A/N: Here's your first earned bonus in this story! And yes, I'm updating Part 0 as well, for those reading both.

-C

Although their relationship was largely repaired, Adrasteia was still not quite used to meeting her cousin for lunch. Mostly, Catherine was too busy for such things. When she wasn't working, Catherine seemed to spend all her time with her husband, her parents, her daughter, her siblings and nephews and nieces. Cousins were apparently a step too far. But Catherine asked to meet, so Adrasteia was sitting in a tea shop in the new, burgeoning wizarding neighborhood in Manchester. She'd offered to go to Birmingham to meet Catherine, but it seemed her cousin didn't want to be overheard.

These days, one had to go to Manchester for any anonymity.

"You're late," Adrasteia teased when Catherine slipped into the booth across from her. "What's all this about?"

"Research," Catherine said softly. "On people. I know no one better at finding what doesn't want to be found."

Adrasteia narrowed her eyes.

It was true, she was excellent at routing out secrets, and people, and places. Her novels were all based on the dirty secrets the people in her world didn't want uncovered, and she always dressed them up just enough to keep them from causing chaos. But she couldn't imagine what her cousin wanted dug up.

"I need to find someone," Catherine said, "and I need to do it discretely. And you know I can't use normal channels discretely, or even most of the abnormal channels."

"Who?" Adrasteia said, narrowing her eyes.

Catherine bit her lip, looking at her teacup as the waitress came around to pour their tea. Adrasteia had ordered, knowing her cousin's tastes – unchanged in four decades since their childhood tea parties. Perhaps the only thing gone unchanged in those years.

"I know Dumbledore's still alive," Catherine whispered. "He still does work for the Wizengamot, in major cases. But he only comes in twice a year, and it's ages until I could waylay him at the Ministry. I need to find him at his home, and I need to talk to him there."

Adrasteia's eyebrows twitched. If Albus Dumbledore didn't want to be found, he could hide better than perhaps anybody on the planet. Of course, it didn't follow that simply because no one knew where he was off the tops of their heads he didn't want to be found – simply no one had made a fuss over his lifestyle. She thought he'd gone to a tiny Muggle village, if whispers could be believed, which gave her a place to start. A broad, vague, ridiculously complicated place to start, but still.

"I hate to ask," she said softly.

"What's in it for you, Adra," Catherine said softly, "is answers. I want to ask him about your father. Among other things. I imagine that's something you want to know, isn't it?" Adrasteia nodded. "And why I'm turning to him is because six years on, I still feel like something's missing, and I can't move forward with my life until I at least have an idea of what happened in my past. And it must be something with me, mustn't it? It can't be coincidence."

Adrasteia had thought the same thing at the time and never wavered in the thought, but she'd never said it out loud. Even now, she didn't dare say it out loud, because she wasn't sure she wanted to know what it might mean.

"Alright," she whispered, "I'll keep you posted on what I find. I can't give you any promises on when, if I find him."

"I understand," Catherine said earnestly. "Do what you have to do."

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Meetings with the full crew were few and far between, but Blaise did try to gather his empire around him every once in a while, to check on progress for all his organizations.

"Ginny," he said sharply, nodding his wife on.

"The Tribune is up in readership," she said. "A marginal amount, probably because of England's unusually good Quidditch run. Also, Ernie, Colin, and Cora are requesting an improved internship program."

"Write up a request outlining their ideas," Blaise said. "If it's good, we'll do it for the whole corporation."

She nodded, making a note. She ran the Hogsmeade Tribune, which covered all written hard news and sports news for his corporation. He then turned to Luna, who had converted her father's old newspaper into an academic research journal based out of Birmingham, including articles and essays from some of the top minds of their era.

"Waiting on a few articles, one from Madam Potter," she said, "and another from Mrs. Potter. Kitty's could wait, but the other will have to go out on time if it's going to adjoin with the article Colin's running on the new legal front. Otherwise, we're on schedule."

Blaise nodded, turning to Natalie Whitby, who was running his acquisition, The Daily Prophet, out of London. He'd converted it to a Business and Finance paper, and she did a wonderful job organizing this world for the average reader and the specialist alike.

"Damon and Mora want a hiring binge," Natalie said, rubbing her eyes. "I agree we're understaffed now we've opened the Philanthropy section. Katie Bell's a star, but she and Damon are basically writing the Business section between them."

"Give me the numbers and we'll get something advertised," Blaise said, nodding. "We knew this was coming. Dennis."

Dennis Creevey perked up. He was now the Editor-in-Chief at Witch Weekly, which Blaise moved to Hogsmeade, as the Tribune had enough land to build two offices, and Blaise's personal office was squarely between the two in a free-standing building. Dennis was surprisingly good at organizing this publication, which covered gossip, society pages, how-to's, their own Agony Aunt, and literature from top writers. The main writers, of course, were Adrasteia Lestrange and Blaise's daughter, Eveleen, but it wasn't his fault they were top of the charts.

"All is well," Dennis said, grinning. "We're well-staffed, making big money, and Miss Lewis tells me she's had an increase of interest in her section since Eveleen's latest book hit the shelves. We're expecting more subscriptions, even if it's a small uptick."

"Good, good," Blaise said, turning to Lee Jordan, who was running the WWN out of Cardiff. "Now, we're still in the hiring phase for several shows, yes?"

"Yeah," Lee said, rubbing his eyes. "Business show is currently not up and running, and I've called in one-offs for entertainment hour, but Nat and Dennis are sending people my way if they think they've got the chops, and I've been recruiting heavily at Hogwarts. Professor Lupin's been very helpful."

Blaise nodded. He wanted to expand into Ireland and onto the continent, but he could see there was work to do to solidify his current holdings. He'd have a word with Catherine Potter or Kevin Whitby soon. They were the experts in rapid expansion and buyouts. If anyone could give him advice, he knew it was them.

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After they closed their respective shops for the day, Kevin met up with Catherine at the Birmingham branch to check in on the main office and do their weekly review of finances. She seemed distracted, but that was not terribly unusual these days. She'd not gone totally back to being herself since Cecilia's death and Cynthia's…return. He didn't ask and he didn't press because life had all sorts of stressors, but he did worry, as he was sure her husband worried.

"How's Kenrick?" she asked, laying out the books for each branch so they could systematically assure they were all balanced.

"It's weird, having him in Dublin," Kevin said with a grin. "But he's loving having his own shop to run. He visits every time he as a company meeting in London, but his life's in Ireland, now. How's Harry? Haven't seen him in ages."

"Oh, he's talking about getting another dog again," she said with a nervous laugh. "Not sure I'm ready. Four is still plenty, and it would feel too much like replacing them."

Something about her tone suggested she wasn't really talking about dogs, but he nodded. They were startled off their track of conversation by the tapping of an owl's beak on the window. Catherine hurried to it and greeted the owl like an old friend, which he supposed meant the letter was for her. It was a small bit of parchment, more a note than a letter, but her eyes lit up with excitement.

"That was fast," she muttered, jamming the note into the envelop, getting some water for the owl before its journey back.

"Something you were expecting?"

"Oh, I asked Adra for information on something, only I thought it would take a lot more time for her to find. Nothing important."

But those last two words were an obvious lie, and Kevin decided while he wouldn't press, he would file that away for later. Just in case.

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It had been the week from hell, and it only seemed to get worse. First, all of Cormac's employees had either resigned or requested transfers to other departments. His boss, Cedric Diggory, had been rather cold about the whole thing, but Cormac hadn't been fired or shuffled out of his position as Head of the International Magical Trading Standards Body. The publicity was bad, but really, it hadn't been such a terrible joke. One of his better ones, Cormac thought.

How was he supposed to know he'd offend half the Asian market?

And now, he was standing outside his girlfriend's Regency home in Brighton, locked out and staring at his things on the kerb.

In his defense, he hadn't thought she'd known about the Muggle shop girl. How could she, when he didn't even know the name of the Muggle shop girl?

And, of course, his girlfriend was a Muggle, sister of a Muggle-born wizard he knew from work. Even though she knew about magic, it wasn't really appropriate to use it to get back into her house. Because legally, it was her house. And using magic in a Muggle neighborhood to unlock locked doors was frowned on.

And maybe it wasn't the shop girl she was upset about, he mused, kicking his trunk, trying to decide what to do. It could be one of the other three. He'd been careful, but he knew their names, so it was always possible it made them easier to find. That's what he got for learning names.

Cormac thought he could always just walk out into the sea, leave his things on her doorstep and let her decide what to do with them.

Instead, he supposed he could use the tools at his disposal. Walking out into the sea didn't sit well with him. He didn't want his body nibbled on by marine life. It seemed highly undignified.

Instead, he pulled out some belladonna root he'd been saving for a potion for weedkilling, and he chomped on the bitter root, ignoring the aftertaste. This would be suitably dramatic, he could feel it.

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Jowan arrived with a regular shipment to the Birmingham branch of Potter & Whitby's, and he was surprised to see his Aunt Kitty pulling on her jacket and having a quiet word with Ms. Bobbin, one of the shift managers.

"Oh, Jowan," Aunt Kitty sighed. "Melinda will help you with that. I have other business I must see to. Give my best to your mother, will you?"

He nodded, but she saw more of his mother than he did, most of the time. Of course, Aunt Kitty being busy and balancing a lot of things wasn't so unusual, but she always stayed at the branch until lunch. It wasn't just tradition or expectation – it was what she did. Nothing at all plain or simple about it.

As she left the shop, he asked Ms. Bobbin if she knew where his aunt was going, and the woman shrugged.

"I never ask," she said, but her frown said she noticed the departure from form, as well.

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Marly Prewett and Jemma Lestrange were best friends, Marly a Quidditch hero for the Hufflepuff team and Jemma a favorite (and relative) of what seemed half the staff. It was largely accepted the two girls ruled the school. Jemma's father was their Ancient Runes teacher, her aunt was Deputy, Potions Mistress, and Marly's head of house. Her sister had recently begun teaching Arithmancy, and her cousin had just taken over the post of librarian. And that was just those who shared the surname Lestrange.

"There's a rumor," Jemma whispered to her best friend, who was listening eagerly, "that my grandmother has been spending quite a lot of time with Professor Lupin."

Both girls glanced up at the High Table to get a look at their Headmaster, and Marly supposed he'd seemed even more cheerful than usual of late. When he looked at them, however, they both quickly looked at their food and pretended they'd never looked up.

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Catherine walked down the High Street of Upper Churl, a remote Muggle village in Yorkshire, and she let her eyes scan street signs, trying to find her destination.

"'Scuse me, ma'am," a kindly man in his fifties said, stopping her. "Only y'look lost."

She smiled sheepishly and said, "Oh, yes, I am, a bit. I'm…visiting my great-uncle, you see, and I've never been before. Do you happen to know Heather Cottage?"

His eyebrows shot up with delight and he said, "Old Dumbledore's your great-uncle? Bloody hell, I'd never have guessed. Say, how old is he really, then?"

"Oh, about a hundred fifteen," she lied, smiling nervously.

"Ha, I win the bet. The bowling league has a bet on, you see. Sorry, you were looking for Heather Cottage. This next lane up here? Up it, and straight at the end of the road. It'll turn to dirt and the sidewalks, but it's right centered at the end. Can't miss it."

She thanked him and took a deep breath, following the lane as directed until she saw a vine-covered cottage at the end, with the name of the cottage stamped over the door. She knocked, and a dry voice behind it told her the door was unlocked.

Catherine let herself in, and when the fragile-looking old man of about one hundred fifty looked up at her with brilliant blue eyes, she realized he wasn't at all surprised to see her.

"Looking well, Mrs. Potter," he said calmly.

She hummed and said, "As far as the village is concerned, you're now my great-uncle and about one hundred fifty."

His lips twitched as he gestured for her to sit and he said, "I'm both honored and flattered, my dear. You think you're here to ask me about your true uncle and his disappearance, perhaps some other things."

"I think?" she repeated, puzzled.

"The story of your difficulties, Catherine, is generations old and is riddled with mistakes not yours. If you are going to move forward fresh, in control, you must know the full truth, the whole story. It may take time."

"I'll come every day if I have to," she said earnestly, intrigued. "Start wherever, whenever you have to."

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When Catherine arrived home early, Harry was confused, but she kissed him with a fervor she hadn't used in years, so he didn't argue or even ask.

"I might be home late or early sometimes," she said lazily. "For a while. There's no need to be worried. It's just something I'm working on. What's for dinner?"

In his habit of answering the last question first, he told her dinner's menu, and before he could address her comment of sometimes being late or early, she dragged him off onto topics about the dogs with a string of questions in that direction, and Harry willingly and obediently followed.

There wasn't something wrong with her, per se. In fact, she was more herself than she'd been for some time. But Harry was certainly curious as they ate, when she went upstairs to shower before bed, and he thought about asking one of her coworkers, or perhaps Kevin, what on earth was happening at that apothecary.

But he didn't. Instead, he went upstairs, passing Shadow on his way into their bedroom – Shadow had taken to lingering at the door of whatever room Catherine was in for the past six years, diligently since Penny died – and following the sound of Catherine's shower into their bathroom. He was only going to brush his teeth.

By habit, of course. When Catherine showered, when the room filled with steam, it fogged his glasses, so he couldn't see what he was doing for brushing his teeth. It was alright; he could do it all by memory.

But he didn't see her coming. He heard a slight change in the water's pattern, but he didn't think she'd opened the door. So, when she wrapped her arms around his neck before he could put toothpaste on his brush, when she pulled him into a wet, warm kiss….

Harry could not see her, and he dropped his toothbrush and the toothpaste tube with being startled. Her wet hands undid the buttons of his shirt without her stopping to ask, and he dutifully pulled off the shirt, moaning into his wife's mouth. Before he'd finished stripping down, she returned to the shower, leaving the shower door slightly open, from the sound of the water. He trembled, hastily removing the rest of his clothes, almost tripping over the clothes and himself to get to her, to touch her under the warm jets of water. He closed the shower door and was pressed against the wall by Catherine, who kissed him again with vigor.

They made love, they dried off, they went to bed skin on skin, but Harry lay awake, listening to the sound of her breathing.

"Not my fault," she muttered into the night, although still fast asleep. "Not my fault."

He wondered what wasn't her fault, and whether it was the thing that made her flinch when he touched her. He wondered if in the morning she would be the vixen who lured him into the shower, or the woman who shied from his touch. He would love her either way, but he secretly wished whatever stood between them would just disappear so they could simply love each other again. Like when they were children, in a hotel in Brighton, and nothing stood between them.

A/N: So, Catherine has connected with Albus Dumbledore in her search for answers, the face of business and information in the wizarding world is laid bare for your reading pleasure, and Cormac has made a rather dramatic gesture…. Don't worry, he pops back up later. I wouldn't just randomly kill a character like that. Even I'm not that strange.

Review Prompt: Will Catherine's meetings with Dumbledore be a positive or a negative catalyst?

Q&A:

Q: Will Catherine speak to Severus or someone else about her problems, or continue dealing with it alone? (Michand)

A: Obviously, she's turned to Dumbledore, and if you're wondering why, she'll say later. But he's not the last stop on her journey to sorting out her problems. For several reasons. She'll turn to her mother, and to Lily and Severus.

Cheers!

C