I had always hated those couples that were all over each other, holding hands and kissing and always thinking and talking about each other and trying to spend every moment in one another's company. It was, to my dawning horror, that I realized I had become one half of one of those couples practically overnight. Libra and I held hands when we walked Harry to the park, we sat together on the couch, we kissed and hugged all the time. She started practically living at my place, the final verdict of that was when a hairbrush and toothbrush showed up in the bathroom.

Still, despite the euphoria, two niggling thoughts lingered at the back of my mind. The first and scariest was that it was entirely possible I was living in a world where God wasn't real. I tried to pray and read the scriptures, but I couldn't seem to manage it and kept putting it off. Interestingly though, Libra seemed to have plenty of time to read the bible and ask questions.

"You know, I'm actually surprised to learn that some of what Jesus supposedly did couldn't have been done simply with magic," she told me.

"What, like raising the dead?" I asked

She shook her head. "No, you can make a corpse walk or put someone in a death like coma with dreamless sleep potion. But taking someone else's food and multiplying it? That's impossible. You can't do that. The food would be tasteless and worthless, no one would want to eat it. It would be like eating sawdust. I suppose you could use some sort of container and pull the food out of that that you put in earlier, but that would be very hard I believe. The weather control is also frankly impossible. No one can command the rain and wind like that; it's magic on too grand a scale. To stop a storm, you would need a very complex ritual. Not even Merlin could simply shout down the wind."

"Huh," I said. "I'd thought you'd be more skeptical."

"Oh I am," Libra declared. "I'm not sure I really believe that any of it happened. But what it does talk about is certainly impossible by any magic I know about. Admittedly, that is somewhat limited. Perhaps someone who actually had experience with it would know better."

We had a few conversations like that, Libra occasionally remarking that she liked what Jesus had to say, but wasn't sure that made him anything more than a smart teacher.

"Well, there is always the Lewisian Trilemma," I told her. "That is the argument that no one who claims to be the literal Son of God and that you should give up everything to follow him must be one of three things: Mad, bad, or God."

"I think that argument is somewhat limiting," Libra declared.

I shrugged, and picked up a copy of Mere Christianity off my shelf. I felt a pang holding it, as if I should be the one reading it and strengthening my own faith, but I quickly handed it over. "Here. Lewis was one of the best theologians of the 20th century. This is a transcript of his radio talks during the Blitz. He also wrote the Chronicles of Narnia, if you like reading fantasy."

"I have quite enough fantasy in my own life, thank you very much," Libra informed me. But she took the book, and I found her reading it in my room a short time later.

The second and more imminent source of worry was that we had not heard back from Dumbledore. It had now been two weeks since we had talked about the basilisk. It was almost New Years, and with that term would resume. I feared the worst, and wondered what would happen if the Serpent of Slytherin had overcome the Headmaster. We may have lost the man who had the potential to be our best and most potent ally.

Finally, on January 2nd, the last Saturday before term resumed, a letter arrived. It was written in emerald green ink, and postmarked from "Hershings School of Workmen and Watches." Dumbledore had a sense of humor I guess.

"Libra, Harry," I called. "Letter."

We all crowded around the kitchen table. I had to work to keep my hand steady as I opened the letter. Inside was a piece of parchment.

"Dear Mr. Murphy," I read. "I am pleased to inform you that we will not require your son's services. The incident has been dealt with, and the offending animal removed. I cannot begin to express my gratitude for your assistance in the matter. I regret that I cannot deliver this letter in person, but the circumstances surrounding this event have been very troublesome, and have required a great deal of my attention. I will attempt to contact you soon. In the meantime, you may contact me through the post. Address letters to 12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, care of Sirius Black.

"If all else fails, I would like to speak to you extensively over the Easter Holidays. We have a great deal to discuss, not the least of which is what future advice you can lend me. If anything pressing comes up, please write me immediately."

"Signed, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster."

I set the letter down, breathing out a heavy sigh. "Well, I guess that's good news."

"He did kill the monster," Harry said happily. "I knew Mr. Dumbledore would be OK."

"Yes," Libra agreed. She tapped her finger on her lip thoughtfully. "You should warn him of the ring, David."

"That's a good idea," I agreed. "I'd hate to wind up with a dead Dumbledore too early. He was key in making sure Voldemort didn't just waltz in and murder everyone as soon as he had a body."

I grabbed some paper and a pen, and together Libra and I wrote a quick note.

"Beware the Ring and the Stone. They are cursed. Should you take the Ring or attempt to use the Stone, it will lead to your death in a short time."

We did not include my suggestion that he just have Snape get them.

We walked to the post office and mailed the letter, Harry keeping pace on his bike. He had complained when he'd had to leave Buttercup behind, but a simple warning had been enough to redirect him.

"Going to be a problem when school starts," I sighed. "Can't have him sneaking his pet into the classroom."

"Yes," Libra agreed. She bit her lip, looking around. "There is one other thing we need to talk about."

"Oh? What's that?"

"I can't be your case worker anymore," Libra told me.

I blinked, then laughed. "Is that it? I had wondered if that was going to be a problem."

"Well, not really," Libra assured me. "I have been covering for you quite a bit in the paperwork, but the other workers at the office have noticed I'm spending an inordinate amount of time with you. I had to head off the rumors we were involved and ask to recuse myself because I had grown attached to you and Harry."

"Will that be a problem? I mean, for us keeping Harry."

"Not at all," Libra assured me. "My manager is very happy for me. She'd always been remarking about attractive single fathers she met, and trying to set me up on dates. She's a bit disappointed I found someone without her help, but she has assured me that this is a special case as Harry is clearly very fond of you."

I nodded, pulling my jacket up against the cold wind. "Any word on the Dursleys, by the by?"

"They've moved to Reading," Libra told me. "They're still working on getting Dudley back, he's in a home in Brecknell. He's down a full stone already. Frankly, he was just as abused as Harry, though in the opposite direction. Fed like a fattened pig with no discipline whatsoever. They'll have to pass a parenting class to get Dudley back. They have made no move to get Harry back, which is fortunate."

I nodded absently. "Good. I hope they do get Dudley back, and that they can lead better lives."

J

"Why? Don't you hate them?"

I stopped, looking Libra in the eye. "Why would I do that? I hated their actions, sure, but I never hated them. We're all bad people. It's only by the Grace of God that any of us do different."

This seemed to really shock Libra. "But you're a Christian. You're supposed to think all people are good."

I laughed. "Tell that to Saint Augustine. No, we are all born into the sin of Adam. Our flesh, our world, is cursed. That's why we need redemption. That's why only the perfect man, living the perfect life, could make the perfect sacrifice. The rest of us were all tainted."

Libra pulled her arm out of mine, glaring at me. "Do you think I'm tainted?" she spat.

I realized my error. I'd been talking out of my knowledge and pride, not out of love and grace. "I'm sorry," I said, taking my hands out of my pocket and raising them in supplication. "It's not...look, this isn't about blood. It's about being human. I spoke without considering your history. I don't think you're perfect, Libra, but I do think you're about as close to it as you can get. You don't think I'm perfect, do you?"

"No," Libra said, turning away from me and shoving her hands in her pockets. "Obviously not."

We walked the rest of the way back to my apartment in silence, save for Harry's chatter. He was mind numbing levels of oblivious to other people's moods and feelings most of the time. He probably took after me in that.

While Harry put his bike away, I put my hand on Libra's shoulder. "Hey. Will you forgive me? I know what I said was hurtful, and wrong. I'll be more mindful of what I say in the future."

Libra frowned at me, then smiled and shook her head. "I think we just had our first lovers spat," she said. She took my face in her hands and kissed me. "Too bad we can't make up properly."

My face went red, and I was saved from making a fool of myself by Harry.

"Eww, come on, it's cold," Harry whined.

"I thought you wanted a mother," I said, putting my arm around Libra's shoulders.

"Yes," Harry admitted. "But does there have to be so much kissing? Uncle Vernon never kissed Aunt Petunia like that."

"And they were both miserable people who hated themselves," I told him. "You really want us to be like the Dursleys?"

Harry cocked his head to the side, thinking about this. "Ok, I guess you can kiss. But not too much."

"Just as long as he doesn't find out what I really have planned to do to you," Libra whispered in my ear and nibbling it a bit.

I yelped, but didn't pull away. Christ, grant me strength.

The day after term started, I got a call from my new case worker, a middle aged woman by the name of Louise Angler. She was all smiles when she came over to inspect the apartment, and giggled like a schoolgirl when she saw Libra had moved some of her things in.

"Well, things seem to be coming along quite nicely," she said after I'd filled out a bit of paperwork. "I see you have a dentist appointment coming up in the next few weeks?"

"Yeah, we already had a doctor's visit back in October. He was a bit malnourished and underweight, but not to a concerning level actually. It seems most of the abuse was psychological, emotional, and neglect. This is just a cleaning and check for cavities."

"Have there been any issues with him being a student in your classroom?" Louise asked.

"No, I think that was in Libra's report," I said. "He'll be in the year 2 class next year, but we all felt that he should stay in my class to foster those peer relationships. It's been very difficult not to give him special attention, but the Headmistress of the school has checked up on us from time to time and she believes things are going well."

"Excellent," Louise declared. "Well, everything does seem to be in order. But on a personal note, Mr. Murphy, I must say we at the office are all very glad that Libra has finally found someone. She always did her work well, but she never really seemed happy. We wish you both the best."

"Thanks," I said. "But we're taking it slow for now. We've both got a lot of things to figure out before we get hitched."

"Oh, thinking of marriage already, are you?" Louise said, giggling once more.

"Well, yeah. I mean, what's the point of dating someone if that's not the endgame?" I asked in a mystified tone.

"Well, I'm sure you're not like all those other American men, then. Such dreadful louts, tarnishing a woman's reputation without any intention of doing right by her."

"Death before dishonor," I said. "For a man when a man has nothing he must still have his reputation."

"Ooo, that is good. See that you have more than simply nice words, Mr. Murphy, and I think we will get along very well. I must say when I first heard an American bachelor was fostering an English boy I found it a bit suspect, but you're not like what I had imagined at all."

Gee, thanks. I think you just insulted me at least four times. I forced a smile. "Glad to live beyond your expectations."

"How was Louise?" Libra asked at dinner. "She can be a bit much sometimes."

"I can work with her," I said. "Though she needs to deal with her lingering resentment of my fellow countrymen."

Libra laughed. "Not much of a chance of that. Her father was an American servicemen who made all sorts of promises to her mother, then shacked up with a French floozy and ended up marrying a German before divorcing her and moving back across the pond."

"Wow. Talk about an uphill battle," I grumbled.

"She seems to like you more than average," Libra told me. "I've been buttering her up with gossip for weeks."

"She smells like Ms. Figg," Harry complained. "I bet she has lots of cats."

"Now Harry, just because cats are evil doesn't mean that cat people are evil too," I informed him.

Libra gasped, putting a hand on her chest. "But David, I am a cat person."

once again encountered a fatal runtime error, and I only managed to say some gibberish until Libra laughed at me. "I'm teasing. Personally, I was never fond of cats after I left my parents' house. They remind me too much of the world I left behind."

"Fair enough," I agreed, feeling relieved. "I'm more of a bird and reptile person myself."

"Buttercup says she likes birds," Harry said brightly. "Especially the eggs."

"That is not what I was talking about," I said, shaking my head. "I'll have you know my first pet was a cockatiel named Kind. He was my best little buddy for 10 years."

"What happened after that?" Harry asked.

I groaned mentally, but forced myself to bear up. "He died, and went home to be with Jesus."

It was only after I said that that I realized I didn't quite believe it anymore. I excused myself from the table and locked myself in the bathroom. The copy of Mere Christianity was sitting dog eared in the reading basket, probably left there by Libra. I opened it and flipped through it. It helped, but it didn't quite renew my soul the way I wanted.

"God, I don't even know what to believe anymore," I whispered. "I'm walking through the valley of the shadow of death and I do not feel like the baddest mother in here, nor do I feel your rod or staff. Help. Please."

After what I determined to be the maximum amount of polite time, I flushed the empty toilet and walked back to the table, but I brought my doubts with me.

Like most men who experienced stress, I threw myself into my work. There was a lot to do, so this didn't take much of an excuse. Kindergarten back in my time had become increasingly academic, almost to the point where it far more closely resembled the schooling of much older children in the 80s. I brought with me the techniques and practices of that later time. A focus on core academic instruction using data driven interventions and research based practices, such as the Handwriting Without Tears curriculum (which I was able to copy largely from memory thanks to teaching it for 4 years). This meant that my class was actually gaining a small amount of notoriety. Parents were remarking at how their students were doing extremely well, even previously struggling students like the much talked about Olivia Davers.

Oliva was, to be blunt, an extremely rare case of high functioning female autism. Under the Diagnostic and Standards Manual IV she would have been classified as Asperger's, though I recognized it as autism spectrum disorder (ASD) under the DSM V. Keep in mind, the current edition was the DSM III. This was exacerbated by the fact that despite attending a school in a fairly well to do area, her family was barely getting by. Her father had suffered a work related injury, and had tried to self medicate with alcohol. Olivia's mother was another individual with high functioning ASD, and lacked the social connections or wherewithal to do much about her present situation. Her husband had married her after getting her with child out of a sense of guilt, and their relationship was strained.

That was the background that this young girl walked into my classroom with. Olivia had very little in the way of social filters, and often responded to setbacks with physical aggression at home and at school. She was verbal, and very intelligent, which hid her complete inability to function in an environment that contained too much sensory input. The fluorescent lighting, the noise of the other children, the task demands, and the social interactions were too much. She had multiple meltdowns in the first month, biting me twice and nearly getting the instructional aide.

This was, however, not my first rodeo. Catherine asked me if I wanted her suspended, or even expelled and sent to a school for troubled children. I told her to give me until the end of the school year, and if I hadn't been able to come up with a functional education plan for Olivia, that I would be willing to pursue such an option.

The first thing was making Olivia feel safe, loved, and welcomed. This was no simple task. I created several behavior supports for her, such as an individual picture schedule, break time cards, a token economy, and a sensory corner. I also found some thick earmuffs to block noise, and a pair of red tinted sunglasses to block out high frequency lighting. This was a scattergun approach to behavioral interventions, in large part because I was also consumed with Harry's issues and Libra's issues, and doing a good job of pretending I didn't have any. I confess, even with the interventions I had not given Olivia enough attention, as I had my energy focused in other areas.

Well, no more. I knuckled down, and got to work. I met with Olivia's parents, coming up with a home-school fidelity contract to help manage her behaviors. I quietly slipped her father literature from the local parish church I attended about overcoming addiction, and told him if he ever needed someone to vent to, my door was open. He glared at me at first, but soon he was picking Olivia up every day instead of her mother, and venting to me for about five minutes about how hard it was feeling like he no longer could provide for his family, how he was frustrated by his daughter's behavior, and how he felt isolated thanks to his new income level.

For Olivia, I found that she had an almost unnatural obsession with all things Birmingham City FC, largely because her father was from the area, and was still a big fan. I immediately began to beg, borrow, and steal as much stuff related to Birmingham as I could, despite my knowledge of the sport being limited to the fact that it was, in fact, played by kicking balls around. That was fine, at the rez school I'd taught at I'd learned a hell of a lot about Rey Mysterio despite not having previously given a damn about wrestling or luchadors.

With the right incentives offered to her, Olivia bloomed. She found two other boys who were big football fans (I did, in fact, start calling it that, because now it mattered to the kiddos) and I encouraged social interaction with her. She still had occasional meltdowns, but they were now isolated to her going to a stall I'd set up in the corner of the room and slamming a football into the wall repeatedly, along with occasional outbursts that we could control. She was still hyperactive, awkward, and far behind in her language skills compared to everyone else, but I had found another strength of Olivia's.

She was practically Rain Man when it came to math. Well, five year old Rain Man anyway. Unlike her peers, Olivia could manipulate numbers easily, able to add and subtract fluently after only a few weeks of instruction, a skill that most kids don't acquire until towards the end of Year 2 or even 3. She was soon placed in charge of helping several other students with their maths (usually Harry and her two friends). Finally, she had found success in school. I'm ashamed it took me nearly until March to accomplish it, but with some very long nights, a lot of listening to kvetching from her father, and a quiet word with the parson, Olivia was blooming. I had acquired several literal scars along the way, but we had done it. Olivia was on the path to success.

I sat alone in my classroom, Harry having gone outside to play with some other children on the playground. I looked up at the ceiling and half smiled to myself. "I guess you haven't abandoned me after all," I said. "I've still got doubts. This is going to be a rather rocky relationship for a while I think. But we'll make it through. Thank you. I couldn't have done it alone."

I felt that warm stirring in your soul, the one that says "Well done, my good and faithful servant." True, it could be some endorphins playing with my mind, but as I was coming to learn, faith was a choice. A choice that I would continue to make, at least until presented with compelling evidence otherwise. I didn't believe in a big magical genie in the sky, who was capriciously smiting some while blessing others. I believed in the Man With A Plan.

And I was starting to realise that maybe, just maybe, it had been His plan that had brought me to this wacked out place after all. It was going to be a long hard journey, but it was one I was willing to take.