A/N: Welcome to the epilogue, one and all. I am so glad you decided to continue the journey with me, but be forewarned: It is long. It is very, very long. You will probably not be able to read the entire thing in one sitting, unless you have absolutely nothing else to do today. There are four parts:

This massive section that details a lot of the things that happen the four years following the battle, with scenes switching back and forth between Harry's location, and England

A selection of important papers in the lives of the characters, things that fill in some of the gaps in the narrative

Another narrative section that I KNOW you have been waiting for—I'll say no more, but please bear in mind that you ought to read the four parts in order, so don't skip straight to the third

Finally, a section that you absolutely must not read until you look at the warning at the top of the page.

I hope you are all very impressed with how hard I worked on this. I researched heavily to get the descriptions of foreign places/foods correct, to translate foreign words, and I even went back to old calendars to make sure I had the days of the week match up with the date given. Then of course, there were the hours and hours I spent just writing. So, I'm very proud of it. I hope you enjoy it.

December 28th, 1997

Hermione opened the tinted glass door and stepped into the building with her breath tight in her chest. As soon as she came through, she was assaulted by smells that spoke discomfort to most of the world but, to her, spoke of home. Cleaning chemicals and anaesthetic and mint. The waiting room was empty of all but the padded chairs and wooden tables with magazines she didn't recognize the titles of.

It was late in the afternoon, and she'd hoped that there wouldn't be any patients left. But there was still someone behind the counter, a young woman who smiled brightly and displayed teeth that advertised the office's services very well.

"G'day," she greeted Hermione. "Can I help you?"

She wore a metal name badge that declared her to be Shelly.

"I need to see the Wilkins, please."

"Okay. Let me get out the appointment book, and we can find a time for you to come in."

"I was rather hoping to see them now."

"They're closing up for the day, unfortunately. What sort of work did you need to have done?"

"I don't need work done," Hermione said impatiently.

"But you're here to see a dentist. Do you just want a cleaning?"

"My teeth are great. See?" She bared her teeth, wondering if she looked quite frightening, then reminding herself that Shelly didn't know about werewolves. "I'm an old friend of Wendell and Monica, and I wanted to say hello while I was in town. Can't find my address book, silly me, so I didn't have their home number."

"Oh, you're a friend of theirs, okay," Shelly said comfortably. "They've got one client just finishing up, but go ahead back. The office is easy to find."

What a dip, Hermione thought disdainfully. If she ever had an office, she was hiring someone who'd done Auror training to run the front desk, to keep out people like herself.

"All right, Anna, thanks for coming," a warm, precise voice said, from a door on her left.

Unexpectedly, tears sprang into Hermione's eyes at the sound of it. She watched from the hallway as a pretty blond woman appeared in the doorway, her purse in her hand.

"Anna—" The woman turned back around. "Don't forget to make an appointment with Shelly to get your husband in here for a cleaning."

Anna flashed a smile. "Oh, right. Thanks, Dr. Wilkins."

"I've told you, call me Monica. I spend enough time in your bookstore that I feel like we're old friends, by now."

Anna laughed, flipping her pretty hair behind her. "Don't forget, it's the after-Christmas sale this week. You've got to get in before all the best stuff is taken!"

"That reminds me, are you still having that shoplifting problem?"

Anna almost growled. "We think it's two people working together. I tell you, I just wish Evan was still around! Evan was this guy I worked with about four years ago, when I didn't have my own store yet—actually dated him for a bit—he chased a shoplifter down once and got the book back! We didn't have any trouble for a while, I can tell you. With a couple of guys like him . . . anyway, I'd better get going. Joey isn't going to be happy that I'm forcing him to go to the dentist, so I've got to cook something great for dinner."

Monica laughed at that, and then Anna walked past Hermione, who was gaping at her in complete shock. That Anna? Really? She could hardly comprehend the odds of Harry's old girlfriend choosing Hermione's parents' dental practice. But somehow, Hermione felt good, knowing that Anna was married and successful. Maybe she could force herself to believe that there was life after Harry.

Then she was looking right into her mother's face, that face of such severe lines but always softened with such a warm smile. Well, almost always. Her mother was frowning at her with confusion.

"Did Shelly let you back here?"

Hermione had wanted to find her father, and to sit them down, and to explain what she was about to do so they wouldn't panic. But suddenly she couldn't wait any longer. She raised her wand and lifted the enchantment she'd used to convince the woman that she was Monica Wilkins. Her mother was gasping and clawing at the wall, but Hermione couldn't work too quickly or she'd make a mistake. After it was done, her mother blinked rapidly and stared at her.

"Hermione? Are you— where is. . . oh, dear," she said weakly, as her mind raced to catch up.

"Oh, Mum!" Hermione gasped, and threw herself into her mother's arms.

Some things you never forgot. Her mother caught her up and held her tight.

December, or maybe January . . .

Harry nodded gratefully at the bartender as the man poured him another shot. He took it, but decided to nurse this one for a while. He'd already had a few, and he was far along enough that he thought he could manage to sleep tonight, instead of destroying things. That was good, but drinking had its downside: the guilt didn't go away. It was better though; it just felt like a heavy weight, instead of like an animal trying to claw its way out of his chest.

It was weird, being here. He'd thought it was a good idea to leave Germany after the ex-Healer had helped him, just in case the whiskey and money weren't enough to keep the guy's mouth shut. He wasn't sure anymore why he'd decided to come back to Japan. He had been thinking that since he'd come here to sort out his mind the first time, maybe he could come back to sort out his mind again. But that was stupid, because he hadn't even tried. He'd mostly just walked around the city half-drunk all night and slept all day.

"I shouldn't be here," he told the bartender. "I have responsibilities in England."

He and the bartender were getting on quite well. They only understood about one word in five that the other spoke. Harry didn't remember much of the Japanese language, and this guy wasn't even trying to figure out Harry's wandering thoughts in English. It was sort of like going to a confessional, Harry thought. Only without the priest making you feel bad about what you confessed to.

"You have no idea what an important person you are, to me," Harry told him seriously. The straight-laced man raised his eyebrows, gestured with his bottle at Harry's glass. "No, no," he said, waving his (right) hand. "Well, in a minute. Anyway, without you, I'd be thinking about the fact that I used to be dead and wondering what in the hell I saw when I was dead, and how I'm supposed to fix the mess I've made of myself. Instead, I'm admiring the way the light sparkles on the glass. So much simpler."

The bartender smiled and poured him another shot. Harry wasn't even sure what he was drinking. He'd just pointed at the glass of the guy he'd sat down next to. That guy was long gone. There was a woman with red hair sitting a few seats down, but he was avoiding contact with her.

"I think I'm looking for home," Harry said, smiling his thanks. "You know? I miss the way it was when I was a kid, when it was safe at home. There wasn't anybody to bother me. Now they all want my photograph, and to know what I think about everything. Well, fuck what I think. I'm a criminal, for one thing, and I sort of tried to commit suicide. Never thought I was suicidal, but what the fuck else am I if I'm so upset about being alive?"

The bartender was beginning to look worried, and decided the expedient thing to do would be to attend to the few other patrons and ignore Harry from that point forward. Harry subsided, and finished his drink in silence. He put his money down on the bar, wincing at his bill. He hadn't brought a lot of money, and he ought to be more conservative with it. Or maybe he should find a job, if a person could find a job in Japan without the ability to speak Japanese fluently.

The red-haired woman approached him. "It's been a lonely night for you, hasn't it?"

He stared at her.

"For me, too. I'm just sitting here drinking too much because I'm homesick. I was thinking that it might be nice for the two of us to just keep each other company for a while. We don't have to say anything. I'm just sick of being by myself. I'm Suzanne, by the way."

"You're American?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. I volunteered to come over here and teach English for a year, in case you're wondering."

They were both sitting back down at the bar, this time facing one another instead of staring down at their own hands. The bartender had been only too ready to see Harry go, but he was the picture of politeness as he supplied them both with another drink.

"What about you? What brought you to Kyoto?"

Harry shrugged.

"You're running from something, huh? I guess I was, too. This guy I was seeing, he proposed to me, but I didn't want to get married. So I said I couldn't because I was moving to Japan. Nothing to do but actually move to Japan, right?"

"Makes perfect sense," Harry sighed. He thought he probably shouldn't drink anymore, not if he was going to stay awake to keep this Suzanne lady company. She so obviously needed it, and he was surprised to realise that he wanted to do something for another person.

"What's your name?"

He hadn't needed one, until now. But he had a lie that he was very comfortable with.

"Evan."

"I like that name. Anyway, you don't have to tell me why you're here if you don't want to."

Harry shrugged. "Have you ever had a near-death experience?"

"No."

"Fucks with you," he said shortly.

"I bet. What happened? Have anything to do with what happened to your hand?"

She'd noticed. He cradled it in his lap and turned a little away from her. "I don't want to talk about it. Sorry."

"Why don't we talk about something a little more pleasant?"

"Have you ever been out of the city, since you got here?"

"Not really. I've taken trips to Nagasaki and Tokyo, but that doesn't really count as leaving the city, right?"

"I don't know. It's something new to see, at least. I think I might take off, see the rest of Japan. I need some new scenery. I don't really know why I came back here. It hasn't helped."

Suzanne was confused and uncertain of anything she could say to this man. He seemed burdened by a spitefulness that she didn't understand. Physically, he looked pretty strong, and he was moody and drunk. She had thought he was just another person like her, a little lost in the world, but now she was beginning to regret talking to him. What if he was a pervert or something on top of being surly and secretive?

"The good thing about you, Evan," she said at last, "is that you make me feel like my life isn't so bad."

He laughed bitterly. "Managed to do something right, I guess." He stood up again. "Thanks for the company, Suzanne. I'm sorry I wasn't a better conversationalist."

"I'm sorry I couldn't help."

"Yeah. Don't be. It isn't your fault. I think I'm going to walk across Japan. Just to see it. Good luck with your teaching."

"Good luck with your adventure."

"Adventure," he snorted.

It made her sad, that he was so bitter even about something as exciting as trekking across an entire country. "Evan?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't forget to live, Evan."

"No," he whispered as he turned away. "How could I forget that?"

He should go back, he thought as he wandered out into the city. He had no real destination, but walking was better than doing nothing. Maybe he'd needed this time to get his head on straight, but now he was just wallowing in his problems. He had his head on straight, even if it took alcohol to keep it there. And yet . . . Every time he thought of going back, he thought of the Elder Wand and where Hermione might have hidden it. That made him shudder and keep walking through Kyoto.

The longer he spent away, the worse it felt. And he became convinced that they'd be angry with him for running away. They wouldn't want him back, not after he'd broken their hearts. They'd throw him to the wolves, namely the press, and they'd eat him alive, asking him where he'd gone and why. He wasn't ready for that. He wasn't ready to face disappointment and rejection from anyone but himself.

So he started to run down the street. He hadn't been running in months, and it showed. He got tired after only a mile, and was disgusted with himself. He didn't take into account the fact that he was recovering from blood poisoning, that he was drunk, that he was tired. It was just another reminder that he was weak.

But he'd be strong again, he vowed. He'd make himself strong enough to face things, one day. He had to get strong enough go back, just once. Because at the very least, they deserved to vent their anger.

January 4th, 1998

Sirius strolled into the dining room with a huge grin on his face. "Got my job back," he announced to the room at large, seating himself in his usual place at the end of the table to the left of the door.

"We were so worried that you wouldn't," Dora said, rolling her eyes. "You're just lucky we saved you some food."

Sirius was unrepentant, accepting the dishes handed over to him with his grin still in place. "Well, it's not as easy as all that, you know. Half the board of directors had to be replaced, and Minerva is still only Acting Headmistress until they review the repairs to the castle and decide she's capable of the job. Which is bollocks, of course." He waved a green bean speared on his fork at them. "Anyway, assuming the repairs are completed this week and Minerva is given the title, I'll be teaching again for the spring term. She almost cried to have that much squared away. She's got two other teaching posts to fill."

"Muggle Studies, of course," Hermione said, from where she sat contentedly between her parents. "What else?"

"Well, that tosser Branson was teaching Potions, and he's in Azkaban until further notice. Minerva's trying to get our old professor, Slughorn, to come out of retirement for the term so she can select a long-term candidate."

"What about Muggle Studies? Can't they give it back to Professor Burbage?"

Sirius gave her a grim look, and Hermione nodded in understanding. Her parents, who were still shocked by this kind of thing, and even more shocked that their daughter was so used to it, went pale, and Mr. Granger put his arm around Hermione.

"She does have a candidate in mind, of course."

"She does?"

"Mmmm," Sirius grunted enthusiastically with his mouth full of mash. "Teaching experience, very comfortable in the Muggle world. The perfect person for the job."

"Who?"

"Can't say," Sirius said mysteriously. "He hasn't agreed to it yet."

"But whyever not?" Hermione said, scandalized that someone would turn down a teaching position at one of the most prestigious wizarding schools in Europe.

"Well, he doesn't actually know about the offer yet," Sirius said grandly. "I'm supposed to talk to him about it. Minerva insisted I should be the one to do it."

Remus rolled his eyes. "You are enjoying this way too much, Padfoot. Just tell us who it is, already."

Dora had figured it out, and was covering her mouth with her hands. Simon, with a cautious look at her, began to smile.

Sirius grinned. "You, genius."

The blank look of shock on Remus' face was everything Sirius had hoped it would be, and he thoroughly enjoyed it. His smile fell when Remus said in a quiet voice, "Let's talk about this after dinner, Sirius."

Dora pressed her lips together and looked at her empty plate.

Sirius groaned. "I was having such a good day, too," he muttered, and shoveled food into his mouth.

The Grangers had been here for a week and had learned to ignore Remus when he got like this. But Hermione, who had been so excited for a moment, was letting her feelings show in the slump of her shoulders. Her father's arm slipped around her waist to squeeze her, and her mother changed the subject.

"We have some good news, as well. We found out that our old office is available to lease again, and we should be signing for it tomorrow. We can't get our old house back, but we've found one that we're really pleased with in a neighbourhood that's actually much nearer to the office. We're really looking forward to it."

Hermione smiled at both of them, cheered by the news. "That's wonderful, Mum. I'd love to see the house."

"Of course, dear, we wouldn't feel right about getting a house you didn't like. You'll be—" Her mother stopped at the expression on Hermione's face.

"Oh, Mum, you know I'm going back to school so I can take my exams. And . . . well, I'm eighteen, and . . ."

"We can talk about it later, sweetheart," Richard said. "For now, let's celebrate what a big step we've made in getting settled back in England." He raised his glass of water with a smile on his face, and Hermione gladly clinked hers against it.

"Hear, hear," Sirius said, his cheerfulness improved simply through his own willpower. He held up his glass. "But don't think you need to rush or anything. You're Hermione's family, you're welcome here."

Jean's smile became a bit trembly. "I don't know how to thank you for taking care of Hermione for us, all of you. We . . ."

"Actually," a voice drawled from the doorway, "she's the one who takes care of us." Draco didn't come in, just leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms. "Evening, everyone."

"There you are," Dora said. "We were beginning to think your mother had murdered you and made you into a tapestry."

"No, she just shoved splinters under my fingernails," he grumbled. "Anyway, I've signed the Manor over, so that's her happy and out of my hair."

"Come in and sit down, dear," Jane spoke up. "There's plenty of food left."

Draco stood up straight again. "I'm not hungry, but thank you, Mrs. Granger. I'm going upstairs. Good night."

It was only a few moments before Hermione excused herself from the table, growling that she'd make the boy eat if it was the last thing she did. The rest of the family began to trickle out, clearing away the dishes and taking them to the kitchen. Dora said she was going to feed Teddy and put him to bed. Remus tried to go with her, but Sirius fixed him with a fierce glare.

"Don't even think about it."

Remus clenched his jaw, but waited there with Sirius while the others hurried to get out and leave the two of them alone.

"I know what you're going to say, Sirius," he said.

"What a coincidence. I know what you're going to say, as well."

They glared at one another for a moment.

"You don't know what I'm going to say, actually," Sirius said at last.

Remus crossed his arms. "You're going to say that I deserve the chance, and that I'd be stupid not to take it, and that of course I'm still capable of it. It's pointless. Sirius, don't you get it? I can teach the class, certainly. But I'd have to Floo directly into the office, and I'd never get off the floor of the castle that my classroom was on. I could teach the class, but I wouldn't be a Hogwarts professor, not the way I remember them being and the way they ought to be. I . . . I can't be involved. The students deserve better than that."

Sirius sighed, feeling the pressure building up in his head that signalled a headache coming on. Talking to Remus often gave him a headache, these days.

"Like I said, you don't know. So listen, for a minute. This isn't about you, not completely. This is about what Hogwarts needs, and what Minerva needs. The school is barely hanging by a thread, and if she can't pull things together before school starts next week, she'll be stripped of her title. She is so desperate to fix what's been broken, and it's not easy for her. The spring term is going to be awfully hard on the students, you know. After what the professors have been doing to them, the things they've been put through . . . Minerva needs somebody for the position that she can trust, but not only her. She needs someone the students can trust."

Remus wasn't arguing, so Sirius charged on to the end.

"Look at the criteria she has for this position. She needs a wizard with intimate knowledge of the Muggle world, with teaching experience, and a stellar reputation, and the ability to communicate with frightened teenagers. Who else could she ask?"

Remus opened and closed his mouth, which meant he didn't know but he still wanted to say something deprecatory about himself.

"I mean, there's me," Sirius said casually, pretending to buff his fingernails on his shirt, "but then who's going to teach my class?" He dropped the act. "You've got to teach one or the other. If you thought you didn't have to make any more contributions, think again. You're here, and you're needed. There's a lot to do, and not enough people to do them."

He wasn't looking at Remus anymore.

"I didn't know you were so angry with him," Remus said in a quiet voice.

Sirius knew better than to be surprised that Remus had picked up on that. "I'm not angry, I'm just . . . I don't understand. What was so bad that he couldn't come to me for help? He always comes to me, Moony. Did I do something?"

"No," Remus said, and watched Sirius close his eyes and swallow deeply. That one word seemed to take some of the weight off him. "He just couldn't face the obligations he had here. We saw Hermione's memory, you know he wasn't angry with any of us. He was just very, very overwhelmed. He felt broken. He died, Padfoot. He just needs some time."

"How much time?" Sirius asked in agony, scrubbing his hands over his face. "I want him back. I don't care if he's unfit to be seen, I'll keep him hidden here and not let anyone see him. If he really is crazy, I can deal with that. I just want my boy home."

"Have I told you yet how much I admire your bravery, for letting him go?"

"No, you haven't."

"Well, I do. I know it's hard for you, but I know that you're trying to respect his wishes. It's eating you up much more than you let on, and I don't think it's a good idea for you to keep it so hidden. You'll end up losing it, Sirius."

He snorted. "Says the suicidally depressed man who thinks communicating is giving in."

Remus grimaced. "I'd know, wouldn't I?"

Sirius shook his head sadly. "We're a messed-up bunch, aren't we? I really am happy to be going back to Hogwarts, to do my part, but . . . do you know how hard it will be, knowing that Harry isn't there?"

In the five seconds before Remus spoke, he went through a massive internal struggle that should have registered on the Richter scale. In the end, it came down to remembering that the man he was speaking to was also the boy who had originally come up with the idea of becoming an Animagus just to make his life better. They had been friends for twenty-seven years.

"I know I'm a pretty poor substitution, but having me there might help a bit, right?"

Sirius finally lifted his head. "Moony, I really wasn't trying to manipulate—"

"Stow it, Padfoot. You've been supporting me in some way most of my life, and it's my turn. So just save the tough guy routine and let yourself feel bad, because I can handle that."

He felt completely different as he exited the room, leaving Sirius there. He'd perfected the art of having the last word in an argument, and he was feeling pretty proud of himself. It was his turn, and more than that, he suddenly knew the direction he was going in. He wasn't adrift in a fog of pain and confusion and despair right now. He had something to do, something tangible that he could do for his wife and kids and the rest of his dysfunctional family. Pushing himself in a wheelchair down the hallway to his bedroom didn't feel quite so much like his last moments before his execution, right now.

He stopped in the doorway, and tried to remain silent. He had so many responsibilities, really. Just because he didn't think he was capable of meeting them didn't mean they didn't exist. It was high time he owned up to that. To them. To these three people who were everything to him.

"That's right, just tuck in the corner like so," Dora said, giving Simon a proud smile as he successfully tucked Teddy into his crib. "Don't ask me why, but he seems to like having one of his arms wrapped in the blanket. Just one, mind you," she said, rolling her eyes. "He's a bit eccentric."

"No! Your son? I never would have guessed," Simon teased.

Teddy whuffled a little, and they quieted down so they didn't wake him. Dora's retort went unsaid, and she just gave him a light punch on the arm, instead.

"I think I'll head up to my room, then," Simon whispered. Dora caught hold of him and pulled him into a hug before he could escape. "What's that for?"

"Just reminding you that I love you," she smiled. She'd explained to Remus that it would be a mistake for them to try to force the stubborn Simon to spend time with them—better to just make him feel comfortable with them, and wait for him. Remus, lost as he'd been in depression, had simply agreed.

Dora kept her eyes on Teddy sleeping in his crib when Simon turned for the door and saw Remus. Remus put his finger to his lips and beckoned to Simon, moving out of the doorway.

"What?"

"Come to the kitchen with me," he said, hoping that Jeremy and Addison had finished with the dishes so they could be alone. He resolved that he would do the dishes tomorrow. He wasn't exempt from doing anything for the family, and he was beginning to feel a bit disgusted with himself for acting like he was.

"Why?"

"I just wanted to say something to you, and I wanted a cup of tea. You want one?"

Simon made a face. His feelings on tea were fairly well-known by this point, but it took him a moment to realize Remus was just teasing him. It had been far too long since he had.

"We've got a lovely oolong in here that Addison likes, you know . . ."

Simon shoved his shoulder, then froze up, staring at him. Truth be told, Remus was still in some pain, but it hardly mattered. He just smiled at Simon.

"Or we could just have some hot chocolate."

With a curious expression, Simon led the way to the kitchen. He started to get the things out to make hot chocolate, but Remus waved him off. "Just sit down, I'll get it."

His eyes now even wider and more curious, Simon sat. Remus proved (to himself) that he wasn't useless. He had to use his wand to gather the ingredients, this time, but he had always taken pride in his ability to make an excellent hot chocolate. Tonight, he felt like celebrating a bit. He was going all-out with it. Heavy cream, a dash of cinnamon . . . When Simon took his first sip, his eyebrows shot up.

"You haven't made me real hot chocolate in forever. What's the occasion?"

Remus shrugged. "I wanted to talk to you about Hogwarts."

Simon immediately set his cup down and gave him a stony look. "No."

"Why not?"

"I can't start school halfway through my third year!" Simon protested. "I'm already enough of a freak, thank you very much."

"We have had that conversation already, Simon. You are not a freak. You are not allowed to use that word. Remember?"

Simon glared at him. "I don't want to go to Hogwarts. I'm not safe, and you know it."

"What are you talking about?" Remus said with a frown. "Draco has already said he'll continue making our potion, and I am quite certain that Minerva will work with us to—"

"Not that," Simon said viciously. "I meant . . . well, the things that happen to everyone around me. You know everybody gets hurt, Remus. I can't be around people. I'm cursed, or something, and I can't go to school until I find a way to—"

"Simon . . ." Remus whispered, aghast. "You don't really think that. You are not cursed."

Simon clenched his jaw, but Remus could see it trembling. "You know I am. Look at what's happened. My parents died, and Neil died, and you're hurt, and everything gets screwed up when I'm around! People always get hurt and die and I can't let it happen to anyone else. I can't go to Hogwarts. I . . . I think I'm going to leave. I need to go away, like Harry did, so you don't get hurt anymore. He probably thinks he's cursed, too, I should have told him it wasn't him, that it was me . . ."

Simon had been looking down at the table, muttering frantically. He didn't even notice that Remus had moved until the man was putting his arm around Simon's shoulders. He brought up his other hand and placed it over Simon's mouth to shut him up.

"That's enough," he said in a quiet but very firm voice. "You know perfectly well that you are not cursed. Something bad happened to you a few years ago, which wasn't your fault at all, and a lot of things have gone wrong since then. There have been a lot of things going wrong for a lot of people recently. Those things are past us, now. The whole world is beginning to move on, and it's very much time that you tried to do the same. I know it sounds rich, coming from me, but I am going to try, okay? We're rebuilding, now. You have the same opportunity we all do, to make a happy life now that the war is over. You have a family, Simon. Me, Dora, and Teddy. We are going to stick together. You are absolutely not going to leave, because I love you too much to let you do that."

Simon was beginning to cry, silently. His shoulders shook under Remus' arm. "Why? I'm not . . . I'm not anything."

"Yes, you are. You're mine."

Simon sobbed. "You can't say that. It was my fault."

"It wasn't," Remus said severely. "None of this was your fault. Simon, your actions during the battle saved people's lives, don't you know that? Jeremy told me that he and Addison wouldn't be here if you hadn't been shielding them. They would have died without you. And when you came back here . . . Dora would have died without you, too. She told me all about it, Simon. How she was so tired that she didn't see the Death Eaters arriving, and how you were the one who pushed her away from a curse and lured them away from the children until she could rouse herself to fight. You saved a lot of people."

He was crying too hard to speak.

"Think about Teddy. Your little brother. How do you think it would be for him, to grow up as a Metamorphmagus, without Dora here to guide him along? He would have been so confused and lonely without her. You're the reason that won't happen. You, Simon."

He turned his face to Remus and let himself be held.

"There, that's better," Remus said softly, running his hand over Simon's hair for a moment. "I haven't had a proper hug in ages."

Simon put his arms around Remus and breathed in deep, shaky gulps.

"I think it will really help me settle into my new position to have you in my classroom," Remus said, hoping he could drive the point home while Simon was receptive to it.

Simon pulled back. "You're going to take the job?"

"Of course I am," Remus grinned. "Hogwarts is a prestigious school, I'd be a fantastic idiot to turn it down. I might be uncommonly stubborn, but nobody can accuse me of having stuffing between my ears."

Simon raised his eyebrows at that, but then he grinned back, swiping at his face with the back of his hand.

"I'll agree to go to school if you'll promise you won't just invite your students to mock you like that."

"Deal," Remus said dryly. "Now, then, you finish up your hot chocolate and go to bed, you emotionally overwrought wreck. I have to go talk to my wife."

Simon gave him a speculative look as he obediently picked up his mug. "Why do I get the feeling she's going to punch you?"

"She's going to be thrilled!" Remus protested as he left.

"She's going to punch him," Simon said to the empty room, licking the chocolate from his lips.

In the bedroom, Dora was staring at Remus with a look of shock. "Are you telling me that you have gotten past your completely ridiculous certainty that you are a burden to me? That you are, in fact, glad to be alive?"

"I don't know if I would go quite that far yet," Remus said. "But I am saying that I've decided not to quit on you. I've got too much to live for."

She punched him.

"I have been— so worried, and so upset, and so sad— and you're just sitting there saying what I've been telling you, like it's a brand-new idea— and you're so damn happy, and I just want to kill you right now—"

Rubbing his jaw, Remus said, "Would it help if I said I love you very much?"

"No!" she shrieked, stamping her foot. "Oh, now you've done it!" she snapped. "Now my hair is turning red because I'm so mad at you!"

"What if I said that you look very . . . good . . . with red hair?"

"Don't try to bullshit me!"

"No, I don' t mean you look nice. I mean, you look . . . um . . ."

Suddenly she stopped fuming and stared at him.

"I mean that you're really turning me on right now," he said softly, still rubbing his jaw but with a crooked smile.

She began to smile back.

He blushed deeply, and turned his eyes away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't say that, not anymore. I already thought it was too much to ask, with me being so much older than you. Now that I . . . I'm sorry, Dora, I won't . . ."

Dora had never been trained in Legilimency, but Remus would have sworn in that moment that she had. It should not have been possible to stop a man in his tracks and cause his brain to shut down just by meeting his eyes.

"I may hit you again. Don't you ever say that."

"I'm sorry . . ."

"Yes, that. Don't you dare apologize. You're my husband, and I'm your wife."

"But Dora—"

"I have not had sex in months, Remus Lupin. If you have recovered sufficiently from your injuries, as I see you have, then you will take me to bed. Right now."

Remus looked at Teddy, desperate and embarrassed.

Dora levitated Teddy's entire crib into the hallway. With a flick of her wrist, she closed the door.

"Dora, I don't know if I can— well—"

She pulled her shirt over her head, and he shut up.

"We'll find out, won't we?" she murmured, throaty. Her hair was dark red and her eyes were smouldering and he belonged to her, body and soul . . .

January 11th, 1998

Getting on the train was sort of an awkward experience. Hermione would have been happy to sit with any of her old classmates and catch up on things, but she was bound and determined not to leave Draco alone. He'd end up getting accosted by someone and he'd feel that he couldn't fight back without damaging the reputation he was building for himself. But if they pushed too far, he'd have no choice, and then anything could happen. And standing on the platform, she could see the stress on his face, because he knew it, too, but he was too proud and stubborn to say anything.

"I'm glad you decided to come back with me," Hermione said, breaking their silence.

Draco shrugged, making it look elegant. He'd done everything with a certain elegance, lately, because he knew he was being watched. "I could hardly expect to do anything important without earning my NEWTs."

"It feels awfully strange, though, doesn't it? After we've been away so long?"

He looked down at her and sighed. "Granger, you're trying too hard again."

"It's my last chance, isn't it?" she retorted. "I'll hardly see you after tonight."

"Except all the classes we'll have together."

"That will hardly count," she said dismissively. "You'll sit with your housemates, and I'll sit with mine, and so on. I do remember how school is."

"Don't you think it will be a bit different, this time? It seems to me, from what I've heard, that house distinctions have become blurred by adversity, and there are, of course, fewer students overall, since so many of the Muggleborns felt uncomfortable coming back . . ."

"Draco Malfoy, you just said Muggleborn," she teased him.

"I can hardly say the other thing, can I?"

"It didn't bother you before."

"I didn't have . . . whatever it is I have, before. An image. A family name to salvage and make important in a society that requires me to support Muggleborn equality and wholesomeness and . . ." He sighed, and stopped. "You already know. You're just making fun. Because you persist in believing that we are friends of some kind."

"I never said we were friends," she said, smirking at him and stepping on to the train. "I said we were family. That gives me license to tease you mercilessly."

He followed her in, and they took a compartment together, no doubt raising a few eyebrows, but Hermione didn't care and Draco considered it a boost to his new image. They didn't expect to be joined, but they were. A tall, broad-shouldered boy and an athletically lean girl, both of them with eyes too old and experienced, stepped into the carriage.

"See? Safe and sound, just like I always said," Neville said, gesturing at Draco.

"Were you looking for me?" Draco asked primly.

Veronica rolled her eyes and impatiently flipped one of her braids away from her face. "Neville, git that he is, seems to think it would be good for me to tell you about the schoolgirl crush I had on you in our sixth year." She turned to Hermione. "Mind if we sit with you? I can't stand talking about last term with the kids who had to stay home. They won't stop asking questions!"

"Please," Hermione said, moving her bag aside and letting Veronica flop gracefully down beside her, her waterfall of braids flowing over her shoulders.

Neville sat down as well, nodding at Draco and saying nothing. Draco decided to ignore Veronica's comment about himself.

"How do you know I won't ask questions?" Draco drawled. "I missed last term, as well."

Veronica shot him a dirty look. "Because you know me well enough to know that I would hex you from here till Tuesday if you try taking the mickey out of me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Draco murmured.

Neville grinned at Hermione. "You shouldn't have been so worried about me, working with her. She's fierce, but great to have on your side."

"Neville, darling, shut your mouth or I will shut it for you."

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered, but he was smiling.

"Well, perhaps you're right," Hermione said to Draco. "Maybe we can all get along, this time."

"I do hope so," Veronica sighed. "The old rivalries have gotten very tiresome, since we started fighting about something important."

"No more fighting," Neville said firmly. "I hardly know what I'll do if I'm not fighting, but I'm glad enough to say goodbye to it."

Veronica grinned at him with a touch of the fierceness he'd accused her of. "I can keep your duelling arm in shape, if you like."

"Only as an excuse to keep yourself in practice," he shot back.

"So? I'm Slytherin, darling, I thought you knew that."

He rolled his eyes. "I will call you Ronnie if you don't watch it."

Veronica moved so fast that Hermione almost didn't see it, but Neville had a shield up before the spell even left her wand. "I will kill you for that, Longbottom," she vowed, quite soberly.

He just smiled back, with a fondness that relieved some of the harshness in his face. Draco was looking back and forth between them, his eyes shrewd. Hermione wasn't sure what it was he was planning to say, if anything, and that made her nervous. So she changed the subject.

"Tell me what your plans are for after school, Neville," she urged him.

They talked about their plans for most of the train ride. Neville had every intention of becoming an Auror, despite the fact that his grades had slipped enormously when he became busy trying to save the school from itself. His entire spring term would be devoted to studying day and night and trying to work his hero status to his favour with the Ministry. Veronica hadn't made a clear decision yet, but she was considering going through the Auror training programme and then working in private security as a bodyguard.

"You know, work for someone famous and political. I'd get to paid to travel and get into fights. It's perfect."

"Like I said, she's great to have on your side," Neville grinned.

"Draco? What are you going to do?" Veronica asked, loftily ignoring Neville.

His face was unreadable. "I believe I'd like to keep that to myself, for a while. There's a lot of things I'm not ready to talk about, yet."

"The ever-cryptic Draco Malfoy, ladies and gentlemen," Veronica sighed. "Fine, then. Hermione?"

She shrugged. "I plan to continue working with Kingsley and Remus to develop civil rights for werewolves, to begin with. That's not exactly paid work, but it is very important. I'll try to work in the offices for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and work my way up through the ranks. My ultimate goal is to be a full member of the Wizengamot so I can keep supporting civil rights legislation. But I may move to the Muggle Relations office once I have a secure position at the Ministry, just because I think it's interesting and important work . . ."

Neville and Veronica were both a little taken aback, but Draco just stretched out his legs, crossed his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes.

"Wake me when she gets finished, or when we get there, whichever comes first."

They were at the school sooner than they would have liked. Their compartment was something of a safe haven, but they left it quickly once the train stopped. Of the four of them, Hermione was the only one who felt as though she had the choice, and she was too excited about completing her studies to hesitate. The other three were resigned to playing their roles for their final term and didn't see the point in hanging back.

They had decided to hold a feast, as if it were an entirely new year. A new beginning, rather, Headmistress McGonagall said when she stood up and got their attention. McGonagall's speech was fairly predictable, all told, an admonition to devote themselves to the part they played in rebuilding the school—in short, to study hard and to have fun. To come to the professors with any problems, because they could trust these dedicated men and women . . . It was exactly what they'd been expecting, but Neville and Veronica made a point of paying attention, since they were conscious of their responsibility to provide a good example. They did catch one another's eyes and smirk from time to time, just to keep themselves from getting bored. Hermione had stuck close to Neville and Veronica to Draco when they joined their house tables, and they, too, shared in the looks that were being passed around.

When the feast began, Hermione was caught up in the questions that Veronica and Neville had been so determined to escape. Where had she been? What had she been doing? Did she know anything about where Harry had gone? What was it like to be the girlfriend of the Chosen One, really? After ten minutes, she felt ready to throttle someone, even though Ron and Neville had teamed up to try to divert some of the questions away from her. She cast a desperate look at Sirius.

"Hang in there," Sirius mouthed at her with a smile. He looked as comfortable as always, with his ponytail and devilish look and his easy laughing conversation with his colleagues. Hermione sat up straighter and tried to act as bravely as he did. He had his eyes on Simon, trying to make sure the boy was okay. Remus couldn't come to the feast, and Sirius had promised to look after Simon for the night. He was, after all, Head of Gryffindor House now, and Simon had been placed in Gryffindor with no questions asked. But they shouldn't have worried, because Simon had managed to gravitate to the two people he actually knew at his table—Colin and Kimberly, who were happy enough to welcome him in.

Another few minutes, and Hermione was done. She'd answered the same questions too many times, and she was finished eating, and somebody had to be the one to do it, and it had to be done now, or it would never happen at all.

She stood up. She walked calmly to the Slytherin table. She squeezed herself in between Draco and Veronica and smiled at them.

"What are you doing, Granger?" Draco asked.

"Making sure you eat something," she said calmly.

Veronica gave Draco a questioning glance, and he glared at them both. "Granger, this is not the place for this, as I'm sure you realise. What are you trying to prove?"

"Why, Draco, I would almost think you didn't enjoy my company."

"You do realise that my housemates are going to eat you alive?" He leaned very close to her and hissed in her ear. "Not to mention me, if they get any hint that I'm ill."

Her face was the picture of innocence.

Veronica stood up. "I'm afraid I've got to leave her entirely in your hands, Malfoy. Neville and I have duties to attend to. Sorry."

Hermione just grinned and went back to her own table, leaving Draco sitting there being stared at with curiosity by the other Slytherins. He'd earned points by being friendly with Veronica, that was clear, but now he really had their attention. He sighed, and took a bite of the food he'd been forced to put on his plate.

"She doesn't do it with his style, but she makes a good effort," he muttered.

Veronica followed Neville out of the Great Hall, and followed him down the corridor without saying a word. They had no duties tonight, except a patrol after curfew to make sure there weren't any students out of bed. But they'd worked out a signal early in the fall term for times when they needed to talk in private. They even had a place for it. There was a classroom that wasn't being used this year, near the Hufflepuff dormitories. They went there in complete silence. It was only when the door was shut and wards had been laced around it that they broke the silence.

"What is it, Longbottom? I was looking forward to dessert, you know."

"I can't do this, Veronica," he said soberly, and slumped into a chair. He was looking at the dusty chalkboard, not her. There were still a few faint streaks of chalk from some of the maps they'd drawn up for prefects' rounds. "I'm going to give up being Head Boy. I'll keep performing the duties until Professor McGonagall chooses a replacement, but I really don't think I can do this anymore."

"Leaving aside whatever inadequacy you think you possess," Veronica said impatiently, "who exactly do you think she's going to replace you with?"

Neville shrugged. "I was going to suggest Ron. He's very responsible."

"I'm sure he is. Is he more responsible than you are?"

"I don't know," he replied, startled.

"More dedicated? More handsome? What is it you think Ron has that you don't?"

"It's not about whether or not I can do the duties," Neville snapped. "I know I can."

"You just said you couldn't," she snapped back. "I'm just trying to figure out what you're going on about."

Neville whirled around to face her. "I'm talking about being a role model! I can't do that anymore, okay?"

Imperturbed, she swept her hair back and crossed her arms. "Kindly do not shout at me. You know how I get when someone shouts at me, darling."

Neville glowered at her. "I just wanted to tell you myself that I was stepping down."

"You aren't, either," Veronica said firmly. "Whatever defect you think you possess that makes you unfit to be a role model, I can assure you that you do not, in fact, have it."

"Would you quite doing that 'precise' thing of yours? You always get that clipped voice and a big vocabulary when you're angry with me. You don't have any reason to be angry with me. You're a realist, Veronica, and you would accept the change if someone better than me stepped into the role."

"Of course I would. But I happen to be of the opinion that there isn't anyone better than you when it comes to the responsibilites of the position."

"That's because you don't know what happened in that hallway after Ron and Michael carried you out," Neville said in a dark, ugly voice.

"I assume there was some duelling and some nasty words exchanged before the blood loss got to him, if that's what you mean."

Neville's laugh was bitter and wild. "You actually believe that Voldemort died of blood loss?"

Veronica snorted. "Well, not anymore. So tell me, Neville. What did happen? What's got you so convinced of your own failures that you can't even live up to your responsibilities anymore?"

Neville shifted his feet and stared at the chalkboard again. "Harry was supposed to kill Voldemort. There was a prophecy about it. He was the Chosen One."

"I realise that."

"Harry did defeat him. He knocked him out, and tied him up, and Confunded him, and blinded him, for Merlin's sake. And then he left. He didn't want to deal with the publicity of being the one who brought him down. So he left us there with Voldemort . . . me, Hermione, and Draco . . ."

"What happened, Neville?" Veronica asked, with patience too obvious to be sincere.

"He woke himself up and started working through the enchantments. He was still tied up, but he was trying to get Draco's wand away from him, and I . . . I was standing right by him, and I didn't even think about it, I just did it. I kicked his face in. I . . ." Neville was staring at his own hands, and when he looked up at her, there were tears pouring over his cheeks. "I killed him, Veronica. I brutally murdered a human being. Draco and Hermione covered it all up for me, but even if no one knows, I still did it. I just kicked him until he was dead. I thought it was my destiny, for so long, and I guess I thought he'd get away, somehow, or that he'd get off easy if he was brought to trial. I was just trying to protect everyone, I really was. I knew it wouldn't be over until he was dead, so I don't even think it was wrong . . . but I don't know how I can act like the students should look up to me. I've killed a person."

Veronica had placed her hands on his shoulders, and she gazed right into him. "Neville, listen to me very carefully. If you have done anything, you have carried out an execution. It was what he deserved, and what he was going to be given. If you were afraid that he was going to escape justice again, then what you did was right. He'd been terrorizing all of us for far too long. You said that you were protecting us, and you were right. Cling to that, Neville, and don't let go until you move past the agony you're putting yourself through. What you did was necessary, to save us. You were right."

He shook his head, breaking their gaze. "But how could I? What about that prophecy? I mean, how could it happen, unless I was the one they were talking about all along? But I couldn't possibly be that, because I was never marked, and Voldemort didn't choose me . . . There's just so much that I don't understand, and I don't know if I can deal with this until I understand how it could even be possible!"

Veronica didn't let up on her firm grip on his shoulders. "Neville. Are you listening? I don't care about any prophecy. Not at all. If it is a true prophecy, then I imagine there is some way to explain it. Perhaps the defeat it spoke of was fulfilled by Potter, or perhaps those scars you got from the Chamber of Secrets did mark you or make you chosen, or whatever. I can't explain it, but that doesn't bother me. What bothers me is that someone as courageous and true-hearted as you are is allowing this to control his life. It's embarrassing, Longbottom, really."

He almost smiled. "How is it courageous to cover up a murder?"

"Did you know when you did it that Draco and Hermione would cover it up, or did you expect to take responsibility for it?"

"Well . . ."

"That's what I thought. You did what you thought was right, and you were prepared to stand up for it. That you didn't have to should come as a relief, not a burden. I don't know why you thought you needed to confess to me, honestly, but I'm rather glad you did. I don't know who else you could have told that wouldn't just bawl on you instead of snapping you out of it."

"Oh? You think you've snapped me out of it?" he asked, and he did have a faint smile, now.

"I'll keep at it until I do. I'm not about to start all over with a new Head Boy."

"What if I recommended Draco?"

Veronica rolled her eyes. "Please, Neville. Don't be ridiculous. I only had a silly little crush on him, and that was a year ago. He's too busy being the symbol of change and redemption or something right now, and I could hardly stomach it. Now, then, are you going to stay with me or am I going to have to break the law to manipulate you?"

Neville bowed his head, and put his hand over hers on his shoulder. "You know why I needed to tell you? Because I knew you'd do this, and I really wanted you to convince me to stay. You and I have been doing too well at this to stop now."

"I would have missed you terribly, darling," she teased.

He lifted his head. "Me, too," he said with a smile. "I would have been—"

She kissed him soundly. Her braids fell forward and brushed over his cheeks, but he was too busy putting his hands around her sides and pulling her down to get at her mouth to notice them. She decided that bending over him wasn't the best way to snog some sense into him, and she slid her legs forward to straddle him and kneel over his lap. If they kept this up for long, she'd lose the feeling in her feet, but she was rather more concerned with the feeling in her lips and tongue.

They were late reporting for their rounds.

Spring

He was still running. Literally, of course. The figurative running was only too obvious, went without saying. But running, pumping his legs and racing across the Japanese countryside, was something else. It was the closest thing he'd found to peace, so far. He had lost track of days, weeks, months. All he knew was that it was spring. He didn't hurt things anymore or rip up the forest, not so long as he spent his days moving and his nights with something that had a high alcohol proof.

He was in the city, right now. He had been roaming through the countryside, finding his memories of the language and learning more of it, and learning to regret the lack of travelling he'd done with Sirius when they had lived here so that they could have shared this beauty. But he'd ended up in Tokyo because he was running low on money and wanted to earn some. He had been getting by on a few hundred yen at a time by doing a lot of hitch hiking and eating truly horrifying foods, so he had some left. Unfortunately 200,000 yen only sounded like a lot of money. He reckoned he had enough Japanese to find a job, especially in the big city.

Not if they saw me now. I probably look like a proper psycho, he thought with grim humour. His breathing was heavy and rhythmic, and he was weaving through a surprising number of people, even at this ungodly hour of the morning. The sky was barely light with dawn, but that didn't stop people from coming to Ueno Park. Cyclists and other pedestrians were out to enjoy the natural beauty before the park was taken over by sake and karaoke during viewing parties in the afternoon.

It was a beautiful place, he had to admit. He had his doubts that anyone had expected to be graced by the sight of a tall, lanky white guy in criminally faded clothing pounding the pavement. His hair was flopping around in his face, because he couldn't be arsed to trim it and it was escaping from the ponytail he'd made with a piece of string from his threadbare t-shirt. Petals from the glorious explosion of sakura blossoms clung to his hair and shoulders, making him look like he was sprouting the delicate flowers from himself.

Maybe it doesn't look that out of place, he thought, still amused. The sakura blossoms were everywhere, right now, and he wasn't the only one sporting a few pink spots. When he got to the Great Buddhist Pagoda, he stopped running. He walked as close to Hasu Pond as he could, sank down with his legs crossed in front of him, and looked out over the water. He settled his body into stillness. He looked on the graceful sight of Benten Hall in the middle of the pond, to begin with, and from there his eyes lost focus and his breathing became calm and still. He had always missed this, after Professor Snape had taught him proper Occlumency. He had learned to make his mind into a flowing series of defenses and attacks on intruders. Now, he allowed himself to simply go white and still and pretend that he could feel the cherry trees breathing across the water.

His body was tired, and so was his mind. Going so still, feeling nothing but the brush of a falling flower against his cheek . . . peace. He could be at peace, for one moment. Eventually the spell would break, he would get up and he would be afraid and confused again and he would need to run away or drink the feelings into dullness. But just now, it was quiet. He had missed the quiet.

Two hours had likely passed before he heard a child shrieking with laughter and the world around him came back into focus. There were swarms of people around him, gossiping about the animals in the zoo and the clothes on that woman at the end of the path and whether Renzi was serious about . . .

He stood up, feeling ponderous and heavy. He needed sleep. He had woken up to run in the park this morning instead of sleeping, like he usually did. When he got up later, he would go look for work. Maybe he'd learn to become a bartender, that would make life easy. He wouldn't have to go anywhere to be at work.

There was a young father holding hands with his little boy on the path. The little boy suddenly whirled around and attempted to kick his father, which was blocked very simply and very easily.

The little boy pouted up at him. "It isn't fair that you are so fast!"

At least, he thought that was what the boy said. Hey, his Japanese was never going to be perfect.

"It took years of practice for me to become this fast," his father grinned.

"I'm going to practice, too," the boy pouted. "And then I'll be able to beat you!"

"I'll help you," his father said seriously.

"You want me to beat you?"

"It would make me so proud," the young man said, and suddenly swooped the boy up into his arms and carried him off giggling and squirming.

It made his heart ache for home. He wanted to go back to Sirius.

But Sirius would hate him, by now. He'd ruined so much, and Sirius wouldn't be happy to see him again, likely just when his life was back to normal. Harry had opted out of being part of the family, and he shouldn't expect that his place was just waiting for him.

But that gave him an idea. A really arresting and almost frightening idea that made him stop for a moment so that people had to swerve around him on the path. Family . . .

Our family. I could remake it. Maybe he'd forgive me if I could bring our family back.

Once the thought was in his head, it wouldn't leave. He missed them so much. He had wanted, so badly and for so long, to do this, even though Sirius said he shouldn't. And now he could. What was stopping him, but his own fear? He could do this. And he was going to. It was time to stop just running, and start doing something real.

April 1998

Hermione was practically waltzing when she came into the Three Broomsticks. There was a big smile on her face and she was light on her feet. Draco stared at her simply because he was unused to seeing her look dippy.

"You wanted to see me?" she asked, crash-landing into a seat. "I thought you were here with Veronica and Brian." Madam Rosmerta was busy and sent another server to Hermione. She retained her blazing smile while changing her mind about what she wanted twice, and the young man who took her order walked away looking a bit woozy. "Well?"

"I wanted to ask you for a favour, but I'm not entirely sure I want the favour to be granted by an airhead like you," he sneered, but the snap in his eyes made it clear he was teasing. "I have several other people under consideration, so I suppose I'll just move on . . ."

"Who are you calling an airhead?" she demanded, and took a large gulp of some strange creation with cherry vodka and lime soda that made Draco cringe.

"Well, then, perhaps you'd care to explain why you're acting like someone attacked you with Cheering Charms?"

"I got in!" she exclaimed with pride.

"To what?"

She made a face at him. He was obviously still teasing her, this was all she'd been talking about for weeks.

"Minister Bones added a personal note to the offer! To thank me for wanting to bring my talents to the Ministry!"

"Oh, from Minister Bones, well then," Draco murmured, and lifted his gin and tonic to clink against her glass. "Congratulations, Hermione." He sighed, and downed his drink in a go. "Cho Chang it is, then," he mumbled. "Urgh."

"Cho Chang is what? She'll be Cho Diggory by late summer, by the way. Anyway, are you planning to tell me why you sent Veronica and Neville to drag me out of the bookstore and leave poor Michael by himself?"

"You were with Michael, were you?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

She huffed. "Ron is usually with him, but he can't be charmed into a bookstore, and Michael has been rather in need of constant support over the last few months, in case you hadn't noticed." Terry's death had hit the other Ravenclaw prefect harder than anyone had expected. "We were talking about the properties of bat blood in certain Potions recipes, so don't even start getting ideas in your head about romantic encounters with Michael Corner."

Draco just shook his head. "Of all the people to ask about that particular subject . . . you should have been thrilled to meet up with me. You weren't by chance giving any credit to that ludicrous theory that the colour of the fur somehow affects the amount of blood to be used? I was reading in Cauldron & Smoke that this Hungarian had come up with a formula to change the volume of blood added based on darkness of the fur, and I nearly died. If the editorials are any indication, the Guild is going to ban him if he doesn't let go of this . . ."

Hermione was staring at him.

"What?"

"Draco, you're a nerd," she said in delight.

"I am not," he scoffed.

"You read a twice-monthly publication about a very nerdy subject. You are trying to engage me in a discussion about the merits of a new potions theory, not to mention the politics of the European Guild of Brewing—"

"It's Potions-Brewers, Granger, honestly . . ."

"I rest my case," she grinned.

Draco looked to the bar with longing. "I need more gin. I can't even have a conversation with you without large quantities of gin, I don't know how the rest of Gryffindor stands it. I am not a nerd, anyway. I am simply keeping up to date on the advancements in my chosen field."

"Oh, so it is your chosen field?" Hermione asked, sitting forward with interest, her drink casually forgotten at her side. "I knew I'd get you to admit to your plans for the future, eventually."

Draco got sober immediately. "Fine, I'll tell you. That's why I wanted to speak with you. Since you'll be busy working at the Ministry, I will have to find someone else, but you might as well be the first to know. It's not like there's anyone else I think should be the first to know instead of you."

"That was very nearly a nice thing to say," she grinned. "I appreciate the effort."

He glowered at her. "Anytime you're finished teasing me . . ."

"Sorry," she said, and suddenly she was all business. She picked up her hideous cherry and lime concoction and sipped it. "What is it?"

"It's a foundation," he said, accepting the second gin and tonic that was surreptitiously placed on the table by his elbow.

"What kind of foundation?"

He sighed. "Right. Well. So we've spoken several times before about my new image? Turning over a new leaf for the Malfoy name, and all that?"

"You've been doing really well, haven't you?"

"Well, no one hates me now," he conceded. "The trouble is, they don't love me yet, either."

"Were you wanting them to?"

"Not at all. But I want them to think well of me, trust me, that kind of thing. They're convinced that I am not the very devil, but I'd like to think I can go a bit further than that."

"And so this foundation . . ."

A touch of red tinged his cheekbones. "It's for the war survivors."

"What do you mean?"

"It would provide help in several different ways, but I mainly meant it for the students. It was Kimberly Kearney who made me think of it at first, but I've noticed several other children who were affected in a similar way. First of all, it would provide them with money for their school tuition, and their books and supplies . . . but I thought that I might expand the idea and make a group home."

"A group home?" she repeated in shock.

"Because some of them have been orphaned, or estranged from their families because of the danger they represented."

"No, I understand the need for it— I'm just sort of surprised that you thought of it."

The red was creeping down his cheeks. "I'm speaking from experience, after all."

It took Hermione a moment to find an appropriate response to that. "Oh, Draco, I'm so sorry. I never thought . . . I mean, you handled being displaced so well that I never really thought about the fact that you were in such dire straits, for a while."

"Which was exactly the way I wanted it, of course," he said smoothly. "But we were speaking of my foundation. It will have to adapt to changing times, obviously, it won't always be simply for war orphans, and it will grow beyond the amount of money I'm starting with. Still. I have a lot of plans for my inheritance, but I think this is the wisest option for me to begin with, since my future success depends in such large part of the goodwill of the general public."

Hermione didn't believe him for a moment. His cheeks were still fading back into their usual paleness, and she knew the truth. That the public would fawn all over him for this was a secondary consideration. He wanted to help people.

"Were you hoping that I would help you find the students who are in need?" His moral compass was still a little wonky, and teasing him about it would do more harm than good. Better stick to business.

"No, I've actually already created an application for the students to fill out. And the headmistress will provide the foundation with the information needed, as well. I've actually already located a place that I think might work for the group home— there's an empty lot to one side so that the building can be expanded, if I've underestimated the number of students."

"So what did you need me for?" she asked, frank with curiosity.

"I was hoping you'd run it," he mumbled, taking a drink. "Obviously, though, you'll be very busy with your work at the Ministry. But I wasn't lying, there's a few other people I had in mind in case you weren't able to do it, so I can approach one of them."

"You want me to . . . run it?"

"I'm going to be very busy once I've finished school, getting started on my own career. I won't be able to commit to it, full time. I'm working as fast as I can right now, so that the group home will be ready before the term ends in June . . . I have another month or so before the scholarship program will need to be established, but even so, it's a lot of work. I mean, I have to start fundraising campaigns, and things of that sort. And I don't have a clue where I'd look for someone to run the home itself . . . I thought if anyone would have an idea for that, it would be you. But anyway, I am wandering quite far from the point. The point is, I'm very happy for you, for getting a place in the law department. I know that's exactly what you were hoping for. Cheers, Granger."

He held up his glass with a smile that, as far as she knew, was completely genuine. Of course he had plans for what to do if she hadn't agreed, and of course he'd mapped out the entire course of the foundation's future, and of course he was completely capable of managing his own affairs . . . but.

He'd asked her. He wanted her to do it, over anyone else. Doubtless there were skilled and experienced people on his list, but he'd offered the position to her. This wasn't pushing paper in a cluttered cubicle and hoping she'd rise to the top. This was taking control of a company that was owned by the head of an important family, forging a network of contacts among the financial and political powers in the wizarding world. It was . . . huge.

"You actually think I'd be capable of it?" she asked incredulously.

"Don't you?" he returned, his voice smooth.

"I . . . It would be an extraordinary challenge . . ."

"It's a moot point, anyway, isn't it?"

Hermione hid her mouth behind one of her hands, amazed with the things she was thinking right now. She stared down at her glass, and felt tears start in her eyes. This could change everything. She wasn't sure if it would destroy her plans, or just skip her past all the mundane steps and catapult her to the place she'd thought it would take five or ten years to get to. And who in hell did Draco think he was, anyway, to be starting something like this when he was only eighteen himself?

"Draco," she said. She looked up at him.

He grinned.

That night, Hermione began to compose her letter. Honorable Minister, thank you so much for your faith in me. I am truly flattered by your good opinion of me, and your confidence in the differences I am capable of making. However, certain recent events in my life have led me to believe that a career at the Ministry is not the correct choice for me at this time . . .

September 1st, 1998

Harry shut the door to his room and threw himself down on his bed with a deep groan, closing his eyes at the bliss of simply lying down, never mind the mattress spring digging into his hip and the weird smell that meant Gaspar had been trying to cook again. He opened one eye to peek at the battery-powered alarm clock on his pressboard nightstand. Six o'clock. He'd been tending the bar and helping close up until two in the morning, and he'd spent the last hours before dawn walking through Ipanema, drinking cachaca and trying not to be noticed or notice anything.

Huh. It was September. And it was . . . he did a quick calculation in his head. All the kids would be on Platform 9 ¾ now, getting on board the train, losing their coat or their pet while their parents struggled to retain sanity until the students were safely away from the station and they could relax.

His mind went immediately to the people who weren't there this year (not including himself, of course). The people who had graduated and moved on. He wondered if his girlfriend had decided whether she preferred Muggle Relations or studying for a law degree. But she wasn't his girlfriend, anymore, and he found himself wondering if she was seeing anyone. She should be. She should be with someone wonderful. He felt his stomach begin to squirm with guilt. He couldn't go back to her, anymore. He couldn't disrupt her life like that. But what an arse he'd been for leaving in the first place. He should have been there, with her. They could have decided what to do, together.

But that was wrong, too, wasn't it? Because he would have ripped her heart out if he'd stayed, because he was a wreck. He'd gotten a taste of power, of control, and he'd liked it too much. He'd liked causing pain. He'd gotten so used to the guilt of it, come to anticipate death so much, that finding out he had to keep living was too much. He understood that, now. He understood that waking up screaming and the overwhelming compulsion to destroy things was something like a post traumatic disorder. He was over the worst of it. Maybe. He didn't want to hurt things anymore. He didn't think he did. He wanted to go home, anyway, even if it would hurt. He just had some things to do before he could.

He needed to sleep, badly. He still had half a bottle of cachaca, so he grabbed a glass and flicked on the radio on his alarm clock. The combination of the drink and the music sent him off within a few minutes, sleep free of dreams.

A loud commercial woke him up at one thirty in the afternoon, and he wondered for a moment why he woke up thinking about Liam Crew running to the Hufflepuff table at Hogwarts. He smacked his lips, grimaced, and made his way blearily to the bathroom he shared with two other guys. He stuck his head under the tap and let the water run over his hair. He rubbed it dry, not caring that he was using Alonzo's towel to do so. With his hair messy and damp, he decided that he was ravenously hungry, and made his way downstairs. There was always something available in the kitchen.

"Boa tarde, Renata," he greeted the wide-hipped figure as he entered.

"Evinho!" she answered, leaning over to peck him on the cheek. She smelled like sweat and raw meat, and her plump matronly face was framed by hair gone frizzy from her work in the kitchen. "I'm making freijoada for tonight, so you'd better be here," she said, going back to the oranges she was slicing, doubtless to serve alongside the main dish tonight. "Alonzo says you don't work until seven."

This was delivered in rapid-fire Carioca, but Harry knew the language fluently, now. He was well aware that it was not possible to keep secrets in a boarding house (well, okay, other than the secret of his actual identity and the fact that he was a wizard), didn't even try to. Everybody here knew the location of his job, his work schedule, what he spent his pay on, his personal habits, and that he actually came to Rio to search for Miguel and Catalina Oliveira.

"I'll try to be here," he grinned. "You know me and freijoada. But I'm going out soon."

"To run, or to visit Neva?" Renata asked sourly.

Renata was always pretty open about her disapproval of the amount of exercise he got, saying that all her cooking was going to waste. Neva, well . . . Harry had thought it made an enormous amount of sense to ask some of the prostitutes in the area about the Oliveira twins. Catalina used to be one, and some of the clientele had doubtless kept tabs on her. It had been fruitless, just as all his other searches had been. But Neva was very pretty, and Harry was very lonely. He knew now what it was that drew Sirius to those women, the first few years after Azkaban.

"Maybe both," he said with shrug. "But I'm hungry." He made sure to add a slight pout to that.

"I have some polenta left over from yesterday," she smiled, placated.

Harry moved to block her when she tried to get it out for him. "I can get it, Renata, I don't want to interrupt what you're doing."

She fixed him with a flinty look. "You always want it fried, when there's polenta left over. You think you can take over my kitchen?"

"He knows better," came another voice. Gaspar entered the room and dumped a big sack of rice on the counter. "Don't you, Estrangeiro?"

"I've lost enough fingers," Harry agreed, and subsided to watch Renata fry his snack and simultaneously keep Gaspar from attempting to help with any of her current projects. Gaspar was great at things like fixing the roof, but pretty much crap in the kitchen. Gaspar thought Evan was weird, hence using "foreigner" as a nickname, but then, everyone thought he was weird. He was a moody nocturnal drunkard, and it made no sense that he and Renata were so comfortable with one another.

Harry, of course, thought the reason should be obvious. Renata cooked like a goddess.

After he ate, he left the house and went for a run. It was two o'clock, and Neva wouldn't be available until five. He jogged for a good forty-five minutes before turning around, making his run a solid hour and half. Then he went back to the boarding house to take a shower and brush his teeth. At 4:30, he left again, but he arrived at Neva's too late. She was with someone else.

Dulcina, who was next door, poked her head out and smiled at him. "Hello."

"Hi," he said, smiling back.

"I'm free right now, if you want."

Dulcina was not the right girl for him. She was too delicately-framed, had too much long brown hair. Neva was big and blond and that was what he felt comfortable with. Dulcina . . . he followed her in. Her room always smelled good, like cloves. He'd spoken to her a few times in his quest.

"If you're still here, it means you haven't found the people you're looking for yet," she said as she crossed the room, letting her silk robe slide off her shoulders and pool on the floor.

"No," he sighed, crossing the room after her. He sat on the edge of the bed, hardly even looking as she crawled over it, flashing black lace and a lot of skin. "They just disappeared, when they left. No trace of them in this whole city. Maybe they stole a car, maybe they took the bus . . . I can't search the whole world. I don't have the money for it."

"Maybe you should stop looking for them," she said, stretching her long legs as she lay down, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

He glanced at her, then away. She sat up again, sighing, kneeling behind him and sliding her hands under his shirt to rest on his chest.

"You could at least stop looking long enough to enjoy being here with me," she chided softly, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.

He shrugged her off. "Sorry, Dulcina, I shouldn't have come in." He tried to stand up, but she tightened her arms and held him in place. He could get away if he wanted to, but he waited to see what she wanted.

"I like you, Evan," she said with frankness. "You don't hide who you are and how you feel, and you don't like games. I want to make you feel better, okay?"

"I'm not—"

"If this isn't working, then I will do something else for you. Do you want to just talk to me, instead? I know you never say anything to Neva, but that's because you're trying to pretend you're not really there, when you're with her. But we don't have to do anything. Whatever will make it easier for you to talk, so I can help you."

Harry flopped backward, laying down on the bed with his feet still on the ground. He looked up at her curious face, and found himself smiling.

"You made up your name because people kept telling you how sweet you are, didn't you?"

She was smiling back. "Of course."

"Thank you, but I don't want to talk. I'm just feeling bad because I need to give up looking for Catalina and Miguel. I don't want to, but I think I have to. I've been here for months, and I haven't heard anything."

"Tell me one thing, Evan."

"Maybe."

"Why do you want to find them?"

He shrugged. "Because they're very dear to me. And to someone else who is also dear to me. I can't talk to him right now, and I thought it would help if I could locate the people who mean so much to him."

She pressed a soft kiss on him, but it was surprisingly chaste. "Maybe you should try something different," she suggested.

"I've tried everything."

"No, I mean . . . something different with your life. Maybe you should forget about how to make other people happy, and you should do something to make yourself happy. I think you're very lost. You need to do something that you want to do, just for yourself. I think it would help you. You need to live your own life."

Harry contemplated that. Maybe Dulcina was right. In fact, he knew she was. He had to stop running around the world looking for himself, because he wasn't there to be found. He needed to start the process of reinventing himself.

He sat up. "Thank you," he said, giving her a return kiss. He gave her some money for her time, she took it, and he went back to the boarding house. He ate, he went to work, he came back and slept again. But all the time, he was thinking. What did he want to do?

November 1998

Silverware chimed off plates, and polished crystal water goblets sparkled demurely in soft lighting. A pristine white cloth covered the table at which sat a man, an older woman, and a younger woman. The man and older woman were obviously a couple, sitting close together and very comfortable. The younger woman, seated on the other side of the table alone, was eye-catching.

She would seem to be a business woman, based solely on her sleek chignon, white blouse, and slim black skirt. Her slender legs were tucked under her chair, revealing tall red heels rather than the expected black pumps. She was very young, but there was a confidence and grace in her movements that made her seem older. She ate her meal only sparingly, for she was talking far too much to eat. She seemed to be a very precise person, choosing each word with care.

Of course, there was a reason for that. The young woman was trying to make sure that no one who happened to walk past her table would hear her using words like "Hogwarts" and "werewolves." She was lucky that her parents were used to it and smiled through the unnecessarily convoluted patterns of her speech.

"We only had eighteen kids this summer, in Thistle Ridge, but it turned out that we had twenty-three kids requesting tuition support. Obviously, the school has its own scholarship program, but Legacy Foundation is committed to helping all the students who were affected by the, er, troubles. We're trying to offset the load placed on the school scholarship system and take on every student whose request stems from displacement."

"And what is your responsibility, as far as the tuition stuff works?" her father asked.

"I had to review all the applications and try to research the student to ensure that their request was valid. I communicated a great deal with the headmistress during the application process. Now that they're in school and supplied with their books, my job is to look for donations to the foundation. We started with Draco's money, but obviously he can't fund the entire project. And we don't really want Legacy to disappear once the last of these students finishes school, so we're brainstorming to decide which direction we should take with it once the original set of students doesn't need us."

Their server approached to check on them and offer another bottle of wine. They accepted, and Hermione tried to ignore the way the man stared at her. She didn't know what an image she presented, waving her hand to illustrate her speech and calling attention to her delicate wrist with its understated bracelet that spoke of such a casual sophistication. Her parents felt sad for her. She should have noticed. But she was still missing her boyfriend too deeply to think about anyone else.

"What is it that your friends the Fergusons are doing, since there aren't any children in Thistle Ridge for them to look after?"

"Well, the house needs some modifications, so Jeremy is handling that as much as possible. Christmas is coming soon, and Addison is trying to convince the students to return to the Ridge for the holidays instead of staying on at the school, so she's working very hard to make it festive. She wants the children to feel like they have a home."

"That's wonderful," her mother said with her signature smile, the sort of thing that bathed the whole table in her warmth. "That's why you asked them, isn't it?"

Hermioned smiled back. "Yes. I couldn't think of anyone who would make the students feel more at home than Addison would. And my job, as the manager of the foundation, is to support her, so I've been papering the Ministry with requests for a special fundraiser to do a big Christmas dinner and buy a gift for each student."

"How is that working out?" her father asked.

"Very well," she grinned. "When you talk about orphans and Christmas, pocketbooks open right up. I had discussed the situation with Draco, and he said he was willing to pay for Christmas if necessary, but I wanted to prove my worth to the foundation."

Her mother gave her a loving look. "I don't think that's in question, dear."

Hermione looked down with a blush, but she was smiling. "Perhaps not."

"What about the legal situation?" her father asked. "When we last spoke to you, you said you were seeking legal advice over some issue with Thistle Ridge. It seems to be occupying a lot of your time. You seem very, well, very tired."

"Yes," Hermione said, a sour note creeping into her voice. "We are not a particularly progressive society, unfortunately." She stabbed with rather too much violence at a prawn on her plate. "There's been a fairly public outcry against the Fergusons as the caretakers at the home. There are any number of bigots out there, trying to create a hysteria by saying that they would harm the students. I don't know how anyone could spend a moment in Addison's company and declare her a threat to children!"

"Is it all just words, or is there anyone actively trying to remove them?"

"Yes, several people. Draco and I have both been forced to attend several hearings at the Ministry, but Draco's quite busy enough, so I'm trying to take responsibility for it. I've been seeking counsel from a man named Cedric Diggory, he's actually quite brilliant, and he's been very helpful."

"I would think that Mr. Malfoy would want to be involved in this, out of any of the foundation's affairs."

"Mmm," she said, a noise of disagreement. "It was my idea to employ the Fergusons, after all, so I feel I should be the one to work at defending it. I'm just lucky that he's supported the decision. He could have laid all the outcry to rest by simply appointing someone else, it's his prerogative. But he trusts me."

Her parents exchanged a glance, which Hermione ignored.

"Plus he's got too many other things to do. We've talked about it. Legacy Foundation is mine to make it thrive or run into the ground. He's got his career to worry about, as well. He was able to skip the first step because of his recommendation by the Order, but getting from Journeyman to Master is a lot of work. The European Guild of Br—er, well, the Guild. They're very hard to please. He's got some business idea that he's keeping secret right now, which also keeps him busy. I'm almost on my own, with the foundation. Which is actually great, considering what it's going to do for my business reputation if I make it work."

"You and Mr. Malfoy seem to have . . ." Her father trailed off, thinking, then spoke again. "You've sort of tied your success to one another, don't you think?"

"Perhaps a bit. Why?"

"It concerns your mother and I, that's all. What if he doesn't do all the things he's planning to do? All your hard work might not be recognized."

"I'm not worried about that," Hermione said immediately. "He's going to be enormously successful, especially if I have anything to do with it."

Her parents were looking at one another again.

"Oh, what?" she asked in exasperation.

"We just wondered, dearest, if you and Mr. Malfoy were . . . connected beyond the requirements of your business. You know, in a social capacity."

Hermione frowned. "Well, I suppose, we do know many of the same people and participate—"

"We thought," her mother said, not meeting her eyes, "that you might be forming an attachment to each other."

Their meaning struck Hermione all at once, and she set her fork down. She stared with revulsion at the remains of her meal, and shuddered. "No. He's— no. He's so posh and blond and he's . . . he's Draco. Ew." She looked up, her face showing how disgusted she was. "If it makes you rest easier, I think of him as a very obnoxious younger brother. Just . . . don't ever say that again while I'm eating."

Mollified, they returned to their meal. But her parents continued to watch her ignore the flirtations of their server, and continued to worry. She was nineteen years old, and she didn't need to be alone. They'd been lavishly approving of Harry because of how carefully he looked after her—it had been hard enough to allow her to return to Hogwarts after what had happened to her, and they'd have pulled her out of her fifth year at Christmas if it hadn't been for Harry—but they thought she might need to start dating again. He'd been gone for a full year. It was time for her to move on.

January 1999

Cameron found his new apartment with relative ease. He'd lived on campus the first semester, but he'd signed up for off-campus housing so he could have a little more space. The college had placed him with a roommate, so he didn't even have to worry about finding one. Not that he wasn't a little apprehensive about the idea. Seriously, what if he ended up with a serial killer?

Still, here he was at Apartment 32B, and he was trying to peek in the window to see if his roommate had arrived yet. Classes started in two days, after all. Cameron was moving in at the last possible moment, really. His mother had kept him home for as long as she could after the holidays because she missed her little baby boy who was so grown up now. Cameron had spent most of winter break trying not to throw up. His one semester away had caused him to forget how nauseating the woman could be, even if he did love her to death.

The door to 32C opened, and a guy stepped out of it. Cameron's eyes widened at the sight of the guy. Damn. Red-haired guy who obviously worked out, great ass under those jeans . . . nice. This was going to be a good location, after all. There was a girl in the doorway, too, a petite-looking chick with smoky eye makeup and very straight and stylish hair. She glanced over and saw Cameron.

"Hi. Are you our new neighbour?"

Cameron smiled. "Yep." He held out his hand to the girl, who seemed warm and friendly. "Cameron Stockton."

"I'm Megan. Welcome to Pine Ridge, which, you might have noticed, is pretty pine-free."

"I noticed," he laughed. "But then, our locale is a little more well-known for the palm trees, which we seem to have in abundance." He held out his hand to the red-haired guy. "Nice to meet you."

The guy shook too hard. "Tray Miller."

"Did you just move in?"

"No, we were here last semester."

"Did you guys get matched up by the college, or were you planning to be roommates?"

"Matched up," Megan answered. "Tray prefers female roommates, don't you, dear?"

He rolled his eyes at her. "You can feel free to ignore Megan most of the time. She won't threaten to set you on fire until you insult her pet fish."

Cameron was sort of hoping that Tray preferring female roommates was a personality point in his favour. He himself had left that option open, and had ended up with a guy, which he was hoping wouldn't be a problem. "Do you know if my roommate has moved in already?"

Tray rolled his eyes again. "Yeah."

"Good luck with that one," Megan added, rather ominously.

"Great," Cameron grumbled. "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't think I could really explain it," Megan said thoughtfully. "It's probably better if you just meet him prejudice-free."

"What Megan means is that she thought he was good-looking and he completely ignored her attempts to flirt with him."

"Maybe he just doesn't like girls," Cameron said innocently.

Tray smirked, and a sudden tension in the air was released. "He ignored me, too."

"Oh," Cameron said with a smirk of his own. "Well? Is he?"

"Is he what?"

"Good-looking."

"I defer to Megan. I didn't really think he was that great, but she did."

"He's hot," Megan promised. "He's all dark and brooding."

Cameron wrinkled his nose.

"My thoughts exactly," Tray said. He made a sudden movement toward the stairs. "I'll see you guys later, I have to get to the store to pick up my textbooks. Good luck, Cameron."

"Thanks."

"He's not that bad, really," Megan said, still in her doorway. "He's just . . . I could go in there with you, if you want."

"I can handle myself," Cameron sighed. He raised his eyebrows at her. "But you could totally send Tray over to rescue me, anytime."

Megan giggled. "I'll do that. Good luck."

She ducked inside, and Cameron opened the door to his apartment.

It wasn't big, but it was a far cry from on-campus housing, that was for sure. There was a tiny, cramped kitchen that was separated from the rest of the common space by nothing but the distinction between linoleum and carpet. The carpeted area had a sofa, an end table, and an entertainment centre where they would put a t.v. if they had one—which, clearly, they didn't. The kitchen was bare of everything but a spice rack that was obviously a recent purchase, since it still had the plastic wrapping on.

To either side of the kitchen was a bedroom and bathroom. Cameron had no idea whether he was supposed to be right or left, but he wanted to figure it out so he could start unloading his car. He went right.

He was wrong. He opened the door and found that there was a person in the room.

"Oh, hi," Cameron said cheerfully. "I didn't know if you were here yet. I'm Cameron. You're Evan?"

The guy was sitting on his bed, his back against the wall and his legs stretched out. He had a book in his lap. It took him a moment to tear away from what he was reading, then Cameron was slowly swept by very green eyes that were half-hidden behind glasses. The guy's hair was jet-black and really long and messy.

"Yeah, I'm Evan," he said, his voice drawling with some weird accent. "You're my roommate?"

"Yup. Sorry to just walk in, didn't know which room to go to," he said brightly. "Anyway, nice to meet you."

"Right," the guy said, and returned his attention to his book.

Okay, then. Wow.

Cameron backed out of the room and went back down to his car to get his stuff. Clothes, school supplies, sheets and blankets, towels, shampoo . . . it had seemed like a lot less stuff when it was piled up in his car, but it took forever to get it unloaded. He didn't see Evan once during the whole procedure, although Tray turned up about halfway through and lugged a box or two for him. They chatted about their classes for a bit, then Tray had to go because he had to get to work—server at a local restaurant. Turned out that Megan worked there, too.

Finally, just when Cameron had gotten tired of hanging up clothes and was ready to go out and grab some dinner from whatever fast food was closest, Evan appeared. He was in the kitchen, unwrapping his spice rack and contemplating the contents of it.

"Oh, hi," Cameron said, feeling stupid for saying it.

"Hello. Are you hungry?"

"Um, yes. I was going to go get something . . ."

"I was thinking about cooking. Didn't know if I should make enough for two."

"You cook, huh?"

"Nothing gourmet," the dark-haired guy said with a shrug. "But I have some steak in the fridge. I could cut it up and, I dunno, sautee this green pepper I got, put it in a tortilla."

Cameron tried not to gasp in shock or anything. "Geez. I can barely scramble eggs. Last time I tried to make rice, I had to throw the pot away."

"You probably didn't use the right amount of water," Evan said. "Anyway, you interested?"

That was such a leading question, but he should play nice on their first day. Or forever, depending on whether or not Evan had a problem with Cameron. He just shrugged and came closer. "Do you want me to help?"

"No, it's really easy."

So Cameron sat down on the sofa in the living room. He thought he'd finally placed the accent, so he decided that would be a good place to start a conversation to try to get to know the person he would be living with for at least the next six months.

"Are you from Australia?"

"Yeah," Evan answered.

Nothing else seemed forthcoming.

"Where?"

"Brisbane."

Geez.

"You don't really like to talk about yourself, do you?"

"No, I don't."

Cameron shut up and just watched him. He noticed a great number of interesting things. Evan flicked his head to one side whenever his hair got in the way. The slamming door outside that caused Cameron to jump in surprise didn't affect Evan in the least. He was slow with his kitchen knife when he trimmed the fat off the meat and cut it up—because, Cameron noticed with a start, his hands . . . The back of his right hand was a mess of white scar tissue, and the left one was missing a couple of fingers, and maybe even part of the hand itself. Feeling a little disturbed, he looked at Evan's face instead. Whoops, that didn't help. The guy had a scar there, too, one that arced beside the bridge of his nose, under his eye, almost back to his ear. It wasn't really puckered or anything, but it sure was noticeable. He'd been too embarrassed earlier to really look at it.

Okay, just take in the whole person, then. He was medium height, and very, very lean. He was too fit to be skinny, but there wasn't an ounce of extra flesh on him anywhere. He was wearing loose jeans and a plain t-shirt under an open hoodie, despite the fact that he was in southern California and it was not that cold in January.

Evan put the lid on the pot of rice and turned around with a smile quirking only one side of his mouth. "Are you done dissecting me?"

Cameron opened his mouth and closed it again. "Yep," he settled on.

"Good. And no, you can't ask what happened to my hands."

"Okay, I won't. Is there anything I can ask about?"

Evan shrugged. "I don't know."

"What about school? Can I ask about school?"

Finally, a smile. "Sure."

"You're a freshman, aren't you? That's what the thing they gave me said."

"Yes. It's your first year also, yeah?"

"Uh-huh. How did you like your first semester?"

"This is my first semester."

"Oh. Why didn't you start in the fall?"

"I wasn't here yet."

Cameron sort of doubted that he'd get a favourable response if he asked where Evan had been instead of here.

"What are you studying?"

"A lot of things, hopefully. If you're asking about my main focus, it's classical history and language."

"Classical like Greek?"

"I'm focusing on Rome, actually."

"That's pretty cool, I guess. I'm in film production. I want to be a director."

"Oh."

Cameron was a little annoyed and hurt by the way Evan didn't seem to give a shit. Well, fine. Cameron didn't have to give a shit about him, either. This was going to be a nightmarish spring semester. Maybe he could hide in Tray and Megan's apartment.

They didn't speak much for the rest of the evening. Cameron complimented Evan on his cooking, Evan brushed it off, Cameron volunteered to wash the few dishes, Evan accepted so he could go jogging. He ducked into his room to exchange the jeans for a pair of shorts, and set off. Cameron went to his room to finish unpacking, and never heard Evan come back.

He went to the kitchen for a glass of water, thinking about bed after his long day, and Evan was just coming back in, over an hour after he'd left. He had pulled his hair back into a ponytail, he smelled like sweat from across the room, and he was carrying a brown paper bag. Cameron stared at the bag.

"I thought you were a freshman."

"I am," Evan said smoothly.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty three."

"Geez. You're getting kind of a late start on the whole college thing, aren't you?"

Evan just looked at him, probably to emphasize the moronic nature of Cameron's penchant for stating the obvious.

"What's your drink of choice, then?"

"Rum, for the moment. I couldn't find any good whiskey."

Evan got a glass from the cupboard. Cameron noted that the two of them needed to have some kind of talk about things like the fact that Evan had a bunch of dishes that Cameron didn't know if he was allowed to use, and if they'd have common or separate food—which slipped from his mind when Evan poured some alcohol into his glass, drank it, and poured some more.

"I need a shower," Evan muttered. "Good night."

He drank rum straight. He was clearly going to drink a lot of it.

There was a knock on the door. Evan glanced at the door with interest, but left it to Cameron to answer. It was Megan, and an Asian-featured girl with stress written all over her.

"Hey, what's up?" Cameron asked.

"How's it going?" Megan whispered.

"My roommate is a reclusive and mysterious alcoholic. Who's this?" he smiled at the other girl.

"I think she lives downstairs, but she doesn't speak very much English, and she's kind of upset. I was hoping that I could get you to help me figure out what she wants."

"You need something?" Cameron asked her.

The girl clasped her hands in front of her. "Need to please find . . ." she said. Then a string of words that Cameron could make no sense of. "Very bad!" she finished. "Find, please."

Cameron gaped at her.

Then Evan was there. He, too, began to speak rapidly and without any words that Cameron had ever heard before. He seemed to be very polite to her, and his face was sympathetic as they conversed. After a moment, Evan waved her inside and retreated into his bathroom, leaving Megan and Cameron staring at one another while the short girl stood with perfect posture in the middle of their spartan living room.

Evan came out of his bathroom with a bottle of extra-strength aspirin and gave it to the girl. She lit up like a Christmas tree and babbled happily, then shot out of the apartment. Cameron and Megan turned on him.

He shrugged. "Her boyfriend has a migraine. She wanted to know if there was a pharmacy close by."

"Was that Japanese?" Megan demanded.

"Yeah."

"You really speak Japanese?" Cameron blurted out, and was not surprised to receive one of those looks from his roommate. Yes, he was an idiot.

"Where did you learn it?" Megan asked.

He just looked at her, and pointedly began drinking his rum again. He turned away, back to his original path to the shower. "Japan," he muttered at the last moment.

"So . . . he's spent a lot of time in Japan," Megan said slowly. "Now we know something, right?"

Cameron grimaced at the closed bathroom door.

"You can stay with me and Tray anytime," Megan said, patting his arm. "Night, Cam."

January 15th, 2000

There were five British reporters, two French, and one German, all standing in front of a shop window that had been magically darkened for the past three months to keep anyone from seeing the work being done inside. They were clustered nearest the front of the shop, while behind them was ranged some of the most famous names in all of magical Europe. The aloof and stylish Narcissa Malfoy stood to one side of Sirius (dark and dreamy) Black, who was beside the ambitious Hermione Granger, on whose other side was Simon Billings (the first openly lycanthropic student at Hogwarts!), who stood with his family the ever-interesting Lupins, while on their other side were the highly controversial Fergusons.

And, of course, fanning out in every direction were passers-by and nosy shoppers, who were blocking most of the street. It was, after all, rather a spectacle, with the huge group gathered, watching the front door eagerly.

Ten o'clock, their invitations had said.

A few watches beeped, whirred, sang, or in other ways magical or mundane, let their owners know that it was now ten o'clock.

The shop door opened, and Draco Malfoy stepped out. Camera operators went to work.

He had changed, since he'd last made such a public appearance. He had been understated, humble, almost shy. The man who stepped out the door was dressed with crisp confidence, his posture and movements were graceful and assured. His facial expression, as caught by the cameras, was one of boldness and just a hint of amusement at the crowd gathered before him.

"When I was at his flat with Cedric to go over some legal things last week," Hermione whispered to Sirius, "his mirror told me he'd been practicing this in the bathroom."

Sirius snickered, but sobered up when Draco's confident smile moved his way. It didn't flicker in the least, but it was a warning not to screw this up for him. Not in front of his mother.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for coming this morning. Perhaps it was presumptuous of me to assume that you would be so interested in my curious little shop, but—" his eyes roamed the gathered crowd "—you did come, so perhaps it was not." He smiled, a friendly, just-you-and-me smile. "I've been hard at work inside this building the past few months, and I have noticed how many people were interested in just what sort of business that Malfoy bloke might be starting up. I'm here this morning to announce exactly what it is, and to take the opportunity of having you all gathered to offer up the explanation that will surely be demanded of me."

He had a very private smile, amusement he wasn't willing to share, then he gave a little bow. "Without further ado . . ." He waved his wand, and the swag of cloth above the door (which had carried a sticking charm) disappeared.

Everyone stared at the sign that had been revealed. A few people did not look happy.

TURNCOAT APOTHECARY

QUALITY YOU CAN TRUST

There were a few mutters and blank looks of surprise. Some people scowled.

Sirius chuckled, and said, quite clearly, "Bravo, Draco." Narcissa shot him a cold look.

Draco gave him another little bow. "My friend Mr. Black knows me very well, but I am certain that most of you will need an explanation. To most of you, this name for my business will seem to be in bad taste." He held himself very erect, and made eye contact with as many people as he could when he spoke. "I have had many epithets applied to me, over time. Even my own family has not been kind."

He very pointedly did not look at his mother, choosing instead to look at the rest of his family. He saw Teddy squirming in his father's lap, the toddler's hair turning rather green with boredom and frustration. He winked at him, but quickly became serious again. "But I assure you of this: the choice I made to betray the former Dark Lord, the choice I made to join the opposite side of the war, is the best choice I have ever or will ever make. I will bear the slur of turncoat with pride, always. It seemed only fitting, since I identify myself by that choice, that the business I begin will also reflect that pride."

Teddy had squirmed away from Remus, although he was the only one who had noticed yet.

"I have noticed, more and more as I have been training to achieve Master Brewer status, that we are sorely lacking in a standard for our apothecaries. There are numerous shops, sometimes well-stocked, sometimes not. You never can know where they got their ingredients, or how long it's been since they were tested by the Guild. It's a hit-or-miss business, for the customers. That never seemed right, to me. And so, my mission in this business is very simple: to bring quality and consistency to the industry. This is only the first of several locations I plan to have, and I want my customers to be assured of finding the same product, at the same exceptional quality, in each of them." His face beamed with pride and ambition. "My company will use only the finest of ingredients, and every member of my staff will be subjected to rigorous testing. My customers will always be able to count on me." He turned with great ceremony to remove the charm from the windows, making them clear again. With his back turned, he didn't see the toddler darting through the crowd. He turned back around with a smile, seeing the craning necks that were eager to look through the windows. So, I invite you all to—" He looked down to see what on earth was wrong with his pants, and found Teddy tugging on his leg.

"Ev-wy-one's staring, Cousin Draco," Teddy announced solemnly. "Aw you sca-wed?"

Draco was completely unfazed. He bent down and picked Teddy up, saying softly, "I was, a little, but I'm okay now that you're here."

He planted Teddy on his side and held him securely, raising his head to address his audience again with Teddy's legs and arms wrapped around him.

"That is, I welcome you to come inside, and be the first to see what I hope will be the most trusted apothecary in Britain."

Someone tried to take a picture. Suddenly shy, Teddy turned and laid his head on Draco, and put his thumb in his mouth. Suddenly, all the cameras were flashing. Draco was still perfectly in control of the situation. He turned, slightly, and lowered his voice.

"What did Mummy tell you?" he murmured, tugging at Teddy's wrist.

Teddy allowed his hand to be pulled away. "She said I'm too big," he whispered.

Draco just patted him on the back, and led the way into his shop. Teddy did not want to be put down, but Draco was not embarrassed. He simply conducted his tour with his hands occupied. When questions got technical, Teddy got bored, and was more pliant to the idea of being given to his mother. Draco was able to finish his presentation with a little more style. He was satisfied that he'd dealt with the situation Teddy had presented very appropriately, and didn't worry about it.

He had a few refreshments (catered by the Leaky Cauldron, courtesy of the kind soul of Hannah Abbot) for people to enjoy as they roamed through the store. It was not large, but certainly not small, either. It was almost shockingly well-lit and cheery, despite the tendency of such shops to be rather dismal and rank with the smell of old potions. All of the products were in glass cabinets, clearly labeled and with the Turncoat logo (a snake twining around a tall bottle) stamped on each.

After about half an hour, the media had gone (tight schedule and all, but good luck, sir!) and the few potential customers lingering were mollified that he would be open for business the following Monday. He found himself in front of his family, keeping a flinty eye on Sirius, who was browsing with an expression that seemed too innocent. He was also trying to keep an eye on his mother, who was answering some question about her very public visit to the hospital ward the Malfoy family financially supported.

"That went well," Dora said demurely. "I'm awfully sorry about the rugrat."

"Don't be," Draco shrugged. "I think he charmed the pants off half the people watching. The other half are likely to think I'm soft, but they'll be easy to persuade otherwise."

"That is, until they catch wind of you coming over for Sunday dinner," she replied with her eyebrows raised.

"Oh, am I?" he asked with a smirk.

"You are," she said firmly. "It's bad enough that we can't get Sirius to come to his own house sometimes, but I was surprised Teddy even remembered you. When was the last time we saw you, other than in the newspaper?"

"I was there for Christmas!" he protested.

"That was weeks ago," Addison interjected.

He huffed. "You don't pester Hermione about coming over."

"That's because I was there last week," Hermione said, gliding over with her arm firmly twined about Sirius' arm. She was keeping him from making mischief, and she did it with style. She was the only one of them who'd known what would transpire this morning, and she'd dressed with the possibility of photographs in mind. Her robes were tailored on top to show off her figure, and her hair was pinned back loosely, tamed by Merlin knew how much hair product. "Unlike some, I enjoy the opportunity to spend time with my family."

Sirius opened his mouth, and Hermione took advantage of their proximity to pinch him.

"Ow," he muttered.

"You have no room to talk," she said severely. "You're hardly ever there, either."

"That's because I'm the Head of Gryffindor House," he sighed. "Nay rest for the weary, you know."

"Well, that settles it," Remus said confidently. "We'll expect all of you to come over tomorrow."

"What about me?" Simon said, perking up.

"Sirius?" Remus queried.

"I'll get him permission from Minerva," Sirius agreed.

"Me, too?" Teddy asked his father, struggling down from his mother's arms so he could get into his father's lap again.

"Of course, you," his father smiled at him, lifting him up. Happy, Teddy's hair softened to its contented turquoise, and he put his thumb in his mouth. "Ah, ah," Remus said sternly. He popped it back out with a scowl. "There, now I can see you properly," Remus smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Dora's hand fell on his shoulder. "We should go," she said, her face looking pained.

"Okay," he agreed. "Sirius, you're taking Simon back to school, right?"

"Um, yeah. Tonks, are you all right?"

"Fine," she said blithely. "We've just got to run, that's all. We'll see you tomorrow."

They didn't act like they were in a hurry, but they were gone rather quickly. Addison frowned after them, but Jeremy just touched her arm and declared that they ought to get going, as well. They cheerfully congratulated Draco, who had been seeing his mother off, and headed off to do a bit of shopping in Diagon Alley.

Hermione and Sirius looked at one another.

"Odd, that," Sirius said thoughtfully.

"Did Tonks seem a little . . . off?"

"I think so."

Draco turned from shaking a few hands and sighed in mock disappointment. "Honestly, you two. You're blind."

"What?"

"You know something we don't?"

"You ought to know," he said. "She's acting precisely the way she did two and a half years ago."

"Huh?"

Draco leaned over and whispered, "She's pregnant, you idiots." He straightened up again and smiled pleasantly at yet another potential customer. "Thanks so much for coming. Yes, thank you. Have a lovely day."

"Oh," Hermione said with surprise. "Well, that's wonderful."

"I'll never get my house back," Sirius sighed.

She pinched him again.

"Ow."

January 17th, 2000

Cameron walked in the front door of his apartment with his backpack slung over one shoulder, feeling cheerful about the holiday being over so he could get back to his life. He knew Evan hadn't gone anywhere for Christmas, but he was expecting him to be holed up in his room speaking Latin to a bottle of whiskey. Instead, he saw him immediately upon entering and almost panicked. Evan was sitting in the living room, reading a newspaper, and he was choking to death. His face was red, he was wheezing . . .

"Evan!" Cameron said in horror. "Are you okay?"

The noise tapered off into what was unmistakably chuckling. As in, laughter. Evan Rivers had actually been laughing out loud.

"Oh," Cameron mumbled. "What's so funny?"

Evan was, for the first time in the year that Cameron had known him, not surly. He was looking at the paper in the midst of what appeared to be a good mood.

"Turncoat," he chuckled. "Fucking perfect. God, Draco, you are priceless. And Teddy, the media darling."

"What on earth are you reading?" Cameron asked, not expecting an answer despite Evan's rambling. He mostly asked questions just to have something to say to his roommate, at this point.

"The newspaper," Evan said, looking up at last. "Welcome back, by the way. I wasn't sure you still lived here."

This was very, very weird. Evan had never been anything approaching friendly or open.

"Of course I still live here," Cameron answered, flushing.

"I thought you just wanted to keep the closet space," Evan said with a smirk. "I've only seen you when you needed a change of clothes since Halloween, at least."

"I like the company next door," Cameron replied firmly to the outrageous exaggeration. He considered being affronted and going to his room to put his stuff away, but he was curious about the unnatural cheerfulness of Evan, and was determined to get to the bottom of it. He dropped his bag on the floor and wandered into the kitchen to poke around in the fridge, despite knowing it would contain nothing but condiments and jug of water. Except it appeared to be surprisingly well-stocked. With food, and not containers of leftover Chinese food, either.

Trying to deal with this new surprise, he struggled to come up with something to say that wouldn't shut the door of communication as abruptly as it had opened.

"I was just on the phone with Megan, and she said she hadn't really seen you since she got back last week. You been busy?"

"Not exactly," Evan answered, and that was the normal cagey sort of answer he gave, so Cameron thought he'd better back off of that.

"Well, if you are finished reading anytime soon, the three of us are going to hang out over there tonight. You can come over, too. We're just going to order a pizza or something."

"Why don't you guys come over here? I just went to the grocery and stocked up on a bunch of things way more interesting than pizza. I will give you an international experience."

Cameron was aware that his roommate was a decent cook, but it hadn't been much in evidence over the year they'd lived in this apartment. This offer of the apartment and his services as a chef almost made Cameron fall over. He covered by grabbing a jug of grape juice out of the fridge and holding it up.

"You mind?"

"No, go ahead," Evan answered. He folded his paper in half, and looked back down at the article he was reading. "Talk to Tray and Megan, would you? I'm really in the mood to cook, and I desperately need the protein."

"Okay," Cameron said, mystified. "So, what's so funny in the paper?"

Evan shook his head, smiling. "An old friend of mine made the front page." He started chuckling again. "He rubs it in their faces, and they love him for it. Only him."

"Is that today's paper?"

"No, yesterday's. But it's not local news, anyway."

"Oh, it's someone from Australia?"

Evan looked up again, and Cameron saw him blush, just a little. "Um, yeah. Back home."

He was closing off again, it was visible in his posture, so Cameron backed up again. "Cool that you were able to get your hands on the paper. I'm gonna go see if anyone's home next door, so I'll be back."

He rinsed out his glass and put it in the drying rack. You didn't leave dirty dishes laying around, not in this apartment. He sort of strolled outside, but as soon as he'd closed the door, he fell on the door of 32C with passion.

"Tray! Megan!" he hissed, knocking softly and steadily. "Open up! It's Cam!"

Tray jerked the door open and frowned at him. "What's wrong?"

Cameron dove inside. Megan was in the living room, watching t.v. and surrounded by her drawing supplies. It looked like she'd been sketching all morning.

"It's Evan," he said, wide-eyed to make his point as urgent as possible.

"Oh, god, I knew he was sick," Megan said, jumping to her feet. "Is it bad?"

"What? Sick?"

"He's been really pale and sweaty the couple of times I've seen him and Tray said he can hear him getting up at night and puking through the wall of his room."

"Oh," Cameron said in surprise. "No, I don't think he's sick, at least not right now. But he's weird."

"I hate to tell you this, Cam, but he always has been kinda—"

"No, it's different. He was laughing."

"Oh," Megan said in surprise. "Why?"

"I'm not sure. He was reading this Australian newspaper and saying there was an article about an old friend of his."

"He has friends?" Tray asked doubtfully.

"Guys!" Cameron said. "He's talking about himself. And he's happy. He sent me over here to invite you two over to have dinner. If we play this right, maybe he'll tell us who the hell he is and what he's doing in San Diego."

"Dinner?" Megan repeated in disbelief.

Cameron nodded emphatically. "He wants to cook. He said it would be interesting."

"This is the Twilight Zone," Tray muttered, crossing his freckled arms and scowling. "He's gotta be fucking with us. Right?"

Cameron shrugged. "I don't know, but you're of age, so you're going to the store to buy as much of that whiskey he drinks as you can find."

"You're going to bribe him?"

"I'm going to find his alcohol threshold and push him screaming off the edge," Cameron said enthusiastically. "Then I'm going to ask him."

Megan made a face. "Don't ask him, Cam."

"Why not? He's acting all . . . friendly. And nice. I'm taking advantage of it."

"All right," Tray said decisively. "I'll go. You two, go over there and, I dunno, keep him pleasant until I get back. Help him cook or something."

So Megan and Cameron went back over to 32B, and found Evan in the kitchen, making bread dough.

"Hi, Evan. Whatcha making?" Megan asked, sounding perky.

"Pão de queijo, for you guys to snack on while I make the rest of the food. I was lucky to find the right flour, I can tell you. I was thinking about making freijoada, but I'm going to make the wussy version with just regular pork and beef and sausage. I don't think you guys could handle the tongue and tail trimmings. I'll make rice and fried bananas, too. If you still have room for it, I could try my hand at pão de mel for dessert, but I don't think we have any chocolate to put on it."

"He isn't speaking English, is he?" Megan said, turning to Cameron with confusion.

"No, I'm pretty sure not."

"Not Japanese, either. What the hell kind of food are you making, Evan?"

"Brazilian," he grinned. "Although, speaking of Japanese, I got some really interesting seafood, miso, and soba noodles. I've never done my own cooking with Japanese food, but it could be interesting."

"So . . ." Megan said slowly, leaning against the kitchen counter and tracing her finger through some flour. "You cook Brazilian food, on top of speaking Japanese? You're a very surprising guy, Evan."

"I probably cook better than I speak Japanese, actually," he said.

"So, um, you must have spent a lot of money on all this stuff," Cameron said helplessly, looking around the kitchen.

"I had great tips this weekend." He was a bartender at one of the local hotspots, and for some reason, people liked the way he combined dramatic presentation with a snarly personality. Or maybe it was just the accent. "Plus I didn't realize how much money I was spending on booze," he said with a crooked smile. "More than I thought."

"What, you aren't spending it now?"

Evan looked down at his hands as he worked. "I had a really intense conversation with Master Gates right before Christmas," he said, his voice quiet.

"The guy who trains you at that karate place?"

"It's jiu-jitsu," Evan corrected severely. "Brazilian-style jiu-jitsu, which has its origins in judo, which means I would let a karate student strike me maybe twice before I threw him on the ground and choked him into submission. Yes, that Master Gates. And he said I wasn't going any further with him unless I stopped drinking so much. So, no more drinking."

"Is it bad that I'm actually surprised he picked martial arts over booze?" Megan asked Cameron.

Evan flinched, rapidly chopping at a slab of pork. "You know what? I don't have to feed you."

No, I'm very interested to find out what furry-hada is," Megan assured him.

"You said you're cooking this because you need more protein?" Cameron asked, leading the conversation back toward smoother waters.

"Yeah. I'm going to start working out more. I just . . . need to get healthy."

"Dude," Cameron said in some alarm, "you already run, like, ten miles a day, and you're at the jiu-jitsu place for hours every week. If you exercise anymore, you'll be able to fit through the front door without opening it."

"I know. I'm going to keep running and practicing my sport, but I'm going to try to bulk up, too. I'm going to start eating more."

"Eating, as in, food?" Megan confirmed. "That would be kind of a new thing for you."

"Yeah," Evan muttered, not looking up. "Apparently running ten miles a day and consuming all my calories in the form of whiskey is not good for me. It leads to my instructor being able to fucking own me."

"So that's why I thought you were sick," Megan murmured thoughtfully, while Cameron was surreptitiously texting Tray. "Tray said you were puking right before Christmas."

Evan made a forceful stab at a piece of beef steak.

"Megan, geez," Cameron snapped. "Evan, you're going to slice your fingers—um."

Evan actually laughed when Cameron blushed and stopped himself. "Could hardly do more damage, could I?"

"I've never really seen it," Megan said.

"Me, either," Cameron shrugged.

"What, my hand?"

"You act really protective of it," Cameron explained. "You usually keep it sort of hidden. And bite people's heads off if they come anywhere near you."

"I guess you guys can see it, everyone in my jiu-jitsu class has." Evan put down the knife and held up his slightly meat-stained left hand. "I almost lost the whole thing," he announced, letting them stare at it. Cameron grimaced. It was worse than just the two fingers missing. The whole side of his hand was gone, and his middle finger stuck out awkwardly. "I paid a guy under the table to fix it when I developed gangrene."

"Gross," Megan whispered. "Did it hurt?"

"Probably. I was too delirious from blood poisoning to notice until it was mostly healed."

"How in hell did you go so long without treating it?" Cameron asked in amazement—mostly, amazement that Evan hadn't snapped at them and run off to hide in his room by now.

"I was sort of living in a field, at the time. I had a bit of a breakdown, although I'd like to think it was in large part due to the raging fever."

"When did it happen?"

"About two years ago."

"How did you injure it to begin with?"

He turned back to his steak with a vengeance.

"Evan," Megan said, and both he and Cameron stared with surprise at the amount of caring she had in her voice. Normally she gave him as good as she got. "You're being really open with us, which is nice, but it makes it kind of hard for us to know where the boundaries are, you know?"

"Sorry," he muttered.

"So if we ask the wrong question, don't get all mad at us, okay? We're just trying to figure this out."

"So am I," he said, and scooped the pieces of meat into a big pot. "I just spent Christmas alone, again. I actually pay a guy to let me hang out at his business, and he doesn't even want me there because apparently I'm a slobbering drunk. One of you guys could have told me what a douchebag I've been."

"We thought you knew, sweetie," Megan chirped, and, surprisingly, leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "But we'll let you know from now on, how's that?"

"Deal," he said.

Tray walked in, looking disgruntled but holding a big jug of iced tea, and Evan plopped a big plate full of warm cheese puffs in front of them.

"So," Cameron said, picking one up, "you're cooking us dinner because your friend got in the paper?"

"No, I'm cooking you dinner because I'm tired of being a douchebag."

Tray eyed the food suspiciously, not willing to try it yet. "Why's your friend in the paper?"
Evan appeared to consider for a moment, then shook his head.

"What?" Tray growled.

"That means he won't talk about that," Cameron said cheerfully around a mouthful, and swallowed. "God, Evan, these are good." He looked at Tray. "He will talk about other stuff now, I guess. He told us that his hand looks like that because he got gangrene."

Tray looked down at Evan's hand and shuddered. "Dude. What about your other hand?"

Evan looked down at his right hand, which was whole but covered in white scar tissue. "Oh, that. Um, short version. Sadistic person made me cut my own hand. I was supposed to be carving the words, 'I will respect authority,' but I . . . well, I didn't respect authority. So I hacked my hand up."

"And how, exactly, did anyone force you to do that?" Tray asked skeptically.

Evan shook his head again.

"What about your face?"

"What about it?"

Cameron traced a line across his own cheek.

"Oh, right. Well, there was this guy. This criminal. He tried to cut my face off."

"Off?" Megan repeated, putting her bread down abruptly. "O-F-F, off?"

"Yeah. That . . . really hurt."

"No shit," Tray snorted. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing, before that. After —" He shook his head. "Never mind."

"No, Evan, I'm interested," Tray said brutally. He still hadn't touched the food. "What did you do?"

Evan was making the rice, his shoulders hunched over his pot. "I broke his legs, okay?"

"With your mutant powers, or what?"

"Geez, Tray!" Cameron snapped. "Why are you being such an asshole?"

"Well, my god, Cameron," Tray snapped back. "He's been treating you like shit for a year, and then you find out somebody cut his face and all is forgiven? What was he doing with some criminal to begin with, that's what you should be asking. And how in hell he broke a dude's legs, that's another. You think just because he wants to make dinner and show off that he suddenly became a nice guy?"

Megan looked hurt and shocked by Tray, but Evan was just busying himself with his dinner preparations. Cameron was the one bristling with anger.

"Look, he's trying, so we're giving him a chance. You can either knock it off or get out. This is my apartment."

Tray gaped at him for a moment, then huffed and headed for the door.

"Tray's right," Evan said clearly. They all turned to look at him, even the angry redhead. "Those are pretty good questions. He's right to be suspicious. Besides, he's just trying to protect you, Cameron."

Tray scowled at him, which caused Cameron to gape in shock. Evan was right? He slowly walked over and took Tray's hand.

"That's sweet of you, Tray," he said, pulling him back in toward the kitchen. "Now take one of these—" he plucked a cheese puff off the plate and shoved it in Tray's mouth "—and be quiet so I can find out where Evan learned how to cook. Or is that one off-limits?" he asked Evan.

He shrugged. "I've been cooking my entire life. If you mean where I learned to cook Brazilian food, it was in Brazil."

Megan giggled, which smoothed over the rough patch in the conversation. "Go figure. What were you doing in Brazil?"

"I lived there for a while with my— I lived there when I was a kid. And I went back to Rio a while ago, that's where I was before I came here."

"Were you going to say your family?" Cameron asked quietly.

He pinched his lips together.

"Never mind, then. And you lived in Brisbane, obviously. Did you live in Japan, too?"

"Yeah."

"Have you lived anywhere else?"

"Yeah."

"You can say where," Megan told him with a smile. "It won't hurt, I promise."

He sighed. "Australia, of course; England, twice; New York; Wyoming; Japan, twice; Brazil, also twice; South Africa; Austria; and San Diego."

"Holy shit, dude," Tray said, his voice muffled by a mouthful of food. Cameron waited on tenterhooks for him to say something mean again. He swallowed. "These are really good. Also, was your dad in the army or something?"

Evan shook his head.

Tray rolled his eyes. "This is going to be a long night."

"All that moving was lonely, wasn't it?" Megan said quietly.

"A bit," Evan answered. "But I had my— fuck."

"You can tell us about your family."

"I could. But then you'd ask me why I'm not with them, which would suck. All this food and the last month of my life would go to waste because I'd be sprinting for the nearest liquor store."

"What if we promised not to ask?"

He clenched his jaw. "Will one of you get plates out? And will somebody else watch the pot while I make the bananas?"

Cameron, since he knew where the plates were, got them out, along with drinking glasses and silverware. Megan stirred the pot. Tray poured iced tea for everyone.

"My parents were killed when I was a baby," Evan said suddenly. "I got sent to live with my aunt and uncle and cousin, and they treated me like shit. I started learning to cook when I was five and they thought I needed to start pulling my own weight in the house. So when my godfather, an escaped convict, showed up to check on me and decided it was a bad environment, I was only too happy to go with him. He turned out to be innocent of the crime, by the way, but we had to stay on the move for a few years. I totally didn't mind, because he was great to me. Then his name was cleared and we got to go home, and we had a couple of years there together in the middle of a shitstorm you wouldn't believe. My godfather is amazing. He's been taking care of me since I was eight, and I've never made it all that easy on him. And I'm even more of a prick than you guys know, because I just . . . ran off to get away from everything, and I didn't even say goodbye to him."

"Does he know where you are?" Megan asked softly.

"No."

"Do you have any other family?"

"The food is ready," Evan answered. He was squinting. "Since we never got a table, we'll have to eat in the living room."

They served up directly from the stove, and Evan took the floor to let the other three sit on the couch.

"Does your godfather live in Australia?" Cameron asked.

Evan gripped his plate tightly. "Look, can we stop? Please? I'm getting a splitting headache."

"Sure."

They started eating, and chattered happily about their meal for a few minutes, giving Evan any number of compliments about his cooking but otherwise ignoring him and giving him some space. Suddenly Megan started laughing, loudly.

"What's wrong with you?" Tray asked, nudging her.

"I was just remembering what Cameron wanted to ask Evan earlier."

Cameron gave her a pleading look, but she was turning to Evan, still laughing merrily. "He decided that you were MI-6."

"I was what?"

"You know, James Bond or something. You're just so intense, and scarred up, and mysterious, and into fighting . . . he thought you were a secret agent."

"A retired one," Cameron corrected, knowing his face was red.

"He had this whole story, about how you were this brilliant spy, and you got in too deep and it messed you up, and you decided to start over and go back to school, but you had all these demons in your past and that's why you drank so much."

Megan was enjoying this way too much. Cameron tried to sink down inside the sofa, but then Tray put his hand on Cameron's knee and he decided that he'd live with the embarrassment a while longer.

"That's pretty close," Evan said, smiling at Cameron before looking back down at his meal. "But we're not talking about me anymore."

"We could always talk about somebody else," Megan said brightly. "We made Evan spill all his secrets, we should do it, too."

"We already have," Cameron objected.

"Not with Evan."

Tray glared at her.

"Fine, I'll start," she said, tossing her hair. "I have slept with five different guys in the last two years, and I didn't love any of them, which most people think makes me a whore. Also, I hate it when we have long breaks from school because it forces me to visit my family. They think an art degree is a huge waste of time, and all we ever do when I go home is fight. That's my mom, my stepdad, and my real dad and his girlfriend, by the way. All four of them formed a collective to make my life miserable."

"Cameron has one of your drawings," Evan said in surprise. "You're brilliant. Why would they think it was a waste of time? You could make a lot of money."

Megan beamed at him.

"Going home sucks for me, too," Tray said. Cameron was shocked that he was even going to say anything, and, feeling very emboldened by the way the evening had been going so far, gave his hand a quick squeeze as a gesture of support. "Megan thinks she and her folks fight."

"Your parents have a problem with law school?" Evan asked in disbelief.

"No," he snorted. "They have a huge problem with homosexuality."

"Ah." Evan wrinkled his nose. "Anyone else think it's creepy that his parents even want to know what goes on his bedroom?"

"What, your godfather wouldn't freak out if he thought you were gay?"

Evan grinned. "He would never believe me if I said I was, because, um, well, let's just say there have been girls. Anyway, no, I don't think he would freak out. He's always let me go my own way."

"Lucky," Cameron muttered.

"I know you don't get in fights at home," Evan said. "I hear you, when you're on the phone with your mother. It's so sweet, it's pathetic."

"Yeah, my mom loves me to death, and she thinks it's wonderful that I want to be a film director, but she is the nosiest woman that ever lived. I swear I can't cough without her calling me up to see if she should drive over from Anaheim with some Robutussin." Cameron suddenly cocked his head at Evan with a puzzled expression. "I've never seen you with a girl."

"I thought we weren't talking about me anymore," Evan scowled.

"But if you're such a ladies' man—" Cameron said.

"Yeah, Evan, you'll have to bring one of these alleged women over sometime," Megan teased.

"Maybe he's shy," Cameron snickered.

"Okay!" Evan exploded. "My godfather isn't the only one I ran away from. I had a girlfriend. I had a brilliant, amazing, talented, sexy woman who deigned to be with me, and I fucked her life up and then abandoned her, and I don't want a girlfriend ever again. Now can you just leave me alone?"

And Evan walked right out of the apartment.

"Evan, I'm sorry!" Cameron said, jumping up. "Where are you going?"

"For a run," he barked, and shut the door.

Tray tugged Cameron back down. "Let him go."

Cameron stared at his shoes miserably. "I'm such an idiot. What if I just pushed him off the wagon or something?"

"If that happens, it won't be your fault," Tray said, putting an arm over his shoulders. "But I don't think he will. Don't worry so much, Cam."

Megan decided to clean up the dinner leftovers and give the two of them enough space to finally admit, after a year, that they were interested in each other. She wasn't that worried about Evan. He was too pig-headed to do anything but what he'd set his mind to do, which meant he'd be here, sober, and studying for his computer class by morning. Whether or not he'd ever talk to them again, now that was the question.

June 2000

"I could have just met you at your flat," Hermione said as soon as she was close to the table.

"Hello, Ms. Granger," Draco greeted her, imperturbed. He stood up and pulled out her chair for her, then nodded to the black-robed waitress standing nearby. The server headed for the kitchen, and Draco sat back down. "How are you?"

"I get the afternoon off, but I still have to dress up," she sighed. "It's not as though I haven't been to your flat before."

"You really shouldn't," he murmured, looking at her over the rim of a glass of sparkling water. "Not unless you want people to get the wrong idea about us."

Hermione pulled a face before placing a delicate hand on her own water goblet, more holding it for the sake of appearance than actually drinking it.

"Well, really," Draco said in a thoughtful voice. "It is something we ought to consider. It would be advantageous to the both of us. I become even more trustworthy, you become even more successful . . ."

"Draco, dear," Hermione said with a sweet smile, "are you attempting to propose that we see one another with the intention of marriage?"

"I was merely pointing out the benefits," he countered.

"Do you have any romantic feelings toward me?"

"Sweet Merlin, no." Now it was his turn to pull a face.

"I see. Draco?"

"Yes, Granger?"

"Stuff it."

"Yes, Miss Granger."

Their server appeared, and set in front of them shallow bowls of a creamy seafood bisque. Hermione inhaled with pleasure, and smiled at the server until she retreated again.

"I see you've placed an order already."

"I trust I know the tastes of my own lady wife," he smirked.

She glared. "Can we actually have our meeting to discuss Legacy, now that you're finished being nonsensical?"

"I happen to consider that a relevant point of business, therefore the meeting has already begun."

"Do you really think you'd look smart with your head doused in my soup?"

"Point taken, Miss Granger. What have you to report, then?"

"Merlin, Draco. Do you honestly talk to everyone this way?"

"We're having a meeting at a public establishment, after all."

"All the more reason we should have done this at your flat. I have my own image to maintain, but I refuse to waste my afternoon away from work being all formal and full of pleasantries. Honestly, Draco, we've known each other literally half our lives. Let your hair down for an hour."

Draco looked pained, for a moment. Hermione giggled.

"You enjoy this, don't you? All this posturing?"

"Yes, I think I do," he said, smiling a genuine smile at last. "Why do you think I invited you to a meeting at all?"

"There are certain things I won't bring up because I'm not cruel, but do keep in mind that I've seen you at your worst. This dazzling charm thing does not work on me."

Draco sighed, and pouted. "You are no fun at all, Granger."

"I am the life of the party, when people can manage to call me by my first name."

Their water glasses were refilled, silently. Hermione refused to admit she was impressed by Draco's choice of restaurant.

"You know you'd get a swelled head if I catered to your every whim, Granger."

"My head?" she laughed. "What about yours?"

"I have every right to a huge ego. As do you, for that matter. We are young, beautiful, and famous. Isn't it wonderful?"

She groaned.

"Fine, then, business," he sighed. "All the students are settled in at the Ridge for the summer, correct?"

"They are. We have fifteen this year," she reminded him. "Jeremy completed all his projects this spring, so the boys and girls have separate stairs to the common floor now, and there's a second bathroom for the girls."

"Addison must be thrilled to have them all back."

"Oh, yes. She decorated and did a special dinner and everything."

"I would be a good foundation manager and scold her, but I know we have plenty set aside for special occasions. Your ability to wring money out of people is awe-inspiring. I may have to put you to work for Turncoat once Legacy doesn't need you anymore."

"I will likely put in my resignation, six months to a year from now," Hermione admitted.

Draco was surprised, but the linguine with chicken and mushrooms had arrived, and he waited to speak until they were alone again.

"You're being serious, Granger?" he confirmed, twirling a piece of pasta on his fork.

"I am. Jeremy and Addison have expressed to me that they are interested in taking on more of the responsibility for the foundation, and I'd like to start including them in the fundraising and paperwork side of things. I think I can phase myself out within a few months, and bring on someone part-time to do secretarial work for them."

"But you want to stay on a bit longer?" he pressed.

"Yes. It's mostly for legal reasons. There are no current attempts to remove Jeremy and Addison from Thistle Ridge, but it's only been quiet for about a month. I want to make sure that things stay that way before I go. I want to personally introduce the Fergusons to all my contacts, to make sure they won't be ignored once I'm gone."

"You seem pretty certain that we won't have any more legal problems."

"I'm not certain, no. But Kingsley, Remus, and I have made a remarkable difference to the laws regarding werewolf rights. And there hasn't been so much as a nasty editorial in weeks, so it seems as though people have started coming around. I think it would be smart of us to stay in contact with Cedric for, say, a year?"

Draco nodded soberly. "I agree, about Diggory. And I am going to trust your opinion on the sustainability of this foundation after you leave."

Hermione smiled, and it was breathtaking. "Thank you, Draco."

"I feel I should point out to you that the purpose of this foundation was not to pave the way for your civil rights campaign. It's a terrible abuse of power, madam."

Hermione snorted at him.

"Very ladylike," he said dryly. "But in all seriousness, I am glad it has gone the way it has. Things looked very bleak for a little while, last year. I very nearly put my studies with the Guild on hold to be able to give my full attention to the foundation, but I thought it would look as though I didn't trust you, so I let you handle it. You pulled it off, to my delight. I wasn't completely surprised, because I know you're incredible, but still . . . thank you for not letting me down."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "I didn't do it for you."

"I know."

"Well, maybe a little for you. But mostly for those kids."

"And quite possibly for yourself?"

"Maybe a little," she repeated, smiling.

They were quiet for a couple of minutes, enjoying their food. Draco was impressed with how much Hermione had learned, since she'd started spending so much time among wealthy and powerful people. She used her silverware differently. She held her head and shoulders taller. Her face gave nothing away until she wanted it to.

"What do you want for your birthday?" he asked impulsively.

"What?" she laughed. "My birthday isn't for over two months!"

"I know, but I'm going to France, and I think a power-hungry woman ought to have a piece of elegant French jewelry, especially on her twenty-first birthday."

"Are you getting French jewelry when you turn twenty-one?"

"Well, I only just turned twenty, so it's a bit early. But no, I shall be getting Italian cuff links. For you, definitely a French bracelet or earrings."

"Whatever you think suits the image best, then," she said, rolling her eyes. "Are you really going to France?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Later this afternoon."

"Draco!" she gasped. "You didn't say anything!"

"I was getting to it," he protested. "I wanted to hear about Legacy first."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Why are you going to France?"

"For business. Do I do anything for any other reason?"

"I assume you're talking about Turncoat."

"Yes, of course."

"Are you planning to open a new location in France, then?"

"Not yet," he said with a sly smile. "My next location will likely be Hogsmeade."

"There's already an apothecary in Hogsmeade."

"Whom I will put out of business," Draco said, quirking one eyebrow. "Don't worry," he hurried onward before she could say anything, "he has a very competent employee that won't find herself wanting for work. The apothecary himself is sloppy and cheats his customers, so he deserves it. I've already told the apothecary who is currently in Diagon Alley that he can manage the Hogsmeade location, once he admits to himself that I've taken all his customers. Anyway, after Hogsmeade, France is quite likely. Paris, obviously. And at least two locations in the United States, when I get that far. After that, we'll see."

"You seem so sure of yourself," Hermione said, beaming at him. "It's quite a turnaround."

"I don't know what you mean," he said flatly.

"I mean that I remember how you were when you first arrived at Grimmauld Place. And right after the battle. It's nice to see that you're eating and sleeping these days."

"As if my health could do anything but improve after all your nagging."

"And now you're hoping to expand your apothecary shop into an international business."

"Turncoat had a very satisfactory first quarter," he shrugged. "I haven't seen the results for the second quarter yet, but I've had to employ a Journeyman Brewer to keep up with demands, so I feel confident about the figures. It wasn't ever going to be only one shop."

Hermione took a deep, careful breath. "Would it be very improper of me to say that I think your father would be proud of you?"

Draco's hand spasmed on his fork, and he dropped it. He was saved by the thick tablecloth, so it didn't clatter.

"I'm sor—"

"Don't."

"I only meant—"

"Hermione. Don't."

She looked down at her plate, composed herself, and looked back up. "Tell me about France, then," she said.

"Fleur de lis," he answered promptly.

"Beg your pardon? You mean the magical lily?"

"Yes. Commonly used in potions to treat infection or clean residue left by Dark magic. Key ingredient in Felix Felicis. Fleur de lis."

"I know what it is, Draco," Hermione said impatiently. "But they do grow it in England."

"Have you ever heard of the Blois family?"

Hermione frowned. "I think I have. They're an old pureblood family in France, wealthy. Oh, I see. Their main business is their magical nurseries."

Draco nodded. "They have the highest quality crop of fleur de lis in the world, every year. I'm going to France to meet with the current owner of Biens Blois."

"And what is that?"

"Basically translated, 'The Estate of Blois.' Woman named Mathilde Blois is the current head of the family and business—her father's will passed over her brother to give her the reins, just last year. She manages the nurseries, among other things. I plan to negotiate a very good contract between Blois and Turncoat for a regular supply of the fleur de lis crop. If I impress her, I'll get a tour of the nurseries and possibly expand the contract to include a few other crops."

"You have to impress her?" Hermione asked, not believing him.

"Oh, yes. The Malfoy family is pureblooded and old, but only just equal with the Blois family as far as that goes. Financially, they've been better off since my grandfather's time." He cast an innocent look over the table. "That will change, of course. Turncoat Enterprises is going to be more than just a chain of shops."

Hermione shook her head, but she was smiling. "Just don't forget the little people," she said, and raised her water goblet with a querying look.

"Never," Draco smirked, and clinked his glass to hers.

"You'd better run along, if you have to travel to France this afternoon," Hermione said once they'd drank. "Will you be staying long?"

He shook his head. "Only two days. Although I may stay an extra day, if I can't make time to have drinks with Miss Delacour by then."

"With . . . you mean, Fleur Delacour?"

"Yes. You hadn't heard?"

"No, apparently not. What about her?"

"She and Bill Weasley called things off. His family just never liked her, and she got tired of it. She has just been employed by Biens Blois in their public relations department. She heard I was coming and said we should have a few drinks and chat. I think she's still half in love with Weasley, and she'll spend the entire time asking me if I've heard anything about him. But I can hardly say no to a fellow war veteran, not without getting a snub in the paper. Or getting a snub from Mathilde Blois, which I can hardly afford."

"I'm sure it will be very enjoyable," Hermione said, with complete insincerity.

"You're mocking me, Granger, and I may have to retaliate. What are you doing this weekend, feeding the cat?"

Hermione turned up her nose. "I have a date tomorrow night."

"Do you really?" he grinned. "With whom?"

She sighed. "Some poor boy my parents set me up with. A medical student who came in to their practice for a crown or something."

"You'll have a lovely time," Draco smirked, no more sincere than she was.

"Weren't you the one saying that being young, beautiful, and famous was supposed to be wonderful?" she grumbled.

"Did I?" he sighed. "I meant aggravating."

"Good luck in France, Draco."

"Good luck on your date, Granger."

"When do you want to meet next?"

"Not for a few months, but I'm sure we'll see plenty of each other when Dora has her baby in a week or two. Goodbye."

He pecked her on the cheek, and she tried not to roll her eyes. Then she exited the restaurant, wondering if she could work up a fatal illness before tomorrow night.

September 18th, 2000

Harry could barely climb the stairs to his flat, having just gone through the most grueling weekend of his life. He felt exhausted and sticky with sweat from the long walk he'd had to take from the bus stop, and he desperately wanted to get clean and shut down. He was sure he'd be feeling on top of the world in a while, but that would be after he soaked his muscles in the tub and slept the rest of the day and night. Tomorrow. He'd permit himself to be gleeful tomorrow.

He opened the door and found Cameron and Tray enthusiastically making out on his sofa. He stared at them dully, then turned back around and left, completely unnoticed by them. He went next door and tried very hard to lift his arm to knock, then decided to skip the knocking and just went in.

Megan was laying on the living room floor with one of her larger sketchbooks and a box of charcoals scattered over a page of newspaper. She looked up at him and smiled.

"Hey, Evan. Welcome back."

"Ungh," he answered.

"You went to your place first, didn't you?"

He nodded.

"Sorry. I know they usually do that here, but I was trying to get some work done and I made them go over there. I didn't think you'd be back yet."

He shrugged. "I'm exhausted," he said.

"Sit down."

He looked at the loveseat, which was not long enough to lay on, and the beanbag chairs pushed against the wall, which he would never be able to climb out of. "I'd better not," he finally answered.

"You look like crap, Evan," she said frankly, clambering up from the floor and giving him a hug. "You want me to make some coffee?"

He shook his head. "I don't need any caffeine right now. I need to take a very long bath and go to bed."

"I usually only do that when the guy never calls," Megan said sympathetically. "It didn't go well?"

Harry could feel a smile creeping over his face, in spite of himself. He was starting to grin.

"Oh, Evan," she gushed, and hugged him again. "You did it?"

"Yeah. I did it."

She had a tendency to pierce ear drums when she was excited. He winced, but managed to make his arms hug her.

"Don't be such a big baby," she scolded him. "You've been working hard this whole time, so you're used to it by now."

"I didn't sleep the whole weekend. I grappled with a dummy in my hotel room when I got the opportunity to sleep. And I worked out. And I thought deep, joint-locking thoughts."

Megan giggled. "You poor thing. But you did it! Let me see? Did he give it to you yet?"

He was wearing a backpack, which he shrugged off and put on the kitchen counter. He pulled out his belt, but he held onto it while she admired it. He'd worked too hard to let it go for even a second.

"Cam and Tray have been swapping spit for, like, an hour," Megan said. "They can stop long enough to see this. Come on, let's go interrupt them."

He made a face, but let her lead him back to his own flat.

"Guys!" Megan sang, making them pull away from each other at last. Tray looked annoyed by the interruption, but Cameron just looked dazedly happy. "Guess who's home?"

"Hey," Tray greeted, pushing himself off of Cameron but keeping one arm around him.

"Evan, how'd it go?" Cameron asked cheerfully.

Megan grabbed his wrist to make him hold up his arm, and it took a real effort to remember he wasn't supposed to break the hold and take her to the ground.

"You got your black belt!" Cameron whooped.

"Awesome, dude," Tray said.

"More than awesome," Cameron corrected him. "It usually takes forever to get black belt, doesn't it?"

Harry nodded, and that proud feeling began to creep over him again. Maybe he'd made a bit of a shortcut, but when he'd debuted his skills at the studio, Gates had judged him to be halfway between purple and brown belt, and had just given him purple right away. He'd worked incredibly hard and gotten brown with almost unprecedented speed, but Master Gates had taken into account that his pupil had been practicing for seven years already.

Then, right before Christmas, Master Gates had sat him down and told him that he could work his arse off for the rest of his life and Gates would never allow him a black belt of any degree unless he cleaned up his act.

You're a very determined man, Evan, but I cannot reward someone who makes such huge mistakes in his life.

Harry had been angry. More than angry. But he had a lot of respect for Gates, and the man had been so kind and respectful about tearing his pupil apart.

I know that you work hard in here. I do. I think it's amazing that you have overcome the problem with your hand so easily. You have an amazing talent for this sport, and you drive yourself incredibly hard to improve.

Harry had been unclear which part of this was the part that meant he couldn't advance anymore.

You're also rude, and angry, and you come in here smelling like alcohol, which disrespects me and the other students here. I'll be really straight with you, Evan. You probably won't make the cut for black belt anyway, not the way you're going. I know you think you're in really good shape, but you just aren't healthy. The drinking isn't good for you. I'm not going to pretend to know about your personal life, okay? I'm not trying to stick my nose into your business. I'm just telling you what I see, and what I see isn't the kind of guy I want the kids in my studio to look up to. You're killing yourself, Evan. Very slowly, maybe, but you are.

So here's my ultimatum: you get healthy, or you don't come back and waste everybody's time anymore. It's up to you. You decide if you want to be here or not.

He'd gotten belligerent about it, he was ashamed to admit that now. He'd challenged Master Gates. And that was just hilarious, in hindsight. Gates was very close to achieving red belt, the highest rank you could earn in the sport. Harry, upset as he'd been, had surprised Gates for a moment with his ferocity, but he'd been tapping the mat within a minute.

He'd gone home feeling like he'd found a new low point in life. His roommate hated him so much he didn't even sleep here, half the time. His jiu-jitsu coach was trying to get rid of him. He hadn't done anything that was remotely wizard-like in ages—it actually took him a minute to find his wand, once he started wondering where it was.

He'd been thinking about his first trainer in jiu-jitsu, whom he'd tried so hard to track down. About how disappointed Miguel would be. And then there was Sirius. What would Sirius think of him, if he could see him?

And that was it. Harry was finished being pathetic. He'd allowed himself to slide as far down as he was willing to go, just because he hadn't been paying attention to himself. Feeling sorry for himself, yes, but never noticing what he'd allowed himself to become. And what did he have to feel sorry over? Nothing at all! What had he been through that other people hadn't? What made him so special?

He felt sick just thinking about all of it, and he decided, right then, that he wasn't going to do it anymore. He was going to turn things around. He was going to clean himself up, do Master Gates proud, and when he'd proved he could do that, then he was going to go the fuck home. He hadn't known, when he decided it, how long it would take and how hard it would be. But he thought about the people he loved, and he was ashamed of himself. He would not go home until he was worthy to go home. No more attempts at bribery, like the thing with Miguel and Catalina. He was going to go home as a whole person. They'd probably scream at him and tell him to leave again, but he was going to do it anyway.

"Master Gates says he never lets anyone go from brown to black as quickly as I did. But he also said nobody else eats, breathes, and sleeps the sport the way I have been. He thinks I've earned it."

"Well, you have put on almost thirty pounds since Christmas," Tray said thoughtfully. "That probably helped."

"Yeah. The gym I've been going to posted a before and after shot of me, on their wall of success stories." He grinned. "Some girl pinned her number to it."

Tray scowled. "I want a before-and-after photo on the wall of my gym."

"They can't do it, because the before part looks too good," Cameron said, leaning over to smooch him. "You can work out all day, Evan, but you will never have my man's beautiful butt."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm crushed, I really am."

"No, you're not," Cameron said playfully. "You're over the moon about earning your black belt."

He grinned. "You caught me."

"So, what's the next step?" Megan asked. "Is there a really, really, dark black belt?"

"There are degrees of black belt. If you make it to the ninth degree, you become a red belt. That takes years, though, and I won't be getting any more shortcuts. Master Gates invited me to see a tournament in a few weeks, where some guys will be trying for red. I can't go, though, I've already missed too much school for my own belt."

It would be a very long time—years—before Harry discovered that he'd made the wrong choice by not attending that tournament.

"You do know that you're, like, scary smart?" Megan said. "You could miss half the semester and you'd still get a four-point."

Harry made a face. "Not exactly. I'll admit that I'm kind of a self-starter on the history, and Latin is not that hard of a language, but the prerequisites are killing me. Do you know I have to take biology?"

Megan pulled a face of mock horror. "Someday you'll explain why, with your intense interest in all things Brazilian, you decided to major in Roman history."

"Learn about one thing at a time? Are you joking? I'm studying classical things because they're interesting," he said. "However, they are not as interesting as my bathtub, and I literally cannot stand up anymore. I realize it's still daylight, but I'm just gonna say goodnight right now, because you will not see me again until tomorrow."

"Okay. Congratulations!"

"Thanks."

Harry filled the bath, fell into it, and promptly fell asleep in the hot water, trying to name the objects in his bathroom in Latin. He was woken an hour later by a soft rapping on the door.

"Evan?" Megan was calling. "Are you okay?"

He jerked awake, rubbed water-wrinkled fingers over his face, groaned. "Yeah," he croaked.

"Did you fall asleep?" she tittered.

"Maybe."

"That's so cute."

"Go away, Meg."

"You'll turn into a prune! I'm not going away until I'm sure you're not going to drown in there."

He stood up, feeling like a pile of overcooked noodles. "I'm up," he called. "Now go away."

"Fine," she grumbled.

It seemed quiet when he opened the door of the bathroom, which worried him a bit. Normally his three friends made an unbelievable amount of noise. He secured a towel around his waist and poked his head into the common area.

"Meg? Where did Cam and Tray go?"

She was laying on the floor, drawing something. She looked over her shoulder at him, and smiled wickedly.

"Look at you," she purred. "All that time at the gym really did pay off."

"Oh, shut it," he mumbled. "Where did the guys go?"

"Next door. I brought my stuff over here, I hope you don't mind . . . I figured you'd just be sleeping anyway."

"No, I don't mind."

He watched her for a minute. She had a pair of headphones on, and was humming along with the music while she drew weird distortions of someone's head. He hadn't realized that Megan was so quiet, most of the time. When you got her excited about something, she could really run off at the mouth, but when she was working, she would go for hours without even looking at you.

He thought about his roommate of the previous year and a half—the talkative, overly cheerful Cameron who was currently next door snogging his boyfriend, which was infinitely preferable to doing it here.

"Hey, Megan?"

"Yeah, sexy?"

"Have you and Cam ever talked about switching apartments?"

Megan suddenly turned over so she could look at him, and her eyes were wide with excitement. "No, but we totally should."

"I was just thinking, he and Tray have been together since January, and you'd probably rather be able to work in peace and quiet . . . it might be a good idea for you to take Cam's room in this apartment."

Megan got up and dashed over to give him a hug, which he did not return because he was taking a firm grip on the towel. "It's a great idea. I can't believe you thought of it first."

"Ha, ha. I'm a nice guy now, remember?"

"You are," she said, with a real smile, suddenly more serious than he was. "A very attractive and nice guy who would like to share an apartment with me." She traced a finger over his chest, which raised goosebumps on his arms, among other things. "This could work out very well."

He grabbed her wrist, tight enough to hurt. She looked up at him with pain. "I'm only going to say this once, Megan. That is not going to happen. I'm suggesting the move because it would be convenient for everyone, and we're all friends anyway. I am not inviting you over here with that in mind, and it's not going to happen. Got it?"
She had a nervous grin on her face. "That's not what your towel says."

"My towel hasn't seen the light of day in two years, so we're not going to pay attention to the towel. I am still madly in love with my ex, and I am not going to start a relationship with you because you would get hurt and I'm not going to do that to my friend. I'm saying this because I care about you, Meg, not because I don't. Okay?"

She nodded, and backed away a little. She had tears in her eyes. "She must be smoking hot, huh?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm not trying to compare you to her. She's just . . . part of me. And I'm still not willing to let that part of me go, so I can't get into anything with another girl. Even a girl as wonderful as you are. I'm sorry."

Megan nodded. "I can accept that."

"We can forget about this whole thing, if it helps."

Megan shrugged. "I still think it's a good idea to make the switch with Cam. We'll be okay, right?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah, we'll be okay."

"And you, Evan? I didn't mean to bring all this up. Will you be okay?"

He kept his smile in place. "Eventually. You look like you could use a hug, but I'm going to put some clothes on first. Don't go anywhere."

"Shit," Megan whispered when he closed his door. "You're never going to let us in, are you, Ev?"

October 2000

Hermione was striding forward as fast as she could to get to Gringotts before it closed for the day. She walked right past Turncoat, even though she knew that Draco was there today and she should pop in to let him know how her fundraising luncheon had gone. But then, the fundraising luncheon was the reason she was there. She'd raised two hundred and thirty-seven Galleons that needed to be placed into Legacy's vault. It was the Christmas fund for this year, and she didn't really want to have the Christmas fund sitting in her flat overnight.

She maybe should have been paying more attention to what was going on around her, because she didn't even notice that someone was opening the thick wooden door of the bank while she was reaching out for the handle.

The door hit her in the face.

"Oh!" she gasped. "Oh, ow, ow," she whimpered, clutching her chin.

"I am so sorry! Oh, Merlin, miss, are you alright?"

She drew her hand away from her chin and found blood. "I'm okay, I think," she groaned. "Sorry, I wasn't looking—"

"No, no, it was my fault," the man claimed gallantly, and stretched out his hand slowly so she could see him coming. "May I?"

"Mm," she said in agreement, keeping her mouth shut because tears of pain were smarting in her eyes, and she didn't want to say anything to make him feel bad.

He put his hand under her jaw and raised her face so he could see her chin.

"Ooo, I'm really sorry," Bill Weasley said, blue eyes full of concern. Then he blinked rapidly. "Hermione Granger?"

"One and the same," she said. "Hello, Mr. Weasley."

"Oh, please, don't ever call me that. It's Bill."

"All right," she said, trying to smile.

"Here," he said, and tapped his wand at her chin. She felt the pain retreat, and he withdrew a handkerchief from his coat pocket to dab away the little smear of blood. "There, that's better. I really am sorry, Miss Granger."

"I let people who ram doors in my face call me Hermione," she said, but it only made him wince. "Really, Bill, it's all right. It was my fault, I suspect, I wasn't paying attention. I was just trying to get in before—"

She heard the sound of the catch on the lock of the door, which they were still standing in front of.

"Before they closed?" Bill finished with a sardonic smile. "At the risk of sounding repetitive, I'm sorry. I wish I could say I can get them to let you in for a minute, but even employees of Gringotts can't talk a goblin around. You had a deposit, I take it?" he queried, seeing the bag in her hand.

"Yes. It can wait until morning, I suppose. I was just being how I always am, treating everything like it's life or death."

"I suppose that's understandable," Bill murmured, then bowed a little. "Can I make it up to you?"

"No, it's really quite all right," she assured him. "I think I'd better run over to Turncoat before it closes and see if Draco will put this in his safe for the night."

"Then I will escort you. It's the least I can do."

He would not hear her protests, declaring it to be no inconvenience at all, and they set off up the street. Hermione could not think of anything to say, in particular, since she didn't know Bill at all, so she settled on her standard small-talk amongst the people she dealt with. Work.

"So tell me," she began, "is it strange, to be keeping regular bank hours now? Harry told me you used to go off on all sorts of crazy adventures."

"Actually," Bill said with a smile, "that's why I was there so late today, I've usually left by now. I asked for a meeting so I could request to be sent back into the field."

"You want to return to Egypt?"

"There's also a possibility of doing some work in Asia, but that remains to be seen. I speak a bit of Arabic, so I'm more valuable in Egypt. It's just time to get back in the game, for me. I had returned here because of— well, because of Fleur. So, now . . ."

"I was very sorry to hear about that," Hermione said honestly. "I know that we've never known each other that well, but I thought you were a lovely couple."

"Maybe we were," Bill said morosely. "But it just didn't work out."

Hermione thought he looked very sad, and she put a careful hand on his arm, for just a moment, then withdrew.

"My family never liked her that much, and she didn't feel comfortable around them. I would have said my family could go hang, but it really wore on her and she didn't want to deal with it. And we didn't actually have that much in common, to be honest. She was pretty high-maintenance, as you can imagine, so maybe it was for the best."

"It still sucks, though," Hermione said quietly.

"Yeah, I guess it does," he said, and had a lopsided smile for her. "Didn't mean to share all that. You're an awfully patient person. Anyway, what about you? When's the big announcement?"

"Announcement?" Hermione stuttered. "What sort of rubbish rumours are going around now?"

Bill raised his eyebrows. "Everyone in the world is expecting you and Malfoy to announce your engagement any day."

Hermione, forgetting about the bag she carried, threw up her hands and shrieked, out loud, in the street. "Argh! I am not! Dating! Malfoy! Ever!"

Bill had to duck to avoid being hit by a magically shrunken sack of Galleons. "Sorry. I didn't think . . . well, anyway."

"Everyone in the world?" she asked quietly, feeling a bit sheepish over her outburst.

"Well, my brother Ron keeps insisting not, but we always thought he was a bit thick about romance anyway."

"Ron is my hero," she said firmly. "You should listen to Ron."

"I suppose so, since he's the only Weasley brother who currently has any romantic attachments."

"He and Parvati are getting married soon, aren't they?"

"Yeah, in a few months, I think. Hey, I'm seeing a pattern here. Dean and Ginny just got engaged, and they both said they didn't think it was true about you and Malfoy, either."

"The pattern appears to be anyone who has ever interacted with us for more than five minutes, knows better."

Bill chuckled. "I shall include myself in that category from now on." He shook his head. "There's also a pattern of people in my family getting engaged—d'you know my brother Charlie just proposed to that reporter who got so famous during the war? Gertrude Garnet. Nobody even knew they were seeing each other, but that's Charlie for you. Keeps to himself. Maybe you're like that," he winked, "keeping a secret lover on the side, using Malfoy as a front."

"I really need to get myself a boyfriend just to make those rumours go away," Hermione sighed.

Even though she knew it would quell the rumours, she thought it would be very tactless to say that she knew Draco was romantically interested elsewhere. Because he was going back to France in two days to see a portion of the Blois nurseries that he had no practical business use for. Hermione had a very strong suspicion that he was going there just to see Fleur Delacour. Bill was the last person she wanted to share that suspicion with.

"I hear your foundation keeps you very busy."

"Not as much as it used to. I'm trying to give more of the control over to the Fergusons, because I plan to go to work in the Ministry soon."

"Not finished saving the world yet?"

"Not remotely," she grinned. "The werewolves still need a bit of help, and I plan to tackle the problem of house-elves with everything I've got."

"I find myself feeling very sorry for the world that tries to get in your way," Bill smiled. "We're here, by the way."

"Oh. Thank you, Bill."

"Like I said, least I could do."

"Nonsense, you fixed my chin right up. You just wanted to enjoy my company," she said teasingly.

There was a sudden, strange look on his face. "What if I did?"

Hermione was dumbfounded, and had no idea what she could possibly say. Was Bill saying . . . no, couldn't be. The only people who were even remotely interested in going out with her were the blind dates her parents set her up on. No one who knew her . . .

"What if I wait, right here, while you go drop that off?" Bill asked softly. "And then when you come back, I can take you to dinner, so I can enjoy your company a little while longer?"

Hermione nodded, feeling shy for the first time in years, and basically dove into Draco's shop. She made a beeline for the office he kept in the back, ignoring the protest of the person keeping the counter who didn't recognize her right away.

"Draco!" she gasped, nearly falling into his office.

"Granger, what a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?"

"You can put this in your office safe for the night. I didn't make it to the bank on time."

She thrust the bag at him. He took it and peered inside, then quirked one eyebrow at her.

"My, Granger. Not only great fundraising, but great spellwork on top of it. This hardly weighs a thing!"

"Just say you'll hang onto it," she said in agony. "And tell me how I look."

"How you look? You look like Hermione Granger, I suppose. What on earth . . . oh," he said suddenly. "There's a man. You actually care this time, don't you?"

"Please don't tease me now," she begged. "I left him outside. Just . . . do I look okay? I don't have a tear in my hose or lipstick on my teeth or anything horrifying, right?"

"I don't know," he said with deliberate slowness.

"Draco," she growled.

"Who is he?"

"I'm going to kill you."

"Who, Granger?"

"Bill Weasley," she squeezed out.

He was a bit taken aback. "Really? How did that happen?"

"He hit me with the door at the bank," she admitted. "He felt bad, so he escorted me over here, and then he asked me to dinner."

"Well, don't keep him waiting!" Draco scolded, grabbing her arm and propelling her ahead of him out of the office, back toward the front. "Goodness, Granger, have you no heart?"

"You don't have one!" she fumed. "Oh, my hair is probably a mess . . ."

"Granger," he said firmly, stopping her, turning her, and putting his hands on her shoulders. "You look beautiful. You'll have a lovely time."

She took a shuddering breath, straightened her shoulders, and nodded at him. "Thank you."

"Now, then," he said with gaiety, taking her arm again, and bringing her outside to where Bill was standing with his hands in his pockets, the wind blowing around strands of his hair in a strangely charming way . . . "Hello, Weasley," Draco said pleasantly. "Do take good care of Granger, she's far too important to Legacy for us to lose her."

Bill gaped at him.

"Good evening," he finished, pecking Hermione on the cheek and slipping gracefully back into his store.

Hermione blushed furiously, and shrugged at Bill. "It's my fault, I keep telling him he's like the brother I never had." She tossed her head, and reminded herself that she was young, beautiful, and famous. "Now, that dinner you mentioned . . . I'm starving."

"Are you up for an adventure?"

"I would eat anything," she vowed.

"Good, because you'll have to keep an open mind about the place we're going. It looks like a hole in the wall, but they have great eish masri, and I would kill for their koushari, it's the only place in England that makes it properly . . ."

Hermione and Bill did not leave the Egyptian café until after they were closed for the night, talking about everything they could think of, and he delivered Hermione to her flat without even asking if he should. He kissed her goodnight without permission, too. She didn't complain.

And a few days later, she ran into him again in his brothers' joke shop, because it was Teddy's third birthday next month and she wanted to get him something special so he wouldn't feel like the birth of his baby sister had made him unimportant. She ended up explaining this to Bill, and he helped her pick something out for Teddy, then they went for a coffee, and he was late for work.

Draco happened to be on the street, and teased her mercilessly because he saw Bill kiss her goodbye when he was running for the bank. But she was able to retaliate all too easily. She'd figured out the truth of his trips to France because he couldn't really hide anything from her. He wasn't interested in Fleur Delacour. He'd set his sights a little higher. He wanted her boss, Mathilde Blois.

She was promptly sworn to secrecy, but she managed to finagle a promise that he wouldn't tease her about Bill, so that worked for her.

May 30th, 2001

Megan kept looking out through the blinds on the front window, waiting for Cameron to come home. She'd left the window open so she could hear him coming, too.

He'd been gone all day, working on a short film with another guy and girl from the film school, and Megan was worried about him and had been waiting for him to come back. She didn't want him to go into his apartment until she'd gotten to see him. Evan had been able to hear some of the fights Cam and Tray had been having through his bedroom wall, and they hadn't been very good lately.

Last night, it had been epic. Tray had said some pretty horrible things about Cameron. He was going to be a lawyer, it was something he really wanted, and his dad was going to cut off the money for school if he didn't "find someone more suitable." Which Tray apparently agreed with, and had vowed to be moved out by the time Cameron returned today. The argument had been loud enough that Megan had been able to hear it from the living room.

But Megan didn't even have to wait until she saw Cameron before she knew he'd come back. Like sharks circling blood in the water, the guys who lived downstairs (obnoxious jerks who threw their cigarette butts all over the parking lot and had harassed two girls who lived beside them into walking out on their lease) had figured out that Cameron was in a bad place, and they were moving in for the kill.

"Look, it's the little faggot. Where's the big, bad faggot today?"

(Let it not be said that they were creative, but they did start most of the parking lot scuffles in the complex.)

Megan didn't hear Cameron answer. That was his usual response to the way they treated him, no matter how many times Megan had told him he needed to stand up for himself. Unfortunately, it didn't work as well without his tough, confident boyfriend beside him.

"Hey, he asked you a question, ass bandit," said another one of the Guys Downstairs. Megan never could tell them apart, they were all three complete wankers. "Where's your boyfriend?"

They already knew. They'd probably seen Tray moving out. What assholes.

"We broke up. Leave me alone."

"You shouldn't be alone right now," one of them said in a syrupy-sweet voice. "You need the support of your friends."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Cameron answered in a stronger voice. "I'm just gonna go upstairs and let my friends support me."

Megan looked out and could see one of the Guys Downstairs blocking the stairway.

"No one gave you permission to leave, you queer."

"If you hate gay people so much, why are you so keen on spending time with me?" Cameron asked.

"Oh, we don't want to spend time with you," the guy blocking the stairway said.

Megan could feel her heart beginning to beat too fast, and her fingers were almost numb as she pulled out her phone to call Evan. He should be home by now. She couldn't stop the three guys, and she didn't think Cameron could, either. She didn't want him to get hurt. He was already having such a bad day, and this was just wrong.

"We just wanted to take this opportunity we've got to express some of our feelings about you."

"I always heard it's better to talk about your feelings," one of them smirked.

"Me, I like letting them out in other ways," another one said.

Cameron was backing up, keeping his eyes on them but preparing to run for it. "Seriously, just leave me the fuck alone. I didn't do anything to you."

"I had to watch you and that guy hanging all over each other," one guy suddenly snarled, and he was lunging forward, swinging. Cameron threw his arms up and caught the punch on one of them. "It made me sick. You call that nothing?"

Cameron darted forward, tried to shoulder his way past the guy to get to the stairs and retreat. He knew better than to think he could take on three guys who were bigger, stronger, and more experienced with fighting than he was. He was thrown back, and caught by the other two guys. Megan finally connected to Evan.

"Evan, where the hell are you?" she snarled.

"Walking home," he said in bewilderment. "I'm almost there. What's wrong?"

"The Guys Downstairs have got Cameron," she said desperately. "It's about to be bad."

There was a weird rustling through the phone, and then Evan said in a firm voice, "I'm coming. Can you stall them?"

"I'm going to try."

She hung up, and burst through the door and flew down the stairs, and shoved at the guy who was blocking the staircase and watching the other two guys try to punch Cameron, who was still trying to twist away from them.

"Stop it!" she cried, successfully knocking the guy off-balance. She tried to squeeze past him, but he recovered too fast, and grabbed her by her wrists and jerked her toward him. "Ow!" she screamed in his face, spitting at him and trying to yank away. He had too firm of a grip on her. "Leave him alone!"

"Shut your mouth, you bitch."

"Not nice," she snarled, and tried to slam her heel down on his foot. He dodged it.

"I've only got one use for fag hags like you, and you'd have to get down on your knees."

She heard the breath leaving Cameron in a whoosh, and she turned to look at him, and saw with a sick feeling that he was hanging limply from the arms of one guy, while the other one was kicking him in the stomach.

"Stop! You're going to break his ribs, you idiots!"

"You're right, what's the point?" the one doing the beating laughed, and started in on Cameron's face.

They'd never have done this on their own, Megan thought desperately. It was all of them together. She turned a pleading look on her captor, relaxing and not trying to pull away, letting her hair hang in her eyes.

"Please don't do this," she whispered. "Please."

He laughed.

"Why would you hurt us? It's not fair. We're not even strong enough to fight back."

That seemed to get to him, a little.

"Just let me go, please. Don't hurt me."

He was wavering.

Then someone shouted, and it sounded like a battle cry. Megan was jerked off-balance as the guy pulled her closer to him, and they both watched Evan charge the last few feet toward the fight with a snarl on his lips.

The one who'd been beating on Cameron straightened up, put up his fists, prepared to take Evan on. Evan's arm was too fast for him to block, and he went sailing backward from the power of the fist to his sternum. The guy who'd been holding Cameron dropped him just in time to have his legs swept from under him and crash to the pavement. The first one was getting back up, but Evan was already there again. He grabbed him by the shirt and threw him into the stair railing, and he stayed down. The other guy was still trying to get up, so Evan kicked his leg to make him fall back down, then fell on top of him, putting an arm over his throat, his legs splayed for balance. The guy couldn't breathe, his eyes bugged, and he was crying with panic before the third guy let go of Megan to go help his buddy.

Evan heard him coming. He jumped back up, leaving the crying guy on the ground, and just stared at the guy for a moment. Then his hand flashed out, and Megan couldn't see what he did to the guy's hand, but he fell to his knees screaming.

"You have three options," Evan said calmly, not even breathing hard. "We can call the police and let them deal with this, which will probably end up in you three getting an academic suspension. I can beat all three of you into hamburger, which is my favourite option right now. Or you can crawl back home and leave my friends the fuck alone."

"Fuck you, you psychopath," said the one who was now cradling his hand to his chest.

The one who'd been choked was still crying, and he stumbled to his feet and fled into his apartment. Probably to hide the piss stain on his jeans, Megan thought grimly.

"Damn," Evan said with a manic grin. "He was going to be fun."

The guy who'd been thrown into the metal banister got up with a hand clutched to his face, and said to the one with the injured hand, "Come on," and followed his crying friend into retreat.

The third guy stood up and tried to swing at Evan. Evan grabbed his arm and stepped forward. Almost casually, he slammed his elbow into the guy's face. Which apparently meant he'd had enough, because he ran off after that.

Megan dropped to the ground beside Cameron. "Cam? Are you okay? Oh, shit, Evan, he's hurt."

Evan came over. "Cam, talk to me."

Cam moaned, revealing teeth outlined in blood. Megan winced.

"He's going to need stitches in his lips. Cam? How's your stomach?"

He sobbed. "Hurts."

"Evan, we need to take him to the hospital."

"No," Cameron whispered. "No, I don't have money for that. I don't have health insurance. Don't take me there."

Megan held out her hands, showing how much they were shaking. "I don't know if I can drive. Would you take him?"

"I don't know how to drive," Evan said grimly.

"We could call an ambulance."

"Please," Cameron gasped. "Don't. I'd have to drop out of school to pay for that."

Megan looked at Evan, and his face suddenly changed. He'd made a decision. "I'm going to carry him upstairs and see what I can do for him. Megan, listen to me, and do not dare argue with me. You can't come in. Stay in his apartment, and wait there until I tell you it's okay to come over to our place. You hear me?"

Megan scowled. "Why?"

"Megan, I'm serious. I'm going to help him, but you can't watch. You need to stay out."

"Fine," she snapped, and she stormed up the stairs and let herself into Cameron's apartment and slammed the door. Unbeknownst to her, Evan Rivers disappeared for a few minutes, and a young man she didn't know took over the situation.

Harry took a deep breath before he picked Cameron up. Cameron whimpered.

"I know it hurts, Cam. Just hang on."

He carried him as carefully as he could, and brought Cameron into his bedroom, and laid him on the bed. He went to his dresser and dug through his socks and found his wand.

"Okay, Cam. I'm going to help. But you have to do something first. You have to look me in the eyes and swear on everything you hold dear that you will never speak of this to anyone. Not anyone, do you understand? Not Megan, not your mother, not even me. This can never become known by anyone."

Cameron squinted at him painfully through his one good eye, the other one swelling badly. "Why?"

"It doesn't matter. Just promise me."

"Okay."

"Now close your eyes."

Cameron tried to, but he started shivering, and opened them again. "I can't," he muttered. "I'm sorry, I just . . ."

Harry understood. He was frightened and in pain, which was why most people getting medical treatment were given drugs. So he sat down on the bed, and put Cameron's head in his lap, and made sure Cameron could see his face.

"Cameron. Trust me. I promise you can trust me. Close your eyes."

Cameron shook his head, and blood oozed down his cheek.

"This won't hurt," Harry said softly, putting a hand on his friend's hair.

Cameron closed his eyes.

He was able to cast the necessary spells nonverbally, to his relief. He knew it wasn't a complete fix, and there were potions that could do it more precisely. But it would be good enough. The bruising on Cam's ribs and in his abdomen would be mostly fixed, and he wouldn't need stitches in his mouth. Most importantly, he wouldn't be pissing blood or possibly dying of the trauma to his left kidney. There would be some residual pain, but Muggle pain relievers ought to work for that.

"You can open them now," Harry said.

His eyes popped open. "Whoa. What did you just do? I feel . . . better."

"I told you, you can't talk about it."

"How could I talk about it, I don't even know what you did!"

"Cam," he said severely. "Not ever. Not even to say you don't know. Do you understand?"

Cameron sat up, frowning. "Yeah, I guess so."

"How do you feel?"

"Okay."

Harry's sigh of relief almost blew the walls down. "Thank god. Thank god I did it right."

"What would have happened if you did it wrong?"

Harry sighed again. "I would have had to take you to a special hospital, where I would have been arrested, and most likely deported, and you would have been treated then had your memory wiped of all knowledge of me. Megan would have lost her memory of me, as well. They'd probably even track Tray down."

"Uh . . . that's creepy as hell, you know that, don't you?"

"Yes. That's why you're not going to talk about it. They ever catch wind of this, and that will happen."

"Arrest, deportation, mind raping."

"Yeah."

"Not going to talk about it," Cameron said fervently. "Because as weird and ludicrous as that might sound coming from anyone else, I believe it when you say it."

"I could take away your memory of this ever happening," Harry offered. "If you don't want the responsibility."

"What would you do, hypnotize me?"

"Something like that."

"No," Cameron said. "No, don't do it. I'm okay with this. With, with knowing more about you, even if it's, like, really scary. It would suck if I didn't even know how big of a risk you just took to help me." He smiled, a little shyly. "I didn't even think you liked me that much."

Harry started laughing, not because it was funny, but because he was relieved. Maybe it was Cameron's artistic side that was so willing to accept the stranger parts of him.

"Are you kidding? You and Megan are the only people I even know in this whole city."

"If you're trying to complain about it, I'm going to tell you that it's your own fault."

"No, I'm not complaining. I'm just pointing out that of all the tens of thousands of people around here, you're one of the two I've wanted to have in my life."

"Oh," Cameron said in shock. He sat there for a good thirty seconds before he said, "Geez, Evan, you could have said that before. I thought you barely tolerated us."

Harry snickered. "You see me spending all my time with someone else? I'm busy with school and work and jiu-jitsu, but when I'm free, I'm with you guys. I'm just . . . a really private person. Some of that's me, and some is just how much I can't tell you without getting all of us in trouble."

Cameron traced a finger over the blanket on his bed. "So . . . could you tell me your real name?"

Harry jerked in surprise. "What?"

"Look, it's okay. I don't think even Megan knows it. I just . . . I don't know why I know. Just something about the way you are. Evan's not your real name. What is it?"

"Not going to tell you," Harry said at last. "I've gotten really attached to the name Evan."

"What about where you're really from?"

"Are you really that much more observant than everyone else?"

"I'm crazy in love with Heath Ledger," Cameron admitted with a smirk. "And your accent isn't always right."

"Damn, kid."

"Is there anything you can talk about?"

"Roman history," Harry said firmly. "I can have a very detailed discussion with you about a whole succession of emperors. Or Roman religion, for that matter. Or both. I have to start getting serious about the huge paper I'm going to be writing next semester on how the structure of the Roman government influenced the way they reinterpreted certain Greek gods."

"You are so weird, Evan!" Cameron laughed. "How do you manage to be such a geek and kick so much ass at the same time?"

"Because I'm awesome," he drawled. "I have got to show you and Megan some basic self-defense. I'll try to schmooze the office into letting the three of us have a bigger apartment farther away from those guys, but you really ought to know how to fight back."

Cameron smiled at him, but it didn't last long, and then he was pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs, hiding his face.

"I can't believe Tray just left like that. I was being so stupid last night, telling him I wouldn't miss him, and then I find out I can't even last one day . . . I can't pay the rent by myself, anyway. I'm so stupid."

"Cam. Tray's the one who was being a jerk, not you. Don't even start thinking this was your fault somehow, or that this happened because there's something wrong with you. Just don't even go there. You can miss him and be mad at him at the same time, that's normal. If you want, you can declare this to be a shitty week, and go into it expecting that everything will suck. Just let me and Megan take care of you for a while, okay?"

He nodded, even though he didn't raise his face, and Harry started knocking on the wall to let Megan know she could come over now.

June 6th, 2001

Sirius was working quietly in his office, grading papers. He did a lot of quiet grading in his office, these days. He actually didn't mind this life. When he was young, he'd always thought he'd spend his life doing something dangerous and glamorous. Then he'd gone to Azkaban, then he'd run off with Harry, and somewhere along the way, being a middle-aged schoolteacher who didn't do anything exciting stopped seeming like a bad thing. Kids got detention, accidently set things on fire, but nothing too life-threatening.

He did still get to be impulsive, sometimes. Somebody had to be the cool uncle for the Lupin kids, and it sure wasn't Jeremy. He got to be the one who took Teddy flying and gave him ice cream after his bedtime, and when Winnie got old enough, he'd do it for her, too.

When his godchildren crossed his mind, he stopped grading long enough to look at the picture he'd put on his desk and smile. He'd be with his family for the summer soon enough, but for now, he had this. Dora had taken the photo only a few weeks ago. Remus had come home a bit late because they had some fourth-year troublemakers who had a very special relationship with their Muggle Studies teacher—they liked to create obstacles for his wheelchair, and he was incredibly good-natured about it. Remus had missed dinner because the three students had Permanently Stuck his Floo powder just a few maddening inches out of his reach. He'd arrived just in time to see Teddy off to bed, but Teddy had been upset about not getting to see his father, so he got to stay up a bit late.

In the photo, Remus was holding his 11-month-old daughter in the crook of one arm, and Teddy was sitting on his lap, leaning against the unoccupied part of his chest. Teddy kept blinking and nodding his head, but he was manfully holding up the book that Remus was reading to him. Sirius liked having the picture on his desk, because it helped remind him that he wasn't just a pathetic old bachelor. He did have a family. Maybe he wasn't married, maybe he didn't have kids of his own, but he had the two little sprites, and then there was—

"Hermione!" he said in surprise, when he saw her walking into his office. "What are you doing at Hogwarts? I thought checking up on the kids was Addison's job, now."

"It is," she said, and Sirius finally saw that her eyes were red and she was sort of wilted-looking. He came around his desk to guide her into a chair. "I'm just having a bad day and thought it would be nice to see a friendly face."

"You and Bill had another row?" he guessed. They'd had a very lovely first month or so as a couple, then they were in the newspaper all the time, then they'd started fighting, and the relationship had been nothing but misery since Christmas.

Tears squeezed out of Hermione's eyes, even though she was obviously trying not to cry. "He's decided to move back to Egypt."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, patting her on the shoulder. "You don't think it'll blow over?"

She shook her head. "Not this time. We said such horrible things to each other, Sirius. It was all 'your career is more important than your relationship' from him, and 'you're pressuring me too much' from me. Then all of a sudden it was about how he's still in love with Fleur, and I'm still in love with Harry, and we're never going to be able to be happy with each other because we both compare each other to them." She sniffled, and he started kneading his fingers into her shoulders, shocked at how tense she was. He knew she had a lot on her plate, trying to work in two Ministry departments at once as well as help with Legacy, but he suspected it was the fight with Bill that had her so knotted up. "I think I'm glad we finally said that. Just to have it out in the open."

"I'm not sure that him moving away is going to solve anything."

"Maybe not, but we need to put distance between us or we'll just fall right back into the trap of trying to keep this thing alive. We're not right for each other, but it was better than being lonely. I just can't fight with him, anymore."

"I agree, that he put too much pressure on you. You had barely even gotten to know him before he tried to propose the first time. And he forgets that you're only twenty-one and hardly ready to settle down yet. But he's probably right about some of it, too. You never have given him much of yourself."

Suddenly, Hermione was sobbing, and he drew her to her feet so he could hold her while she cried.

"I'm never going to be over him, Sirius. No matter how amazing the next guy is, he's still not going to be Harry. I can't give much of myself to anyone, don't you see? He took it with him, when he left."

Sirius knew how she felt. He'd tried meeting women. It hadn't worked. They were pretty or smart or fun to be around, but they weren't her. So he patted the girl's back and tried to say sympathetic things. She was his daughter-in-law, in his mind. Family. He was glad she knew she could come here for this kind of thing. Her own parents had pushed her and pushed her about marrying Bill until she was barely talking to them.

She finally cried herself out, then started apologizing. Sirius wouldn't let her.

"Come on, sweetheart. Why don't you go wash up, and then we'll go over to Hogsmeade and have something to drink and cheer you up a bit."

"I don't want to be cheerful," she whined as he dragged her along. "I want to feel sorry for myself and lock myself in my room with tissues and chocolate."

"You came to the wrong place, then," he replied. "Which you already know, so you can't fool me. You came all the way to Hogwarts to cry on my shoulder because you knew I'd force you to have a few drinks and make you laugh. Otherwise you'd have gone to Draco because he'd let you get away with being miserable."

"He's in France again," she sighed.

"Did he move there without telling anyone?"

"No, but I think he might be proposing to Madamoiselle Blois this weekend."

"Bully for him," Sirius said, slightly surprised that Draco Malfoy was proposing to anyone. He wondered if Draco would start by explaining the financial and social benefits of the proposal, and then wondered if a woman like Mathilde Blois might not find that sort of thing romantic. She was even more ruthless than he was. "I'm glad you came to me, in any case. End of the term, barely left my office in a week, you know how it is."

They went to the Hog's Head, because if a reporter showed up wanting to ask Hermione if it was true that her boyfriend was leaving the country, Aberforth would toss them out on their ear. Aberforth left the two of them alone, beyond setting a couple of glasses on the end of the bar for Sirius to pick up.

"You can't get me drunk, Sirius," Hermione said sternly. "It's a Wednesday, for goodness' sake. I have work in the morning."

"No, you don't. You will be taking the day off."

"Oh, will I?"

"Yes. You will likely spend the morning in bed, moaning about your hangover. Then you will spend the afternoon doing something nice for yourself. Go shopping or to the spa or something."

"Sirius, I hate shopping. And I wouldn't even know where to find a spa, had I the inclination to go, which I don't. I like work."

"Stay home and read a book. Wish I could. Myabe I'll take up a book group this summer. I'll need some kind of excuse to get away from the midgets once in a while."

"Oh, please, you love those kids to death."

"They're so noisy, and underfoot," he protested. "Simon threatens to kill himself every summer. Or to move to Thistle Ridge. Whatever it takes to get away from the rugrats."

"Doesn't he spend half the summer at Thistle Ridge, anyway?"

"Nearly. I tell him that he can have Kimberly and Colin over to the house whenever he wants to, but the boys would rather go to her place. I understand, obviously. Jeremy and Addison made that place a teenager's paradise. I don't know what they're going to do with it once the last of the kids is gone."

"Didn't I tell you?" Hermione smiled. "They're just going to keep using it as a group home. There will always be students looking for a place to stay during the summer."

"True. Not everyone is lucky enough to have had friends like James Potter," Sirius said. "Did I ever tell you that? That I ran away from home and moved in with James' family when we were sixteen?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, you didn't. I think it's wonderful that you could, though."

"It was the beginning of the rest of my life, I guess. It was how close we got, that summer, that led to me being his best man in the wedding, and to being Harry's godfather. And that's taken me all the way to today."

"Do you think about him often?" Hermione asked quietly. "Harry, I mean?"

Sirius shrugged. "Less than I did, but that means twice a day instead of ten times."

"Have you thought about trying to look for him again?"

Sirius shook his head. "He knows where home is, and he'll be here when he's ready to be."

Hermione nodded. "And we'll keep waiting for him, won't we?"

"Can't really help it."

"He told me not to wait."

"Which makes it even more clear that he wasn't thinking straight, back then."

"Sirius . . . what if he hurt himself? What if he's dead?"

Sirius scrubbed his hands over his face. "I've thought about all of that, and more. What if he wants to come back, but can't for some reason? What if he's ill or in trouble and he needs me? What if he's happy where he is and would hate me for barging into his life?"

Hermione sighed. "Or what if we can't find him at all?"

"Maybe I'm only being a coward, for not looking. I just can't help but think that if I did, it would be sort of disrespectful to him. He wanted to leave, and didn't want to be found, and he'd feel betrayed if I went looking for him anyway. He's too resourceful not to reach out to me, if he needed help. No, he'll be back someday— or not. I have to accept that."

Hermione nodded, and smiled. "It's like that day he went to meet Reed, and didn't tell anyone he was going anywhere. He was missing all day and we thought something terrible had happened. Then he just strolled in, hands in his pockets, like nothing was wrong."

"He never really felt the need to explain himself to anyone. You either got him or you didn't get him, and he didn't care either way."

"If he thinks he's going to get away with that this time . . ." Hermione said in a low, dangerous voice.

"Oh, I think he's probably well aware that he'll have to have a damn good explanation," Sirius said.

They reminisced about Harry, and drank just a little too much, and pretended that it didn't still hurt quite as much as it really did. It was how they'd always gotten by.

November 6th, 2001

Megan came home from work quite late—she'd begun to hate her job, but she did still perform it conscientiously. If things needed doing after they closed at eleven, she would stay until they were done. Consequently, she was exhausted. And she smelled disgusting, like fried chicken. She felt gross and unlovely and tired.

Didn't stop her from throwing herself onto the sofa in the living room, despite the fact that it was currently occupied by Evan and about six textbooks. He saw her coming and didn't even protest, just closed his book and put an arm around her when she dropped onto him.

"Long day?" he asked.

Evan, being a bartender, had performed basically the same maneuver on occasion, although he usually smelled more like tequila than fried chicken.

"You know how it is," she sighed, content to be laying down and sympathized with.

"I guess I do."

"I'm going to take a shower and go over to Ben's place."

"No, you're not," he said with conviction. "Well, you are going to take a shower, because really, you're gross," he teased, fending off the punch she threw at him, "but you're not going to Ben's. I forbid you to work for seven hours, then get dolled up for a guy who doesn't even appreciate you. No. You're going to bed."

She made a face. "Yes, Dad."

"What a good, obedient daughter you are."

"Cram it, Ev. If Ben is happy with me, then Ben comes home with me for Thanksgiving. Ben is interning with Intel next semester. Ben will make my folks very, very happy."

Evan rolled his eyes. "Meg, this conversation happened a long time ago. You don't care what they think. You are doing what makes you happy and what you want to do for the rest of your life. You think you're in love with Ben because he's pretty, but he doesn't treat you well. So, you're going to dump the parent-pleasing Ben, and date somebody who is good to you."

She scowled.

"Aren't you, Megan?"

"If I was going to do that, I'd be dating you," she complained. "I don't know any guys who are good to me."

"Take Cam home for Thanksgiving," Evan suggested lightly. "He's a gifted film director and he'll make scads of money, your parents would love him and it would get you through the holiday."

"He did offer . . ." Megan said thoughtfully. "Since Tray isn't around to go home with."

"There, problem solved. Say goodbye to Benjamin."

"Why do you hate Ben so much? Why do you always hate the guys I'm seeing? Half of them run away from my crazy roommate before I even get to date them." She was sort of hoping he'd say he was jealous.

"Because you always date jerks," Evan said promptly. "This one's a slimeball. Gets what he wants and doesn't care about anything else. I heard him talking to his roommate when I picked you up from his place the other day, they're trying to figure out a way to cheat on their finals." They had finally taught Evan how to drive, so now he kind of shared Megan's car with her. "He just isn't a good person."

Megan sighed. "Whatever. I don't love him or anything."

"I know. You're gonna find somebody, Meg, I know you will. But it's not going to happen until you figure out how much you deserve."

"What about you, Evan?" she asked, annoyed with him for being so optimistic when she was feeling like crap. "When are you going to figure out that you deserve some happiness?"
He stared at the wall, his lips tight.

"Evan?" she asked in alarm, pulling away from his arm so she could look at him better. He hadn't shut down like this in a long time.

"I'm graduating in a few weeks," he said.

Megan gasped. "But you've barely been here for three years!"

"I know. I've been overloading on classes, doing summer school, anything to keep me busy, and I am going to have my degree at the end of this term."

"Well . . . that's great. I think. Does Cam know?"

Evan shook his head.

Megan jumped up and went to Cameron's room and knocked. He opened the door to reveal that he was wearing nothing but sweatpants and a befuddled expression.

"Oops, did I wake you up?"

"Megan," he growled, running one hand through his tousled hair. "My camera will be rolling at seven o'clock in the morning, which means I'm waking up at five. This had better be good."

She grabbed his hand and pulled him out into their living room. "Evan says he's about to graduate."

Cameron stared at Evan. "You're finishing in three years?"

"Megan, I was going to tell him in the morning."

"But you and I were talking about it, and it didn't feel right not to have Cam out here."

"Why?" Cameron asked blearily, sinking down onto the part of the sofa that Evan wasn't using.

"Look at him," Megan said bleakly.

Evan was closed-off. Not smiling. Not meeting their eyes.

"Oh, no," Cam whispered. "You're leaving, aren't you?"

Evan nodded.

"I guess we should have known . . . you never stay in one place very long, do you?"

Evan took a deep breath, and then he pulled a manila folder out from the midst of his study materials. "Guys, it's not what you're thinking."

"You're going to stay?"

"No. But I'm not running off, either. I'm—" He closed his eyes. "I want to show you guys something." He opened the folder.

"Newspaper clippings?" Megan frowned.

"This is that newspaper I read that I don't let you guys see, and that you don't get to ask about. I've been collecting these out of the paper for the last few months. One of the things you don't know about me, because you're not supposed to, is that in the place I'm really from, I'm famous. My whole family is famous. And they're in the newspaper a lot. If I'd stayed home, I'd be in the paper every damn day, which is part of the reason I'm here, instead."

"So, you're showing us . . ."

"I want you to meet my family," he said, and he sounded so hesitant that Cameron shoved his books onto the floor so he could sit beside Evan and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I got this from an article about changes taking place at the school I attended when I was a teenager. My godfather is a teacher there. This is my godfather, John."

He displayed the photo (which he did not tell them he'd frozen in place so it wouldn't move).

Megan whistled. "Ev, you should have said your godfather was totally sexy. Does he really wear that to teach in?"

"He really does," Evan smiled. "And he's too charming to get in trouble for it."

"What does he teach?"

"Ah, that's one of the things I can't actually tell you. Sorry."

"I want to see more pictures," Megan said with enthusiasm.

"This is a picture of several people. The man in the photo, I call him my other godfather because he and John have been friends since they were little kids. The woman in the photo is Re— Ri— Rick's wife, and they're pictured with their kids. The older one is sort of their foster kid. The little boy was supposed to be my godson. I was there when he was born, and his middle name is Evan. But I . . . I left right after that. I didn't even know they had a little girl until I saw this in the paper."

They looked at the photo, trying to give Evan space and pretend they didn't see how wet his eyes were.

"Your godson is adorable," Megan smiled.

"Would it be really rude to ask why your, um, other godfather is in a wheelchair?"

That was the wrong question, if they were trying to help Evan not cry, because he nearly started to.

"It was my fault," he whispered hoarsely. "Remember when I said that I broke the legs of the man who cut my face? They did that to him in retaliation."

Cameron scooted closer and put his arm around Evan. He didn't really think it would help. Evan wasn't one for hugs and being close. But the standoffish man slumped down and let Cameron hug him, burying his face in his hands.

"You don't know how hard that would be on him, I can't explain how bad things were for him even before that . . . And it's my fault."

They had never seen Evan cry. Not once in three years. But this was so close to it that there was hardly a difference, with his hitching breath and letting Cameron comfort him.

"It isn't your fault," Megan said fiercely, kneeling down in front of him so he could see her. "So maybe you hurt a guy a little bit. He was hurting you, first. What he did to your friend Rick was so far beyond that. It's horrible and cruel and violent and sick. It absolutely wasn't your fault, Evan. The only person who's at fault is the one who did it."

Evan nodded a little, and lifted his face. "Guys, just— back off, a little. Sorry. I'm sorry. Just let me get control of myself, okay? I want to show you the rest of the pictures."

Megan and Cameron looked at one another, both tempted to push Evan further, because the last thing he really needed was more control of himself. But the pictures were important to him, so they let it go.

"Ah, I feel stupid even showing you this guy, but, well. It's hard to explain. He was kind of an enemy, but his father was the real bad guy, and he ran away, and I hid him from his dad and convinced John to let him work in our house. And after I left, my family basically adopted him. Well, he was already sort of family, because Rick's wife is his cousin. Anyway, he's turning himself into this successful businessman, and apparently he's got himself engaged to this French heiress now . . . Good for him, and all. These two—"

"You mean these twenty," Megan said in bewilderment.

"The two adults to the side. The kids are orphans, and those two run the orphanage. They used to live with us, because their home got destroyed."

"Wait, how many people lived in your house?" Cameron interrupted.

Evan smiled. "Me, my godfather, Rick and his wife and their foster kid, these two, another guy who's dead now, the blond guy Drake kind of did, and my girlfriend lived there for a while, too."

Cameron snickered. "I always wondered why you never had a problem sharing a place with an artist chick and a gay guy. You're just used to weird living situations. My god, that must be a huge house you guys had."

"Yeah, it was. It was great, though. It was just me and John at first, and it was way too big and lonely, especially when I was off at school. So it was great when Rick moved in, and then he left again to um, do some work that I can't talk about, and he got married, but they lost everything and came back to live with us, along with four other people who'd been targeted in that attack. My girlfriend and I had dropped out of school by then, so there were ten people living there, and one of them was pregnant."

"You, Evan? You dropped out of school?"

"Yeah. My godfather had to quit teaching for a while, too."

"Why?"

"To make it harder to find us," he shrugged.

"Harder for who?"

Evan shook his head.

"All this time, we've thought you had some tragic and dysfunctional family history you were trying to run away from, like it had to do with your godfather's criminal record or something . . . geez, Ev, what were you involved in?"

"You remember that story you made up about me, Cam? Being MI-6 and all that?"

"Yeah."

"It was pretty close, I told you that. But I didn't work for the government."

"What?" Megan said, her jaw dropping.

"I guess you'd call us vigilantes. The government couldn't stop these terrorists, and we thought we could. So we did."

"You . . . did?"

"They were after me especially. Don't ask why, please tell me you won't ask why."

"Okay."

"So they were after me. And things finally came to a head one night. They attacked the school I had been going to, to get to me. There was this one guy in particular, their leader, who just . . . killed people. All the time. And I sort of gave myself up, because I thought that if I did, it would save all those kids. And I got shot. And I died. I fucking died, and got resuscitated. And I got up, and I found the bad guy, and I stopped him. And then I ran away. Right then. I'd just been dead for a minute, and my hand was kind of destroyed, and I just ran for it because I'd been doing some pretty terrible things to people in the name of fighting terrorism, and I'd just watched a friend of mine get murdered because of me. . ."

He stopped talking because they were staring at him in shock.

"You seriously died?" Cameron asked softly.

"For a minute," he said grimly. "I knew if I told people, they would try to tell me I was never actually dead. But I . . . saw something. Talked to something. It told me I could go, if I wanted to."

"Geez, I'd have started drinking, too," Cameron muttered.

Evan had dropped his face into his hands again. "I'd never wanted anything so much. I'd found out I was just as ruthless as the people I was fighting, and I'd been expecting to die for months, and I just wanted to fucking die already. But it gave me a choice, and I knew I had responsibilities, but I didn't want them. I just wanted to be Evan Rivers. It was all I had ever wanted. To not be important. To just be this guy that didn't matter. I wanted to go to college and do whatever the hell I felt like doing without being in the newspaper. So I ran away. And I left them all behind, and I was so selfish to do it. I am such a selfish bastard. They hate me, they have to hate me for what I did to them. My family hates me."

He wasn't able to talk anymore, so Megan shoved her way onto the sofa, and she and Cameron sat on either side of him, holding him up while he tried to pull himself together. It took a while. Megan wished he'd just cry and get everything out of his system. They'd both cried all over him enough times for things far less important.

"Can I say something, Evan?" Cameron asked.

"Sure," he choked.

"I think you're wrong about something."

"Wrong about everything," he muttered.

"If I were your family, I wouldn't hate you. I'd have seen a long time ago that you weren't happy and that you needed to get away from everything. I'd be very, very worried about you, I'm sure. If I knew that you had been injured so badly, and that you'd run off without getting help, I'd be terrified for you. You're this amazingly patient and caring person, and I can only imagine how it must be to be someone you really shared yourself with. If I were them, I'd miss you a lot. I'd be devastated that you were gone. But hate you? Never."

It was Megan he leaned into as he listened to Cameron's words, letting her go so far as to card her fingers through his unkempt hair.

"You really think so?"

"I do."

Evan closed his eyes and let Megan take care of him. Cameron chuckled.

"You look so much younger than you are, when you're laying there like that."

Evan chuckled back. "So, about that. I created all the paperwork for myself when I was pretty young, and I made myself older, because I wanted to be able to get a job, sign documents, that kind of thing. I'm not twenty-five. I'm twenty-one."

"What?"

"When I came here, I was only eighteen."

Megan breathed out a laugh. "Exactly how old were you when you started, you know, fighting terrorists?"

"Fourteen."

"I changed my mind about your godfather. He's a jackass."

"No, it wasn't his fault. Not at all. I'd been a target since I was born, and he hid me from it as long as he could. He gave up everything for me, more than once."

The conviction in his words burned the air around them, so Megan didn't try to argue it.

"How old were you when all that stuff happened, with you getting shot and everything?"

"Seventeen. I spent a year hitchhiking in Japan, and living in Rio, and then I came here."

"Why San Diego, though? What made you pick here?"

"I like surfing. I know I don't do a lot of it, but I like having the opportunity. I learned how in Rio when I was a kid."

"Surfing," Megan smirked, shaking her head. Then her attention was caught. "Hey, Evan."

"What?"

"There's a picture you didn't show us yet."

"Oh, right," he said, and suddenly a smile was breaking over his face. A pure, joyful smile.

"It's her, isn't it?"

He nodded.

"What's her name?"

"Hermione," he said, and then looked surprised by himself. But he was looking at the picture with them, and he didn't lose his smile. "That's my Hermione."

"She's beautiful, Evan."

"I know."

"She's dressed very sharp. What's she do?"

"She was running a non-profit foundation for a while, which got that orphanage off the ground and paid for the kids' schooling. She's also sort of a lobbyist, I guess you could say. She is almost directly responsible for the fact that people with certain disabilities can get jobs now. There was a lot of discrimination against Rick, and that couple who run the orphanage, because of this illness they have, but she and a couple of people in the government have made enormous progress. I had worked with them in the beginning, and I'm amazed how quickly they got all this done. She's so brilliant. And now she's actually in the government, working full-time to make sure civil rights are being protected. She's just amazing. She went straight from school into all of that, and she's so successful."

"She sounds like a hard worker."

"She's so much more than that. She's a visionary. She knows what she wants the world to look like, and she won't stop until it does. And she's strong. Just so strong. The world keeps trying to beat her down, but she never stops."

"She's really special, isn't she?"

"I never knew what I was looking for in a girl until I met her. And we were so good together, you can't imagine what it was like. She wouldn't let me go it alone. She wanted to be with me and take care of me, and no matter how guilty I felt for putting her in danger, I was always so happy she was there. She saved me, so many times. And she let me save her, sometimes, too."

"It seems like you guys must have been awfully young when you were together."

"Yeah, we were, but neither of us was ever all that young, I don't think. We were inseperable for two years. And then I left her, just like that. If anyone has a right to hate me, it's her."

"She doesn't," Megan said with conviction.

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm a girl. Trust me, she doesn't hate you. Although she's probably pretty mad at you."

"Just try to make this even harder than it already is, I dare you."

"What's harder?"

"Oh," Cameron said suddenly, sitting up straight. "Oh, Evan. Really?"

"What?" Megan asked, mystified.

"Why do you think he showed us all the pictures, at the same time he told us he's about to finish school?"

Megan frowned. "Ev? Are you?"

He reached out and put his finger on the picture of his friend Rick's family. "The little one, Teddy. He's going to be four years old in just a few weeks. When I realized that . . . I've missed too many birthdays already. I'm doing everything I can to see if I can take my exams a couple of weeks early. I'm hoping to be finished with school before Thanksgiving. Because I want to be home in time for his birthday."

"Didn't you think they hated you? Why would you go back if you thought that?"

"Megan," Cameron scolded.

"I'm not saying he's right, I'm just curious."

"They deserve to tell me how they feel. And I deserve to hear it. If they don't want me to stay, I won't."

"Would you come back here?" Cameron asked hopefully.

"No," Evan said, making both of his friends slump. "It's not that I wouldn't want to. But I've been denying who I really am for too long, and I have to stop. If they don't want me to stay, I won't stay, but I won't go very far, either. I want to be close enough to keep an eye on them. And I won't be useless anymore. I plan to do something with my life. Don't know what yet, but I can't keep living for just myself. Evan Rivers does that, and it's past time for me to admit that I'm not him."

"So, who are you, then?" Cameron begged. "Just tell us."

"My name is Harry," he said. "I still can't tell you the rest, but my name is Harry."

"It's nice to meet you, Harry."

"And now that we finally know, you're leaving," Megan said. "Oh my god, you're really just going to leave. And you won't come back, will you?"

He shook his head. Megan started to cry.

"It's not for a few more weeks," he said, taking her hand.

"But I'm going to miss you."

"We're both going to miss you," Cameron said. "You're a good friend, Harry."

He nodded soberly, and then he was the one putting his arm around Cameron. Goodbyes were still weeks away, but he knew he'd be studying very hard until then. His last day of work was tomorrow, so he'd have enough time to finish school. He could finally admit he had friends here, good friends, just in time to lose them.

"I'll miss you, too."

November 24th, 2001

When asked what he wanted for his birthday, Teddy had said that he wanted the whole family to come home and eat cake with him. They'd tried to cajole him into saying that he wanted his friends Malachi and Victor from his play group to come, or even that he wanted his own racing broom or a pony. Teddy didn't care. He said the whole family, eating cake.

He was a very stubborn just-turned-four-year-old, Sirius reflected as they cut into the chocolate cake with its very important sprinkles. He was so adorable and so overpoweringly insistent that Simon had gotten out of a detention for Teddy's birthday. And Draco, who was supposed to be in France wooing his fiancée, had instead brought her here. There was a rich and elegant French woman in Sirius' house because Teddy had cried when Draco tried to get out of the party.

Was it such a good match, for Miss Blois, that she'd agree to be here just for the sake of a peaceful engagement? It certainly was for Draco, but this Mathilde Blois was twenty-six years old and a major player in European finance. She was going out on a limb, with this cousin of his.

"Don't look now," Sirius murmured to Remus, "but I think the little ferret has actually managed to make her fall in love with him."

Remus, never one to take orders, looked. She was licking frosting off her finger with a little laugh, eyes on her fiancé. She'd grown up in splendor, but appeared to have no problem with two grubby little kids and a bunch of werewolves. "Huh. Who would have thought?"

"Gentlemen," Hermione said gaily, setting pieces of cake down in front of them. "Almost seems a shame to eat it, after all the work Dora and Addison had to decorate it."

"Almost," Sirius said with a grin, digging in. "What do you think?" he murmured, nodding just slightly in the direction of the couple.

Hermione shook her head. "It hardly matters what I think."

"You two have been as close to best mates as makes no difference, for the last four years. It matters." Sirius tugged her into a seat, making her eat cake even though she declared herself not to be in need of the calories.

"I think she's lovely," Hermione admitted. "She asked me about my work. She actually knew what I was talking about."

Teddy came over and climbed into his dad's lap. He looked dejected. Surprised, Remus held him close.

"What's the matter, son?"

"I didn't get my wish," he said glumly.

"I thought your wish was to have the whole family over."

Teddy nodded. "I even wished on my birthday candles, but it didn't work."

Remus and Sirius frowned at one another, and Sirius shrugged. Remus was on his own with this one. He had no idea what Teddy was talking about.

"Everyone's here, though," Remus pointed out.

Teddy scowled, and didn't say anything else. Remus shot a questioning look at Dora, but she shrugged as she bravely began the work of cleaning cake off Winnie. She didn't know what was wrong with Teddy, either.

They heard somebody knocking at the door, and everyone except Miss Blois felt a moment of panic, checked on the location of their wands. It was automatic, a habit. Even Simon did it.

Well, not Teddy. He jumped from his father's lap and shot down the hall.

"Teddy, don't!" Remus called out, backing away from the table and experiencing the daily frustration of not being able to keep up with his son.

Sirius hurried after Teddy, but Teddy was already cracking open the door and peering out.

"It worked!" Teddy shouted. "The candles worked!"

"Uh, hello," said a soft voice from beyond the door.

Sirius' heart thudded, and he just stopped moving. No. Couldn't be . . .

"I have a picture of you," Teddy said, going shy and hiding half of himself behind the door. "You're my other godfather. My dad says I get to have two because I'm special."

"You are special," that soft voice said. "Especially on your birthday. I brought you a gift. I know it won't make up for missing all your other birthdays, but—"

"You brought me a present?" Teddy said eagerly, and swung the door all the way open. "You hafta put it on the table until after cake," he said.

But the young man hadn't even crossed the threshold. He had seen Sirius standing behind Teddy, and they were staring at one another. Sirius could hear his own ragged breathing, and it was the only thing that convinced him this was actually happening.

"Well, who is it?" Remus called out curiously.

"Look, Uncle Padfoot, I got my birthday wish," Teddy said with pride. "My Uncle Harry came home."

Sirius took a step forward. Then another, and another, until he was standing at the door where Harry was waiting with an anxious expression. He didn't make a single motion to come inside. He looked really good, Sirius thought with surprise. He was a bit taller, had filled out quite a bit, had nice clothes on. He was . . . grown up.

"Sirius," he said, and bowed his head, looking at the ground. "I am so sorry, for everything. I was wrong, and selfish, and . . . I'm not here to make excuses. I just came to give Teddy his present and to let you know that I'm here. I've got a room at the Leaky Cauldron. I know you'll have things you want to say to me, so you can find me there. I know how you must hate me, but I don't want to ruin Teddy's party, so I'll just be there whenever—"

Sirius took the last step forward, and put his arms around Harry, and the boy was so surprised that he shut up his rambling nonsense.

"The only thing I have to say," Sirius said hoarsely, "is welcome back."

Harry sucked in a deep breath. "You don't hate me?" he whispered.

"No, I don't."

Harry took another breath, and another, each one a little less controlled and a little more shaky.

"I was so afraid to come back," he squeezed out.

"This is your home, and you can always, always come back. I love you, kiddo."

Harry let go of everything. He buried his face in Sirius' shoulder, grabbed onto him, and wept. It might have been a minute, it might have been an hour. Sirius didn't care. His boy was home, and nothing else mattered.

"Remus, babe, who's here?" Dora called out curiously, still struggling with their messy seventeen-month-old daughter.

Remus didn't answer because he was staring, and everyone started to spill out into the hallway, and they all fell silent as they saw the prodigal sobbing in his godfather's arms. But they parted to let Hermione pass. She walked forward with a strange sense of calm, her eyes fixed on the dark hair of the man she'd been waiting for all this time.

He raised his face and saw her. He swiped at his eyes, stepped past Sirius, opened his mouth—

"No," Draco said suddenly, and he moved away from his fiancée to stand beside Hermione. He put his arm around her waist, turned his body so that it was almost a shield. "Don't you even fucking talk to her, Potter. You don't have the right."

In truth, none of them were that surprised (although Mathilde Blois at that moment released the last of her inhibitions about falling in love). Not even Harry. He bit his lip and worried at it for a moment. Then he nodded sharply and turned to go.

Hermione slipped away from Draco, with a soft hand on his arm to take the sting out of her words. "You don't speak for me, Draco. You know better."

He clenched his jaw but didn't try to stop her. Harry had paused in the doorway when he heard her speak, and he turned around when she said his name.

"Harry."

He looked hopeful.

She flew forward, and maybe she didn't realize what she was doing, but she had an excuse. She was overwhelmed by it, and she had to let it out somehow. She started hitting him, pounding on his chest and shoulders and slapping at him.

"Where were you?" she shrieked. "Where have you been? How dare you do that to me?"

He bowed his head, accepted it. Then he went slowly to his knees, so that she had to stop or she'd be punching him in the face, and he grabbed her unsteady hands, and he kissed them.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, my love. I'm going to make it right. I don't care how long it takes, if it's twice as many years before you trust me again. I'm not going anywhere. Not ever again. You keep hating me as long as you have to, but I swear to you that I will make it right. I never could live without you, Hermione."

She stared down at him, anger and pain revealed in the tears running down her face, the way she looked at their entwined hands like it was a foreign concept to her. But her face became slowly softer.

"Harry, your hand," she whispered.

He drew back, releasing her, pulling the damaged hand closer to himself. "It's fine now." He didn't get up. He just knelt on the floor in front of her, waiting, hanging his head in shame.

Hermione slowly knelt down, too. Her hand rose up, cupped his cheek, brought his eyes to hers.

"You're not going to leave again?" she asked.

"Never."

"I'm very angry with you."

"I know. You have the right to be."

She put her other hand on his other cheek, pulled his head forward. She kissed him. "If we have to fight and cry and hurt each other, let's do it tomorrow. Today, I'm just happy that you're home."

"Home," he repeated, and closed his eyes. "I forgot how beautiful that word could be."

He kissed her. Then he looked up to see several people watching, one of whom sat in his father's lap with his thumb in his mouth.

"Can I— can I stay?" he asked softly.

Sirius slammed the door shut. "You think I'm letting you out of my sight anytime in the next ten years?" he growled, then he pulled Harry back to his feet, extended a more gentle hand to Hermione, and steered the both of them to the dining room. "Harry needs a piece of cake, right Teddy? That was your wish."

Teddy nodded with contentment. His whole family was here, and it was his birthday. Life was good.