So, I'm going to ask the same thing I did on Facebook. Do any of you have any suggestions of a way to grow a harder spine. Any exercises that might help. Because recently I've learned that I'm not very good at saying no to my boss when she asks me to pick up extra shifts. I already work some of the worst hours in existance in a job that drains me emotionally and physically and I know that I need my days off to recooperate, but I just can't seem to bring myself to say no. So, if anyone has any suggestions on how I can do that, let me know. It would help me move this process along much faster. My work hours, and the draining nature of my job, are the largest contributers to how long it's taken me to update. When I get home at 10, 11 o'clock at night I just don't have the mental energy most days to sit and write. But I have a deadline for a new job. I am supposed to be starting writing classes in May, creative writing classes, I'm so excited, so I have to have a new job with regular hours by then. Any suggestions about how I go about doing that as well? Anyway, if it gets to be a long time between now and my next update, please remind me. It really does help, I have a very guilty conscience. Use it to your advantage.
Hope you all enjoy this next chapter and that your all well and not to sick from the terrible weather I think we've all been having, Noterwomann
Chapter Twenty-Nine: All Roads Lead to Madrid
The sun was just peaking over the horizon, staining the edge of the world in a soft pink hue. Across the room the minute hand lurched onto the twelve and the little hammer on the top ricocheted back and forth between two bells.
A pale freckled hand reached out from beneath a layer of blankets, grasped about blindly on the bedside table until it found the shaft of wand it was looking for. Accompanying a yawn, the wand jabbed towards the clock, silencing it before its gear ran out and it stopped ringing on its own.
Moaning unhappily, Fred dropped his wand before turning onto his side. Still half asleep he reached out to wrap his arm around Beila's waist, ready to snuggle up behind her for a few more minutes sleep. His eyes flew open when his arm went through his expected destination and landed against the empty mattress.
Wearily, Fred lifted his head to look around. Beila's dressing gown was gone, the door closed. Groaning, he turned onto his stomach, pressing his face into her pillow. Once. Just once, he wanted to wake up in the morning to find her still in bed.
Pounding his fist into the pillow he pushed his upper body off the bed, glancing out the window a moment before he flipped over. Slowly he swung his legs out over the side, than tipped his body up into a sitting position. Yawning, he rubbed at his eyes, massaging his face a moment before reaching for the shirt he had warn to bed the night before. He gave it one good flick to try and relax some of the wrinkles that might have set over the night, and pulled it on over his head. His bottoms came on next.
Rubbing his hand through his hair, he stood up. He padded across the room in his bare feet and pulled open the door. He paused just a moment, listening for the familiar sound of crying. The hall was silent.
Stretching his back while he walked, he made his way down the hall to the first door off the landing. Bracing himself, he turned the handle and pushed the door open. Beila's head shot up, warning in her eyes. He stepped into the room, closing the door as softly as he could behind him.
"She asleep?" He whispered, nodding to the child lying heavily against Beila's chest.
The woman nodded slowly. "SÍ. Just now."
Fred stepped lightly to her side, bending over to press a kiss to her upturned lips. "I thought it was my turn."
"Está bien. I do not mind." She looked down at the child, carefully running her fingers through the strands of Blake's black hair. "I have for so long."
"Yeah, but I do." He crouched down so he was at her level. He tenderly traced the dark circles that shadowed her eyes. "You don't get enough sleep."
One dark brow arched suggestively. "Why is that?" The hand that rested on Blake's head reached across the small distance separating them and rested on his cheek, drawing his face closer. "Who had me awake half of last night?"
A satisfied smile tickled at Fred's lips, revealing the white of his teeth. He turned his face quickly and kissed the palm of her hand. "I didn't hear any complaints from you."
"NO. You would not."
Fred bent forward to kiss her one last time before he straightened to his full height. "Here," he held out his hands. "Give her to me. Go get ready for work."
She nodded slowly. Placing her hand gently on the back of Blake's neck. She eased the child away from her chest, repositioning her gently so Fred could take her easily, placing her comfortably against his chest.
Rocking the chair forward, Beila moved fluidly from sitting to standing. She put a hand on his shoulder for balance as she rose onto her toes and kissed him tenderly at the corner of his mouth. "Gracias."
"Beila." Fred stopped her when she was at the door. "Tonight I get up with Blake."
She smiled softly. "We will see."
Stifling a yawn she moved to the door. Stretching her neck to the side, she twisted the handle of the door and pulled. As soon as the door left the frame the room flooded with a persistent, heavy pounding coming from the floor below.
Fred instantly put a hand over Blake's ear, trying to block out the sound, as Beila turned back to face him, eyes wide with dread. "¿Quién puede ser?...Who…?"
"I'm sure it's nothing." Fred assured, taking a step toward the door.
"NO." She put up her hands to hold him off. "I will go."
"Beila…"
"This is my home." She said meaningfully. "Who knows you are here? I will go."
Fred hesitated a moment, his logic warring with his overwhelming need to protect her. "Do you have your wand?"
She nodded, patting her pocket. "Always."
Fred strode briskly to the cot, already moving Blake off his shoulder so he could lay her down. "I'll be waiting at the top of the stairs." He assured.
The pounding below grew louder, more persistent.
Beila shook her head. "I am sure it is nothing."
Fred straightened with a turn, his wand already in hand. "I'll be waiting at the top of the stairs." He said again, the set of his chin and the hard gleam in his eyes leaving no room for argument.
"Merlin ayudame." She sighed. She took a shallow breath, letting it both in and out before she warned. "Do not be seen." She pointed a finger at him. The knocking quickened. Giving Fred one last warning look, she turned and rushed from the room. By the time she reached the top of the stairs the person on the other side of the door was pounding, seemingly with all of their might. Quickening her pace, Beila practically flew down the rest of steps. "¿Quién es?"
"Beila," Came a familiar voice. "Beila, let me in."
She paused, hand resting on the door. "Harry?" She glanced back to see Fred already descending the steps.
"Yes, Harry." He snapped. "Would you just open the damn door?"
"SÍ. SÍ" She threw back the locks and wrenched the door open. "Harry," her eyes narrowed at seeing the panic on his face. "Why are you here?"
"Why am I here?" He pushed past her. "Why am I here?" He whirled around to face them the moment the door was closed. "I'm here because I wasted several hours yesterday trying to reach you by floo. Where have you two been? And why didn't you answer the door."
Beila flushed apologetically. "Blake, she was crying. I did not want to wake Fred."
"Never mind that." Harry growled, slashing his hand through the air. "We don't have the time."
"They figured it out?" Fred asked, instantly at Beila's side, wrapping an arm around her, drawing her close.
Harry nodded once. "Jillian Oldham is here, in the city. It's only a matter of time before she comes knocking at your door."
Fred tensed, his arm squeezing Beila closer. "What do we do?"
Harry bit the inside of his cheek a moment before he answered. "It's time for Beial to bring Blake home."
"Qué?" Beila's eyes widened. "NO. It's too soon. Hermione, she…"
"It's alright," Harry said, laying his hands reassuringly on her shoulders. "It's over. The trial. The Javeds are in prison and Ron," a smile of relief cracked through his mask of panic. "Ron's been granted custody."
Beila stared at him a moment, eyes searching. Breath held. "It is over?"
Harry nodded. "It's safe to bring her home now."
"And Hermione?"
The smile dissolved slowly into a frown. Harry lowered his head, shoulders sagging slightly forward. "I haven't quite figured that one out yet."
Beila's eyes closed. She turned into Fred's arms, burrowing her face into his chest.
Harry thrust his fingers angrily through his hair, pushing it back out of his eyes. "I'm just hoping charges will be dropped when Blake is… found back in England. Safe and sound. If things work to plan, the Ministry will come to the conclusion that Hermione couldn't possibly have orchestrated Blake's return while in Azkaban without them knowing. Which would mean…"
"She did not do it." Beila finished.
Harry nodded, pointing at her. "Exactly."
Fred ran a soothing hand over Beila's back. "And what if," he turned to Harry, "they figure out it was you? Or me? Or Beila? And that's how she did it?"
"I don't think you or Beila have to worry about that. If they're going to catch anyone helping Hermione, it'll most likely be me. I was the last person to talk to her, after all. And Jillian knows Hermione passed me a secret message, so…"
"But you expect Beila to bring her back?"
"Yes." Harry turned to face Fred full on. "The Ministry doesn't know she's involved." He explained. "They won't know to look for her. And the Muggle authorities aren't aware of the situation so they're not looking for Beila or Blake. We'll alter their appearance like Hermione did for the journey here. She'll be out of the country before anyone even thinks to look for her. Like I said, if anyone is going to get in to trouble for this ,it's me." Harry shrugged. "But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. We can't worry about it right now. Right now we have to get Blake out of here."
He looked around the room as if he expected to see her sitting in one of the corners.
"Where is she?"
"Her room." Beila said, nodding towards the stairs.
"Right," Harry stepped past her, hurrying to the bottom of the steps and bounding up. "Here's the plan," he said when he reached the top. "I've already bought you return tickets to London. It leaves in little over an hour. I've hired a cab to be here at the half hour. That gives us," he glanced at his watch, roughly fifteen minutes to get you and Blake ready for the trip. Pack some overnight things for the both of you." He turned at Blake's door to look back at Beila. "When you get to London, you know what to do?"
Beila nodded, her face trembling slightly. "Follow the plan Hermione told me."
"Exactly." He turned the handle behind him. "Fred and I will stay and clear all traces of her ever being here. If someone does come looking, they won't find anything to incriminate you with. When that's done, I'll follow you back to England and Fred-"
"Will be coming with you."
"Qué?" Beila spun around and reached for him.
Fred placed a hand over hers and brought it to his chest.
"Harry needs a reason to 've come to Spain. I can be that reason." Fred leaned down and kissed her on the lips. "I'll come back."
Her fingers curled into his shirt. "You had better."
Harry rolled his eyes in frustration. "Enough of this. Beila, go and get ready. Fred, get some of Blake's things together. I'll feed her before you two have to leave." He pushed open the door with his foot, and turned as he followed it into the room. "We have less than ten minutes."
"Right." Parker nodded. "I see." He hazard a glance to his left while the woman leaned forward over her desk and scribbled an address on a scrap of parchment. Next to him, Ron stood stiff, shoulders pushed back, eyes looking purposefully forward. Hard. His mouth stiffened into a thin hard line.
He returned his focus to the clerk when she straightened, the bit of parchment folded in her hand. He nodded politely as he accepted it. "Thank you for your assistance."
The woman nodded once before turning back to her work, clearly dismissing them.
Without speaking, Ron turned himself. Just as rigid as he was when standing still, he strode determinedly towards the door, arms stiff at his side. He shoved it open with enough force to have it crashing into the wall behind.
Parker followed behind him, preparing himself for the explosion he was certain was coming. He could see it building, precariously chained behind Ron's waning control. Fists clenched at his side, Ron strode down the flight of stairs to the front lobby, and thrust open the front door.
Parker stopped at the head of the stairs and watched Ron march a short distance away from the building. He came to a stop next to three trash bins. Hands planted on his hips, head bowed, be rocked onto one foot, and then the other, slowly turning in a circle with each step. His breath was harsh and shallow, each pant more strained then the last.
With a roar, Ron pulled back his foot and let it loose on the side of the nearest bin. He pulled back, letting loose again with several kicks before finally knocking it over on its side. He gave it one more solid thrust.
"Ron?" Parker called, hurrying down the step to his side. "Ron?" He reached for his friends shoulder. The moment his fingers touched he could feel the muscles tense underneath the skin.
"I'm fine." He shook Parker's hand off, taking a step away. "I'm fine." He said again. Turning to face his partner.
Parker bit his lip to keep from responding. Ron wasn't fine.
Letting all the air in his lounges out in an angry huff, Ron brought his hands to his face and rubbed vigorously before letting them drop. "All right then." He stepped away from the alley and towards the curb, lifting a hand into the air.
"Ron,"
"I told you I'm fine." He bit out sharply, anger cutting each word short.
"Well you don't sound fine." Parker retorted, planting himself at Ron's side, waiting for his tall friend to turn and look at him.
"Well, I am?"
Parker slowly crossed his arms over his chest; one brow arched high, waiting.
"Damn it, Parker." Ron dropped his hand, turning fully to face him. "What do you want me to say? That I'm happy? That this is what I've been waiting for?"
"Well…Isn't it?"
"No." Ron turned away. "It isn't."
"No?"
"No."
"No?"
"No." he spun back. "Do you think I wanted to hear that it was Hermione? Do you think I wanted to know that she was the one behind Blake's…" He stopped, thrusting his fingers through his hair again. "What am I supposed to make of this, Parker? What is it supposed to mean?"
"Wait a minute there, Ron." Parker held up his hands. "We still don't know if in fact it was Hermione. This could all just be a coincidence."
"A coincidence? Oh come off it." Ron threw up his arms. "Beila Ramírez's niece, a niece none of her coworkers knew she had, kips out at her house, dropped by a flighty sister, at the exact same time Blake goes missing?"
"All right," Parker waved dismissively, "I'll admit a coincidence is highly unlikely,"
"Highly unlikely? It's impossible. This, this Beila woman, she's one of Hermione's closest friends, for Merlin's sake. She had to know Hermione was in some sort of trouble. Why didn't she come to her aid? If they're such good friends? I'll tell you," He jabbed his fingers into Parker's chest. "Because she has Blake." Eyes gleaming, Ron turned away from Parker, hand once again raised in the air to hail a cab. "She's had her all this time."
Moments after his hand was in the air, he caught a cabbie's attention and the vehicle slid easily out of traffic and up to the curb. Ron pulled open the door and they both climbed inside. When the door was closed Parker unfolded the parchment and read off the address in a mutilated Spanish.
The man must have understood well enough. He pulled the cab away from the curb and into the flow of traffic. Parker sank back in the seat, his arms crossed over his chest. "What are you going to do?" He asked in a lowered voice, in the off chance the cab man understood English.
"What do you mean, what am I going to do?" Ron asked through his teeth. "I'm going to go and find my daughter and I'm going to bring her home."
"So she's my daughter again?"
Ron ignored the question, turning his head to stare out the nearest window.
Parker pursed his lips. "And Hermione?" Ron turned his face further.
"Ron," Parker hissed. "What about Hermione?"
Ron bowed his head forward until his brow rested against the glass. "That depends."
"On what?"
He could see Ron's reflection close his eyes in the glass. "Everything." He sighed.
"Everything?" Parker snarled. "That should depend on nothing. Hermione is your best friend. She's the woman you love. She…"
"What would you have me do?"
Parker gapped a moment. "Everything in your power."
Ron shook his head. "There's nothing I can do for her."
Parker snorted. "Or will do."
Instead of responding, Ron returned his focus to the view outside his window.
Parker stared at him a moment. He didn't understand what was going on. Why wouldn't Ron act? What was going through his head that made him abandon Hermione? Especially now? He didn't know what to do. He wanted to demand that Ron help Hermione in any way that he could. How could Ron not see what was going on here? How could he not see what Hermione had sacrificed? For him? Clearly everything she had done was for him. She had let herself be carted away to prison without a fight. Suffered under Dementors. Lost her job. Her mind. Her freedom. All to protect Blake and Ron in the only way she could see how.
And Ron sat there. Angry with her. For what?...Deceiving him? Hiding Blake's location in an attempt to keep her safe. Ron's reaction was out of line and uncalled for. Why couldn't Ron see what he saw?
Hermione wasn't stupid. Far from it. She had to have known Ron would be the Ministries first suspect in the kidnapping. She had most likely hoped her and Ron's façade of non friendship would offer her some protection her from suspicion. And as to why she hadn't included him in her plans, well that was easily explained as well. How well he remembered Ron's reaction in the courtroom when Blake had been handed over to Melantha Javed. She would have known, as he did, that Ron would not have been able to stop himself from going after her. Even if that was what was best for them all.
He glanced at Ron again. He still hadn't opened his eyes.
That was why he didn't try and dissuade him now. He knew the attempt would be futile. Ron was going to bring Blake home if it killed him.
Parker turned his own face towards the window. At least the Javeds were in legal custody now. So at the very least Blake was safe from them.
Sighing, Parker sunk further into his seat, lifting his right leg to cross over his left. "So what is the plan exactly? March in there, wands waving, demanding she hand Blake over? Knock on the door politely and ask if she's been harboring any black haired babies illegally in her home?"
"Parker," Ron said warningly.
The cab took a slow right off the busy road onto a quieter residential street. They passed by a few houses before Parker pushed against the floor with his foot, straightening out of his slouch into a more alert position. "Or maybe we could just ask Harry."
"What?" Ron pulled away from the window to look at Parker. He followed his partners gaze out the windscreen to where two men stood on the sidewalk. One man, shorter, rounder, olive toned skin and a receding hairline of black, stood with one foot inside the cab, ready to climb back inside. The other man was slim, slightly under average height and had hair jet black and sticking up at odd angels.
Ron's mouth dropped. He'd recognize his best friend anywhere. "Harry?" He sat forward, leaning against the window protecting their cab driver. "What is he doing here?"
The lid to the cab's boot closed suddenly and a head of bright hair appeared like a beacon over the top of the small vehicle.
"Is that…" Parker was leaning forward as well.
"No," Ron shook his head in denial, watching as Harry opened the door to the cab as another person dashed down the short walk from the house. "No." Ron's eyes grew wide with horror. "No." He slammed his hand against the window. He recognized the fourth figure now. It was that woman. Hermione's friend. The one who had been with her at Blake's naming ceremony. The one Fred had been mooning over. And the child she held in her arms was his Blake. It took a moment for his shocked mind to comprehend what he was seeing. Harry was holding the door for her. She was getting in. "No!" He screeched, banging against the glass. "Pull over. Pull over!" He slammed his hands again.
The driver looked back at him through the rearview mirror, eyes wide.
Ron slammed his fists against the glass once more. "Pull over. Let me out."
Muttering under his breath, the cabbie turned the steering wheel, guiding the cab toward the curb, pressing lightly against the break.
Ron threw open the door before the vehicle had come to a stop. "Blake!" he yelled, running. His heart picked up a beat. He was too far away.
The three adults standing at the curb whirled around, their eyes wide with horror. Harry's eyes met Ron's and in that moment they both knew. Ron knew that Harry had had a part in it. Harry knew that Ron knew everything.
Reacting quickly, Harry turned and pushed Beila into the cab, slamming the door behind her. He yelled something at the driver he couldn't understand. It became clear when the cab moved away from the curb.
"No!" Ron roared, running for them, ready to throw himself in front of the car if he had to in order to stop it. The driver pushed down on the gas and it shot down the street and past Ron before he had a chance to react. "NO!" He screamed careening around, trying to run after it. "Blake!"
Harry was chasing after him now, calling his name. "Ron! Ron, stop!"
The cab turned left off the street and disappeared into traffic.
"No." Ron stumbled, his toe catching in a crack in the walk, nearly falling to his knees. "Blake." He struggled back to his feet. Harry caught him then, pulling him back. "Get off me." Ron reared back, dislodging Harry easily. He took a few more running steps but stopped, heart lurching, knowing it was no good. She was gone. She was gone…and Harry let her go. No. He turned, eyes blazing. Harry didn't let her go, he sent her away!
Temper rising he reached for Harry, pulling him tight to his face. "What did you do?" He was so angry he shook. "What the hell did you do?"
"Ron," Harry latched onto his wrists trying to counter Ron's movements.
He shook harder. "What did you do?!"
"Ron," Fred was at their side now, trying to pry Ron's fingers loose of Harry's robes. "Ron, let him go. Let him go."
"He sent her away." He shook Harry again, "You sent her away. How could you send her away?"
"Ron," Parker was there now. "Let him go."
Ron opened his mouth to say something but Parker stopped him, speaking over him firmly.
"Let Harry go."
Ron's fingers curled tighter.
Parker leaned in, "Don't make me use my wand."
"Ron," Harry's grip hardened, trying to gain Ron's focus. "I had to, mate." Ron's face whipped back around, their faces meeting. "I had to."
"You're not my mate." Ron shoved him away, knocking him backwards into Fred. "And you're not my brother." He sneered.
"Ron," Harry straightened himself with Fred's help. "You don't understand."
"You have that one right." Ron's head shook slowly back and forth. "How could you do that to me?"
"Ron," Harry stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Jillian Oldham is on her way here, right now."
"Like hell I care." Ron made to step back but Harry stopped him, taking a hold of his arm and jerking him to a stop.
"You have to care, Ron. You have to." He gave him a shake. "This isn't just about you."
"Yeah?" Ron challenged.
"Hermione is in prison." Harry said slowly, emphasizing each word. "Fred and I will join her if Jillian finds out what we did."
"You helped Hermione hide Blake from me." Ron put a hand to his chest. "You've know… All this time you've known where she was and you didn't tell me…" Ron's face sunk under the weight of Harry's betrayal. "You lied to me." He jerked his arm back, freeing it of Harry's grasp. "You lied to me, Harry. How could you lie to me?"
"I didn't." Harry held up his hands. "I just didn't tell you. Look," he took a step. "I was trying to stop you from making a huge mistake." He could see a vein pulsing in Ron's chin. "I knew if I'd told you," he pressed on, "you would have used the next portkey to come here and get her. I couldn't let you do that."
Ron's fingers curled into his hands. "You couldn't let me?"
Harry shook his head. "There was too much at stake."
Ron turned away from him.
"The only way I could save both you and Hermione was by following her plan as best I could."
Harry watched, chest tight, as Ron's head shook slowly from side to side. "I can't talk to you right now."
"Ron," Fred stepped in front of him, putting his hands up to stop him.
"You either." Ron snarled, pointing a finger at him, the threat clear in his eyes. "It's bad enough," he said threw gritted teeth, "knowing Hermione didn't trust me. But the two of you…" He fought to hide the quiver in his chin.
"It's not about trust." Fred tried.
"Of course we trust you. It's just…"
"Tell me where she is." Ron cut in over him. He turned his body just enough so that he could look at both Harry and Fred. "Tell me where they went."
"Ron," Harry put out his hand.
"Tell me where she is." He snarled, grasping hold of Harry's shirt and drawing him forward again until their noses nearly touched. Ron took several breaths, trying to calm the rage he could feel building inside him. Still, his fingers curled tight into the fabric, cutting off a bit of Harry's air. "I was this close." He shook, snapping Harry's head slightly back. "This close to having my daughter back. I saw her and you took her away from me. I'm not asking you Harry. You are going to tell me where my daughter is." The fingers curled tighter. "Now."
Harry held Ron's gaze for a moment before he lowered his eyes. "She's on her way to the airport." He said in a whisper, his eyes darting from side to side uneasily. "Beila's bringing her back to England."
Ron's fingers tensed, cutting off more air. He stared Harry down, his eyes taking an unnatural amount of time to blink. "You sent her to England?"
Slowly, tentatively, Harry prized Ron's fingers lose from his shirt.
"Yes. I sent her back to England. Where do you think I was sending her? Guadalajara?" He released the last of Ron's fingers, stepping back out of reach. "Look, I know you're mad at me." He continued. "And I don't blame you. You have every right to be. But honestly, I did have her best interest at heart." He looked up at Ron, his eyes pleading. "And yours. I didn't want her coming home to anyone else but her father. I didn't…" His face lowered. "I couldn't…" Harry closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "I couldn't see that look in your eyes if they tried to take her away again." He dug both hands into his hair, mussing it further. "I needed to make sure that my niece was brought home to her family." He let one hand drop to his side. "And not to anyone else." He waited a moment for Ron to speak. "Can't you understand that?"
Harry, Fred and Parker watched, breath held, for a reaction. Ron tipped his face up to the sky, eyes closed.
"All this time…you've known where she was. All this time I've been panicked and worried, sick with fear," He lowered his face to look at the other men, "And you said nothing. Have you any idea the hell I've gone through?"
"I haven't known all this time." Harry denied.
"I just found out when you did, mate." Parker put up his hands.
Harry shot Parker a look from the corner of his eye. "I can't say as I know what you've gone through. I can imagine…" He gnawed on his lip, shaking his head. "No. No, I can't even imagine. Not really."
"Then why did you do it?"
Harry shrugged brokenly, his eyes heavy with tears. "Hermione tells me I have a hero complex. I always want to save everyone."
Ron's lip curled up in a sneer. "That's no excuse." He turned and began walking briskly away.
"What would you have done, Ron?" Harry took after him. "What would you have done if I had told you?" He had to quicken his pace to keep up with his friend's long strides. "You would have stormed in here, wands firing with your entire team of Aurors, and incriminated everyone. Hermione, me, Fred. You might even have brought yourself into question." Ron picked up his pace. "Not only that, you would have brought her home and you would have had to hand her over to the Ministry. You would have had to watch again as someone took your daughter away."
"And what just happened today?" Ron whirled around, nearly hitting Harry with his flailing arm. "I watched as you helped that woman take her away."
"You weren't supposed to see that."
"Really?" Ron scowled. "Wasn't I really?"
"She's going home to you, Ron." Harry took a tentative step. "You only have to wait a little bit longer and she'll be yours forever. No one will be able to take her from you again. Don't you see? I might have helped keep her from you for the time being, but I'm helping you keep her forever."
Ron turned in a slow circle, rubbing ruthlessly against his face, letting them drop when he was facing Harry again. "How did you know? How did you know I'd…"
"Want her back? Please." Harry scoffed. "You're a Weasley. As if you would actually let anyone else raise that little girl so long as you still had breath left in your body."
"But why now?" Ron demanded, his voice gaining in intensity again. "Why did you send her back now? They'll take her away again. They'll place her with a family and…"
"Ron," Harry put hands on his friend's shoulders, stopping him mid sentence. "It's over." He said, the faint trace of a smile beginning to make its way onto his face. "Carbonell and Melantha Javed are in prison. They don't have custody… You do."
Ron's body instantly tensed. "What?" he asked on an inhale.
Harry's smile grew more pronounced. "If you had been there for the verdict," he said significantly, "you'd know that already."
" But I…" Ron mouthed uselessly. "I…" A light sheen spread over the blue of his eyes as his mind started to process the words. His eyes darted from Harry to Fred, who nodded at him stupidly in confirmation, to Parker who shrugged, then back to Harry. "I've…custody?" He finally managed to ask.
Harry nodded. "Yeah mate, you do." He squeezed Ron's shoulders. "She's yours."
Sagging forward, Ron put his hands on Harry's arms, bracing himself. He was struggling, fighting, to keep the overwhelming amount of hope from swamping him, terrified what would happen if Harry was wrong. "I swear to God, Harry…" he tried to snarl threateningly, "If you're lying to me…"
"All you have to do," Harry assured, "is sign the document to make it official."
Ron stood there frozen for a minute as his brain tried to fully comprehend what it was Harry was telling him. The other three men watched him, trying to understand the strange way his face contorted, the corners of his lips twitching as a smile fought for dominance. It was as if he was trying to decide which of the myriad of emotions racing through his body to display on his face first. His voice trembled. "She's mine?"
Harry and Fred both nodded eagerly. In the next moment Ron crumbled, slumping forward onto his knees, shoulders shaking with the force of the sobs wracking his body.
Fred and Parker took an automatic step forward in alarm only to stop when Harry put up a hand to halt them, giving his head one firm shake.
"Give him a moment." He said before crouching down on the walk, bracing one knee on the worn stone to keep him steady. He said nothing, just waited for Ron to get over the worst of it.
After a few tense minutes, where Fred and Parker watched him with worried eyes, the sobs began to ease. "She's really alright?" He asked looking up at Harry for confirmation.
Harry placed a comforting hand on Ron's shoulder. "Yeah," he smiled. "She is."
Ron gulped past the hard knot caught in his throat. "Is she," his voice cracked. "Is she really mine?" The question was hardly louder than a whisper.
"There was never a doubt, mate." Harry assured. "She was always yours."
With a single shout of laughter, Ron grabbed Harry, pulling him into a fierce hug, clapping his back. "This doesn't mean I forgive you." He warned, eyes squeezed tight.
Feeling overcome with his own relief, Harry wrapped his arms around his friend, unable to stop his smile any longer. "I know, Ron." He thumped his back. "I know."
When Ron released Harry and the two men pulled apart, they found two hands ready to pull them back to their feet. Standing erect, Ron followed the hand up a long arm to a pale white face, smiling at him sheepishly. Ron's hand tightened around his, holding him in place. "What's your part in all of this?" His eyes narrowed. "Why are you here?"
"It's a long story."
Ron arched a brow.
Fred ducked his head, a blush spreading across his face as he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "I came here…for Beila."
"The girl?" Ron looked to Harry for confirmation before turning back to his brother. "You came all this way for a girl you met once?"
Fred shrugged his shoulders feebly. "It's a bit more complicated than that."
"Whatever." Ron said holding up a hand. "I don't have time for this. I have to go. I have to get back. I need…" He spun around, head jerking from side to side, searching the area nearest them for a safe location to apparate.
"Ron," Harry reached for him when he took a step, "Wait." In a few hasty steps he put himself in front of him. "You can't do that."
"Of course I can." Ron shook Harry's hands off.
"Just wait," He put up his other hand. "You can't go back yet."
Ron pushed his hands down and away. "Yes, I can." He said stepping around him.
"How do you think it's going to look," Harry called after him, "when you show up back in England, expecting to get Blake back, before she's even arrived? How is that going to look?"
"I don't care." Ron called over his shoulder.
"Yes you do." Harry snapped. "Use your head, Ron. What do you think the Ministry is going to think when you arrive there; demanding they turn Blake over to you before they've had a chance to inform you she's even been found?" Harry waited a beat before continuing. "They're going to think you had something to do with it."
"She's mine." Ron whirled around.
"Yes," Harry sighed, letting his hand fall. "She's yours. But you don't want to give the Ministry any reason to suspect you had a part in this. You don't want to give anyone a reason to start digging. If they do they might realize that Hermione did have something to do with all of this and that Fred and I did as well."
Ron snorted. "As if you have anything to worry about. Like they'd ever charge you."
Harry's jaw tensed. "Just like they'd never charge Hermione, right?" He asked. "And what about your brother? What's going to stop them from charging him?"
Ron looked away.
"He doesn't stand a chance. They charged Hermione with far less evidence then they will have if you mess this up." Harry held his hand out. "I'm begging you, Ron." He closed his eyes. "Just don't. Don't do this."
"Ron," the redhead turned at the sound of his name.
Parker stared at him beseechingly. "You know he's right."
Ron scratched at his head with both hands, mussing up his hair. "What do you expect me to do?"
Parker shrugged. "The right thing?"
"And what is that? Huh?" Ron threw up his hands. "What is the right thing? Hermione broke a law. And you," he turned on Harry, a finger pointing. "You helped her. You both broke laws. An Auror and a Ministry Official. You both broke laws."
"She did it for you. We both did. Come on, Ron." Harry pleaded. "You have to know that."
Ron slowly turned his head away, looking down at the ground between them.
"I can't believe you." Harry shook his head. "I can't believe you're acting like this. You know what happened. You knowshe did this for you. She got herself into massive amounts of trouble to protect you," he poked him in the chest with his finger. "And now it's your turn to help her."
Ron remained silent, his eyes never meeting Harry's. "If you go back to England, you condemn her."
"Ron." Parker put a hand on his shoulder. "Listen to him. He's right." Ron opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Parker spoke over him, cutting him off. "Be smart about this." Parker hissed. "Don't do anything you'll regret."
Ron shook his head slowly from side to side. "Don't you think it's a little late for that?"
Hermione had to fight the urge to pull her feet up onto the chair. To pull her legs tight against her chest, morphing her body into a tight ball, in some semblance of comfort.
How strange, she thought, as she hazard a glance around. She'd been in this very room so many times before, and it had never felt so utterly…terrifying. Yes, that was the word she was looking for. Terrifying. And it wasn't terror over the events that were about to take place. She'd been through enough trials that even now, when it was her own fate on the line, she was still unaffected. No, she decided, returning her gaze to her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She was terrified only at the sheer size of her momentary environment.
After…how much time had she spent in that cell? It was impossible to keep track of the days when… She shook her head, forcing herself not to think about it. She didn't want to think about it. Not when the possibility of going back, permanently, was so immediate.
The small spaces of her cell, all three she had occupied, had become the parameters of her world. As horrible as the situation was; as terrible as the places her mind had been forced to go, there had been some comfort in the small, enclosed space that had insolated her world. Now, with the ceiling so high above and the walls so far away, she felt even less in control of herself and her world than ever before. A part of her, the part of her that needed some form of comfort, wanted this all to be over so she could be taken back to her cell and the familiar four walls and low ceiling and damp floor and bitter cold air she was used to. The logical part of her brain recognized the absurdity of how felling warm and dry was now alien to her.
She recognized, in that familiar part of her brain, a part that was slowly reawakening the longer she was in this room, that she was truly in a sad state. She could not relax. She felt an imminent sense of dread, as if the whole world would come crashing down around her at any moment. But she couldn't make herself analyze the situation further than that. Her brain was still too dulled to be of much use to her.
Searching for a way to ease some of her anxiety, she lifted her head to scan the room. She hadn't expected so many to be here. Most startling was the line of reporters that made up an entire section on the far wall. She recognized many of them from her time on working on high profile cases. But never had she seen so many gathered in a room together like this.
There was a tightening in her stomach as she turned away. She wished the head guard hadn't brought her here this early. She knew why he had done it, of course. He always took it upon himself to try and ease her suffering by getting her away from the Dementors. But this…all this time away from their depressive, oppressing presences had let her dwell to long on the fact that she had gambled and lost.
She tried to keep herself from searching the crowd again, but her eyes drifted over the unfamiliar faces just the same. All the while she knew they wouldn't be there.
Hermione curled in on herself. None of them had come. She knew it was vain to hope that Ron…that he would…but Harry? And Ginny? And Parker?
She turned her face toward the wall, trying to hide the moisture gathering in her eyes. For the longest time she had been dangling, fingers slipping, clutching to the edge of the cliff of despair. Her hope in Harry, her conviction that he had understood her, that he was trying to find some way to help her…the realization that he hadn't, took the last out of her. Her fingers slipped, and she fell.
She braced herself, anticipating pain a hundred times worse than anything she'd experienced already. But what she felt was phenomenally more terrifying.
Nothing.
She felt nothing. She was completely numb. Empty. As if someone had hollowed out everything inside her, leaving just a shell. Skin and bone. Body and blood. Nothing left of who she once was.
"Are you even listening to me?" Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder. "Hello?" The hand tightened, shaking her slightly to gain her attention.
Dazed, Hermione blinked once before she looked up.
Asnath stared at her through hooded eyes, disapproving. "You weren't, were you?" Her hand released Hermione, confident she had regained her attention. "Would you mind focusing, please? We'll begin any minute now."
Hermione turned her head when she felt a hand press gently at her arm. "Everything will be alright." Ramilda tried to reassure her, though she couldn't completely mask the uncertainty in her voice.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Hermione became aware of the sound of the door to the room opening again. She vaguely thought it was curious people were still being allowed in. There really wasn't much room left for anyone.
"There she is, Arthur." Hermione sat up at the familiar, warm tone of Mrs Weasleys voice ringing through the hushed room. She turned in her seat to watch Mrs Weasley hurry down the narrow isle, more seats had been added to accommodate the crowd, her eyes focused determinedly on Hermione, her husband following just behind.
Terrified of the tongue lashing she was about to receive, Hermione sank further into her seat, trying to hide as much of herself as possible in the hard wooden chair.
She had to fight the urge once again to pull her feet up onto the seat when Mrs Weasley's shadow fell over her. She screwed her eyes shut as tight as she could, not able to look at the loathing she was certain was on the other woman's face.
"Hermione," She cringed at her name. "Thank heavens you're alright."
Hermione's eyes sprung open, her head jerked up. Her mouth fell open. Mrs Weasley stood there, her arms held open towards her, urging her to come into the embrace. "Come here, dear." She urged, motioning Hermione again.
Stunned into immobility, Hermione sat there, staring at Ron's parents like they were some rare creature, the likes of which she'd never seen before.
Molly's lips turned down uneasily, her arms lowered slightly. "Hermione?"
The wealth of emotion in Molly's voice was enough to have Hermione slowly pushing out of the chair, still tentative in her movements. She took one step towards the waiting couple, and Molly's open arms. Then another.
When she was close enough, Molly bent forward over the partition, closing the gapping, and pulling Hermione into her strong arms. "Oh my poor girl." Molly chocked, rocking back and forth. "My poor, poor girl. What have they done to you?" She continued to rock, her arms imperceptibly tightening. Her hands stroked Hermione's hair tenderly, soothingly. She put her hands on either side of Hermione's face and pulled her back just enough so that she could see properly. Her eyes took her in from top to bottom, taking in the pallor colour to her skin, the dull tone of her hair, the newly angular bones in her body. Her lips trembled as she took in the complete effect. "Oh, my dear." Her lips pursed. "I've been so worried." She looked like she wanted to say more but thought better of it.
"Mrs Weasley," Hermione winced. Her voice sounded tortured, even to her own years. "What are you doing here?"
"How many times have I told you," Molly brushed a few stray strands of limp hair off Hermione's face, "call me Molly?" She released Hermione's face only so she could take her hand and squeeze it comfortingly. "And where else would I be today? As if I could be anywhere else." Hermione shifted uncomfortable under Molly's all too shrewd eyes. The older woman's lips trembled. "You don't know how… I think you…" she chocked off. She pulled Hermione into another fierce hug, squeezing her a little too tight. "It's unconscionable what they've done to you." She pushed Hermione arms length away and held her. "This will be all straightened out." She gave Hermione a slight shake. "You believe that, don't you?"
Hermione bit her tongue, aware of the scribble of quills across parchment. No doubt the press was excitingly reporting that Molly Weasley, mother of Ronald Weasley, father to the kidnapped child Blake Weasley, was seen not only talking, but comforting, the woman accused of the crime.
Hermione lowered her face as she imagined the trouble this was going to cause. "You shouldn't have come, Mrs Weasley." She said, gently lifting Molly's hands from her shoulders and setting them away from her. "What will Ron say?"
Molly's lips tightened into a thin line. Anxiety, fear, anger and disapproval were just a few of the emotions swimming predominantly behind Molly's eyes. "You don't need to worry about Ronald. He hasn't been around enough to form an opinion on the matter."
"Hermione?" Arthur questioned, returning his focus to the two women after searching the crowd. "Where are your parents? I would have expected them to be here."
Hermione swallowed, lowering her face. "Yes well, I haven't…I haven't exactly…"
Molly gasped. "Hermione Granger. Are you telling me you haven't told your parents?"
"I didn't see the need."
"They're your parents." Molly said a little sharply. "There's every need. They deserve…"
"To go on thinking their daughter is happy and well." Hermione cut in, finishing for her.
"But Hermione," Arthur struggled. "Your parents-"
"Are Muggles" she supplied, stopping him short, "Who've already lost their daughter to the magical world." She bit her lip, giving her head a shake. "They don't need to lose me this way as well." She whispered.
"But Hermione…"
"No," she held up a hand. "They don't need to know. Please." She lowered her head once more, trying feebly to hide the emotion she knew she couldn't hide. "It would kill them if they found out."
Hermione knew from the deep intake of air that Molly Weasley was getting ready to unleash on her the same verbal lashing she had watched the matriarch unleash on her own children countless times before. Having never been on the receiving end of one Molly's legendary tirades, but having watched many, she was greatly relieved when she escaped it this time as well at the appearance of Asnath on her left, cutting her off before she had a chance to begin. "It's time." She said, taking Hermione's arm and gently, but firmly, turning her around.
Hermione blanched, unsettled by the way Asnath had muttered those few words. Completely emotionless. As if she were commenting on something as mundane as the weather or the price of eye of newt. How could she be so cavalier? This trial, this was something that would affect the course of her entire life? Nothing would ever be the same after this very moment and this woman couldn't muster up the ability to even pretend like she cared what happened.
For a fleeting moment Hermione hoped she had never been so dismissive of any one of the clients she had represented. She tried to remember all the names and face of the witches and wizards she had defended. What words she had said to them just before the Official had come into the room.
She was horrified to realize she couldn't remember. Not their faces. Not the words she had said to them. She looked up at Asnath now, her stomach tightening. Somehow she felt that she hadn't been any better.
But there wasn't time to dwell on that. The door at the front of the room, the one directly behind where the Ministry Official sat, opened and a woman dressed in the official garb of the Wizengaumont walked in.
Jillian stood on the street side of the little gate, staring up at the brightly painted house, one hand resting on the latch. She'd been standing there for a few minutes, unable to shift the lever and let herself through. She didn't know what was stopping her. All she had to do was walk up that short walk, ring the bell and demand to be let into the house. Everything after that would fall into place.
A smile eased onto her face at the thought of what was about to happen. She's find the Blythe baby, take her into custody, arrest the accomplice, and take the "Golden Trio", if they could even be called that anymore, down in the process. A wave of giddiness flashed through her. She would prove to the world that Ron Weasley, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were no better than anyone else. She'd prove that they hadn't deserved all the special treatment they'd been receiving all this time. Potter and Granger would go to prison, Weasley would leave the Ministry in shame, and she'd be made Captain of the Alphas like she should have been in the first place. Greene would have to admit that she had been right all along and all the ridiculous changes Potter and Weasley had made to the Auror Department would be amended. Everything in her world would be right again.
But first she needed to get into that house.
With those happy thoughts dancing through her mind, she pushed down on the latch and let the gate swing open. Head high, she almost danced up the front walk. It was only her sense of decorum that kept her from leaping up the stairs.
When she reached the door she jabbed at the bell, enjoying the way the ring echoed through the house.
Jillian jumped as almost immediately the door opened. For one moment she panicked, scrambling for her wand as thoughts of surprise attacks jumped to her forethoughts. Her fingers had just circled the smooth shaft when her brain registered two things. No spells had been fired at her, and there was one very tall, red haired man, staring at her from just inside the door frame.
For one split second she was certain Ron Weasley was staring down at her and she could feel the fury already beginning to rise inside. But it wasn't his face she was looking up at. It was another Weasley, of that she was certain. She didn't know if anyone in the world outside the Weasley family had hair that exact shade of red. And that nose she had definitely seen on several of their faces. But this face wasn't as hard as Ron Weasley's. It was softer. Rounder. The cheek bones not cut quite as sharp, or the nose as long. And the eyes were not the same shade of blue. The eyes themselves did not seem to be so harsh. As if they were still innocent. Like they hadn't seen the same horrible things Ron's had.
It took her a moment to realize she had seen this man before. Probably when her team had gone to the Burrow to arrest Weasley in the middle of that family dinner. He was one of the twins, she decided, most likely Fred. She knew he had been here in the country, though she hadn't realized he still was.
"Hello Ms Oldham." He finally spoke, breaking the silence. He took a small step forward, subtlety blocking the entrance further, pulling the door so its edge rested against his side. "To what do I owe your visit this afternoon?"
Jillian's eyes narrowed into harsh slits. "I think you know why I'm here, Mr Weasley."
Fred screwed up his eyes for a moment as if he were in intense thought. "You remembered me from the night you came to arrest my brother and couldn't get my dashingly good looks out of your head?" He offered with his most charming smile.
Jillian's lips pursed unhappily. "Where is she?"
The smile remained on his lips, though perhaps a bit harsher. "Of whom are you speaking?"
"You know damn well of whom I'm speaking." She hissed, putting her hands against the door and shoving.
Fred lost his grip and the door swung open, revealing two other men, who had until that moment, stood concealed behind the heavy wood. Her mouth gapped open for a second before snapping closed with a laugh. "Oh. This is just too perfect." She stepped past Fred into the house and kicked the door shut with her heel. "I come all this way expecting to arrest one, maybe two," she stared at Harry, telling him with her eyes that she understood everything, "only to find I'll be brining in five. What a happy day this is for me. Tell me, where is Ron? Is he hiding somewhere up stairs?"
Slowly, deliberately, Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "And just who do you think it is you'll be arresting today, Jillian? Weren't you suspended?"
Jillian inhaled a harsh breath through her nose. "Citizen arrest."
"Ahh," Harry tipped his head to the side, looking at the dark haired man standing next to him. "Are you aware of any crimes being committed, Parker?"
Parker slowly crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes staring Jillian down. "Nope." He popped the p dramatically with his lips. "Not that I'm aware of."
"Hmm." Harry returned his focus to the woman standing in front of him. "Look at that. Nothing illegal. I guess you won't be making those arrests after all."
Jillian's fingers curled until her nails bit into the soft, fleshy palm of her hand. "Where is the child?"
"To what child are you referring?" Parker asked, his voice donning the same tone he used when questioning suspects. "A lot of people thing Fred has the maturity of a child." He pointed at the redhead. "Is he who you're looking for?"
"Hey," Fred protested.
"Don't you start in one me." Jillian snapped, pointing at the lot of them. "Do you think I don't know what's going on here?" She took a few more steps into the house. "You're trying to distract me while Ron sneaks the child out of the house." She shook her head manically, finally reaching into her pocket to retrieve her wand. I won't let you do this. Not to me. Not again."
She used her elbows to push past the men, rushing the stairs before they had a chance to stop her. She was at the top of the landing, opening the first door before she realized no one was coming after her. Feeling uneasy, she looked back over her shoulder, down the stairs to where the men still stood, all of them together, staring up at her.
"Just what do you think it is you're going to find up there?" Fred asked, comfortably leaning against the newel post.
She knew, by the smug lift to Harry's lips and the satisfied gleam to Parker's eyes, that she was too late. She turned back to the door, her hand still resting against the soft grain. This was where they had kept her. She could feel it in her bones. She knew it, just as surely as she knew she would find an empty room when she opened the door the rest of the way. It was almost as if it still echoed with the sound of a baby's cry. She'd missed her chance, and not by much.
Feeling the heat of anger rise inside her, Jillian took several deep, slow breaths. She could feel her control slipping away from her.
Fighting back the desire to scream, Jillian turned slowly on her heel, hands gripped tight at her sides, and walked to the head of the stairs where she stared down at the men from behind cold, dark eyes. They'd done it again. Once again Weasley and Potter had come in and ruined everything. Any hope she'd had of finding the Blythe Baby was gone. Her one last chance at claiming redemption, of getting her life back, vanished. Harry Potter had beaten her again. He'd stolen her victory, right out from underneath her nose.
"As you can see," Harry said, stepping forward so he was standing even with Fred, "there is no one in this house. Apart from us." He motioned to the two men standing on either side of him. "And no sign anyone was here who shouldn't have been. So clearly you've wasted your time in coming here."
Jillian automatically opened her mouth to argue, her natural instinct to dig in and prove him wrong. But this time she knew it would be a wasted effort. Anything she said now would only satisfy them further. She would not allow them the pleasure.
Jillian looked away from the men down the short deserted hallway. She wanted so desperately to search the place for clues. To figure out those last remaining pieces. But the effort would be futile.
On his own, Fred Weasley would never have been able to destroy all the evidence. He wouldn't know have the slightest clue what she was looking for. But Potter, Gale and the other Weasley…they were all highly trained Aurors. They would know not only what to look for but what magic to use that could not be traced.
"It's over, Jillian." Harry said, drawing her attention. He jabbed his wand over his shoulder, opening the door. "You should go now."
Jillian's chin snapped up at his words, her jaw jutting out stubbornly. "You think this is over?" There was a touch of humor in her words. She took the first step down the stairs. "You have no idea what all I've set in motion. And if you think," she pointed a finger at him, taking another step, "that Granger won't be held accountable, just because I couldn't find the child, you had better think again. No Ministry Official with half a brain can ignore the evidence that I've gathered. Your precious Hermione will be going away for a very long time."
"The evidence you've gathered is circumstantial at best." Parker said dismissively, waving his hand. "Even if you did manage to find a judge who would convict her, we'd have it overturned on appeal. Hermione's not going anywhere."
"Yes," Jillian drew out the word, stepping lightly off the bottom stair. "You're probably right. She would 've most likely got off. What with Potter and Weasley," she spit out their names like bile, "throwing their weight around the Ministry the way they do. I would need something a little more condemning to pull it off, wouldn't I?"
"Condemning?" Fred asked stupidly.
"I suppose I'd need something like…" she paused for emphasis, "a confession. Wouldn't I?"
Harry drew in a short, harsh breath through his nose. "She wouldn't."
Jillian's eyes narrowed slightly, "She wouldn't? Are you so sure?"
His head was shaking now on its own accord. "I know her. I know how smart she is. She would never be stupid enough to confess anything to you."
"Are you sure about that?" Jillian tipped her head to the side. "How well do you really know her? I understand she's been throwing out a lot of mixed messages lately. I love you. I hate you. I need you. I don't need you. Save me. Leave me. Come back. Go away."
Smiling smugly, Jillian stepped lightly past the men, making her way to the open door. "I wish Weasley was here. I so wanted to be there when he not only realized the woman he loved would be spending the rest of her life in prison, but he was the reason she was put there." She stopped at the door and turned around, hand resting against the jam. "Do you think he knows?"
"What?" Parker couldn't stop himself from asking.
"Do you think he knows she's losing her mind?" Her eyes lit up. "She gets worse. Every day. Every hour." She shook her head, tisking her tongue. "And to think he could have put a stop to it all."
Triumphant in her small victory Jillian turned and stepped out the door. "Enjoy your victory while you can, boys. I predict it'll be very short lived."
She pulled her wand from her pocket and flicked it over her shoulder, closing the door with a satisfying slam.
She floated high off her victory as she strode down the walk. It wasn't often she got the best of Harry Potter like that. It felt good. Very satisfying. A few steps away from the gate however and the smile began to slip from her face. What did it matter? One little verbal victory was nothing. Weasley was still on his way back to England with the Blythe Baby. He'd still get his perfect, happy ending together with his daughter. He'd get everything he wanted, just like he always did. Except…
Jillian turned slowly to look back at the house. Unless she was much mistaken, and she highly doubted she was, based on the lack of inactivity inside that house, Harry Potter, and probably most likely, Ron Weasley, had no idea that Hermione Granger's trial had been set to begin– she flipped over her wrist to examine her watch, six hours past.
She shook out her sleeve as she lowered her arm to her side. If things moved swiftly, which they should, Granger's trial might be over before they realized it had even begun.
