bill and Bobbie's sake, he explained, “Growing up, I would get into a funk for a week or so where the whole world was wrong and I was wrong in it. Part of that was my Aunt and Uncle.” He smiled when Hermione stiffened.

Placing his hand over hers, he winked at Bobbie, “She's a bit protective of me.”

The old woman chuckled, “Oh, Hermione, you've got a flirt here.”

The Smartest Witch of the Age smiled ruefully, “He wasn't until his Father, Uncle and Godfather started in on him.” Giving into the situation, she let Harry brighten her mood with his understated silliness.

Shrugging at her, he smiled. “The short of it is that it's hard to have your parents killed.” After sipping from his drink, he amended, “Or seem to be killed.”

There was a silence that washed away the serious mood as the tide runs down a child's sand castle. Finally, Bill spoke. “What I want to know is why your parents let you return to that school after all those happenings.” His fixed gaze on his granddaughter. “Or did you tell them all this?”

Hermione looked to her lap, hiding from his frank gaze. “No, I didn't tell them.”

The silence washed over them again. This time, though, it wasn't a cleansing moment, but rather a pregnant pause before the storm breaks.

Looking out to sea, Bill broke off from Hermione. As if from deep inside himself, he began his story, “When I was a lad, I grew up on a four cow dairy farm in northern Devon. I wanted more than anything to get as far away from northern Devon as humanly possible.

“My father had fought in the Great War at Ypres. First, Second, Passchendaele and the Fourth battles. Four bloody years he suffered in that wasteland in southern Belgium. He was the only man in his unit to survive the war. The only thing he wanted after that Hell on Earth was to live his days in peace. All my moaning and groaning about how I needed to `Get Out' and `Make Something of Myself' fell on deaf ears, obviously.

“But I was certain and convinced,” Bill smiled in remembrance. “So, in 1938, I joined the Army. I was part of the British Expeditionary Force to France with all the promises of `home by Christmas' and whatnot. Not long afterward, I was swimming to a boat off a little French fishing village that you may have heard of in your classes. It was called Dunkirk. Later, there was North Africa and Sicily with Field Marshall Montgomery, D-Day, Holland and the march on the Rhine. By the time 1945 came around and I was able to come home…” he trailed off.

Hermione was listening with rapt attention. She'd known that Grandfather Bill had served in the war, but this was a list of the greatest battles that Britain had been involved in during the War. What he'd had to have seen…

The first tear leaked out of his eye as Bobbie silently scooted next to her husband. Taking his hand in hers, she slowly stroked it as she leaned in to his ear. His eyes had that faraway look as he remembered times long ago, friends long dead and visions he'd rather never have seen.

“I love you and you're home,” Hermione thought she heard her Gran tell her Grandfather.

It was a long minute before he began, his voice low and rusty with emotion. “The first thing I did after being discharged was return to that beautiful four cow dairy in northern Devon so that I could hold my Father close to tell him I love him. And I did. We cried together as he told me that he loved me too. I'd left home a Private and returned a Major, but that was the smallest difference in me.”

By now, Hermione was weeping silently. His pain and strength. The trials and tribulation he underwent, as well as the love that was radiating from her Grandfather moved her like not much aside from the dark haired wizard at her side could.

“My point is that no matter the distance, no matter the words said or unsaid, family is important. True, your parents have behaved badly, but in the end, they are still your family. You have to try.”

For the third time the silence washed over them. In a sad voice, Hermione told him, “You heard me the other day, Grandfather. I am willing to be in a relationship with them, but I need to be treated with respect. I won't stick my head in the Lion's mouth hoping it won't bite.” She trailed off as Harry held her hand while she wiped the tears from her cheeks with the other hand, “I was bitten last time.”

“Sometimes, we go back to the well, looking for water,” Bobbie observed with a meaningful look at her sober husband. “Unfortunately, the well can go dry.”

“I have to try,” Hermione whispered. “If I don't, what does that make me?”

“No matter what happens,” Bill told her, his bright blue eyes on his only grandchild, “know that you are loved. Never, ever doubt that your Granny and I love you beyond words.”

Smiling wetly, Hermione felt that rosy warm feeling in her bosom. “I love you, too, Grandfather.”

.oOo.

“Miss Minister! Miss Minister! Come quick!”

Amelia looked up to see Sippy standing in front of her. The diminutive elf was one of three Bones elves that had escaped the fall of Britain. Usually, Sippy was a very placid elf but now her cheeks were rosy with emotion.

Standing, she moved around her desk, “Where to, Sippy?”

“The Miss Umbridge is hurt!”

Frowning, Amelia moved quickly to the third floor room where Dolores was awaiting her next interrogation the following morning. Muttering the Unlocking spell, Amelia pushed the door open.

Her nose told her the story before she saw the gore. Blood has a distinct smell and blood that'd pooled and semi congealed has a particularly unpleasant odour.

Opening the door all the way, he saw the window smashed from the outside - if the glass shards scattered about the floor were any indication - and the cooling, mutilated corpse of Dolores Umbridge laying in two separate pieces on the floor and desk.

“Has anyone been in this room since this morning's questioning?” Amelia asked the trembling elf.

“Sippy doesn't know, Miss Minister. Sippy was helping Bondo this morning.” Amelia scowled. Bondo was the elf working for the Weasleys. That in itself wasn't the problem. The problem was that the Weasleys lived across the street, so Sippy wasn't near the room for a part of the morning.

In the calmest, nonchalant voice she could muster, Amelia asked, “Approximately, how long were you helping Bondo?”

“Sippy was across the street for fifteen minutes, Miss Minister. It was right before I made luncheon.”

Great. Perfect timing to execute a perfect assassination.

Looking about the room, Amelia absently summoned her notepad. All her years as an Auror took over as she began the investigation into the brutal murder of Dolores Umbridge.

.oOo.

The portkey swirled and deposited the family in the courtyard of La Bella Vetta. Alex vaguely noticed that the house and it's environs were gorgeous. However, everyone in the family was staring at one thing. In the centre of the paved yard, Albus Dumbledore serenely awaited them.

His eyebrow cocked, he observed to the owner of the home, “Quite the party.”

James didn't bother to reply.

A flash of sadness across Dumbledore's face surprised the healer. Other than the old Headmaster's public persona, she'd no serious opinion about the man until a few months back. She didn't hate the man with the red hot passion of James, Lily, or Sirius. Those three were the betrayed. Albus had violated their trust egregiously and violently.

Since she'd not really had a relationship with him to have been severed, Alex wasn't so affected. However, should her hypothesis about Snape and a poisoned Wolfsbane Potion prove to be true, she felt that she could most likely work up a passionate dislike bordering on burning hatred in no time flat.

The bright blue eyes of the headmaster surveyed the party, focusing on Harry. “Shall we begin?”

Harry stared at the old man for a moment before nodding. The group prepared to move inside when Hermione commanded, “Wait.”

Turning, Alex was a bit taken aback. She'd never seen Hermione this angry. The Smartest Witch of the Age's cheeks were a burning pink while her eyes were chips of obsidian, they were so black. Narrowing her gaze, they young witch's face grew tight with emotion. “I think we have some things to discuss before we move forward.”

At Alex's side, Remus stiffened. Sirius snarled while James and Lily went white. Hermione ignored them all, ploughing on with her inquisition.

Dumbledore's face was calm. Interlocking his fingers near his waist, he nodded. It was an expression similar to the one the Kings of old gave to the executioner prior to the man swinging the axe.

Hermione's face oscillated between fury to calm back to upset. In a quick motion, she drew her wand. Everyone jerked to attention, James drew his own wand reflexively.

Turning to Harry, she considered briefly before moving to Sirius. “I need you to hold this for me.”

Smart. Now Sirius will force himself to stay in control because Hermione has reminded him of his father role. And Hermione can't hex the old man to kingdom come.

Moving back to Harry's side, The Smartest Witch of the Age drew a deep, calming breath.

“First,” Hermione began with a crisp, business like tone, “Did you know of Harry's abuse by the Dursleys?”

Alex winced. A tough one right out of the gate. When Remus began to tremble, she surreptitiously reached out to stroke his back. As he calmed it seemed the others froze in waiting silence.

Dumbledore sighed. His shoulders bowed and his head drooped. Either the man was an excellent actor or he was truly upset by the events of the past. “I knew that the Dursleys were unpleasant people. I knew that they were verbally abusive to Harry. I knew that Harry didn't have proper clothing.” His eyes met first Hermione's then Harry's, “But I'd no idea that they were physically abusive to their nephew.”

Strangely, she believed the old man. Hermione, however, wasn't satisfied.

“Why didn't you know? There are plenty of spells available to monitor the health and wellness of a child.”

Nodding, Alex conceded the point. Albus' reply made her close her eyes to keep from screaming.

“I assumed they would treat him properly.”

The open expression on his face gave Alex the feeling that, again, he was speaking the truth. He wasn't evil, just criminally stupid in misjudging character.

Lily turned away, her hands clenched and eyes screwed shut. James was nearly panting in the effort to contain himself.

“You assumed.” Hermione's business like tone fell away to pure disbelief.

There was silence, for no one dared to break the quiet lest they all teeter on to the wrong edge of the precipice and fall into madness and violence. Alex was afraid to look at Sirius. She'd felt Remus move a bit closer to his friend, so she figured he was calming down Padfoot.

“Second item, why did you let Sirius go to Azkaban without a trial?”

This is going to be a long day.

“No, Hermione,” Sirius moaned as the tension in the courtyard ratcheted up exponentially. Inwardly, Alex agreed with Sirius. They'd not really moved past the issue of Harry's abusive childhood before moving into the next Great Sin perpetrated by the old man against the greater family. That Sin was great enough that it would consume the family for weeks. Now the Second Betrayal was laid at the Traitor's feet and they all recoiled with the emotional pain

The Chief Warlock's face became more resolute. “I didn't let him go to prison, Miss Granger…”

“You may address her as Lady Hermione, Headmaster.”

Alex was surprised that it was Harry who spit out the words as if ridding himself of a foul taste.

The old wizard met Harry's gaze before nodding. “Of course. The old ways should always be remembered and honoured.”

Turning back to Hermione, he continued, “Lady Hermione, the times were difficult. Public opinion was a near furore after the supposed deaths of the Potters,” he nodded to the still pale James. Lily hadn't turned back to face the man.

“As such, when then-Director Crouch ordered Sirius to Azkaban, I had no choice but to go along. To my own discredit, I believed Sirius to be guilty.”

Again, there was a long silence. This time Harry spoke, “You spineless worm. You let public opinion convince you to let a man be sent to Hell on Earth? You let your own uninformed opinion send a man to prison for the rest of his life?”

Dumbledore was silent. There was nothing he could say to exonerate himself for he was beyond exoneration.

Hermione did something Alex'd never heard her do. She snorted in derision. “Lastly,” she drawled, “Did you either know or order Snape to poison Remus?”

Now Remus was trembling again. Dumbledore turned to the lycanthrope. “Remus? What is this?”

Now Alex's formidable temper flared, “He was overdosed with aconite approximately eighteen months ago.”

Albus Dumbledore may have been an unscrupulous bastard, but he wasn't stupid.

His brow furrowed, he pledged, “I have no idea how you were poisoned, but it was not at my doing. Nor, do I believe that Severus was involved.”

Sirius and James snorted in disbelief and scorn. Still not turning to face the man, Lily spoke in a low voice. Alex had to strain to hear her words, but they were so laden with emotion, she felt as if she could pick them from the vine, swollen to bursting.

“You know my history with that man, Albus. He was my best friend for many years. He's a near genius, a master of the craft of potion making and a deft hand with a wand, as well. He has the ability to make connections between disparate ideas that is stunning.

“However, he is also the most resentful, mean and petty man I've ever met. He's done things that change a person. Things that irrevocably change a man. While he may claim to have turned back to the light, the darkness has forever stained his soul.

“A man who is a servant of the light does not hold an entire school hostage to his petty whims and visions of vengeance. He does not abuse and belittle those with whom he is entrusted for their safety. No. When one of his long-time opponents and a member of their mutual torment circle was within his power, he would exercise that power. I have no doubt that Severus would poison Remus. It is well within his character.”

Turning to Hermione, Remus met her gaze. The two had a silent contest of wills until Remus told her, “That's enough for now. We may never know what happened to me. The other two points…you can't kill a memory nor can you repair the past.”

Gesturing with an offhand and derisive gesture, the Lycanthrope dismissed the Headmaster, “He's guilty. We all know it. The evidence is plentiful. He's despised and without name in our lives any longer. Use him for what we're here for so we can leave.”

Alex was thunderstruck. Remus never talked like this. He was the compassionate one, the person in their little family who always counselled patience and understanding. Now, he was viciously advocating complete dismissal of the man whom all of those present had either respected or even revered at one time or the other.

And she agreed with him.

Hermione glared at the perturbed old man for a long moment. Nodding, she asked in a more relaxed tone, “Where do we begin?”

.oOo.

Hermione sat next to Harry at the table. Lily was in the kitchen fixing tea with Alex and Remus' help while Sirius and James sat at the head and foot of the table. Opposite the teens was Dumbledore.

Placidly, he regarded the pair of them before he asked, Harry, “I assume you have completely recovered from your disability at the Graveyard Engagement?”

“Yes,” Harry tersely replied. Small talk wasn't on the agenda for the day so everyone fell silent again.

Hermione was still fuming a bit. She had one more question for the old man that Remus had prevented her from asking. She wanted to know how the Headmaster knew that the Dark Lord was aware of the particulars of the Prophecy. Her gut told her that question would unravel an entire tapestry of issues. Part of her wanted to know, the more cynical and practical side of her didn't care. Use him for what we're here for so we can leave, Remus had advocated. The sentiment grew in wisdom as time passed.

Lily returned with the tea service while Alex and Remus laid out trays of biscuits.

Muttering, “Ah,” the old man's eyes lit on the snacks. She couldn't help but shake her head in amusement as he helped himself to three of the lemon-flavoured treats. The man was a breathing dichotomy and it infuriated her.

Tea was quickly served and while Hermione stirred her one sugar into the mix, Dumbledore began, “Tom Riddle was a genius of the like I don't think the magical world has ever seen. He was also an athlete. While not one for Quidditch, I routinely saw him performing calisthenics and running for distance about the grounds. He was charming and witty when he chose to be, but above all, he was an extraordinarily focused and smart young man.”

He levelled his gaze at Harry, “You would have very little chance opposing Tom Riddle.”

Hermione's eyes narrowed, but she immediately understood the point. When Sirius barked, “What are you…” Hermione interrupted.

“Sirius, pay attention to what he just said. Harry isn't opposing Tom Riddle, but rather, Lord Voldemort and for all intents and purposes, they're two different people.”

Nodding as he nibbled a biscuit, Dumbledore then smiled while saying, “Excellent, Lady Hermione. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

No one smiled.

“As her Ladyship pointed out,” Dumbledore continued with only a fleeting look of sadness, “Tom Riddle underwent uncounted rituals, potions and whatnot in order to increase his magical might and in a vain attempt at immortality.” Shaking his head, he sipped his tea. Wiping his moustaches in a seeming habitual motion, Dumbledore stared off into the ether, “Destroyed himself. Piece by piece, he ravaged his humanity until the sum effect of all the sacrifices required for his goals have left him subhuman.

“Based on his appearance in the graveyard after his resurrection, I performed some research. I can categorically state that he has surrendered five feet of his small intestine, his genitalia, approximately an ounce of his dura mater and, most likely, gallons of his own blood over time. Each sacrifice was required in the rituals and potions of Dark Magic that he performed over the years.”

The room fell silent, understanding what Dumbledore was saying. While the transition from Tom Riddle to Lord Voldemort gave the Dark Lord certain advantages, it irreversibly damaged his humanity in not only body but also spirit. Hermione nearly smiled as she considered that Lord Voldemort was now a `magical being' and no longer a wizard, per se.

“He's a beast now. His lack of physical humanity is exacerbated by the emotional and spiritual repercussions of those activities. As such, where he had few weakness and was superior wizard, he now has many weaknesses and is a near force of nature as a wizard.”

There was a burning feeling in her chest that made Hermione smile. “That's alright. Harry and I are forces of nature as well.”

Nodding, Albus said nothing until he cautioned, “You must never underestimate him, though. Even though he has diminished himself through his activities, what remains is still an extraordinary being. More intelligent and magically powerful than me,” nodding to James he added, “A better speaker than Lord Richmond and more savage than a shark. Never, ever underestimate him. It would be the last thing you would ever do.”

Harry murmured, “I believe I have enough experience with the man to understand that he is a formidable foe. To which weaknesses are you referring?”

Dumbledore nodded gravely. At least he has the honesty to admit that Harry is right, Hermione thought scathingly.

“Do you recall his spell selection the last time you faced him?” Dumbledore asked.

Hermione shuddered. She didn't like to think of that night at all, much less analyse the Monster's behaviour. But that's part of the problem. Being terrified of him gives him power. Power to defeat me.

Turning her intellect to the task, Hermione thought. She heard Harry tell Dumbledore, “First he cast a Reductor at my feet. That was just a proverbial warning shot to shut my yob.” She felt him look to his Dad, “He said something about me talking as much as my Dad and about as funny, too.”

Hermione smiled briefly, the next events becoming vividly clear for her. It was the beginning of the engagement. Earth Shaker, Fire, the transfigured wolves followed by the Sleeping Spell.

None had touched Voldemort.

Nodding the old wizard commented, “His body is nearly invulnerable to the elements. Fire may redden his skin, but not much more. The wolves were a good idea. Should you meet him again where he is without his followers, that approach would be a good distractor so that you could press your attack. As it was, I'm sure that your transfigurations kept the Death Eaters busy. The Sleeping spell…I am unsure as to why that failed to affect him. Did you see him when you cast it?”

Harry shook his head, “He was obscured by the fire.”

Pursing his lips, the old man motioned for Harry to continue.

“Well, he Revived the sleeping Death Eaters before casting the Killing Curse. Then there was a deluge of spells, the only one I recognized was the Entrail Expelling curse.”

“Was the first spell a dark orange followed by a purple pulsing beam and then the Entrail Expelling curse?”

Hermione was surprised, but then this was probably part of Dumbledore's point. “Yes, they were,” Harry replied.

“Most likely, they were the Insanity curse, the Blood Boiling hex followed by the Entrail Expelling curse. That is his usual opening after the Killing curse. Unfortunately, he usually doesn't need to cast anything after the Killing curse, though.”

“That's something we can exploit,” Lily observed. It was the first thing she'd said after her little diatribe about Snape.

Hermione nodded before frowning. “How?”

“I don't know. Yet,” Lily replied in a harsh whisper.

Picking up his thread, Harry wrapped up, “There was a ward that incinerated organic matter. Nifty, that was. Then there was his endgame spell.”

Nodding, Albus asked, “It affected you in the same manner as the Draught of the Living Dead?”

Harry nodded.

“Hmm, I wonder what the power requirements are for that spell?” Dumbledore muttered to himself. Dismissing the digression, he turned to Hermione, “And your experience, your Ladyship?”

“Sheilds. I kept up a constant attack. The lightning got through his defences, but at that point, I was empty. Then you arrived.”

“That is the only manner of attacking Lord Voldemort that I have found to be successful. Attack, press the attack and then push to the last reserve.” The room had become deathly silent as Harry and the old man regarded each other. The Defeater of Grindlewald told the Prophesized One, “It was similar with Gellert. While I was more skilled in esoteric aspects of magic and had a wider repertoire of spells to bring against him, his immense magical strength and agility of mind were an equalizer.”

Hermione wondered what kind of wizard Albus Dumbledore would cede pride of place in the intelligence department. First, it had been Voldemort, now Grindlewald.

“Lord Voldemort is arrogance personified, as was Grindlewald. It is another weakness to exploit.”

“He sure loves to talk about how great he is,” Harry commented drily.

“That's no lie,” James concurred.

Silently, Lily conjured a parchment and pen. The scratch-scritch of the nib on the parchment was loud in the silence. Off in the distance, Hermione heard the kee of a hunting hawk while the wind wended through the trees.

Seeing that Lily was absorbed in her notes, the Headmaster continued. “Arrogance, a depleted humanity which may or may not affect his logic centre. He is not diminished physically, far from it. Mentally, he is more of a beast. Look at his aggressive vitriol whenever you meet with him.”

“Hold on,” James interrupted. “You are proposing that Voldemort is slowly losing his grip on reality due to all the repulsive rituals he's done over the years.”

“I am,” Dumbledore nodded.

“This is the same wizard who successfully planned and executed his resurrection, the overnight takeover of the Ministry, the non-magical Ministry and nearly killed his prophesized opponent. Sorry, but the two don't reconcile.”

Dumbledore was silent for a long moment. “I know that the takeover of the ministry was not Voldemort's plan, but rather one of his follower's plans that he approved.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Again, Dumbledore had knowledge of the inner workings of the Dark Circle that he ought not to have. How?

“Who?” Sirius asked.

“Actually it was a collaborative plan between Lucius Malfoy and Joseph Jugson.”

Hermione did as the rest of them in unconscious imitation. Leaning back in her chair, her face adopted an expression of contemplation. Voldemort is taking input as opposed to his autocrat method of ruling his followers. “But what does it mean?” Hermione asked aloud, not realizing that she'd spoken.

“That, Lady Hermione, is the question, indeed,” Dumbledore replied.

Again, they were silent, digesting the information.

Sitting forward, Dumbledore told Harry, “I don't believe there's more to be accomplished today. There is much to consider, much to plan, discard then plan again. In my experience, one can sharpen the sword only so much. You are already a deadly wizard, my Lord. The question is how to best focus that deadliness.”

Reluctantly, Hermione agreed. I wish there was a ritual, or a spell that would make the Monster disappear. Chiding herself for the silliness, Evil doesn't disappear, it's only vanquished for a bit. It recedes, then grows again.

Glancing between the contemplative Harry and Dumbledore, Until a Champion stands forth to do battle against the darkness, banishing it for a bit.

Standing, Dumbledore told Harry, “I shall return in two days. We can compare notes and I can see what you can do with that wand of yours.” Hermione thought there was an eager tone in the Headmaster's voice. Maybe he was itching for a proper opponent for once.

“Two days,” Harry replied with a nod.

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first nineteen 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 Could Have Been, by leedee. It's a really neat `what if' AU that I find very moving. Find it on FFdotnet and Portkey.

3. Alright. Why was Harry introduced as `Earl of Richmond'? Because the eldest son of a Duke, Marquess or an Earl can use one of their father's subsidiary title as `courtesy titles'. James is still the Duke of Shrewsbury, the Earl of Richmond and the Baron Potter of Gwynedd, though. That's why in earlier chapters I had James introduce Harry as `Lord Potter' as in ` Baron Potter'. Now that James is Shrewsbury, Harry is introduced as `Earl of Richmond'. The lack of `The' in front of Earl is indicative of the courtesy-ness of the title (if that's a word). Eldest daughters (Hermione) do not have a courtesy title unless they're married to a courtesy peer. When Harry and Hermione marry, she'll be Countess of Richmond by courtesy and eventually the Duchess of Shrewsbury etc… when James passes on. Thus endeth the lesson…

Chapter complete 5/6/12

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21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

How does Dumbledore know all that he knows? Well, the `How' is obvious. He has an informant. The question then becomes `who'?

Hermione had thought of little but the issues that Dumbledore had proposed. She felt that the key to defeating the Dark Lord - `Vanquishing' him as it were - was to be found somewhere in the sketch of a personality profile of Harry's opponent.

Every once in a while, though, this issue of how Dumbledore knew the machinations of Voldemort's inner circle would rear its head.

The white-hot bolt of eldritch fire whined past her ear. Fight now. Think later.

Rolling on her back, she catapulted herself to her feet. Ducking into a crouch, Hermione leapt into the air where Harry cast a spell, sending her higher into the air. From her vantage point, she was nearly overtop the old wizard.

Instinctively, she drew deeply on her magical reserves. It was like breathing deeply, just completely different. The first spell choice was the Battering Ram curse. That would kill him, she lamented. Harry was maintaining his constant stream of spell fire, which was literally rocking the heavily bearded wizard to his heels.

Instead of the devastatingly powerful curse, she snapped a string of Stunning spells.

Without looking, Dumbledore cast a wide area Stunning spell overhead while he sidestepped the flashes of red aimed at him. Hermione frantically shielded as she began to fall. The hasty Advanced Shield spell deflected the spell, but delayed her casting the Cushioning charm. At the last moment, she was able to cover her feet with the charm but that didn't preclude her hard landing. A loud crack announced a broken bone of some sort in her left leg.

The shattering pain was a clue also. Through the red haze that dropped over her sight, she tried to sight on her opponent.

“HOLD!” Dumbledore shouted.

Grateful, she melted to the floor. A quick Numbing charm eased the pain. Letting the throbbing pain fade away for a moment, she quickly cast the Bone Knitting charm.

Panting in a mix of pain and exertion, Hermione slowly stood. Gingerly testing her leg, she found it would hold her weight. Raising her face, she saw a scowling Albus Dumbledore directly in front of her.

“What was that?” he demanded. There was no hint of the kindly old Headmaster in his demeanour.

She knew he was referring to the Stunning spells. “I was trying to avoid killing you. I had the drop on you. Had I cast the Battering Ram spell, which was my first thought, I would've most likely killed you,” she ground out.

Laughing derisively, Dumbledore waved a hand at her. “Foolish, arrogant child. I let you get there. You were never a real threat.”

“You know, you sound a lot like Snape when you say that,” Harry observed from behind the man.

“Or maybe Voldemort,” Hermione countered.

There was a pause until Dumbledore nodded. “Good. As you are aware, Lord Voldemort will engage you on not only a magical and physical level, but also the psychological. Word games, threats, intimidation and the like are all ways he seeks to gain advantage. If he can cripple you with words, it's that much easier to dispatch you.”

“And he appears that much more imposing to his followers,” Hermione observed. Remembering the diatribe in the Graveyard, she wondered who the intended audience had been; her and Harry or the dozen and a half Death Eaters?

“Lady Hermione,” the Headmaster began, shaking her from her reverie. In his most `professorial' tone, he asked, “Why did you cast the Stunning spell when you were overtop me? The Piercing charm is faster, the Battering Ram hex is inevitably fatal and the Cutting charm is more forgiving of a shaky aim. With that being said, why would you cast the Stunning spell which requires steady aim and so on?”

Affronted, Hermione snapped, “I didn't want to kill you, Headmaster.”

The soft tone became condescending, “Oh, Lady Hermione, I doubt you would kill me. Please…” whatever he was going to ask became moot as The Smartest Witch of the Age interrupted him.

“I wouldn't kill you? Really. How many werewolves have you killed with your bare hands, Headmaster?” Ploughing on, she strode to the centre of the large field where they practiced. Hermione threw her arms wide and she knew her expression was probably not very happy. Her blood up, she taunted the old man, “In fact, let's go right now. Just the two of us.”

The old man glanced to the bench not far from where they stood. On it, Sirius and Remus watched with grave expressions, but didn't move to intervene. Once again, Hermione was grateful to have such a family.

A small part of Hermione knew that she was reacting to all that the Headmaster had done - or not done - to her family. The systematic abuse of Harry as a child, the systematic abuse of muggleborn children at Hogwarts, the unjust imprisoning of Sirius and the possibility of Snape poisoning Remus were a constant source of anger and even rage for her.

The imprisonment of the Dursleys did little to assuage her ire. Even as Hermione knew that hurting this man wouldn't take back a single beating that Harry suffered, she blindly thrust forward, searching for justice.

She met Harry's hard gaze, looking for something. He would never forbid her from this course of action. Never in life would it even occur to him to do such a thing. However, he might ask her not to do so. From Harry, should he ask, he was asking for her own sake, not his own. He trusted her, respected her abilities and person. Looking deep into his eyes, she saw only determination and support. Turning back to Dumbledore, she raised an eyebrow, “Well?”

Nodding slowly, the old man replied, “If we must.”

.oOo.

“James, I need to speak with you immediately.”

Prongs looked up from his desk to see Amelia and a haggard looking Hestia. He wondered why the now-Deputy Minister hadn't been around the house during their mini-vacation. It looked as if he were about to find out.

Wordlessly, he gestured to two chairs across from his desk. Placing the parchment he'd been reading on his desk, James asked, “What's going on?”

Before Amelia had taken her seat, she closed and locked the door while casting a hasty Privacy ward. As she sat, the petite redhead caught James' eye, “Dolores Umbridge was brutally murdered the other day.”

Eyes rounding, James asked, “Do you know who did it?”

She shook her head. “She was killed between the end of our interrogation of her and luncheon. The house elf delivering her meal found her…remains.” James leaned forward as Amelia explained the details of the case. No abnormal magical signature in the room. No known dark curses cast. No physical evidence from the killer. No note or the like on the victim's person or nearby.

“In short, it's a dead end,” James mused as he sat back in his chair. He'd thought about being an Auror while in school, but when he father had died, he realized that he had more responsibilities than time. As such, his personal fancy of becoming Head Auror or the like had been discarded. Being Lord Richmond (at that time) had been a time consuming task.

“What can I do to help?” he asked. “I'm woefully ignorant about investigations and evidence, but whatever I can do, even if it's holding your bag, I'll do.”

Hestia's half smile surprised him. Even more so, when she turned to Amelia, “Pay up.”

The dainty redheaded witch dug into a pocket, tossing a galleon to the blonde.

“What?” James asked.

“Never you mind. I do need your help. You were the person most in favour of executing Dolores. As such, many will see you as the prime suspect in her murder.”

James' brow furrowed as he began, “See here, Amelia. I've…” His protests were stillborn at her raised hand.

“I believe you to be innocent, but it's the form of the thing. Tomorrow, we move to the Spanish Headquarters and I want to clear this all up before we move. I've got Arthur going through the staff and administering Veritaserum to them while asking just the one question.”

“Did you kill or assist the killer of Dolores Umbridge?” James offered. Amelia nodded. “Let's do this now,” he said as he sat up in his chair. I want both of you to be here as I'm questioned. Call in anyone else you deem necessary.”

Amelia nodded as she dug in the same pocket as before. Withdrawing a small vial, she then cast three spells over her shoulder that left the door standing wide open. Hestia moved to the doorframe and in a loud voice called out, “Anyone who'd like to see his Grace questioned under the influence of Veritaserum about the death of Dolores Umbridge, come to his office right now.”

James smiled at the smirking Amelia. “Were you a Slytherin in school?” He could tell that she knew he'd respond in this way, so she and Hestia had already worked out this devious little set up.

Shaking her head, the smirk became a smile, “Never in your life. Badger, through and through.”

That made sense to him. An Hufflepuff would be loyal to their friends.

A small crowd gathered outside the office, a few leaking into the room. One young witch, Janice Woodlawn, blushed deeply when James smiled at her. Taking note, James wanted to make sure to tell Lily that Amelia's secretary had a crush on him. It almost guaranteed fabulous sex tonight.

The Minister must've felt they had a large enough crowd. Standing, she moved around his desk. James knew the drill. Tipping his head back, he opened his mouth.

Amelia unstopped the vial, tilting it over. As the drops fell, she counted aloud, “One…two…three.”

The haze of the truth serum overcame him nearly immediately. James and the other Marauders had brewed Veritaserum twice in school. The first time had been an abysmal failure; the second time had been very interesting and sobering. It'd been similar to his experience when verifying his identity after returning to the time stream. It was the same effect now that it'd been then.

“Did you kill Dolores Umbridge?” he heard from far away.

Replying instinctively, he said, “No.”

There was a murmur from far away, followed by the next question, “Did you assist whoever killed Dolores Umbridge?”

Again, the immediate response came from his lips, “No.” It almost felt like someone else was answering or that he'd lost control of his body.

“Do you know who killed Dolores Umbridge?”

“No.”

The feeling began to ebb, but it was still there when he heard a voice blurt out, “Do you love your wife?”

The handsome wizard replied, “With all my body, mind and soul.”

Blinking, he felt the haze drift away in nearly a moment. He saw Amelia scowling into the crowd, “Who asked that?” she demanded.

Thinking hard, he remembered the last `unscheduled' question. Smiling, he told the angry Minister, “Don't worry, Minister. I'm not chuffed about that. I'll take out a page in the paper every day of my life saying the same thing.”

The somewhat placated former Auror settled a bit. “Still, it's completely inappropriate.”

Shrugging, he looked to Hestia. The blonde shook her head. “I was questioned before we came in here. I've been working double tides to get this all ready. Now that everything's underway, I've a bit more to do before I head home to get some sleep.” Winking, she asked, “Should I speak with Lily?”

Smiling, he told his friend, “I think I'll work through lunch before heading home early. I'd like to see how Harry and Hermione made out with the old man.”

Amelia stood, a half-smile on her face, “And tell your passionate wife about your declaration under Veritaserum, no doubt.”

.oOo.

Lily was buried under a pile of forms. Many were smooth copies of letters or contracts that she'd already reviewed, requiring only her or James' signature. Right now, though, she was neck deep in a review of the governing principles of the Confederations that had been submitted for approval. Normally, she'd give this a cursory glance, but this update had been submitted by the Ambassador from the magical Empire of all the Russias.

By courtesy, the submitter of an update to a charter, rule or regulation would indicate the updated section of the piece by striking through the old section and have the new section in bold lettering directly below. The cover sheet of the document also would list the pages affected to direct the reviewer to the appropriate passages.

The section that had been stricken in the Russian update had been innocuous. Russia was proposing that the dues paid by member nations be paid monthly instead of every solstice. This new payment schedule, they explained, would relieve an economic burden from the smaller nation members.

The charter was seven hundred pages long but Lily wasn't willing to trust the `courtesy' of a country that had so soundly proclaimed them in opposition to the British Ministry in Exile.

On page six hundred and twelve, she found it.

A small section of the charter that delineated the rules that allowed for the disqualification of an ambassador. Among the obvious `conviction of a felony', `recall by sponsor government', and `physical assault of another member or a member's staff' was a new addition.

It read: 15. Any Ambassador who behaves in a manner inconsistent with the morals and standards espoused with and stood for by the International Confederation of Wizards may be charged with `Improper Behaviour' by any member nation. Said Ambassador will be tried by a five-nation panel of which three shall be security council members and the remaining two selected by the accusing nation. Should it be the verdict of the panel, the Ambassador may have his/her credentials revoked and the represented nation will be required to provide a new Ambassador.

Shaking her head, Lily circled the passage in red ink as she mumbled, “Those bastards.” Thumbing through the existing charter for comparison, she verified that this `morals clause' was an addition to the charter.

Ringing a small bell, she waited for Agatha to come. When the door opened, the secretary asked, “Yes, your Grace?”

“I need to call a meeting with the Secretary General and the ambassadors from as many Security Council nations who are still in residence. Tomorrow afternoon if possible,” Lily ordered in a clipped tone.

The unflappable Agatha nodded. “The topic, your Grace?”

Holding the annotated form in the air, Lily replied with a shark like grin, “This…proposal…by the Ambassador from the magical Empire of all the Russias.”

After Agatha closed the door to make her calls, Lily dug back into the proposed update to the charter. This was bad. Should James be removed by hook or by crook as the British Ambassador by some trumped up charge in this kangaroo court, then the Ministry in Exile would have no legitimate standing. International pressure would be brought to bear on Spain, removing their home base and any further recognition by a country of status would be difficult.

Some countries - Russia for example - could make the case that the Ministry in Exile was really a terrorist group attempting to usurp the rightful government of Great Britain.

With a mounting fury, Lily read on for any other `overlooked' items.

.oOo.

“She is gonna fuck him up.”

“Five galleons says a draw.”

“You are so on. Hey, Harry!” Sirius called. “Come over here.”

The Boy-Who-Lived trotted over to his Godfather and Uncle very hesitantly. “Sirius, I gotta help…”

“Shaddup, Harry. She's more than capable of taking care of herself.” Waving to him, he added, “Sit down. I've a fiver on Hermione with Remus. You in?”

“No bet,” Harry replied tensely.

Sirius shrugged, unhappy that his attempt to divert Harry had been unsuccessful. Then again, he really didn't think that Harry would be diverted. All hope for levity fled when he saw Hermione assume the Gladiator stance. Shivering, he wondered at her mindset that would drive her to the highly aggressive stance and the approach it implied.

“She's going for it,” Remus muttered.

Harry nodded. “If it's good enough for Voldemort it's good enough for Dumbledore.”

Sirius leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs. Dumbledore assumed the Flitwick stance. The stance that Filius had designed placed the arms, hands and wand in position to move rapidly to defensive spellfire and shields.

“She'll eat that up,” Harry murmured and Sirius could only agree. The teens had been training with Master Filius for the better part of a year.

In a loud voice, Dumbledore began, “On my mark! Three…two…one…begin!”

Launching herself forward, Hermione began to sprint directly at the old man as she cast her first spell. It was an Illusion spell. Suddenly, ten Hermione Granger-Blacks appeared, all running at Albus Dumbledore. In unison, they all began to weave in and out of each other. Sirius couldn't tell which was the real Hermione.

“Oh, my. Well done,” Sirius muttered. Wizards hate physical confrontations. In closing the space between the two of them, she forced Albus to instinctively back two paces before he cast his first spell.

Her second spell was another surprise to Sirius. The illusion had been in place for less than a second when an ear-splitting thunderclap resounded in the field followed by an explosion of light that blinded him.

Blinking to regain his eyesight, Sirius expected to see Dumbledore flat on his back while Harry and Hermione snogged in celebration. Instead, he saw the old man fighting like a tiger. He was casting spells in a deluge. Hermione bobbed and weaved. Rolling and jumping, she closed the distance between her and her opponent.

Padfoot was astonished that the old man could see well enough to fight. Spots danced in front of Sirius' eyes and he'd been fifty yards from that blinding light when it'd flared. Looking closer, he saw that Dumbledore's eyes were closed. “Mage sight,” Harry commented tersely.

That was an advantage for Hermione. While the spell still allowed a blinded wizard the ability to `see' their opponent, it wasn't nearly as accurate or timely as normal vision. Unfortunately for Hermione, this was Albus Dumbledore she was fighting.

His Duelling shield affixed to his off arm, Dumbledore deflected her Paralysis curse while he summoned a howling wind. The wind whipped about Hermione, threatening to throw her from her feet. He couldn't hear it, but Sirius could see Hermione's lips curl back in a snarl.

A wide sweep of her arm conjured a wall of water that crashed over the old man. Before it'd even cleared him, she froze it solid. Wincing in pain, Hermione took a deep breath, regaining her wind.

Sirius couldn't take a breath of hope that the duel was over before the ice shattered with a resounding crash. Hermione rolled away from a hail of binding ropes that boiled out of the frozen shrapnel.

As she rolled, her wand flashed, transfiguring the ground under the old man to a large hole.

When Dumbledore fell into the impromptu well, she screeched, “Coracis!”

Sirius' eyebrows raised. Hermione and Harry rarely vocalised their spells. For her to do so showed how hard she was pushing this spell.

“Oh God,” Remus muttered as he stood to cast a hasty Bunker Shield. He'd seen how destructive this curse was when cast by the teens.

Now it was Sirius' turn to see Hermione act as a Force of Nature. From one end of his vision to the other, Sirius saw a wall of earth lift in the air as the spell took effect. Tonnes of dirt lifted before raining down. Staring dumbfounded, Sirius waited.

Alert and bouncing on her toes while searching through the dust and debris for her target, Hermione failed to scan the one place that usually got soldiers in trouble.

From behind her, the battered form of Albus Dumbledore appeared.

By a sixth sense of some sort, Hermione rolled just before Dumbledore's curse hit her back. Now the old man was on the offensive. His left arm hanging slackly, he showed why he was the only one that Voldemort ever feared. Asphyxiation curse, Paralysis curse, Stunning spell, Reductor curse and even the Tripping jinx were hurled in rapid fire at Hermione.

She shielded when required and dodged the rest of the spells. Jumping high in the air with a magic assisted boost, she did a back flip. At the apogee of the leap, she borrowed a page from Dumbledore by vanishing.

He glanced left and right before spinning about.

To his godson, Sirius asked, “Did she Disillusion herself or Apparate?”

Harry smirked, “Wait for it.”

A finger appeared from nowhere just before it tapped the Headmaster on the shoulder. Dumbledore flinched away as he turned. Hermione reappeared just as she punched the old man on the nose. The crunch was audible to Sirius as the old man's nose was broken yet again.

Sirius' brows rose when the old man didn't miss a beat as blood poured down his beard. He lashed out with his right hand, wand still fisted, punching Hermione in the face.

Her head whipped with the force of his blow, but the Vinewood and dragon heartstring wand was already in motion. A Concussion charm knocked them both off their feet. Youth served Hermione as she scrambled to her feet before Dumbledore could sit up. Lashing out with her right foot, the toe of her trainer caught the old man in the jaw.

Sirius winced. The snap of the breaking bone was audible. He's eating gruel for a bit.

The old man grunted as he rolled away from Hermione's follow up Piercing charm. What would've drilled a hole in his chest, instead cut a ten-metre deep hole in the dirt. From his back, Albus cast a quick-draw Punching hex that caught Hermione in the gut.

Doubling over, The Smartest Witch of the Age gasped for a breath. Her face purpling, her expression became feral. Throwing herself forward, Hermione jabbed her wand into the old man's breast. She smiled when she incanted, “Enervo.”

Like a puppet with its strings cut, Dumbledore collapsed.

After a long look at her fallen opponent, Hermione fell to her knees, gasping for breath.

As Harry sprinted to his fiancée, Sirius and Moony were right behind him. When they reached the fallen combatants and saw that Harry had Hermione under control and that she wasn't too badly hurt, Padfoot turned to his old friend.

“Pay up.”

.oOo.

Neville strolled out on the veranda in search of Susan. The only person out there was a man he really didn't like. Steven Granger gave Neville a cursory glance before furtively looking away. A small part of the sandy haired wizard felt sorry for the man. He was a first class wanker, but it must be hard living in a house where one is universally disliked.

Deciding to throw the man a bone, he asked, “Have you seen Susan?” He tried to use a polite tone, but it was rather difficult.

In a low tone, the man replied diffidently, “I believe she and Healer Price went to town. They did that disappearing thing your lot does about ten minutes ago.”

Frowning, Neville couldn't help himself. “'Your lot'? Why do you do that?”

Taken aback, Granger blinked.

“You say `your lot' like we're an entirely different race.”

“But you are,” Granger replied. “I bet the biologists would call you a homo magicus or some such.” Shrugging, he added, “Not like it's a grand divide, but wizards and witches are different.”

Neville stared at the man with a disapproving glare. “Is that why you treat your daughter so shabbily?”

Taken aback again, Granger tried to formulate a response but Neville outpaced him. “You see, a few weeks after Harry's parents were…displaced…my family was attacked by people who believed that, because of the difference you're so keen on acknowledging, because of that difference, they were superior to non-magical persons. They wanted my parents to tell them were the Dark Lord had been taken. Did you know that there is a pain curse that, if cast continuously over a period of time, can drive the victim insane?”

By the pause of his little rant, Neville was speaking wistfully. All the years that he'd visited his parents in the Long Term Care Ward of St Mungo's washed over him like a breeze.

“I've seen the husks of my parents all my life. I've always wondered…wondered who they were. Did my Dad like peppermint humbugs during Yule? Did my Mum knit?”

“You see, Hermione is `in between' now. It's where I've lived my whole life. My parents were there but not really there. Last month, you were gone. She was moving on with her life. She was happy - well, once Harry recovered she was fine. Now, things are upside down.”

Turning his empty eyes on the now silent man, Neville stared for along moment. Finally, he charged the man, “You owe it to yourself and your daughter to not be such a bastard as you've been. If you can't help it because of your beliefs, you should leave her in peace and bugger off. Stop hurting her.”

Turning on his heel, Neville headed up the path to the hills. He needed a walk to burn off some of his energy.

.oOo.

“Hmmm, two teeth missing, your eye socket is fractured, your lungs are damaged from high wind exposure, cracked ribs and you lost two fingernails,” Alex observed as she summed up Hermione's status.

“Can you grow the nails out to their previous length?” the brunette witch asked in an offhand manner after downing four separate potions.

Alex frowned. Hermione wasn't a vain young woman. Usually, the brunette witch walked about with her nails unpainted, much less caring about their length.

“No. The potion just re-establishes the nail to the maximum cuticle length. From there, it'll grow out.” The blonde healer paused,

“What?” Hermione asked.

“You couldn't care less about your nails. What's wrong?”

Hermione chewed on her lip for a long minute until she began. In a small voice, she admitted, “I really tried to kill the Headmaster today.” Shrugging, she added, “A part of me was a bit horrified that I went that far, but it was a very small part. That was the young girl who boarded a train to Scotland with stars in her eyes about adults.”

Alex watched her look into her lap, examining her hands as the nails regrew, “That person is long dead. I've no illusions about adults now. They're just as flawed s children.”

“Even more so,” Alex commented to a resigned nod.

“I suppose that Dumbledore believes he's done the best he could under unfortunate circumstances, but I'd have to disagree.” Her eyes narrowed, “Vehemently.”

The Smartest Witch of the Age flinched as the Skele-Gro began to regrow her missing teeth while the Bone Knitting potion repaired her eye socket and ribs. ”Lay back,” Alex commanded. Shoving a last potion vial in her hand, the Healer directed, “This will put you to sleep for the next three hours. By then, the Skele-Gro and Bone Knitting potion will have run their course. You may be a little sore doing deep breathing, but the ribs will be fine.”

Retrieving the empty bottle from the already drowsy witch, Alex whispered, “Have a good rest,” as she slipped out of the room.

She nodded to the waiting Harry. His earnest expression tore at her heart. “She'll be fine. I just gave her a Sleeping Draught that will have her asleep until…” she checked her watch, “About 14:00.”

He nodded before hurrying to his intended's bedside.

Alex dropped her bag in the potion lab before heading to the dining room. Rauri usually had a mid-morning snack on the sideboard, which ought to deal with her attack of hunger. Turning into the room, she saw Sirius and Remus explaining to Bill Smith and William about the slugfest between Hermione and the Headmaster.

Picking a few confections from the selection, she poured a cup of tea for herself. Sliding next to Remus, she returned his welcoming smile as she munched. Turning to the assembled men, she was unsurprised to see Bill Smith's brow furrowed while William was sitting back in his chair, contemplative.

“Isn't that dangerous?” Bill asked. His attitude was subdued, but there was a hint of anger and protectiveness for his granddaughter.

Remus nodded, “It is. But there's no other way to prepare for Voldemort. Harry…” Remus trailed off, as if he were searching for words, but was really trying to figure a way out of the sentence he'd started. Hermione's birth family was unaware of the Prophecy and Harry had firmly expressed his desire that they remain ignorant.

“Harry what?” Bill asked. He was experienced and cagey enough to realise that something was happening about which he was unaware.

Alex sighed. Secrets were unpleasant. Fortunately, William stepped in. “Mr Smith, I'm sorry but Her Majesty has instructed that we can't discuss this topic any further without her expressed permission.”

Nodding her head in feigned agreement, Alex smiled to herself as she admired the Prince's admirable lie. A man such as Bill Smith would never question or go against a Royal Command. Even if it had just been invented.

The grandfather nodded appreciatively. “Very well, your Highness.” Turning back to Sirius, he commanded, “Discuss it or not, you know the entire story. I expect you to protect my granddaughter, young man.”

With a slight nod to Alex, Bill rose. “Your Highness, my Lord…” he muttered before leaving.

After he left the room, William smiled, “Mr Smith and my grandmother could have a good contest on most regal bearing. I think Grandmother would win. I think.”

“I see where Hermione got it from,” Sirius observed before drinking off his tea. Standing to refill his cup, he said, “He's a good man, though.”

Finally able to ask the question she'd been burning to voice since Hermione had been shoved into her care an hour before, Alex asked, “Was Dumbledore going easy on her? Did she really beat him when he was going all out?”

Sirius sighed loudly as he stared at the ceiling. From her side, Remus quietly replied, “At first, I don't think Albus took her seriously. That gave her an advantage for a few moments.”

“That's when she cast the illusion of herself, right?” William asked.

Remus nodded. “That gave her the offensive advantage. She pressed him, getting a few shots in on him.” He smiled wolfishly, “I'd never imagine little Hermione Granger from her third year punching Albus Dumbledore in the nose, breaking it.”

“Or kicking him in the face, later,” Sirius added.

“Once the fight was on, I believe Albus ratcheted up his game. I think that combination of the Thunderclap charm and the Solaris spell showed him that she was serious. After that, he was on the defensive for much of the fight.”

“And you still haven't paid me you skinflint,” Sirius mused.

Watching her lover rolling his eyes as he dug into his pocket for the correct coin, Alex asked, “So do you think this was a representative fight? Representative for how a fight with Voldemort would play out?”

The two friends exchanged an uneasy look as Remus handed over the coin. Finally, Sirius shook his head, “Albus cast the Punching hex when Voldemort would cast the Killing Curse. No. I don't think it was a representative fight. Close, in the sense that Hermione and Albus had a fight that few magicals can approach, but not really the same as standing against Voldemort. I defer to James and Lily, as I've never fought him, but Voldemort is a lot tougher than Dumbledore. Meaner.”

.oOo.

James settled into a chair next to his son. “It's s a bit different being on this side of the injury,” he commented. Distractedly, Harry nodded.

The Father-Who-Lived took a deep breath, forcing his thoughts away from the debilitating memory of Harry's long-term incapacitation. Trying to draw both of their thoughts to easier topics, he cajoled his son into describing the morning's events.

After Harry finished, Prongs sat back in his chair, thinking hard. “What do you think?” his son prodded.

“I think she let it go too long at that close of a range. Voldemort is faster than a snake - as you well know. That close and there's no room to dodge or Apparate. If you close to grappling range, you have to put him down right fucking now or he'll eat you up.”

After sharing his experiences with the Dark Lord and comparing them to Harry's encounters, they chatted about inconsequential things. They debated attending a European League Quidditch match, but James thought it to dangerous. Should they be recognized or their disguises fail, it could be fatal.

“When I was a boy, your Granddad was…well, he was born in 1890 so he was about seventy five or six when I was eight. We didn't roughhouse too much, you could say. One of the few times he came out, he taught me how to fly a broom. I was so excited I couldn't think straight. Mum was worried and fussing. `Charlus you're too damn old to be on a broom,' she fretted.”

James smiled as he shook his head at the memory. In his mind, his parents were alive and well. His father with the slight limp and his mother shaking her finger, as she was wont to do when exercised.

“Dad wasn't having any of it. He handed me a brand new Comet 130, motioning me to the back garden.”

“Where we flew?” Harry asked in a small voice.

Prongs felt his heart expand, “Yeah. So he did the standard `Don't do any tricks' speech before I even got to get on it. I was about to cry when he gave me a big wink as he jerked his head toward the house.” His face crinkling as he remembered his father, James eyes twinkled. “I always loved flying. Part of it was because flying is just so damn fun, but also because my Dad taught me how to fly.”

A band of guilt wormed its way about his heart as James looked to his son. He'd not taught Harry to fly. Harry was getting the shit kicked out of him by that bastard Dursley when Harry was eight. Forcing another smile, James held his gaze on Harry.

The elder Potter was more than a bit surprised when the younger Potter consoled him, “It's not your fault you didn't teach me to fly, Dad. I'm glad that we did get a chance to fly. I never thought…” he didn't finish as he was overcome with emotion.

Instinctively reaching out, James pulled his son into a wordless embrace. Kissing the crown of Harry's head, James told him, “So am I.”

With a last squeeze, the men disengaged. There was a short double knock on the door before it opened. James turned just in time to see Lily appear in the now opened doorway.

“Is she alright?” the auburn haired witch asked in a whisper.

Harry replied, “She will be this afternoon. They beat each other up pretty brutally.”

Lily frowned as she shook her head. “If needs must…”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed as he returned his gaze to his sleeping betrothed.

Making her way to Harry side, she ruffled his hair affectionately. “How are you?” she asked in the soft tones adopted in a sickroom.

“Being on this side of the injury sucks worse than the other side,” he replied, nodding his head at his immobile betrothed.

Lily smiled wryly, “It does at that.”

They were quiet for a bit. Lily sat at the foot of Harry and Hermione's king sized bed, humming a tune as she lay back. After a bit, she told James, “You've a meeting with the Security Council and the Secretary General tomorrow afternoon at one.”

That was an eye opener. “Really. Whatsoever shall we talk about?”

“The Russians are up to their tricks.” She explained about the change to the ICW Charter. “So we need to insure that all the Security Council is aware of this proposed change.”

James smiled. Most people thought that Lily was an innocent, moral upright woman who wouldn't say `boo'. How far from the truth they were. Oh, to be sure, she was a moral upright woman, but she had a mischievous streak nearly as wide as James did.

“How many members are still in town?”

“All.”

“Good,” James nodded as he thought about how to say what needed to be said in order to torpedo the Russian effort.

“Dad, can I just challenge this Ivanov guy to a duel? That would solve the problem quickly.”

James laughed, “Don't tempt me.”

“Did you bring home the document?” he asked his still reclining spouse.

Silently she nodded before saying, “It's on my desk. The really thick hunk of parchment covered in red ink.”

Rolling toward him, she closed her eyes when she explained, “I went to your office looking for you. It was a complete madhouse with everyone packing for the move to Barbate. I saw Hestia. She said that you'd headed home.”

“It was ugly this morning. Someone killed Dolores Umbridge,” he sighed. There had been a passing thought about delaying the discussion until after they'd left Harry, but after a short reflection, it was a ludicrous thought. Harry had killed more people than James had. His finer feelings wouldn't be offended by this discussion.

“That's what she said. Are there any leads?”

Shaking his head, James muttered, “Not yet. I left before everyone was questioned with Veritaserum.” He tried to be offhand, but hoped that Hestia had let the cat out of the bag about his `extra' question. Lily was an extremely emotional and passionate woman. Put the two together and it was usually a very enjoyable experience for them both.

“Hmm,” Lily hummed.

Deciding that their son didn't need to be present for the rest of this discussion, James pulled Lily to her feet. “C'mon.”

Once out in the hall, they headed to their room. Inside, he followed her to the bed. Cuddling together, James tried to be patient, but patience had never been his strong suit.

“Did Hestia tell you anything else?” James finally asked with an innocent expression on his face.

Lily began to shake her head before an expression of recognition dawned. James smiled, waiting for her to ravish him.

Very amiably Lily regarded him as she told him,”She said that Amelia's secretary is sweet on you. I put a stop to it. Little Miss Woodlawn won't be hanging about any longer.”

Crestfallen and confused, James sputtered, “But…that's not it… what about…,” before he tailed off to a whimper. “Not fair.” His chin fell to his chest as he slumped in disappointment.

His wife's dainty hand curled in his perpetually messy hair, causing him to look up. In a low, sultry tone, she asked, “Or did you mean when you proclaimed your undying devotion to me whilst under the effects of Veritaserum in front of the entire Ministry?” Her lips began to kiss his neck, sucking lightly with each movement.

The crestfallen expression banished, James took his wife in his arms, branding her with his kiss. The levity banished for a moment, he pulled back to look deep in her eyes, “With all my body, mind and soul.”

“I love you, James,” Lily whispered. “With all my body, mind and soul.”

.oOo.

Remus frowned. Reading the letters stacked in front of him, he shuffled back and forth between the three missives he'd received over the course of the morning.

“Shit.”

Slumping back in his chair, he scrubbed his hair. Why now? Scribbling a note for Alex, he Banished it to their bedroom with a quick wand movement.

Dejectedly, he scooped the letters off his desk with a quick move. James had his meeting with the ICW today, so they wouldn't be able to speak until later. James and Lily were to be in Zurich all day - and probably most of the night. That was all right, for he'd some preparatory work to do before that discussion.

Reaching the Apparition point on the veranda, he twisted in place. After an angry crack he reappeared in an alley next to the Biblio Teca General de Barcelona. Ten minutes later, he slumped away from the internet terminal where he'd been confirming the contents of his letters.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Closing the browser, he nodded to the librarian as he left the area. A café was on the other side of the street. Feeling the need for fortification, he headed for it. Absently, he folded the letters, tucking them into his shirt pocket. He needed an espresso and time to think. This news added a whole new complexity to the war.

.oOo.

“Am I ready?” he asked.

She smiled. Only with her did the self-assured, confident and even cocky persona dissipate.

“Yes.”

Nodding with a short jerk of his head, he declared, “Right. Let's do it.”

He turned on his heel, striding out of the office. She followed, quickly matching his modified strides. Hoisting the strap of her valise higher on to her shoulder, Lily was grateful that while her baby bump was no longer merely a `bump', she hadn't progressed to full on `waddle' stage. At six months along, the healer had been pleased at how well she was doing.

James was wearing his new robes with the Shrewsbury crest on his breast. They both agreed that they needed to make a statement today.

“Love you,” she whispered. His back straightened infinitesimally.

Heading to the Hall of Nations, they turned together. His dark green robes swished about his legs, the gold trim and blazing crest shining.

Moving between the statures of Lo-Pan and Walker Boh, they entered the Security Council meeting chambers. Of the member states, all were present save Greece and Morocco.

Frowning, Lily found it strange that those two countries weren't represented. A portkey from either nation wouldn't last too long. Therefore, their absence spoke louder than any words.

Shaking the thought off as irrelevant, she watched her husband work the crowd. Moving to the UK desk, Lily began to lay out the briefing materials for the meeting.

“Your Grace,” greeted the Swedish ambassador, Princess Birgitta. She was the sister to the King of Sweden and far more than a figurehead politician. “How are you today?”

Bowing over her hand, James replied, “I am very well, your Highness.”

Greetings rolled in, each of the ambassadors warmly welcomed him until, that is, he reached the Russian ambassador.

“Ivanov,” James hailed with a friendly tone, his hand extended in greeting. This had been a discussed action. James had wanted to punch the Cossack, but Lily had urged polite friendliness.

“it will show the rest of the members that you will work with him, so his discourtesy will paint him as the villain.”

Lily, along with the other ambassadors and aides, watched with a silent intensity that was nearly suffocating. The Russian ambassador stared that the ambassador for Great Britain for a long moment.

Still, James' hand hung in the air, unacknowledged. Finally, Ivanov jerkily shook James' hand while muttering, “Potter.”

Perfect Lily smirked to herself.

James turned back to the waiting crowd. As Ivanov sat, Prongs shrugged and exhaled loudly. His whole demeanour shouted, “I tried.”

The Mother-Who-Lived was heartened to see most of the ambassadors return the conspiratorial look of amusement.

By general consensus, the ambassadors took their seats as the General Secretary moved to the front of the room. The per functionary tap of his gavel began the convocation.

“Members of the Security Council, this convocation has been called by Great Britain.” Nodding to James, the Italian sat in his throne-like seat after declaring, “I defer to his Grace to elaborate further.”

James took a quick, steadying breath. Normally, Lily would have rubbed his arm or the like in a reassuring motion. However, spousal affection had no business in this room.

With a quick nod to the Secretary General, the Duke of Shrewsbury began, “General Secretary and ambassadors, Great Britain is concerned. There are greater matters and smaller matters that we deal with on a regular basis.” There were commiserating nods about the room.

“Today, Great Britain speaks of a smaller matter.” As he hefted the proposed charter amendment, Lily watched the Russian Ambassador. His only reaction was a slight tensing about his eyes. Had she not been looking for it, Lily doubted she would have seen the man's reaction.

“In what I'm sure was an oversight,” James continued, “The Magical Russian Empire failed to annotate the proposed change to the Confederation's charter. On page six hundred and twelve there is a proposed change that troubles Great Britain.”

The previous evening, Lily and James had visited first Amelia in her new residence then the Queen. The four had discussed the `kangaroo court' as Lily called it, until late in the evening.

“After consultation with the government, I must protest this change.” Holding up his hand, James added, “Great Britain has no umbrage with the proposed method of paying dues. We believe the change proposed by the Magical Russian Empire to be magnanimous and fair. The change on page six hundred and twelve is a problem, though.”

The room was silent as James thumbed through the parchment. After reading the unmarked change aloud, James looked about the room. At every table - and the podium - each Chief of Staff was either searching for the correct page or sharing the packet with the ambassador. Only Russia was still. The rat-faced man stared at James, dislike evident in his face. Swallowing a scowl, Lily had to admit to herself, I really want to hex that man.

When the ambassadors had finished reading the called out section, each of the wizards and witches were frowning. The sword that was obviously pointed at Great Britain today, could be used on any of them tomorrow.

“While I am sure that the intentions of the sponsoring nation were noble, as written, this change to our charter could be used for ill.”

Amelia had stressed that James make a point of reminding all that this wasn't just a proposed rule or regulation, this was their charter. It required a two-thirds vote in the General Assembly to pass and also a two-thirds vote to repeal. It wasn't easy to undo this action.

By right, Great Britain could veto the measure. As one of the permanent Security Council members, James could call `Veto' and be done. However, the Queen had been insistent that he convince the other to vote the measure down. “We must garner international support,” she'd declared. “Should armed invasion of our country be necessary to restore the rightful government, then we must have their support.”

The members were silent as they contemplated James' words. None of them were without opponents to their national ambitions. Any of these opponents (or enemies) could invoke this clause in a retaliatory effort or even in a pre-emptive strike.

Johann Straus from Germany was acknowledged by the General Secretary. “Germany is concerned by the wording of this clause. As written, a member nation could never be consistently represented. An ambassador could be stricken, a new one appointed only to be stricken in turn.” Shaking his head, Strauss concluded, “Germany is not favourably inclined to support this change.” It was fortunate that Sweden and Germany were two of the five rotating members of the Security Council It helped having staunch defenders in their corner.

Lily nodded minutely. The `not favourably inclined' attitude was as strong a denouncement as possible. The ambassadors couldn't vote `nay' without at least nominal consultations with their government.

James had retaken his seat. While she passed him a note with her observations of others reactions, she surreptitiously watched the Russian ambassador.

His face was carefully blank until he met her gaze. The hatred that boiled in his eyes surprised the auburn haired witch.

Refocusing, she watched Princes Birgitta rise to agree with the honourable ambassador from Germany.

.oOo.

In the midst of pouring an afternoon coup of tea for Hermione, Harry experienced his next glimpse into the future.

This time there was a sense of smell that pervaded the scene. Salt air. Pine woods. The unusual perfume that he associated with Rowan Hill's gardens. All mixed together marking the location of this vision to be inextricably at home.

Looking down at his feet, he saw a coffin sized hole. A paralyzing fear gripped him, surrounding his heart with ice.

He was at home.

Someone was dead.

That person was being buried in the Potter family burial grounds and only Potters were buried there.

Harry had been afraid in his life. Vernon inspired fear in his heart. It was an unreasoning, visceral fear. The Basilisk had the same effect. Not so much with the Dragon or even Voldemort, strangely enough.

All those fears paled in comparison to what he felt now. Someone in his family was going to die, should the forces put into play continue as they have.

As if drawn by an invisible force that he couldn't resist, Harry looked to the head of the grave. A small part of him hoped to have his fears allayed. Unfortunately, they grew.

Lily Potter
Beloved Wife and Mother
First Duchess of Shrewsbury
Lux Tenebris, Diligere Super Odio

Nearly panicked, Harry's head darted left and right.

Hermione was at his side, her eyes red and puffy in grief.

Sirius and Hestia side by side. He leaned heavily on a walking stick. Hestia's arm was obviously there for more than moral support.

On the other side of the grave was his father. James had a freshly healed scar that ran down the left side of his face. The real focus of Harry's attention was the continuous streaks of tears. Ribbons of agony coursed down James' face.

Remus and Alex, Harry noticed, were supporting James from either side.

An irresistible force, the grave captured his attention once again. Panic rose in his gorge as the coffin was lowered into the ground.

A murmuring from far off accompanied the slow descent of the coffin. The wind swirled and blew adding insult to injury as it scattered the flowers laid about the grave. The scream that had been conceived when he saw the name on the headstone wound its way up his closed throat.

The scalding feeling on his hand broke the trance. His body still tensed and poised to run and scream in defiance, Harry nearly stumbled as he returned to reality.

With a start, Harry shook his head. The Vision dissipated in a blink to be replaced by a searing pain in his hand. His thoughts were scattered as birds before a predator. Concentrating, he tried to remember. Tea. He'd been pouring tea.

“Harry?” Hermione's voice called. Blinking, he turned to her. The concern and caring radiated from her face.

“Mum,” he breathed.

.oOo.

Even though the ratification vote was scheduled for that day, the Security Council unanimously (save one) agreed to defer the vote for one week to allow for consultations.

James had sighed in relief. Comparing notes with Lily, he was reassured. All the Security Council was behind them. The proposed alteration of the ICW charter would be voted down or - if Russia had a lick of sense -it would be withdrawn from consideration due to a `clerical error' or the like.

It was late. Looking across the table of the restaurant, the saw Lily's eyes drooping. Even though her crème brulee was only half eaten, James asked, “You ready to head home?”

Nodding, she blinked drowsily. “Your pregnant wife needs her bed as your child is sapping all her energy.”

With a smile, he stood to move to Lily's side. His father had always insisted that James act as a gentleman. “Being a gentleman is more than birth, James,” Charlus had often lectured. “Your actions and even thoughts must be those of a gentleman, as well.”

James' eye roll had been of gargantuan proportions. His father was old. His father was a dinosaur. His father had been born in the 19th century for heaven's sake!

Only after Charlus had died, did James realise what the old man had meant. Every day since, James had done his utmost to be a gentleman. Whether it was helping his wife from her seat or generosity with his tenants, James Potter strove to be the gentleman for which his father had wished.

“You Ok to Apparate, Love?” he teased.

With an affectionate smirk, Lily stuck out her tongue at him. “Prat.”

A muted staccato crack-crack announced their departure.

“I'm all done in, Love…” Lily began before stopping abruptly. Turning, James saw Remus, Alex, Sirius, Hestia, Harry and Hermione waiting for them. Their collective expression banished any cheery welcome.

“Have a seat, Prongs,” Remus solemnly began. “We've a lot to discuss.”

.oOo.

“What happened?” James asked.

Harry frowned in concern as his Dad helped his Mum into a chair. Leaning over, he asked her, “Are you alright?”

She nodded, alleviating his fears. “Just tired. Been a long day.”

Harry turned back to his Dad, while Remus began. Handing over the letters that Padfoot, Harry and Hermione had read earlier in the day, Remus told Prongs, “I received these this morning.” Moony paused, collecting his thoughts. It'd been an emotional afternoon for all of them.

“Months ago, I arranged for a half dozen caretakers to check on the Potter properties, farms and the mine while they were idle. These three caretakers,” he gestured to the letters James was reading, “All report that three farms were burnt to the ground - including the crops.”

Harry's frown deepened. After Alex had healed his burned hand, Remus had told him about what happened. Speaking up, he told his Dad, “I tasked Neville to lay out a plan to restore the fields, including any necessary steps should the land be salted.”

Harry's heart warmed at James' quiet, “Well done, son.”

Turning back to Remus, James asked, “Who?”

The Lycanthrope sighed. “We all talked it over today. Based on what we're told,” he gestured to the letters that were now in Lily's hands, “I'm disinclined to believe this is Voldemort's work.”

“Which leaves…,” James muttered in an annoyed tone.

“Dormred ap Morag as the most likely suspect.” Harry finished for his Dad. He was more than a bit disgusted with that section of the family history. Intellectually, he knew that he Potters past and present weren't saints. The long-term conflict with the descendants of the original Dormred was distasteful.

As if on cue, the doors from the library to the veranda opened. Neville and Susan come out, joining the rest of the party.

When he sat, the sandy haired teen nodded to his godfather. In response to James' unasked question, Neville replied, “The answer is that it depends.”

The door opened again, William joining the group.

Harry frowned at his friend's solution. He wasn't the only person displeased. Undeterred by the consensus of frowns, Neville ploughed on. “If the fires were started with non-magical means, the restoration of the field and land is straightforward.

“However, if the fires were magical in origin then it becomes more complicated. Fiendfyre of the Salted Field curse makes it much harder.” Turning to Harry, Neville declared, “I'll have to be part of the team.”

“If he goes, I go,” Susan asserted.

Harry nodded absently while Padfoot was silent. Harry turned to his Dad, surprised to see calm acceptance on Prongs' face.

Hazel met green. An understanding was reached. James' face was hard as he came to terms with what Harry had organized and obviously intended to lead. Silently, the two Potters regarded one another.

Harry felt Hermione's hand slide into his. No matter the situation, she always boosted his flagging spirits, bolstered his failing courage or strengthened his weakening resolve. In a low tone, he told his Dad, “You and Mum need to stay here. There's the ICW and another reason, but you don't have the bandwidth to deal with this right now.”

Nodding around the table, Harry said, “Hermione, Sirius, Remus, Alex…,' half grinning, he added, “I guess Neville, Susan and I are going home to deal with this…” his mind blanked as he searched for the right words.

“Deal with this problem,” James finished for his son.

There was another long, evaluative silence. Tightening his grip on Hermione's hand, Harry declared, “I'll capture him if I can. I won't endanger the team, though. If it comes to that, he goes down, hard.”

Harry took deep breath, letting it out slowly. He and Hermione had talked long after Remus had returned from Barcelona. In the end it boiled down to Hermione's statement, “It's war.”

James nodded. The stern expression didn't slacken one bit. “You know what you may have to do?”

Grimly, Harry nodded. “Exterminate the infestation,” Sirius had sardonically concluded earlier in the day. The man they'd met and any others who held by his beliefs may need to die in order to end this continual strife, murder and mayhem.

Glancing at the stone faced Hermione, Harry remembered her reasoning. “It's for our children. Do we want this man's children or grandchildren attacking ours?”

No. He didn't want that. Meeting his father's gaze, he saw that while resolute, James wasn't pleased that this situation had been thrust upon them by their distant arsehole ancestor.

Through a crack in his armour, Harry's compassion leaked through. “I feel as though we should be trying to resolve the situation peacefully.” Shaking his head, he amended, “But based on this man and his ancestors' behaviour, there will be no peaceable settlement.”

“Sounds familiar,” Sirius commented.

“Yes. Lord Voldemort,” William agreed in harsh tones.

Harry looked to his friend. William had lost more than anyone at the table due to the predations of that dark wizard. Ignoring the digression, Harry refocused on his Dad.

“What's the plan?” James asked.

This was James' method of giving permission for the effort to go forward. Even though James would never claim to be the leader of the Marauders, he always had been. It would never do for him to say, “Very well, I authorize this course of action,” or the like. Harry knew this, so he breathed a sigh of relief at his Dad's tacit permission.

Turning to Hermione, he ceded the floor to her. “Remus and I debated different courses of action. We could wait Dormred out until after we've dealt with Voldemort. We could hire mercenaries to hunt him down. We could let the Death Eaters know about him, as I'm sure he isn't a pureblood.

“There are problems with each of these alternatives, though,” she lectured. Harry half-smiled as she unconsciously adopted her `homework is important' tone. “I don't think that any of us would feel it an acceptable course of action to sit back, allowing this man and his followers continue their predations. We're talking about peoples' lives and histories. Some families have farmed these lands for centuries.”

Harry nodded in agreement. Hermione paused, chewing her lip as the others considered her words. After a moment, James nodded. “I agree.”

“The mercenaries are a different problem,” Hermione continued, picking up the thread. “It's summed up in a word: loyalty. It's true that most of these firms advertise their loyalty as to their employer, but many of these wizards and witches would embrace the opportunity to support Voldemort.”

Harry nodded in agreement. When Sirius had suggested mercenaries, The Boy-Who-Lived hadn't been too excited about the idea. He had been grateful that Hermione had systematically dismantled the idea of hiring mercenaries.

Hermione sighed. “While it's likely that Dormred ap Morag and his family are not purebloods, it isn't for certain that they aren't Death Eaters. Not all the followers of the Dark Lord are purebloods. It could backfire spectacularly on us should we attempt to co-opt Voldemort's forces to do our work for us.

“This is why we,” she gestured about the table, “Believe that the only morally and tactically sound course of action is to insert a special action team into Britain comprised of family members.”

Remus picked up the thread, “Sirius has already begun carving ward stones.” Padfoot nodded soberly in response. “We'll rent a place or use a wizard tent. With Sirius' ward plan, our base camp will be Unplottable and under the Fidelius, among other ward schema. We'll set up in the Cambrian Mountains. Our assumption is that the descendants of the original Dormred ap Morag are still in northern Wales. That much family hatred will tie them to that area.”

Harry nodded in agreement. Remus had argued that the family would derive their collective identity from their sense of being wronged. Those of the family who chose to keep the vendetta alive would stay either in or near Gwynedd.

“We'll need autos or motorbikes to move about. Our objective will be to minimize the use of magic as much as possible. Sirius' wards will hide the use of magic, allowing Alex to use medical spells.” Turning to the resolute Longbottom lord, the Lycan added, “And for Neville to make any preparations necessary.”

Harry met his father's gaze. They stared at each other, unblinking until James nodded respectfully. No one had said it, but Harry had driven the discussion and decisions all day long. The expression on James' face led Harry to believe that Prongs was well aware of that fact.

He felt that it was his responsibility. Not because of what this maniac had done to Arthur and Molly Weasley when he was a child. Rather, it was his duty as a Potter. His father was unable to see to the situation, so it was Harry's responsibility to act in James' stead.

“Well done, son,” James murmured again. Once more, Harry's heart warmed in his chest under his father's praise.

Into the gap of the conversation, Hermione finished the basics. “Sirius and Neville will focus on repairing the damage done to the farms while Remus, Harry and I search for the perpetrators.”

Everyone fell silent. Harry regarded first his Dad, then his Mum. Both were quietly contemplative. Lily and James exchanged a glance before James exhaled noisily. Leaning back in his chair, the Potter patriarch nodded to his son.

For some reason, Harry felt a weight removed from his shoulders. It seemed that after being kept in the dark for years by Professor Dumbledore, it was oddly pleasing to have his parents and family not only confide in him, but also rely on him.

James acknowledgement of the soundness of the plan acted to dispel the group. Sirius helped Hestia to her feet. After muttering, “'Night all,” they headed to their room. William ghosted down the steps to the beach while Neville and Susan returned to the library. When Harry looked around, Remus and Alex were gone.

The remaining foursome was quiet until the only noise was the surf and the wind. Far off, there was the sound of an asthmatic lorry engine labouring up a hill, but otherwise they were alone.

Without preamble, James declared, “There is a spy in the Ministry. This person gave away your last trip to retrieve Steven and Alice. I'll not expose you to that possibility again.”

Harry nodded in understanding. While maintaining operational security would reduce the likelihood that Voldemort and his forces would be unaware of the insertion team's movements, it also meant that the team would have no backup should the operation go pear shaped.

They were quiet again. Unspoken was the second reason why James and Lily couldn't go on this operation. Harry felt that he needed to tell his parents but his courage couldn't overcome his fear. Lily took the decision away from him.

“What did you see? Why can't we go?”

Deflating, Harry slumped in his chair. Hermione's reassuring squeeze on his elbow helped him to face his task. Taking her slim hand in his, he told his parents. “This morning, I had another premonition.” His gaze shifted from James to Lily. Harry's expression fell. “It was about Mum.”

He related every detail he could recall. The smell of pine and sea. The familiar headstones from the family graveyard. At Rowan Hill. The scar on James' face and the severity of Sirius' injuries. Even Hermione's grief stricken posture. All of it.

By the end of his recounting, Harry was weeping. He was aware of when he'd begun to cry, but the threat of Lily's death was terrifying. When he was younger and believed her and James dead, it had been hard but at the same time it'd been easy. He'd never really known his parents, so he couldn't grieve James and Lily. He'd grieved for the idea of his parents.

Now, though, he knew and loved his parents as individuals - real people.

“You are assuming I die by a Death Eater's hand,” Lily murmured. “It could be in childbirth. The Russians are not known for their kindness to those who cross them.” At Harry's horrified expression and James' sharp look, she added, “Granted, by my staying home, I probably change everything. In your last vision, I was alive, correct?”

At Harry's nod, she admitted, “I was pregnant then, so I doubt it's childbirth. Only the Russian situation and this barmy bastard burning the farms have changed.”

Thinking deeply, Lily sat back in her chair. Hermione offered, “By staying behind, you obviate that problem - for the most part. You just need to beware and take care regarding any `other situations'.”

Lily nodded tiredly. “I'm done in.” Standing, she first kissed Hermione then Harry. To James, she asked, “Coming?”

“In a bit. Don't wait for me.”

After Lily disappeared in the house, James focused on the teens across from him. “Are you two alright with this?”

Shrugging, Harry replied, “Doesn't matter, does it?” In earlier years, the sense of futility and helplessness could be nearly overwhelming at times. While events had dictated his course, Harry didn't feel that powerlessness to the same degree.

James narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “That's not what I asked.”

Glancing at Hermione, she gave him an encouraging motion. Harry knew what his Dad was asking. Are you Ok with hunting down a man and his family with the intention of killing them?

“It's unpleasant, but this chapter of the family's history needs to be closed. He's attacking the tenants. It's only luck that no one was home; otherwise these families would have died horrible deaths.”

His Dad accepted that answer. After a moment, he nodded to the teens. “Have a good night.”

When Harry and Hermione were alone, he relaxed into the chair. He hadn't been aware that he'd been so stiff and tense. Her slim hand rubbed his shoulder as she silently commiserated with him.

“Things are spinning out of control so quickly,” he observed.

“They are.”

A thought struck him. Standing, Harry held out his hand. His heart warmed as she smiled while reaching for him. A twist of his wand caused a soft three beat tune to play. Taking her in his arms, he whispered, “How long has it been since we've waltzed?”

“It feels like an eternity,” she husked.

Hermione was his everything. Best friend, lover, companion, confidant, playmate, study partner, hero and partner; she was all these things and more. With silent appreciation, affection and love, he kissed her. It was a tender and loving kiss, his lips barely touching hers.

Holding her tight, Harry drove them about the veranda, the star filled skies standing in mute witness to their love.

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first twenty 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. The chapter's a little later than usual as we just got back from a week at the beach. Sigh. Once again, the `computer' was a pen and spiral bound notebook.

2. Recommendation for this chapter is the Watcher at the Gates by apAidan. It's an excellent representation of what the Death Eaters really did. He portrays the initiation of a full-fledged Death Eater in the same manner as I've always imagined. Just like a `button man' in the Mafia or a gang-banger, the cost of admission to that club is very high.

3. Lux Tenebris, Diligere Super Odio: Light over Darkness, Love over Hatred

Chapter complete 5/26/12

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Harry was studying a map of Northern Wales, William at his side. On the other side of the wide table, Hermione and Alex made lists. The brunette witch was focused on the search for the elusive Dormred ap Morag. Her assumption was that once they inserted into Britain, they wouldn't come out unless the situation was dire. Therefore, they needed to bring much with them.

Sirius was in Rome purchasing more dragon bone ward plates while Remus had headed to Morocco. There'd been a rumour of some illicit Demiguise cloth available for those with the money to pay. Susan was researching magical tailoring process should Remus' efforts bear fruit.

Neville and Lily had headed to the South African Dragon Reserve, Draak Vuur. Everyone felt that Fields of Fire in Romania was too close to home for anonymous purchases. They were acquiring hundreds of pounds of dragon dung fertilizer. Should the worst happen and dark magic was used to raze the Potter holding farms, then the dragon dung could be used as a stabilizing agent in the rituals needed to cleanse the lands. Otherwise, it could be ploughed under the soil should the damage have been inflicted via other means.

Alex was making a list so that she could kit out a fair sized trauma ward. The willowy blonde healer and lover of Remus Lupin was working under the same assumption as Hermione: Once in, they weren't coming out.

For the first few days after the family resolved to deal with the personal threat posed by Dormred ap Morag and his followers, Hermione had been conflicted. Intellectually, she knew that this man was the more present threat to the family. If left unchecked, he very well could escalate his damaging and destructive behaviour until he was as significant threat to the family as Voldemort currently posed. Dealing with him now was the equivalent of Dumbledore squashing Tom Riddle back in the 50's, before he posed any threat to the rest of the world. Everyone agreed that they were most likely ending the threat of an ascendant Dark Lord before he was fully realized.

In her heart, though, she wanted to contract out this killing to someone else so they could get on with the real business of destroying - Vanquishing as it were - Lord Voldemort. The threat to them all, but to Harry in particular, scared her silly.

Hearing Harry tap the map, Hermione refocused on her list as he told the Prince, “So, this is the area where Rowan Hill resides. According to Grandfather Cadfael, the original Dormred lived south of the family…so about here.”

“What about the estuary?” William asked.

“What about it?” Harry wondered.

“They could have become fisherman after your ancestors razed their lands.”

A part of Hermione's brain doubted what Billy was offering. So, too, did Harry. “It's possible, but they could have moved up here,” she glanced up to see him point to the lowlands of the Cambrians. “That would have given them cover and places to hide. I'd think that the survivors would have wanted to hide.”

“That was eleven hundred years ago,” William observed.

“True. So we start there and circle out in a widening path.” Hermione glanced up again, seeing her betrothed watching her.

“I've got them here on the list. Sirius says he knows where to get them,” she replied to his unasked question.

“What?” a puzzled Billy asked.

“Ward detectors. Very expensive and very rare, but they glow when in the presence of specific wards. The stronger the ward, the brighter the glow. They'll glow red for anti-Apparition or blue for a Barrier ward. There're seven different colours for the differing types of wards.”

“And where there're wards, there's witches and wizards,” Billy summarized.

“Spot on.”

Her list went on growing. Ten thousand galleons. Magical tent. Food for six months. Bedding. Five hundred thousand pounds in cash. Stacks of parchment and paper. Pens. Jackets and gloves. Insect repellent.

There was an eerie calmness about all their planning. Because of the few short operations back to Voldemort controlled Britain, the family didn't have a huge `unknown' quality about their effort. At the same time, Hermione was assuming a worst case scenario. The purely analytical part of her mind admitted and even accepted that one of them may die while searching for the elusive Dormred ap Morag.

The list ran on.

She was making a mix of magical and mundane items. Sirius had guaranteed that within their compound, they'd be able to cast any spell without detection. However, moving outside of the warded area would make any spells they cast detectable by the Voldemort controlled sensors in the bowels of the Ministry for Magic.

Amelia had told James that the sensors usually tuned to underage magic users would have been retuned by now. However, none of the family had any misconceptions who the sensors would be attuned.

Very deliberately, Hermione wrote, `Handguns'. After a moment, she added, `Hunting Knives'.

A sense of dread settled over her that she shook off immediately. There was little difference between firing a 9mm bullet into the brain of a man and punching a fist sized hole in his chest with the Reductor curse. Somehow, it felt different, though. Hermione had seen first-hand how brutal magical combat could be. She'd ruthlessly eviscerated men using spells while crushing another's windpipe with a well placed punch.

It's war, she mused. We've all done horrible things and will do worse before this is over.

The muted crack caused all in the library to pause their efforts. No matter how long they lived under the nigh impenetrable wards at La Retirada, the sound of Apparition always put them on edge.

In the hall there came a muffled thump followed by a grunt of effort. Remus came into the room directly.

“Did you get some?” Harry asked.

Remus smirked. On occasion, Hermione would doubt that Remus had been as active a Marauder as Padfoot or Prongs. Right now, Mr Moony was making an appearance.

“If an entire bolt of Demiguise cloth counts as `some', then I'd have to say that I was successful.”

The room surged in a swell of chatter and surprised exclamations. With incredible self-satisfaction and a hint of smugness, Remus took a seat next to the sniggering Alex.

“It took me a bit to find the dealer, but when I did, I was able to convince him that he really ought to sell to me. Eventually, he came to my way of thinking. After a very generous payment, I departed with the entirety of his stock.”

The look on his face, combined with his language warned Hermione that she really didn't want to ask Remus any of the particulars of the transaction. He could've threatened the man with a Full Moon Visit for all she knew. Since the Fall of Britain, Remus had become far more vicious in his dealings with those outside the family.

Susan headed out the door, Remus at her side as they started the plan to make as many cloaks as possible out of the cloth. The more the better. While all the `raiders' were magically strong and capable, their true strength lay in their stealth and anonymity. It's very easy to hide from the red eye of Voldemort in the tall grass of the savannah. It's much harder to slug it out with the massed hordes of the Death Eaters when backed into a corner.

A tremor passed through Hermione. She watched Harry and William chatting about whatever they were discussing. Seeing him in the suspended animation of the Draught of the Living Death had nearly destroyed her. Should she lose him to the Reaper, Hermione had no doubt that she'd kamikaze the occupied Ministry building taking as many of the dark robed bastards with her as she could muster.

Shaking off the gloomy thoughts, Hermione turned back to her list.

Cooking utensils. Credit cards to mundane bank accounts. Sandwich bags. Maps covering all of Britain. Just because they planned to stay in Wales didn't mean they wouldn't end up in Yorkshire running down this maniac.

It also didn't mean they wouldn't meet up with the Death Eaters.

Hermione and Harry had a very serious discussion about that possibility.

“What should we do?” he had mused aloud. “Should we maintain our cover by leaving the scene as quickly as possible or kill them all?”

In retrospect, it seemed an incredibly bloodthirsty proposition, but the reality of the situation was that even if they should kill Voldemort, his followers were just as capable of resistance as their leader. In fact, Remus had offered that the followers of Voldemort gave him legitimacy. Should the Death Eaters abandon him, the Dark Lord would be merely one more psycho with a wand.

She had replied to his musings, “I think we've to leave. Our primary mission is to eradicate Dormred and any adherents he has.”

His unblinking gaze had been unnerving. After a long moment, he'd whispered, “My main mission in this war is to kill Tom Riddle. Dormred ap Morag is a speed bump on the way. If I get a chance to make a sizable dent in the operations of the Death Eaters, I'll take it.”

She'd been silent. He was right.

“Hermione?”

Shaken out of her considerations, she found her mother at her shoulder. Blinking, she greeted her mother, “Hi, mum. What's up?”

There was a pensive expression on Alice Granger's face. “Could your Dad and I have a few moments of your time? Out on the veranda?”

Hermione blinked again. The few conversations the Grangers had over the previous weeks had been less than civil. “Sure. Let me pick up here and I'll be right out.”

With a relieved expression, Alice replied, “Great. I'll see you out there.”

Capping her ink well, Hermione caught Harry's eye. He'd watched the exchange with a gimlet eye. Beckoning him with a jerk of her chin, she stacked her list.

“You want me to come with you?” he asked. His concern and protectiveness was palpable.

Smiling, she kissed him quickly. “Love you, but no. I can talk to my parents all by my little lonesome.”

“Ok,” he muttered with disbelief. She kissed him again. His solicitousness was endearing.

Heading out to the veranda, Hermione supressed a pang of fear. Her parents had hurt her terribly when they'd rejected her the previous fall. Nearly a year ago, she mused to herself. Their relationship had been extremely rocky since she'd rescued them from occupied Britain. Squabbles were commonplace. Occasionally, they'd escalate to full blown shouting matches.

When she was quiet and at peace, Hermione was able to admit that on more than one occasion, she'd been at fault for the argument. It was unpleasant, but at the same time, the situation was confusing. Analysing the situation, she could intellectually see where she or they could have been more mature, understanding or honest. Doing it in the maelstrom of emotion and pain was an entirely different thing. Alongside the many `difficulties' she had many late night talks with Harry. Neither saw a solution in the near future. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

Her Dad had been looking out to sea while her Mum was pouring tea. There was such a sense of normalcy about the scene that she had to force herself to remember that her parents had removed themselves from her life by their own choice.

Resentment flared. The smile slipped off her face.

Sitting, she thanked her mother for the tea. After a quick sip, she nodded to Alice. “What can I do for you?” she asked. There was too much to be done to waste time on chitchat.

Her Dad looked at the table, as he always did when ordering his thoughts. Finally, he admitted, “I've made many mistakes as your father.” When he glanced at her, she saw pain in his expression that she'd never seen before: remorse, guilt and even shame. Settling, she paid closer attention.

“My mistakes aren't limited to this last ten months or so. Those mistakes are just the most ugly.” He took a deep breath and sipped his tea. It seemed to Hermione that something momentous was building. “After I removed my head from my fourth point of contact recently,” he smiled grimly at the silent reproaches from both his wife and daughter, “I'd hoped that things would improve between us all.”

Hermione sighed softly. If anything, their relations had degraded further.

“I realize, admit and own to my behaviour being hurtful. I've done things that are despicable and loathsome.” Hermione's eyebrows jumped up. His milquetoast apology from weeks ago had rankled. This was an unequivocal assumption of guilt. While not completely true, it was still welcome. “I'm putting forth all my energies to make amends as best I can for that…” he searched for the right words, “Let's just say `bad behaviour' as a catch all term.”

A quick nod was sufficient to convey her mood. With his absolute assumption of his behaviour, this was a good enough term for the conversation.

“We're beginning to think that maybe it would be best if your Mother and I moved into a different house to give us all some space.”

The words he spoke were shocking enough but the expression on Steven Granger's face stunned his daughter. He was visibly terrified. Her brain caught up to the situation, overriding her emotion. Of course, he was scared. He'd bollixed everything very badly so far, and it seemed that he was frightened of making the situation worse.

“Honey,” her Mum began with a tentative voice. “You all are planning this big operation. We feel that our presence is a distraction. Things are so emotional right now for everyone. I believe that we all want to re-establish a relationship, but…well.” Alice paused before taking a leap, “As your father said, we've made some horrid choices and done some worse things. I understand and own that we've hurt and angered you and most everyone else in the house. At the same time, we're not punching bags. It seems that every time we turn about there's a veritable punch in the nose waiting for us.”

There was a void of emotion in Hermione as her mother trailed off. The woman was nearly wincing as she waited for a reaction. Deep inside, Hermione felt the burn of resentment flare. After what they've done, she dares…? Smothering the thought, the daughter of Steven and Alice Granger tried honestly to consider what her parents were saying.

Removing the names or the history between them all, Hermione had to admit that a mature relationship between parents and an adult child didn't consist of verbal beatings and reprimands. There wasn't heaping of abuse on one party from the other. When a wrong was done, they would attempt to move past it in an adult manner.

That's not what'd been happening between the elder Grangers and everyone else at La Retirada. Reflecting on the situation, it seemed that everyone had had a shot at her parents. At the time, it'd been very satisfying. Every time someone had taken a whack at her parents, her resentment had been fired and fed, justifying her on going anger, feeding her rancour.

It's very easy to be resentful, convicting the other party time and again of their guilt. It's much harder to forgive so as to attempt to build a new relationship. It wasn't fair to any of them to continually punish the elder Grangers for their sins.

Is it so hard to forgive? a voice whispered in her ear. Do you want to forgive? Are they worth it?

The low level, simmering anger that had been her constant companion these past months began to fizzle. Remorse crept in on the edges of her emotional landscape, clouding and clearing it at the same time. The stark realization shocked her and rocked Hermione to her foundation.

Do you really want them in your life?

After the forced exodus from Britain, Hermione had reflexively told her parents that she wanted a relationship with them. Now that she had some time and perspective, the brunette witch wondered at the wisdom of her words. Life was complicated enough with the war, did she really need this distraction as well?

There was a swirl of emotion inside her heart. Hermione had always been ruled by her logic and head (except when it came to Harry) but this situation was confusing her. She wanted her parents in her life, but it was so hard. Her Dad could be such a wanker and her Mum such a shrew that Hermione was sorely tempted to chuck them in the bin.

I've done very well without you for the last year, thank you very much.

Shaking her head, Hermione realized that her resentment and anger were talking, again. Understanding washed over her like warm water from the shower. “I think that things are really tough right now,” she began.

Poking a leaf that had rested on the table, Hermione mused, “I don't think that I've ever been under such stress and strain as I am now.” Looking up, she told her parents, “The Queen herself has charged us with retaking the country. It doesn't get much bigger than that.

“I admit that I've not been my best lately.” Pausing, she considered her words. “I hate to say it, but I've not put much time or effort into our relationship and that's done none of us any favours.”

Her face became hard, “There are some significant barriers to be overcome that stand tall between us.” Both parents nodded solemnly. “Unfortunately, my priority right now is the war. It's becoming uglier as time passes. The `disappearances' have been increasing across the country. More and more people are being taken in the middle of the night. Most likely, they're being executed before being disposed of in a magical way. It used to be an irregular occurrence, but Mr Weasley told James the other day that they estimate twenty to fifty persons per night are being executed.”

The three were silent, digesting the news. On the whole, the Granger parents had been uninvolved and, therefore, unknowing of the status of Voldemort controlled Britain. “It sounds like the 1930s in Germany,” Steven commented with heavy gravity. Hermione nodded. “It's worse than that. There's rumour that the Voldemort government is putting pressure on the Goblins to open certain vaults.”

There was silence. Steven and Alice mayn't have realized the seriousness of that statement, but Hermione did. When Amelia and James had arranged for the Ministry in Exile to divert all the gold from the Ministry vaults, Voldemort was left penniless to run his regime. Granted, Lucius Malfoy, Joseph Jugson and the other fabulously wealthy Death Eaters still retained access to their vaults, but no private citizen can afford to finance the operation of a government for an extended period of time.

“Should Voldemort put too much pressure on the Goblins, they could simply close their doors. Of course, that would cause an immediate implosion of the British Magical economy.” She paused as her father's face paled. He drew the correct conclusion.

“From there, the silent, simmering war would explode into open conflict. The Statute of Secrecy would be torn asunder, war with the Mundane world a distinct possibility. Invasion. Nuclear Weapons. Chemical Weapons Biological Warfare. The Magical world has no defence from those attacks. The UK would be a Wasteland.”

Blinking away the horrific visual conjuration of her analysis, Hermione became more confident in her earlier conclusions. She had tasks in front of her that far outweighed repairing the relationship with her parents. The deep pain, the entrenched resentment, the underlying fear and the opening of her eyes to her parents' less than wonderful traits demanded more attention and energy than Hermione was willing or able to devote.

Summoning the most positive and happy tone that she could muster, Hermione asked, “Where will you go?”

.oOo.

“You got a minute?”

Hestia nodded without looking up. The sadness, fear, apprehension and dread had been ebbing and flowing all day. When Sirius settled next to her on the bed, she nearly sobbed.

“You're worried about me,” he stated with certainty.

Wordlessly, she nodded. He'd been such a bloody mess when James dragged him out of occupied Britain. The work with Healer Plummer had been painful, drawn out and slowly - oh so slowly - beginning to bear fruit. Sirius hadn't a nightmare in over three weeks. He'd never gone three days before without a night where he woke screaming. It felt as if he were chucking all the progress, peace and happiness into an incinerator. The worst part was that he seemed to want to sacrifice it all - even her - to the destructive maw of the war.

Silently, they sat in the shadows of the night as the darkness grew, encircling them. Eventually, it swallowed them whole so that she could barely make out his features.

His surprisingly soft hand gently cradled her own. Like a lifeline, she held on tightly. They didn't have a sappy relationship like Remus and Alex or even Harry and Hermione. She loved Sirius and he loved her but they were just as happy working apart as they were loving together. A critical factor in her ability to `work apart' from him was her faith that he was well. When he'd been torturing himself in the aftermath of the fall of Britain, she'd been a wreck.

Now, she was terrified that he was going to hurl himself back into his personal pit of pain, dragging her down with him.

In the end, it all came back to one thing.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“As I love you,” he replied in a similar tone. The strain in his voice that she expected to hear was missing, causing her to finally look at him.

He was watching her intently. The gleam of his eyes in the moonlight cast an ominous air about him.

“I need to go,” he told her. Holding up his hand, he added, “Don't mistake me. I can't be part of the hunter group that Harry, Hermione and Moony are running. That would tear me up.”

She watched him, her fear a living thing; consuming and destroying. It had to be evident in her eyes as he reached for her, a consoling and reassuring expression on his face.

“I am fully aware of what I can and can't do,” he jibed with a hint of Padfoot sneaking through the frozen mask of his expression.

She knew him well enough to know that he was hiding a great fear. In recent months, he'd begun to truly become free of Azkaban, his horrid family of origin and finally beginning to breathe the air of freedom. He didn't want to go back and Hestia knew it.

“I can't go back to that. I know that.”

The small sigh of relief that escaped her lips didn't go unnoticed.

“I may be an arse, but I'm not stupid,” he snarked.

Hestia couldn't help herself. The arched eyebrow and sarcastic curl of her lip told lie to his statement.

“Oh, come on, then!” he protested, his lips curling into his own smile.

The wisp of humour seemed to dispel the storm clouds of her fear and anxiety. With more affection than desperation, she repeated, “I love you.”

He smirked before rolling on top of her. “Love you too.”

.oOo.

“Do you have everything?” James asked.

It was nearly three in the morning. Harry and Hermione had been driving the preparations for their insertion into occupied Britain. Remus and Susan had been able to tailor four invisibility cloaks. Sirius had all the ward stones for which he could ever wish. Alex could deal with nearly any magical or mundane injury. Neville was gloating over his new stash of four tonnes of dragon dung and another tonne of manitcore dung.

Hermione had completed her part of the list. Earlier in the day, Harry and Remus had purchased the last few items. Included among the final purchases was an upgraded portable magical stove and seven pistols. Harry deferred to Remus, as The Boy-Who-Lived had no experience with handguns and Remus seemed to know his way about the Greek gun store. Now, the Potter family was the proud owner of a brace of Colt model 1911 .45 calibre pistols.

Sirius immediately went to work on them. Sticking charms, runes for auto conjuration of new rounds as the magazine emptied, Ever Clean charms and so on. No wonder his old motorbike had so many magical features.

“Yeah, I think we are,” Harry told his Dad. James watched him go over the list one last time. Nodding, his son tossed the list on the table. “We're as ready as can be.”

James nodded. “I wish I could come with you.” The regret in his voice was real. “Not only do I feel like I should be there, but I also think it would be a lot of fun.”

Harry half smiled at the jibe before yawning widely.

“Does Hermione have the Omni-books?” the Father Who Lived asked.

Harry nodded. “She packed them extra special with a zillion protection charms on them. I thought she was going to throw me over for the Hogwarts book.”

James smiled. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. The vice grip about his heart cinched up a few more turns. No matter how many times he let go of his son, it never got any easier. “This is the hardest part.” After a few cleansing breaths, he saw his son watching him closely. “I have to let you go and it's not easy.” Holding up his hand at Harry's frown, James added, “I know you're fully capable. I know that you can kick serious arse and defend the others should that be necessary.”

Placing his hand over his heart, James added with a weak grin, “But here… here it's not easy. When you and Hermione have kids of your own, you'll understand.”

Harry nodded in acquiescence. In a low voice, he commented, “This isn't going to be fun.”

Shaking his head, James agreed, “No, it won't”

They were quiet again. I was that time of night when secrets were told. Bodies are exhausted, mental defences and inhibitions ebb while the aloneness of the only two awake persons in the house pull them together in an intimacy that is reserved for the sleepless.

“I love you, Dad.”

“Love you, too, son.” James replied before waiting. It seemed that Harry wanted to say something but was working up his nerve.

“I don't want you to think…less of me…because of what we're about to do.”

Once more, regret flooded James. He was asking his son to do a task that James felt that he should be doing. If it weren't for the ICW and his foreign office responsibilities, James would have been leading the charge to end this perpetual blood feud between House Potter and the descendants of Dormred ap Morag. As it was, he couldn't and that restriction chafed on the head of House Potter.

Laying his large hand on Harry's shoulder, James softly reassured his son, “Never. I have only the highest respect for you.”

He barely heard the soft sigh of relief. “How's Mum?”

James shrugged. “Today she was grumpy. I keep telling her that she's beautiful, but she feels fat and ugly.” Leaning into his son in a conspiratorial manner, he advised, “When Hermione is pregnant; ignore ninety five percent of her whinging. The rest you better act on immediately.”

Harry nodded for a second until his face became clouded. Through another yawn, he asked, “Which part is `the ignore' and which is `the act on'?”

James chuckled, “That's for you to figure out.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

“Well,” Harry began as he stood, “I think I'll head to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

“Have fun on your adventure,” James half-heartedly teased. There was no way he could honestly express the fear and terror for his son that was centred on the upcoming operation, so he relied on his old standby: humour.

Harry snorted as he turned toward his and Hermione's room. “Yeah, adventure: danger and pain happening to someone else, very far from where you're stood.”

.oOo.

They infiltrated the country in separate groups. Sirius lead the way, boarding the first plane from Paris to Heathrow. Through the use of runes, his briefcase had been expanded so it held the non-reactive ward plates. A minor Confundus cluster of runes prevented the security and customs personnel from investigating too closely the carryon luggage. He also had three months of food in between the wrapped stacks of cash. Padfoot slowly feigned reading The Financial Times, his Armani suit completing the illusion of a businessman returning to London from a business jaunt to the Continent.

.oOo.

Harry, Hermione, Neville and Susan were dressed in jeans and hoodies; backpacks and satchels over their shoulders as they sat in the common area of the Calais to Dover ferry. They carried the bulk of the group's supplies in their bags. Sirius had been insistent about expanding the bags by runes instead of a Space Expansion charm. Rune expansions weren't detectable via the most common detection spells used.

.oOo.

Remus and Alex were the picture of a young married couple as they road in the Chunnel train. Between them, they carried all the medical supplies and another load of cash. While each member of the team had funds, Sirius and Remus were tasked with major purchases.

.oOo.

After breezing through customs, Sirius headed to the taxi stand. The black car whisked him to his first destination: Barclays.

.oOo.

“Pardon, monsieur.”

Remus looked up to see a conductor standing next to his and Alex's row. “Oui?” he replied. Their cover was a young French couple heading to London to see the sights.

“There has been a minor difficulty with your luggage. If you and your wife would please follow me, I'm sure we can resolve everything quickly.”

“Of course,” Remus replied smoothly. Levering himself to his feet, he exerted all his will while calling on his experience as a Marauder to keep his expression one of friendly cooperation. Handing Alex out of her seat, he saw her face tighten for a moment. They had no luggage aside from her magically expanded purse.

Following the conductor aft, Remus surreptitiously palmed his knife. It was a ceramic creation by a Polish friend of his. Not detectable by mundane means, he preferred to have a non-magical solution should the need arise. Spellfire would serve as a beacon to the forces of Voldemort that something was happening that ought not occur. Even though they were currently seventy five metres under the Channel, the magic detectors in London would easily detect the activity in the Chunnel. There would be men in masks waiting at the station should he cast a spell. While later the option to lure out Death Eaters through pre-planned use of magic could be a viable plan, right now it was suicide.

“Right through here, monsieur and madame,” the conductor gestured with his hand to the divider between the cars.

Scanning right and left as he opened the door, Remus saw no signs of a trap. Yet.

Stepping through the doorway into the baggage car, he waited for the attendant. Alex was next. He caught her eye. A discreet nod told her the plan.

The conductor paused, glancing about the car. It seemed the pretence of a luggage problem was being discarded.

Before the trap could be sprung, Remus and Alex reversed it. “Thank you so much for your assistance,” Alex purred while rubbing the man's arm provocatively. The distraction worked.

No matter if the man was a Death Eater, a suborned conductor or just a butthole, few men on the planet can ignore a beautiful woman's focused attention.

As the dark haired conductor gaped at Alex, Remus moved. Lightning fast, his arm lashed out. The butt of the knife struck the man at the base of the skull, rendering the enemy operative unconscious. Bloodstains at this point would be more a liability than the sure incapacitation of their opponent.

Without looking, he grabbed the unconscious man under the armpits dragging him to the door. A peek through the window showed no one on the other side. A quick motion had the door open. A shove sent the man out of the compartment and under the crushing wheels of the train.

“Here,” Alex's voice urged.

Turning, he saw his girlfriend's hand holding a cloak. Whirling it about his shoulders, he flipped the hood over his head just as the door opened.

He slipped into the narrow opening between two crates as four burly men prowled into the baggage car.

“Spread out. He was definitely a wolf. If she's not, then she's still dead.”

Remus' nostrils flared as he adjusted his grip on his knife. He knew that Alex was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. While not a warrior on the level of Hermione or even Lily, she was still a vicious fighter. The urge to protect his mate was still strong, though. She's mine!

The baggage compartment was divided into three rows. Stacks of luggage piled against the walls of the car had two other stacks of luggage. The four men split up, the pair coming close to Remus.

Joy.

There was a muffled thud from the far side of the compartment. Both of Remus' targets looked toward the sound, bobbing between the stacked trunks and cases in a vain attempt to see what caused the noise. They shared a glance before the older one said, “Go.”

Remus waited until the younger man took a step before he struck. Reversing the knife, he took a deep breath before striking the older man with a strong overhand stab. He felt the six inch blade slide between the now dead man's clavicle and ribcage. With his heart in tatters, the man was dead nearly instantly.

Spinning, a stray though crossed his mind that it must seem odd - a now visible arm holding a bloody knife whipping through the air with no body visible. Ignoring the thought, he plunged the knife in the other man's neck as he turned back to his compatriot.

A gurgle preceded his death.

Stooping, Remus lowered the other man to the floor, minimizing the noise as much as possible. Another thud across the car prompted him to call out a muted question, “Love?”

“'M alright. This one is bloody heavy, though.'

Remus grinned to himself. She had the oddest sense of humour. Scooping his second victim under the armpits, he dragged him to the door. Another quick shove and the second body, followed by the third, fourth and fifth bodies of the day were deposited under the train.

Dusting his hands after the work was completed, Remus idly wondered if the remains would ever be found.

Turning, he saw Alex standing there. More accurately, he saw her head as the hood to her cloak had been thrown back. “Alright?” he asked.

She nodded. “Not fun.”

“No,” he agreed.

“Do you think there're any more?”

He pulled at his face as he considered. “I don't think so. No one outside the family knew we were coming, so I don't think they'll have increased border security yet. From what the leader said it looks like they've found a way to identify lycanthropes. That must have been the trigger for their action. Either way, I think we stay here under the cloaks for the rest of the ride.” Reaching for his watch, he was bothered that it was missing. “How much longer?”

She twisted her arm, “Twenty two minutes.”

“Damn.” Anything could happen in that period of time. Who knew what types of communication equipment the Death Eaters were using? What was their check in schedule? Protocols and procedures?

She nodded in agreement. “At least there won't be any other visitors to the party until the train pulls into the station.”

Remus nodded absently as he looked about the compartment for anything of interest. Apparition or portkey onto a moving object was difficult due to the speed change from a motionless platform (the Earth) to the high speed platform (the train). Magically travelling on to the Chunnel train as it shot through the underground passageway was nearly as hard as a jumping to a bullet train as the Chunnel cars were moving in three dimensions many of the time.

He began to shove large crates and packing cases into place so they could have pre-positioned places to secret themselves should there be more Death Eaters looking for them.

Five minutes later, they settled down under their cloaks to wait out the ride.

.oOo.

James walked hurriedly down the Hall of Nations toward his office. There was no convocation on the schedule for today, but throughout the day he had meetings with the Swedes, Greeks and Spanish in attempts to obtain further public shows of support for the Ministry in Exile. Despite the Greek abstention during the Russian `manoeuvre' about the rules of propriety, James felt that they were some of Britain's strongest allies. He understood their reticence in provoking the Russian Bear.

His hand brushed against the rectangular outline in his pocket. He'd linked another mirror to the ones that Hermione, Sirius, Lily and Remus carried. Trying his best to focus on his day, he offered up the safety of his family to the Gods that Be. Mercilessly shoving his fear to the back corner of his mind, he turned into his office.

“Good morning, your Grace,” Agatha greeted him. “You've a busy day. Here's your itinerary…”

.oOo.

Catching a connecting train out of Dover, the teenaged magicals began their rail journey across southern England. Lunch in Cheltenham was tense. Harry insisted the other three eat while he watched for danger. Stuffing his pasty and chips into a bag, he led the way from the food stand back to the platform.

“Harry, it'll be fine,” Neville cajoled.

The only reply from the Boy-Who-Lived was a grunt.

Neville shrugged. He'd tried, but they all knew that Harry could be the proverbial immovable object when he'd set his mind on something.

Once they boarded the train, Hermione got in the act. Harry had been standing between the four seats the teens claimed when she clipped, “Harry. Sit down and eat your food.” When he glared at her, she added, “Now.”

“Fine,' he grumbled.

Trying to put Harry's mind at ease, Neville stood. Motioning to his now empty seat, he told Harry, “I'll watch.” Glancing about, Neville murmured, “Bit odd not having our own compartment.”

Neville hoped that his casual assumption of the lookout duties would go unchallenged. There was a moment of assessment from his friend before Harry nodded. “Thanks, mate.”

Neville ignored Hermione's indignant frown and Susan's annoyed roll of her eyes. Gender roles aside, this was about assuaging Harry's obvious fears, not a `Me Caveman' moment.

With Neville doing his level best to casually watch the car for anyone paying too close attention to the foursome, the train rolled closer to Cardiff.

.oOo.

It's amazing how four hundred thousand pounds in cash can motivate a banker.

Sirius walked out of the bank with a still warm credit card in his pocket and freshly printed cheques in his briefcase. When Hermione had explained the mundane methods of payment, he thought that the Wizarding world was mad not to adopt these other methods. His money bag had been a serious pain in his arse on more than one occasion. This credit card business was ingenious.

Sliding into the backseat of the first hackney he could flag down, Padfoot ordered, “Take me to the closest Land Rover dealer.”

.oOo.

The Eurostar train rolled into the Folkestone terminus. The huge train braked the last mile in order to line up to the seven hundred odd metres of platform.

Remus and Alex were ready. Still under their cloaks, they stood on opposite the hinge of the luggage car door. The moment, they saw daylight in the crack of the door; they sprang forward, ignoring the startled cries of the attendant who'd just been knocked over by invisible assailants.

Hand in hand, the lovers moved to their rendezvous point. Hopefully, Sirius would be on time with the Rover.

.oOo.

“You sure you want these?”

Harry nodded to the salesman. The early model Yamaha motorcycles were exactly what he wanted. “Five hundred each?” he confirmed with raised eyebrows.

A nod from the middle aged man dressed in a tacky plaid suit preceded Harry digging into his pocket for a thick wad of bills.

Thirty minutes later, with Hermione riding next to him, Harry pulled out of the second hand auto lot; Neville and Susan behind him.

“Head north to the M4,” Hermione shouted to him over the wind. Harry nodded in reply. At first, he'd wanted to buy four Ducati for them to ride. Hermione had quickly trumped that idea. The idea of four mid-teens riding some of the most expensive motorbikes made was ludicrous. In addition, they'd draw too much attention to themselves. The used Yamahas were perfect.

With a grin, Harry couldn't help but release his `inner Seeker'. Gunning the engine, he sped down the road.

.oOo.

The purchase of the Land Rover was fast. Paying for a forty thousand pound vehicle with cash will do that.

Rolling down the M20 with Remus and Alex in the car was a bit of a relief to Sirius. While working on his own wasn't too stressful, there was a sense of security and reassurance in being with Moony and his woman.

From the backseat, Remus muttered, “Lily Potter.”

Sirius turned off the radio with a jerk of his hand. Alex rolled up the window so they could all hear the discussion better.

“Hello Remus,” they heard Lily's voice say. “Everything is fine so far.”

Sirius let go a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. Lily was taking a leave of absence from her position as Chief of Staff for James `in preparation for the baby'. In reality, she was to be the home coordinator of the mission. She was preparing Remus' Wolfsbane potion, coordinating financial deposits to the new Barclays account and a host of other things that the insertion team would be unable to accomplish while in country.

Sirius was grateful he didn't get assigned that job. He was sure he'd be a nutter within five days if he was forced to listen but not participate. The helplessness would be a bitch.

“Right,” Remus replied. “Everything moving along here. Had a spot of bother on the Chunnel train, but we took care of it. Pass along that it seems they have the capability to remotely detect lycanthropes. No idea as to the range of this capability. Will call tomorrow at same time.”

“Fair winds,” Lily began with the first half of their passcode.

“And following seas,” Remus finished. All was well. If he were under duress, he'd have replied, “Not in a gale.”

The car fell silent. Glancing at the dashboard clock, Sirius saw that it was only twelve fifteen. Glancing over to Alex, he asked, “You have anything to eat in that bag of yours?”

Silently, she rummaged for a bit before handing him a corned beef sandwich.

The urgency to rendezvous with the teens became overpowering. Sirius was fully aware that Harry and Hermione were easily the most powerful warriors in the family. However, that didn't mean that he didn't worry. As Padfoot bit down on the first half of the sandwich, he slammed the accelerator to the floor. The Land Rover shot forward past ninety miles per hour.

No one complained. Sirius doubted any of them would feel safe until they had their own wards up and were safely ensconced underneath them.

.oOo.

Driving the A470 this time of year was a wonderful experience. The tail end of summer left the mountains a full green that was just beginning to show the peeks of the colour burst of fall.

Hermione pulled over behind Harry. She'd been very nervous about riding her own motorbike. “At least it's not a hundred feet in the air,” she snarked to Harry and Susan when they'd teased her about it.

After riding the roughly hundred miles from Cardiff to the heart of Snowdonia National Park, she felt in command of her motorbike. She'd even given it a name.

Hiking her leg over the seat, she discovered what `saddle sore' meant. Groaning, the brunette witch waddled over to her boyfriend as he looked over the side of a drop off.

The mountains here were tall and relatively unpopulated with trees. She didn't know if it was due to deforestation or just the natural way here in northern Wales. Either way, her breath was sucked out of her chest and all musings banished when she pulled alongside her betrothed.

Below them was the Llyn Trawsfynydd. A gorgeous man-made lake, it was a clear mere reflecting heaven to earth.

“Yeah, it's something,” Harry murmured as he wrapped his arm about her. She stood there, basking in the sights, the feel of his arm about her, the warmth of the afternoon sun and the scents and sounds of the park.

Vaguely, she noticed Neville and Susan assuming a similar stance next to them. Twenty minutes passed in silence as the four teens waited. Glancing at his watch, Harry murmured, “Nev, you and Sue wait here. We'll scout out a place. If we're not back in an hour, raise hell.”

.oOo.

“Turn left here.”

Sirius was pushing the Land Rover. Alex had expertly guided him through southern England and into Wales with nary a missed turn. Moony was busy in the backseat, arranging his maps and notebooks. Padfoot knew that his friend was worried about the search. Wales wasn't that big, but it's very, very easy for one person to hide - even without magical means.

“The pullover should be up to the left.”

.oOo.

Harry squinted up the road as he heard the engine. The nose of a dark green car rounded the bend. “Here they come,” he muttered. “I hope.”

Surreptitiously, he wormed his hand inside his jacket, fingering the butt of his pistol. Approvingly, he saw Neville do the same. They were in hostile occupied country now, his keyed up nerves finally seemed justified.

The car came close enough so that he recognized the driver. Relaxing a bit, he waited. Sirius bounded out of the car, a big smile on his face. Faintly, Harry returned it. “What was the first thing Peter said to me?” he asked.

Sirius' face darkened. “He said you looked like James.”

Nodding, he turned to Remus, “What form does my Patronus take?”

Nodding, the Lycan replied, “A stag.”

To Alex he asked, “Which arm did I hurt recently?”

Impatiently, she replied, “Your left. Can we leave off these games and set up our camp now? I have to pee.”

A muffled snort of laughter from behind him dispelled the tension. Taking a deep breath, Harry tried to force himself to relax.

Sauntering up to him, Harry's godfather asked, “Did you find a spot?”

“Yeah,” he replied as he straddled his bike. Rearranging his satchel, he turned the ignition switch. “Saddle up.”

Pressing the start button, the engine whined to life. Everyone took that as their cue to get moving. Bodies hopped on motorbikes and into the Rover. Thirty seconds later, Harry and Hermione led the way down the road.

Two turns off the main road led them all to a service road that the park rangers used to access the interior of the park. Harry whipped off the road, gunning the engine up a wide area that led to a plateau above the remote road.

“Perfect,” Remus murmured as he exited the backseat of the Land Rover.

Everyone scampered. Duties had been decided weeks ago in Spain. Sirius and Susan began to lay out the ward stones. There was a series of wards that Sirius was to erect; the first would screen any other magic use from the Ministry detectors.

"I'm a Gryffindor, I'll take care of it...the rest of you can stop hiding now," Sirius muttered as he charged the first rune cluster.

Harry smirked when Susan poked his godfather in the side. “A Hufflepuff helped design this ward schema old man.”

“Old man!” Padfoot mock exclaimed as he started laying out the next set of ward stones.

Susan took her pile. “Yes, old man,” she snarked as she began to place the dragon bone plates at measured intervals.

Now that Sirius had the anti-magic detection ward erected, the camp flew in to place. Literally.

Four tents jumped out of the teens' satchels, expanding and unfolding as they moved. Tent pegs automatically pinned the collapsible structures in place.

Alex moved inside the tent that was to be their infirmary. A flood of supplies burst from her purse, filling the shelves. Lily's Unpacking spell was very useful.

Remus moved into their `Headquarters Tent'. Most of the maps that he carried were duplicates of those already attached to the walls, but the other supplies that hadn't been entrusted to the tent were unpacked and stored.

Harry quickly unpacked the teens' tent. The two rooms were not segregated by gender but rather by couple. He smiled as he tossed Neville and Susan's bags on to their bed. They'd not been cohabitating in Spain, so this was a new development. I hope they remember Silencing spells, he smiled to himself.

“Hey, lover,” he heard Hermione murmured from behind him.

“Hey there, yourself,” he whispered as he turned about. She melted into his arms, melding herself to him.

“Alright?” she asked in little more than a whisper.

Harry knew what she was referring to without asking. All day, he'd been hyper alert, waiting for an attack that never materialized. Intellectually, he knew that he'd not be able to sustain that level of awareness for very long else he burn out in short order. There needed to be a balance inside him between awareness and ignorance.

“I'm fine now. When something changes…when the situation is fluid is when we're most exposed and vulnerable. Now that we've our wards up and the group is together, I've a place where we can relax. I'll be fine, you'll see.”

She looked into his face and once more he was stuck by how fortunate he was to have her by his side. Hermione looked out for him when he either couldn't or wouldn't take care of himself.

She tugged on his hand, “Come on. We're to cast the Imperturbable charms on the ground so we don't end up sleeping in a muddy mess.”

.oOo.

“Your Grace,” Rauri began as he bowed low. “Would you care for your luncheon here or in the dining room?” To be honest, the house elf was very worried about his mistress. Her Grace hadn't been eating well of late. With her advancing pregnancy and the stress of Lord Harry, Lady Hermione and the rest being away from home, she needed to keep her energy up. He'd asked his Grace if it would be acceptable to bring another elf - a female - into the household to act as Lady's maid to her Grace for various duties. And there was the other issue to concern him. It was a sign of how worried about her that Rauri was willing to share his family with another elf.

Besides, his Mistress was a Duchess; it was befitting her station that she had a Lady's maid.

The auburn haired witch sighed as she rubbed her face. “In here is fine, Rauri. What's on?”

“A light seafood salad, your Grace.”

Another sigh preceded another groan while she stretched. Nervous, he waited.

She seemed to pull herself from her distracted reverie. “Was there anything else, Rauri?”

“I was wondering if you've heard anything from Lord Richmond or the Lady Hermione.” He'd never been so forward with the family, but then again, they usually volunteered this information.

Nodding, she set him at ease. “They've rendezvoused and are establishing their site. Remus expects them to begin their efforts tomorrow or the next day at the latest.”

The retainer of the Potter family relaxed a bit before tensing again. He'd spoken to his Grace about this, but the Master hadn't given Rauri any guidance. “Speak to her Grace,” had been his direction.

“Your Grace, I couldn't help but overhear Lord Richmond relate the substance of his latest vision…” When she tensed, he quickly added, “I would like to do anything to help.” To say that Rauri was a bit fond of the family he was bound to serve was like saying that Voldemort was a bit mad.

The glare from the tired, pregnant witch was half-hearted. “Help keep me alive, you mean.”

Nodding, the butler admitted the truth of her words.

“There's not much you can do, Rauri.”

“Begging your pardon your Grace, but there is something I can do.”

Frowning, she asked, “Such as?”

The Mistress had always been kind, or at least fair, to him so he felt no hesitation in his suggestion. Without apprehension, he put forth, “I would like to bring another elf into the household. She would be your lady's maid, as well as, an added layer of security for yourself.”

She sat back in her chair, watching him with a half-smile on her face. “You've obviously thought this through. Do you have anyone in mind?”

“I thought to ask Headmaster Dumbledore if he had any elves he'd release to us. Hogwarts is closed, so the bulk of the elves must be idle.”

Resignedly, she nodded. “If we must, we must. Thank you, Rauri, for thinking of me and my safety.”

Deep inside, he was shocked that thought she needed to mention his concern, so he replied in the only way he could. “Your Grace, I think of nothing else.”

With a small crack, he disappeared from La Retirada, appearing in the anteroom to the residence of Albus Dumbledore.

.oOo.

“Athos, my friend, how are you?” James greeted the Greek ambassador.

“I am well, James. Yourself? Your darling wife? How does she do with the child?”

James smiled brightly. Athos Lampros was a big, bluff man with a close cropped beard. His entire person exuded happiness and exuberance for life. One time, though, the ambassador from the Philippines thought to tease a little too much and the big, bluff and hearty man became cold, menacing and intimidating. Jorge Salunga apologized deeply and often after that.

“Lily is finally giving up. She's due in two months and just can't keep up with our schedule here. She's doing most of the coordination from home, but the meetings and whatnot are falling by the wayside.”

Lampros nodded. “Will you have someone else standing in for her?”

James shook his head as he poured coffee for the both of them. “No. We're arranging for a nanny to be with us after the baby is born. Lily'll be out for a few months before coming back to snakepit here.” The story was reasonable and believable. Most likely, no one would believe the truth anyway. My wife is acting as the commanding General of a covert insertion team which is tracking down a millennia old blood feud opponent with the intention of eliminating them with extreme prejudice while a secondary mission of rehabilitating home farms from fire damage is accomplished. All the while, they intend on gathering as much intelligence as possible about the Voldemort regime to be leveraged at a yet to be determined date in a counterinsurgency operation.

No one would believe that. The baby story was much more believable. And safe. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, James swallowed his fear and anxiety for Harry and the others.

“Yes, yes, the baby. My wife has her hands full with our brood,” Lampros waxed as he sat in the proffered chair.

“You have how many now?” James asked as he sipped his coffee.

“Nine beautiful children. Six girls and three boys. The delight of my life.”

James smiled while declining to comment. The pleasantries had been exchanged so it was time to get to business.

Athos' face sobered. Half frowning, he began in a subdued tone, “James, my government is in a difficult situation.”

There was silence as the large Greek looked for the right words.

“The Russian Bear is growling. So too are his allies, either in open or in secret. Greece has many ties in that sphere. At the same time, my country is firmly convinced that your Dark Lord is a menace that not only has subjugated your fine country, but is a legitimate threat to the world. Maybe not the world…” he backtracked, “But Europe in the very least. Psychopaths like him are never satiated. They always want more.”

James nodded his understanding. Greece would be unable to support them publicly, like Spain and Germany had been doing for the last weeks. He wasn't really clear, though, what Greece was offering.

“Athos, Britain understand the difficulties your country faces and wish you all the best in your endeavours. I'm sure that we can establish a more private relationship between the Ministry in Exile and Greece. Many things can be affected in private that cannot be done in public. Once the rightful government is returned to its place, we can discuss a more formal association.”

The big Greek's face brightened considerably. “Yes, yes. I believe our intelligence services would like to have discussions with your people.”

James grinned, “I'll have Arthur Weasley contact your people today.”

.oOo.

“Lily Potter.”

Harry smiled when the mirror immediately resolved from his face to the delighted expression of his mother. Never in life would he have foretold how much he'd miss his parents after such a short separation. They'd been back for almost a year, but he'd still lived most of his life without them. If asked, he'd have assumed that the separation would be met with more sang froid than he felt. All that motivated him to make the check in call to his mother this afternoon.

“Harry!” Lily exclaimed as her mouth shaped into a delighted smile.

“Hey, Mum,” he smiled in return.

“How are you, sweetie?”

“We're all fine,” he replied, savouring the endearment.

The closest Petunia Dursley ever came to an endearment was one night after she'd had too much to drink. She affectionately patted his cheek while calling him, “Our freakish little shit.”

He could see her visibly collecting herself as he asked, “How're things back there?”

“Fine,” she replied. “Baby is moving along and your Dad is working double tides to make up for me being home. Enough chit chat, what's the news?”

Nodding, Harry began his report. Glancing at his notes, he began, “Sirius is finishing up the portkeys. He'll be sending them along in a box before lunch.” Since Sirius was the Secret Keeper for La Retirada, only he could enchant a portkey to that location. The idea was for the team to establish their base camp, then for Sirius to send a box full of portkeys to Spain. That would allow Lily or James to resupply the team fairly easily. It was also how they planned to get Remus his Wolfsbane potion every month.

Lily nodded as he added, “The camp is set up with all wards charged. Hermione and I did a little add on with a Hostile Confusion Ward and a Muggle Repelling Ward, as well. Sirius says the schema is solid and stable.

“Neville is nearly ready to go,” he continued glancing at his notes. “He asked for you to look for a means of rapidly infusing nitrogen into the soil. He says that soybeans do this naturally, but wondered if there was a way to do this rapidly using magic.” Looking up from his notes, he asked his Mum, “Did that make any sense to you?”

She laughed and his heart warmed. He really loved his mother. “Yes. I'll check around.”

Shrugging, he crumpled the paper in his hand. “That's it. We'll begin our sweeps tomorrow. Neville, Susan and Sirius are heading to the first farm tomorrow. I think that Alex will go with them. She mentioned `staving off boredom' more than once.”

He watched her nod soberly. “You take care, my son.”

His sad grin was all he could muster. “I will. Plus Hermione'll make sure I come home safe. She said that we can marry in Spain right now. The age of consent is twelve.”

The image of his mother rolled her eyes, “There's plenty of time for that later. Focus on coming home to see your baby brother or sister.” Her familiar green eyes softened, “I love you, son.”

“Love you too, Mum.”

.oOo.

“Your Grace.”

Lily turned away from the mirror in surprise. She was somewhat used to the emotional rollercoaster that her emotions had ridden for the last months. Still, seeing Harry on the other end of the mirror, knowing where he was, what he was doing and what he had yet to do had affected her greatly. Sometimes, she fell into the pattern of thinking of him as her baby boy, despite everything. Old habits were hard to break.

Turning, she saw Rauri standing there, the usual picture of poise and confidence.

“Yes?”

“I have found an elf to act as your Grace's Lady's maid and companion who I believe is suitable. Would you care to meet her?”

She smothered a smile. Most times, Rauri conducted himself with more dignity than her and James combined. She thought he ought to be the Duke. “Of course. Please bring her.”

He bowed deeply before disappearing with a pop. A moment later, a double pop-pop announced his return with the new girl.

`Your Grace,” he began as the other elf curtsied so deeply as to prostrate herself on the floor, “This is Winky. She was unjustly punished by her former master and now seeks a family to serve. Her experience is significant and suitable to be your Grace's maid.”

Lily couldn't believe that she was about to say this. Smiling, she commanded, “Rise, Winky.”

The diminutive elf stood. Smoothing the frilly dress she wore, she waited.

“Would you like to join our family, Winky?”

In a voice just above a whisper, the elf replied, “Very much, your Grace.” Her dark green hair was combed and lustrous, bobbing as she nodded vigorously.

“Will you vow to keep the secrets of the Potter family and the house of Shrewsbury?”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“Will you vow to serve only the Potter family and the house of Shrewsbury?”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“Will you vow to protect the Potter family and the house of Shrewsbury as we will, in turn, protect you?”

“Yes, your Grace.”

Nodding, Lily glanced to Rauri. Seeing his approval of her questions, she finished, “Say your vow, Winky.”

Kneeling, the little elf chanted, “Winky, daughter of Stebbin and Leesy, swears on her life and magic to serve only the Potter family and the house of Shrewsbury. Winky will keep their secrets as her own, never to tell, never to betray her family. Life for life, health for health, magic for magic, Winky will serve and be true to the Potter family and the house of Shrewsbury.”

The flash of light sealed the bond. Lily smiled, “Look me in the face, Winky, daughter of Stebbin and Leesy.”

The trembling elf looked to Lily. Seeing the hesitancy and fear in her face, Lily smiled. “Welcome to our family.”

A tear leaked out of her large eyes as she smiled. “Thank you, your Grace,” she whispered.

.oOo.

Amelia was tired. The government in exile had finally finished their consolidation move to the facility provided by the Spanish. It was hot and the then disparate elements of the government were figuring out how to work in the same quarters. Some were falling into old habits of bureaucratic bullshit which threatened to drive the petite redheaded former Auror batshit.

And they'd not found the killer of Dolores Umbridge. Said murderer was probably the spy that the now deceased odious woman believed to exist. Hestia flopped into the chair opposite Amelia's desk. “What a day,” the blonde observed.

Amelia's reply was to open the drawer on her desk, withdrawing a bottle of single malt whisky.

Hestia nodded her approval as she conjured two tumblers.

“Any luck with the Veritaserum?” she asked after gunning down the first shot.

Frustrated, Amelia downed her whisky before pouring a second round for them both. “Nothing.” Tossing the list of persons questioned on her desk, she grumbled, “That's everyone.”

Hestia glanced at the list. “No it's not. You questioned me, I questioned you and we questioned James together. None of us are on that list.”

Frowning, Amelia looked at the list again. With a new perspective, she reviewed the names, adding the others into the place. Then it occurred to her.

“Oh, no.”

The feeling of dread washed over her. Now that she saw, the answer was obvious. As all good riddles are she mused to herself. The motivation was even obvious. With deliberation, she wrote a name at the top of the sheet, followed by a question mark.

Steeling herself, Amelia handed the sheet to Hestia with the traitor's name at the top.

“Oh, no,” Hestia breathed.

The two witches regarded each other for a long moment before picking up their whisky. Both took a long pull on the amber liquid before Amelia incinerated the list.

“Tomorrow. We'll deal with this tomorrow.”

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first twenty-one chapters of Last Casualties. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on fanfiction (dot) net. I update the status on Mondays.

2. In 1998, Spain raised the age of consent from 12 to 13. Check it out (http:// www. ageofconsent. com/ spain.htm)

3. Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out. Summer is here in the northern hemisphere and with it a ton of `dad' duties.

Chapter complete 7/5/12

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

She watched him stand on the veranda, looking out to sea. Shaking her head, Lily knew she should have foreseen this situation. With a heavy sigh, the pregnant witch waddled out to stand next to the Prince of Wales.

“Evening, Lily,” he murmured.

“Billy,” she replied. All of them, William included, knew that if they addressed him as `Billy' they were invoking the familiarity of friendship and love with him. “Must be a bit lonely for you, now.”

He shrugged without looking at her. “Even with my brother, I was always a bit lonely growing up. Harry,” he broke off, looking at her for the first time, “my brother, Harry, well he was a bit of a wanker.”

Lily grinned.

The small smile on William's face faded. “But I still miss him.” Shaking off the grief, he returned from his parenthesis, “Your Harry, Neville, Susan and Hermione were the first kids my own age that I never wondered about.'

The auburn haired witch nodded, knowingly. It was the same for Harry. He'd confided in her that he'd always wondered how many of his peers wanted to be his friend because he was The Boy-Who-Lived. For the longest time, he wondered if Ron Weasley had only been his friend to soak up fame by association.

“It's not so much that I miss being around people my own age, but being around my true friends,” William breathed.

The door opened behind them. The deep clearing of a throat as footsteps walked across the stone floor announced his identity louder than words. When James hands' rested on her shoulders, he greeted them, “Evening all. How was your day?”

His kiss on her neck was fleeting and brief. A sigil of his love.

“We were just talking about friends,” William evaded.

James had been best friends with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin for far too long to be put off by vague words. They were all silent as the sun sank closer to the horizon. “Missing the kids, then?”

“Um-hmm,” the Prince replied, staring out to sea, again.

They were all quiet. Lily watched a luxury sailboat shift tacks as it clawed out to sea. The horizon burst into a glory of red, orange and yellow with a base of black. The sun kissed the horizon, hesitating for a moment before surrendering to the inevitable. There was more to it than William missing the other teens. His reticence was so unusual and there was an aroma of strong emotion that hung in the air.

As the sun was bisected by the curvature of the earth, James squeezed her about the waist before reminding William, “My parents were killed when I was seventeen. My cousins had been targeted and killed when I was very young, no older than seven or eight. After I buried my parents, my only surviving relative was Sirius.”

“Lucky you,” Lily jibed. By the tensing of William's shoulders, it seemed that James had struck pay dirt with his essay.

All grinned for a moment before James continued, “All I had in my life were Sirius, Remus and Peter.”

Lily supressed the hiss that tried to slip out of her clenched teeth. During their Hogwarts years, Peter had been true, but that didn't lessen the hatred that burned in her heart for the Rat.

James ignored the tensing in her shoulders as he continued, “They were my family.”

The silence grew and swelled about them. Lily instantly grasped his point, hoping that Billy would take it in the spirit offered. Watching the young man, she could see the emotions as they swelled and ebbed through his heart. Anger, sadness, grief, frustration and finally understanding. All this wrapped up in a tender expression that seemed to be one of gratitude.

“You are part of us, now. You're family, Billy.”

Everyone had left the young man alone regarding the wholesale slaughter of his family. While almost all the residents of the La Retirada could empathize with his plight, all also realized that he needed to grieve his own way. Should he want to discuss it, they'd be there but he needed to make the first move.

The young man's head drooped. It was evident that he was overcome by emotion. Moved, Lily gently untangled herself from her husband's embrace to wrap her arms about the young man, pulling him to her.

He didn't cry, but William did meld himself to Lily. His mother was dead. His father was dead. Brother, aunts, uncles and grandfather, all dead.

“It's Ok, Billy. It's Ok,” she murmured. It wasn't Ok and wouldn't be so for many more months, but she was trying to convey that the young man was loved and appreciated. He was wanted and a part of this greater Marauder family. What made it more special was that membership of this family wasn't an accident of birth, but rather a conscious choice. James was the Father, Lily the Mother. Sirius and Remus were the Uncles while Alex and Hestia the Aunts. Bill and Bobbie had taken up the role of `Old People' (so Sirius said) and helped round out the family for the youngest generation. Harry, Hermione, Neville, Susan and William would be fast friends until the end of days. In fact, Harry and Hermione's eldest daughter would one day succeed her Godmother, `Auntie Kate,' as the Queen of Great Britain.

But that was many years from now, after many trials and travails.

Lily felt William relax before he gave her a squeeze, “Thanks.”

She bussed his cheek. “Of course. Come on in, Rauri has a feast for us.”

William's stomach grumbled causing Lily and James to laugh while the teen blushed.

“Good timing, too,” James chuckled. Throwing his arm over the young man's shoulders, he steered the group inside. “Hestia's waiting inside for us. I'm starved.”

.oOo.

“This sucks.”

Remus chuckled. Harry was usually very stoic when bored or in pain. However, the painstaking survey of their assigned areas was inspiring much grumbling from The Boy-Who-Lived.

Through his mirror, he heard Hermione chastise her fiancé, “Harry…”

“Sorry, love,” he muttered. The expression in Remus' communication mirror showed anything but repentance.

“I gather you've not found anything?” he asked. Remus had been quartering his assigned search areas with no success. Hermione and Susan had constructed a mounting board which held the magic detecting crystals. Fixing them on the handles of the motorbikes had allowed each of the searchers to work their way through their zones far more quickly than they'd have accomplished on foot.

“Nothing,” Hermione replied, her frustration as evident as her betrothed's vexation.

“Nor me,” Harry added.

Glancing first at his new watch before looking at the sky, he offered, “Let's wrap it up for today. Meet at the rendezvous spot before we head back?”

“Ten minutes,” Harry quipped.

“See you then,” Hermione concurred.

Shrugging, Remus pocketed his mirror. He tried not to be discouraged. It was only the first day of searching. They'd started their search directly to the south of the hidden grounds of Rowan Hill. The portrait of Grandfather Cadfael hadn't known where - exactly - the homestead of the original Dormred Ap Morag had been. The only thing he'd regrettably been able to tell them was that it was within a day's ride to the south.

So they searched.

This far into Snowdonia Park they all agreed that independent searching was an acceptable risk. When they reached the more populated areas, pairs or even the three of them would be required. They were in the United Kingdom ruled by Lord Voldemort. That could never be forgotten. At the same time, the Dark Lord wasn't omniscient. Finding a balance in their paranoia was difficult.

Pulling over to the side of the road, he let the engine idle as he stopped next to Hermione.

“Red light,” he muttered.

“Blue light,” she grunted in reply. They had prearranged passcodes to confirm their identity.

“How did it work?” Remus asked, nodding to the rack on the handlebars with the crystals embedded therein.

Shrugging she replied, “I don't really know. Nothing happened, but at least it didn't fall off.”

Harry roared by, waving his arm as he shouted, “Come on.”

Without waiting, Hermione gunned her motorbike, spinning gravel as she departed.

He couldn't blame them. Despite the logical reassurances that they ought not to have any luck the first day out it was still discouraging that they'd come up empty.

Heading after the teens, Remus returned to the campsite. Switching off, he left the keys in the ignition as he put the kickstand down. Slouching to the infirmary tent, he admitted that he needed a hug from Alex.

.oOo.

“How'd it go at the Terfels' farm?”

Neville looked up from his journal. He was documenting everything he could about his efforts to restore the home farms. His reading and studies had obliquely discussed the type of effort that he was attempting, but there was nothing concrete in the literature. Maybe, just maybe, if Britain was freed then he'd actually publish an article about the topic.

Leaning back, he stretched his back. “It went well,” he told Harry. His dark haired friend plopped into a chair, rubbing his face in his hands. With sympathy, he guessed, “Not so good for you guys?”

Hermione came in the tent. Sliding into Harry's lap, she wrapped her arms about his neck as she replied, “Nothing today. We knew that this was the more mind numbing part of the effort.”

“Arse numbing, more like,” Harry murmured.

Neville chuckled as Hermione clucked her tongue in disapproval. Susan emerged from the toilet, greeting the others. She slid into the seat next to Neville and once more, he marvelled at his good fortune. Susan was not an expert at herbology, far from it. However, she'd been invaluable in his efforts.

“Distract us, Neville,” Hermione groaned as she leaned into Harry. “Tell us about it.”

Leaning back in his chair, he began, “Well, Sirius drove the four of us out to the farm.” Shaking his head, he scowled, “They torched the house as well as the fields. Sirius thinks the house is a total loss. The place stunk of dark magic. Luckily, the field only had an accelerant like petrol used to get things going. The fire was completely non-magical.”

“That's good,” Harry observed. He was leaning back on the chair, his feet on a footstool. Hermione looked to be nearly asleep, but Neville knew better.

“Neville and Alex hurried back here to get the Trailer,” Susan continued the tale.

The Trailer was a triumph of runes and spell work. Neville and Sirius had been working on it for weeks. They'd purchased huge slabs of slate that they'd fixed in an elongated `V' shape, fashioning a gate on the bottom. Since they knew that Voldemort's government would be looking for unusual magical activity, runes and precast spells were relied upon heavily in the construction of the Trailer. In the end, they'd fashioned a Disillusioned, self-levitating magical dump truck. Filling it with the purchased dragon and manitcore dung, Lily had sent it on via portkey just this morning.

“It took about six hours to get the dung spread over the ruined fields, but once that was done; the plough tilled everything under in a trice.”

Neville smiled and nodded his head appreciatively. Sirius was earning his keep on this mission. Not only had he created the wards and their dump truck, but he'd charmed a plough to be self-propelled. “Come spring, everything should be right as rain.”

Hermione's eyes cracked open, “If everyone can come home, that is.”

Neville sobered. Yes, they'd taken a big step in restoring the farms to a workable state. The plan had been successfully tested and everything worked fine. However, Dormred ap Morag was still there and the omnipresent threat of Lord Voldemort cast a pall of pessimism over all their efforts.

.oOo.

Sighing, Amelia stood. She'd been distracting herself all day, avoiding the problem. Going to extraordinary lengths, she'd even generated a `surprise inspection' of the facility. Spending over an hour in the basements looking for security leaks hadn't made the problem go away.

Shoving a bottle of firewhiskey in her pocket, Amelia sighed again. The scowl that had been coming and going all day returned. What she needed to do was near the top of tasks that she privately called `Repulsive'. Dealing with murderers, wizards fully immersed in the dark arts and traitors. All made her skin crawl. All made her feel slightly nauseous.

In retrospect, it was obvious that they had someone who was passing information to Voldemort and his forces. They'd lost Team Five, the compromising of Harry's excursion to rescue Hermione's parents, the spate of captures at ports…all of them had been held in strictest confidence. Then again, by definition a traitor was trusted, else they wouldn't be useful to the other side.

Absently, she locked her door with three separate locking charms. Enough whinging, woman. Get on with it.

With a new resolve and her familiar upright posture, the petite redhead strode down the hall. Turning into his office, she was brought up sort. Sitting at his desk, Arthur Weasley was weeping.

He didn't notice her and she couldn't move. Sat behind his desk, he was holding a picture in his hands, staring at it as tears tracked down his face. The raw emotion leaked out of his face, his soundless sobs and even his posture. Arthur was in agony.

All the righteous indignation that she'd stoked and fed since yesterday afternoon drained out of her without a fuss. What she'd wilfully supressed was that not only was Arthur probably the traitor, he was also her friend. She didn't have many friends, but the redheaded father of seven was one of them. Damn.

Her hand on her wand, Amelia slowly moved through the room to stand behind the distraught man. He didn't move or acknowledge that he knew she was present. His entire focus was in front of him.

In his hands he held a picture of a redheaded young man. He was dressed in Hogwarts robes, a smug smile on his face, horned rim glasses and a Head Boy badge. Percy Weasley. The young man who'd been missing since the fall of Britain. The leverage that Voldemort had over Arthur. The only reason that Arthur would ever…

With a gentleness she never thought she could muster, Amelia laid her hand on Arthur's shoulder. She had to know. “Is this why?”

He didn't even attempt to dissemble or hide. “Yes.”

She sat, the feeling in her belly one of pain for a friend instead of the expected sharp stab of betrayal in her heart. “Tell me.”

He gave a deep sigh, sitting back in his chair, but his eyes remained riveted on the picture of his son in his hand. Releasing it, he balanced it on the desk as he wiped his face. Like a lifeline for his sanity, Arthur stared at the picture.

In a low tone, he began his story,”A few days after we arrived in Switzerland, Molly received an owl. In the letter, the writer told us that they had Percy. If we contacted anyone - you in especial - he'd die. They had ways of knowing these things, the letter claimed.”

Clearing his throat, he reached out with his left hand, caressing the picture. “A week later, I was directed to send the details of all the Auror operations in Britain to a `Joseph Quisling'.”

Amelia's eyes widened, the anger swift and intense. “Of course I didn't,” Arthur replied. “I did send a letter that was very close to the truth, though. Apparently, it was too close.”

In early July, Auror Team Five had been decimated during a raid on a Death Eater Supply Depot. One young witch had survived of a twelve person team.

Amelia closed her hand on her wand, struggling to maintain control of herself. For all they'd fought and struggled, Arthur had thrown it all away for one person? The sympathy she'd felt for her friend dissipated like smoke in the breeze. In its place, a burning anger formed.

Silently, the balding father reached out for the picture. “Molly doesn't know anything,” he told his Minister. “After the first letter, I cast a Memory Charm on her so she didn't remember what happened.”

“Umbridge?” she asked. He only nodded his responsibility in the odious woman's murder.

“What else?”

He sighed, dropping his face into his hands. His weeping became louder. Muffled, but still clear, he said, “I told them about Harry, Hermione and Sirius' trip to get her parents out.”

Amelia's mouth tightened. She wanted to rant and rave. She wanted to lash out at the man. At first, she'd felt pity for the man. They claimed to have his son. What would she have done had they captured Susan?

Her lip curled when Amelia concluded that she'd have told of her compromise and worked with everyone else to get her niece out of where she was being held. That's what she'd have done. The whiplash of emotions was confusing Amelia. Trying to get her centre, the petite redheaded witch closed her eyes as she breathed deeply though her nose. After a minute, during which his sobbing quieted, she finally calmed.

Glaring at Arthur Weasley, she snarled, “You are about to make an Unbreakable Vow with me. You will Vow never to inform Lord Voldemort or his forces of any truth without my express, written consent. You will vow to never speak to anyone of your treachery,” he winced at the word, but at this point, Amelia didn't give a good goddam about the man's finer feelings. “You will never communicate anything that could compromise the efforts to regain control of Britain by its rightful government.”

Another tear dripped down his nose. This drop, she was sure, was for himself and not for his son.

Slowly, he reached into his robes, withdrawing his wand. He hesitated for a moment when the tip of his wand was pointed at his face. Amelia lunged forward, ripping the stick from his grasp.

“You'll not take the easy way out, my friend,” she growled. “You're going to work for me. You'll feed them so much bullshit that they won't know which way is up.”

Unable to restrain herself any longer, her hand whipped out, slapping the man across the face. The sharp crack echoed in the empty room. Arthur's head jerked to the side, but he remained silent. “You will Vow to work to the best of your ability to reclaim our country.”

Amelia stood, leaning over the thoroughly cowed traitor. “If you don't, I'll let James Potter know about your shenanigans. Worse, I may tell Lily. You explain to them why you sold their son to Voldemort.”

All the pity she'd mustered for the man vanished as she stormed out the door to find a bonder for their Vows.

.oOo.

Harry was bored out of his mind. Steering his motorbike across an empty field as he continued his search, he glanced at the board that was mounted across his handlebars. In a vain hope that they were missing detections, Hermione charmed the magic sensing crystals to emit a screech whenever a specific threshold of magic detection was met. It was equivalent to detecting a ward within three miles.

Scowling, he glared at the Not Glowing crystals. They were most definitely Not Glowing.

They'd been doing this for three bloody weeks. The only thing they'd found had been a remnant of the Rowan Hill Unicorn herd. Two mares, a stallion and two foals had been grazing in a hidden valley. Hermione had quietly called the other over the radios. For thirty minutes, the family had gathered, watching the wondrous beings of Light as they grazed. Being in their presence had lifted everyone's spirits, reassuring them that, in the end, Good would triumph over Evil. As it always had done and always would do.

Right now, though, it sure didn't feel that way.

The little idea that had been buzzing about in the back of Harry's mind began to take shape. Hermione wouldn't like it, but she'd do it.

“Harry, this is Neville, over.”

Letting the engine idle, Harry grabbed the small radio from his pocket as his motorbike rolled to a stop.

“Harry.”

“Hey mate, could you swing by the camp, pick up the box your mum sent the other day and bring it out to us? They did a number at this place.”

Harry frowned. Neville, Susan and Sirius had been making excellent progress on their conservatory efforts. They'd fully rehabilitated three farms, and were nearly finished at Twin Oaks Farm on the outskirts of the park. Or so he thought.

“Sure thing, I'll be there in…” he glanced at his watch, did some quick math before finishing, “Thirty minutes.”

“Roger, thanks.”

“Hermione, this is Harry. Did you copy the last?” he asked as he throttled the engine.

“Copy all. A few minor hits here, but nothing serious. Remus?” she asked.

“Nothing here. I copy your errand Harry. Maybe tomorrow we move further west into the mountains. Not much down here on the plains.”

Snorting, Harry muttered, “No shit.” Keying the radio, he shouted over the noise of the wind, “Concur. I'll let you know when I get to Twin Oaks.”

Pulling into the campsite, Harry automatically gathered up the crate, fixed it to the back of the motorbike and headed out. The entire time, the thoughts that'd been nagging at him began to gain shape. Amorphous at first, they now began to gain clarity and depth.

Gunning the engine, he headed out to Twin Oaks Farm.

.oOo.

Hermione scowled as she jolted over another rabbit hole. She was heading up into the foothills of the Cambrian Mountains, the easternmost quadrant of her assigned search sector.

Intellectually, she knew that their search would be tedious and long. There would be a stretch of frustratingly fruitless effort until they (hopefully) made contact with Dormred and his supporters. Knowing what she did about the abilities of Harry, Remus, herself and even Neville and Susan; there wouldn't be much in the way of opposition by Dormred.

They just had to find the slippery son of a bitch first.

Just as she decided to swing around west to meet the others at Twin Oaks Farm, the ward detection crystals screeched.

Stunned, Hermione clamped down on the brakes, skidding to a stop. Staring at the board, she saw the crystals for Anti-Apparition ward detection and Anti-Portkey. Both crystals were glowing dully. In the gathering gloom of dusk, her face was illuminated by the soft green and yellow of the crystals.

There'd been a few erroneous detections before, but in both cases, the crystals had intermittently pulsed. This was a steady detection. Struggling to keep her composure, Hermione tugged the radio from inside her windcheater. “Remus, this is Hermione; Jackpot.”

The long stretch of silence was pregnant with excitement for the witch. After a moment, Remus' calm voice replied, “This is Remus; understood. Say your location.”

The map already spread over her gas tank, Hermione jabbed her finger at the closest location she could figure. Reading off the latitude and longitude, she waited. After a moment, Remus replied, “It's too late to pursue the lead. Mark your location and return to base.”

“Negative,” she countered her long supressed irritation and exasperation boiling over. “There's plenty of time left to begin to quarter the area. I can localise the detection before sundown.”

“No, Hermione,” Remus countered with less patience than before. “You know our rules. No one works alone once we've made a possible contact. Return to base.”

Huffing, she acknowledged unwanted, but common sense command. Hermione dropped her kickstand before rummaging through a saddlebag. A can of bright orange spray paint in her hand she began to make a series of marks on the ground just to the side of her motorbike. She tried to make them appear to be utility worker marks should anyone else see them and wonder.

Her scowl deepening, Hermione gunned the engine of the bike, heading back to the camp.

Ten minutes later, she parked the bike next to the tent she and Harry shared with Neville and Susan. Unfortunately, Harry hadn't returned from Twin Oaks yet. She really needed to vent her frustration. After all the fruitless searching, they finally found something yet she was unable to prosecute the target due to the bloody sunset.

Fuming, she stomped into their bedroom. After flinging her windcheater on to the chair in the corner, she flopped on to the bed. Lying on her back, she stared at the ceiling.

“I'm overreacting,” she announced to the empty tent.

“Why?” she mused. She tilted her head this way, than that way. Thinking it through she came up with a series of reasons, all of which were plausible. In the end, though, it was simple. “We're not getting anywhere and haven't since we left Britain.”

It was incredibly frustrating. They'd taken more than a few beatings from Voldemort and his forces since the night of the Third task. Everywhere the forces of Light turned, they were punched on the nose. The Auror Teams in Britain had made a bit of headway, but it was primarily harassment operations that didn't make any headway in the true mission: Wrest Control of Britain from the Usurper. In an undertone, she repeated herself, “We're not getting anywhere.”

“No, we aren't,” Harry agreed from the doorway.

Without looking up, she smiled. From his tone, she could tell that Harry had a Plan.

.oOo.

“You're going on a date.”

Harry smiled brightly at Alex. The others hadn't returned yet, so he and Hermione were putting his plan into action before the others returned to stop them. By the deadpan delivery of the blonde healer, she didn't believe the cover story one bit.

Fidgeting with her hair, Hermione added, “Yes, we're going to go shopping and have dinner.”

Alex merely cocked an eyebrow before turning to the infirmary. “I'll be here when you get back in case you need to be treated.”

Harry had to supress a smile. It seemed that not only did Alex see through their transparent lie, but was tacitly endorsing what she thought they were doing. Given the intelligence of the witch, Harry assumed that her deduction was probably very close to the truth.

Glancing at his watchless wrist, Harry commented, “We should be back in a few hours.' Cocking an eyebrow at Alex, he nodded, “Don't wait up.”

All pretences fell away as Alex placed her hands on his shoulders, “Be careful.”

“We will,” Hermione replied as she tugged her beau out of the tent.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled into an alleyway in Gwynedd. Glancing around, Harry drew his wand. “Ready?” he asked.

Hermione reached under his arm to touch the handlebar. “Go.”

In a swift motion, he cast the spell,”Portus.” The handlebars of the motorbike glowed blue for a moment. Before the glow faded, he tapped the chrome again, “Activate.”

Harry swallowed hard as the magical vortex whipped them away. Still astride the Yamaha, they arrived at their destination, Castledown House outside Dublin. His idea was to quickly evacuate the UK to try to evade detection by the Voldemort controlled Ministry. A subsequent portkey from Ireland wouldn't be detected by the Ministry detectors as it wouldn't be activated within the country.

He hoped.

After a steadying breath, he asked Hermione, “You sure?”

“Yes,” she whispered into his ear. “We need to do this. We've waited too long and too many people have died.”

Nodding his agreement, he repeated the spell, “Portus.” Again, he tapped the handlebars, “Activate.”

.oOo.

“Hello, Albus,” James greeted in an undertone.

The old wizard nodded amiably. “How are you this evening, James?”

Gesturing at the seat opposite his desk, Prongs replied, “Well enough. Bit of paperwork to wade through before I get out of here.” The implication was obvious. Hurry up and get to the point.

Again, Dumbledore nodded, “I wanted to talk to you about…,” he trailed off, considering his words before saying, “many things. Mainly, I wanted to tell you that I am very impressed with you.”

Taken aback, James stared. To say that he and Albus had been at odds since he and Lily had returned to the time stream was an understatement. For a while, James had hated Dumbledore.

Many people bandy the word `hate' about without true consideration. Dislike is common. Resentment abounds in the human heart. Hatred, though, that is rare. Hatred is a powerful force in the same manner that love set sail a thousand ships. Lily had pulled James back from the precipice shortly after their meeting with Dumbledore high in the Italian Alps.

“James, I'm concerned,” she'd told him.

Frowning, he'd looked up from the book in his lap. Motioning to her, she slid into his lap as he set The Bourne Supremacy on to the side table. When she settled, he asked, “About?”

“You.”

Taken aback, he automatically asked, “Why?”

She sat in silence for a moment before telling him, “This thing with Dumbledore. I can never excuse what he did to Harry, Sirius and even Remus. But it's starting to change you, love. It's like a fire that's burning you up from the inside and…” she looked away before saying, “you're changing and not in a good way.”

Frowning, he stared at her.

She stared back, the familiar green eyes narrowing.

James had the grace to know when he was beaten. The frown melted. Sighing, he let his head fall forward on to her chest. “I…” he trailed off, unsure of what to say.

“You want to hate him but at the same time you know that it's like acid on your soul.”

Contemplating her words for a moment, he nodded at the truth.

Soft hand framed his face. “My love, my dearest love,” she whispered. A bit of James' heart broke to hear the pain in her voice. “For Harry and for me, you have to let it go.”

Confused, he waited for her to elaborate.

“What do you think this hatred of Albus will do to you? What kind of person nurtures and feeds hatred?”

A chill settled about his heart. “Voldemort,” he whispered in reply.

She nodded. “For us, we need James Potter, not a shell of a man who looks like my husband and Harry's father. A dark wizard who would feed on hatred and lash out at all around him.”

Those words had jolted him. He hated dark wizards with a passion since his teens. Dark wizards had killed his parents, his cousins almost all whom he'd called family. He'd never really considered why a wizard went dark, though. Surely some were just plain evil. Voldemort and Grindlewald were of that ilk. Others were insane and in their insanity sank further into depravity, driving their souls further from the reaches of redemption and soundness. The last were those who'd been hurt so deeply that in their grief and rage turned to the dark arts to find vengeance and solace.

The appalling revelation that he was at the beginning of the road that spiralled down into the irresistible vortex of the dark arts revolted and terrified him. At this time, forgiveness of Dumbledore was impossible for James, but he stopped actively hating the man. Every time `The Jury' convened in his head, James did his best to let go of the need to convict the Headmaster of all his crimes real and imagined. Prongs hadn't even realised how often he went through that event until he tried to stop.

In the end, it allowed him to face the old man with more equanimity than he'd been able to muster in previous meetings. The words, “I am very impressed with you,” reverberated in his ears for a long moment until he nodded his graciously, not knowing how else to respond.

“You have taken up the gauntlet and done well. Most wouldn't have come close to your level of success. You've not only prevented the Ministry in Exile from being marginalized and even eradicated, you've championed our cause so that the bulk of the world's governments acknowledge us as the true government of Britain.”

Frowning again, James wondered where this bit of puffery was leading. Glancing at the clock on the fireplace mantle, he saw that it was 17:40. Albus wasn't swinging by this late to have a bit of a chat.

There are times when emotion is beyond words. It is a state of being that can only be lived. His entire body radiated an concentration of emotion - an overflow of feeling - that was so intense that it was nearly paralyzing.

Staring at the old man as he was overcome by this state of being, James whispered, “You know, I hated you with a righteous burning passion.” He stared at Albus, his hazel eyes boring deeply into the old man's psyche. “But it was destroying me. Acid corrupts the vessel that it rests in. Hatred was turning my soul to a seat of depravity and debasement of all that I held dear. I told myself that it was your fault. You were the one who'd hurt my son so deeply. It took the woman I love more than my own life to remind me that it's my own decision to hate.

“I'll never condone what you did, but I am trying to forgive you - even if it's for my own sake.”

The old warrior across the desk regarded the time displaced man for a long moment before nodding sagaciously. There was no reply. Once again, the feelings were beyond words. James knew that Albus was fully aware that he'd been convicted by his own actions. It was to the old man's credit that he seemed to be taking responsibility for his behaviour, not trying to shirk his culpability on to events or others. When James was his most idealistic, he hoped that Albus was at heart a good man who'd made many horrible decisions. Other times, he had a very different opinion.

There was another long silence before James demonstrated his attempts to move on with his life. “Thank you for your kind words, Albus. Is there something I can help you with before I head out for the day?”

“No,” Dumbledore replied with gravity. “I believe that we've accomplished all that can be done this day.”

.oOo.

The Yamaha cum portkey took the teens to a deserted alley next to the Leaky Cauldron. Decisions had been made. The plan was in place. Discussion was over. Hermione hopped off the back of the bike allowing Harry to dismount. Strapping the helmets to the bike, he quickly shrunk the bike after enchanting it one more time as a portkey. Tugging their dragonhide jackets about them, Harry and Hermione headed to Charing Cross road.

His face set, Harry pushed the door of the pub open. Without pausing, he made his way through to the entrance of the alley. On his heels, Hermione kept her head high. Drawing her wand, she tapped the wall in the appropriate sequence while Harry watched the crowd.

Every eye was on them. Every person recognized them. As he wanted them to do.

The glare on Harry's face froze the dozen patrons of the pub. The coldness that he felt deep inside was making its way to the fore. The restrained violence that was caged deep within him was threatening to slip the leash and all knew it. Immobile in evident fear and intimidation, the patrons quailed or fumed as their disposition lent. As the bricks shifted from a wall to the gateway of the magical shopping centre of Britain, Harry glanced one more time around the pub. On the far side of the room, he saw a large sign with large block letters at the top.

WANTED

With a grin, he flicked his wand. The parchment ripped off the wall, folding in flight before automatically tucking into his pocket. After one last glance, he followed Hermione into the Alley.

It was quiet; most of the shops were empty. Harry pulled even to Hermione, her black dragon hide coat glinting in the torchlight. Over her shoulder, he saw an old man stocking shelves in the apothecary shop.

“Two minutes,” she prompted.

Harry nodded. Timing was a large part of their plan. Breaking into a loping run, he led the way to the intersection of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley.

Hermione jabbed her wand left, then right. Under her breath she incanted words that Harry couldn't hear. Not bothering to watch her, he kneeled down, inscribing runes in the cobblestones. A quick underpowered Cutting curse allowed him to drip his blood into the cuts. Muttering charging spells, he moved to the next quadrant.

Carving, blooding and powering the rune cluster went quickly. Harry completed his tasks long before Hermione finished casting her spells. He watched up and down the Alleys, looking for the first arrivals to their party. Hermione finished her long incantation with a loud cry as she jabbed her wand heavenward.

“Ready?” he asked as he dug into his jacket.

“Yes,” she replied while catching her breath. Together they moved to the corner of the intersection. Harry draped his invisibility cloak over them just as he heard a distant voice call out, “They went down there!”

Five robed and masked Death Eaters led the way down the Alley in front of a small mob of looky-loos. Harry held his breath as he waited. Just a bit farther you bastards. Five feet.

“Where are they?” the big Death Eater in front asked to no one in particular.

Three feet.

“Down `at-a-way,” called an obviously highly educated man.

Two of the five were in the snare.

“Alecto, call for Bellatrix. She'll know.”

Damn. Harry squeezed Hermione's arm. He knew she was about to spring the trap, but if they had the chance to catch out Bellatrix Lestrange, they had to be patient.

The crowd began to swell as the five masked Death Eaters milled about in the middle of the intersection. Tension began to grow in Harry's breast. There had to be forty people milling about in the intersection and another fifteen up and down the alley. Lights were lit above shops. The shopkeepers that lived above their premises were now leaning out the windows to see what the to-do was.

Doing his best to stay in control of his mounting fear, Harry began to breath slowly and deliberately through his nose. Unconsciously, his arms snaked about Hermione's waist, pulling her close.

Hermione's hands found his. They trembled in her anticipation and fear.

Silently, they scooted back so that they were wedged between a large display of boots and a bench. Harry's gut clenched when a Death Eater grabbed a woman by the hair, dragging her to the bench.

Rage boiled in his veins as he watched him throw the woman against the seat. There was a snarl as the man rucked up his robes.

He's going to rape her right here.

Completely stunned, Harry froze for a long second. Hermione's whisper, “I'm going to trigger in five…,” broke his disbelief.

“Four…”

Leaning forward, he murmured, “You shield, I've got this prick.”

He felt her nod just as she whispered, “Three…”

“Two…”

“One…”

The shattering crash flattened all those standing in the Alley. It was a multi-phase charm and rune construct that Hermione and Sirius had worked on for weeks. First, it acted as a omnidirectional Reductor curse. A Reductor curse cast by Hermione that was. Then, there was an Over Pressurization spell that caused a shockwave of air to expand at a rate that was eerily reminiscent of the old Atomic bomb videos. Lastly, there was a high powered Sun Light spell to blind anyone left conscious. Everyone inside the fifty square feet of the intersection was immolated.

Harry's Piercing charm seemed superfluous, but he wanted to be sure. The half inch hole that was drilled in the would-be rapist's head ended his career rather abruptly. The fact that his body was shredded by the flying debris was just an added bonus.

Diagon Alley was a mess. The storefronts were hanging in tatters, doors were askew or blown off entirely. There wasn't a single pane of glass remaining in the window or doors. It was eerily quiet. After Harry blinked twice, a groan sounded as a beacon to the living. The tinkle of glass shards falling gave the destruction more poignancy and longevity. It seemed that the destruction of Diagon Alley was on going and tortuously long.

Standing, Harry heard the would be rapist's victim moan amongst the other sounds of pain. If she's hurt, she's alive. It was ironic; the man's body shielded her from the worst of the trap's blast. The monster enabled her survival.

Hermione sagged against him. “You alright?” he murmured.

“In a minute. That shield took a lot out of me.”

Moving her to the remains of the bench, Harry raised his wand as he looked about. Small fires here and there burned merrily. No one moved. Even now, the groans were swelling to become painful cries. We need to get out of here.

Just as Harry turned to help his intended from her bench, a loud crack sounded further up the alley.

Continuing about, Harry turned to see Bellatrix Lestrange watching him dispassionately as if he were an interesting bug of some kind.

“The Boy-Who-Lived,” she stated. The words acknowledging his presence.

“Mrs Lestrange,” Harry returned the greeting with more than a bit of sarcasm. “How are you this evening?”

Her eyes flared with mad amusement. After moving to her left, in what Harry was sure was a prelude to a maniacal diatribe, she froze. Grey eyes narrowing in fury, she hissed, “You.”

Completely taken aback, Harry raised his wand. Before he could, Hermione spoke. “Good even, cousin.”

“You…the mudblood pretender to the Lordship of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. Defiler, shame and animal!”

“Well, I see we can't play nice tonight,” Harry muttered under his breath. Over his shoulder, he asked, “Ready?”

“Go,” Hermione replied.

Without waiting, Harry cast a string of Bone Breaking curses. Going for speed over power, he managed six in three seconds.

It happened so fast, Harry wasn't' sure, but he thought that Bellatrix smiled before Apparating away with a soft pop.

Diving to his left, rolling over twice, Harry heard Hermione do the same just as Bellatrix screamed, “Crucio!”

The sickly twisting spell lanced over Hermione's head as she rolled behind a pile of debris. Harry popped to his knees while casting his favourite spell chain. Bone Breaking. Demolition. Piercing. Blinding. Binding.

The spells ripped from his wand at the dark haired witch. In the corner of his vision, he saw Hermione casting a spell, but focused on his opponent. Both his Dad and Remus had labelled Bellatrix as `nearly as dangerous as Voldemort'.

Once again, Bellatrix Apparated away from Harry's onslaught.

From behind him, he heard her growl, “I am fear. I am the queen of a blood-soaked planet and an architect of genocide. A half-blood mongrel like you can never defeat me.”

Without bothering to reply, he rolled again, cracking his jaw on a piece of rubble in doing so. Ignoring the pain and rush of blood, he kept moving. This time, the Blood Boiling Curse missed him by a wide margin. Taking that as an encouraging sign, Harry cast a wide area Sleeping charm followed by a spread of Bone Breaking Curses.

Bellatrix's outraged scream signalled his success.

Blinking to clear the dust from his eyes, he wondered to himself, Hermione, love, where the hell are you?

His question was answered when Bellatrix's cursing body suddenly fell to the cobbles like a puppet with her strings cut.

On his guard, Harry tried hard to find the source of his opponents incapacitation. Noticing that his eyes were sliding over a spot directly to the left of where the mad witch had fallen, he stared. Concentrating, he began to see the outline of his intended. Recognizing what she'd done, Harry threw back his head to laugh. “A Notice-Me-Not? Really?”

Her wand waving over her head, Hermione quirked a sardonic eyebrow, “Worked, didn't it?”

Rolling to a sitting position, he groaned, “That it did.”

Hobbling over to him, she held out her hand while grimacing, “Sorry it took me so long. If I moved too fast, she would've seen right through the charm. That, and this ankle slowed me down. I only had the one chance.”

Muttering, he shook his head, “No worries.” Curling his lip, he spat a wad of blood from his mouth as he watched Hermione freeze her broken ankle. Frowning with distaste, he scooped up the twisting black wand at his feet before transfiguring the paralyzed Lady of House Lestrange into a small rubber ball. Bouncing it off the cobble, he caught it thoughtfully before pocketing it alongside the wand. “Let's go.”

Three seconds later, they'd remounted the resized Yamaha and portkeyed to the outskirts of Dublin.

.oOo.

Remus was angry. Given his lycanthropy, he tried to regulate his emotional state. Those sufferers, who failed to do so, inevitably became feral and had to be put down. Therefore, he practiced yoga, Christian meditation, Buddhist meditation and anything that helped him to keep his composure. Inevitably, he'd shift from one method to the next when it became stale for him. He needed to have his emotional stability and security as his life and sanity depended on it.

After James and Lily were time displaced and he'd run from Alex, Remus nearly lost all grips on his humanity. Anger, grief, sadness and pain dominated him and enslaved him giving the wolf a toehold into his mind outside the phases of the moon. In terror, he'd run to the nearest monastery (it turned out to be Franciscan) where he begged for shelter and help.

Right now, his anger was cycling up and down. Not nearly as angry as he'd been fourteen years before, but closer than he'd ever dared allow him to become in quite a long time.

It was one thirty in the morning. Harry and Hermione had yet to return.

Alex had muttered something nonsensical about the couple being on a date. Not quailing at his disbelieving stare, she shrugged before turning away. Apparently, she didn't believe the tissue thin lie any more than he did. Sirius had nodded before retreating to his room. The complete silence indicated that Padfoot had erected Privacy wards of some kind. Knowing his old friend, Sirius was probably conjuring and smashing various and sundry breakable objects to distract him from the wait.

Neville and Susan had retired hours before.

So Remus sat in his chair; fuming. Oh, it was entirely possible that Harry and Hermione were in the back of some cinema shagging like rabbits, but more than likely they were pursuing the ward detection on their own. Or worse, they were doing something else about which he had no idea.

The flap of the tent was pulled back, causing Remus to tense. The wards hadn't flared so it had to be the missing teens. No one else had the ability to find this location, much less penetrate the ward schema that Sirius and Susan had built. Nonetheless, it paid dividends to be vigilant.

Hermione entered the tent, favouring her left leg followed by Harry whose face was heavily bruised. Both paused when the saw Remus in the chair instead of Alex. Hermione nodded tiredly before moving to the exam table. Harry gave her a boost up as Alex hustled out of the room she shared with Remus.

Silently, Remus watched his lover fully repair Hermione's broken ankle before resetting two of Harry's teeth and mending his broken jaw.

While Harry rubbed his now healed jaw, Alex bustled about the infirmary. Hermione looked to Remus and in a low tone told him, “Get Neville. Susan and Sirius too, but especially Neville.”

Taken aback by her attitude, Remus stared for a second before rising from his seat. She was completely ignoring his obvious upset and their part in in it. Scowling, he hustled to the teens tent, he knocked on Neville and Susan's door, “Hey you two. You're needed in the infirmary.”

Hearing to not-so-sleepy replies, Remus moved to grab Sirius. After a quick knock followed by a shouted, “What?” from within, he entered Padfoot's doghouse.

As usual, the room was a complete mess. Only when cohabitating with Hestia did Sirius even approach order in his personal slovenliness. Ignoring the untidiness, he told his old friend, “The kids are back.”

Surprising Remus, Sirius nodded complacently, “Got it. Let's see what's going on.”

Frowning, Moony asked, “Aren't you mad?”

Padfoot shrugged, “Not really. I wish they'd told us where they were going first, but if they couldn't get out of whatever happened then there isn't much that we could do to help them. They're more than capable.”

Grumbling, Remus had to accept the truth of the statement. It also blew away much of the fog of his anger exposing that which lay beneath. Fear. He'd been afraid for the wellbeing of the two whom he'd come to love as his own. He didn't know if he and Alex would be able to have children, but he hoped they'd be like Harry and Hermione. The idea that they could be hurt in a ditch somewhere sent frissons of terror down Remus' spine.

They met Susan and Neville heading to the infirmary. The nights were downright cold as Autumn moved to Winter. The foursome scurried across the frozen grass to the tent. Harry was sitting next to Hermione, handing her a mug of piping hot tea. Noticing the others, he nodded to the corner. “Pot's on.”

Susan poured for everyone else and by the time Remus brought the steaming brew to his lips his anger had abated to curiosity. Harry began the explanation with a shocker. Slowly standing, he moved to Neville. Reaching into his pocked, Harry withdrew a wand. Sinking to one knee, he held it out to his friend.

“House Potter offers to House Longbottom the wand of Bellatrix Lestrange to do as they wish.”

Susan's gasp of surprise was the only sound in the tent. With widening eyes, Neville slowly reached for the dark wand with his right hand. There was no tremble as he replied, “House Longbottom expresses its gratitude to House Potter, acknowledging its debt to House Potter.”

In an undertone, Harry rebuked his friend, “There is no debt. What was done was done in the name of honour, justice and friendship.”

Neville nodded solemnly as he took the wand. Glaring at it for a long moment, he shoved it into his pocket without a backward glance. “How?”

Creakily resuming his feet, Harry moved back to Hermione's side where he began the story. At the end, all were silent. Harry had dug out the rubber ball/dark witch from his pocket at the end of the story, placing it on the table. All stared at it as if it were disease carrying vermin. Many would argue that it was, but that wasn't the point.

“Neville.”

Remus looked at Sirius who was staring at the young man. Looking over to him, Remus saw that the usually docile and calm Longbottom Lord had his lips curled over his teeth in a silent snarl as Susan held his arm to prevent him from destroying the transfigured witch.

Understanding Sirius' intent, Remus moved forward. Interposing himself between the wizard and the object of his long suffering pain, he looked the sandy haired man in the eyes. “Neville, we may need her. She must be deep in Voldemort's councils and will know much that we can exploit. When we're done, you can kill her, but not before then.” When Neville didn't budge, Remus barked, “Do you understand?”

He flinched, but nodded before hurrying from the tent, Susan on his heels.

“Sirius put that somewhere where only you can get to it.”

Without speaking, the grave Lord of House Black scooped up his wayward cousin, stuffing it into his pocket.

There was silence as the five regarded each other for a long moment. Finally, Sirius said, “Hermione…I understand that you two wanted to do something. You two have been in the stands for the bulk of this Quidditch match.” The stone faced teens nodded.

“But, please tell us where you're really going.” When Harry's brow furrowed, Remus felt a surge of his old anger once again.

“I was terrified,” Moony nearly shouted at the teens. When both looked to him with wide eyes. “Imagine that Sirius, your Dad and I disappeared into Britain with no word of where we were going, when we'd be back or what we were doing. Would you two be a bit on edge?”

Harry deflated as Hermione's shoulders slumped. “Yeah. I'd be pretty worried,” the witch admitted. She traded a look with her intended, who nodded. “We'll not do it again.” Narrowing her eyes, “But none of you are going to stop us without a valid reason to not go.”

Remus took a deep breath to bark back when Alex responded, “That's fair.” She glared at Remus, causing him to subside. “But none of this sneaking off.”

“Fair enough.” The teens slumped onto each other, exhausted.

“You two go get some sleep,” Alex chivvied as she helped them to their feet. Nearly shoving them out of the tent, she reminded them, “We need to localize that detection tomorrow.”

Remus blinked. He'd forgotten all about the possible lead on Dormred Ap Morag's location. “Humping hippogriffs…” Sirius sighed.

Remembering from their third year Care of Magical Creatures class, Remus smiled as he countered, “Arsehole ashwinders.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “Buggering bugbears.”

“Corn holing cockatrices.”

“Dung-loving…”

“That's enough, children,” Alex drawled from the doorway. “Remus?” she beckoned as she headed into their bedroom.

“Wa-kissh…” Sirius whispered delightedly as he made a snapping motion with his hand when Remus dutifully followed his mate to their bed.

Over his shoulder, Remus grinned, “Whipped and proud of it, Padfoot.”

.oOo.

“I can't see my bloody feet, but they sure hurt like hell,” Lily grumbled to herself.

Flopping into her chair in front of her dressing table, Lily groaned. The last month of her pregnancy was becoming unremitting hell. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't walk. She couldn't stop peeing. There were various unmentionable things that were driving her up the wall. Overall, she just wanted this baby out of her.

“If your Grace would move to the bed, Winky can help.”

Cracking open an eye, she saw her new elf standing a few feet off, her ladies maid outfit cleaned and starched to perfection. The little bun of tightly wrapped green hair seemed a humorous counterpoint to the entire affair. Shifting her now considerable bulk out of the chair was difficult, but Lily managed to move to the bed in a somewhat timely fashion.

Laying back on the bed, Lily groaned in relief. Her back also hurt like hell. This baby has to weigh a stone at least. No. Two stone.

Winky snapped her thin fingers causing waves of relief to wash across her sore ankles and feet. “Oooooohhhhh,” Lily groaned. “Winky, that feels incredibly good.”

“Looks like the house elf is making time with my best girl,” James' voice jibed from the doorway of their room.

Turning her head while smiling, she saw her husband leaning on the door jamb. “She's brilliant.” Lily didn't notice the pleased blush that stole over the house elf's features. “You never rub my feet anymore.”

“I do too!” he protested. “I rubbed your feet…,” he paused while trying to remember the last time. When he struggled to remember, Lily snorted. “Well, I know that I do.”

He sank on to the bed next to her, so she reached out to caress his face. In a deadpan tone, she drawled, “Yes, love. You're a fantastic husband who could never be replaced.” Glancing at his hand, she prompted, “What's in the bag?”

In a mock huff, he mumbled, “I don't know, now. You've been mean to me.”

She rolled her eyes as she laughed. “I'm sorry. I'm completely devoted to you and love you with every fibre of my soul. Now, what's in the bag?”

His eyes brightening, he jammed his hand into the plain brown paper bag before withdrawing, “This!”

Used to his silliness, Lily expected a deluxe rubber chicken or the like. She was unprepared for the chocolate; the glorious, sinfully good, Belgian chocolate. “James…this is so sweet. Thank you.”

He smiled, “Well, you were mumbling about wanting some good chocolates, so…”

Pulling him down, she gave him a lingering kiss. “Sorry, but that's all you get for a while.”

“It made you happy. I was successful.”

Scooting up on the bed, Lily mused on how lucky she was. Glancing at the mirror on the dressing table, she thought of that which she needed to make this scene complete. Harry.

Trying to avoid morbid reflection, she used her nails to open the cellophane wrapper over the

Sinking her teeth into the first bon bon, she heard, “Lily Potter,” in Harry's voice.

Before she could even grab her wand to summon the mirror, Winky was at her side with the mirror held in her outstretched hands. “Thank you, Winky,” Lily muttered as she took the communication mirror.

Orienting the glass, she saw Harry's face. “Harry! How are you sweetie?”

“A bit tired, if truth be told, Mum.” His eyes darted to James' face on her right. “Good, both of you are there. We have a bit of surprise.”

Frowning, Lily asked, “Are you hurt? Hermione?”

Shaking his head, he told her, “No, we're all fine. We've captured Bellatrix Lestrange, though.”

She could hear James' eyebrows shooting to his forehead while her own eyes narrowed. “Why do you have Bellatrix Lestrange?” she asked in a quiet controlled voice. There was no good reason why he should encounter that insane bitch, much less be capturing her. Lily was doing all she could to keep from shouting at her son.

Harry could tell. Gulping, he replied, “Well, it's a bit of a long story.”

“Why don't you begin at the beginning, then?”

.oOo.

“That was fun.”

Hermione grimaced sympathetically to Harry as he lay down the communication mirror. Remus had told him, “If you want to act like an adult and go hunting for Death Eaters, you get to tell your mother that you did it.”

“She didn't yell,” Harry murmured. “Much.”

No commentary was needed, so Hermione hooked her arm about his shoulders. After a long moment, he sighed. “Well, let's get on this ward detection, shall we?”

.oOo.

Amelia's mood could only be described as savage. Still irate over Arthur's betrayal, she was cross and abrupt to everyone. Hestia had merely raised an eyebrow before leaving her supervisor to her own devices.

After casting a Memory Charm on the binder for the eldest Weasley's Unbreakable Vow, she'd ordered him to write a detailed report outlining all the particulars of his compromise. But, who would she tell? Should she tell anyone?

James? James would then kill Arthur. The Duke was smart enough to deduct - in an instant - that the redheaded father of seven was the leak that compromised his son's covert insertion that nearly resulted in Harry's death. The same was true for Lily. Unless the situation went completely pear shaped, Amelia doubted she'd be telling the Potters any time soon.

Hestia? If she told her Deputy Undersecretary, she would be placing her in an awkward position within her family. Amelia would be asking her to keep secrets from her Fiancé (Sirius Black) about information that directly affected him. Not a fair situation by any evaluation.

Albus? She pondered the old man. He was a firm believer in second chances, but to what end would she be working to should she disclose Arthur's treason? Would Albus be her failsafe should something disastrous happen to her? If that were the case, then she should tell Hestia. For all intents and purposes, the blonde witch was the heir apparent to the Ministership as things stood.

But, that got back to the original quandary.

The door to her office was pushed open as James Potter slouched into the room. Sliding into the chair across from her, he grinned that devilish grin of his. She couldn't help but feel her mood lift a bit. “What?”

“Harry and Hermione captured Bellatrix Lestrange last night.”

Amelia burst into laughter. It was the only thing she could do.

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first twenty-two chapters of Last Casualties. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on fanfiction (dot) net. I update the status on Mondays. Most of the time.

2. I spaced the recommendation last chapter, so you get two for this one. Number one (drum roll please) is Wand and Shield by Morta's Priest. An excellent HP and Avengers crossover, it's worth the read. Number two (another drum roll please) is A Marauder's Plan by CatsAreCool. Both are excellent stories that you should make the time to read.

Chapter complete 11/21/12

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

“Your Majesty, I have unpleasant news.”

Amelia heard her Sovereign sigh as the older woman settled herself while the Acting Minister for Magic stood in respectful attention. No matter how many times she visited Elizabeth (and it was quite often), Amelia was never very comfortable in her Presence. James treated her like his long lost Aunt, and for some reason the Queen responded to that. Perhaps she responded to James, rather than his mode of address. Always respectful, there was a hint of familiarity in his carriage and demeanour which seemed to be beyond Amelia's ability to muster. This was the Queen after all.

After a pause, Amelia clasped her hands in front of her as she got to the point. “We've had an agent for the enemy in our midst.” Backtracking, she corrected, “Actually, he was a suborned public servant. The enemy captured his son and threatened to kill the lad should the agent fail to provide them information.”

“And he believed this?” the Queen asked, incredulous. “I feel for the man, but his son is most likely dead for many months now.”

Amelia nodded her agreement. “Yes, ma'am, he did believe them. His complete debrief isn't complete yet, but It appears that even in his traitorous activities he didn't divulge much of importance.”

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed, “Except?”

Internally, Amelia flinched. She'd tried to maintain a neutral exterior, but apparently, the woman across from her was more than adept at reading expressions and body language. “True. He did divulge the details of Sir Harry, Dame Hermione and Lord Blackmoor's rescue of Dame Hermione's relations.”

Elizabeth sat back in her chair, her eyes taking a vacant cast. “If you tell his Grace, he'll kill this man.” Her eyes sharpening, she looked to Amelia, “Who is this person that we keep talking around?”

“Arthur Weasley, ma'am.”

Now there was a fierceness in her countenance that made Amelia decide right there and then that Arthur would never again be in the Queen's presence. She feared for the man's life.

“And what is being done with this person?” The cold venom in Her voice was nearly dripping from the walls.

“He is under a magical vow to never betray yourself, the true government of Britain and me personally.” Amelia was doing her best to be unemotional about the situation, but she was still torn. Anger raged in her, demanding vengeance. Betrayal by a friend sourced a great grief that swamped her from time to time. Fear that Arthur was one of many betrayers paralyzed her in the dark of the night. Compassion for his situation dulled the edges of her indignation and intolerance. All told, she was still in the middle of the whirlwind. Doing her best to get on with it all, she shoved her emotions to the side, trying her best to `get the job done'.

“This is the vow similar to that which Nymphadora and Kingsley took with his Grace?”

From the corner of her eye, Amelia saw the metamorph bodyguard flinch at the Queen's use of her given name. “Yes, ma'am. An Unbreakable Vow.”

The slow nod lessened the ferocity in the Queen's expression. Finally, she asked, “And his punishment?”

“For now, he will be our disinformation conduit into the enemy's councils. When we've retaken our country, he shall be tried for treason against the Crown.” Her eyes flashed as Amelia let her indignation and betrayal surface, “Regardless of his reasons, the man is a traitor.”

Again, the slow nod from the Queen proceeded her pronouncement, “That is true. However, given the extreme nature of the enemy's leverage over him, We would not wish for Our government to seek execution as final punishment.”

Nodding at the mercy of the Sovereign, Amelia replied, “As you wish, your Majesty.”

There was a long moment of silence as both women regained their composure. Amelia continued, “Currently, I'm working on a loyalty oath that all members of the government will be required to swear should they desire to continue in their position.”

Elizabeth nodded curtly. “This will be in place by when?”

“By the end of the week, your Majesty.”

Standing, Elizabeth moved to the window. Looking out, she told Amelia, “I remember when Burgess and Blunt were first exposed as traitors and everyone pointed the finger at Philby.” Shaking her head in sarcastic amusement, she continued, “And he was the worst of the lot. He was even exonerated by the Home Secretary and my father, who was the best of men,” her face twisted with emotion, “Made him an Officer of the Order of the British Empire before all become known and he ran for the Soviet Union.” Shaking her head, she spat, “I despise traitors.”

The Queen's countenance softened for a short moment, “Yet, it is his son.” Shaking her head at the utter waste of a good man, Elizabeth let her emotion fall to the wayside. Her eyes were alit with sternness as the Queen turned back to her Minister, “Keep Weasley on a short leash, Amelia. Burn him to the ground if he steps out of line one inch.”

.oOo.

Hermione was gathering the surveying tools they expected to use on their search this day. After sleeping in from their expedition to Diagon Alley, the group took a day off to rest and relax. Today, though, they were back on the hunt for the elusive Dormred Ap Morag.

Susan came into the back room. Leaning on the table Hermione worked from, the redhead levelled a stare at the brunette. “Yes?” Hermione asked in an amused tone.

“The next time you go hunting Death Eaters, I'm coming.”

The serious, no-nonsense tone from her friend took Hermione aback. Frowning, The Smartest Witch of the Age replied, “Ok. Sure.”

Susan's intense look didn't abate, but she nodded in satisfaction. Shoving off the table, she moved to leave. Hermione's hand on her arm stopped her. “What's this all about Sue?”

The hard look returned. “You know how my parents died?”

Hermione nodded. She remembered the story about the missing Death Eater. Her Dad had told her Aunt Amelia that a `dozen Death Eaters' were attacking. The responding Aurors found eleven Death Eater corpses among the dead Bones family. Susan had almost wistfully wished to mount the head of the missing Death Eater on her wall.

“You want your turn to get a pound of flesh,” Hermione declared when the redheaded witch's glare ratcheted up a notch. Shaking her head, she ploughed on, “It's not a game, Sue. Harry and I've been training nonstop for over a year. We've been working to the highest level for a long time. We took down Bellatrix relatively easily, but that's because we're good.”

She met her friend's cold blue-eyed gaze. “Are you good enough to go toe to toe with Bellatrix Lestrange without getting hurt? I doubt it.”

“They're not all Lestrange,” Susan countered.

Shrugging, Hermione admitted the truth of the statement. “But they can be. What if Voldemort is there next time?” Pushing close to her friend, she got nose to nose. “Are you willing to die for your revenge?”

“Why not?” Susan spat. “They killed my family.”

“And what about Neville?” Hermione countered in a deceptively light tone as she returned to her sorting and packing.

Wary, Susan asked, “What about him?”

Shoving a small map and bunch of pencils into the bag, Hermione expounded, “Are you willing to destroy him when you die for your vengeance?” Turning to her contemplative friend, Hermione added, “He's in love with you. Will you throw that away?”

“You don't understand,” Susan growled as she turned away.

“Where is your loyalty, Susan Bones?” Hermione challenged as the redhead stomped away.

The Hufflepuff turned back, her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Hermione shrugged. “Is your loyalty to the living or to the dead?”

“I don't have to choose,” she shot back. Hands on hips, she challenged, “You and Harry threw yourselves into battle in the middle of Diagon Alley of all places and you have the temerity to question my motives?”

Hermione levelled her friend with a glare that caused the redhead to shiver. “There is a big difference between a warrior going into battle and a desperate person seeking vengeance. The warrior takes reasonable risks, keeps their head and extricates themselves when the battle is over for good or for ill. The desperate person seeking vengeance will redouble their efforts when the battle is lost. They'll take wholly unreasonable risks to get that which they desire most - their enemy's head on a pike.” Hermione paused, regarding her friend with a mix of compassion, sympathy and evaluation. “Which are you?”

Scowling, Susan turned away from the accusation to storm out of the tent.

.oOo.

Remus had his head bent over the map. “Alright, Hermione's first detection was here,” he jabbed his finger at the small number `1' circled on the map. Harry had a subsequent detection of similar strength here,” he tapped a small number `2'. “Hermione's got another strong one here,” he murmured as he delicately wrote a small number `3' on the map.

Standing, he tapped his chin with his pencil. There was a rough shape beginning to form in the detections. Keying his radio, he called, “Harry, this is Remus. Proceed north by northwest so that Snowdon bears due north and Bleanau Ffestiniog is just south of east. You should get a strong detection on the anti-Apparition ward.”

There was a pause before Harry replied, “Moving now. Be there in about fifteen minutes.” The roar of his motorcycle engine was heard over the radio. Sighing, Remus looked up when another motorcycle roared out of the woods toward him. Reaching into his coat for the pistol, Remus relaxed when he recognized Hermione on the other bike.

She pulled up to Moony, killing the engine and leaning the Yamaha on its kickstand. “This should do it,” she commented while pulling the helmet off her head.

Remus nodded. “If Harry gets the detection that I think he will, they're right there.” Pointing to a spot nearly in the centre of the northern half of the forest, he added, “Then the nasty part begins.”

She nodded, pensive. Remus watched her closely. Since she and Harry had returned from their raid on Diagon Alley, the teens had been more than a bit indifferent to the killing they'd done in `service to the Crown'. They'd blithely portkeyed the rubber ball/Bellatrix Lestrange to Spain for Amelia Bones to interrogate. When questioned about the likely collateral damage to their massive detonation in the Alley, Harry had nodded before murmuring about the `cost of war'. Hermione hadn't commented at all.

To be fair, though, Remus wasn't bothered too much either. The war and killing were changing them all and not for the better. Late at night, when Alex was asleep at his side, Remus pondered whether it was all worth it in the end.

He never got an answer.

“Moony, this is Padfoot,” his radio crackled.

Shoving his deeper thoughts to the side, he reached for his radio. Hermione beat him. “This is Hermione, go ahead Padfoot. Moony is listening.”

“Hey, Padlet,” Sirius jibed. He'd begun calling Hermione `Padlet' like Prongs called Harry `Pronglet'. She'd objected half-heartedly, but Remus could tell she liked the nickname. “Tell Moony that the ward tiles are ready to go when he's ready.”

Remus nodded. Sirius was adapting an old Black family spell used in ward breaking. The family grimoire detailed a plan which would catastrophically collapse a ward schema. Sirius was hoping to open a hole in the wards so as to avoid flushing their prey. Once Moony, Pronglet and Padlet got inside Dormred's wards, Sirius was hoping to raise his own wards to keep the prey inside the trap.

There were a lot of `hope to's' in the plan. Far too many for Remus' liking but it was the best plan they had. All wanted to move on from Dormred ap Morag to their real opponent. However, Lily had said it best, “At one point in his life, Tom Riddle was the same as this Dormred bastard. Do we want to let another Voldemort flower and blossom?” They needed to finish this chapter in the family's history; hopefully in an attempt to prevent a later catastrophe.

Remus sighed. Unpleasant didn't begin to address how he felt about this task. Logically, he knew that Dormred and his descendants needed to be stopped. This cycle of destruction needed to be stopped now, but at the same time, he felt as if he were hunting a human and found it…unpleasant.

“Remus, this is Harry. Jackpot.”

Nodding to himself, Remus wrote a small `4' on the map as he keyed the radio. “This is Remus, roger, out.” Even if he didn't like it, Remus had a job to do.

.oOo.

William was digging through the charter of the United Nations and comparing it to that of the International Confederation of Wizards. While the bulk of the charter was the same, there were some staggering differences; mainly in their omissions. Sometimes, silence is truly deafening.

The Universal Declaration of Human Rights of the United Nations prohibits slavery in all its forms. The ICW Charter is suspiciously mute on the topic.

Where the Universal Declaration of Human Rights declares that `All are equal before the law…' the ICW Charter declares that `All Wizardkind are equal before the law…' and so on. What about Centaurs…Merfolk…Goblins? Are they unequal before the law? the Prince mused.

In other cases, the two documents were identical, but William knew that the former magical government of Britain ignored the clauses. `No one shall be subject to arbitrary arrest or exile', followed by `Everyone is entitled in full equality to a fair and public hearing by an independent and impartial tribunal' didn't seem to be implemented very well by the former leadership.

His moral outrage and indignation grew the longer he read. Growing up, his parents had been far from a model of parenthood, but they'd both instilled a strong sense of duty to the country and a duty to that which was right. William knew from his earliest days that one day he'd be King. Everything he'd subsequently done was coloured by that prism. His studies, sport, girls and now politics were seen through the idea that one day he'd wear the Crown and have an immeasurably heavy weight on his shoulders and a duty to all Britons.

The idea that the ICW seemed to be institutionally ignoring or passively persecuting whole blocks of magical persons incensed him.

As leaders we have a duty to do right by all those who trust us to govern wisely.

There was a divide in the magical world between the `haves' and the `have nots'. Wealth was a discriminator, but not the largest. The poorest wizard was far better off than the richest goblin.

Because he was free.

Surely, there must be a way that we can entice the subjugated magical races to help us? He sighed to himself, But how are we to insure their equal treatment in the law? The Wizengamot is horribly corrupt and prejudiced. The ICW turns a blind eye…

Not for the last time did William, Prince of Wales and the future King William V, sigh in frustrated exasperation at the stupidity and cupidity of legislative bodies.

.oOo.

Slowly easing the four square inches of dragon bone into place, Sirius was as focused as he ever had been in his life. Usually, he had enough attention to split between his immediate task and more rambunctious thoughts. Usually, the `other thoughts' involved sex, alcohol, sex, pranks, sex or possibly…sex.

Right now, though, his entire attention was devoted to the placement of this rune engraved, seven ounce slab of dragon bone. Carved from the skull of a mature female Australian Opaleye, it was the energy sump of the set. The others (a plate carved from the femur of a hatchling Peruvian Vipertooth, a plate from the femur of a mature male Irish Razortail and a plate from the lower jawbone of a female adolescent Norwegian Ridgeback) were arrayed in a rough diamond shape. Together, Sirius reasoned, they would act as a shunt, diverting the magical energy around their shape, but not interrupting the flow.

This, in turn, would allow a small rupture in the wards, permitting the small strike team to cross the ward line, unmolested. At least, that's what he reasoned. Hermione had called it a `hack' of the wards. She'd tried to explain something about muggle computers, but it was all nonsense to Sirius. He did like the word `hack', though. None of that was passing through his mind at this time. The fact that these three people were some of the most important people in the world to him was the reason for Sirius' unprecedented focus.

“Looks right…,” he murmured. Double checking that the temporary magic masking ward was erected about him, he cast a series of spells that surveyed the layout and alignment of the ward plates.

“This one's off…,” he muttered. Shoving a bit of dirt underneath the Vipertooth plate, he raised it roughly an eighth of an inch. Again, he repeated the survey. All readings were not only in tolerance, but were nearly perfect. Sweating heavily, he turned to Harry. “It's ready.”

Harry nodded jerkily. He glanced to his left. Moony was stone-faced, but nodded his affirmation. Hermione, on Harry's right did the same.

Padfoot wondered if it was just him, or did the threesome look a bit pale.

Shaking off his musings, he moved to the side. No matter his desire to accompany his family on this mission, Sirius knew that his psyche was still tender. He'd confided in Healer Plummer the intentions of the family, and while the German mind healer didn't condone their activities, he understood them. At the same time, he'd warned Sirius about his taking part in search and destroy missions - emphasis on the `destroy' part.

As a result, Padfoot stood there ready to watch his best friend, godson and daughter go slaughter their quarry.

“Godspeed,” he whispered.

Harry nodded before taking off at a loping run through the hack. Hermione was on his heels, Moony taking up rear guard. All three had their wand in hand and their pistol in the other.

Taking a deep breath, Sirius slowly let it out hoping that the tension and self-recrimination would go with the used air. It didn't. Holding his radio to his mouth, he keyed the button. “Susie this is Padfoot. Are your stones in place?”

“Affirmative,” the redhead replied.

Nodding, he keyed the microphone again, “Right. Erecting the friendly Anti-Apparition ward now.” Placing the radio on the ground, he began to wave his wand in a complex motion. His part was a support role and he'd be damned if he let the others down.

.oOo.

James glanced up from the report he was reading. Lily's pacing was becoming worrisome. She was due in three days, so he'd taken the week off in order to be home when the baby came. When she'd been delivered of Harry, it seemed that her body took over; she became an instinctual being. Her body drove her to act in certain ways and James was fairly certain that she'd not been too cognizant of her activities. After the fact, both of them were far too focused on the wrinkly squalling little wizard to revisit those last twenty four to thirty six hours.

She'd eaten a few hours ago before receiving a foot rub from the ever present Winky shortly thereafter. When she grunted at him while she glared and announced , “Gotta fucking pee, again,” it'd been very amusing for Prongs.

Now she was pacing like the proverbial lioness in her cage at the zoo. James' eyes narrowed when she unconsciously began to massage her lower back. She'd done that too, right as labour started for Harry. Reaching into the desk drawer, he withdrew the communication mirror. He had a feeling they'd need Alex soon.

No sooner had he placed the enchanted glass on the desk blotter, Lily stopped her pacing to groan and clutch her belly. “Fuck.”

Looking to her husband with a resigned yet excited expression, Lily told him, “It's time.”

Swallowing his own excitement mingled with panic, James muttered to the mirror, “Alexandra Price.”

After a short moment, the blonde Healer's face appeared in his hand. “Is it time?” she asked without preamble.

“Yes,” James confirmed. When he saw Alex's hesitation, he pressed, “What's wrong?”

She dithered for a moment before shaking her head. “Nothing. They think they found Dormred and are running the insertion op right now.”

Lily's lusty groan diverted James' attention. Her wide eyes showed her surprise. “This one's coming faster James,” she told him.

“Alex…,” he began only to be cut off.

“I'll use one of the portkeys and be there in a mo'. I'll check over Lily and shuttle back here in case they need me.”

“Thanks,” he replied. “See you in a few.”

.oOo.

The trees were fairly thick in this area of the park. Most of Snowdonia National park is barrenly beautiful; the natural shape of the mountains glorious in their simplicity. In retrospect, it seemed obvious to Harry that Dormred and his family would establish their home in the centre of a densely wooded area.

Continuing his loping run, he wound along an animal track heading in the direction that Remus and Hermione had calculated to be the most likely area for a homestead. Privately, Harry believed instead of a home, there would be a compound of sorts. The family - whatever their name was - lived on hatred, bitterness and a desire for vengeance against all things `Potter'. They'd seclude themselves together as they collectively festered.

His senses focused on all around him, Harry dashed down a hill.

.oOo.

“Alright Lily, you're doing great. Already at four centimetres. Won't be long now.”

Alex frowned. There was no way that she could leave Lily now. As fast as the labour was progressing, by the time she portkeyed back to Wales, she'd have to turn right back around. Digging through her satchel, she found her communication mirror. “Sirius Black,” she called.

When his dark visage resolved in the glass, she cut to the chase. “Lily is having this baby in the next hour or two. I can't make it back to the tent. If you need me, you'll have to call for me on this mirror.”

Sirius nodded grimly, “Hopefully, we'll not need you.”

Swamped with a rogue wave of fear for her Remus, she asked, “Have you heard anything?”

Sirius shook he head while pressing his lips together.

“Damn,” Alex whispered. No news is good news, right? Shaking off the fear, she nodded, “Right. Call if you need me.”

Lily's whimpering grunt recalled Alex to her duty. “Gotta go,” she announced as she wiped the mirror.

.oOo.

Hermione was on Harry's heels as they pounded through the forest. A few yards behind her, she heard Remus in a trail position. Rounding through her thoughts was the idea that they were on their way to slaughter a family. What she said to Harry a few months before kept rising up in counterpoint, “It's for our children. Do we want this man's children or grandchildren attacking ours?”

Shoving aside her internal debate, she focused on the task at hand. Everything had been discussed, examining all angles. In the end, all had agreed that - though distasteful and morally repugnant - Dormred ap Morag and his followers & family needed to be killed.

Reaching a clearing, the threesome stopped to get their bearings. Taking a deep breath, Hermione holstered her pistol before pulling the laminated map from her hip pocket. With her breath condensing in the crisp early winter air, she held the map out for both Harry and Remus to look at it.

“We appear to be right about here,” she pointed at the map.

Harry made a noise of agreement before muttering, “So we need to bed a bit more to the north…,” he was cut off by an cataclysmic crash from the north, not more than two hundred yards away through the trees.

The three raiders dropped to the ground, Hermione rolling into the foetal position with her arms over her head in a classic defensive posture. Leaves, dirt and other detritus pattered over them as the shattering echoes reverberated through the forest.

.oOo.

His eyes wide, Sirius looked toward the noise. “What the hell was that?”

At his side, Neville mutely stared, hoping that his friends were well.

.oOo.

James was always stunned at Lily's tolerance for pain. Obviously, he had no first-hand idea of how painful labour and delivery of a child could be, but every woman who'd done so had been emphatic that it bloody hurt.

Lily's intermittent soft moans and soft gasps were her only indication of her discomfort and distress.

“Eight centimetres, Lily. I think you're going for the world record here.”

Alex was casting spells with a slight frown causing James began to frown in his turn. Patience wasn't the strong suit of James Potter, but he did his best to wait for Alex to finish what she was doing before grilling her.

Finally, Alex nodded resignedly. Glancing first at James, she addressed the now panting Lily. “The baby hasn't turned yet, so I'm going to cast a spell that ought to turn the child.”

Lily nodded, “The Breach Birth spell.”

Alex gave the labouring woman a reassuring smile. “Yes, that's right. If that doesn't set everything right, there are three other that I can cast. If none of those are successful, we'll have to move to a Caesarean birth.”

Lily nodded. “Do whatever's necessary for the baby.”

Trying to keep his expression mild, James repeatedly swallowed the burgeoning fear and panic that rose in his gorge.

.oOo.

Slowly, Hermione rose to her feet. Staying in a half crouch, she ignored the dirt and debris in her hair. The patter of dirt falling through the trees was tapering away along with the fading echoes of the explosion. The cocking of a pistol cause her to glance to her left. Remus had his Colt up and aimed in the direction of the dust cloud that was billowing from the trees.

“Someone's coming,” he murmured. Occasionally, Remus' lycanthropy was awfully handy. Other times it was an otherworldly curse.

Harry side stepped to the right, flanking the point of the lycanthrope's aim. Sliding behind Remus, Hermione took a flanking position opposite her betrothed. Half her mind was trying to understand what happened. Was it a potion accident? An intentional bombing by another enemy of the elusive Dormred ap Morag?

Shaking her head to clear a bit of the dirt from her hair, she heard a stumbling, shambling footstep approach. Dropping into a crouch, she raised her pistol while holstering her wand.

They'd no idea if they could use magic here while remaining undetected. On the whole, a non-magic user is at a significant disadvantage to a magic user when in a fight. Remus had put voice to the hope that they could use their numbers and surprise to their advantage, negating any advantage their opponent had.

A coughing form stumbled into the clearing, falling to his knees as he cleared the treeline. From the back, the man looked to be the same person who claimed to be Dormred outside the Potter coal mine that lay in the Cambrian Mountains east of Llangollen.

Moving quickly, Harry approached him. His Colt held in both hands, he pressed the barrel of the pistol into the neck of the coughing man. It was evident to Hermione that Dormred recognized the situation as he froze.

“Lay on the ground, your hands behind your head,” Harry ordered briskly.

As Dormred sluggishly complied, he snarled, “Once again a Potter destroys us all. Are you here to kill me?”

There was a long silence before Harry replied, “Yes, I am.”

From the ground, Dormred sneered, “Of course you are.”

Interjecting, Remus asked, “Who else is part of your group? Where are they?”

Half looking up from the ground, Dormred spat, “They're my family and why should I tell you anything?”

Harry knelt on the man's spine before he fired the pistol right next to Dormred's ear. The spattering dirt covered the side of the man's head. “Because I'll kill you very painfully over a very long time if you don't.”

Deflating, the man pounded his head into the dirt twice. With a scream of defiant rage, he tried to buck Harry off his back. It was an unwise choice.

The crack reverberated about the clearing before Hermione realized that the smoke was rising from the barrel of her pistol because she'd shot the man. His scream of pain confirmed that she'd fired a bullet into the man's leg.

Harry resettled himself on top of the now wounded man. “I repeat the question. Where is the rest of your family?”

“They're all in the house! Or at least they were!” Dormred raged. “Now you can kill us all! That's what you want, isn't it?”

Aside from Dormred's emotional panting, there was silence in the clearing. Finally, Harry replied in a voice so soft that Hermione barely heard him, “No. That's the last thing I want, but I'm afraid that's what has to happen.”

“Then kill us all! That's all the Potters have ever wanted,” he snarled.

Unable to control herself, Hermione retorted, “We didn't know you existed until five month ago. If you'd left us alone, we'd have let you live in peace.”

“You lie; you took everything. In every generation, a Potter has taken from the descendants of Dormred ap Morag. All we have is the fight. The struggle against the oppression from you and yours.”

Mystified, Hermione looked first to Remus then Harry for an answer. Unfortunately, there was none forthcoming.

“What about your family?” Harry asked.

“They serve the cause. We are all of one mind.”

Remus was shaking his head as if an idea had him baffled. Finally, he asked, “Why didn't you seek justice? The courts or the Ministry?”

“And the courts would go against the great Earl of Richmond?” Dormred sneered. “We finally figured out that the Potters were magical so we took what we needed to get our justice. The Ministry wouldn't help us.”

Hermione felt queasy about how they `took what they needed'. Today had been shitty enough; she didn't feel the need to pursue that line of thought.

“No Hogwarts?” Remus asked.

“After all the Potters have taken from us?” The sneer was back in full force.

Harry spoke up, “Remus, one quick spell to tell us if there are any other survivors.”

Hermione frowned. It was a risk to cast a spell. It wouldn't necessarily guarantee that the forces of the Dark Lord would swarm to them, but it was still a risk of detection. Why Harry would take on this risk, she didn't know.

To her right, Remus muttered, “Hominem Revealo.”

There were no answering flashes. The entire family was dead. A part of her thought that it was poetic justice that they'd destroyed themselves in their now obvious obsessive pursuit of vengeance. The rest of her was sad at the waste of it all. Not only had generations thrown away their lives in devotion to hatred, but for the most part, their hated enemies hadn't even known of their existence. It was both the greatest insult and tragedy of the entire affair.

Dormred wasn't even upset that his family was all dead. They were merely tools of his vengeance.

Harry stood. Backing from the wounded man, he asked, “Would you swear an Unbreakable Vow to forgo this feud, to never take action against my family nor try to co-opt another to be your proxy? It is the only way you'll survive the next hour.”

Pride in her man warmed Hermione's chest. He was offering Dormred his life. After everything the man had done to Harry, The Boy-Who-Lived was offering mercy and clemency to this twisted and bitter man.

Rolling over to face the scion of his nemesis, Dormred regarded him for a long moment. Half nodding to himself, Dormred spat in Harry's face.

“Never.”

Quick as a snake, Dormred reached into his robes. Drawing a knife, he plunged it into his own chest.

.oOo.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“You're doing great Lily. You're at nine centimetres. Not long now before you start pushing.”

James watched as Alex cast yet another spell trying to force the baby to turn. Scowling, she looked to him while shaking her head in negation. Her stare was meaningful.

Glancing at his red-faced and panting wife, James nodded to Alex. She turned back to Lily. “Lily, the baby hasn't turned yet. We need to proceed with the caesarean.”

“Do it,” the prospective second time mother grunted.

Once again, panic rose in James' gorge. Reflexively swallowing, he turned to Alex, “Do you need anything? What can I do to help?” He knew that Hestia and William were waiting outside the door, but doubted they'd be of help. For that matter, he didn't think that he'd be of much help.

Alex cast a charm on him that the healers jokingly called, `Insta-Scrubs' leaving him clean and in sterile robes. “Conjure a small table along with moderate Heating charm covering the surface and place it right there,” she indicated with her hand. “I'll need to take care of Lily, so you get baby Potter.”

Without comment, James easily conjured the table. Thinking a moment, he called, “Winky.”

The elf popped into the room, her face a mask of worry. “Yes, your Grace? Is her Grace well?”

“It will all be done soon, Winky. I need some of the warm blankets that we've in the nursery.” Focusing on this task allowed him to function. When his whole attention was on his wife, James was near paralyzed.

Turning back, he saw that Lily was now laying out flat on the table as Alex finished a spell over his wife's head. She saw him watching, so she told him, “Anaesthetic. She'll feel nothing.”

Pointing to the side of Lily's head, the blonde healer directed, “You stand here. Encourage her, but do not get in my way. I'll tell you when to come to my side so you can take the baby. Don't worry about clearing the windpipe or anything. I'll take care of that. You just cast a mild cleansing charm before swaddling the babe.”

Nodding, he moved to his wife's side. Catching her gaze, he told her, “You're doing great, love.”

.oOo.

“Shit.”

Neville turned to Sirius. In the distance, he could hear Susan's motorbike approaching. After the huge explosion, there'd been a very anti-climactic…nothing. So they waited. Sirius repeatedly cast monitoring charms on the `Hack' but other than that, it'd been a very quiet half hour.

Now, though, things seemed to have changed. “What?” he asked the now furiously casting wizard.

“Something's gone wrong. The wards are overloading and the hack is trying to absorb all the excess power. It'll overload in five minutes at this rate.”

“Oh.” Neville couldn't think of anything else to say. An idea occurred to him. Snatching the radio from his belt, he keyed the microphone. “Harry, this is Neville. You need to get out of there right now, Sirius says the wards are overloading.”

There was a long silence before Harry replied, “Moving now. We should be out in a few minutes.”

“Four minutes, twenty seconds,” Sirius grunted as he cast another power draining spell at the now glowing ward plates.

“Four minutes, twenty seconds before it all blows sky high,” Neville urged over the radio.

The now panting Harry replied, “Got it. Sprinting now.”

Neville turned to see his girlfriend parking her motorbike, both of them wearing expressions of concern.

.oOo.

The blanket over his shoulder, James stood next to his wife. “Ready, love.”

She'd told him that now that the anaesthesia was working, she felt better than she had in months. The wry grin hadn't been unnoticed.

With a nod to Lily, Alex went to work. Four spells had Lily clean and her bulging belly exposed.

“Now's the tricky part,” he barely heard the blonde mumble. She placed her gloved hand on Lily's belly, feeling the contractions. Just as the contraction eased, she cast another set of spells. Finishing up, she turned to Lily. “I've just stopped your labour. Makes it easier to proceed.” With a last evaluative look, Alex asked, “You ready?”

“Let's get this baby out where it belongs,” Lily told her friend.

James was shocked at how easy it was. Just one spell opened her up like a gutted fish. With a deft motion of her non-wand hand, Alex scooped the boy - his son - out of his mother. Three more spells severed the umbilical cord, disgorged a glob of goop from his mouth and circumcised the boy. Handing him to James, Alex turned back to Lily.

The red faced, wrinkly little boy squirmed uncomfortably. Eyes wide with awe, James cast a minor cleansing charm on his son. Turning to the table, he saw that Winky stood by to first put a nappy on the boy before wrapping him in a warm cotton blanket.

There was a soft expression on the elf's face as she handed the baby back to his father echoing his own feeling. Cuddling his son to his chest, he moved to Lily's side. Alex had already put her back to rights and was plying her with potions. After Alex shifted out of the way, he moved to his wife's side. Just as he'd done with Harry, he held out his son to his wife.

“Your son, madam,” he announced as tears stood in his eyes.

“Robbie,” she murmured while holding him to her chest. Lily wasn't in a very good position to hold little Robert Justin for very long, so James took him back from her. Alex finished the post-partum treatment before gently levitating Lily to the master bed. When the redhead was propped up on a host of pillows and dead asleep, Alex began rummaging through her bag. Placing a series of red vials on the side table, she told Winky, “These will assist her Grace's healing. One in the morning with breakfast, one in the evening with dinner.” The elf's head bobbed curtly, her expression serious and attentive.

“This,” she held up a blue vial before placing it with the red ones, “is a final Blood Replenishing potion. She's to take this once she wakens. These,” she held up four green vials, “will stave off infection. One every morning with breakfast.” Another curt nod. “These,” she held up a small box with clear vials, “are for pain. She's to take these whenever she needs relief, but not more than one every four hours.”

“Yes, Healer Price,” Winky replied as she moved to the nightstand to arrange the potions.

Annoyed, James snarked, “I'm right here, Alex.”

She lifted her sculpted eyebrow, “I know. I think that Winky is more responsible than you are.” The little elf smothered a smile while blushing to the roots of her hair.

Rolling his eyes, James tried to come back but Alex interrupted him. “I've got to get back. She should be fine, the procedure was straightforward with no complications, but if anything arises, give a shout over the mirror. I'll come back tomorrow morning to check her over.”

“Right. Our best to everyone,” James encouraged.

Alex nodded before tapping the rock in her hand as she muttered, “Red Dragon Rising.”

Turning back to his wife, he laid the sleeping baby in his bassinet next to the bed. Winky brought him a chair, “Your Grace needs to rest also. It's been a very busy day. Winky will talk to Rauri about a small snack.”

James nodded, but the emotion of the day caught up to him. Eyes drooping, he plopped his feet on the bed, “Maybe later, Winky. Thanks….”

He barely heard the door open and Hestia call out, “James? Lily?” before Morpheus claimed him.

.oOo.

Remus was running flat out. Holding up his arms in front of him every so often to bat away branches, he'd never run so fast for so long. Launching himself over a small brook, he recognized the boulder off to the side. They were close to the ward line.

Overhead, the sky crackled and sizzled as the wards moved to a catastrophic failure. Flashes of red, blue and green illuminated the dome of the wards. It was an old fashioned ward design, but it worked. Given what they knew about the former Dormred ap Morag's magical education, the self-taught method from spell books would naturally result in such a ward schema. It would also result in a schema that wasn't very stable when tampered with. Nor would it be very stable when the ward stones were damaged as the house blew up. Nor would it be very stable when the master of the wards committed suicide.

Taken all together, they were fortunate that things were holding together for this long.

The ground trembled as a huge discharge of magic ripped across the sky like a thunderbolt. Remus was sent sprawling into a bush as he lost his balance. There was a tug on the back of his shirt, dragging him upright. Harry's breath was loud in his ear as they began to run again.

Hermione led the group now. He'd never seen the witch run so fast in her life. At first they'd tried to Apparate to the ward break, but the magic in the area was so chaotic that it was impossible to Apparate.

From behind them, a huge detonation sounded, followed by a muted roar. Eyes widening, he recognized the situation for what it was. Dormred's wards had been tied to the inherent magic in the Earth but because they were so fragile, when the schema began to fail, the Earth's magic was trying to escape. It was just like a volcano with the same destructive power.

“Go!” he shouted. All three of them scrambled down the hill before sprinting to the exit. Sirius, Neville and Susan were in sight, waving at them to hurry.

The roar from behind was growing as the magical pulse crested and broke over the landscape. Trees snapped, boulders were flung in the air while the death screams of the animals that were unable to escape littered the soundscape.

Hermione dove through the ward line, landing at Neville's feet. Absently, Remus noted that Sirius began to cast a spell. Shoving Harry after his betrothed, Remus dove the last few yards, rolling to a stop at Sirius' feet as the explosion buried them.

.oOo.

Amelia gritted her teeth as she read through the quick look report of Bellatrix Lestrange's initial interrogation. Given the madness of the dark witch, the consensus had been to by bypass direct questioning, progressing straight to Veritaserum. It limited the time that the witch could be questioned, but it ensured truthful answers without prevarication. Unfortunately, she could only be under the influence of the potent truth serum for a half hour a day, lest the potion burn away her mind. Well, burn it away more than had already happened.

Taking a leaf from Harry Potter, they kept the witch transfigured when not actively being questioned. She was already mad as a hatter; sensory deprivation couldn't do much more to her than had already been done by a dozen plus years with the Dementors.

Reading through the report, it appeared that they'd struck the mother load. Schedules, rosters and residences were listed. The report also included the habits and tendencies of the Dark Lord along with a detailed listing of dozens of Death Eaters alongside their status in Voldemort's circles. For all her madness, Bellatrix was an extremely intelligent witch. It was unfortunate that a woman with such capability had wasted her life.

It wasn't the waste of a life that had Amelia gritting her teeth, though. Across her desk, Arthur Weasley sat, blank faced and waiting her comments on the report. After he'd taken his Unbreakable Vow, he'd written a detailed report of all his communications with the enemy. When he'd delivered it, Amelia had wanted him to swear an oath that it was complete and truthful. She'd swallowed the desire after realizing his Vow insured the report's veracity. At that point, she'd had to admit that her opinion of and relationship with Arthur Weasley was damaged - probably irrevocably.

No matter how much she'd liked him, the man had turned traitor; his reasoning be damned. Being in the same room with him made her want to lash out. Amelia had lost much to the Dark Lord Voldemort: her darling brother and his wife, more comrades than she could count. She wanted to scream at the man, but had work to do, instead.

Ignoring the man, she focused on the report. After a minute, she directed, “I want a plan for how we're going to keep this information fresh, including a list of persons that we'll need to interrogate and on what days. I also want an analysis of this information,” she hefted the scroll in her hands,” that will show us potential weaknesses or any other exploitable data.”

He nodded, “The second is already underway. I'll get right on the first.”

She glared at the man, but reined in her resentment. “That will be all.”

He nodded again, a sad expression on his face. Gathering up the briefing materials, he paused. “I've not said it, but felt that I needed to tell you that I'm very sorry about this entire situation, Amelia.”

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Unable to speak rationally, Amelia merely nodded. Her eyes didn't open again until the door latch clicked behind the retreating redheaded father of seven.

.oOo.

Coughing, Harry waved his hand in front of his face before he realised that he couldn't see his hand. A wandless incantation creating an orb of soft blue light illuminating an oblong cavity surrounded by dirt and other hard packed debris. At his side, Hermione stirred. The others rubbed their head or dug dirt out of their ears. Susan was furiously opening and closing her jaw, trying to equalize the pressure in her ears.

“Anyone hurt?” Remus rasped.

A muttering of, “No,” echoed about the `room'. When everyone stretched and stood, Hermione offered, “I think we should Apparate back to the tents. There's been so much magic here in the last hour, I'm more than willing to believe that anything we do now will be lost in the noise.”

One by one, they disappeared, reappearing outside the medical tent.

Hearing the series of cracks and pops, Alex rushed out, her wand in hand and casting diagnostic charms as she moved.

Seeing his godfather bent over and panting, Harry indicated to Sirius, “Him first.”

Searching about, he made eye contact first with Neville. Seeing him nod, he got the same from Susan. He and Remus held each other's gaze for a long time until Moony told Harry, “You did right.”

Nodding sadly, he met her gaze. Hermione didn't say anything; she didn't need to. Her expression compassionately sad, she held out her arms. Melting into them, Harry felt all the worry, shame, self-loathing and regret melt out of him. He'd hated having to track down Dormred in order to kill him and his followers. It felt cowardly, but when Dormred had plunged the knife into his own chest, after the surprise wore off, Harry had felt relief. Relief that he'd not have to kill that man. While he knew that Dormred - or whatever his name really was - was an enemy of the Potter family, Harry could never muster the belief that he'd needed to be killed. Stopped? Yes, most definitely. Through the bitter man's suicidal last defiance, Harry had been set free, but at what cost?

“Come on Sirius, you're wiped out,” Alex cajoled as she helped him into the tent. Following the magically exhausted Padfoot, Harry leaned on Hermione while she leaned on him. A bubble of giddiness burst in his chest causing The Boy-Who-Lived to grin widely.

“Oh,” Alex murmured as she turned back to Harry. “You're a big brother now. Your younger brother was born a few hours ago. Mum and baby are doing well.”

Harry's grin widened. All around them, the family smiled. They needed some good news. “Shove a Pepper Up down the old dog's throat,” Harry urged mockingly, “We need to go to Spain to celebrate.”

.oOo.

James was shuffling through the pile of paperwork that Agatha had brought from his office at the ICW. Glancing up from the desk that he'd conjured for the master suite, he smiled as Lily lay on the bed nursing little Robbie.

Shaking his head at the wonder of the situation, he read through the latest minutes of the various subcommittees of which he was a member. Fortunately, the General Assembly was in recess for the upcoming Yule holidays, so no significant issues were being raised.

There was a note from Johann Gruber, the German Ambassador. Apparently, their combined efforts to convince the Egyptians to support the cause of the British Ministry in Exile were beginning to bear fruit. It was either that or Voldemort's xenophobic government had managed to offend the ancient magical Ministry of Egypt. While the fortunes of Magical Egypt had fallen from their majestic height of antiquity, their government was still the oldest in the entire world. Dating back to 4000 BC, there had been a continuous government operating since the Irish began excavating for their ancient magical barrow, Newgrange.

No matter the particulars, the Egyptians were well respected as an elder of the Magical world. Many countries followed their lead. Should they speak out in favour of the Ministry in Exile, it would be a significant boost to James and Amelia's efforts. Conversely, should the Egyptians speak out against the efforts led by Amelia and James, the Ministry in Exile would most likely be isolated bar a few staunch allies.

Russia was still rattling their sabre. That mean old bastard Ivanov was still rabble rousing. His intimidation tactics spoke more of Ivan the Terrible than Peter the Great, but they were, nonetheless, effective.

Speaking of which…

“Son of a bitch,” James murmured aloud. There was a note from the reedy old Russian requesting a meeting to discuss `Issues of Import to both our countries'.

At the bottom of the note, he scribbled a note to Agatha to arrange a meeting with the man for the next week. He wanted to be home for a few days with Lily and the baby before returning to work. In any other circumstance, he'd stay home for weeks, but these were trying times and he was needed in the political `pit'.

“Could you burp him?” Lily sleepily called from the bed.

Springing to his feet, James was at the bedside in a moment. Throwing a towel over his shoulder, he scooped little Robbie in his arms. The tiny wizard curled into a comma shape as his papa gently patted the boy's back. A tiny wheezy pop announced the newborn's release of air trapped in his stomach. Along with a mouthful of semi digested breast milk.

Wiping his son's mouth, he gently laid the boy in his bassinet before chucking the soiled towel into the hamper in the corner. Turning to Lily, he saw her watching him with half lidded eyes and a gentle smile on her face. “How're you feeling?” he asked. “Still sore?”

She shook her head. “The potions and that spell of Alex's have done me up right.”

“And the pain potions aren't helping at all?” Prongs jibed.

Lily chuckled, “True.”

There was a sound like breaking glass that echoed about the estate. Frowning, James checked the clock. “Alex is back early,” he commented. “Rauri,” he called.

As the elf appeared, James heard a familiar voice - the voice of his eldest son - call out, “Mum? Dad?”

James' smile was as bright as the noonday sun as he met Lily's beaming face as he called out, “In the bedroom!”

.oOo.

Alex was right behind Remus as they entered James and Lily's rooms. Lily was propped up in the biggest bed she'd ever seen while James held a swaddled infant against his chest. A somewhat maternal woman, Alex always smiled when around babies.

There was a hesitant longing within her for a child of hers and Remus'. Because sterility was hit and miss with those afflicted with lycanthropy she never wanted to get her hopes up that once they decided that they were ready for children, they could have them. They wouldn't really know until they tried if Remus could father a child. Sterility tests on him had returned varying results. Sometimes it would show him as sterile, other times virile and still other times borderline sterile. The `proof was in the pudding' as they say. If she began to increase, then they'd know, but not before.

Moving to her lover's side, she saw the wide smile on Remus' face. She was expecting it, but when James placed little Robert in Remus' arms while saying, “Hold your godson, Remus,” Alex was still moved. Stunned, Moony cradled the babe as if he were made of spun glass.

“Hullo, Robbie. I'm Moony and I'm your godfather.” Placing a soft kiss on the boy's forehead, he began to sing Toora, Loora, Loora. She smiled sadly, remembering that Remus' mother, Georgiana, had been born and raised in County Wicklow. He was singing the lullaby to Robbie that his Mum had sung for him.

“Over in Killarney, many years ago…,” he kissed the boy's brow again, “My mother sang a song to me in tones so sweet and low. Just a simple little ditty in her good old Irish way….” Now a tear gathered in his eye as he cuddled the boy close, murmuring, “And I'd give the world if she could sing that song to me this day.”

Alex wrapped her arm about her man, laying her head on his shoulder so she could see the baby more clearly. The last time she'd seen him, he'd not been at his best.

James' voice whispered in her ear. “Lily and I would be honoured if you'd stand as Godmother.” Closing her eyes as the emotion swamped her, Alex wondered why she was reacting so strongly. True, the day had been incredibly stressful, but it was more than that. There was an incredible sense of belonging, love and acceptance. She wanted these people to love her, to claim her as their own. This family was precious to her and by James and Lily's reckoning, she was precious to them as well.

In lieu of an answer, she kissed the crown of Robbie's head before singing, “Toora loora loora, hush now, don't you cry! Toora loora loora, that's an Irish lullaby.”

.oOo.

Heartily, James embraced Harry. “Good to have you back, son,” the young man greeted his son. Harry left Neville and William chatting behind him about William's questions about the Magical world.

“It's good to be back, Dad. How're things?” It always brought a warm feeling to Harry's chest to call this man `Dad'. No matter how long James and Lily were back into the time stream, a small part of Harry would always be the small orphan boy living in a cupboard wishing for his parents to love him.

“Good. Your Mum's a bit wiped out, but your brother is a warm, wiggling ball of flesh that has already soiled his nappies thrice. Once, he did so with an incredibly foul substance that was strangely reminiscent of…,”

Harry's laughter interrupted his father's rant, causing the two of them to chuckle for a bit. Harry sobered when James cut to the chase. “How'd it go?”

His chin dropping, Harry related the insertion, destruction of the compound of Dormred and the man's subsequent suicide with as few words as necessary. Harry tried to get the description out as fast as possible, hoping that through speed, he'd avoid the unpleasant memory. He was wrong.

Sighing, he slumped his shoulders after finishing his story. As he rubbed his neck and yawned, his Dad took him in his arms, holding him close. Once again, Harry savoured having not only a father, but his father. James had many, many flaws, but he was a good man and Harry loved him.

“Thanks Dad.”

Unknowingly reiterating Remus from earlier, James murmured, “You did right.”

Nodding, he patted his Dad on the arm. They'd talked about Dormred enough; it was time to let the dead bury the dead. Grinning, he prompted, “I think that Moony has hogged my little brother enough. I think it's time for his big brother to get some time in with the squalling infant.”

James chuckled, “You're just hoping that Hermione seeing you holding a baby will get you shagged tonight.”

“The thought did cross my mind.”

Laughing, the eldest Potter men moved into the scrum about the bed.

.oOo.

“Weasley!”

Bill didn't look up from the map he was studying as he shouted, “Which one?”

“Both of you. Get over here.”

Grumbling, Bill rolled up the map of Buckingham Palace. He'd been tasked to review the plan of the palace, hypothesizing the ward constructs that could be employed. For the past months he and his brother Charlie had been working with Mad Eye Moody's Auror Remnant team. They'd conducted raids, harassed the enemy, but made no substantial headway in retaking their country. This task to study the castle hinted at more than a rearguard action, though.

Plopping down in the comfortable chair across from Moody's desk, he deftly transfigured the other chair into a rough facsimile of a seated clown with its arm held out to be used as a writing surface. Charlie hated clowns.

“Ha fucking ha,” he heard his dragon wrangler brother mutter as the transfiguration was reversed with a pop.

“You two need to pack your shit,” Mad Eye began without preamble. He tossed a sheaf of parchment into Bill's lap. “Your egress path, identification paperwork…the lot.” The man's manically spinning magical eye fixed on Charlie along with his human one, “Don't fuck this up. We've few enough fighters to lose you two pricks to being terminally stupid.”

Throwing his hands in the air in indignation, Charlie protested, “Why're you yelling at me?”

Jerking his thumb at Bill, the crusty Auror replied, “Because he's too pretty to take seriously. You leave in a half hour. Get out of my sight.”

Bill chuckled as he stood. Mad Eye was a complete bastard but he was also a complete professional. The day before Britain fell, Bill thought that he was a pretty competent wizard. Experience would broaden his knowledge, but he thought he was pretty good.

Working with Mad Eye had awakened him to the fact that his knowledge of magic was very specialized and very formal. The man could do things with a wand that were theoretically impossible. To say he'd been humbled was an understatement.

After Britain fell, he made his way to the coast to meet his brother as his parents and younger siblings fled the country. Except Percy. No one knew where he was. Together, Charlie and Bill had made their way to Hogwarts, getting in under the wards before they went into complete lockdown. There they'd hooked up with the recovering Alastor Moody and had been with him ever since.

At his bunk, he stuffed his few belongings in a satchel that he promptly shrunk and stuffed into his pocket. All the team wore normal clothes and had learned - through painful lessons - how to mingle and blend into the non-magical population of Britain. Looking about, he searched for the one person that he needed to see before he left.

There.

Winding across the room, he slipped into the chair next to her at the cafeteria style table. “Cherie,” he murmured.

Fleur Delacour looked up at him, smiling briefly. The scars that covered the left side of her face made it impossible for her to fully smile.

Placing his hand on her thigh, he squeezed affectionately. “Moody is sending me and Charlie to Spain for something. I don't know when or if we'll be back.”

A flash of despair flitted through her perfectly blue eyes. Pressing her lips together, she nodded grimly. “We knew this day could come.”

She sighed, crumpling in her grief. Seeing her emotion, Bill allowed the door to crack open on his own fears and anxieties. Wrapping his arm about her shoulder, he kissed her head. “I want you to know something, Cherie.”

She looked up at him, a crystalline tear tracking down her marred cheek. Placing both hands on her cheeks, he looked her deep in her eyes, “I love you.”

Fleur's eyes flashed with joy, triumph and…fear? “Non, do not do that. Not now Bill.”

“I have to tell you.”

She began to stand, but he stopped her. From behind him, Bill heard Charlie bellow, “Oi, Billy! Time to move!”

Ignoring his brother, Bill stood with his girlfriend. Turning her to face him, he was stunned to see tears tracking down her face. “You must know how I feel about you?” he asked plaintively. At the moment, he didn't give a shit that he was standing in the middle of fifty other men while they all watched himself declare his undying affections for this woman.

“Fleur?”

“Guilliame…” she whispered. It was the name she called when they made love. It was the only time she called him the French version of his name.

“I love you Fleur. I will find you somehow.”

She stared at him, frozen in fear, pain or he knew not what. A gently hand squeezed his shoulder. “Sorry, Bill, but we do need to get moving. The train leaves in ten.”

Nodding to his brother without taking his eyes from Fleur, he leaned in to kiss her. The passion and force in her embrace took him aback, but he held her close for a long moment before breaking away. Just as he opened the door to leave, he heard her voice.

“I love you Bill!”

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first twenty-three chapters of Last Casualties. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on fanfiction (dot) net. I update the status on Mondays. Most of the time.

2. The recommendation for this chapter is His Angel by durararaaa. It's an excellent Harry/Fleur fic that's actually believable! There's a wonderful character driven plot that isn't too heavy on the OCs but is separate enough from canon to be fresh. Enjoy it.

Also, if you get the chance, check out Jean by Majerus. He's a first time author with an interesting approach to readdressing the Hogwarts years. Very interesting, check it out.

3. In 1963, Kim Philby was revealed to be a member of the spy ring now known as the Cambridge Five, the other members of which were Donald Maclean, Guy Burgess, Anthony Blunt, and another uAncertain individual. Of the five, Philby is believed to have been most successful in providing secret information to the Soviet Union. His activities were moderated only by Joseph Stalin's fears that he was secretly on Britain's side. Philby was an Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) from 1946 to 1965

Chapter complete 12/29/12

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25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

The newly minted husband smiled broadly as he bent to kiss his wife. Kissing her soundly, he barely heard the applause of the small number of witnesses. As her fingers tangled in his long hair, there was a burst of emotion that rose up with in him. Love. Acceptance. Affection. Desire. Friendship.

All these things Sirius Black had thought were beyond his reach. After being so damaged by his stay in Azkaban, after losing all that he held of value in his life, he thought that he'd merely finish out his string in this life as an emotional cripple. The blonde witch in his arms had given him hope, purpose and love. In her he found a way back to sanity, love and contentment.

Hestia's tongue gave his a last caress before she pulled away. Still in his arms, she smiled up to him, her expression that of suffused joy. He returned her smile, remembering their conversation from the day before when the team had returned from the disturbing conclusion of their hunt for Dormred ap Morag.

After the group had dispersed from James and Lily's suite, leaving behind the new parents along with Harry and Hermione, Hestia had pulled Sirius into their bedroom. Eagerly looking forward to the shag of his life, Padfoot was stunned when his blonde fiancée pulled him into an embrace as she sobbed her heart out on his shoulder.

All amorous thoughts banished, he held her until she calmed. As Hestia's sobbing slowed to weeping and then to snuffles. “You want to tell me?” he murmured.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, Hestia began, “For the first bit after you left I was fine. I missed you, of course, but it was manageable.” Shaking her head, she continued, “Then Auror Team Seven got hit hard.”

She curled up into his arms again. Her head flat on his chest, she whispered, “That's when `the wonderings' started. At first, I wondered what you were doing. `Is he sleeping? Is he eating?' You know, innocuous stuff like that. Then the wonderings became, `Is he hurt?' followed shortly by `Is he dying?' That's when I began to regret something.”

Her tearstained face did nothing to detract from her incredible beauty. Over the past year, he'd come to know this witch intimately. Her beauty ran far deeper than her features. Sure, she was nearly as messed up as he was, but he loved her and she loved him. Her blue eyes seemed to study him for a moment before announcing, “I don't want either of us to die before you're my husband and I'm your wife. Let's get married. Today.”

It turned out to be the next day, but Sirius was in full agreement. He'd missed Hestia more than he thought he could miss another person for the months they were back in Britain. The ache that he'd felt when he thought James and Lily dead was nothing compared to missing Hestia.

The applause from the gathered friends and family brought him back to the present.

“I now present to you Lord Sirius and Lady Hestia Black, the Earl and Countess of Blackmoor.”

.oOo.

Harry lay back in their bed, his arm behind his head. Breathing deep of the sea air, he felt a bit nostalgic for the peaty, earthy air in Wales. They'd left their camp in place with the wards intact for when they returned. For they would return. Dormred ap Morag was merely the opening act in the struggle for the greater Potter family to free themselves from the shackles of pain and tyranny that'd been welded that Halloween night long ago.

At his side, Hermione breathed the slow, shallow cadence of those deeply asleep. Rolling his head to the side, he watched her. Sirius and Hestia's wedding had teased him about something that he didn't like to consider. The future. Mostly, he didn't think about what would happen `after'. After his confrontation with Voldemort.

He knew that he could beat the man. Going toe to toe with the wizard in the graveyard outside Little Hangleton had shown Harry that he had the power and ability to hold his own for a bit. He and Hermione had been working on a counter to Voldemort's end game designer curse that replicated the Draught of the Living Dead. Neither was sure that their idea was tactically sound, but it made sense. There was work to be done on that front.

Harry smiled when Hermione snuffled in her sleep, smacking her lips as she muttered, “The mice…the mice.”

The smile faded. Considering the future in a concrete sense was a scary proposition for Harry. True, he felt that he could win, but a very large knot of fear in his belly always formed because he also knew that it was a very strong possibility that Voldemort would tire of toying with The Boy-Who-Lived and kill him. Shoving the Dark Lord situation to the side, Harry thought about his future. His future with Hermione. A wave of shocked surprise followed by remorse swept over him at his realization. Slipping from the bed, he grabbed some clothes on the way to the shower. He needed to find his Dad.

.oOo.

Settling into the seat on the Dover-Calais ferry, Bill relaxed for the first time in thirty six hours. He and Charlie had been constantly on the move since they left their hidden base north of Leeds. Four trains, a bus, walking for five hours cross country to another train brought the brothers to the ferry. The hard earned trick to moving about a Voldemort controlled Britain was to do so with no use of magic. The Death Eaters had no idea how to track down wizards and witches when no magic was used as a beacon to home in on the person.

At Bill's side, his brother snored loudly. The tall, thin Weasley worked better on little sleep than his younger brother did. They both surmised that they'd been summoned to Spain for the same reason that Bill had been studying Buckingham Palace. “Whatever the hell that is,” Charlie had snarked.

Neither brother had spoken about it, but Bill knew that Charlie worried about Percy as much as he did. To be honest, Percy was Bill's least favourite brother. The twins were amusing and he didn't really know Ron that well, but Percy had always irritated the shit out of Bill. The holier than thou attitude had been firmly implanted in the middle brother's arse as far back as Bill could remember. For some reason, his Mum coddled and encouraged the boy in the attitude instead of squashing it.

Shaking his head, he shoved off from the inevitable conclusion of this line of thought. It always ended with a vision of Molly sobbing her heart out over Percy's corpse. Even if his brother was an arse, he was still his brother.

Staring out the window of the ferry at the increasing chop of the channel, Bill wondered what Fleur was doing. Was she still alive?

Joining Moody's team had been a hectic, chaotic time. Bill had thought that he either knew, or knew of most wizards in Britain. Once again, he'd been proven wrong. He knew none of his teammates aside from Alastor. Except for her. He'd recognized her immediately from the newspaper accounts of the TriWizard Tournament. Never having met her, he was content to watch her from a distance. As the newcomer to Moody's group, Bill was feeling his way through the days to unravel the day-to-day routine, regulations both official and unofficial, and - most importantly - survive long enough to win back their country.

Even that first day, he'd felt an undeniable attraction to the scarred French witch. Emotion welled up from deep within him. Bill wasn't a very sentimental man, but Fleur had his heart in her hands. He belonged to her in the best possible way.

Looking down to his lap where his hands held nothing but emptiness, Bill croaked a whisper, “I love you Fleur.” The ferry continued its trek across the small body of water that is the English Channel. Forty five minutes after it landed, Bill and Charlie strode into their father's office.

.oOo.

If neon signs were born somewhere, James was now convinced that they bred, were born and grew up in Hong Kong. As he walked with his son down Bonham Strand West, Prongs smiled to see Harry's head moved this way and that to see the exotic sights. The Crown Colony was so radically different from anything he'd ever seen that his repeated murmurs of, “Did you see that?” to his father threatened to send James round the twist.

“London's busy, but this takes it to a whole new level,” James replied with a bit of snark as they pushed their way through the hordes that crowded the sidewalks. After ten minutes of walking through the immense crowds, James felt that he'd a fairly good idea of how a salmon felt swimming upstream to spawn. “Ah,” he muttered when he found the familiar entrance.

Hustling up a broad stair, James motioned to his son, “C'mon. Through here.”

Harry nodded, catching up to his dad. The stair led to a dark alley, noticeable in that it was the only dark alley that Harry had seen as they walked through Central Hong Kong.

“Wan Chai is on the other side of the Alley,” James commented. Looking over his glasses at his son he added, “Even you don't want to go there by yourself.” While Hong Kong was fairly well policed, no one forgot that the Triads were founded and headquartered in the crown colony.

Striding boldly into the dark alley, both Potter men felt the magical illusion pass over them like a waterfall. Shivering at the feeling of the foreign magic, Harry looked about.

More neon. The English words were replaced with Chinese ideographs announcing the name of this shop or that one. This time, though, every shop was magical. Looking about he saw stands selling potion ingredients, shops with magical appliances, bookshops, and at the end of the row, a large slightly tipsy structure that he'd recognize anywhere - Gringotts.

“Is it just me or is this shopping district…?” Harry asked.

“Eerily similar to Diagon Alley?” James finished. “I suppose so. Hong Kong is British after all.”

Harry snorted. “Dad, this place is Chinese that's run by the British.”

James shrugged as they jogged up the stairs to the bank.

Inside the bank, they followed the usual routine, ending up in the newly relocated Potter family vault. Heading to the large dresser that covered most of the wall, Harry asked his Dad, “Which drawer?”

He'd been a bit surprised that it'd taken Harry this long to make his request. James had been expecting this conversation for months. True, other issues had taken priority, but now that they had some breathing room and down time, James was glad to do this for his son. It was something he'd dreamt about when Harry was just a baby; something a Potter father did for his son.

James conjured a seat for himself as he smothered a smile. He had a feeling they'd be there for a while. “Third down on the left.”

.oOo.

Amelia was reading through the latest report from Terry Sheehan, the Auror Commander of the underground forces in the south of England. While Alastor Moody was covering Northern England and all of Scotland, Terry was burdened with the more populous area. To his credit, he'd cultivated an extensive intelligence network and it was slowly building a descriptive account of Voldemort's government and routine.

For all their arrogance and wealth, the high level Death Eaters had no idea how to run a government. The idea of Lucius Malfoy working all day at a desk was laughable. Rudolphus Lestrange negotiating compromise between squabbling departments was unimaginable. True, there were most likely many like the late and unlamented Dolores Umbridge who had jumped at the opportunity to leverage their bureaucratic skills to gain power and wealth through the Dark Lord's new regime.

The redheaded Minister for Magic (acting) was investing in the overall nature of humanity to be basically decent people. Most weren't monsters. Hopefully, the list of collaborators was a short one. Therein lay her hope for a weakness that could be exploited; assassination of the Death Eater leadership followed by a revolutionary putsch that would overturn the Voldemort supporters.

The door opened to admit Albus Dumbledore. She blinked at his appearance. Gone was the long hair and beard. In its place were neatly trimmed chin whiskers with hair pulled into a ponytail that just reached his shoulders. The sport coat and trousers was an even bigger surprise.

“Good morning, Albus,” she greeted for the lack of anything else coming to mind.

He smiled jovially, “And a very good morning to you, Amelia. May I sit?”

Breaking out of her surprise, she motioned to the chair opposite her, “Of course. Please, sit.”

With a sigh, the centenarian settled in the comfortable chair. “I've heard from Minerva,” he began without preamble. “Apparently, Lord Voldemort has decided that since he cannot penetrate Hogwarts' wards, then no one shall get close to the school.” His eyes twinkled at her, “He must think that others have access to the school via hidden tunnels and whatnot.”

Amelia gave him an amused curl of her lips. The old man in front of her was a study in change. Before the fall of Britain, he'd been the standard carrier, the one around whom the Light had rallied. With James' ascendancy in the international arena, Albus had politely taken on the role of the backroom politician, using his extensive contacts and social network to aid their cause. Amelia believed his efforts to be invaluable. The old maxim of, “It's not who you know, but what you know,” was turned on its head. It seemed that Albus knew everyone and everyone knew Albus. Most importantly, they all seemed to be amenable to helping the old man. James had even grudgingly admitted that the old man had been helpful.

She watched the old man as he poured tea for himself from the service that had just appeared. Placing the report from Sheehan back in its folder, she waited.

“Mmmm, lemon,” he murmured while surveying the biscuit collection. Munching a frosted confection, he sipped his tea. “There are now giants and other creatures in the forest,” he continued.

“Other creatures?” Amelia asked. “The Forbidden Forest is full of magical creatures.”

Nodding his clipped head, Albus added, “Yes, but now Minerva has seen a Chimera along with a clutch of Cold Drakes in addition to the Giants....”

“Oh dear,” Amelia murmured. She wasn't a Creatures expert by any means, but all magicals knew that those creatures were not to be trifled with by the uninitiated.

“Yes. `Oh dear' indeed. I believe that our adversary is in the process of filling the area about the school with enough creatures that would overwhelm the defenders should the wards ever come down.” He paused as his eyes became unfocused for a moment. “Or, he could be staging a non-human army in the north,” he added softly. “That is a distinct possibility as well.”

A contemplative expression washed over the old man. “What is kept out is also kept in, though. Anyone in the school is there for the duration.”

Her eyebrow cocked, Amelia asked, “Save for Fawkes?”

Nodding, Albus amended, “True. Save for phoenix travel. In raising the wards to the level I needed to insure the integrity of the school, even I cannot enchant a portkey to the school.” Again, the old man was quiet. “I do not like these developments. I am unsure as to Lord Voldemort's purpose and design here and that fact alone is unsettling.”

“It could be a design to draw you out,” Amelia observed.

“Yes. Placing a group of horrific creatures next to my beloved school should bring old Albus running. It doesn't really threaten anyone, but is sure to catch my attention.” He winked at her with cynical amusement, “The thought did occur to me.”

“So, you're going back to investigate?”

“Yes, hence the haircut and muggle clothing. I sincerely doubt that I would be unmolested should I stay in a magical Inn, therefore, I shall stay muggle. I'll be on the Dover ferry first thing in the morning. You may reach me via the usual means.”

The Minister nodded at the comment before asking, “Why're you not traveling with Fawkes?”

Sipping his tea, Dumbledore replied, “Alas, he has just experienced a Burning Day and will be too immature to travel via fire for some weeks now. It's been a few years since his last Burning Day; I've expected this for some time now.”

Frowning, Amelia countered, “I'd feel much better if you had Fawkes available to you. Can't you put this off until he's ready?”

He chuckled while levelling the now blushing minister with an amused expression. “I'm fairly experienced, Amelia. I believe I can take care of myself.”

“Fine, but you mustn't risk yourself too much, Albus. You, Harry and to a lesser extent, James and Lily are symbols to our people. Symbols of hope and goodness. Don't die on a reconnaissance mission.”

Finishing his tea, Albus jauntily saluted, “I shall do my best, Minister.”

.oOo.

Lily sat on the patio nursing Robbie while Bill and Bobbie Smith sat nearby enjoying the sun. It was one of the last warm days of the year before the Mediterranean coast turned cold and windy for the duration of the winter. Staring off to the horizon, Lily tried to shake off her doldrums.

“What is it, dear?”

Lily attempted to smile at Bobbie's question but it died on her lips. Sighing, she looked back out to sea. “I know intellectually that this,” she gestured with her free hand to the suckling babe under the blanket, “Is my main priority in life. No other job is more important than this. However,” Lily sighed again as she stroked Robbie's back through the blanket.

“You wish you had a more active role,” Bobbie finished for her young friend when Lily didn't finish her statement.

Nodding, Lily absently continued to stroke her son's head before pulling him to her shoulder. A deft movement had her blouse back in place and Robbie on the blanket to be burped. “People are being hurt and killed back home, yet I'm here burping my baby.” Shaking her head, she countered herself, “Being a mother is a vitally important role, but at the same time….”

Somewhat ashamed of her conflicting desires, Lily looked to the older couple for help. Bill regarded the younger woman for a moment before sighing. “It was much easier for our generation. The men went off to war while the women kept the home fires burning, as it were.”

Bobbie poked her husband in the side, “And who was the Evacuation Coordinator for my block?”

He gave a small smile while looking down to his tea, “You were dearest.”

“And who was a volunteer at St Joseph's on the general ward?”

His smile disappeared. “You were,” he whispered.

The banter soothed Lily. “I need to find my role here, you're telling me.”

Bobbie nodded as she sipped her tea. “I thought that helping James was a fulfilling role for you. What changed?”

Lily snorted before taking a long draught of her omnipresent glass of water, “I'm feeling a bit bloodthirsty. I want to mix it up with some Death Eaters.”

The older couple was silent causing Lily to wonder if she'd gone too far. It was a bit shocking, the idea that she wanted to harm the Death Eaters. Killing them had only slightly bothered her. James had been affected much more than she'd been the first time they'd killed. Looking up, she saw the Smith's watching her expectantly.

“Well?” Bobbie prodded.

“Well, what?”

“Well, what's your decision?”

Nonplussed, Lily stared. “What my very direct wife is asking,” Bill interjected, “is that you've a decision to make. Are you going to go off to fight in the war, or are you going to stay here to fill a different role where you contribute as best you can in indirect ways?”

“Are you going to fight back using your brain or your wand?” Bobbie scolded.

Taken aback by the harsh rebuke, Lily gaped for a moment. “I would rather do both.”

Bobbie snorted. The sometimes crotchety woman asked, “And since when did your preferences and desires count? What ought you do, young lady?”

Lily's own fuse began to burn short. “That is what I'm trying to decide.”

“Really?” Bobbie drily observed. “It sounds to me like you're trying to talk yourself into a course of action that you want to follow as opposed to your duty.”

Visibly biting her lip, Lily stared for a long moment. Finally, she stood while murmuring, “Excuse me. I must put Robert down for a nap.”

Swallowing her ire, Lily moved to the house. Over her shoulder, she heard Bill chastise his wife. “Really, dear. Was it necessary to be so rude while making your point?”

It wouldn't be until many hours later - after her temper had cooled - that Lily would realize that Bill hadn't told Bobbie that she'd been wrong. In fact, he had implicitly told his wife that she'd been correct in her assessment of Lily's actions. The redheaded mother of two boys didn't like that fact at all

.oOo.

“…and that's where we stand. The Security Council is informally behind us. Once the General Assembly can be swayed to support the Ministry in Exile, the Council will then be able to publicly support us,” James paused to sip his tea.

“You're meeting with the Russian chap this afternoon?” Amelia asked as she peered at the younger man through her monocle.

James nodded. “Ivanov's note said that he wanted to chat.”

“Take Sirius with you. Harry also.”

James blinked in surprise. “You think I need backup?”

Amelia nodded. “I don't believe that Ivanov himself will do anything, but the goons that I'm sure he's hired will be waiting for you to be alone. You, Sirius and Harry are known to be very powerful wizards. They'll not engage you if you're together.”

Now James frowned. “Alright. I'll get them before I go.” Narrowing his eyes, James added, “Amelia, I've told enough half-truths in my life and lied to more people than I can count. Don't bullshit a bullshitter. What's going on? Why do you want them with me?”

Her reply irritated the young Duke of Shrewsbury. “Call it a test of sorts.”

“I don't like tests. Never have,” James' growl more reminiscent of Padfoot's animagus form than his own.

James was annoyed that Amelia wasn't even remotely cowed by his behaviour. Snarkily she replied, “And I remember asking your opinion when?”

Anger rising, he made to stand before she waved him back to his seat. “Sit down and calm down.” A few deft wand movements by Amelia left them in a privacy sphere the like he'd never seen. “We need to have a frank discussion.”

Calmer, he replied, “About…?”

“How we're going to get your son the experience and opportunity to kill Lord Voldemort.”

.oOo.

Sirius led the way down the small street in downtown Zurich. The address for James' meeting with the Russian Ambassador to the ICW was at a coffee shop. That alone set off warning bells for both male Potters along with making Remus and Sirius twitch. That Ivanov wanted to meet away from his office could either be very good news or very bad news. Given the animosity displayed by the Magical Russian Empire toward the British Ministry in Exile, Sirius was more inclined to believe that Bad News was coming.

Hermione was spending the day with her grandparents. With Sirius, Remus and Harry along, The Smartest Witch of the Age had snarked, “I think His Grace is fully protected. You all don't need little old me getting in the way.”

Harry had sniggered when Sirius' fake look of confusion had been met with Hermione batting him on the nose with a conjured newspaper while scolding, “Bad Padfoot.”

Said `Bad Padfoot' let the memory slip away. Focusing on his surroundings, he kept an eye on the middle aged woman pushing a pram up the walk. The coffee shop was on the next block, so he was on high alert. Is she too old to have a baby? Maybe a grandchild…

I don't need this shit. I should be on my honeymoon shagging the hell out of my wife.

Sirius and Hestia had decided to postpone their honeymoon until after the war. She'd summed up their collective feeling when she'd told Lily, “We can't really enjoy the time to ourselves, devoted to ourselves while the war is ongoing.

Padfoot slowed, allowing the woman to cross at the intersection. Prongs and Pronglet were five metres behind him and Moony another five behind the father and son. I don't like this…I don't like this… he kept whispering to himself. It was all wrong. The situation, the meeting, the location, the day…everything was jarring. There was no method, no order, nothing. The entire meeting screamed `Trap'. His hand in his pocket, Sirius fondled the handle of his wand in anticipation of drawing it quickly.

Across the street from the coffee shop, two extremely fit men were talking. The beginning of the trap. Sirius immediately noticed that even though they were talking to each other, both men were earnestly watching the approaching group while flicking back to the coffee shop.

There's two, Sirius thought to himself.

On a bench outside the shop, another man of the same build held a book, giving the impression of reading. Unfortunately for his disguise, he wasn't turning the pages.

There's number three. I really don't like this.

.oOo.

“Is that him?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” James muttered as he looked around the empty coffee shop. Ivanov was sitting at a table in the back, two more bodyguards a discreet distance away. He nodded to James in greeting, but the expressionless visage didn't change. Nodding in return, James muttered to his son, “Go to Sirius and Remus. Be ready for anything.”

James felt his son move to stand with his godfather and adopted Uncle. All three men had hard expressions, watching the situation with unblinking eyes. Remus half turned so as to watch the door and street in front of the shop.

Pulling the chair out across from the Russian ambassador, James sat. Pulling his gloves off with deliberate jerks, he nodded again, “Sergei.”

“James,” the Russian greeted. “Tea?”

“Please. Two sugars.” The niceties would be observed.

The older man poured the tea into a traditional Russian teacup, adding the sugars as he poured. Leaving the spoon in the cup, he handed it to James. “To business.”

“Yes,” James replied mildly after sipping at the surprisingly good tea. It was strong with an earth aroma that was very pleasant. “What business do we have to discuss?”

“You do know that you are supporting a lost cause,” the Russian declared in an offhand undertone.

James shrugged, not rising to the bait even though the anger flared in his heart. His secret fear that he'd never tell was that they were in a hopeless struggle with an undefeatable foe.

Shaking his head as if dealing with a wayward child, Ivanov continued as he poured his own tea with three sugars, “The Dark Lord will fully control Great Britain shortly. You have no chance of retaking the land of your birth. He has agents everywhere who see everything. As a wizard, he is unstoppable. You are doomed to fail.” He focused on James with a neutral bordering on friendly expression, “You must see this.”

With an rude expression, James didn't reply, just sipped his tea.

“How many do you have? Fifty? Sixty fighters? Against his army?” The thin Russian barked a laugh. “Insanity.”

James was drawing all his self-control to prevent himself from transforming to Prongs and goring the man to death. The long building tension over Harry's fate, the seeming hopelessness of his efforts abroad and at home peaked and distilled in that moment driving James back twenty years to a time when he was arrogant, brash and unpleasant. Insolently yawning, he asked, “I'm sorry, is there a point here?” In that manner, James casually insulted the very dangerous and violent man who sat across from him. Provocation of this kind with this man, pushed the discussion to a plane neither foresaw or desired.

Displeased, Invanov glared at James. “For a man with such a young pretty wife and a newborn son, you have an extreme lack of subtlety and consideration. I would think that you'd show a little respect.” In later days, James would reflect and be surprised that the Russian played his biggest card so soon. The subtle threat against James' family wasn't so subtle at all.

A frisson of fear rippled down James' spine lighting the fire of his rage. Behind him, he heard both Sirius and Remus growl. Holding up his hand to his family, he indicated that they should stay in place. The person he was most concerned for was Harry. In an instant, he could have Sergei Ivanov gutted and dressed. Harry was very protective of his family. Unfortunately, slaughtering the Russian Ambassador in such a manner would probably be detrimental to international relations.

In a playfully questioning tone, James asked, “Sergei, did you just threaten my family?” Without waiting for a reply, he reached across the table to pick up the teapot.

Topping off his tea, he told the Russian, “Because if you did, I do believe that you'll be dead within the next thirty seconds along with the five men you brought with you.” His eyes like chips of ice, he glared at the Russian, “You didn't threaten my family, did you Sergei?”

The other man didn't back down a whit. Genially spreading his hands in a `what do you do' type of motion, Ivanov replied, “Take it how you will. I am Russian. Do to me what you will,” he leaned over the table in a swift movement that made James reflexively reach for his wand, “but know that even if you kill me, it changes nothing.”

Chuckling harshly so that it sounded like cracking ice, James shook his head. “Sergei, I will do nothing to you so long as we confine our battles to the political realm.” All false joviality fell away from his face, leaving the face of a killer. Shedding the pretence of civility in the conversation, James declared with an intensity and focus that was chilling. “Remember that I have faced Lord Voldemort and survived five times. You are a bug that I will squash should you cross the line.” Unblinking, he surveyed the Russian for a long moment. “I will kill you, burn your corpse and urinate on the smoking charred remains should you even seriously consider harming my family. Are we clear?”

Sergei Ivanov was a very cultured man but at his heart he only respected strength. Strength of arms and strength of will. James knew that he'd have to intimidate and bully the man. The look on the Russian's face told James that he'd won. The glare from Ivanov wavered for a long moment before he looked away. Unmoving, the head of the Potter family waited. There was a purpose to this meeting, he just needed to know if this purpose extended beyond threats.

Stirring his tea, Ivanov resumed his offhand tone, “I am merely trying to make you see reason, James. I could offer you….”

Snarling, James interrupted, “You can offer me nothing.” Glad they weren't in the political boardrooms where he had to be polite, Prongs charged. “You are an errand boy, no more and no less. I suggest you take your fear riddled, sweat stained self back to where you came from before your bowels loose themselves and you embarrass yourself further.”

Standing so quick that his chair fell over, he finished in a polished, upper class drawl that reminded the Russian that James was the Duke of Shrewsbury, “Thank you so very much for the tea and conversation.” Scooping his gloves from the table, he turned on his heel, nodding to the rest of his escort. He had to get the hell out of there before he killed a lot of Russians.

Following Sirius out into the cold afternoon, he tugged on his gloves as he watched the Russian bodyguards. They didn't make a threatening motion, so the Potter contingent made none either. After clearing what he thought of as `the danger zone', James led his brothers and son into an alley. “Back to the house. I need to see Lily and Robbie.”

.oOo.

“Alex?”

The blonde healer looked up from her periodical. She'd been absorbed in an essay discussing a new treatment for Magical Core Decay in the elderly. Smiling up to the young prince, she moved her reading glasses to the top of her head as she replied, “Good afternoon, Billy. What can I help you with?”

Visibly nervous, the young man sat opposite Alex as she placed the magazine on the low table between them. “I've been doing some research. Comparing the ICW and the United Nations to see where my point of reference needs to be amended.”

She nodded. The young man wanted so badly to be useful. He keenly felt his inability to directly intervene in retaking their country. A country toward which his parents and grandparents had instilled a strong sense of duty. `What did you find?”

He exhaled as his eyes flicked to hers while a nervous smile ticked over his face. “Well, it's rather unpleasant.”

She shrugged. It was evident that he was leery of speaking plainly, so she decided to help him along. “Magical Britain is incredibly bigoted and flawed. You'll not offend me.”

Billy nodded, obviously relieved. “I've had two things that I've been working on for James. He asked me to look at the ICW roles and responsibilities, hoping that my different perspective may twig an idea that we can exploit. The other is to brainstorm ideas for allies to help us.”

Intrigued where he was going, Alex nodded encouragingly while pouring tea for them both. “What did you find?”

“Thank you,” he muttered as he took the tea from her. After the obligatory sip, he replied, “Well, it seems that I've an idea where there's overlap.” Her silent attention spurred him to blurt, “Werewolves.”

Not expecting that answer, she blinked. “Ah…well, I'm not really following.”

Excited, he leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs, “Lycanthropes are a segment of magical Britain that are the definition of downtrodden. The government systematically denies them basic rights, treats the afflicted as beasts and worse. The bigotry and fear of the afflicted is so intense that Remus tells me that he's been beaten on more than one occasion. There have been so many reported -and unprosecuted - murders of lycanthropes in the past ten years to make me physically ill.”

Breathing deeply to regain his equilibrium, Billy finally continued, “Voldemort is even worse. He takes advantage of the more feral members of the packs. These men and women would most likely have been Death Eaters regardless of their lycanthropy. Nevertheless, he uses these savages to browbeat, intimidate and bully normal, upstanding people to follow their Alpha wolf into unspeakable acts. According to Remus, most werewolves would prefer to be left alone to live in their pack community. They want to live, love and raise a family if they're able. Lycanthropy didn't make them evil.”

Stunned, Alex sat back in her chair. Tea cold and ignored, she processed what the eager young man was offering. “How many werewolves are there in Britain?” she murmured.

“Ah,” Billy responded enthusiastically. Pulling a folded piece of paper from his left hip pocket, he gave it to her, pointing to a row of numbers.

“Dear Lord,” Alex murmured. Reading from the sheet, she said, “Ministry registration numbers show that there were nearly three hundred werewolves of all ages in Britain last July.” Completely flabbergasted, she sat and stared. “That doesn't even count the spouses, children, siblings….” She shuddered. Fenrir Greyback and his ilk had been very busy over the past thirty years.

“At least three hundred wizards and witches who could help us,” Billy breathed, barely able to contain his excitement. “But we must convince them that they should help us.”

Shaking her head, she returned the paper to him. “Setting that incredibly monumental task to the side, what does this have to do with the ICW?”

“Glad you asked,” Billy replied. Reaching to his other hip pocket, he withdrew another folded piece of paper.

Amused, she barked a laugh, “Did you script this conversation?”

Blushing, he replied, “A little.” Handing her the other sheaf, he indicated, “Read number one.”

Dropping her reading glasses back on her nose, Alex read aloud, “Article One. All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood.”

“Number three.”

“Article Three. Everyone has the right to life, liberty and security of person.” Alex felt the stirring of what William was trying to get across, but he pressed on with his point.

“Numbers five and seven,” William urged.

“Article Five. No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment.” Scanning down, she found seven and read, “All are equal before the law and are entitled without any discrimination to equal protection of the law. All are entitled to equal protection against any discrimination in violation of this Declaration and against any incitement to such discrimination.” Setting the document on the table next to her long forgotten magazine, she rebutted, “But these poor people have had these rights since before they were born. Why should they believe us now when they've been so brutally oppressed for so long?”

With a dignity and presence that she'd never seen from the young man, William, Prince of Wales, declared, “Because this time, it will be the rightful heir to the throne guaranteeing them their due.” She blinked at the implications of that statement. Before she could ask, William continued, “But we need to do more….”

.oOo.

“You look beautiful,” Harry breathed. As part of the plan, he and Hermione were to go out to dinner this evening. Sirius had enchanted a portkey to Paris for them and they had reservations at one of the more upscale restaurants. Hermione had just joined him in the sitting room appearing as a vision of loveliness.

Closing the gap between them, Hermione ran her fingers along the lapel of his jacket, “You look very handsome.”

Gulping, Harry replied, “We'd better go or we'll never get out of here.”

Her laugh echoed in the room as she touched the old newspaper that whisked them to France. “Remember, Paris is always the right answer.”

.oOo.

La Petite Auberge was a perfect restaurant as far as Hermione was concerned. Small but elegant. A magnificent menu but not overcrowded. The food was wonderful and the atmosphere better. There was only one problem; Harry.

He was nervous about something. Fidgeting, playing with his collar and cuffs, he unsnapped his cufflinks four times before the salad arrived then picked at his food. After the entrée, she'd had enough. Tucking her newly styled hair behind her ear, she reached across the table. In a soft voice, she asked, “What's wrong?”

His eyes fixed on hers for a second before he chuckled under his breath. “I can hide nothing from you, can I?”

Rubbing her thumb across his knuckles she shrugged, “I know you.”

He took a deep breath before reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket. Withdrawing a bag, she recognized it. It was the same bag that held the mithril bracelet that she wore on her right arm. The same bracelet she'd worn the last year. Every day she'd worn the heirloom of Harry's house. She half smiled remembering his stumbling explanation of the meaning behind her acceptance of the gift. As it was entailed into the family, her acceptance was, in effect, a betrothal. Her mind stopped its digression, returning to the present. If he was holding a bag from the Potter vault, then…

“Harry, did you go to Hong Kong with your Dad?” she asked, her tone light but intense.

“Yes,” he replied, nodding his head as he spoke.

Now she knew - or hoped she knew - what was in the bag.

Taking a deep breath, he began. At first he was a bit uncertain, but gained courage and certainty as he spoke. “Last June I told you that I wanted to take you out, wine and dine you while we were all dressed up before I proposed. Instead, we were in the mud on the shore of the Black Lake.”

“And I was very sad,” she murmured.

“Yes, you were very sad. Well,” he paused to brace himself, “Tonight all we have all those things together.” Upending the bag, he dropped an emerald ring into the palm of his hand.

Hermione's breath hitched and she was sure that her heart stopped for a second. Eyes wide, she was unable to form a coherent thought beyond one word.

“Yes,” she breathed.

He smiled. “Can I ask you first?”

Dazed, she smiled, “If you insist.”

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

He reached over the table to take her left hand. Sliding the emerald on her ring finger, he gave her hand a tender kiss before murmuring, “Thank you.”

Hermione was a very sensible young woman. She usually ignored puffery, fashion and the like, but no recently engaged woman can help but admire the first view of her ring on her hand. Smiling broadly, Hermione held out her hand to admire the ring.

“It's beautiful,” she whispered. Shifting her gaze to her broadly smiling fiancée, she asked, “Heirloom?”

He nodded. “My great grandmother wore it.”

“Thank you,” She whispered with a tear in her eye. “I know how much your family means to you.”

Reaching out, he took her hand, “And you mean the world to me. Now and forever.”

“I love you,” she choked as emotion overcame her. For all intents and purposes, she'd lost her parents. She had Sirius and her grandparents, but now her true family was coming home. Harry had been the touchstone for her, the centre of her universe for the last five years. Loving him was as easy as coming home. He was her family. He was her love, he husband to be and the father of her unborn children. Harry Potter was her family.

“As I love you,” he replied. Sliding out of his seat, he moved next to her. Kneeling, he leaned in to place a soft kiss on her mouth. “In this life in the next, a thousand times in a thousand places, I'll always love you.”

She kissed him with more than a bit of passion. “Let's go home, my love.”

.oOo.

“Did you notice something…odd?”

Bill and Charlie were on the back porch of their parents' home in Spain. Charlie had started smoking as a sixth year and most often Bill accompanied his brother in his pursuit of nicotine. Bill wasn't a smoker, but he did need to get away from his mum from time to time.

“Something is wrong with Dad,” Charlie confirmed immediately. “Mum's over the top about Percy. Ron and Ginny are way too quiet but Fred and George are angry. Really, really brassed off about the whole situation.”

Bill absently nodded his concurrence while Charlie took a deep drag on his fag. “Dad was… tired…distracted…,” Bill groped for the right word, but couldn't find it.

“Preoccupied,” Charlie offered as he exhaled his smoke.

“Yeah,” Bill agreed with a grunt. Poking at the lizard that was running across the railing, he added, “But there's something very wrong that they're not saying.”

“You think someone's sick?” Charlie asked in an undertone.

Bill pursed his lips as he considered. Both men had been old enough to remember their great uncle Bilius' terminal illness. He'd been their dad's favourite uncle and Arthur had been very distressed by his illness and subsequent death. Shrugging, Bill replied, “Dunno. Dad's kind of like he was when Uncle Bilius was sick but there's something else. Like he's done something wrong.”

They sat there in silence as Charlie finished his fag. “Mum's worried,” the dragon handler offered as he Vanished his cigarette butt. “I think it's Percy, but she's also worried about Dad.”

Shaking his head, Bill changed the topic. “What do you think about this new team?”

Charlie grinned. Bill had always known that Charlie had an edge, a side to him that had no problem with violence. The younger man's grin gave truth to that idea. “All we've been doing is rearguard action. I'm ready to start punching the bastards right in the face. Personally, I'm looking forward to it.”

The dead and dying that he'd seen over the last year flashed across Bill's mind. Nodding, he agreed. Had there been a mirror in front of him, he'd have recognized his own expression as matching Charlie's.

“Do you think we'll go back soon?” Bill asked wistfully.

The predatory expression on Charlie's face faded to one of sad understanding. “She's alright, Bill. She's strong.”

Tears welled in the tall redhead's eyes. Nodding he hoped his little brother was right.

.oOo.

Lily stood on the patio, looking out to sea. The shadows from the house fell over her, but the sea was still twinkling with late afternoon sunlight. Sighing to herself, she felt that her standing in shadows while looking out into the light was apropos. It was times like this when she felt so confused and lost that made Lily want to run mad while screaming her head off like a fool.

A piping elfin voice sounded from the master bedroom singing in a tongue that Lily didn't recognize, but the tone was that of a lullaby. Winky must be singing to Robbie, she mused to herself. The elf had been a godsend as an assistant, nursemaid and lady's maid. I'll have to do something for both her and Rauri. She came to us based on his recommendation after all.

Despite her attempts at redirecting her thoughts with consideration of her family's servants, her mind stubbornly returned to the thread which had been weaving in and out of her mind all day. Down on the beach, she saw Hermione's grandparent's strolling along. Bill and Bobbie were welcome semi-permanent guests. At the same time, they - Bobbie really - had an amazing capability to be irritatingly prescient about character flaws.

Bobbie had been right on target the other day. Lily had to admit as such no matter how distasteful the experience. “I hate being wrong,” she breathed.

The chuckle behind her, startled the auburn haired woman. Turning, she saw her husband walking up to her. “Yes, you do,” he agreed.

Being the mature half of their marriage, she stuck her tongue out at him.

He laughed as he gently wrapped his arm about her waist. Taking comfort in his embrace, she leaned back on her beloved. “I love you, James.”

After kissing the crown of her head, he replied, “Love you, too.” They sat there for a long moment before he prodded her, “What's wrong?”

“I hate being wrong. That's the problem,” she grumbled. When he waited in silence, she curled into his embrace. “Bobbie told me off the other day. She said that my duty is here with Robbie and you as a mother and wife supporting the diplomatic front, not on the front lines fighting Death Eaters.”

She could feel her husband tense. He wasn't upset; far from it. Prongs was stifling laughter. “I know. I'm an idiot. Go ahead and laugh,” she groused.

He kissed her again. “I'd never do that, my love.”

Smirking even though he couldn't see it, she countered, “Because you know I'd try a Castration hex on you.”

“Yup.”

They were quiet for a bit as the sun sank past the horizon. The sky over the sea was now dark, but based on the glow over her shoulder, Lily knew that the sky behind her was still bright. Maybe that was the point.

In that moment, Lily Potter accepted her life's dream, but strangely enough, she didn't know that it was her dream. For many years, she thought that being a Charms Mistress or a Potion Mistress was her ambition. Thought she'd never admit it, Lily wanted to be famous, to change how magic was viewed. To be a giant amongst the pillars of magic was her daydream. Now, though, all that seemed very small, petty and…not very important. Now she wanted something very different.

She wanted to love and be loved. She wanted this funny, warm, courageous, loving, flawed man to be at her side every morning for the rest of her life. She wanted Harry to bring his and Hermione's children to her. She wanted Robbie to grow strong and tall like his brother; to find purpose and love in his life. In order to do that, she had to be the best mother and wife she could. Others had to pick up the wand for now.

Overcome by emotion, she had to take a deep breath to get her bearings. Like a living fire, love filled her body. Love for her husband. Love for her children. Love for her friends - family really. While she couldn't put voice to the tumultuous feelings, she could express them in a more basic way. It was a way that said everything while explaining nothing for nothing needed explaining.

Turning in his embrace, Lily wrapped her arms about James' neck. His face had an expression of confused happiness. Before he could ask the question that was growing in his mouth, she pre-empted him.

“I love you with all my heart.”

His eyes flashed in surprised delight. With a gentleness that always made her swoon, he bent his head to kiss her. Pressing but gentle, passionate but modest, insistent but respectful, he claimed her while surrendering himself.

Pulling him close, she gave herself over to him. Once again, Lily fell in love with James.

Darkness overcame the Spanish coastline, but even in the inky black the stars shone brightly.

.oOo.

Hermione held Harry's hand, smiling widely the entire time. He was holding her left hand and when he'd first reached for her, he'd had to twirl her new ring about so it didn't pinch his fingers. Harry'd proposed over six months before, but now it felt real. She was wearing his ring.

Impossibly, her smile widened.

She hustled up the stairs behind Padfoot and Prongs. The Minister had called them all together. James hadn't had any specifics, but the entire family believed that the Ministry in Exile was making its first moves against Voldemort and his illicit grip on their homeland.

Moony and Alex were bringing up the rear behind Neville and Susan. Rounding out the group was William. The Prince was wedged in the middle of the group. There had been a long argument where James had been adamant about William staying behind the impenetrable wards at La Retirada.

In a display of maturity, using the presence that his Grandmother projected, William had stood his ground. With a firm expression he'd drawn himself up to his tallest while stating in a clear voice, “Your Grace, I completely understand, but I am going. It's my country, too.”

James had no answer, so William accompanied the group.

At the top of the stairwell, James and Sirius headed to the left, filing into a conference room. It seemed anticlimactic as the greater family took seats about the table and waited for someone to start the meeting. Hermione and Susan traded looks of resignation.

Finally, Amelia Bones, Hestia Black and Arthur Weasley hustled into the room followed by Bill and Charlie Weasley. Hermione was slightly surprised by the presence of the older Weasley sons, but focused on the Minister as she stood at the head of the table.

“It's time we retake our country. The first steps are taken today.”

Everyone was silent, focused on the petite woman whose presence dominated the room. “Your little sojourn into Wales was a test as far as I was concerned. Not only did you deal with your family issue, but you proved that you can work as a team to get the job done.”

She turned a gimlet eye to Harry and Hermione, “But there will be no freelancing on this mission. Everyone,” she gazed about the room, making eye contact with them all before continuing, “Everyone will follow orders. Lives are at stake. If you can't do that, please leave now.”

Impressed and a bit cowed, Hermione silently looked about the room to see similar expression for the rest of the group.

James spoke up, “Who's in command?”

“Who do you think?” Amelia asked.

Shrugging James held up a hand. Pushing down his first finger, he told the room, “It can't be me. I've got to stay here and do mind numbing important work.” Pushing down another finger, he added, “It can't be Lily, `cause it's her baps feeding the kid.” Waving away the other fingers, he told Amelia, “Harry was in command of the extraction mission for the Granger family.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed Arthur Weasley wince, but ignored it as she focused on the front of the room. “And he was pretty much in command of the Dormred ap Morag mission,” James added. It was unspoken that he felt that his son should be in command of the mission, whatever it was.

Amelia frowned. Turning to Harry, she asked, “This mission revolves about your destiny. May I have permission to give a rough outline of the issue?”

Hermione's jaw clenched. Reaching under the table, she found Harry's hand, squeezing it reassuringly. Just the mention of the prophecy caused her heart to clench. Her fiancé's wordless nod spurred Amelia on to explanation for the Weasleys.

“Tough luck, Harry,” Charlie muttered as the Minister finished her explanation.

“Yeah,” Bill added.

“That is why Harry cannot be in command of the mission,” Amelia concluded.

Hermione frowned. “You're saying that because Harry has a such a special role, he can't be in command of the team. He's to be the specialist while the rest of us fill roles.”

Amelia nodded. “You all will form the team that will insert into Britain. You shall use the pre-existing camp established in Wales for your headquarters. Your mission shall be to kill Lord Voldemort.”

Sirius blinked. “Not much there, eh?”

Hermione ignored her adopted father as she rebutted the Minister's logic. “Then your reasoning why Harry can't be the team lead falls apart. The entire purpose of the team is to kill Voldemort. Every person on the team is there to support Harry in his destiny. By that measure, he should be in command.” Hermione stopped there. She didn't want to insult anyone else in the room.

His face flushed, Neville said what most were thinking but no one wanted to say. “He's the only one I trust to get us out alive.”

Nodding absently, Hermione looked about the room with relief. Moony and Padfoot were both nodding in agreement. Alex's expression screamed, `Why is this a question?'

The next set of faces explained the entire discussion. Charlie and Bill Weasley were exchanging evaluative looks. Charlie seemed to be doubtful of Harry being in command of the mission while Bill merely shrugged in acceptance.

“I'll do the best I can,” Harry began. “You all know me,” he looked about the room. “Some better than others, but to all of you, I pledge myself to you.”

His quiet dignity won the day with the Weasley brothers. Charlie stared at The Boy-Who-Lived for a long moment before nodding decisively.

“That's that, then,” Sirius announced. His entire expression dared Amelia to contradict him. The Minister ignored the newly married Earl as she cast a spell which created a holographic map of the British Isles.

Hermione had a minor epiphany. The entire discussion about Harry's fitness for command of the mission was staged. Every one of them needed to not only be told that the youngest member of the team was in command, but they needed to accept and choose him for their leader. Amelia's `doubt' about Harry being in command forced the group to choose. Leaning over to Susan, she asked, “Was your aunt a Slytherin by any chance?”

“Hufflepuff all the way,” Susan grinned. The strawberry blonde's expression told Hermione that Susan had deduced her aunt's motives as well.

“Professor Dumbledore has confirmed for us what the Auror teams have suspected. Voldemort is using magical beasts and creatures as defences about tactically significant targets.”

On the map of Britain, a series of red dots appeared. “Hogwarts has the most extensive infestation in the Forbidden Forest to include giants, at least one chimera and cold drakes which accompany the pre-existing Acromantula nest and the Centaurs.” Hermione shivered. The combination of those types of creatures created a very difficult situation. All would coexist peaceably, but also form a nearly impenetrable defence in the forest.

Jabbing her finger at the points on the map, the petite redheaded witch rattled off, “Balmoral Castle may have a dragon, the rail station in Leeds has a sphinx, Birmingham steel works are infested with brownies, the docks in Liverpool have a nasty kelpie, Diagon Alley is patrolled by Dementors now and of course, Buckingham palace…,” Amelia's voice tapered off as she gathered her thoughts.

Gesturing to Charlie, she blithely announced, “And now you all see why the youngest Mr Weasley is here.”

“Got your work cut out for you,” Sirius muttered.

“Amen,” Charlie agreed before asking, “Ma'am, I assume there's a detailed listing that I can study?”

Amelia handed him a folder, “You can keep this. It's charmed so that only you can read it.” As Charlie spread the file across the desk and began to study it, the Minister continued.

“The wards, as you can assume, are state of the art. This is why the middle Mr Weasley is here.”

Bill asked, “Are the ward schemas known or will I have to crack them on site? It'll drive my supply list if the wards are unknown.”

Amelia nodded at the pertinent question. “Based on intelligence, for some sites the wards are fairly static. However, for the sites this team will be assaulting, you'll have to assume a rotating schema.

Hermione saw Bill nod his understanding before hesitating. After a moment, he asked, “Do we have time to bring another person on the team?”

Amelia frowned again. “We already have nine people. Who do you want?”

In a neutral voice, Bill said, “I need my assistant from Moody's team. She's nearly as good as I am and for some of these targets,” the tall redhead gestured to the map, “We'll need to be fast and good. I'll need her to do that.”

The Minister pursed her lips before turning to Harry. “Team Leader, it's your call.”

Without hesitation, giving Hermione the idea that Harry was following the discussion very closely indeed, he asked Bill, “Who is this person?”

“Fleur Delacour.”

Everyone save Charlie blinked in surprise; Hermione pleasantly so. She and Fleur had got along fairly well during the tournament. While not as close a friend as Susan, she liked the French born Veela. Hermione turned her attention back to Harry to see him considering the situation.

“I'll need a vow of loyalty from her,” he told the tall man across the table.

Bill frowned a bit, “Then I'll need to do the same.” When Harry looked at him inquisitively, Hermione saw a hint of the Weasley temper flare in Bill's face. “If you don't trust her enough to take her on without a vow, then you'll need one from me as well. I vouch for her.”

Hermione's stomach flip-flopped. Harry was in a tight spot. Either he declared that he didn't trust Fleur - and by extension he didn't trust Bill - or he was going to trust people whom he only knew casually with his life and the lives of those he loved.

Harry looked to his father, trading a look with him. He shifted to his godfather. Last was Remus. Something in Moony's expression helped Harry decide. “No vow. I'm sorry for having brought it up.”

Bill nodded. In a moment of graciousness, he admitted, “You're in a tough spot. No worries here.”

The room was quiet for a bit as they all assimilated the news. One by one, they looked to Amelia. When she had everyone's attention again, Amelia smiled wickedly. “Let's get down to brass tacks, shall we?”

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first twenty-four chapters of Last Casualties. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on fanfiction (dot) net. I update the status on Mondays. Most of the time.

2. The recommendation for this chapter is What Should Have Been by Zabyne. Interesting soul bond story. Check it out.

3. I had a few reviews for chapter 24 that asked about noticeably absent characters (Hagrid and Dobby among others). In Act I of LC, I intentionally slimmed down the cast of characters to the `family'. That was obliquely supported with Harry's continued mantra of “only the family matters” and Remus' observation during the third task about how the family had isolated themselves. It was an intentional action on my part as Act I was about the family healing, reuniting and forging new bonds of love and affection. Hagrid didn't bring anything new to that dynamic that Minerva and Albus didn't bring in the first place; a betrayer to the intention for Harry by James and Lily. Dobby…well, I did him in Partners and Happily Ever After? but he's kind of cliché at this point in HP FF. I really liked Rauri's character and the redemption of Winky is very attractive to me as a character. There's no room for Dobby and Hagrid in this story. Yet.

As you've seen in Act II, I've begun to expand the circle of main characters by adding Amelia Bones, Arthur Weasley, Bill and Charlie Weasley and you'll see more of Fleur Delacour soon. It's really hard to keep this many plot threads running to keep the characters relevant and three dimensional. True, there are lots of side characters (primarily in the ICW) but this many main characters is hard.

Also, in Act III, expect to see everyone's favourite greaseball to make a `stunning' re-introduction.

4. I've been to Hong Kong many times. It still amazes me each visit.

5. So, FF dot net is forcing me to accept anonymous reviews. Fine. Now the cowards are dropping annoying and flaming reviews under the `anonymity' provided by said unsigned review. Cowards. If you dislike my story, stop reading it. If you disagree with some aspect of a character, have the cojones to leave a signed review. It's not like I'm going to track you down and beat you with your review. Losers.

By the way, what's with people reading past the 200k word mark of the story then leaving a review that basically says the story is trash/garbage/steaming pile of crap…you get the drift. What the hell is that? Why spend all the time…whatever.

One last mini rant about reviews: I've received a rash of reviews lately that have left me scratching my head while muttering, “What?” It's amazing what some people can take away from my story(s) that I never wrote. I have to remember that the bias and beliefs these readers bring to the story influence their opinion, but at the same time how does anyone read any of my stories as anti-Ginny? (BTW, ch 7 of H&G explains the end of ch6) or the effect of religion in this story. Astounding some of the hateful, and ludicrous reviews. Whew. All done.

6. Last note…A few people have asked why I'm not posting on Portkey any longer. I've tried to repeatedly, but Chapter 18 never loads completely. I've reported it to the admins (with no reply), so I'm going to try to repost the entire story from scratch. I doubt it'll make a difference but I'll try.

Chapter complete 2/14/13

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26. Chapter26

Chapter 26

“I don't think I've run this much in over a hundred years,” Albus mumbled to himself as he jumped over a fallen tree. The surprisingly nimble old man was currently being chased by a graphorn which was irritatingly resistant to spellfire. Albus had dropped a tree on it a while back, causing it to cry out in pain, but it'd quickly continued its chase of the old man.

Gasping for breath, Dumbledore looked about to find his bearings. Nodding to himself, he headed off to the southeast. Behind him, he heard the two horned mammoth creature tearing through the underbrush. The blood running down the Headmaster's arm testified to the sharpness of the horns.

Trotting down a dry creek bed, he cast another spell on himself that infused his aged muscles with strength and energy. With renewed vigour, Albus ran lithely down the rock strewn terrain. It was the fourth time he'd cast this particular spell in the past few hours and he'd pay for it this evening. The strengthening solution he'd taken after breakfast had worn off hours before, so he'd had to resort to this spell which had more serious aftereffects. In anticipation of a difficult excursion, he'd stocked up on pain relieving and muscle healing potions. He'd need them.

The shrieking roar behind him spurred Albus to sprint again. Ignoring his creaking knees, he ducked under a tilting tree, passed over the lure of a kappa and headed for the trail that he could see at the bend of the streambed.

THUMP

Not needing to look over his shoulder for the old man knew what had just landed behind him, he jumped up the bank and sprinted to his destination. Now he heard the pounding of feet behind him as it gained on him. Smiling grimly, he focused on the hanging rope that he'd conjured earlier in the morning. It was hanging over the path a hundred yards ahead tantalizingly close while still far enough away to seem to be a mirage. It was suspended from a tree branch where the path he was on ended in a large clearing near the middle of the forest.

“Faster, damn you,” he muttered to himself. It could very well be his imagination, but Albus was nearly sure that he could smell the breath of the graphorn. It was a rather unpleasant experience for many reasons.

Horns ripped through his jacket, nearly bowling him over. Arms wind milling, the old man ran as fast as his magically enhanced muscles would move. Another swipe from the horned beast missed, but he could feel the wind ruffle his jacket and trousers. Finally righting himself, he dove for the enchanted rope.

Just as he closed his hands about the rope enchanted as a portkey, he saw the two giants that'd made the clearing their lair stir and turn at the noise caused by the approaching wizard and purplish grey horned creature. The huge male giant grabbed his club while the female crouched in a defensive position, a crude knife held in front of her.

The jerk behind Albus' navel coincided with the two tone roar of the graphorn as it realized that while it missed its prey, it'd found something new. Two something's new.

While the magical vortex dragged the aged headmaster back to the room he'd rented at the Bonnie Prince Tearlach inn outside Inverness, Albus allowed himself to relax a bit. The forest was far more infested with dangerous creatures than he'd imagined. Setting the graphorn amongst the giants had been one of many efforts that he'd attempted to clear out the more dangerous creatures. Killing the chimera had almost destroyed the elder Dumbledore brother, but in the end, he was victorious.

The portkey deposited him in room 101 of the Bonnie Prince and it was a sign of the old man's tiredness and injuries that he stumbled upon arrival. Leaning heavily on the shrunken and magically reinforced boxes next to the bed, he chuckled to himself. I had to harvest the parts of the chimera. Patting the boxes, he added, I wouldn't be the academic that I am if I didn't.

Groaning as he gingerly shed the remains of his coat before peeling off his shirt, Albus took stock of his situation. He had enough money and potions to continue his efforts for a further three months. Culling the beasts was important, but was it the best use of his time?

A sad expression fell over his face. Rubbing his still short beard, Albus muttered, “First things first.”

His eyes narrowed as he considered the battle in the forest that was most likely still on going. Two giants and a graphorn would most likely destroy each other in a death match, which was his intent. He'd done his best to rile the huge beast before luring it to the giants' lair. Wincing as he applied disinfectant to his bloody arm, Albus muttered, “I'll check on the results tomorrow.”

His Energy spell wore off, leaving the old man weaving on his feet. Stumbling to the bed, Albus amended, “Maybe the day after next.” Before he passed out from magical and physical exhaustion, he slapped a patch on his arm that had skin knitting potion infused in the cotton. With the last of his energy, he downed his potions before flopping back on his bed, insensate for the next forty hours.

.oOo.

Once again, Hermione pored over supplies list. Reviewing her notes from before their previous incursion into Britain, she mentally added a few items while subtracting others. Need at least one more tent, maybe two. Food for three more…how long? Four months should be good. A noise at the door made her look up. Harry was leaning on the door jamb, smiling at her.

Warmth suffused her, causing a broad smile to break out on her face. Had she the time to think about it, Hermione would have realized that her entire expression lit up when Harry looked at her that way. Her ring seemed very prominent on her finger just then. “Hey,” she murmured.

“Hey,” he replied softly. Still they gazed at each other. Hermione wasn't usually a mushy girl, but lately, she'd been scribbling `Hermione Potter' on corners of parchment or drifting off while thinking about her fiancé. Usually, she'd end up hunting down the green eyed wizard to have her way with him.

“Oi, break it up lovebirds. You'd think that you were the newlyweds in the house, not me and Hestia,” Sirius snarked as he looked over Harry's shoulder. “Come on Padlet, we're meeting the Weasley brothers to go over their requirements for the mission.”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione gathered her notes into a valise. “Sirius, the `Padlet' nickname was cute the first dozen times. Now, it's annoying.”

Padfoot pouted, “Don't you love me anymore?”

Shaking her head at her adopted father's amusing foolishness, she reached for Harry's hand as they moved to the patio to Apparate to the Ministry building.

Hermione groaned as she appeared in the Apparition zone for the Ministry in Exile. While the mechanics for the teleportation magic were straightforward and simple to master, she always found the sensation of Apparition to be disturbing at the least. Shrugging off the feeling, she followed Harry up a flight of steps to the first floor where they found Bill Weasley ensconced in a small conference room, surrounded by books.

Hermione's interest peaked as she saw the titles of the dusty old books scattered about. Hefting Warding Palaces and Prisons, she opened it to the table of contents as she commented, “I've always thought that warding and enchanting were the pinnacles of magical artistry and science.” Looking at Bill, she saw that he wore a reserved but agreeing expression. Returning to the book, she added, “The weaving of charms, runes and other spellwork for both disciplines can be brutish or incredibly delicate.” Shaking her head, The Smartest Witch of the Age finished, “Artwork with a scientific approach. Sometimes, warding and enchanting can be wondrous creations.”

“I'm impressed,” Bill murmured. “That attitude is rare outside my profession and, I suppose, the enchanting guild. Not many see ward crafting and breaking in that light.”

She shrugged off the compliment as Sirius asked, “Do you have a supplies list?”

Bill exhaled loudly as he leaned back in his chair. Gesturing to a parchment covered in writing, the lanky redhead grouched, “Without knowing what we're facing, I could never stop making a list. What I've got here are the basics that cover tearing down basic to intermediate level wards. For the really complicated protections that'll be around You-Know-Who…,” he shook his head. “I'll have to take a peek at what I'm facing before calling back here for specific supplies.”

Hermione saw Sirius frown. “You do know that `calling back here for supplies' isn't really an option. There isn't a storehouse here that has supplies that can be drawn. You and I will take that,” Padfoot gestured to the list, “and go purchase it. If you need more, now is the time to speak up.”

At that point the door opened, admitting Hestia. Her frowning face brightened when she saw Sirius in the room. “Sirius!” she greeted him. Moving to his side, she gave him a kiss before turning to Hermione and Harry. “Hey you two, how're things?”

Harry nodded to her while smiling, “Alright. You?”

Wrapping her arm about Sirius' shoulders, the beaming blonde replied, “Smashing.”

Hermione smiled at the cuteness of the couple. She'd come to value Hestia - warts and all. Hestia was broken in her own way, but it was in a way that fit with Sirius' issues and as such, they complemented each other. So long as they were happy, Hermione didn't complain.

Sirius leaned into his wife's ear as Harry rounded the table to look at Bill's list. “What's wrong?” Padfoot asked.

Hestia's smile melted back to the frown she'd been wearing when she entered the room. “Oh, someone was just being a better obstacle than helper.”

Hermione frowned, “How?”

Hestia shook her head, “He's just been pretty useless lately and trying to get his head in his job has been a fulltime effort that I don't have time to do.”

Pulling his wife into his lap, Sirius asked, “Who?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw both Harry and Bill paying attention. Hestia glanced at the younger men before demurring, “It doesn't matter.”

The long, awkward silence was dispelled as Bill cleared his throat. “Charlie is up in Romania at Fields of Fire to see what he can scrounge for his `animal control' role.” Hermione smiled at the jibe as Bill continued, “But Mum wanted to invite everyone over for dinner this evening.”

Sirius nodded for them all, “Sure. I don't know if Lily will be up to coming out; she had a baby two weeks ago. I'll ask.”

Bill smiled, “Great. Now about this list,” he murmured while rounding the table to confer with Sirius.

Hermione caught Harry's eye to see him quietly contemplative. Dinner at the Weasleys' meant dinner with Ron. Things hadn't ended well with their onetime good friend. “You alright?” she asked her fiancé.

Pursing his lips, Harry shook his head. “Not really. Thinking about Ron and Ginny. The twins, too.”

She frowned. Ever since the Goblet of Fire proclaimed Harry to be a Champion, relations with the Weasleys' oscillated from bad to worse back to neutral. Ron had been particularly nasty in the aftermath, though. “I don't remember anything too bad with Ginny and the twins.”

Harry shook his head in agreement, “Neither do I. Ginny was a bit bitchy when you and I first starting dating, but I think she was just supporting Ron. The twins seemed to be good friends up `til the Third Task.”

The Third Task…when everything fell apart and the world began to burn.

“And Ron?” she asked lightly, her tone belying her feelings. Their friend had been a sore spot for many months. Harry's sense of betrayal by Ron had been strong during the Tournament. Hermione, on the other hand had a decided opinion about their old friend, it'd just been unvoiced until now.

Harry's mouth moved a few times as his expression showed he was searching for the right words. “The last time I really talked to him was that time in the library back at school.” She nodded to herself. From the stacks she'd heard Harry ream their former friend.

“I was pretty harsh with him,” Harry admitted while rubbing his neck in embarrassment.

Hermione knew that her expression was harsh by his reaction when she asked, “Did he deserve it?”

Shrugging, Harry demurred, “I was pretty brassed off at him, but…,” his unspoken But I went too far didn't impress the brunette witch.

Trying to be generous, she brusquely told him, “You do what you have to do. I'm not feeling very charitable.” Glancing over to Sirius and Bill and the now departing Hestia, Hermione gave the blonde witch a short wave. Seeing that Bill and Sirius were still deep in discussion, she told Harry, “Ron hurt you. Betrayed you. I don't like that and I don't want to be around people like that. I don't want people around you who are like that.” Resettling in her seat, she declared, “I'm a bit protective of you.”

His smirk irritated her. “What?”

“Now you know how I feel about your parents,” he snarked.

Unable to form an intelligent response, she gave an artless shrug which told volumes.

From the other end of the table, Sirius announced, “We'll see you lot later. Bill and I have to get our act together. We've some shopping to do.”

.oOo.

“I need to do this, Grandmother,” William insisted in an undertone as he studied the tops of his shoes.

“I forbid it, William.” The dirty blond haired young man flinched at the cold, final decree. This wasn't his Grannie with whom he was speaking, but rather it was Elizabeth, Queen of all Britons and his Sovereign. His family was odd in that they would easily slip from role to role with each other. Sometimes they were grandmother and grandson, other times the Queen would be speaking to her Crown Prince. To outsiders it would surely be odd, but he'd long ago accepted it. Taking a deep breath, he remembered Harry.

Harry was his friend, but also his hero. Billy'd never tell Harry as such, but The Boy-Who-Lived's commitment, dedication, perseverance and zeal to bring down the pretender government and its head was incredibly inspiring. If Harry could stand up to his parents, his uncles and even Hermione from time to time in his pursuit of what he felt to be right, so too could William.

Turning his face to his Queen, he saw that her face was set and hard but there was an undercurrent that he could easily read. She was terrified. Nodding to himself, he admitted that he could understand her position.

“You're afraid that I'll be killed. That your entire family will be exterminated.”

She blinked at his matter of fact tone before nodding. The hesitation in the movement gave the young man hope that she was beginning to relent from her position. “From my earliest memory, I've been taught to be of service to all Britons. I was taught and told that one day I'd be King with all the attendant duties and responsibilities.” Pausing as he remembered his now dead parents, Billy swallowed a sob. His parents had their issues but in the end, they were his Mum and Dad and they were dead.

Her composure regained from the momentary lapse, Eilizabeth rebutted, “That does not mean that you must recklessly thrust yourself into danger. If you are killed, who then will succeed to the throne? What of your duty?” Her eyes flashed in fear and anger. He'd ever challenged her on anything, but then again, he'd never felt as strongly about anything before this. His mother's face rose before him. Despite her faults, she cared passionately about those whose lot in life was a short straw indeed. As a young boy, he'd followed her into the AIDS wards where the living dead were heartened just for a moment by the presence of the beautiful princess whom all Britons loved.

Shoving his grief to the side, he readdressed his Queen, “Your Majesty, I feel that I must do this. I have a duty not only to the mission but to these people. Are they not Britons? Do they not deserve the succour of the Crown? Sir Harry has a standing in magical society that carries fame and fortune with it, as does Lord Blackmoor. However, I'm the legitimate political leader who can stand firm in front of these people who've been so long oppressed.” Unbeknownst to him, his voice swelled with passion, “I'm the person who can lawfully guarantee those poor souls their due. I can stand in front of them,” he waved his hand in a gesture to encompass the unseen gathering, “and promise them their rights.”

William was surprised to see his Grandmother regarding him with a wistful smile and a tear in the corner of her eye. Reaching for his hands, she whispered, “Kneel before Us, William, Prince of Wales.”

Moved by her emotion and the intensity of the moment, he knelt before her. He wanted so badly to be strong; to show his grandmother that he was resilient enough to earn her trust. The emotion was too thick, though, to be denied. Silently, tears began to track down his cheeks. He was frightened. He was consumed by grief for the loss of his family. He was afraid of losing his beloved grandmother. He was young enough to be excited about the adventure in front of him. All this and more swirled in the vortex of his heart.

Laying his head in her lap, he accepted her kiss on the crown of his head as his tears wet her skirt. He barely heard her whisper, “I name thee Sir William, Knight Grand Commander of the Bath. Go forth on your mission, Sir William with the certitude of the Crown's support.” Raising his face to hers with a gentle tug, he wasn't surprised to see that she was weeping as he was.

“Go forth with certitude of the Crown's blessing and love.” Leaning forward, she kissed his forehead before whispering, “I've never been more proud of you William. I love you.”

.oOo.

“Moony, you got a minute?”

Remus looked up to see James standing in the doorway, a pensive expression on his face. Gesturing to a spare chair in his office, he replied, “For you Prongs, always.”

James smirked, “But you'd tell Padfoot…?”

“To fuck himself.”

The old friends chuckled before James sobered. “I need you to do something.”

Taken aback by the gravity of Prongs' expression and tone, Remus reassured his old friend, “Anything. Just ask.”

Staring out the window, it was evident that James' mind was hundreds of miles away. In a cottage in Godric's Hollow. On a plain in Wiltshire. In the outskirts of Hogsmeade. In a dark corner of Diagon Alley. In a graveyard near Little Hangleton.

His mind was all the places where James had fought the villain who called himself Lord Voldemort.

Remus had been expecting this discussion, knowing James as he did. His friend was a warrior, but he'd also been trained to do his duty. For too many years, he'd ignored his duty. After Charlus and Dorea died, Remus knew that James had done a lot of soul searching. Prongs' admission to Harry so long ago that he knew that he'd been a bully during their school years confirmed his supposition. James had executed an incredible turnaround in character during sixth year that could only be the result of the upheaval in his life instigated by the death of his beloved parents. He began to reach beyond himself, to care about others not only for how they related to him, but for their intrinsic worth. Knowing all this about his friend, he fired his first pre-planned salvo, “Harry's going to win. He'll come home safely.”

James' face turned to his lycanthropic friend with a grave expression. “I pray that you're right.”

With quiet assuredness, Remus continued his plan by telling his friend, “I am, James. Harry will be fine. We'll all be fine.”

“I love you, Moony. You and Padfoot have a place in my heart that few can ever approach, but you're either an idiot or a terrible liar.”

Grimacing, Remus waited. He'd hoped that platitudes would reassure his old friend. Sometimes James was a worrywart who needed his friends and family to tell him that all would be well so that he could move on with life. Obviously, this wasn't one of those times. Prongs was genuinely worried about his family. With his plan derailed, Moony waited.

“This team is going to seek out and engage the deadliest Dark Lord since Shinobu Tsukasa in the sixth century.” Shaking his head slowly, he continued, “And Harry is going to do whatever he has to do to plant Voldemort six feet under, even if it costs him his life.” Now James' eyes narrowed, “And once again, I'll not be there with him.”

Remus thought he heard the click his friend's eyes as they focused on him. “You have to be there in my stead. You have to bring my son home.” The stiffness in James' back sagged as he seemed to fold in on himself, mirroring his emotional state. Usually, James was a pillar of strength, but certain areas in his life - his family most often - were where he was vulnerable. Holding his head in his hands, Prongs murmured, “I've failed him too often.”

Now Remus understood what James wanted. This wasn't worrying or the expected concern of a parent for their child in an extremely dangerous situation. This was the weight of Prophecy. Everyone thought of Harry and to a lesser extent, Hermione, when considering the prophecy of Sybill Trelawney. However, both James and Lily alongside Voldemort played a part in the fulfilment of Destiny. Not only was James tied to his son through the loving bonds of parenthood, family and affection, but through the cold, iron bindings of prophecy. There was nothing that Moony could say beyond, “I'll do whatever I can to bring him back to you, James.”

It was a long moment before the whisper could be heard. “Thank you, Moony.”

.oOo.

It was late in the afternoon when Bill and Sirius returned to the conference room in the Ministry that they'd appropriated for their use. Sirius stacked the small chest of blank dragon bone plates in the corner, placing a bag of goofa dust on top of it. Rummaging through his pockets, he withdrew shrunken vials of phoenix tears, mermaid tears and freely donated unicorn blood. Together, the three vials had cost close to ten thousand galleons. The magically shrunken cask of dragon's blood was slightly smaller than a normal drinking goblet, but held nearly five hundred gallons of the powerful, viscous fluid.

Stretching, Sirius watched Bill unload his booty before the lanky young man turned to a trunk. After levitating the standard Hogwarts trunk to the table, Bill rubbed his chin while he muttered to himself under his breath.

Rolling his eyes at Bill's preoccupation, Sirius asked, “What's up with the trunk?”

“I need a place to store all this stuff so it's portable, protected and easy to access.”

“So a few Space Expansion charms and we're off to your Mum's for dinner. What's the problem?” Sirius snarked. He was hungry and really wanted to eat. Molly Weasley wasn't his favourite witch in the world, but he'd heard that she could cook up a storm.

Bill glanced at his dark haired companion, “Fleur's much better at this. She's excellent at delicate wandwork, where I'm better at the intricate and long incantation spells.” Sirius rolled his eyes. On and off the whole day, the tall man had mentioned the Frenchwoman with more than a passing fancy. It was obvious that Bill was in love, but Padfoot didn't have time or inclination to indulge the other man. There was a war on and even though the eldest son of Arthur had worked the system to get his girlfriend assigned to their team, Sirius had other things on his mind. Hestia, for one thing was on his mind.

Smiling at his own hypocrisy, Padfoot clapped the taller man on the shoulder. “Let's get…”

They were interrupted as the door to the conference room opened to reveal a bright eyed, scarred blonde whom Sirius recognized immediately. The way her eyes were focused on Bill, Sirius doubted that she even noted his presence.

“Fleur…” Bill whispered.

She didn't reply with words, but flowed into her lover's arms. Their passionate kiss was Sirius' cue to leave. Sighing to himself as he skirted the table, he chastised himself for his earlier attitude. He'd found love with Hestia. Moony and Alex were a heartbeat from marriage. Harry and Hermione, Neville and Susan…they'd all found that one person who made them complete. Who was he to denigrate Bill, even if he'd been a bit annoying in his moping? Smiling to himself, he closed the door behind him as he heard both lovers weeping in joy and relief.

.oOo.

“Look for me by the moonlight… Watch for me by the moonlight…I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way,” Alex murmured under her breath.

Gently adjusting her godson on her shoulder, she kissed the baby on his shell-like ear. Robbie was an island of hope and love in the midst of fear, horror and war. Across from her, Remus napped on the couch, his face relaxed as a small smile curled his lips. Her eyes teared as she recalled how gentle and loving Remus was with his godson. He'd been singing half-forgotten songs with such quiet sincerity that the new-born babe was compelled to pay attention to the man who held him.

Remus was going to be an excellent father, she decided. Seeing him with the baby had let fall the last barrier in her heart allowing Alex to admit that she loved this man with all her heart, all her soul and she desired no other. As Remus sang an old Irish ballad of days long lost with troubles deeply held, Alex gave herself over to her man in all ways. They weren't married and may never legally be allowed to do so, but in her heart, she became his wife in that moment.

Cuddling the babe to her chest as he snuckled and snorted, Alex sighed. Love, life and family. What more could a person want? Her dreams of a department chair at the hospital were ash and rightly so given what she'd seen and done. There were men dead at her hand. She'd been patching up those who'd delivered death to their fellow men while condoning that behaviour. In the face of the nightmare of war, her petty ambitions paled to insignificance. Love was all that remained that claimed the title of `worth'.

“You're so warm, lad,” she murmured to the baby. Gently squeezing Robbie to her chest as a sigil of purest love, she allowed the feeling to overwhelm her. When they'd gone to Wales, a part of her had said goodbye to the mortal coil. She knew full well that they could've been caught and executed by the ascendant Voldemort regime. After escaping, they were now returning to the trap causing a part of her to scream in rebellion.

Looking across the room to her love, she railed against the idea of losing him. Feeling the babe in her arms, she refused to die before delivering their yet unborn child; the child not yet conceived that she was now determined to bring into this world. Watching the sandy haired man across from her, she amended her thought, Our child. Remus and my child. Suddenly, there wasn't anything more important in the world for Alex to do than to love and be loved.

Closing her eyes, she took a long cleansing breath. She knew that she could be melodramatic. Alex smiled sadly to herself in remembrance of long nights of suffering after Remus had left her. True, she'd suffered as any other woman would have suffered, but she also had to admit that she could sometimes be a bit of a drama queen, blowing situations out of proportion.

Shoving the weightier considerations to the side, Alex sat back in the chair. Holding little Robert Justin Potter, the blonde healer loosed her hold on active thought, drifting in her memories. Searching for none, but communing with all, she sat in the experience of her life. As the smile curled the edges of her mouth, she couldn't help but think that despite the trials and tribulations, her life was good.

Her godson's blanket tossed over the two of them warded off the chill as Lily got out of the house for the first time since Robert's birth. Alex had noticed that her friend was getting a bit stir crazy so she'd volunteered herself and Remus for minding duty. He was still a bit peaky from the full moon and she wanted some quiet time for herself. Even William had gone to the Weasley feast, leaving the two of them alone in the house with only the house elfs about.

Remus woke with a yawn before scrubbing his face with his hands. Blinking, he asked, “How's he doing?”

“Fine,” she smiled. “He's been out like a light.”

In the twilight, Remus squinted at the clock. “Lily should be back soon. She didn't want to be gone for too long.” Standing, he stretched before shuffling to Alex's side. Alex couldn't help her smile as Remus tucked his large forefinger into Robbie's chubby fist. “Hey, little man,” he whispered.

.oOo.

Susan Bones did not like Ron Weasley.

The twins were alright, but sometimes their pranking had too vicious an edge to it that she didn't like. Ginny was a non-entity aside from her general reputation throughout school that she was…'enamoured' was a soft word for her fascination with Harry. “While I think that Harry is quite handsome,” Susan had told Hermione when discussing the topic while dressing earlier, “It's a bit creepy how she's always blushing and paling around him. I mean really. Grow up.” With a wicked smiled, she reassured her frowning friend, “Don't worry, I'm very happy with my Nev.”

Hermione shook off the implication that Susan would try to poach Harry as she countered, “Ginny hasn't been like that since first or second year, has she?”

Shrugging, Susan replied, “Maybe not as bad, but the whole school knows that she's stupid over Harry.”

Ignoring the possible teenaged fantasies of a girl she barely knew, Susan followed the family to the door of the Weasleys' temporary residence in Spain. Harry and Neville were joking about in front of her and Hermione, causing both young women to smile. Both their beaus had been far too serious for far too long.

“How's Harry doing with the whole `leadership' thing?” Susan asked Hermione in an undertone. She knew that no matter how confident The Boy-Who-Lived was, it had to be a bit intimidating to face the prospect of ordering adults about while executing an undercover special operations insertion with the goal of killing the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries..

“Pretty good, actually,” Hermione replied. “His Dad pulled him to the side the other day, laying out some truths.” Susan's expression must've shown her confusion and curiosity. “He told Harry that just because he was in charge, it didn't mean that he didn't need to listen to advice from people more experienced than him. I have to agree, by taking the experience of the older members of the team it'll increase our chances of success.” Hermione smiled, “And James told him that he'd learned from hard won experience that `please' and `thank you' were a vital necessity in this situation.”

Susan chuckled. Harry had told her and Neville about his father's chequered past. `please' and `thank you' were most likely very foreign to a teenaged James Potter.

The door opened in response to James' knock revealing a beaming Molly Weasley. “Welcome! Welcome everyone.” Motioning to the crowd, she greeted, “Come in, dinner will be ready shortly.”

Following the herd through the door, Susan nearly stopped and stared at the older redheaded witch. She'd never met the Weasley matriarch, but was still shocked at her appearance. Her face was drawn with dark circles under her eyes. Clothes that'd been tailored for a fairly plump woman hung off her thin shoulders like sails. Remembering her manners, she nodded to the other woman as she passed her into the house. “Thank you for the invitation,” Susan greeted as she passed the older woman.

“You're very welcome here, Susan. Make yourself comfortable in the lounge.”

Nodding, Susan followed Hermione and the boys to the sound of voices near the back of the house. Entering the room, he heard Hermione exclaim, “Fleur!” before her friend hustled across the room to embrace the newcomer.

.oOo.

Bill hadn't been this angry since he was thirteen and his mother grounded him for the entire summer before his fourth year for `inappropriate discussions' with Grace Floworth down the lane. As the Potter entourage came in the house, he directed his glare at the floor when moments before it'd been focused on his mother.

Wrapping his arms more tightly about his lover's waist, he pulled her back against his chest. He felt more than heard her sigh of relief at the tight embrace in which he held her. “Sorry,” he whispered into his paramour's ear.

“Eet's not your fault, love,” she replied.

Squeezing Fleur in acknowledgement, he told her, “I'll talk to her when we get some time alone. I've always known that she was opinionated, but she's just being rude to you.”

There was a miniscule pause before the witch in his arms asked, “Ees eet because I'm Veela?”

He smiled, “More likely because you're French.”

She chuckled throatily. “That ees much easier to deal with.” She wiggled back into his embrace, purring in contentment.

Bill swallowed back his instinctive reaction to pin her to a wall, taking her right then. The easy give and take, the casual intimacy that existed between them was incredibly arousing for him. Many adults say that women are aroused by emotional stimuli where men are aroused by visual stimuli. Bill was firmly convinced that the nature of his relationship with Fleur - utter lack of pretence with a willing vulnerability that was astounding - made him want his other half in a very carnal way thereby turning the stereotype on its head.

“Tonight, my love,” she whispered.

Chuckling into her hair, he gently kissed her head.

“Fleur!” a voice exclaimed. Looking up, he saw Hermione rushing across the room, obviously to embrace his girlfriend. Quickly disentangling himself from Fleur lest he be squeezed unmercifully, Bill smiled to see the two witches hug.

“Bill,” Harry greeted him with a handshake.

“Hey, Harry. Neville, Billy,” he nodded to the sandy haired wizard and the Prince who stood behind Harry and to the witch standing next to him, “Hey Susan.”

“How are you?” Hermione asked Fleur as she stepped back from Bill's better half. He was gratified that Hermione didn't seem to be staring at Fleur's injury. While his girlfriend wasn't very vain, she didn't like people staring at her for any reason.

“I am glad to be here,” Fleur replied with a glance over her shoulder at Bill. His smile at her was returned full force.

Hermione hooked her arm in Fleur's, steering her away from the men, “So, when did you and Bill happen?”

A shuffling sound announced the entrance of Fred and George. The twins greeted the visitors with half-hearted smiles which were returned with quizzical expressions. Bill frowned. There was something very wrong with the twins and he'd no idea what it was. Talking with Charlie, his younger brother thought that the family pranksters were angry, but Bill was at a loss as to the targets of their wrath asides from a general hatred of Voldemort. The crowd began to murmur and chat as Susan Bones asked him about how he got into the curse breaking profession.

The crowd began to hum with a myriad of conversations. The Prince attached himself to Bill and Susan's conversation as Bill saw Ginny quietly sidle into the room. She struck up a conversation with Neville about something or the other as Bill began to explain the apprenticeship process in the Cursebreaking Guild.

There was a pause in the other conversations, causing Bill to look up. Ron stood in the doorway, his expression neutral as he surveyed the visitors. Bill knew that his youngest brother had had a falling out with the Potter contingent, but based on the carefully neutral faces in the room, it must've been far worse than he imagined. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to Susan and the Prince. Ron was a big boy who had to clean up his own messes.

.oOo.

“So, how is your little one, Lily?” Molly asked. “I was hoping to see him tonight.”

Lily watched the older witch, seeing a trace of wistfulness passing across her lined face. The time displaced woman hoped that her pity didn't show on her face, but Lily felt incredibly sorry for Molly. To lose a son…she shuddered at the thought. When they were freshly returned to the timestream, she and James had thought Harry lost. That wasn't really true, though. They feared that he was lost and it'd only lasted for a few very long hours.

Looking at Molly, Lily wondered if knowing that Percy was dead would be better than fearing he was dead. Both are horrific options, she decided.

“We thought that Robbie should stay home tonight. Remus and Alex are watching over him. She smiled, “We're giving his godparents some uninterrupted time with their godson.” Sirius took the platter that Molly handed him, heading over to the table. Lily poked him as he walked past, “No sampling.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sirius grumbled.

James and Arthur were awkwardly chatting in the corner of the kitchen while Hestia set the table. “It's not the Burrow,” Molly observed sadly, “but it's home for now.”

Swallowing the urge to ask, How are you dealing with the loss of your home? Or worse yet How are you dealing with the loss of your son? Lily settled for nodding sadly.

“So it seems that Bill has found a special lady,” Lily observed. Changing the topic to anything safe was her goal. Unfortunately, she wasn't successful.

Scowling, Molly shot over her shoulder, “I wish that Bill had chosen a more proper type of lady.”

Frowning, Lily couldn't help herself. “What's wrong with Miss Delacour? Harry and Hermione like her and she comes from a good family.”

There was a hesitation in the other redheaded witch before Molly replied, “I'm sure that Bill could've found a suitable English witch just the same.”

Rolling her eyes, Lily moved to the window. She'd never understood the old English/French prejudices. True, the countries had warred on and off for over seven hundred years, but still…

Ignoring Molly Weasley's silly bigotry, Lily brightly praised, “The food smells delicious, Molly. I don't know when I've been this hungry just from the smells of dinner.

Smiling wanly, the mother of seven nodded. Inside, Lily groaned. Nothing is going right tonight.

.oOo.

Hermione turned to see Ron standing in the doorway to the parlour, an expression of wary neutrality on his face. Swallowing her immediate ire, Hermione shifted slightly to take Harry's hand. Reassured at the slight squeeze that he gave her, she waited. Based on the discussion she and he'd had earlier, it seemed that Harry was more disposed to mending fences with their one time friend - to a degree. There's no way Harry will let Ron all the way back into his heart. He's been hurt too deeply and despite his huge heart, Harry isn't likely to offer all-encompassing forgiveness. He's learned his parents' lesson of betrayal too well.

“Hey Ron,” Harry offered in a friendly tone. “How've you been?”

The tall redhead slowly moved in their direction as conversation resumed in the room. Shrugging, Ron replied, “Good enough; better than some, worse than others.”

Hermione blinked at the mature measured response. Who are you and what've you done with Ron Weasley? she muttered to herself.

Harry half turned to William as he introduced him, “Billy, this is an old friend, Ron Weasley. Ron, this is Billy.”

Ron frowned at the lack of surname in the introduction, but extended his hand nonetheless. William had been insistent upon not being introduced as the Prince of Wales. Everyone wanted to have a nice, normal night and the mix of politics and titles would most likely throw things into a tizzy. While Arthur would immediately know who the young Prince was along with James' elevation to the Dukedom of Shrewsbury, the Potter contingent didn't want that to be the focus of the meeting. Tonight was about family, friends and a last send off before the last dive into the fire.

After the introductions, an awkward silence fell over the group of teens. Harry had extended the hand of friendship, limited though it was, but now it was up to Ron to take the next step. Based on the tall redhead's expression, the brunette witch couldn't tell if Ron either didn't know how to proceed or was unwilling to do so. From Hermione's side, an unexpected source piped up, “Do you know when you'll be heading back to Britain?” asked Ginny Weasley.

Hermione regarded Ginny closely. The young woman's face was lacking in that desperate crush that'd been so debilitating earlier in their teen years. Now, she had a calm expression with hints of fear. Fear for her brothers and possibly her old friends. Regardless of when, the what was well known to all: they were returning home with violence in store.

“We're not sure, yet,” Hermione replied for Harry. “We're in the middle of preparations and supply purchases. When that's done, we'll be ready to go.” While all present were supposed to be friends, it would be stupid to announce a timeline for the operation. After all, Peter Pettigrew had been best friends with James Potter.

Nodding, Ginny chewed her lip. “Oh. Well, I hope it all works out.” She glanced about the room, “I hope everyone who goes comes back.”

“So do I,” Hermione breathed in agreement. Squeezing Harry's hand tighter, they all drifted to silence as each of the young people contemplated the prospects of the immediate future.

.oOo.

Harry leaned into Hermione as everyone moved to the magically expanded dining room, “Is it just me or is Ginny acting…?”

“Normal?” she supplied.

“Yeah.”

Shrugging, Hermione offered, “Maybe she's just grown up. Susan and I were talking about it earlier.”

“it's kind of nice,” Harry mused. “All that blushing and squeaking got on my nerves.”

Hermione smiled. She'd no problems with Ginny. Her crush seemed to have faded and Hermione couldn't hold a crush against anyone. Wrapping her arm in Harry's she broadcast to the room, He's mine.

Looking about, Hermione steered Harry toward the middle of the table of fifteen. Ginny on Harry's other side, Hermione got Fleur on her opposite side with Ron at the far end of the table next to his mother.

Frowning, Hermione wondered what their old friend was playing at. Was he so indifferent to their situation or was he holding back out of fear and guilt? Shaking her head, she saw Harry watching her.

“Ron?” he asked sotto voce.

Her resigned and frustrated nod told all.

Harry frowned into his plate. “I don't know. I tried, right?” he looked to her for her evaluation. Hermione nodded in concurrence, knowing that he wanted the truth, not a sugar coated lie. She felt that Harry had extended the hand of friendship - or at least acquaintance - to their old friend but Ron had let it fall without comment.

“Do you want him back in your life?” came the soft question from her left. Turning to see the clear blue eyes of Fleur watching her carefully.

Hermione considered before replying quietly, “I'm not the right person to ask that question.”

Fleur's focus switched to Harry, reiterating the question without asking. He took a long breath before replying so only Hermione and Fleur could hear, “I'm not opposed to it, but I'm not bursting with eagerness, either.”

“Then let him make his decision. If the answer is no, can you accept that?”

Hermione was suspiciously quiet. She knew that Harry was fully aware of her opinion. Ron Weasley could fall off the end of the world and she'd not cry too much over it.

Harry nodded, looking over to his right as he signalled the end of the discussion.

Looking over the table, Hermione saw a distinct lack of something. Narrowing her eyes, she tried to identify what was missing. It was Sirius that gave her the clue. Usually, her adoptive father was gregarious and loud at mealtime. His barbs flew alongside guffaws and groans. James was of the same type while Lily and Hestia were more sedate, but still outgoing. Tonight all the adults were quiet while the young adults were unconsciously following their lead. Something was wrong and all knew it.

Looking to the foot of the table, Molly Weasley's expression told the tale. Her usually ebullient expression was closed and shuttered. Pain radiated past her mask of welcome and friendliness. Her son was missing and probably dead. Glancing at Arthur, Hermione saw the same pain and reserve on the balding man's face. This was a house in unacknowledged grief. There was no event, no body and no casket, but the house was suffused in pain and anguish.

“So, Lily, tell us about your plans?” Arthur asked in the stilted silence surrounding the table. “When are you planning to return to work?”

Hermione watched Lily intently so she didn't have to meet any of the Weasleys eyes. Things were just wrong and it was very uncomfortable. “Well,” Lily replied as she spooned up vegetables for herself before passing it on, “Robbie is sleeping well and growing like gangbusters, so I'll probably be back to the ICW in a part time role next month. A month or so after that, I'll be full time.”

Molly smiled wistfully, “I remember that Percy was a very quiet baby. Bill wouldn't sleep through the night for love or money while Charlie scared us all with a fit of stomach problems. Percy…he was a good…,” she trailed off as tears sprang to her eyes. Shaking her head, the distraught mother tried to clear her mind, but to no avail. With a muted sob, Molly rushed from the room.

The silence stretched for a moment until Arthur stood. “Please, continue with your meal. I'll just check on Molly.”

With a stone in her stomach, Hermione looked at her plate without the hint of hunger. Glancing about, she saw Ginny near tears. Giving Harry a gentle elbow to slide back, the brunette witch reached over to take her friend's hand.

Ginny blindly gave Hermione a squeeze before wetly murmuring, “Thanks.”

“Of course. Can I help?” Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Sirius begin to tell a story of the Marauders in hopes of kick starting the meal.

Shaking her head so that her red hair waved like a curtain, Ginny replied, “Mum's having a hard time about Percy. None of us are glad that he's…missing…but she's having a particularly hard time.” She looked about the room, as if memorizing all the faces. “I just don't want to lose anyone else.”

Looking about the room, Hermione felt a tug of guilt. Most everyone at the table from the Potter contingent was happily in love with their spouse/affianced/significant other. Billy was the only unattached member of the family, but he was also coming to terms with the near extermination of his family and finding his feet in the greater Marauder family.

Nonetheless, all were rejoicing in family found and growing. Young Robbie was the focus of the current love and affection in the family, but they'd been growing and celebrating for months now Remus and Alex had found each other. Sirius and Hestia were married. Looking to her right, she watched Harry for along moment. My love, she mused. All were together, all were loved and all were cherished. What if it were Remus that was lost? Hestia?

Hermione knew exactly what would happen should the family lose Harry. It hadn't been so long since her man was trapped in a magical coma and the family feared for his recovery. Sirius had rampaged in a self-destructive cycle that nearly killed him and Remus. James and Lily had been nearly catatonic in their worry and I was…. She shook the thought off, refusing to revisit her despair. It was only recently that the family seemed to be coming out of their collective pain and trials. The Weasleys were still in the heart of their tribulations.

Molly and Arthur looked twice their age. She'd lost at least three stone if her robes were any judge and Arthur was nearly bald. The bags under his eyes told of long nights staring at the ceiling of their temporary home here in Spain.

The twins were so silent as to be nearly sullen. They'd stopped being the youthful jesters who looked to take the piss out of any situation, come hell, high water or both.

Ron was withdrawn into himself. The redhead boy who'd once been one of the best of her friends was an enigma now. His reactions, action and general demeanour were so different from the young man she'd once known that Hermione was at a loss to read him.

Bill was nearly himself, but Hermione attributed that more to Fleur's presence than any other reason.

Ginny was afraid; afraid for her brothers and afraid in general. Talking with the young redhead, it seemed that since Percy had disappeared, the young woman was beginning to feel the mortality of her family for the first time. Usually a very feisty and fiery personality, Ginny was far more sombre than Hermione remembered.

Was all this due to the loss of the least favourite son of the Weasley family? Surely, there must be more? Hermione mused to herself.

.oOo.

“That sucked.”

Hestia nodded emphatically. Sirius' summation of the evening had all the grace of a prison shiv but was accurate, nonetheless. The blonde Deputy Minister for Magic half smiled as she saw Hermione lay her head on Harry's shoulder while the family regrouped in the sitting room off the veranda. The sun had long set but the moon was just past full, illuminating the room without the aid of magical lights. She snuggled deeper into Sirius' arms, enjoying his warmth and savouring his special scent.

“I hope that I don't seem too insensitive, but was Mrs Weasley's grief a bit…much?” asked Billy in a hesitant tone. “I, just like everyone else here, know how pervasive the loss of family can be, but….” He trailed off, his conclusion unspoken.

In the corner, where Lily was nursing Robbie, she offered, “It's as if the family has been destroyed...savaged. She not only lost her son, but her home, everything that she knew as familiar and safe. Now her oldest two sons are going back into the fire.”

Shaking her head at the words because of their inexactness, she refocused on her babe. Harry watched her cling to her son. Hestia, in her turn, watched with affection as the mother wordlessly connected first with her baby then her firstborn. Hestia wasn't a maternal type of witch and was most definitely not brooding. However, she did love her extended family and cherished their affections for her and each other. It warmed her heart to watch green met green giving Harry renewal, life and love. Hermione was the love of his life. James was his hero, his inspiration and his Father. Remus, Sirius, Hestia, Alex and the rest were family and she was content to be so. Lily was his Mum, though.

“I cannot imagine the pain that Molly and Arthur living through,” Hestia offered. Harry frowned. He could tell that there was an unspoken addition to her statement that he couldn't extrapolate. Something that Hestia either knew or surmised about the situation.

“What?” James prodded. Apparently, Prongs had come to the same conclusion.

Sirius sat up, opening his eyes to evaluate his wife. Hestia shook her head with lips pursed. Amelia had forbidden her discussing the possibility of Arthur's traitor status and Hestia had intentionally never followed up on their original supposition. Sometimes it was better not to confirm suspicions. “I don't know anything, but there's more going on with Arthur.” Looking about the room, she smiled apologetically, “I can't really speak about it.”

A thick silence filled the room. Harry shook his head. “They don't matter,” he reiterated his mantra from the previous year. She watched as one by one, he met the gaze of every person in the room: his family. “Only the family matters,” he concluded as he and his father exchanged a meaningful look. Hestia's arm tightened about Sirius' waist as his did about her shoulders. Their love and life was increasing while the Weasley family was in tatters. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right but it was true, nonetheless.

.oOo.

The door opened soundlessly. With a deliberate tread, Sirius and James entered the cell to find Bellatrix Lestrange bound to a chair.

“Oh cousin,” she purred to Sirius. “I didn't know that you liked it rough. Untie me and I'll take you to the heights of pleasure.”

James didn't know if he should vomit or laugh. Noting the madness dancing in the witch's eyes, he settled for a shake of his head. He and Sirius were here for some answers. I doubt we'll get anything useful, but we've got to try.

“Gesundheit,” Sirius replied distractedly. “Cousin, we're here because we need some answers. Very detailed answers.” James saw Padfoot root in his pocket for a moment before withdrawing a small vial. “You can do it the easy way or the hard way.”

“Cousin,” she giddily chided with more than a hint of insanity, “You must know that I will never betray my master.” Her face hardened, malice and evil sliding over her as if poured from a spigot, “His will be done!”

James glanced at Sirius. Seeing his own disgust and revulsion mirrored on Padfoot's face, Prongs muttered, “Hard way it is.”

Sirius nodded reluctantly. After taking a steadying breath, Sirius began in a voice far deeper than his usual tone. Magic interlaying and interweaving with his words, he commanded, “Bellatrix Lestrange, born Bellatrix Black, I am your Lord and the father of your blood.”

The crazy woman began to shriek and writhe in her bonds. She knew what was coming. Veritaserum is useful in that it forces the person dosed to tell only the truth. The limitation is that it doesn't compel the dosed person to speak. They can refuse to answer, thus bypassing the powerful potion. In court testimony or other cases where the dosed testifier is unwilling to answer, the common practice is to pair the potion with a strong Confundus charm, obviating the person's reluctance to speak. Given the fractured nature of Bellatrix's mind and her slavish devotion to Voldemort, both Lily and Alex had advised Sirius that a Confundus strong enough to compel testimony could very well leave the Dark Witch a gibbering mess. So far, the Ministry in Exile had been unable to compel Bellatrix to provide meaningful information surrounding the location of Lord Voldemort. Other information that she'd deemed unimportant had poured out of her in a torrent, though. Whenever questioned about the Dark Lord, she'd glared malevolently at the questioner.

So Sirius was resorting to the family magics, something he'd sworn he'd never do.

“I invoke Familia Obedientia,” the Earl of Blackmoor continued. “Now be silent!” he thundered at the shrieking woman.

Scowling, her lip curled, Bellatrix was quiet. Her eyes promising a long, tortuous death, she glared at the lord of her house.

“Open your mouth,” Sirius wearily commanded. James waited for the insane woman to comply before taking the bottle from his cousin to administer the dose. Five minutes later, Sirius compelled, “You will answer all questions put to you.”

James took up the questioning. It was obvious that the stress and strain of maintaining the dominance of his will over Bellatrix's was taxing Sirius. As both he and his friend were heads of houses, they knew that the magic of the Family Obedience compulsion came from the head of the family. Ensuring that the dictation quill was recording every word on the neverending parchment roll, James began.

“Where does Lord Voldemort keep his primary residence?”

“Where he wishes to you disgusting blood traitor,” Bellatrix responded with a demented smile.

Rolling his eyes, James muttered, “So, you're going to be like that, are you?” He took a deep breath, before continuing. “What is the name of the building or facility where the wizard commonly called Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord or You-Know-Who, but born Tom Riddle, resides?”

After a flicker of resistance, Bellatrix spat, “My master is most often found in Buckingham Palace.”

“When not in residence at Buckingham Palace, what is the name of the building or facility where Lord Voldemort resides?”

“Usually he's at Balmoral Castle.”

“And other times?” James asked, hoping that she'd not resume playing word games.

“Many times, other devoted servants of his will be graced by his presence in their homes.”

Sighing in relief at her lack of recalcitrance, James pressed, “Are there some who are most often graced with his presence?”

James tried to hurry the questioning. Off to his right, Sirius was sweating heavily as his face paled. Bellatrix was a powerful witch with a will of steel that was further strengthened by her insanity. To dominate her will, even with the advantage of being her head of house, was a difficult task. A very small part of him felt sorry for Sirius, but he was immediately reminded that they were doing this for Harry. All remorse fell to the wayside.

James had seen the horrors that humanity can perpetrate upon one another. In the dark of the night with only his wife at his side, he'd admit to having been a perpetrator of some of those horrors. Watching the insanity and darkness in the eyes and expression of Bellatrix Lestrange was to see the realization of potential for perversity, sadism and evil that all humanity carries. This woman was so warped by hatred, bigotry and dark magic that she was irreversibly damaged - irreversibly destroyed.

For a fleeting moment, James wanted to laugh. This woman was held up as an example of all that a wizard or witch should be by the Dark Lord. What James saw was the willing victim of evil. She was the personification of destroyed and decimated humanity. This woman had willingly thrown herself into the pit of madness and irrevocable perdition.

Once again, James shoved aside his personal thoughts and considerations to get the job done. Glancing at Sirius, he saw his brother in all but blood was holding out, but just barely. Redoubling his efforts, James moved the questioning into the defences of the major targets.

Unfortunately, Bellatrix wasn't well versed in wards or the protective enchantments that'd been crafted about the palaces. Her joyful reply of, “I know nothing about the wards!” seemed to focus her hatred of him and Sirius while crystallizing his loathing of her. However, she'd gleefully told about Voldemort's attempt to hatch a basilisk. Toward the end, she'd been boastful, “Enjoy the dragon that's in the courtyard of Buckingham palace! I believe that it's a Vipertooth!”

The Lord of the House of Black was trembling at this point. Glancing at his watch, James saw that they'd been going for over three hours. Without preamble, he drew his wand before Stunning the witch in her bonds.

Sirius exhaled sharply, slumping in his chair. Leaning his forearms on his thighs, he panted as if he'd just finished a long race with an enormous weight on his back.

“If I never do that again, I'll have done it too many times,” Padfoot muttered.

James gently clapped his cousin on the shoulder, “Wartime old man.”

Nodding, Sirius concurred with James' sentiment, though neither wizard was happy about it. “Wartime or not, it felt like dark magic.”

James was quiet. Considering that Sirius had a much more flexible understanding of what constituted dark magic, for him to say as such brought Prongs up short. Gently laying his hand across his friend's shoulder, he murmured, “I know. Thank you for doing this for Harry.”

With a determined expression, Sirius straightened. “Him, Hermione, all of us. I'd do anything for our family.”

Lips curling to a small grin, James said, “Come on. Drinks are on me. Let Weasley clean up this mess.”

.oOo.

“You don't have to do this,” he told her.

“Yes, I do.”

Harry watched Hermione square her shoulders before raising her hand. Knocking on the door of her parents' home, her face assumed a neutral cast.

Three weeks before, she'd wondered in passing about her parents; how they were doing and all. After returning home from the disastrous dinner party with the Weasleys, Hermione had told Harry that she wanted to visit her parents before the Marauder strike team returned to Britain.

On the outside, Harry responded as he ought to: “Yes, dear,” or words to that effect. Inside, though, he was deeply conflicted. Talking it over with James had helped clarify the situation some.

“You see, wizards want to fix everything, witches want to talk it over. Most of the time, your Mum tells me something to get it off her chest. She's not looking for a solution.” James waited, looking at Harry expectantly.

“So, Hermione doesn't really care about my opinion, she just wanted me to listen to her?” Harry hoped that this was the right answer or else Prongs was going to prank him quite severely.

“Yes, grasshopper.”

Nodding, Harry mulled over the conclusion before his brow furrowed. “Well, why the hell did she bring all this up to make me mad and all?”

Harry's frown deepened when James' chortling became a belly laugh. “This is a witch thing. You need to just sit there and listen unless something really bad is going to happen if you don't speak up. Trust me,” he laid a reassuring hand on Harry's arm, “I've screwed this up far too many times not to have learned this lesson.”

“Oh,” he replied, his brow clearing from upset to mild confusion. Shaking his head after a minute, he waved a hand, “I'll trust you here Dad. This is too much for me.”

“Seriously, though, this is her parents. These people have hurt her and may very well hurt her again. You need to support her in this. Go with her. Don't argue, but be supportive…that type of thing.”

Harry didn't like that. He was far more inclined to action in the face of danger. Mute observance was not something he was experienced in or inclined to do. “Can't I just hex them into a large-ish puddle of goo?”

“Nope.”

“Crap.”

Shaking off the memories of his dad teasing him unmercifully, Harry braced himself. He didn't like Steven and Alice Granger. They were snobbish, status seeking and unpleasant. At the same time, they raised Hermione. No one inherently bad could raise such a young woman.

The door opened, Harry held his breath while he felt Hermione stiffen at his side.

Alice Granger opened the door, her face set in a pleasant smile He watched her expression shift from the half smile to surprise when she recognized her daughter standing in front of them, to a hint of fear when she recalled the standing in which she stood with said daughter.

Instinctively, Harry's hand curled in preparation for drawing his wand. Shaking his head at his automatic response, he took a deep, steadying breath.

“Hullo, Mum.”

Her eyes bright, Alice greeted, “Hello love. Harry. Please, come in.”

As Harry crossed the threshold he was pleasantly surprised at being included in the welcome. Having thought it over, he was prepared for the Grangers to take out their frustration and anger on him, possibly blaming him for their crumbling relationship with their daughter.

“Hey love, who was at the door?”

Steven Granger rounded into the room, a pleasant expression on his face while drying his hands with a dishtowel. His genuine smile melted to a fixed expression. “Oh, hello you two.”

The fractured family wordlessly moved to a sitting room where Alice offered tea. Harry gave a half smile while accepting a cuppa. Twirling his spoon in his cup, The Boy-Who-Lived forced himself to stay silent. Be here for Hermione he chanted to himself.

Feeling Hermione stir at his side, Harry half turned to see her better while still keeping Steven and Alice in view. He knew her parents weren't going to attack them, but it made him more comfortable keeping an eye on them. “Mum, Dad, I wanted to stop by to tell you that we,” she turned to Harry indicating the both of them, “are heading back to Britain soon; probably for the duration of the war.”

Alice blinked furiously before looking to her lap where she began to twist a napkin. Steven murmured, “Oh,” as he frowned in obvious concern. Alice took a deep breath before she opened her mouth. Emotion smothered whatever she'd wanted to say as her mouth only worked like a landed fish, no sound allowed to pass.

“Is there any chance that we could convince you not to do this?” Steven asked in a low tone.

Harry frowned. He'd expected a host of negative responses ranging from anger to incredible indifference, but this intense…concern?…fear? that the Grangers so obviously felt was not a response that he'd dared consider.

As Alice blindly groped for Steven's hand, Harry watched two very flawed parents do their best so that they didn't fall to pieces in fear for their child. Regardless of her age, Hermione would always be Steven and Alice's child. Living with a loving and mostly functional family for the past year and a half and now watching his parents raise his younger brother, Harry had an inkling of how the elder Grangers felt about Hermione placing herself in harm's way. Twenty years later, when his eldest daughter Elizabeth boarded the scarlet steam train to Scotland, Harry would admit to himself that he hadn't a clue how the Grangers felt.

Softly, Hermione replied, “I need to do this, Dad.”

Again, Alice opened her mouth but shut it again before speaking. Harry cocked an eyebrow, Looks like they're learning to think before they speak. Though, he ought not to be too harsh on them. It's not like I've never leapt before looking.

Finally, Alice asked, “Is there anything that we can do to help?”

Confused and surprised, Harry gaped. This considered and mellow support was the last thing he'd expected from Hermione's parents. Flying dishes and cursing were higher up on the list of `I think they'll do this' than what he was seeing.

Again, Hermione replied in a friendly, soft voice, “Not really. Pray for us.”

Both Alice and Steven nodded soberly. “Of course,” her father told her. “We'll continue to do so.”

Blinking in confusion, Harry began to get annoyed. Swallowing his ire, he waited. Granted, the Grangers weren't evil per se, but they sure as hell weren't understanding models of liberal thinking by any stretch of the imagination. So far, they'd been very moderate and understanding - generous even - in their actions and words which confused and angered Harry. Why now? Why couldn't they have been supportive from the start?

“I see that you two have formalized things,” Alice commented with a watery smile and a nod to Hermione's hand.

Harry watched his fiancée smile as she held out her hand for her parents' inspection. “It was Harry's great grandmother's.” She smiled widely which in turn caused Harry to smile broadly. He had the hardest time scowling when Hermione smiled. “It was very romantic; he took me to dinner in Paris.” She smiled at him fondly as she took his hand. “He was so nervous the entire meal that I knew that something was going on.”

Deciding to help her, Harry picked up the story. “I pulled the bag out of my jacket and before I could even start this very well crafted speech that I'd planned, she,” he indicated to the grinning witch at his side, “Pipes up with a `yes'.” He was pleasantly surprised to hear Alice laugh while Steven smiled fondly at his daughter. “So I say, `Can I ask you first?' to which she just says, `If you insist' before I get to ask when she says `yes' again.” Shaking his head, he snarked, “Took all the drama out of it, she did. It was a really good speech.”

By now the three Grangers were chuckling and Harry realized that he was very close to being comfortable and having fun with Hermione's parents. Taking a deep breath, he focused on being supportive of his woman. If she wanted to have a good visit, he'd bleed to make that happen, regardless of his own feelings.

Harry drifted along in a sea of polite and friendly conversation. No `deep thoughts' were shared nor were any of the painful incidents of the recent past revisited. Despite the low key nature of the talk, there seemed to be a momentum to the conversation. It kept swirling and changing direction, but was always moving in a direction; a finite conclusion that was beyond the chit chat. Finally a silence descended upon the group as Harry watched Hermione's gaze focus in ether. The group sat on the cusp of this destination and Harry was unsure as to which way the penny would drop. Blinking, his fiancée returned to the present, “I'm not sure what will happen in the near future.”

Looking for the reassurance of his presence, she glanced at Harry. Turning back to her parents, she told them, “But no matter how difficult things have been, I always have and always will love you.”

There was a long pause where The Boy-Who-Lived saw his future father in law swallow his deep emotion. Finally, he croaked out, “As we love you, Pumpkin.”

She didn't want to stay long, so they moved to the door. As he helped her into her jacket, Harry murmured, “Alright?” to which she nodded.

After pleasant farewells and promises to keep in touch as much as practical, Harry and Hermione headed out. “That was a bit surreal,” the witch observed.

“Yep.” What more was there to say?

She hooked her arm in his, “Thank you for being so understanding.”

Trying to cheer them both, he joked, “Noticed that did you?” With a comical leer at her bosom, he asked, “How appreciative are you?”

Hermione grinned as she squeezed his arse, “Very.”

Laughing, they Apparated home. Handing his coat to Rauri, Harry offered his observation, “Does it feel like we're saying goodbye to everyone?” The other day they'd had dinner with the Weasleys who'd been intertwined with the Potters in so many ways. Today he and Hermione had gone to see her parents.

With a grim nod, Hermione agreed. “Yes, it does.” Her steely expression told the whole tale. She wasn't giving up. Hermione refused to be a burnt offering sacrificed for the war. Watching her, Harry felt his own spine stiffen. He wanted a family with her. To watch their children and the rest of his family grow up surrounded by love.

Wrapping his arm about her waist, he guided Hermione to their room. “Love you,” he told her for it was all that mattered in the moment. Things seemed to be looking up with the Grangers pere and mere. Unfortunately, they didn't matter. Glancing to his right, he saw that Hermione seemed more at peace than she'd been that morning. For that alone, he'd call the day a victory.

.oOo.

James knocked on the door to Harry and Hermione's bedroom, Lily standing at his side. “Come in!” their son called from inside. The elder Potter opened the door to see Harry folding his clothes prior to packing everything in a trunk.

“Hey,” Harry greeted them.

He didn't say it, but James was glad that Hermione wasn't there right then. He and Lily wanted to have a private moment with their son. “You about ready?” Prongs asked.

“Just about,” Harry replied as he rolled a pair of socks. Tossing them into a pile he counted his T-shirts before stacking them into his trunk on top of his cold weather clothes. Flopping down on to his bed, Harry asked, “What's up?”

Lily sat in the chair next to the doors that led to the patio as James gathered his thoughts. Finally, he told his son, “I want you to know that I've never been more proud of you than I am right now.”

Harry blushed as he ducked his head. Smiling, he muttered, “Thanks, Dad.”

The Duke of Shrewsbury nodded before adding, “But you need to know that you don't have to do this.”

Harry frowned. “Yeah, I do.”

Prongs waited. No matter how many times Harry stood into danger, he still wanted to protect his son. At the same time, James needed to hear Harry say that he was choosing this path of his own free will.

“How many more people need to die before I `need to do this'?” Narrowing his eyes at his father, Harry scowled, “Of course I need to do this.”

“Scared?” James asked.

Snorting, Harry jibed, “Of course I'm scared. I'm bloody terrified. This is Voldemort I'm hunting, not some kelpie.”

Lily jumped into the conversation, her tone authoritative, “He may be Voldemort, but you're Harry Potter.” Her green eyes burned with intensity and passion for their son, “And you're a powerful wizard.”

Prongs was mesmerized as Lily and Harry locked gazes. She seemed to pour her soul into her words as she told her son, “You are the wizard who will be remembered in ages yet to come as the beacon of light in this time of pain and sorrow. Merlin, Godric Gryffindor and Harry Potter; those who stood against the wave of darkness. Those who stood against evil at the height of the tide and commanded, `No more!'.”

Enthralled at the power she was weaving into her words, James could only watch.

Harry was drinking in the words as a parched man does a glass of water. No false modesty or embarrassment reddened his cheeks now. James had intended to try to boost his son's confidence before the team departed the next day, but Lily was doing a much better job than he could've planned. Mute, he watched.

“You are powerful. You are strong. You are a warrior,” Lily declared. Harry's head cocked a tic, the unspoken question clear. “You've proved yourself in the hunt for Dormred ap Morag, in the battle with Bellatrix Lestrange and most of all with your constant training with Dumbledore, you`ve shown us all that you possess the finest qualities of a warrior...”

They were silent, contemplating her statement until she finished the thought; “Nobility, compassion, dedication, conviction and the courage to do that which is necessary to protect the weak from that which preys upon them in the dark.”

Silence invaded the room, smothering them in its thick blanket as they all digested Lily's words.

James decided now was the time for the gift. Digging into his pocket, he withdrew the bottomless bag.

Reaching into the bag, James grasped the hilts as he said, “You are going on a quest that makes Beowulf's task look like an afternoon jaunt. As such, you'll need this.”

Drawing his hand out of the bag, the flash of polished metal reflected in Harry's glasses. Holding out the Sword of Gryffindor, James told his son, “This is the sword of our ancestor.” Nodding to his wife, he reiterated, “As your mother said, he too stood against the darkness that threatened to overtake our land. He drew this blade in defence of those who couldn't defend themselves.”

An idea occurred to him, and as usual, James ran with it. “Kneel before me, son.”

Harry blinked before he moved in front of his father, bending a knee.

James placed the blade between the two of them, point in the floor. Automatically, Harry placed his hands over the hilts. James placed one hand over Harry's while the other covered the crown of his son's head.

“As you go forth into danger, go with the blessing of your father, your mother and the father of your house.” There was a flash of magic as James muttered the familial blessing spell from the family grimoire. Even though Lily was the Lady of the House, she wasn't a blood Potter and couldn't know the spell.

Leaning forward, James kissed his son's forehead, “I love you son.”

Choked with emotion, he heard Harry reply, “I love you, too, Dad.”

.oOo.

“Mum, I don't want to argue. Just give us a kiss and we'll be going.”

Bill was really getting tired of his mother's fretting and domineering ways. The night before, just before they fell asleep, he'd told Fleur, “I realize that she's completely flipped her switch `cause of Percy and all. I realize that she's always been fairly controlling, but love…,” he'd trailed off as Fleur laughed softly.

After placing a soft kiss on him, the blonde Veela has chastised him, “Bill, she loves you. This is how it shows up.”

The night before, he'd had to admit the truth of his lover's statement. This morning, he was wilfully ignoring it as his mother got on his last nerve. Trying to forestall any further argument about whether he and Charlie should return to Britain, he kissed his Mum on the cheek and called out, “Let's go. Sirius is expecting us.”

Not a completely cold hearted bastard, Bill had looked over his shoulder, met his mother's teary gaze and told her, “Love you mum.”

“I love you, Bill,” she croaked in reply.

Shaking his head, he headed down the front steps of the townhouse his family had been provided by the Spanish Magical Ministry. At the foot of the steps, he met Fleur and Charlie. Grimly, he asked, “You two ready?”

Nods from both preceded three cracks of Apparition.

Shaking his head - Apparition always caused his ears to pop - Bill moved down the hall to the large conference room at the Ministry where the team was assembling for their jump off to the base camp in Wales.

Rounding the corner, Bill saw Alex Price sorting a pile of potions and checking off items from a list. Shrinking a potions rack to the size of a matchbox, she nodded to the newcomers as she carefully placed the miniature potions into a traveling case. “Morning, everyone,” she greeted. “Ready?”

Bill nodded while Fleur replied, “Oui. Do you need help?”

Alex smiled, “Actually, yes I do.” When Fleur moved to the healer's side, the beloved of Remus Lupin told the group, “When we first infiltrated Britain, I divided the healing supplies between the groups so that if one was captured, we still had enough supplies. This time, we don't have that problem but I have more supplies than anyone save Susan. She's got the food.”

“I can take quite a bit,” Fleur offered as she unslung her satchel. “I have much room here.”

Bill turned to the corner to see his supplies stacked neatly. The portkeys that Sirius enchanted the other day were affixed to the trunks with a Sticking charm. Looking to his right, he saw Charlie inspecting his own supplies. Everything seemed to be in order.

Now the shakes started.

Bill had been in some very tight spots in his life. When his treasure hunting team had entered the burial chamber of the self-proclaimed `God of India' it'd been a nightmare of blood and terror. Since the fall of Britain, he'd killed more people than he kept track and had suffered many wounds. This time it was different, though.

He was intentionally looking for Voldemort.

What the fuck am I doing? he screamed to himself. Looking across the table to his beloved, he kicked himself in the arse again. And to her, too?

Bill was a brave man. He'd done much and been willing to do more. Right now, though, he was swamped by fear.

The door opened, admitting the bulk of the Potter contingent. The Prince and Lupin were discussing the werewolf hierarchy in Britain while the rest were quiet. Harry and Susan's impassive and determined expressions impressed Bill the most. It was evident that both young adults knew what they were facing and while not looking forward to the experience, they seemed to be unafraid.

Seemed to be unafraid or were unafraid? Glancing about the room, he chastised himself. Get a grip, Weasley. They're all scared, too.

A soft hand caressed his arm. Looking over to Fleur, Bill took a deep calming breath. Nodding to her he smiled to thank her for her reassurance.

For a few minutes, noise swamped the room as everyone double checked their supplies against a list provided by Hermione. Bill and Sirius moved to the corner to inspect the curse breaking supplies, but Bill was confident that everything was in order. He'd warded the trunks the day before to alarm and change colour should someone have tampered with them.

Finally, everyone stood still, looking to Harry for guidance. The supply cases had bee portkeyed to the Welsh base. The food, cash reserves, medical supplies, various other orts and oddments were ready and packed.

One by one, Harry looked to the members of his team. On the back wall, James, Lily - holding baby Robbie - and Hestia Black were watching the gathering. A part of Bill's brain registered that his father wasn't there, but Harry began to speak before Bill could pursue the thread.

“Yesterday, I was terrified about this mission.” Bill blinked as Harry gave voice to what Bill'd been worrying just moments before. “I was convinced that this was a near suicide mission that I was obliged to attempt due to the prophecy.”

There was silence as the dark haired wizard looked about the room. Hermione returned his gaze with a quiet assurance and confidence that caused the young man to smile. He nodded to the side of the room as he added, “But then my mother reminded me of something.”

The smile vanished. In its stead was a deadly implacability and gravity that locked Bill into the seriousness of the situation. “There is a lion in the jungle and that lion is us. Deadly and powerful.” Harry's green eyes were on fire with power as he met each of their gazes and in so doing, infused them with confidence and belief. Bill felt his doubts and fears melt like so much butter on the hob.

“Voldemort is a monster. Powerful and knowledgeable, he is a formidable foe, but he is not omniscient nor undefeatable. We can beat them.”

This quiet declaration seemed so self-evident that Bill wondered why he ever doubted himself or their mission.

The corner of Harry's mouth curled. Holding out his hand, he showed them all a coil of rope that Bill figured was the portkey to Wales. Around the room, he saw the rest square themselves to the moment.

At his side, Fleur was grim faced. He knew of her pain and her desire for retribution. Susan was on the other side of Fleur, he expression disturbingly similar to the French Veela's.

Neville and Sirius were relaxed. Hermione all business. Alex adjusted her pack, her face expressionless. Charlie fidgeted as he always did before something big. Looking back to the front of the room, Bill saw Harry watching him. Acting with more confidence than he'd felt just twenty minutes before, Bill nodded to Harry, receiving an answering nod. Again, Harry looked about the room.

“It may not be the right day, but I think that something that I read recently is appropriate.” Harry bowed his head, remembering. Looking up, his face was alit with power and majesty. His voice rang clear causing all in the room to stand up straighter, wishing to be better men and women, wishing to give their very lives if it should be necessary. Bill had found a man who he would follow. A man who he would follow until the end of his days.

“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;

For he today that sheds his blood with me

Shall be my brother…,” he tailed off for a moment before picking up the thread and finished the speech.

“…gentlemen in England now-a-bed

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,

And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.”

As one, they all reached for the portkey. The last thing that Bill heard before he was born away in the magical vortex was Harry's voice incanting, “Libero.”

End Act II

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first twenty-five chapters of Last Casualties. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on fanfiction (dot) net. I update the status on Mondays. Most of the time.

2. The recommendation for this chapter

3. Little known fact (to me at least): There is legislation afoot in the UK that would end the male primogeniture to the British throne for the children of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge. Their eldest child will succeed their father to the throne regardless of gender, nor will said child be prohibited from marrying a Roman Catholic. Interesting.

4. Tearlach is the Scots Gaelic spelling for Charles and is roughly pronounced as `Charlie', hence Charles II's nickname as `Bonnie Prince Charlie' by his Highland Armies during the Second Jacobite Uprising.

5. My grandmother was a good woman. She believed in right and wrong. She believed in helping others and looking out for her family. She took care of all of us, regardless of how shabbily or well we treated her. She was also the granddaughter on both sides of Irish immigrants. Her husband (my grandfather) was also descended on both sides from Irish immigrants. My dad, (the oldest son) married an Irish lass. She was a favoured in-law. My uncle, born on March 17, married a woman that horrified my grandmother. She was *gasp* German. My aunt is a wonderful woman whom my grandmother came to love, but there were a few years of polite conversation with `The Frau' in the family. Seriously. I'm not kidding. I'm attributing Molly's dislike of Fleur to what I described of my grandmother. Personally, I think that I'm being kind. Otherwise it's because Fleur's a Veela and that's a very disgusting prospect.

6. I apologize for the extreme lateness of this chapter. It's over a month later than I like to deliver a chapter. Real life has been in session with week-long power outages, a new puppy, illness and the omnipresent duties of being a full time father, husband and breadwinner. Thank you to all the readers for your patience.

Chapter complete 4/19/13

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Act III

“We go in ten seconds,” the Communication charm sounded in Hermione's ear. Unconsciously nodding even though she was Disillusioned and couldn't see Harry, the brunette witch waited while counting down in her head.

Ten

This was their first target and a trial run of sorts. Auror Command Intelligence had identified this Death Eater meeting facility as a type where there was a semi-permanent garrison. On `revelry' nights, over one hundred followers of the Dark Lord could be found here before and after their dastardly missions upon the unsuspecting.

It'd been Remus' idea to hit this place. “We don't want to put Voldemort on his guard any more than he already is, at least we don't want to do it yet,” the Lycan had argued. “A target like this is one that the Auror teams have been routinely assaulting over the past months. “

“But there's no way that an Auror team would be able to take on a full Death Eater assembly,” Susan observed drily.

Remus had nodded his agreement, but Hermione had to agree with both sides of the argument. Remus' reasoning made sense, but Susan's inference that the team had the magical might to do more than a standard Auror team was true.

Harry and Hermione were magical powerhouses. Not even at their magical maturity, both were mages, while the rest of the team was either above average magically or exceptionally skilled.

“So this is the first of many,” she commented while holding the werewolf's gaze. He nodded meaningfully.

Nine

The group was arrayed about the house in pairs. Hermione and Neville, Harry and Susan, Sirius and Charlie, Remus and Bill were all paired up with specific responsibilities. Fleur was a floater of sorts. She was to work with Harry's team but had a specific mission. Harry and Sirius had paired up the groups based on their experience or power levels. Fleur, the Weasley brothers and Sirius had the most experience in fighting the war, but Harry and Hermione were by far the most magically powerful.

Susan was a quick, vicious fighter who complemented Harry very well while Neville's shields allowed Hermione the freedom to wreak havoc from a protected place. All in all, the team was well balanced.

Harry, Susan, Fleur, Sirius and Charlie were going in the front door. Hermione and Neville were covering the back while Remus and Bill looked for any jumpers or broom-borne escapees.

The planning for this particular mission hadn't taken long but the consideration of fields of fire, angles of attack and progression of fire teams in the house took quite a bit of time to work through. Unsurprisingly, it'd been Susan who'd broached the unasked, but omnipresent question, “Why don't we seal the house and light it on fire?”

Hermione had been quiet while the group considered Susan's musing. She knew very well of her redheaded friend's intense hatred of Death Eaters. Part of Hermione wondered if it wasn't such a bad idea to exterminate the lot of them like the cockroaches they were. At the same time…

“We need intelligence, Susan. Unfortunately, that means we've to capture a few of them for interrogation,” Harry replied in a subdued, but tense, tone.

“And after we're done questioning them?” Susan asked with studied nonchalance.

Harry had been visibly annoyed by her question, but answered, “We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Moving on….”

Eight

There was a plan and a strategy for their campaign. “We eliminate the top generals,” Remus had proposed. “Malfoy, Jugson, Selwyn and the like.” Nodding to Harry, Remus added, “With his top enforcer captured, he's already on edge. Based on our past knowledge and the information we were able to get out of her, Bellatrix was a favoured member of Voldemort's Inner Circle. We kill the rest in a sequential manner so as to drive Voldemort's paranoia through the roof.” Gesturing with the chip in his hand, he swallowed a bit of his pint before adding, “This will herd him to his most secure base and keep him there.”

“Like Hitler and the Fuhrerbunker at the end of the Second World War?” Hermione had asked.

Remus nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly.”

Bill had frowned before exchanging a look with Fleur who piped up in her smooth soprano voice, “I doubt that we can assume the Voldemort will commit suicide like Hitler. That means we'd have to break into the most secure facility in Britain…,”

“if not the world,” Bill interrupted darkly.

Nodding at her lover, Fleur amended, “If not the world in order to kill the most dangerous wizard in the world.”

The table had been silent as they all chewed on the pub fare while contemplating the issue.

“How else will we find him?” Neville had asked.

“We won't,” Sirius announced with resignation. “Bellatrix said that he's moving about the country constantly. We'll never find him otherwise.”

Seven

Their ingress to the country had been smooth. The long portkey ride from Spain to the Fidelius hidden camp in Wales had been uneventful.

“It's a bit like coming home,” Harry had mused aloud to Hermione as they unpacked their gear.

She half smiled as she placed a pair of jeans in her drawer. “Well, we are close to Rowan Hill.'

Nodding resignedly, he leaned against the bedpost. “Part of me wants to cancel the charms that hide the estate just so we can stay there.” His eyes met hers, full of meaning. “That's home.”

Smiling sadly, she returned to her unpacking. There was no profit exploring `what if' or `wish we could' scenarios.

“The holding chamber is ready,” Sirius' voice sounded from the door. Turning, Hermione nodded.

“Warded?”

“Bill and Fleur just finished up.”

Nodding again, Hermione tried to forget about what they just discussed. They all agreed that they needed fresh intelligence in order to target accurately the Death Eater leaders in order to get to Voldemort. Unfortunately, they had no idea how to find most of them.

In his rampage after Harry's felling in the graveyard outside Little Hangleton, Sirius had destroyed many manor houses where these leaders would have been found. As it stood now, what seemed like a good idea was, in fact, a hindrance to their efforts. The holding chamber was the unpleasant result of Sirius' vengeful retribution. They called it a `holding' chamber, but in reality it was a questioning facility. It was where they would dose, question and wring every ounce of information they could out of their captives. Alex and Lily had been very busy brewing Veritaserum and other, lesser, truth serums.

Six

William was busy. He and Remus had meticulously plotted all the known or supposed locations of the coherent werewolf packs that existed in Britain before Voldemort's takeover. His plan was to address some of the smaller packs, gaining support before addressing the Yorkshire pack - one of the largest in all of the UK.

Currently, the Prince and Alex were waiting back in Wales for any wounded from the raid. Otherwise, he was systematically combing through the Wizarding code looking for the legal discrimination that existed so that he could provide the lycanthropes with a reasoned discussion of their status along with a reasonable legal solution.

“The hard part is to make it fair to lycanthropes and non-lycanthropes,” Billy had moaned. “Those not afflicted with the disease live with fear - both reasonable and not - that werewolves will flay them to shreds. At the same time, the vast majority of lycanthropes are decent people who deserve all the opportunities to live in peace that are afforded their neighbours.”

“What about those like Greyback?” Hermione had asked.

Scrubbing his face, Billy mumbled, “That's the rub. The law has to account for the psychopaths while protecting the innocent.”

Five

James and Lily had reported a resurgence in the Russian badgering of the British Ministry in Exile. By now, most governments had recognized the Russians as the legitimized government mouthpiece of the Voldemort regime.

“He really said that?” Hermione gasped over Harry's shoulder one evening during the mirror call with James and Lily.

James had nodded slowly. “Yep. `Russia stands firm in the belief that the so called British Ministry in Exile is truly a subversive terrorist organization bent upon implementing their bigoted and prejudiced policies upon the downtrodden'. Word for word it could be used to accurately describe Voldemort.”

“Which is why Ivanov fired that shot at us first,” Lily's voice sounded from off the screen. She was in the rocking chair after nursing Robbie, slowly moving back and forth as the baby drifted off to sleep. “Any counter accusations now sound like so much stuff and nonsense. It would be considered posturing and the like as opposed to an accurate description of Voldemort's regime.”

“But it is accurate!” Harry exclaimed.

“Harry…,” James chided.

Sighing, Hermione feels Harry deflate. “I know. Politics has very little to do with truth and falsehood,” he muttered.

“Yep. So, on to more cheerful topics,” James buoyantly transitioned, “Tell Padfoot that Hestia is officially the Deputy Minister to Amelia.”

Four

Hermione, Fleur, Susan and Alex had become much closer as friends. While knowing Fleur from her time in the UK during the TriWizard tournament, Hermione wouldn't have called her a close friend. Now, though, the young women researched together while chatting about various and sundry. Of course, the topic of their men came up on more than one occasion.

“He said that!” Fleur exclaimed, her hand hovering in front of her smiling mouth.

Alex was buried in giggling laughter. “Hermione saw him. He was so high from the painkillers, that I don't think he remembered what he said.”

“I heard the part where he told her that she had great baps,” Hermione grinned at Alex.

The blonde healer rolled her eyes as she blushed, “Well, he liked my arse, too. Apparently, it's crackin'.”

They all chuckled as Susan leaned over to Fleur, asking for her translation of the warding compendium she was studying. The book was written in German, of which Susan was conversant, but the idiosyncratic warding terms were beyond her. As Fleur read, Alex and Hermione brewed another set of Stasis potions. While not the strength of the Draught of Living Death, they had the same effect, but over a finite period of time. Both women were able brewers and were shooting for a two week effect from their potions.

Three

“Keep him alive,” Susan had directed her friend before they departed Wales for the mission. At Hermione's quizzical expression, the redhead clarified, “Neville. Don't let anything happen to him. I'll hold you accountable for every wound of his.”

About to roll her eyes at Susan's implied threat, she stopped. The hardness that rose into the heiress to House Bones when discussing Death Eaters was at the fore. Her blue eyes were proverbial chips of ice while her expression was closed and hard. Forgoing a protracted discussion for now wasn't the time, Hermione merely nodded in a serious fashion. That seemed to be enough for Susan as she nodded in return before inspecting her gear for a final time.

Shaking her head, Hermione cleared her thoughts of distractions. The family was fine, but if she didn't get her head in the game, and quickly at that, then she'd not be so fine.

Two

The back door of the small manor house opened, flooding the backyard with light and noise as three unmasked Death Eaters spilled out of the house.

“Those bloody mudbloods were hilarious!” the first one exclaimed before tripping down the steps. His angry pained cries were drowned out by his companions' inebriated laughter.

One

Slowly, Hermione took a long breath in, held it for a beat before letting it go. Off to her side, she heard Neville do the same.

“Go!” Harry's voice sounded in her ear.

Four things happened concurrently. First, Hermione and Neville cast a spread of Bone Breaking curses at the drunken wizards. All three died with shattered skulls.

In the front of the house, Fleur destroyed the front door with a curse of Lithuanian origin. The shards of the large oak double doors spread splintering death into the front hall and the lower steps as Harry, Susan, Sirius and Charlie sprinted into the building. The clatter of the rebounding shards added to the din of their spellfire.

On the sides of the house, Hermione could see Remus and Bill seal each upper storey window before casting Anti-Apparition wards. They'd debated it hotly for a week, but in the end, Sirius' argument that bottling up the rats in a cage was worth the sacrifice to the strike teams' mobility.

Remus dove to his right as a streak of green spellfire lanced from a main floor window. Reacting instinctively, Hermione saw that she had a good angle on the target. Before she could consciously form the words, her wand was up, centred and the incantation slipped past her lips. “Confringo.” The bay window exploded in a shower of splinters and glass shards a moment later.

In the corner of her vision, she saw Remus sealing the main floor windows without acknowledging her contribution. Realizing there wasn't time for the niceties, Hermione quickly conjured a slab of granite over the gaping hole in the building before taking a deep breath. Narrowing her eyes, she glanced at the back door to insure that her primary role was secure. No movement there allowed her to focus and cast the Indestructible charm.

An obscure charm, it required a lot of magical might to cast it effectively but the effect was great indeed. No Death Eater would be shattering the conjured stone to escape the building that evening.

“Come on, come on,” she heard Neville mutter to himself just as a loud horn sounded inside the house followed by a loud detonation from the front of the house.

Fleur's role in the team had resolved itself into a demolitions expert of sorts. After the first four charged into the house, she quickly engraved a series of cascading runic land mines that prevented anyone from exiting the house. `Anyone' including the good guys alongside the bad guys. Anyone stepping a foot outside the front door would lose said foot in an extremely painful and gory manner.

Therefore, the horn.

The horn indicated that Harry needed Hermione and Neville to enter the house and hold the back door either to allow the front door team an egress point, or to be the anvil upon which the hammer would crush its target. Should things warrant further assistance, a second horn would bring everyone into the house, wands-a-blazin'.

Hermione and Neville charged up the back steps as he cast, “Everbero!” Neville's spellcasting had improved by leaps and bounds since he began to work with Harry. The proof was demonstrated as his Bludgeoning curse knocked the back doors off their hinges with such force that two Death Eaters on the other side were killed.

Time slowed. Emotion fell away. The movie film of life became a series of still lifes, each a critical snapshot of time. Hermione moved, acted and interacted but it was if the sound was muted on life.

Running up the back steps so fast that she later doubted the soles of her shoes ever touched the steps,

A wall of Death Eaters trying to flee the Walking Death within surged from the upper floors.

Her Vinewood and Dragon heartstring wand was in motion.

A Wide Area Cutting curse felled the front rank, most in multiple pieces.

Neville pounding up the steps behind her.

Hermione began to spell chain: Reductor. Piercing. Binding. Human to animal transfiguration (a turtle). Blasting.

Explosions. Screams. Wet, meaty thumps as bodies hit the ground, walls and each other.

The floor slick with gore; slippery.

At her side, Neville was casting like a fiend.

Hermione's left foot slipped as she turned. Flailing for a moment, a Death Eater snap cast a Blinding hex at her.

“Argh!” she exclaimed. Off balance, Hermione didn't dare cast for fear of hitting Neville.

Holding her wand at her face was a counterintuitive action. All their Hogwarts career, all the professors had stridently stressed wand safety and the first principle of wand safety was always point it away from yourself.

Finite Incantatem.

Time restarted.

Her eyesight returning, Hermione glared at the Death Eater standing over her. The masked man was running his gob about, “…got you now you mudblood bitch…,” but Hermione's Reductor curse pulped his head making it difficult to finish his thought.

A kick in her ribs spun Hermione like a top. Landing at the bottom of the steps, she heard Neville shout in frustration as Death Eaters leapt past him to escape the house. Barely able to lift her wand, Hermione watched. The pain was real, present and an overpowering screaming from her right side that pinned her arm to her side and causing her to twitch and groan. Gritting her teeth, she lifted her wand a bit while twisting. Lining up on the doorway, she muttered the incantation for a very special ward.

The shining barricade flared to life. It was the barrier spell that Voldemort used in the graveyard against Harry, but Hermione figured it'd work just fine right now. As the first three Death Eaters were incinerated by the ward, she passed out from the pain.

.oOo.

Neville Longbottom was angry. That wasn't completely correct. Neville Longbottom was in a fucking rage.

He and Hermione had held the back door of the Death Eater house before she'd been overcome by the sheer weight of numbers flooding out the back door. Her organic incinerating ward had shut down the Death Eater egress from the house through the door, but the less dim members of the household had simply used the Reductor curse to pound a hold through the wall creating a makeshift doorway.

Now Neville was the bulwark against the cresting tide of Death Eaters.

The Reductor curse and the Piercing charm both have minimal wand movements and are, therefore, favourites of duellers in close quarters fighting. At that moment, Neville was using those two spells to great effect as he killed more men and women than he could count; their bodies stacking like cordwood in the narrow makeshift doorway.

“HARRY! I NEED SOME BLOODY HELP HERE!” he shouted. While his bottleneck tactic was succeeding, Neville felt his magic weakening precipitously. Hermione had stood against the first flood taking on over twenty Death Eaters simultaneously. To Neville's wonderment, she'd almost escaped unscathed.

“Crucio!”

He felt as if his body was lit on fire while being frozen at the same time. A god was reaching into his body, pulling his bones out one at a time all the while no anaesthesia had been applied. Thousands of poisoned knives were flaying him alive while meat hooks pulled his muscles apart.

Screams filled the night, but Neville was beyond the point of recognition that it was his own voice. Competing with the unending and unearthly pain was one thought: They're not doing to me what they did to Mum and Dad.

Hence his rage.

After a momentary eternity, the pain stopped, leaving Neville curled in a ball. Panting he tried to focus on what was going on around him - anything to shove the pain that much further away from his present.

A large foot was right in front of his face so that meant Remus or Bill, but that was as far as he could get. Like a wave, it buried him again leaving the young Longbottom lord shaking, twitching and whimpering in remembered pain.

.oOo.

Remus had heard Hermione's screams and Neville's furious shout for help. The first sent him running to the back of the house, the second had him sprinting. He'd just finished sealing his side of the house but it seemed that the back was in extremis. Rounding the corner, he saw Neville being held under the Cruciatus curse by a masked Death Eater. Without pausing, the former Professor of Hogwarts cast a Reductor curse that blew the offending person into five major parts with various gobbets of gore spread about the back porch.

Mounting the steps at a dead run, in the corner of his eye he saw Bill approaching from the other side of the house. The Death Eaters had forced another egress through the wall on the opposite side of the door from the first makeshift exit. Using the heaps of debris, Remus transfigured a tiger that he sent in a door and a matching panthera tigris into the other door.

Hearing screams from inside, Remus quickly took the opportunity to tend to the twitching wizard at his feet. Running his hands over Neville, he found no obvious injuries so he reached into his pocket for a large Sharpie marker. Hermione had run to Tesco for various things a week before and insisted that each member of the team carry the marker for this reason. Quickly scrawling `CRUCIATUS' on Neville's forehead, Remus activated the young man's portkey that took him to Alex and Billy back in Wales.

Looking up, he saw a masked head poke around the corner of the lefthand exit. Remus' Detonation curse in response shook the foundations of the house. Bill reached his side and began incanting in a harsh guttural voice. After the quick incantation, the redhead finished the spell with a flourish of his wand before dropping to his knees. Panting heavily, Bill gasped, “Nothing's coming through here. C'mon. Let's go to the front.”

Ghosting down the stairs to the immobile witch Remus repeated himself in checking Hermione for obvious injuries. With Bill still catching his breath at the foot of the stairs, Remus sent Hermione to Wales with no indicator on her forehead.

His eyes narrowed, he growled, “Let's go.” They'd hurt his family. While it was expected that some of them would be hurt - most if truth be told - the use of the Cruciatus was beyond the pale.

At a quick jog, the two wizards moved to the front of the house.

.oOo.

Fleur was covered with blood. When Harry, Sirius, Charlie and Susan had dashed in the front door following her Detonation curse, she'd stepped across the doorframe and rapidly began to carve rune sets that acted as a land mine of sorts. Fleur had done this countless times with the Aurors and …before. Two minutes after she had destroyed the front doors, the silver haired lover of Bill Weasley sprinted into the interior of the manor house following the shouting and screams to meet up with her team.

At the top of the stairs, she literally ran into a Death Eater who was in full regalia. Caught in the man's robes, she shoved her wand under his chin before muttering, “Exploser.” His blood and brains soaked her, transforming her from a vision of beauty to a revelation of death.

Ignoring the mess, she sprinted along the hall to join the fight and it was good that she'd done so. On the second floor, the strike team of four was fighting toe to toe against over fifty opponents. It was madness and chaos. Sirius was shrieking in his bloodlust while Harry was a killing machine, mowing down his opponents with a ruthless efficiency that was frightening. Susan stood at her friend's shoulder alternately shielding and casting offensive spells. Her face was twisted into a scowl that was fearsome.

Fleur focused on her beloved's brother. Charlie was not the fastest wand in the group but each of his spells was specially selected and cast with a perfection of execution and aim that killed or injured Death Eaters in bunches.

Despite the group's proficiency, the Death Eaters were pushing Harry and the rest back towards where they came. Even when Fleur stood next to Susan, adding her not inconsiderable magical might to the fight, the Death Eaters still gained ground. Casting with a fury none would expect upon meeting her, the blonde Frenchwoman feared that they were losing and in danger of being cornered and killed. She didn't consciously expect it, but when The Boy-Who-Lived took charge, Fleur wasn't surprised.

“DOWN!” Harry shouted.

As the scarred Veela dove for the floor, the room was filled with a blinding blue light. Harry had warned the team that should he call for them all to hit the floor, he was going to `go nuclear' - whatever that meant.

Now she knew what he meant.

His area affect charm was a creation that led from Hermione and Sirius' rune based creation. He'd added a twist that made it more useful in a fight, though. The rune based `bomb' created a wave-front of incendiary heat followed by an overpressure surge that destroyed all in its path in the same manner as the destructive force of a thermonuclear detonation.

Harry's charm reproduced the effect, but with a horizontally planer focus instead of a wave-front. With a flash, over thirty Death Eaters were killed. Fleur heard the liquid spatter as the chunks of corpses fell to the floor combined with the crashing of plaster from the shards of the walls falling down. Harry's groaning caught her attention as he fell to his knees.

“You alright, kiddo?” Sirius asked as he moved to his godson's side. Padfoot didn't look to his cousin's son, but kept his wand up and moving, looking for new targets.

“Big spell,” Harry muttered in reply as he gasped.

As Fleur regained her feet, she saw Susan rush to the hallway before the redhead called out, “Harry! They're going to the back door.”

Without hesitation, Sirius twirled his wand in a tight circle sounding a horn to warn the back door guard that they had company coming. “C'mon, they're going to need help,” Sirius announced to the group.

Fleur moved to Harry's side before hoisting him to his feet. “Lean on me,” she murmured while she half walked and half dragged Harry to the doorway.

“I'm Ok,” he muttered as he straightened up. “Let's go.”

The battle was waning, but the brutality was far from over.

.oOo.

“How goes your efforts, James?”

The Duke of Shrewsbury looked up from his desk in the ICW General Assembly Hall to see Johann Gruber, the Ambassador from Germany, standing there with a sober expression on his face.

Gruber was a no nonsense man who James like immensely. Not only had the Germans been staunch allies of the British Ministry in Exile, but Johann had been personally very supportive of James. When Prongs wanted to choke the lights out of Ivanov from Russia, or punch the toadying Stoyanov from Rumania, Johann would distract him with an in depth discussion about the qualities of beer or how to make the best strudel (Gruber's wife Anna was a phenomenal cook) or some other bit of humdrum that helped James keep his temper in check.

And Germany had been unswerving in their support of the Bones Ministry.

Johann didn't have much of a sense of humour, but James liked him anyway. “Things are moving along, Johann. I had a very interesting discussion with Athos Lampros the other day.”

“Really? How is our Greek friend?”

James sighed dispiritedly. “He's well, but he intimated that the pro-Voldemort faction in his country is on the verge of seizing control. Greece will not help us.”

Gruber pursed his lips while nodding. “That is unfortunate. For them and for you. I, on the other hand had a very interesting conversation with our good friends in China.”

Smiling in anticipation, James leaned back in his chair. “And how is our good friend, Ambassador Li Pang?”

Picking at imaginary lint on his sleeves, Gruber replied, “She was curious as to how a regiment of Chinese magical troops would be used in the retaking of magical Britain.”

James smiled broadly. “Did she, now?”

.oOo.

“Fuck.”

Harry nodded wearily. He fully agreed with his godfather's assessment of the situation.

They were back at their base in Wales, all of them shell-shocked and exhausted. In the other room, Alex worked frantically on Neville while Hermione slept through her recovery. When Remus had told Harry of her injuries, he'd been frantic until they returned to the infirmary tent. Billy met him at the door.

“She's going to be fine,” the Prince soothed before Harry could open his mouth. “She took a beating, but she'll be fine. Few broken ribs, but they've all been repaired and she's sleeping it off now.”

Susan tried to push past them, “Neville!” she called out.

Billy scooped his redheaded friend into his arms which told Harry much. There hadn't been much time to talk when they'd finished up with the house. The house itself was burning and leaning to the side. Harry's curse had ruptured the structural integrity of the building. Remus had held out the rope portkey and, without speaking, triggered it once the remaining team was grasping the line . Neville must have been seriously hurt. “Alex is working on him and she asked that we all stay out here to keep out from underfoot.”

Susan stood still in Billy's embrace, staring at the tent where Alex had her makeshift infirmary. After a long moment, she nodded. “I'm just going to watch. I'll stay out of the way.” With a pat on her back, Billy let Susan pass. Slowly, the all moved to Harry and Hermione's tent to wait for news.

Charlie was half-asleep on the couch while Sirius and Remus sat next to him; all of them waiting for news. The horror of Neville's injuries was magnified by the history of his family with the Cruciatus curse. Harry had no idea who'd attacked Neville, but he wouldn't be surprised if that bitch Fate had arranged for a Lestrange brother to be responsible.

Harry glanced about. Fleur was tending to Bill's dislocated shoulder. In the final pincer movement that decimated the surviving Death Eaters, a huge burly man had run over Bill in his frantic efforts to escape. Remus' Piercing charm had put paid to the scum, but not before Bill was thrown off the front porch and into a large hydrangea bush. The redheaded curse breaker met Harry's gaze, his intense blue meeting Harry's worried green.

“Considering the operation, we got off with light casualties,” Bill observed as he rotated his injured shoulder. His placid expression was studied while he held Harry's attention.

Snarling, Harry bit back the vicious retort that sprung to mind. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath while considering the veracity of Bill's words. Nodding, he admitted, “Yes, despite Neville's being cursed, the team got off rather lightly.”

“We need to rework our approach,” Sirius murmured as he rubbed his eyes. “If we hit another site that has such a large number of targets and we intend to deal with all of them, we might need to sacrifice the number of groups for a concentration of our people.”

Harry nodded his agreement as Fleur offered, “If we cast the wards earlier, we would free up Remus and Bill.” Narrowing her eyes, she added, “But the early ward casting might be detected by the targets.”

Remus leaned back on the couch, his eyes closed as he mused, “We trade off the element of surprise for a concentration of force. There's no rule that says we can't raise the wards from the back of the house or seal the house before knocking on the door.”

Silently, Harry soaked up the observations and opinions of his more experienced team members. Feeling pretty inept here, he admitted to himself. Just after that, a voice that sounded remarkably like Hermione's chastised him, This is why you have Sirius, Bill, Fleur and Remus. They'll follow you to hell and back, but they have experience that you don't have.

“Smaller target next time?” Sirius mumbled.

Bill shook his head. “Won't help drive You-Know-Who to the wall if we do that.”

“Why not?” Harry asked. “One attack is as good as the next.”

“Because we want him to feel threatened. Personally threatened,” Bill reiterated. “You can't scare a psychotic wizard like You-Know-Who with an attack on three Death Eaters.” Gesturing with his hand out the window, Bill concluded, “You have to kill over a hundred, like we did tonight. And we have to do it again, soon, else we lose the emotional impact to the enemy.”

They all sat quietly, considering the truth of Bill's assertion. Finally, Sirius piped up. With a jab to Charlie's midsection, he whined, “I'm tired of all the serious talk. Tell me a story about dragons, youngster.”

Blinking away his sleepy eyes, Charlie smiled. “Well, there was this one time back in '92 when a Horntail and a Vipertooth were feeling frisky….”

.oOo.

Winky was singing an elven lullaby as she watched over Master Robbie. Her Grace was in the shower, so the devoted servant of Lily Potter was watching over the baby. The young Master was sleeping as Winky watched him, a smile dancing in and out across her tiny face.

“How is he, Winky?” Lily asked as she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe.

“Lord Robert is sleeping quietly, your Grace,” Winky replied in a low voice that carried to her mistress. The young elf tilted her head, considering, before snapping her fingers. The burst of elven magic brought a heavy robe from her Grace's wardrobe.

“Thank you, Winky,” Lily murmured as her ladies' maid hurried to assist the Duchess in dressing and doing up her auburn hair as the muggleborn witch sat at her vanity. “I seem to be getting colder every day.” She laughed to herself in an undertone as she fixed her earrings in place. “You'd think that this temperate climate would be hot after living in Scotland for seven winters, but…,” she trailed off as Winky applied the Sticking charm to the back of the robe to close it.

“'Tis the wind, your Grace,” the elf observed as she scrutinized her Lady for any imperfections. Removing a bit of stray fuzz from her Grace's arm, Winky nodded in pronouncing her Lady ready to face the world. Well, in this case, it was a bit more than the world.

With a wink, Lily grinned, “Let's go, Winky. The Queen is waiting.”

The elf was bursting with joy and gratitude as she snapped her fingers again, causing Lord Robert's bag to shrink as it hid itself in her little pocket. She'd been a part of the Crouch household and a valuable asset there. Now, she was an integral part of the Potter family. Not only valued for what she could do, but for who she was.

Lily stooped to carry Robbie to the fireplace. Scurrying behind her Mistress, Winky prepared to follow Lily to Paris for their tea with Her Majesty. Rauri had been quite insistent that her Grace was to be never undefended.

Winky was ready to give her life to defend her mistress should that occasion arise.

.oOo.

Dinner was a quiet affair, as usual. Arthur listlessly forked a few slices of succulent roast pork onto his plate. Handing the platter to his daughter, the balding man accepted the bowl of beans from his son. “Thanks, Ron,” he muttered.

The tall youngest son of Arthur and Molly nodded absently as he cut his roast before dunking it in the pool of gravy. Across from him, Molly was absently toying with a potato. His once curvy wife had lost four stone and was now dangerously skinny. When they'd first met in school Molly had been a petite woman whose figure was rail thin, aside from her hourglass figure. Seven children later, she had lost that shape, but his love for her never diminished.

Now, she was approaching the same figure she had as a fifth year student and Arthur was considering forcing her to go to a healer.

Shaking his head, Arthur reflected on the state of his family. Molly was medically depressed. With Percy missing, she'd had her worst fear realized: losing more of her family. The loss of her brothers in her first war had nearly destroyed her. The seeming loss of her son was eating her alive.

Flanking her were the twins. Fred and George had lost nearly all their cheerful exuberance that made them quintessential jokesters. Now, they were angry. Narrowing his eyes in consideration, Arthur wondered if it was the loss of their least favourite brother, the impact of his loss on the family, the loss of Britain and the subjugation of her people or a mix of all. Or something else entirely.

Ron was quiet. He'd never been boisterous like the twins or garrulous like Charlie, but he'd also never been shy. Now he was silent as the grave.

Ginny was fretting. Of all them, she'd known true evil and battled it. She knew what Bill and Charlie were facing and what could be holding Percy in its icy thrall. Most of the time she was artificially cheerful while pasting a happy expression on her face for her mother - for Ginny knew that Moly suffered and wanted to help. Arthur was able to see beyond the masque to her pain, her fear.

All of them suffered. Blinking, Arthur wondered at his role in their pain. It was far too easy to blame Bill and Charlie's absence or Percy's captivity or the war in general for the family's problems. Arthur knew that his guilt over his…treason…was enormous. No matter how hard he tried to hide his feelings, he knew that those who loved him most could see and feel his disquiet.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he scrubbed his face. Sometimes his ignominy was overpowering. He'd tried to smother it with the argument that his son's life was in the balance; he'd do anything for his son. Who wouldn't? Ever since admitting his treasonous activity to Amelia, that counterargument didn't seem to hold much water.

“Dad, are you alright?”

Looking up from his still full plate, Arthur smiled weakly at Ginny. His darling girl. “I'm well, Firebug.” She'd earned that friendly nickname as her first bout of accidental magic had been to set the twins hair on fire when they were teasing her.

She frowned in return. “You're so sad lately, Dad. Is it Percy?”

Arthur's weak imitation of a smile faltered. Now, he had the full attention of the table's occupants. Glancing about, he replied, “That and more. Things are difficult at the Ministry.” It wasn't an untrue statement, but it was far from the truth.

“Of course they are,” Molly interjected with a hint of her old vim. To all their children, she admonished, “Your father is a very important man who is filling a vital role in freeing our country. Every day, he does things that save people's lives.”

Self-loathing swamped Arthur. Molly's instinctive belief and trust in him that he could be no less than perfectly honourable and upright was tortuous. If she only knew the truth, he thought to himself.

Ginny caught his eye, her expression both loving and serious. “Well…no matter what, I love you Daddy.”

Arthur almost burst into tears of shame, but only nodded dumbly before replying, “And I love you, too, Firebug.”

.oOo.

Oliver swallowed the last of the whisky in his glass. Nowadays, he kept his alcohol intake to only one glass per day. Part of it was necessity. “Can't find any bloody firewhiskey nowadays,” he mumbled to himself. At his side, Angelina nodded to herself in agreement.

On the other side of the room, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell were asleep in each other's arms. The lovers had shocked Oliver with their announcement that they batted for the home team. After the initial surprise wore off, he shrugged and jokingly asked if he could watch. His resulting bruises faded after a few weeks.

The four Gryffindors had formed a cadre of sorts. Unable to link up with any of the formalized resistance, Oliver had declared, “We've our wands. What more do we need?” The foursome had taken to killing as many Death Eaters as they could. They each had deeply personal motivations, but said motivations were common to all.

“For you, Mum,” Oliver whispered as he toasted her spirit with his now empty glass.

“Dad, Ally,” Angelina echoed at his side for her lost father and sister.

Oliver nodded. Had Katie and Alicia been awake, they'd have toasted both their parents and Katie's younger brother.

Casting a quick spell to wash out their glasses, Oliver finished their nightly routine. Holding out his hand to his lover and fellow freedom fighter, he asked, “Will you join me?”

She smiled wistfully. He could see it in her eyes that she - like he - wished for the innocence of days gone. Nevertheless, she took his hand in both of hers. Oliver shivered as she placed the usual gentle kiss to his palm before she replied, “Of course, my love.”

An hour later, his breath heaving from exertion, Oliver fell into a deep sleep. Some would say it was the sleep of the righteous, others would say it was the sleep of the damned.

Tonight, they'd killed four Death Eaters. It'd been a good day.

.oOo.

He saw her eyelids flutter as she woke. Slowly rubbing her shoulder, Harry whispered, “Hey you.”

Hermione smiled tiredly. “Hey.”

“Alright?” His tone was deceptively light, wanting to know but trying to hide his fear for her well-being.

“Sore, but overall alright.” She grumbled while stretching her back. Stopping the stretch, she opened her eyes, fixing him with her stare. “Everyone else alright?”

Harry's heart sank. Gently scooping up Hermione's hand, he told her, “Neville. He was under the Cruciatus.”

Hermione groaned in anguish. “And?”

“Alex said that he'd be fine in a few days. Apparently, the wizard who'd cast the Cruciatus on him wasn't very powerful or focused. The spell had hurt but didn't caused the long term damage that his parents suffered.”

Torn by a variety of emotions and reactions, Harry was silent. He was angry that his friend suffered such a vicious curse. Adding insult to injury was the history that Neville had with the curse. Self-reproach and guilt flooded him. I'm the team leader. I should've had a better plan so he wasn't so exposed. Fear that Hermione or someone who was closer to his heart could be next. Guilt that he felt that Neville was `low on the totem pole' was salt in his wound. All in all, Harry was a mess.

Hermione sighed loudly. “A few days. Live and learn…,” she muttered.

Frowning, he objected, “Live and learn?” He tried to keep the harshness from his question. He failed.

Hermione's narrow eyed gaze focused on him as she replied with some heat, “In case you've forgotten, my love, this is war. The other side isn't going to roll over to let us kill them. They have this nasty tendency to want to live to see tomorrow and that causes them to cast all sorts of nasty spells.”

Her sarcasm caused Harry to chuckle. Feeling his gloom lifting, he kissed her emerald bedecked hand, “Thanks.” The shifting of her expression from a scowl to a twinkling smile reaffirmed his belief that she knew him better than anyone else.

It was fairly clear that Hermione was his rock; his centre. As she was sleeping through her recovery, he'd drifted a bit. The old learned behaviours from his childhood in Surrey had surfaced. Vernon's constant blame of Harry for all that ailed his family had taught Harry that he was not only responsible but guilty of what transpired. The ingrained belief in his incompetence - his incapability - was strong and one that he and his family had worked hard to overcome over the past nearly two years. Without Hermione to steady him, he quickly fell back into that morass of self-doubt.

Harry could be two different persons. By himself he could be inconstant, angst ridden all the while pulling guilt upon himself for things he'd not done. With Hermione at his side, he was calmer, more level headed. With a word or a look from her, he could centre himself and move forward without regret. Smiling at her, he admitted to himself that this is what'd happened to him about the raid from the night before. “Love you,” he whispered.

She reached for him, pulling him into their bed. As she wrapped her arms about him, Hermione purred, “Hmmm.”

.oOo.

“Your Majesty, the Duchess of Shrewsbury and Lord Robert Potter.”

Elizabeth looked up from her correspondence toward the doorwarden. Nodding to the security agent, she rubbed her eyes. As she heard the door open, the Queen sighed heavily. While she'd been able to make contact with many other Heads of State - and with the assistance of their local Ministries for Magic convince them of the truth of her situation - a solution wasn't developing.

Even the United States, whom Britain had the long held `special relationship', wasn't running forward to assist her country. To assist her in her struggle to retake her country. Elizabeth had been a politician as long as she could remember so she knew that personal cause and effect had to be divorced from the machinations of nation states, but…

Lily entered the room, the baby snuggled into her arms causing Elizabeth's thoughts to be rerouted to a much more pleasant place.

“Ah, your Grace,” she murmured with her hands outstretched in greeting. The stunning redhead smiled in reply as the older woman added, “It's very good to see you again.”

The last time they'd met had been over tea just before she been delivered of her baby. Looking down at the babe, Elizabeth smiled with the suffused joy that only a parent can muster. Images of Charles, Andrew and her other children flashed through her mind. All of them wanted, adored and loved. All of them dead.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, shuttering away the omnipresent pain. Her duty was far from a balm to her soul. It was more of an anaesthetic that numbed the pain, allowing her to function through the day. Blinking away the unwanted wetness, she refocused on Lily and young Robert. “He's a grand boy,”

Smiling widely, Lily couldn't help but to agree. “He is, though I say so myself.” The Duchess cum witch reached into her handbag, withdrawing her wand. “Do you mind?” she asked with a gesture of the wand.

“Go right ahead.”

A moment later, a wooden swing appeared out of thin air. Engraved upon it were creatures of faery, scuttling about on the polished struts of the swing. A small being popped into existence, her dress that of a ladies' maid, but her size and colouring far from that.

Before the Queen could comment beyond a surprised expression, Lily introduced them, “Your Majesty, this is Winky. She's a House Elf and takes care of Robert and myself.”

Elizabeth remembered James' initial briefing of the Potter household and his description of the fierce dedication and loyalty of their magical domestics. “How do you do, Miss Winky.”

The House Elf blushed to the roots of her tightly bound hair. With a deep curtsey, Winky replied, “I am being well, your Majesty.” Before anyone could say anything else, the Elf reached out for Robbie before placing him in the conjured swing. A snap of her thin greenish fingers set the swing in motion.

Both women gave the baby boy a last, contented look before moving over to the sitting area. As they sat, Lily asked, “How are you, Ma'am?”

Sighing as she poured for them, Elizabeth replied, “I continue, your Grace.”

The sadness and empathy in Lily's expression almost undid the dispossessed Queen. Fortunately, the younger woman passed over the issue, changing the topic to more palatable shores.

“James and I have need of your counsel and guidance, Ma'am.”

The iron grey eyebrow cocked with interest, as if to say, “Go on.”

“The Russians are attempting to coerce some of the countries who are vacillating in their support of your Government and our attempts to rescue the country.”

“Hmm,” Elizabeth murmured as she sipped her tea. This was a wonderful diversion that she could sink her teeth into. “Ivanov is still spouting his bigoted policies and trying to force other countries into what? Obedience and compliance with those policies or is he looking for the Anschluss where others stand by and do nothing.”

Lily nodded around her own tea. “Right now, it appears that the Russian Bear would be amenable to the latter while hoping for the former. Ivanov and his masters in Moscow are far from idiots. They know that they lack the moral high ground or the martial might to force vassal hood upon other states. It's rumoured that the Venezuelan delegate has been in close council with the Russians and the Rumanians, but that's the only known quantity.”

The Queen's eyes had a faraway look as she considered. “Magical Russia does not appear to have the will or might that the Soviet Union once possessed when it forced the confederacy of `allies' that was the Warsaw Pact. In the same breath, it seems that they are intentionally trying to freeze out the UK and our allies.” Meeting Lily's gaze, she asked, “Do you believe that this is their purpose? The limited aim of isolating us as opposed to taking action against us?”

Lily sighed, sipping her tea, again. “I am beginning to believe so. They have no need to destroy us. If they can make us wither on the vine, our nuisance becomes nonsense which will become nothing.”

“In normal times,” the Queen replied briskly as her lesson of Foreign Affairs continued, “We would simply rely on our allies and compatriot; strong in ourself so that the Kingdom moved on and weathered the tempest. Now, however…,” she trailed off, looking into her nearly empty teacup.

“Quite.” Lily tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair before offering, “The Germans, Spanish and Chinese have been exceedingly supportive. Might we consider them in lieu of our traditional allies?”

Nodding in deliberation, Elizabeth replied, “That is a very interesting idea, your Grace.”

.oOo.

“They're recruiting like mad, Alastor.”

Terry Sheehan stroked his goatee as the infamous Mad-Eye Moody grunted in response. He was pretty sure that it was a `no shit' or maybe even an `I agree' grunt, but one could never really tell with old Mad-Eye.

Tossing the latest intelligence estimates on the table between the two Auror Commanders, Terry lazily gestured, “Over five hundred new members in the last month. Estimated total force in excess of five thousand.”

Mad-Eye took a pull on his hip flask before asking, “Any foreign fighters, or are they all British and Irish?”

Terry nodded appreciatively. It was expected to be a sign that Voldemort was branching out when the foreigners started joining up. Word from Spain was that Bones and Potter were scrambling to get the historically pureblood elitist countries to squash recruitment efforts. Russia and Rumania were lost, but there was positive traction in Poland, Iran, Iraq and Egypt. Greece was waffling, so both Alastor and Terry were on the lookout for any Greeks, Russians or Rumanians in the opposition forces they were encountering.

“My lads haven't seen anyone,” Terry told his compatriot. “You?”

Scowling, Alastor shook his head in negation.

The last item on Terry's informal agenda he'd not written down. It was an `Eyes-Only ULTRA' classification in the ministry. Maybe six people knew of it and the only persons in Britain that Terry was aware of were in this highly warded and secured room in an abandoned barn in Lancashire. “You heard anything from the Lion's Pride?”

He didn't know who made up the `Lion's Pride' team other than they were a covert insertion Special Forces team that had one objective: Find and Kill Lord Voldemort.

Terry didn't envy them their tasking one iota.

“Nothing,” Alastor barked in reply. “I doubt we will. I've an idea who is on the team and they're too smart to break communications security.” The old Auror squinted as he amended, “Unless they need us for something. They're not going to come knocking to play Quidditch.”

Alastor smiled, which was a fairly disturbing expression on the scarred Auror's face. “I did hear from old Albus, though. He's been hunting in the forbidden forest.” Cackling, Moody took a last pull in his flask before standing. “He's killed every kind of beastie up there short of a bloody dragon. Not sure what he's up to now, but don't be surprised if the old man pops out of nowhere.”

Terry nodded as he gathered up his paperwork, stuffing it into his briefcase. Facing Alastor, he extended his hand in farewell. Moody looked him over, grunted and shook hands.

As Sheehan made his way out of the barn to his Apparition point, he smiled. He was fairly sure that the grunt had been along the lines of `don't die' or the like.

.oOo.

“I think that you've intentionally given me all the work you don't want to do.”

Amelia smiled as she looked up from the weekly Exchequer report from Robert Grantham. Despite a lack of taxation capability - and therefore steady income - the Ministry in Exile was still in good shape financially. They'd spirited out all the Ministry funds directly after the government fell due to James' relationship with the goblin leadership. While she wasn't ready to trust the goblins to the same extent that her Foreign Minister did, she was willing to give a bit. After all, without their cooperation in the `minor transfer of funds', Amelia would've been begging to various countries for loans to keep their effort afloat.

It was all well and good for James Potter, the Duke of Shrewsbury, to work for a nominal one galleon per annum salary. He was one of the wealthiest wizards in Britain. The rest of the mob needed to be paid. Zeal for Queen and country didn't feed hungry mouths. As she scanned down the columns to see that her government was in good standing, Amelia silently thanked James for his efforts. Hat in hand begging wasn't something that Amelia Bones was very good at doing. Ever.

That being said, most of the Ministry personnel who'd escaped the downfall of Britain hadn't had roles very vital to war fighting. Many were clerks and bureaucrats who had no training or desire to contribute to the fields of espionage, warfare or logistics.

Amelia had given her Deputy - Hestia Black - the task to organize and make these buggers useful to the war effort. Hence the young Countess' grouchy and grumbling disposition as she stomped into the Minister's office.

“I do believe that I shall take a page out of Harry's book and begin to transfigure cretins into inanimate objects. Would you object, Amelia?” Hestia groaned as she dropped her face into her hands.

Dropping the spreadsheet onto her desk, the diminutive redhead minister sat back into her chair. “Difficult day, dear?”

“Horrid. I had to explain to Weltinsham in Magical Creatures that it really did fall into his position description to do what his supervisor directed him to do in regards to the analysis of the magical creatures that the Dark Lord has let loose to guard high value targets.”

Amelia smothered a smile when the beautiful blonde woman across from her frowned and scrunched her face most disagreeably as she huffed in an artificially deep voice, “Well, m'lady it's not right, it isn't. I's always done the filin' and whatnot for the registration of `Ippogriffs, see. All this,” she gestured with her hand at invisible intelligence reports, “analysis isn't what I do, see?”

“I commend you for not strangling old Mr Weltinsham, Hestia,” Amelia smiled.

Hestia narrowed her eyes in a mock scowl. “You owe me dinner for that.”

Now the Minister laughed aloud. Checking the clock, she saw that it was 19:30 so she stood. “Right. Before we go, where do we stand with the expatriate registration?”

Hestia sighed as she sat back in her chair. Rolling her head back on the chair she closed her eyes. “Debenham brought me up to date this morning. Right now, we've 2584 adults who've registered along with 1254 children.”

The week before, Amelia had given a series of interviews in Le Monde Magique, Roma, the International Magical Herald and other periodicals urging the British expatriate readers to contact the Ministry in Exile so that relief efforts could be coordinated through Barbate, where the Ministry was temporarily located. It'd been Hestia's idea to try to consolidate those who'd escaped from the downfall of their homeland.

“How many of the two-odd thousand adults can or are willing to contribute?” Amelia asked. She knew that some of those that'd escaped would be very wealthy and had the means to live independent of employment, but Amelia wasn't above using people's basic needs to get them to help. This was war and she needed all hands on deck.

“Approximately three hundred have filled out the census forms and indicated that they are seeking employment with the Ministry in Exile.” Yawning, Hestia added, “I'm not sure of skillsets as of yet.”

Opening her eyes, Hestia replied, “I've got Marks growing the logistics arm of the Auror division.” She flipped open her note pad to check her notes. “Right now, we have sufficient remote portkey capability to move supplies at a rate to support the two Auror commands in the field. As we both know, Lion's Pride is self-sustaining,” Hestia and Amelia shared a worried glance over their missing loved ones. “But if the Auror commands subdivide into six as Terry and Alastor have recommended alongside their expected growth and recruitment, in addition to any troops the Chinese field…,” she tailed off.

“We need to scout and secure new safe facilities and safe drops for the supplies,” Amelia summed up succinctly. With a nod of understanding, she asked, “Food?”

Nodding, Hestia replied, “Good. Marks has two muggle suppliers on contract and they're more than capable of meeting our requirements.”

“Winter's coming,” the Minister observed lightly.

“Yes, and Marks has it under control. Heavy weight robes, accessories such as caps and gloves are all on order. Enchanted heating stoves have already been delivered.” She grinned, “Yorkshire is apparently colder than a brass teat at night. According to Alastor, that is.”

Amelia laughed. Seeing that the situation was in hand, she dropped her paperwork into the top drawer of her desk/safe combination. “Let's call it a day and get some food.”

.oOo.

“Hey, love.”

Lily looked up to see James come in the room. She'd just finished nursing Robbie and was changing his nappie before putting him down for the night. With a soft pop, Winky appeared before Lily with her arms outstretched in a beseeching manner.

“Let Winky take care of Lord Robbie, your Grace.”

With real affection, for Winky had wormed her way into Lily's heart as much as Rauri had years before, Lily surrendered her babe to their loyal retainer. No, not a retainer. A member of our family, Lily corrected herself.

From behind, Prongs wrapped her arm about Lily's waist. “Tired?” he asked as he kissed the top of her head. With Robbie settled, Winky popped out without a word.

Sighing, Lily leaned into the embrace. “A bit, but not too bad. With him sleeping through the night, it's easier now.” Robbie had started to sleep through the night on a consistent basis; a point when all parents sigh in relief and get a good night's sleep for the first time in seemingly forever. “How was work?” she asked.

She felt him place another tender kiss on the top of her head. “Fine. Had another follow up discussion with Johann. He's going to arrange a meeting with Li Peng for next week.”

Lily frowned as she considered. “Why are the Germans brokering this? They don't need to introduce us to the Chinese.”

“Because my fearsomely beauteous bride,” she could hear the smirk in his tone, “Your incredibly dashing and attractive husband has charmed the robes off our Hun colleagues. I do believe that they might send some of their Magische Krieger to give our lads a lift.”

“Mmm,” Lily murmured as she wiggled into her husband's embrace. It was entirely possible that he was telling the truth, but the willingness of the Magical German Democratic Confederation to assist the British Ministry in Exile wasn't very high on her list of concerns at this time.

They were watching Robbie as his squirming settled to twitching before his little lips puckered in sleep. James' soft laughter at his son's little snores made her feel good. Whole. At the same time, she wasn't whole.

“I miss Harry,” she whispered. His arms tightened as he pulled her flat against him.

“Me, too,” he replied. “He ought to be here. Hermione, Padfoot, Moony, Alex…,” with a last kiss, he added, “Even Billy, Neville and Susan should be here.”

She was silent for a bit before proclaiming, “They will be. I have to have faith.” Squeezing his hand at her waist, she amended, “We need to have faith.”

The longing that had begun slowly began to build and grow. She could feel her husband's strong arms and firm chest. Most of all, she felt his love for her; for their children. “You know, there are some days that I wonder what in nine hells I was thinking of when I married you.”

“I know the feeling,” he jibed with a nebulous return.

Rolling her eyes even though he couldn't see it, she added, “But most of the time I thank God that we both got our act together.” She closed her eyes as the emotion swamped her, “I love you with all my heart, James.”

With quiet sincerity, James replied, “And I love you with all my heart, Lils.”

Turning in his arms, Lily wrapped her arms about his neck, pulling him to her. Their kiss was passionate and needy. Breaking apart, but still touching, she whispered “It's been six weeks today.”

“Too long,” he observed.

“Let's go to be, my love,” she offered.

He gently took her hand, placing a reverential kiss on her palm before leading her out of the nursery to their bedroom.

.oOo.

The air was crisp as the late autumn night crawled over northern Wales. Hermione was dead asleep. While her wounds had all been healed, she was still very tired, so Harry left the tent to enjoy the clear night and let her rest undisturbed. Exiting the tent, he heard a murmur of voices to his right. The small coal of a cigarette gave away Charlie's identity and when Harry heard Fleur's musical laugh in the same vicinity, he assumed that Bill was there as well.

Ahead, he saw the tall, lean form of Remus leaning on their picnic table, Sirius sitting next to his old friend. Meandering over, he saw that Billy was on Remus' other side. “Hey,” he greeted them.

“How's Hermione?” Sirius asked immediately. He'd been very worried about his adopted daughter, but let Harry take the lead in tending to her needs. Not wanting to be suffocating, he'd hung back even when his desires were clamouring for him to be by her bedside.

Nodding, Harry accepted the silent offer of tea from Remus as he replied, “Sleeping. She woke for a bit, gave me a bollocking and then went back to bed.”

The other three chortled softly in the darkness. Harry reflected that it seemed that people were naturally quieter when outside at night. “What's going on out here?”

Billy replied, “We're just talking about the day after tomorrow.”

Harry nodded in understanding. They'd set up a meeting with a small werewolf pack that lived in the Cotswolds. Billy was passionate about coming to terms with the British lycanthropes so that they stayed neutral in the war. At the same time, he was insistent and dedicated in improving their lot under the expected post-war government. They were starting small, approaching the outlier packs, before heading into Yorkshire and the Scottish Highlands where the two big packs and their families lived.

“Anything new?” Harry asked as he blew on the hot tea.

The Prince shook his head in negation. “Remus and I both think we've a sound plan and approach. Simpler is better at this stage.”

Harry nodded, “Fair enough.” The quiet washed over them. Finally calm, Harry what looked into the dark sky as he admired the beauty of Creation.

Off to his left, he heard Charlie murmur, “'Night all.” The rest of those still up and about wished him a good night.

Footsteps announced Bill and Fleur joining the other four. Bill accepted Remus' tea while Fleur declined. The conversation picked up on general topics. Hestia's promotion to the Deputy Minister spot. Lily returning to work and the wonderful help that Winky had become. Harry noticed that no one wanted to talk about the current events in Britain. At one point, Sirius and Remus launched into a two part tale of one of their misadventures at Hogwarts. As they all laughed, Harry saw how Remus' straight man routine had worked so well for those mischief makers in their teen years. Waving away his fears for the morrow, he enjoyed the moment. For the time being, he was content to escape from the war. To be a young man enjoying a chilly night with his friends and family.

.oOo

A/N

1. I own nothing. Thanks to all who reviewed the first twenty-six chapters of Last Casualties. Story status, as always, can be found on my Author's page on fanfiction (dot) net. I update the status on Mondays. Most of the time. Sorry for the long delay in starting Act III of Last Casualties. It took a long time for me to get my head around where I wanted the story to go. Endings are hard; so says the Prophet Chuck. Figuring them out isn't easy. With school in session, I should be able to have more time to write. It won't be a five month hiatus between chapters for chapter 28.

2. The recommendation for this chapter a `two-fer' as I forget last chapter's rec. The first recommendation is an author and their creation: Botosphere (a consortium of 3 authors) and their Transformers universe. Diverging from the movie-verse at the end of Revenge of the Fallen, these ladies combine to create a magnificent Transformers `verse that rivals any of the books or comics. Start with `Kinship' and go from there. Fantastic reads.

The second recommendation is `Harry Potter and the Knight of the Radiant Heart'. It's a very entertaining and absorbing post OOTP AU. Find it on Portkey and FF dot net.

Chapter complete 9/12/13

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