Avenge 2: Child of Winter

by Sw-0608

Picking up where Avenge ended, the Winter Soldier attacks the Potter family, kidnapping their youngest son. Fighting corruption in the Ministry, grieving for their loss, Harry and his family flee England. But when a horrific assassination reveals his quarry, Harry joins with a super-soldier and a spy to find the Winter Soldier ... and his son.

4. Chapter 4: We're Moving

Rated M: threat of spanking as punishment

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Chapter Four: We're Moving …

"And they want me to start right away!" Harry finished, unable to keep a relieved grin off his face.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione squealed, throwing her arms around him. "That's wonderful!" She stepped back and tucked several flyaway hairs behind her ear, right back down to business. "Alright, alright, so, they want you to start right away as in, tomorrow morning? Or can they wait a couple of weeks?"

"Well," Harry sighed, his silly grin disappearing. "They really would prefer that I start as soon as possible, but I told them about having to move my family on short notice and all that … So they gave me a definite week before they want me in for at least half-days, four days a week to start training."

"Training?" his wife asked, frowning curiously. "Why? You're one of the best in your field already."

"St. Winifred's is way different than St. Mungo's, and I mean, night-and-day different, 'Mione."

"Of course," Hermione smiled excitedly. "I can't wait to see everything you've told me about. The kids will love it. And I can't wait to visit that library!"

Harry sighed and sank down into a chair. The kids were scattered over the house, amusing themselves after supper, and they could hear Rose and Lily shrieking with laughter over something. James would normally be right in the middle of whatever it was, but Harry knew the boy was holed up in Hermione's library/study, claiming to be doing homework.

"We need to tell the kids," Harry said quietly. "It's a sure thing now, and we can't put it off any longer."

Hermione nodded. "I figured now would be the time," she answered softly.

Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his messy hair. "So … you still think we should just send letters to our friends?"

"We talked about this, Harry," Hermione said gently. She reached out and gripped his shoulders, squeezing gently. "Ron, Neville, and the rest … they wouldn't understand. They'd want us to stay and they'd do anything to stop us, which would make it that much harder."

Harry nodded. He did understand, of course, but he didn't have to like it. This felt like deception, and going behind Ron's back like this after everything the Weasleys had done for him …. Just didn't feel right. "But we'll tell your parents, of course … and Andromeda too, right?" he asked quietly.

"And Teddy," Hermione nodded in agreement.

"Maybe he can visit for Christmas," Harry shrugged sadly. "But we can always send letters the old-fashioned way, to avoid killing owls, anyway."

"Maybe we should invest in Mail Albatrosses," Hermione quipped, smirking a bit as her good humour returned.

"You know Luna wouldn't make a fuss," Harry said hesitantly. "And she is the girls' godmother. Do you think …?"

"We'll just do owls," Hermione said firmly. "Ron is James' godfather and we'll be sending him an owl."

"Right," Harry agreed. "You're right, I just …"

"I know it's hard," Hermione said firmly. "But you know I'm right. About everything."

"You're always right, 'Mione," Harry sighed with fond humour.

"And don't you forget it," Hermione chuckled, messing up his hair.

"Hey, do you mind?" Harry complained. She just stood there and laughed, brown eyes twinkling mischievously. Smirking suddenly, he jumped up from the sofa and grabbed his wife in a tight hug, making her yelp as he kissed the ticklish part of her neck.

"Harry!" Hermione squealed, pushing at him ineffectually. Skinny and wiry he might be, but he was still stronger than her. Her struggles and both their laughter caused them to fall on the floor in an undignified, giggling tangle of limbs. They relaxed on the floor, panting from their childish wrestling match and grinning at each other stupidly. Suddenly Hermione reached up to brush her husband's forehead free of the tangled dark curls covering it. Her thumb gently traced his faded white scar, the famous lightning bolt. Harry stayed still and let her, as his arm was trapped underneath her anyway.

"I missed this," Hermione said quietly, her eyes burning with love and affection in a way that made Harry almost choke up.

"Me too," he whispered. "Didn't feel much like playing around lately."

"I guess it's a good sign," Hermione smiled sadly. "It means we're healing."

"Yeah," Harry sighed, allowing a small smile to twitch at the corners of his mouth too.

"You know I love you, right?" Hermione whispered, only slightly teasingly. She was rubbing her thumb in soothing circles over the insignificant white line on his forehead and it was making him sleepy for some reason.

"I love you too," Harry replied just as earnestly. He shook her hand off his head and darted in for a quick kiss. "You get the girls and I'll get James," he told her quickly, before either of them changed their minds. "We'll tell them right now."

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Ten-year-old James raised his head curiously as the faint sounds of his parents laughing together in the sitting room reached his ears. It had been so long since they laughed together … and it was good, he knew. It meant they were getting better. Sev would come back one day and then everyone would laugh again. It wouldn't be so rare anymore.

James would laugh again.

He was currently sitting on the floor in a corner of his Mum's study, or library, as she liked to call it, reading a book. He really had been trying to work on homework … his own, but he got bored. He was reading the thin little history book that talked about the Great Wizarding War, as they called the war his Dad and Mum fought in. It was an anthology, (which Sev could've told him meant it was a book with a lot of different parts all written by different people) and he was getting confused by all the different points of view and opinions. Right now, he was reading what Mum had written about Professor Snape. She had written quite a few pieces in here, and one was all about his little brother's namesake. He wondered why his parents had named their youngest son after the meanest, nastiest, most unfair teacher in Hogwarts, until he reached the middle of the first page and read what else his Mum thought of Professor Snape. He was unwavering in his convictions. He was clever and cunning and really, scarily, smart. He was protective of those he saw as his own. He was secretive and even kind of shy, which he hid with a nasty temper and an ugly scowl. He was terribly unhappy and sad, which made him an angry person, but despite all of that …

He was brave.

Dad said that Sev was named after the bravest man he'd ever known. And here, Mum confirmed that she thought Professor Snape was the bravest man in the war. He was also the cleverest. Even old Voldy-shorts never found out who he was really working for until Dad taunted him in the last battle. He killed Professor Snape thinking he was still loyal to the bad guys. It was pretty amazing that Snape had been able to outsmart the most dangerous Dark Wizard ever, and even more amazing that he was brave enough to try.

He could almost imagine his own little brother pulling off something like that, and getting away with it too.

Sometimes, he wondered if Mum and Dad knew that Sev was sneakier by far than the Twins. Most of the girls' ideas came from Sev, actually. James never tattled on him, mostly because it was just awfully funny to see Mum and Dad puzzle over how on earth a couple of four-year-olds could do some of the things they did. Now, he found himself wanting to tell his parents every sneaky thing Sev had ever done, mostly because he couldn't stand them (possibly) thinking that his little brother was helpless and too shy to do anything important. Sev may not have magic, but he had more brains than all his siblings put together. Reading about the amazing stuff Dad and Mum had done with Uncle Ron when they were just kids a year or two older than himself, gave James hope that his little brother would be able to wriggle out of whatever trouble he was in. He had to keep believing that, or else it would mean he'd never see Sev again. And he couldn't … wouldn't … believe that. Never.

"James?" Dad's voice startled him.

The boy jerked in surprise and hid the book instinctively behind his back. He stared up in wide-eyed innocence as his father came around the back of the desk and arched an eyebrow at him, curled up in the corner surrounded by his books.

"Hi Dad," James squeaked, his fingers growing sweaty where they clutched the book behind him. "N-need somethin'?" Sev was the smooth liar, not him. James knew he couldn't lie if his life was in danger, no sir.

"Mum and I just need to talk to you and your sisters for a bit," Dad said gently, and then his green eyes narrowed suspiciously behind his thick glasses. "And why are you hiding a book behind your back?"

"I'm fine!" James blurted out. "Really, you don't need to talk to me, Dad. I'm doing much better, I promise."

"Mmhmm," Dad hummed disbelievingly, arching one eyebrow at him. Seriously, how did adults do that? "Well, in any case, it isn't another talk about feelings, alright? Mum and I have something very important to tell you."

"Are we having another baby?" James asked innocently, (as that was the usual topic of 'very important' talks the family had) before his brain caught up with his stupid mouth and he clapped a hand over his lips in horror. The flash of pain across Dad's face made James want to cry. He hadn't meant to say anything to bring up the death of Charlie.

"No," Dad answered quietly, taking a deep breath and giving him a fake smile. "It's … something different. Just come on, alright? You'll find out what it is soon enough."

"Right," James mumbled, getting to his feet and shaking the tingling pins and needles out of his right leg. He forgot to keep his book hidden and Dad was looking at it before James could remember to put it back behind his stack of homework to put away later.

"James," Dad sighed wearily. He held out his hand for the book. "You're not old enough for the books on the top two shelves, you know that."

"Um ... do I?" James asked in a trembling, high voice. Giving his father a wobbly smile, he handed the book over and then clasped his hands behind his back anxiously, waiting for Dad to say the magic (dreaded) words: We'll talk about this later.

"James, really," Dad said gently, tapping the thin book on his palm. "You don't need to pick up all Sev's old habits, you know. You've got your own bad habits."

"I didn't …! I wasn't …!" James spluttered in indignation.

"Oh?" Dad arched the eyebrow again. "You've been reading and doing schoolwork in bed, getting into books you know you're not supposed to, sneaking around, getting the Twins riled up, hiding in the coat closet … need I go on?"

"I just felt like it!" James scowled, folding his arms.

"James," Dad said gently. "I love you as you are: James Sirius Potter; my son. I don't need you to replace your brother." He waved the book. "This … this isn't the healthiest way to deal with your emotions, you know. You can come talk to me, or your mother."

"I just wanted to read about Snape!" James blurted out in his own defense.

"Well, this book isn't really for someone in your age group and I think you knew that," Dad sighed. He turned and tossed the book on the desk. "But we'll talk about this later. Right now, you come with me."

Slumping his shoulders, James shuffled out of the library in front of his dad, and he heard the door thud shut behind them. He sighed and made his way to the sitting room. Mum was just coming in, holding Rose and Lily by the hands and talking nicely to them, since they looked on the verge of throwing fits. They'd apparently been having a tea party, and 'Miss Lovebird' got very cross if her tea got cold.

"Hey, we're going to have a very important meeting," Dad announced from behind James. "Why don't you two come over here and help me?"

Rose and Lily went willingly enough, climbing up on their daddy's lap, and James slumped down in the armchair with his arms folded. He was sulking like a brat, but he didn't really care. How dare Dad accuse him of trying to replace Sev! That was just … he'd never even think to do that. He was just … doing stuff Sev used to try to get him to do, but he never got around to it, that's all.

"Alright," Dad sighed. Him and Mum did that silent-communicating-with-looks thing, and Dad went on. "Now, I know we've all been dealing with some pretty heavy stuff lately, and you're all making me so proud. You kids have been very helpful to your Mum in helping her out, now that … now that Kreacher isn't here to help anymore, and you've been very good in all that."

"We in twubble?" Rosie asked anxiously, peering up at her father with anxious green eyes.

"No, you're not in trouble," Dad laughed, rubbing her back reassuringly.

You're not, but I am, James thought peevishly.

"I wanted to tell you something that Mum and I have been talking about for a very long time," Dad said carefully. James could tell he was worried about something, and he felt strangely apprehensive about whatever Dad was going to say next. "We're moving," he said at last. "We weren't sure before, which is why we didn't say anything, but it's definite now, so we thought we'd have a family meeting and sort things out. What do you think?"

"Yay!" Lily cheered, waving her arms in the air. "We moving!"

"Yay!" Rosie echoed her sister, bouncing up and down on her daddy's knee.

"When?" James asked, knowing his voice sounded as hollow as his heart fell. Mum and Dad were running away. They couldn't stand Asphodel Cottage anymore. Sev's ghost, and Kreacher's too, lived in every closet, every cupboard, every corner. They couldn't stand it, so they were moving out. He'd never felt so betrayed and disgusted in his life. How could his parents just abandon their son like that? What if Sev escaped and came back home to find strangers there?

"We're going to move out in just a couple of weeks," Mum answered, her knowing eyes fixed on his face. "You know magic makes packing really easy."

"What about Grandma and Grandpa? What about school? We can't just leave …" James demanded, aware that he sounded like he was whining, but he didn't care. This couldn't be real. It couldn't be happening.

"We know, son," Dad said wearily. "We don't want to leave either, but we really have no choice in this."

"Are we moving closer to Uncle Ron or something? So he can protect us?" James snapped. "You're scared that muggle will come back, aren't you? I thought you're the one who said we shouldn't let fear control us!"

"James," his Mum said in that cold voice that made him shake all the way down to his toes. "That's enough. You know better than to talk to your father that way."

"Sorry, Dad," James muttered, feeling too rebellious to really mean it. "I meant, where are we moving to, please?"

Dad took a deep breath and exchanged a look with Mum that looked like he was groaning, Here we go, with his eyes. "I've been offered a job at a different magical hospital," Dad said quietly. "We decided it was for the best, so I said yes. I'll start leaving sometime next week, getting the new house set up in the meantime, and it'll be up to you kids to help out your Mum."

James sighed and kicked the chair leg. Moving and everything to do with it was just stupid. Why did they need to move, anyway? "What about Uncle Ron and everybody?" he asked carefully. Uncle Ron was his godfather. They couldn't just leave so quickly without telling him at least, could they? "Do they know where we're going? Don't we have to send them our new address?"

"We will," Mum answered quickly. "But for now we're only going to tell a few people. We don't want any big excitement over the whole thing."

"So, we'll start packing tomorrow," Dad said more cheerfully as if the whole stupid thing was an adventure. "I'll be around to help almost all week; there are just some last minute things for me to take care of at St. Mungo's. You kids will help your Mum, and everything will be great fun, right?"

The twins agreed enthusiastically, though what did four-year-olds know about moving anyway? James watched them with a bitter scowl as they chattered excitedly, and then Dad took them back upstairs after doing the silent-communication with Mum again, which no doubt meant, James is in trouble, I'll be back so we can lecture him together.

The minute Dad was gone, James burst out: "Dad never said where we're moving. Are we moving to a magical neighbourhood 'cause this one's not safe?"

"No love," Mum sighed. "We don't know exactly what our new neighbourhood will look like, but I doubt it'll be in a magical area."

James frowned. "That doesn't make any sense," he muttered angrily. "We really are moving just to run away from all this, aren't we?"

"James …"

"No, Mum, I'm not stupid. You see Sev and Kreacher everywhere in this house. You can't stand it. I don't like it either, but Sev'll come back one day, and he'll find strangers here. He'll think we abandoned him!"

"James," Mum sighed again, shaking her head sadly. "Honestly, sometimes I think you've got too much of your parents in you."

The boy blinked as his mother's unexpected comment caused his anger to screech to a halt. "Huh?"

"You're impulsive like your father, but blunt and direct like me. I'm not so sure I like your attitude, son."

"I'm sorry," James mumbled, feeling chastened. "I just … I want to know why."

"We'll tell you," Mum said with a gentle smile. "That's why your Dad took the girls away. We think you're old enough to understand."

Dad came back in right at that second as if he'd been cued from offstage, and he sat back on the sofa next to Mum. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. His green eyes looked sad and distant and strained. Mum scooted closer to him and rubbed his back, but her brown eyes were focused on their son in the armchair a few feet away.

"James, you think we're running," Dad began gently. "And … we are, but just not in the way you think. Remember I told you once that when I was a boy, the newspaper printed a lot of lies about me, so that's why we don't ever have the Daily Prophet in our house?"

"Y-yes," James answered slowly. "But what does that have to do with …?"

"The newspaper is printing lies about me ... us ... again." Dad's voice was harsh, angry, and the line between his eyes had grown deeper. "There are Ministry elections in a couple of weeks, and depending on who gets in, they might attack me … and my family. We have to get out of their reach before they can hurt any of you."

"So you're not moving with us?" James gasped in dismay.

"No, no, no, that's not it at all," Dad sighed. He reached up and ran his hands through his hair, and kept his head bowed. "We're moving to a different country, James. They can't touch us in America, under their political asylum laws. We have ample proof that we're innocent, but these crazy Ministry people have a grudge against me. So, if we get out of the country for a while, they'll find something else to chew on, like any old grouchy dog."

"A … d-different country?" James gasped, his eyes round and horrified. He couldn't think, or breathe. Sev would never find them in a different country, especially one as far away as America. "You gave up," James whispered, stunned to realize it. "You … you think Sev's dead."

"James …" Dad started.

"No!" James shrieked. He jumped to his feet and skittered away from his parents, feeling hurt and betrayed. His eyes welled up with burning tears. "You're cowards, that's all! You're too scared to tell us Sev's dead and gone, so you're leaving everything behind! Well, he's alive, I know it! He'll escape and he'll come home and it won't be home because we'll be gone and in a different country and, and …"

Sobbing, James turned to flee. "I hate you," he croaked. With that cruel parting shot, he fled up the stairs to his room. He threw himself on the bed, feeling so alone and heartbroken and bewildered that he didn't even think how badly his cruel, thoughtless words had shaken his parents.

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"That went well," Hermione whispered shakily.

Harry shut his eyes miserably and tears leaked from under the eyelids. He'd been so stupid to think James would take this well. What made it worse was that every accusation his son had tossed at him had already found a match in Harry's heart. There was nothing in James' hurt tantrum that Harry hadn't already accused himself of.

"Harry?" Hermione murmured, squeezing his shoulder. "Talk to me. Don't shut me out."

"He's right," Harry whispered. "He's right and there's nothing we can do about any of it."

"Harry …" Hermione sighed wearily.

"We're running, we think Sev is probably dead, or at least dead to us, moving to a different country means that if our son is still in England and he manages to escape, he'll come here, and he'll think we gave up on him."

"Harry, don't do that to yourself," Hermione scolded, tears in her voice. "Look at me, Harry."

Obediently, he opened his eyes and blinked at her through his tears and fogged glasses.

"Sev might be dead, or he might be alive, we don't know," his wife said firmly. "If he escapes, he might come here, or he might end up somewhere else. He knows how to get into Diagon Alley, he knows where Ottery St. Catchpole is, he knows how to reach his godfather with an owl … he is smart, Harry. If he can't find us here, he'd go to his grandparents' anyway."

Harry sighed. "You're right."

"I always am."

Harry chuckled drily, and patted his wife's knee gratefully as he stood up. "Well, I guess I should go talk to him while he's willing to yell."

"He needs consequences for that, Harry," Hermione said warningly. "I know he's upset and hurting, but he needs to learn to express himself respectfully."

Harry grimaced. He hated punishing the kids, especially lately when they were all dealing with so much. But Hermione was right. Spoiling the kids with such permissiveness, especially with how volatile James was, really wasn't what the kids needed right now. They needed stability and strength from their parents. The boundaries of rules and consequences were a good start, however distasteful that happened to be.

"I'll talk to him," Harry assured his wife. "But should it be soap or grounding?"

"He can't call names or say he hates people just because he's angry, Harry, especially his parents," Hermione sighed wearily. "It'll have to be soap … and maybe if he isn't sufficiently sorry we can talk about something more. But for now, that'll be it."

He nodded in agreement and trudged up the stairs, hoping that five minutes would have been long enough for his quick-tempered son to start having regrets.

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James felt bad for shouting. He hadn't meant to say such awful things; it just … all slipped out. He lost it. Sev would be nagging him right now to go say sorry right now and stave off whatever punishment Mum and Dad were cooking up right now, but he just couldn't do it. Just because he hadn't meant to be hurtful and cruel didn't mean he hadn't actually meant what he said. He sighed and wiped his tears again before he rolled over onto his back. The bed was soft and he was wrinkling the counterpane, and with Kreacher gone, he'd have to fix it himself … but it could wait. He was feeling too miserable right now to get up and straighten the bedclothes.

The knock on his bedroom door wasn't really a surprise, but James was startled anyway. He didn't bother to sit up, and he angrily kept quiet. Mum didn't knock soft like that, so it was Dad … and he was madder at Dad right now, so he didn't say 'come in'. He'd open the door anyway, so there wasn't a point.

Sure enough, the door clicked open and Dad poked his head in. His hair looked even messier than normal and his eyes looked really tired. James looked at him for two seconds before he felt even guiltier. He hadn't noticed how awful Dad was looking lately, and now he'd made things worse. Reluctantly, James sat up, warily watching his father, who was still just standing there.

"Can I come in?" Dad finally asked.

James shrugged and then pulled his knees up so he could hide his face better. He didn't see, but he could hear Dad close the door and drag over the chair from his desk. Dad sat down and sighed, (probably running his hand through his hair like he did when he was stressed out) and silence descended on the room.

"Do you have anything you want to say, James?" Dad finally asked, his voice quiet and sad.

James squirmed. He hated it when his parents talked like that to him after he did something wrong, but he had to admit it was effective. "Sorry for shouting," he mumbled into his knees.

"Is that all?" Dad asked in a dry, unimpressed tone. "James, please look at me when I'm talking to you. I feel like I'm talking to a mop."

Fighting a smile at the unexpected tease about his hair, James lifted his head and rested his chin on top of his knees, scowling for all he was worth. He wasn't sorry, not for saying what he thought. What was wrong with him, anyway? Two months ago he never would have dreamed of yelling at his parents like that.

"I get that you're upset," Dad said firmly, his bright green eyes looking sad and stressed, but not angry. That was a surprise. He'd be mad if some kid called him a coward … but Dad was a lot more mature than he was. Okay, he was starting to feel a little guilty now. "It's fine to be angry," Dad went on. "But it is not alright for you to lose your temper and shout at your mother and me like you did. It was very disrespectful, even aside from the hurtful words you said. Don't you even feel bad about it?"

"No," James muttered rebelliously. Squirming, he looked away from his father's penetrating eyes. "Well … maybe a little bit. But … I meant it. Every word. I'm sorry for saying it, but I'm not sorry for thinking it."

"You meant to call your mother a coward?" Dad asked in that icy voice he used when he was getting angry and trying to keep from shouting. "Your Mum? Who almost got herself killed trying to protect you and your siblings? She's a coward?"

James shut his eyes and shuddered. "No sir," he whispered in a tiny voice. Dad was scary when he was mad.

"Then why would you say such a thing, James?" Dad demanded, his voice turning frustrated. "You have no right to call your parents names, especially not lies like that. Your mother is the bravest woman on earth, and if you ever call her a coward again, I will forego our no-spanking rule; do you understand me, young man?"

James whimpered and nodded, sniffling as more tears welled up. Dad was right. He had no right to call Mum a coward when she'd almost died protecting them. She even lost the baby because she was trying to fight. She wasn't a coward. He was. He'd never felt so rotten. Even squished flobberworms were better than him at this point.

"I can't hear you, son," Dad said in a calmer tone.

"Yes sir," James sobbed, wiping his tears with his sleeve. "I'm sorry, Da', really I am."

"You'll say sorry to your mum later," Dad sighed, leaning back in the creaky chair. "Right now … I just want to know what you were thinking. Why would you ever say the things you did? Would you repeat them right now? Do you really believe what you said?"

"N-no," James moaned, pressing his hands to his face. Thinking about those words now … it made him feel sick. And just a few minutes ago he'd been telling himself he honestly believed it. What a load of rubbish.

"Talk to me, son," Dad said quietly. "Tell me. I won't punish you for anything, so long as you keep it civil. No insults or nasty words. Just tell me what's going on."

James bit his lip and fought a few more sobs before he managed to form a coherent thought. "Sev's gone," he blurted out. "We … he's never coming back, is he?"

"I don't know," Dad said very quietly. "I want him to … and I'm doing my best to find him, but sometimes … sometimes our best isn't good enough."

James choked on a lot more tears before he moaned, "I just … I dunno. I don't … don't hate you or Mum, Dad. I don't know why I said I did …"

"What do you hate?"

"Huh?"

Dad sighed, though when James peeked up, his father was smiling a little. "You must hate something. If it isn't your parents, what are you angry about?"

"The muggle with the metal arm," James answered at once, disgust and anger colouring his tear-choked voice. "I hate him. He killed Kreacher and Charlie and hurt Mum and me and took Sev. I hate him and I wish you'd been home so you could've … I dunno. Stopped him, I guess."

"I wish I had been home too," Dad said quietly. After a few minutes of silence, he spoke again. "It … hurt, James. It hurt when you said those things to me. I blame myself for everything. I just … it's the way I am. But I should have been home to protect you, and I should have protected the house better, and I couldn't save Kreacher or find Sev … and you know I love your brother even more than you do, right?"

James nodded dumbly. Every time his temper got him in trouble, Dad was somehow always able to help him see it from the other side. It was actually pretty amazing, but now, he just felt even more rotten.

"I'm really sorry," he mumbled. "Won't do it again."

"I hope not," Dad sighed. "Your Mum says you need the soap for that outburst, so I guess we'll need to get that done … But about the other stuff you've been doing; the things Sev used to do. Why, James?"

"I … don't know," the boy murmured, feeling ashamed in a way he couldn't pinpoint. He couldn't explain why he was doing that stuff because he didn't understand it, himself.

"James, nobody blames you either," his father suddenly said, sounding stern and serious. James felt his mouth fall open a little. How had Dad known? He really had been an idiot, of course, and this whole thing was his fault … so why would Dad say nobody blamed him?

"Wh-what?" James stammered. "B-but the … floo, a-and Kreacher, and S-Sev … I … it all kind of is my fault."

"That isn't true," Dad said firmly. "You put yourself in harm's way for your siblings, and you did you absolute best to protect them. You kept your sisters together and managed to stay close enough to your Mum that Kreacher was able to transport you all. You did very well that night, and I really am proud of you. I wasn't just saying that to make you feel better, son. I was … and still am, very proud."

James blinked in confusion. "But … Kreacher told me to floo right away, and I … didn't do it right away. That's … why Sev got caught in the first place."

"Why?" Dad asked simply. "Why couldn't you floo right that second?"

"I …" James closed his eyes as he thought back. "It all happened so fast," he whispered. "He … came closer … and I was scared. I tripped."

"Fear is not something you can naturally control," Dad said reasonably. "You're only ten, and you'd never been in a situation like that before. It is alright to be scared. I'm thirty-two and I still get scared."

"R-really?" James said in awe.

"Do you have any idea how scared I was when you four appeared in front of me at the hospital? I was terrified, James. I was shaking. Being afraid is no reason to blame yourself. And you're right, everything moved so fast that if you'd tried to floo, he could have shot you or the twins in the back and killed you instantly. You saved Rose and Lily's lives."

James shivered and wrapped his arms around his knees. "But … why are we moving then?" he asked softly. "If it's okay to be scared and all that … why are we running away?"

"We are making a strategic retreat," Dad explained. "It's running where we are in control, not the people attacking us. They aren't controlling how we move, where we go, or anything."

"Why?" James whined.

"We're retreating because there's no point in fighting smoke and mirrors," Dad huffed. "Can you beat shadows? These lies are like that. There's no fighting them. The best thing to do would be to just drop out of sight for a while. Without anything to report, the newspapers will stop salivating over our story and the Ministry should turn their attention somewhere else."

James swallowed hard as a new thought occurred to him. "Um … will we come back in time for me to go to Hogwarts?"

Dad opened his mouth and then shut it. He leaned forward on his elbows and rubbed his face. "I don't know, son," he said quietly.

James' mouth dropped open in shock. It … that … it couldn't be. It couldn't possibly. Dad would never leave Hogwarts behind, would he? Not while Teddy was going and all of his friends would go. Dad wouldn't make him go to an American Magical school, would he? He was getting angry again and he couldn't afford to slip up again, so he pressed his lips together really tightly and flopped over onto his side, his back to his father. Dad was saying something else, but James wasn't really listening. He was angry and confused and he wanted to be alone.

Dad seemed to guess that, because he got up to go. But before he left, he put a hand on James' shoulder. "I know it's hard, son. But your Mum and I really need you right now. The Twins need you to be brave. If they see you're angry and afraid about the moving, they'll get scared. They're still little, James. If we can't be happy again without Sev … at least we can try for their sake, alright?"

James managed a tiny nod. Dad patted his shoulder, told him to come down when he was ready to apologize to his mother, and left the room. James let out a shuddering sob before he gave in and let himself cry. Everything was falling apart, and it didn't look like any of it could be fixed. Not for the first time, he kind of wished the metal-armed man had taken him instead.

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Moving wasn't ever easy, but the Potters managed somehow. Hermione's parents helped a lot, since they knew something about moving. They were sad, but they understood. They even thought it was a good idea, even without the stuff their daughter and son-in-law faced from the magical world's media. Harry went back and forth between America and Britain a few times, (never getting used to the awful, nauseating journey) setting up their new home. He was wealthy enough that buying a modest little house in a quiet suburban neighbourhood wasn't a big deal at all. Registering it as a magical dwelling with America's version of the Ministry, (the Congress) was a piece of cake, really. Harry was grateful they got it done so quickly.

The house he purchased in Washington D.C was smaller than their cottage, with three bedrooms instead of five, and only one floor. But Hermione assured Harry that they could really be comfortable anywhere and he shouldn't be looking for the American version of Asphodel Cottage. They weren't selling the house, of course. They would lock it down magically, make sure nobody bothered it, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger would keep an eye on it as well. They couldn't bear to part with it though.

James never exactly came out of his funk, but he did help, and made an effort to make the twins think this whole thing was a grand adventure. With Mum and Dad using magic to shrink most everything, packing was absurdly easy. The girls did not help much, really being too little to properly organize their clothes into packing boxes or anything like that, but they were able to handle gathering their toys and crawling under beds to pull out the treasures underneath. Hermione never would have believed that two weeks was enough to pack their belongings and clean the house so thoroughly, especially as Harry started to go back to America for his training and to secure their new house. A whirlwind wouldn't have been able to describe the flurry of activity in Asphodel Cottage. A tornado might have been a better description of it.

Unfortunately for everybody, Ron stopped by one afternoon while Harry was still in America and Hermione was packing pictures off the walls. Her mother had taken the twins out somewhere to get them out from underfoot and James was packing books in the library with his grandfather. The doorbell rang and instantly, Hermione was on her feet with her wand out, stupefy and incarcerous on her lips. But after a few seconds, she calmed down, blinked the half-flashback away from her mind's eye, and hesitantly approached the door just as the bell rang again. James poked his head out of the study/library.

"Who is it, Mum?" he called out curiously.

"I don't know," Hermione answered quietly. She held her wand down by her leg and cautiously approached the door. She groaned when she saw who it was, but she also knew Ron a little too well. She sighed and opened the door. "Oh; hey, Ron," she greeted him with a little smile.

"Hermione!" the bulky red-head greeted her cheerfully. He gave her a brotherly peck on the cheek and stepped inside, past Hermione. She sighed and let him through, knowing it would just look suspicious if she asked him to come back another day.

"Uncle Ron!" James yelled, and came running. Hermione closed the front door as Ronald Weasley greeted his godson, and she reminded herself to act natural. Ron may be an Auror now, but still, he often didn't see things that were right in front of his nose.

"So, I just came by to see how you were doing," Ron said a bit awkwardly once hugs and hellos were finished.

"We're doing fine, Ron," Hermione answered quietly. She had already stowed her wand back up her sleeve, but she was aware that he was looking around at the clutter and the boxes she still had to shrink and put in the carry-alls.

"Doing some spring-cleaning in the middle of summer?" Ron asked with a laugh, giving her a curious look. Hermione smiled and shrugged, and she could feel her oldest son's eyes burning accusingly into her.

"Did you need something in particular, Ronald?" Hermione asked lightly.

"Hey, I didn't mean to interrupt anything," the red-head replied apologetically. "But I was in the neighbourhood and I haven't really heard from you or Harry since you guys moved out. Lavender was saying this morning how she misses the kids. They're so well-behaved, you know."

Hermione allowed herself a brief smile. "I know," she laughed a little. "I'm sorry, Ron, it's just … things have been really crazy here in the past few days."

"Yeah, I understand that," Ron sighed. "I stopped by because I was a little worried."

"Worried?"

"Yeah, I went by St. Mungo's this morning and they told me Harry doesn't work there anymore. Are you guys doing alright? Did they fire him for some reason?"

"No, nothing like that," Hermione hastened to assure him. "We were going to explain everything later … just not now. Things are rather hectic right now. Harry is perfectly fine."

"You're sure?" Ron asked searchingly. "Because … not that I personally think anything, you know … but the Ministry is still investigating whatever happened to Sev and he … I mean … Harry should stick around until we close the case."

Hermione glared. Ron couldn't possibly be serious. He was their best friend! Harry's oldest friend! "You can't be serious," she said steadily. "Harry is not a suspect in this."

"No, no, that's not what I meant, and you know it!" Ron retorted, his temper rising. "You know I don't believe all the hogwash the Prophet's screaming about. It's just … there are people keeping an eye on his movements, and they … well, as his friend I was asked to see if he'd come in for a quick interview."

Hermione blinked and staggered back. She couldn't speak. Harry had people spying on him now? This was ridiculous! It was beyond ridiculous. It was alarming.

James looked confused. "Interview?" he asked innocently. "Like the one Dad had with Mr. Draco?"

Hermione closed her eyes in misery as Ron rounded on her son.

"Draco? Like Draco Malfoy? What was Harry doing talking to that prick?!"

"Language Ron," Hermione snapped, her eyes opening again. "Not in front of my son."

"Right, right … sorry," Ron apologized sheepishly. "But … James isn't serious, is he? Harry wouldn't talk to Malfoy unless his life depended on it, would he?"

"His life does happen to depend on it Ronald Weasley," Hermione said coldly. "And you will not be dragging my husband off to another 'interview' at the Ministry ever again, and you have my word on that."

"Hermione, I'm not the bad guy," Ron huffed, looking irritated and a bit angry. "But folk are getting suspicious, and you know how stupid people are. We have to show them Harry's fine, he's not unstable …"

"And how well did that work out when Harry was fifteen?" Hermione interrupted. "You remember, Ron; don't tell me you don't. He has been dealing with accusations of insanity and instability ever since that stupid Tri-Wizard Tournament. I'm tired of watching it destroy him."

"You think I don't care?" Ron demanded. "He's my friend too! He was my friend before he was ever yours, and don't you forget that!"

"You abandoned him when you got jealous! I never did!" Hermione shouted back. "You accused him of lying when he would never lie to you about something like that! You turned your back on him in our fourth year, and you have no idea how much it hurt him. I stayed true to him and I didn't care what the idiots were saying about him because I knew Harry."

"So I'm the bad guy now?" Ron yelled, both of them seeming to forget that James was still in the room, watching them with big, scared eyes and trembling limbs. "You're going to protect Harry from me, is that it?"

"I will if I must!" Hermione thundered, stiffening to her full height, which wasn't that tall especially with the hulking Ron standing in front of her. But her eyes blazed with determination and anyone who knew the petite witch knew that she was not to be underestimated, especially when it came to her family. Her patronus had not become a lioness for no reason, after all.

"Hermione …" Ron sighed, deflating slowly. "What are we doing?"

"Fighting," Hermione replied with a sigh, also slumping wearily. "Just like old times, right?"

"Right," Ron chuckled nervously. "Only we're fighting over how to protect Harry."

"Just like old times," Hermione repeated with a little shrug. "Look, Ron; I'm … sorry I overreacted. I know you just want Harry to be safe and happy just like I do … but you can't help him right now. In fact, taking him in for an interview, however informal, would be the worst possible thing for him right now."

"But it would show people he's got nothing to hide!" Ron protested.

"And how many times does he have to prove that?" Hermione said sadly, folding her arms. "He's already been interviewed by the Aurors and Muggle police, and the Ministry also arrested him that one time; held him overnight, even. He won't go back, Ron. He said what he needed to say and the Aurors aren't helping to find our son. So … we've decided to stop asking them for help. We want them to close the case, or at least shelve it for now."

"Hermione …"

"Look, by this point, Harry and I know more about Sev's kidnapper than you do as the number two Auror in all of Britain. No offense to you guys, but you didn't help much and we don't have much hope that you would be able to help any further."

"How'd you learn about his kidnapper?" Ron asked quietly. "Have you been investigating on your own?"

"Not exactly … a friend of ours who's familiar with some top-secret things was able to pass the word on to us."

"Friend?" Ron said with sudden bitterness. "Oh, your new friend, Malfoy? You know, I saw the interview he published in his little newspaper. Nobody reads that rag, you know. Some of us know exactly who these people are. Ted Nottingham, Draco Greengrass, Millie Morris … They're Slytherins, and we went to school with almost every single one of them. They think changing a name here and there is going to help them hide. But we know who they are. Some were outright Death Eaters, like Malfoy. You can't be serious, hooking up with people like him."

"You don't know anything about him, Ron!" Hermione snapped, and then closed her eyes as she took a deep breath. "This is ridiculous. You'll never listen to me, so why do I even try? We met with Draco, yes. But he's not the boy you knew in school. He's not even the man Harry rescued from fiendfyre. He's got a family now, and a respectable job."

Ron snorted. "Respectable? Is that what you call that Skeeter woman?"

"Is that what you call Luna?" Hermione threw back sharply. "Or her father?"

"They're different, 'Mione," Ron groaned, as if she was the stupid one. "The Lovegoods run a magazine mostly full of nonsense, not a newspaper read by hundreds of thousands of magical citizens."

"You know what? I'm done, Ron," Hermione snapped. "I can't reason with you; I never could. So if that was all you wanted to say, you can go back to work now. We have a mess to clean up."

Ron stared at her in a mixture of bewilderment and anger. He was still standing there, staring, when Dr. Granger came out of the study with a box in his arms. Though he was smiling mildly, his sharp eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced at Ron, who was still standing in the middle of the sitting room with a stricken look on his face.

"Well, honey, this is the last of it," Dan Granger announced with false cheer. "Is something going on?"

"Nothing, Dad," Hermione sighed, raking her fingers through her brown curls. "Just … you remember Ron Weasley, don't you? From the wedding?"

The dentist adjusted his square glasses and peered at the tall, suddenly awkward-looking young man in the middle of the living room. "Weasley? Oh yes; big family, lots of red hair, right?"

"That's us," Ron said with a fake smile. "It's, er, nice to see you again Mr. Granger."

"Hmm," the dentist murmured noncommittally, as if he wasn't quite sure if it was nice to see this hulking red-head again, especially since he likely remembered that this was the boy who very nearly could have been his son-in-law rather than Harry and was currently in the middle of a shouting match with his daughter.

"Ron was just leaving, Dad," Hermione hastened to add. She could sense her father shifting into papa bear mode, as she called it. He was bristling to protect.

"Yeah," Ron said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as if he too could sense it. "I'm, uh … sorry, 'Mione. I didn't mean to, er …"

"Be yourself?" Hermione supplied with a teasing smile. "It's fine, Ron. You just need to trust that Harry and I know what we're doing. We'll be fine. But thanks for the heads-up."

"You're welcome," Ron said, looking relieved. "I guess … I'll just be going, then."

Suddenly, the front door banged open and Harry's excited voice rang through the house, making Hermione and James flinch. Not good.

"Hermione! You'll never guess! I found this quaint little second hand store in New York's magical district and it has all sorts of things we can use!" Harry burst into the living room, not noticing Ron at first. "We probably won't even have to pack the big stuff if we don't want to, and just get new furniture in that antique colonial style like you … oh." Harry stopped short, blinking at Ron from behind his glasses. "Hi, Ron," he said awkwardly. "I didn't see you there."

"You were in New York?" Ron repeated stupidly. "Shopping?"

"Well … um … yeah?" Harry shuffled his feet nervously and threw an anxious look at Hermione. She sighed and turned away, rubbing her face with both hands. Today was not working out the way she had planned.

"What the bloody …?" Ron spluttered.

"Ron," Harry interrupted his friend sharply. "Not in front of the kids. Hey Jamesy, had a good day?"

"Suppose," the boy mumbled, looking more uncomfortable by the second. "Um … want tea? Me and grandpa could …"

"That's an excellent idea," Hermione butted in, spinning around and smiling brightly at them. "Why don't I help you?"

Leaving Harry to do the awkward explaining, she herded her father and eldest son into the kitchen, grateful that they hadn't packed the tea-things yet.

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"So … New York?" Ron prompted.

Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Him and his stupid big mouth. He'd been so excited to tell Hermione about the shop that sold the antiques Hermione loved from magical houses or owners, and he hadn't been thinking. Wasn't that always his problem? He was always blabbing something or sticking his foot in his mouth. Not for the last time, he wished he had been able to pick up those occlumency lessons. Right now would be a great time to be able to lie like Snape.

"Harry?"

"I don't know what to tell you, Ron," Harry said quietly. "That … what you heard … you were not exactly supposed to hear it. So … I don't know what to tell you."

"So you'll just obliviate me then?" Ron snarled, looking inexplicably angry.

"What? No, Ron, of course not …"

"Your wife had no problem doing that to her own parents!" Ron snapped, his temper at full blaze. "What's to stop her from obliviating her ex?"

"It's not like that, Ron!" Harry shouted. "Honestly, get a hold of yourself. There's no reason to get upset. What me and Hermione do and talk about is really none of your business! What are you doing here, anyway?"

"What am I doing here?" Ron repeated incredulously. "Can't a bloke check up on his friends when he's worried about them? I didn't think it'd turn into this big drama, alright?"

"Okay, just calm down, Ron," Harry warned him. He puffed out his cheeks and shoved his hands into his pockets, and then winced as he realized he was still wearing the dark blue scrubs that were the standard uniform of St. Winifred's healers. Maybe Ron wouldn't notice, he thought, and plowed ahead. "Look … I'm sorry about all this, okay? But this really is a bad time for us. I'm glad you checked on us and all, but we're fine."

"Or at least you were fine, right?" Ron sneered, surprisingly looking even angrier. "Look here, Harry, all I wanted to do was warn you that the Ministry's starting to mumble against you. The Auror Department wants me to pull you in for a quick interview to show them you've got nothing to hide and all that, but your wife seemed to think that she had all the decision-making power in this house. So who wears the pants here, Harry?"

"She was telling you exactly what I want, Ronald Weasley," Harry growled angrily. "I don't want to talk to them anymore. They've been close to useless so far."

"Harry, you do know I'm an Auror too, right?" Ron said testily.

"Nothing against you personally, Ron, but the Aurors don't know what we're dealing with, it's been over two months and you haven't been able to do anything about finding my son. I … I can't handle any more interviews or questions or arrests. I'm done."

"But Harry, you just need to listen …"

"No Ron, you listen to me," Harry snapped, drawing himself to his full height and glaring at Ron steadily. "I'm done with the Ministry and I'm done with the Aurors and I'm done with England. I'm finished. I can't stand it anymore, Ron. They turn on me after everything I've done, and this is not the first time. I have a family to think about now, and they come first. I won't let them be hurt by people who want to simply destroy me … just because they hate me."

"You're f-finished?" Ron repeated stupidly. "You're … leaving? That's why you were … in New York? You're moving there?"

"We were going to tell you," Harry sighed heavily, not bothering to correct Ron's assumption about New York. "But it's for the best, Ron … really. I can't handle it anymore. If I try … I'll break. They're blaming me for the death of my unborn son and Sev's disappearance. How would you feel if Diamond got kidnapped and they started thinking you did something to cause it?"

Ron squirmed, his anger slowly dissipating. "I get it," he muttered. "But … I think running away is the worst thing you could do right now. Even people who don't really believe it will start thinking you've got something to hide."

"I know, but fighting it out in courts would do the same thing," Harry huffed. "I don't need all that. They don't believe me now, and they're determined not to, so I'm not going to waste my life, my children's lives, fighting a battle where my enemies have chosen the battleground. If they want me so badly, they'll have to come up with something that will bypass the American Congress' Asylum Laws. I'll fight them there if I must, with sanctuary as a political refugee to protect my family."

Ron looked stricken, but much as it pained Harry to see that expression on his friend's face … Harry knew he was in the right. He couldn't subject his wife and the rest of his children to the ravages of the Ministry when they were already dealing with so much. Draco was right. They needed to retreat; bring the battle onto their own grounds. It wasn't as if Harry cared about what the rest of Wizarding Britain would think of his disappearance. As the saying went, those who mattered wouldn't care (much) and those who would throw a fit didn't matter. Harry hoped Ron would see that and somehow understand.

"I love you, Ron," Harry said gently. "The kids love you. We all love you and your entire family. But I told you fourteen years ago and I'm telling you now: I'm done fighting. I don't owe anything to the Ministry or Wizarding Britain. I can go anywhere I want; they don't have any power over me, since I didn't do anything wrong."

"They don't know that," Ron mumbled uncomfortably.

"They can go stick their overgrown heads in Moaning Myrtle's toilet, Ron!" Harry shouted, almost at the end of his rope with Ron's stubbornness. "I don't care what they do or think! This is my life that's being destroyed here; I'm not staying here until I lose everything. Again."

"Don't you think you're being kind of … paranoid? About all this?" Ron said desperately. "You've already got people watching you suspiciously, and if you go off and disappear all of a sudden, there will be questions!"

"So you talk to them," Harry said more calmly. "You tell them what I told you. I'm sick and tired of their attacks and suspicion when I've done nothing to indicate that I'm violent, or unhinged, or Dark, or evil, or whatever it is they think! I survived a war, Ron. I was almost killed every year for seven years, and I was attacked and tortured and I died. You'd think that would be enough for them, but no. They want me to pay for their own stupidity and laziness and I am done paying for other people's mistakes!"

Ron blinked and shook his head. Slowly he backed away from his friend. "I … I didn't know you felt like that," he mumbled. "I … I'm … I don't know what to say."

Harry sighed and ran both of his hands through his hair. Maybe he had come on too strong. He knew Ron had gotten over most of what they had suffered during the war much better than Harry had … but frankly, Ron had not dealt with as many tragedies as Harry had. He wasn't being all that fair to his oldest friend, and he felt bad.

"C'mere, Ron," Harry sighed, dragging his friend into a fierce hug. "I know you just want to protect me," he mumbled into Ron's broad shoulder. "But you can't help me here anymore, Ron. I have to leave. Start over."

"What about Sev?" Ron whispered, clutching Harry so tightly he was afraid his burly friend might crack a rib.

"Maybe someday we'll find Sev, but the Aurors aren't helping," Harry said gently. "You have to let me do what is best for the rest of my family, Ron." He hesitated. "For what it's worth, Ron, we're not selling Asphodel Cottage. We might come back."

"Once it blows over?" Ron asked hopefully, releasing Harry so the two of them could see each other's faces.

"Maybe," Harry shrugged. "Might be nice to have two houses, you know. Back-up."

Ron shrugged back. "Lav's gonna miss you," he said softly.

"Everybody I care about here is going to miss me," Harry said with a bitter smile. "I know that. But … I wanted to wait, Ron. I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want us to fight."

"You didn't think I'd understand," Ron muttered, turning away and crossing his arms angrily.

"No," Harry said gently. "And you still don't. But let me do this, Ron. I have to do what is best for me … please don't make it harder for us than it already is."

"We won't see you for picnics or Sunday dinners anymore," Ron said mournfully. "We won't get together with everybody else for birthday parties or family reunions. You're moving to a whole different country, Harry."

"I know," Harry replied simply. "But we're only a portkey away, you know. Send us the invite, and we'll see if we can make it. But not anytime soon, alright? We … we just need some time. And space."

Ron shrugged, as if he didn't really care one way or the other.

Harry reached out and gripped his friend's shoulder. "We're still best friends, Ron?"

Ron turned finally, his blue eyes wet with tears. He smiled though, and gripped Harry's other shoulder. "Yeah," he choked. "We'll always be friends."

"I'll send you our new address," Harry said cheerfully. "You can write, though I wouldn't recommend owls. Ever thought of learning how to properly use muggle post?"

Ron laughed through his tears, remembering when his family sent Harry a card covered in stamps. How long had it taken for Harry and Hermione to explain that they only needed a single stamp in the corner?

"I'd like that," Ron admitted.

"Me too," Harry said with a relieved smile. "The kids would love it too. I hear muggle post is a bit slow going over the Atlantic, but at least they can get it back and forth quicker than two months, which was how long ships used to take crossing the ocean back in the day."

"Back in what day?"

"Oh, it's a muggle phrase … it just means, a long unspecified time ago."

Ron laughed, but there didn't seem to be anything more to say. He wiped his tears and hugged Harry again, called out his apologies to Hermione in the kitchen, and said good-bye. As Harry closed the door behind his friend he let out a long sigh and leaned against the front door for a few minutes, thinking. When he straightened and turned, Hermione, James, and Dan Granger were all watching him.

"I think we should leave England tonight," Harry said quietly.

Hermione didn't bat an eyelid. James sighed and trudged off to finish packing. Dan Granger looked pensive, and he nodded slowly.

"You don't think that boy would report you?" the dentist asked grimly.

"On purpose, no," Harry sighed. "Ron means well, but he's got a big mouth; he complains. Any chance we had of keeping this secret flew out the window when I stepped in. Before tomorrow, anybody Ron interacts with on a regular basis will know we're leaving the country."

"Don't blame yourself, Harry," Hermione warned him, looking exasperated.

"You should've erased his memories," Dan said mournfully. "After all, if I came out on the other side more or less intact, a magic chap ought to be fine."

Hermione squirmed and looked desperately over at Harry. He shook his head, indicating that she should forget it. She was still sensitive about memory charms and would probably feel guilty about what she had done to her parents to her dying day. Dan and Elaine were more or less over it. Sometimes they couldn't remember things from Hermione's childhood or other things that had happened while she was home over the summer while she attended Hogwarts … but otherwise they were fine. She had saved their most important memories (the way Snape's memories had been caught in her bottle) in a moment of foresight and had used them to reconstruct the blocked neurons in her parents' minds. It was clever, but not recommended. Dan and Elaine's chances of developing dementia as they got older had gone up a good percentage thanks to Hermione's impulsive little stunt.

"Well," Harry said firmly. "What's done is done. The new house is ready enough. I've layered a few good protection charms into the yard and everything, and the American magical government has a standard series of things they do to newly-registered magical dwellings."

"Alright," Hermione sighed. "I think you're being overly cautious and paranoid … but I also have a feeling you're right. Er, you are here to help us finish packing, right?"

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Mr. and Mrs. Potter,

Not sure where you got the tip-off, but it was quite smart of you to leave when you did. Thanks to a certain loud-mouthed Weasel friend of yours, the Ministry got wind of what you were planning and issued a no-travel notice for a certain Harry J. Potter, all in the interests of making sure he didn't leave an ongoing investigation hanging, of course. But thanks to your foresight, by the time such a ban was issued, there was no Harry J. Potter in England anymore. I congratulate you, and advise you not to come back anytime soon. The elections are tomorrow and the whole Wizarding World is in somewhat of an uproar. Parkfield is indeed trending as the victor, and his self-righteous declamations of you and all veterans of the Great Wizarding War gets more nauseating by the day.

By the way, if you forgot something over here, I advise you to invest in a telephone and get it mailed the muggle way by Mrs. Potter's relatives. There is no way you'll be escaping custody if you portkey over at a time like this.

I'm here if you need something. Noted on the outside of this envelope is the muggle address of Magical Times. Send mail there, to the Attention of Draco Greengrass. I may make a trip to America myself in the near future, as I've stumbled upon the threads of a fascinating new story, so I may take the liberty of calling upon St. Winifred's while I'm over there.

Regards,

Draco L. Malfoy

P.S. Do not forget your promise to write to me about the weather this time of year.

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Next chapter is going to be intense, so this one was kind of quiet. Thank you all for your reviews and encouragement! You really keep me going. After being away all weekend, coming back to see all the new reviews in my inbox really made my day!