Author's Note and Acknowledgement—This is a work of fanfiction written and posted solely for the enjoyment of readers. Characters and places derive from the Harry Potter series of books by JK Rowling, or, like London, are in the common domain. The author receives no compensation and takes this opportunity to thank Ms. Rowling for allowing us this privilege.

Consider the ant. So simple. They have their own adjective: Ant-like. No need for anything more complicated than some pheromones and a pair of pincers. Builders of ornate underground mansions. If confronted by invaders, the colony goes to war. When the issue is decided, the workers return, unthinking, to their interrupted tasks. Without instructions. Just running around like a bunch of ants.

Like A Bunch of Ants

A Short Story

By

Bfd1235813

The Battle of Hogwarts, fought on the First and Second of May, brought about the death of the insurgent Dark Lord Voldemort, previously known as Tom Riddle. One of the more brilliant students to pass through Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, chronically-unfortunate Riddle had a murderous streak and a fascination with Dark Magic. Harry Potter should have been in his seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Sadly, he had had to go on the run the previous summer, along with two of his school friends, because of a higher priority mission.

After Harry Potter won his duel with Lord Voldemort, he spent some time shaking hands and delivering condolences to friends and family of those who had fallen in the defense of Hogwarts. Then he went to the Headmistress, Professor McGonagall, and informed her he needed a few hours' sleep, after which he would return and put himself at her disposal. His intent was to get to work with others, making repairs to the school. Even in the post-battle chaos he had a vague plan to complete his magical education.

Potter didn't get his few hours of sleep. He laid down on what had been his old bed in the Gryffindor House Wizard's dorm and slept around the clock. Then he took two cups of hot tea along with two tablespoons of honey and went back to sleep. He awoke in the wee hours of May 4. Potter reviewed the events of the previous week. He and his companions had been captured and held in a dungeon beneath Malfoy Manor. Hermione Granger, whom he considered his best friend in the world, had been tortured by the mad witch Bellatrix Lestrange. He had liberated three hostages imprisoned in the dungeon, somehow brought about the death of Peter Pettigrew, who had betrayed Potter's parents to Voldemort and witnessed the death of his friend, the house elf Dobby.

When his review got to Dobby, Potter curled up, on his side, in the fetal position and began to shake.

"Harry! Harry!" said Ron Weasley, his right-hand giving Potter's shoulder a vigorous shake.

Potter opened his eyes. Ron Weasley was his first magical friend. They'd met while on the Hogwarts Express, the train that traditionally transported Hogwarts students from London to Scotland.

"You okay? You aren't having some kind of fit?" asked Ron, with his typical tact and sensitivity.

"Fine," croaked Potter. "Shower. Breathe some steam. Get us some tea?"

He gestured toward the bedside table where his teacup still rested.

It was twenty minutes later when Potter emerged from the shower. He sat on the edge of his bed wearing a ratty-looking tee shirt and some rattier boxer shorts. He needed to shop. That had to be near the top of his priority list.

"So…" said Potter.

He was beginning to feel human.

"Yeah."

Potter didn't know exactly what his affirmation meant. Ron Weasley seemed to agree, but he was keeping his own counsel about something.

"Sorry about Fred, Ron," said Potter. "And, uh, I know you weren't a couple anymore, but Lavender. You two. Once."

"It's fine," Ron said. "We were. Didn't end well but I'll never say anything against her. Oh, Merlin."

Ron turned as his eyes began to water. He took a deep breath, started shuddering and let it out.

"Don't worry, I won't say anything. To Hermione, I mean," said Potter.

"Thanks. I'll have to own up to my thoughts and actions, someday, if we are going to be…" Ron said, letting the sentence sputter to its conclusion.

"Just not today," Ron added.

"Maybe not," Potter replied. "Hermione is broad-minded, you know? She understands a lot. It doesn't always show. She might read you better than you think. Have you talked?"

"Not yet. I need to. Everything is different, now that You-Know-Who is dead. That could all be wartime romance," Ron speculated.

"It could," Potter agreed before taking a sip from his teacup. "Somehow, I don't think so."

Potter stood. He looked toward the door out to the steps that went down to the Gryffindor common room, asking with a look if Ron Weasley was ready to go. Ron Weasley didn't feel like talking, any more than Potter did, so he simply stood and fell in behind his friend.

Potter wasn't prepared for the damage to the school. A lot of rubble had been cleared away and the corridors were quite walkable. In fact, there seemed to be a permanent condition of scurrying-about, as students moved here and there, focused on something. Work parties of faculty and students cleaned, took measurements, dictated supply orders to note-takers and bounced suggestions to administrators.

A divided opinion emerged concerning repairs. A minority of concerned students thought strict adherence to a principle of restoration and historical accuracy would give the best results. Hogwarts was the very definition of 'hallowed halls' to this way of thinking. The majority opinion insisted the physical plant had needed updating for at least a century so there would never be a better time to bring that about than the present.

"Looking for Professor McGonagall," Potter said to a number of people as he and Weasley worked their way toward the Great Hall.

They actually made good progress and found the professor in the center corridor on the ground floor of the castle. Potter explained that he wanted to help with the repairs but that he was obliged to contact Andromeda Tonks, the grandmother of his god-son, Teddy Lupin. If Andromeda and Teddy were safe and well, Potter thought he would be able to return and focus completely on the castle.

"Potter, you don't need to explain yourself to me," said the professor. "Not now, certainly. Give Andromeda my fond regards and we'll see you whenever you can get back here."

"Oh," said Potter, unused to getting McGonagall approval so easily.

"Stay in touch," said Ron. "Mum's going to want to feed you, whenever you can get time."

"Three meals a day," Potter noted. "Three opportunities. I'll be around."

Thus Potter took his leave of Ron Weasley and Hogwarts with no firm commitments to either and set out to check on the welfare of his godson and his godson's guardian.

Potter used apparition to get from Scotland to Andromeda Tonks' home. It had been a year, roughly, since he had seen the place. Andromeda and her husband, the muggle-born wizard Ted Tonks, were considered vermin by the fanatical pureblood forces. She had been disowned by her birth family, the pureblood Blacks, for marrying someone who was not himself a pureblood wizard. Potter didn't know what he would find and steeled himself against preconceptions. He was heartened by the sight of Andromeda's home, intact and apparently untouched by the violence of the war.

As he anticipated, the sound of his arrival was followed by the opening of the substantial wooden door into the house. Potter took his time getting to the garden gate, crossing the garden and lingering a bit, a short distance from the threshold.

"It's me," he called out.

"Harry Potter," stated a voice from inside the house.

Potter tried to remember the layout of the interior. He'd been there just once before, under distressed circumstances. He had a clear memory in whose accuracy he had no confidence.

"That's right," he said. "Can I come in?"

In answer, a figure appeared in the doorway. A witch, one of the Black sisters. She wasn't Andromeda. Potter knew this one better than he did Andromeda.

"Mrs. Malfoy," said Potter. "Is Andromeda around?"

Something was off. The light wasn't even but Narcissa Malfoy's face was discolored, Potter was sure. He didn't remember her suffering injuries in the battle. Whatever happened had to have happened since.

"I appreciate your good manners, Lord Harry, but you might as well call me Narcissa," she said.

Potter stood on the doorstep, looking at Narcissa Malfoy. She was a proud woman, daughter of a powerful, distinguished magical family. She had done her familial duty and married Lucius Malfoy, cementing an alliance between the Blacks and the politically-influential, and rich, House of Malfoy. Unfortunately for her, Lucius Malfoy was a haughty, insecure wizard with few real abilities. His political successes were due to strategic distribution of gold to corruptible officials or members of the Wizengamot.

"What happened to you?" Potter asked as he stepped into the kitchen of Andromeda's house.

Potter knew the difference between bruising and tricks of the light. She'd gotten help from someone with healing skills, but the residual discoloration said Narcissa had suffered some violent treatment.

Potter looked across the kitchen to where Andromeda sat at her table. Andromeda looked back, then shifted her eyes to look at her sister.

"Tell him, Cissy," she said. "He needs to know. Tell him, or I will."

"My husband," said Narcissa, her voice sounding like that of an adolescent. "Lucius hit me."

"Why would he do that?" Potter asked.

"Too much wine," Narcissa answered. "He started talking about post-war plans and leadership of what he called 'The Traditional' party. He meant himself, of course. I tried to suggest he might want to keep a low profile for now, at least until he finds out if the Ministry is going to send him back to Azkaban. Then…"

Narcissa doubled up her fist and gave it a shake.

"With his fist?" exclaimed Potter.

He felt his anger boiling again. It had been a nice, restful couple of days, not having that feeling of shameless homicide churning inside. He didn't know whether he'd missed it or was just greeting an old acquaintance.

Narcissa kept her mouth closed. Potter looked over at Andromeda, who was nodding, 'Yes.'

"What will you do now?" Potter asked.

"I don't know," Narcissa answered. "That's what we were talking…"

Narcissa Malfoy lost her self-control, a phenomenon Potter knew was rare and never witnessed by others.

'Merlin,' he thought. 'She's losing it right here.'

"Hey. Hey, here now, don't…Narcissa, he isn't…"

Potter caught himself before telling this woman, a contemporary of his own mother, that her husband was worthless. She had enough problems without Harry Potter inserting himself into her most private, personal affairs.

"She's right, of course," Potter said to Andromeda. "I'm kind of surprised the aurors don't have him right now."

Whether he did it with his comment, or not, Narcissa let out a long, heartfelt wail. It struck Potter that she sounded like someone in mourning. Well, why not? She might be an unwilling witness to the dissolution of her marriage.

Narcissa's cry was joined by a second, coming from the next room over. Potter moved without thinking. He had, after all, come from Scotland to check on his godson.

"Teddy! Teddy! Ted-dee," Potter called.

The young Teddy Lupin's cries continued, although at a lower volume. Potter looked at the little guy as he lay, looking up in turn, possibly searching for the owner of the strange voice.

"What's up? Need a change? I've heard of those but never done one," said Potter.

Andromeda Tonks joined Potter at Teddy's layette.

"It's not very challenging," she said.

It isn't, for a witch or wizard with a wand and a little time to practice.

"There," she said, handing the freshly-changed baby to his godfather. "Let's see if he's ready for a bottle."

Andromeda herded Potter and Teddy into the kitchen, where Narcissa Malfoy sat alone at the table, staring at a wall, her face blank. Potter wanted to say something but he had no idea what. She was a married woman, the mother of his classmate Draco, whose husband had punched her over what was, at worst, an offhand comment. Potter had no idea what one said in such circumstances. He looked at Narcissa's face, trying to see something that would guide his next action. Something caught Potter's attention and he looked toward where Andromeda stood, casting over a pan of water.

"This got to be a chore when Dora was still taking bottles," Andromeda said. "Now, it feels like Teddy and I sit and remember her."

Potter accepted the warm bottle, which he pointed at Teddy's mouth.

"Just touch his lip," said Narcissa. "He knows if he wants it or not. There—see?"

Teddy Lupin had opened his mouth and the nipple slid in. When he began to suck Potter saw air bubbles rising in the milk. He moved his eyes from the bottle to Narcissa. She was smiling.

"So, Lord Harry," said Andromeda.

Narcissa looked from Teddy to her sister, who looked back. Andromeda tilted her head, a silent question.

"Oh, go ahead," Narcissa said. "We've exercised discretion, once or twice."

Potter nodded agreement.

"And will, now," he confirmed.

"My sister has a problem," Andromeda began. "Her husband may be in a lot of trouble. He is definitely unstable at the moment…"

"Andy—"

"No, Cissy, he HIT you! Lucius Malfoy struck Narcissa Black with his fist! He's in a lot of trouble and he knows it, mark my words. I know something about getting on the wrong side of the Blacks, you may recall. He has trifled with the wrong clan. If this gets out, Magical Britain will be waiting for the counter-punch. You know?"

"What do you want me to do?" asked Potter. "I could take him out…"

"NO!" shouted Narcissa. "I can't go along with that. I haven't looked at our wedding contract in years but putting out a hit on my husband has to be in there. It might even get Draco hurt."

Harry Potter looked between the two sisters as he held Teddy's bottle. The conversation had taken a strange turn, and rather quickly. Potter, holding a baby, had casually issued a deadly threat.

"Look it was a thought," Potter said. "Not very responsible of me."

Andromeda studied Potter's face.

"Harry, you're starting to react like Lord Black, that's all. Someone threatened a member of our family. That means they'll have to answer to you."

"What?" asked Potter, looking across to Narcissa.

"What she means, Harry, is that Sirius' death left his successor the responsibility for looking after the clan's mutual interests, one of which is the unquestioned inviolability of our persons. That sounds a bit dated, doesn't it? The House of Black claims sovereign immunity. Deal with it, World. Yes, we heard it growing up. It was a given that we avoided giving cause for offense because open conflict meant we all circled around our family member. Remember?"

"Oh, I sure do," Andromeda answered. "Even Bellatrix took care back then."

"Yes, she had such strong magic," confirmed Narcissa. "Mother ordered her to wash dishes one time, as punishment for some silly thing. Bella used her wand to move the dishcloth so vigorously, she broke a stoneware kitchen bowl. After that, Mother did her best not to provoke our big sister."

Andromeda started to laugh. Potter didn't know whether he believed the story of a wet dishcloth breaking a stoneware bowl, or not. Perhaps it was illustrative of a larger truth. It did get the two remaining Black sisters laughing, though, which ought to have been some relief from their troubles.

"What do you want to do, Narcissa? Stay here? For a few days, or a bit longer? It might be a good idea," Potter suggested.

"We decided it wasn't, Harry," said Andromeda. "If Lucius doesn't wise up, he could come looking for Narcissa here, or send some lowlifes."

Teddy Lupin was finished. He pushed the nipple away with his tongue and turned his head aside.

"He's full," Andromeda said. "Now he might like his head up. Just hold him against your chest. That's it, head up over your shoulder. Bounce him, gently. If he has some gas that will help him let it go."

Sure enough, before long, Teddy produced a loud burp along with a bit of curdled milk.

"Good job, Teddy," said Andromeda. "Such a good boy!"

The milk smelled foul and a portion landed on Potter's shirt, so Andromeda went to the sink and dampened a towel. Godfather and godson were soon cleaned up and fit company. Andromeda took Teddy to let him sit upright on her lap, her own middle providing support for his head. Teddy must have liked it, judging by the smiles and giggles he dispensed to the other two.

"There's always Number Twelve Grimmauld Place," Potter suggested. "We'll just tell Kreacher you'll be spending a few days."

"You know…Think about it, Cissy," said Andromeda. "If Lucius wants to knock you around some more, he wouldn't do it in front of Walburga."

No one laughed at Andromeda's comment. She wasn't joking. Potter looked at Narcissa.

"Well?" he asked as he stood up.

Narcissa thought it over.

"I think I'd like to visit Number Twelve again, Harry," she said. "The last time I was there was before I married Lucius, or just after. Twenty years past, more or less."

Potter helped himself to a pinch of Andromeda's floo powder, which he cast into the grate.

"Number Twelve Grimmauld Place," he said. "Kreacher? It's Harry Potter."

Minutes later, Potter and Kreacher had arranged their arrival at the Black family seat in London. They took their leave of Andromeda and Teddy, promising they'd be in touch soon.

Kreacher was waiting, wearing a freshly-laundered towel as a sarong.

"Welcome, Madame Malfoy," said the elf when they stepped into the salon.

Potter noticed Narcissa flinched, possibly at the reminder that she was 'Madame Malfoy,' possibly at the blast of the Black family magic that would have crashed into her when she materialized at Number Twelve, possibly all of that and some other things, too.

"Kreacher, we'll need you to bring your step-stool and speak to Madame Walburga. Please advise her, gently, that I am here. The main message, though, is that Madame Narcissa is present and that they might wish to consult for a few minutes. Oh, and please place a chair a comfortable distance from Madame Walburga so Madame Narcissa won't have to stand."

Kreacher disappeared from the salon and the sounds of a wooden stool plunking down on the wooden floor of the central hallway were heard, followed by Kreacher's mutterings and some screeching from Walburga.

"Mad," said Potter, his head nodding in the direction of the hall. "Brilliant, though. Just mad."

"She always was," said Narcissa. "I felt so bad for Regulus and Sirius. My father was quite the dictator but I believe he thought he was securing our futures. He married me off to a lot of money and to his way of thinking, that was that. I'm not complaining. Everyone thought we were going places. I thought so, too. Up until Pettigrew and Crouch brought HIM back. That's when it all began to fall apart."

"We don't need to worry about it now," said Potter. "You weren't the only ones."

Kreacher stepped into the salon.

"Mistress is ready, Madame Narcissa," said the elf.

"I'll leave you to it," Potter said.

He anticipated the interview with Walburga would take ten minutes at most. It went on for nearly twenty. Narcissa followed the sound of voices and found Potter and Kreacher on the second floor, emptying a bedroom.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"One last pile to vanish, then Kreacher will work some house elf magic," Potter said. "A good scrub, then he'll conjure a basic bedroom setup. Bed, dresser, armoire, carpet. The conjured stuff will last long enough for us to acquire actual solid pieces. Any special design you like? Victorian, Scandinavian, minimalist?"

"Why do you ask?"

"It's your room," said Potter. "If you need a safe haven from Lucius, this is the place. He can't even see it, were he to come looking for you."

"Harry, you don't have to…" Narcissa began.

Potter cut her off.

"Stop. Sirius left me this. The house, yes, but the responsibility, too. I won't stand by and watch you being abused. Not after what you did for me. If you hadn't had the courage to lie to his face, he'd have cursed me again, when I wasn't ready for him. I know I don't have the Black blood that you do, but Sirius left me sufficient means to meet my obligations."

Something happened in Narcissa's face as Potter spoke. He wondered if she wanted to put her arms around him. Kiss him. Thank Merlin, Kreacher was still in the room, working on the pile of discards. Feelings between Potter and Narcissa were strong; he knew he would kiss back, and he'd mean it. But, then…what? He forced it all out of his mind.

"Tea?" asked Potter. "Kreacher, you can finish with the junk and the scrub-down, then come find us to talk about the furnishings, can't you?"

It was a space-holder of a question with an obvious answer. Potter led the way down the stairs.

The two of them, Potter and Narcissa, sat at the plank table in the kitchen, their tea steeping in a ceramic pot.

"How's Madame?" he asked.

"Walburga? Fine. Her ideas about social life are a bit dated," answered Narcissa.

Potter poured their cups of tea.

"Did you discuss what happened to you?"

"We did," said Narcissa.

"Her reaction?" asked Potter.

"Hard to say," said Narcissa. "You know, someone from her time, in her position in society, and in her own family, would naturally hold back. Emotions aren't to be trusted. She would be calculating how Lucius' actions unbalanced relations between Blacks and Malfoys, the possibility of scandal or real violence. How to put her best possible face toward the world while I tried to work things out with Lucius behind closed doors. Not long ago, Lucius would be seen as a man using appropriate means to handle his difficult, mouthy wife. A majority of wizards still think that way, even if they can't, or won't, admit it publicly."

Narcissa paused to sip her tea. Potter sat, thinking over Narcissa's statement. He knew she was telling the truth. He didn't want to interfere in her private affairs even as he felt rage boiling up under his breastbone and began hearing again, much louder than he wished, that seductive roar in his ears. Potter had killed his lifelong enemy, the man responsible for the death of his parents and for Potter's own years of torment at the hands of his aunt and uncle. Murder was eager to present itself as the neat and tidy solution. He wondered if he would wrestle that impulse for the rest of his life.

"I can't…I won't…You do whatever you think you have to do. Just remember, if you go back and need to get out quickly, you can come here. Before you leave, we'll want you known to the wards. Don't you think you'll be protected from anyone and almost anything, once you're inside these walls? It's the least I can do. Whether you need to use it, or not."

Narcissa accepted the offer and they went to work with Kreacher. The elf's conjuring had the bedroom furnished within the hour. Potter arranged for Narcissa's admission via the floo system.

"It's best if you don't come and go through the front door," he said. "The floo keeps you concealed, if Lucius or someone else has us under surveillance."

Narcissa smiled her agreement.

"Lord Black," she added.

Narcissa's voice was low in volume and seemed to come from the back of her throat. Another annoying thought crossed Potter's mind.

"I suggest you go back to Andromeda's and check in with her. If you feel like you have to go home, go home. Be thinking about how you'd make a quick exit for the next few days. No matter where you find yourself. Here, as we discussed. Consider it your safe haven."

Narcissa nodded, her eyes a bit downcast. She bit her lower lip. Later on, Potter would wonder whether she was conscious she was doing it.

He walked through the townhouse, looking things over. Even though he had owned the place since the death of Sirius Black in the battle beneath the Ministry, he hadn't spent more than a few weeks there. Each room he entered made him conscious of the fact that more than anything, the house needed a committed occupant. Could he meet the requirement? Potter wasn't a builder or a decorator or interior designer. On the other hand, he needed a place to live, outside of Hogwarts. Nearly all of his schoolmates would have a parent or two, so they'd simply go home. Potter settled, at least temporarily, on Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, London, as his new address.

Within two weeks, he'd worked into a very agreeable cycle of a day of work at Hogwarts followed by his return to Grimmauld Place, a shower and change of clothes, something healthy and satisfying for dinner and reading in bed until he fell asleep. Most nights he was just conscious enough to feel the book when he rolled over, but sometimes he awoke in the morning with the corner of a cover poking into him. When that happened, it made him think of The Monster Book of Monsters. That, in turn, caused him to begin his day in a very good humor.

Before he dueled Voldemort for the final time, Harry Potter would have envisioned following up victory by cutting through the ranks of Death Eaters like a well-sharpened scythe. The Dark Party had been doing that since the previous summer. They'd mounted a coup against the legally-constituted Ministry, brought about the assassination of a sitting Minister, used Ministry positions and departments to pursue a deranged campaign of persecution against members of the magical community who did not meet certain standards of so-called 'blood purity.'

Potter's conscience would have been clear. Voldemort had experimented on himself to the degree it was debatable whether he qualified as a human being. By extension, the Death Eaters, Ministry minions and camp followers who swore allegiance to the Dark Lord, were in voluntary service to a walking, talking Crime Against Humanity. Potter would have said the spectrum of responses should include death for all Death Eaters and for anyone convicted of murder of muggles, muggle-born and half-blood citizens. Below that, persecution of witches and wizards for reasons of blood status should get thirty years in Azkaban. Dolores Umbridge ought to get a life sentence in Azkaban, just on principle.

Other than the scythe, Potter hadn't given a lot of thought to additional measures. He did think it might be a good idea to end the presence of dementors on Earth, if there were a legal doctrine that could be cited. All of those thoughts deserted him when he reflected on his interactions with Draco and Narcissa Malfoy. Potter and his friends had been staring at certain death. The best they could hope for was that Voldemort would make it quick, which they could not reasonably expect. Then Draco had refused to state unequivocally that Harry Potter was Harry Potter, thus enabling their escape from the Malfoys.'

In the Forbidden Forest, Narcissa, risking her own life, had simply lied—LIED!—to Voldemort, telling him Potter was dead while her hand lay on his chest, right over his beating heart.

The Dark Lord was a master of legilimency, yet so confident in his control of the Malfoy family that he took Narcissa at her word. Just thinking about it could still bring a smile to Potter's face. That lie was the key to everything that followed. Wizarding Britain was free of Voldemort because Narcissa Malfoy had the courage and skill to convince the lunatic that Potter was dead. As a side benefit, Harry Potter was alive, thanks to that same lie.

That Sunday, around noon, Harry Potter sat at Andromeda Tonks' table, feeding his godson from a bottle.

"They're what?" he asked.

"Divorced," said Andromeda, so matter-of-fact she might have been declaring the sun was up, or down, or obscured by overcast.

"What—How?"

Potter's confusion was due to his muggle raising. He had no idea how complicated magical marriage could be.

"Going to prison isn't grounds for divorce," Andromeda began. "Spouses get a little leeway, especially if it is a long sentence. As long as they're discreet, it is understood a man or a woman can have needs. Magical society learned a long, long time ago that it is better for everyone if there aren't a lot of people who know magic going around in a permanent state of aroused frustration or frustrated arousal. Well, you get the idea. But that's neither here nor there. It wouldn't be any of our business, anyway. What did it was magic. Specifically, Lucius signed a Black marriage contract. Mmm…maybe it is more accurate to say he signed a contract with some paragraphs lifted from a Black family contract. Father and the law goblins might have incorporated some by reference. Know what that is?"

Potter shook his head.

'No.'

"Well, let's say you're contracting to provide some good or service and to save space the contract is written to recognize a specific standard. Maybe it's a table of weights and measures. Instead of reprinting the table the contract says, 'As stated in Magical Standards XYZ which is incorporated by reference and shall have the same authority as the other articles herein," said Andromeda. "I didn't read Lucius and Cissy's contract but our father was a crafty S.O.B. He was willing to marry Cissy off to Lucius but he wouldn't have seen her hurt for any amount of gold or political influence."

"So you think he put something in the contract that escaped Lucius' notice?" asked Potter. "He didn't realize he didn't get to hit his wife?"

"Remember what I said about our bodily inviolability? Our family has been well-off and socially prominent for centuries. Blacks have had their ups and downs but overall, we're protective of our own and strong enough to extract a price for transgressions."

Her voice was hard. Potter was struck by a sudden thought: If Andromeda Tonks could find out who killed her husband, Ted, would she go after them? Had she already? He decided if he needed to know, he'd leave it to Fate to decide when and how to inform him.

"So you think it's likely Lucius hit Narcissa, triggering something?"

"Yes, then the jail sentence sealed it," said Andromeda. "Although, I can't know for certain. Like I said, I didn't read their contract. If Father did put something like that in, it would explain why what we know happened, happened."

"Occam's Razor," said Potter.

"Very good, Harry, that's it. Exactly," agreed Andromeda. "It answers all of the unknowns in the total problem."

Potter enjoyed the rest of the day, staying until Teddy went to sleep around seven that evening. Tomorrow was a workday.

Potter kept his eyes and ears open all week. He thought his curiosity would get the best of him so he consciously fought it. The only thing he heard was a bit of gossip that asserted Lucius Malfoy had gotten a term of six years. It made Potter shake his head. His godfather, Sirius Black, had served twelve years, banged up without benefit of trial.

'Some universe,' Potter thought when he heard Lucius' sentence.

When Friday came, Potter went home to Grimmauld Place, showered, considered going out for dinner, decided he'd rather eat alone at home than eat alone in a restaurant and tasked his house elf Kreacher to surprise him.

Dinner was a green salad, a macaroni and cheese casserole, a side dish of steamed pea pods and a saucer of crème brulee for dessert. Potter smiled as he pushed back from the table, climbed the stairs and went straight to bed. As he closed his eyes, he made a vague plan to sleep until six or seven, get up, drink one cup of coffee and take the floo to Andromeda's. At two a.m. he blinked once before sitting straight up in bed.

The house felt different. Potter would not have been able to explain what he meant. He suspected someone had come in. The wards were set, meaning any intruder would have been known to the wards or a skilled and powerful witch or wizard. Wand in hand, Potter opened his door and stepped into the second-floor hall to find Narcissa Black on the way to the bedroom they'd gotten ready.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Potter began. "To what do I owe the honor?"

Narcissa looked at him, eyes narrowed.

"Have you heard anything? About my personal situation?" asked Narcissa.

"Andromeda thought you might be in the midst of some magical separation of some sort," Potter tried. "I don't really understand all of the details."

Narcissa made a snorting sound.

"Of course not, the Mage whom the gods decreed would be raised by the least-qualified couple on Earth," said Narcissa. "One has to wonder if you were an experiment that escaped the Olympus lab. Beginning right now you'll call me Narcissa. I am throwing myself at Lord Black's feet."

Potter thought it was a figure of speech until Narcissa knelt and wrapped her arms around his ankles, her long hair puddling over arms, feet and carpet.

"Mrs. Malfoy…Black…Narcissa!" said Potter, ringing changes.

Something had to be correct. Narcissa raised her head, looking up, pausing at the lump that pushed at his underwear.

"Oh," she said, forcing herself to get beyond his crotch, following the line of hair that started at Potter's waistband and climbed to his neck. She licked her lips, unconsciously, realized what she was doing and made herself stop.

"Show's over," he said.

"I, um, well," said Narcissa.

"Up," Potter demanded, offering one hand before freeing the other by putting his wand inside his underwear's elastic band.

Narcissa was in street clothes. Potter didn't feel like conversing in his boxers.

"Go on, I'll be there when I'm presentable," he said.

It took only the time necessary to pull on a pair of trousers. Potter walked into Narcissa's bedroom without knocking, a breach of etiquette but understandable. He was a wizard who'd been awakened from a sound sleep by a visitor who arrived unanticipated and unannounced. He was entitled to his annoyance.

"Kreacher," Potter called.

"Master?"

"Glass of water for me plus whatever Madame…?"

Potter had regained enough presence of mind to remember Narcissa had asked not to be Mrs. Malfoy.

"A cup of tea, please, Kreacher," said Narcissa.

"So…what?" asked Potter, a hand going aloft in a 'Let's hear it,' gesture.

"Lucius hit me. He got six years. He turned himself in today. We are legally, and magically, divorced. I am locked out of my home," said Narcissa. "Twenty years…"

She looked like she expected to cry, perhaps even wanted to cry, but nothing happened.

"Ah…"

Potter drank off half of his glass of water.

"Fine," he said. "I'm Lord Black. You're Narcissa Black. Again. I am responsible for you. First things first, I guess. Do you have any concerns for your personal safety? Malfoys looking to make trouble? Old associates blaming you for things not going their way? Friends of Lucius wanting to make mischief?"

"No. None," said Narcissa. "Just need a roof over my head until I can figure out what to do next."

"Does this make sense to you?" asked Potter. "You don't even get to take your personal things?"

"Oh, there will have to be negotiations but I'll get all of those back," Narcissa said. "Everything is charmed and will be most annoying if they're kept from me. As for making sense, my father built in some protections for me when he drafted our marriage contract. Lucius either didn't read it or he'd forgotten. There aren't any do-overs when a husband punches his Black bride."

"Poor Lucius," noted Potter. "How is Draco taking it?"

"Draco went to Canada, possibly for the rest of the summer," said Narcissa. "Longer, if he likes it. He's working with a local shaman, someplace up north of Lake Superior."

"Wonders never cease…good place for him to be, of course," Potter said. "Did you set that up, in anticipation of the magical consequences of your conflict?"

"I don't know," said Narcissa, looking and sounding mystified. "Perhaps, unconsciously. We'd become incapable of communicating, these last years. Had Lucius kept his head, we might have avoided it. I was trying my hardest, Harry, I swear. I could have stayed with Lucius but when he hit me, it was out of my hands."

"Who locked you out?" asked Potter.

"No one," Narcissa answered. "Magic. The marriage contract went active when he hit me and the judicial process finalized everything. Malfoy Manor no longer recognizes me as a member of the family."

"Merlin," marveled Potter. "My sympathies. I don't know what I'd do, were I in your position. Well, you're good here for as long as you need us. We'll get you some walking-around money in the morning so you can shop. Can't have you living here with nothing but the clothes you're wearing. Get some sleep."

With that, Potter turned and left the room, closing Narcissa's door behind him.

"Breakfast in the kitchen, at seven!" he called out, to Narcissa, Kreacher and whatever operated the mysterious consciousness that controlled things at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

Just before seven in the morning, Potter walked into the kitchen, ready for the day except for shoes and socks.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked, dispensing with greetings or other niceties.

"Surprisingly well," answered Narcissa. "Safe. Like I could relax and just go off to Dreamland. No worries."

Potter picked up the mug of coffee in front of him and took a long drink. It was good. Strong and hot, not overdone either way.

"Excellent, Kreacher," said Potter. "So. Narcissa Black felt safe enough to drift off to Dreamland. I promise to take that to my grave. You have a reputation to uphold."

Narcissa didn't laugh. She did a little pantomime of a smile, pulling up the corners of her mouth. Potter wondered if she controlled the twinkling he saw in her eyes, or if that was involuntary.

"Money," he said. "You'll need some. Do you have an account in your own name at Gringotts?"

"I do, actually, although it is pretty close to the low limit. If it goes below a thousand galleons and stays there, the bank declares it dormant and the owner has so many days to make a deposit," answered Narcissa.

"I'll speak to my manager," said Potter. "No one needs to know. The goblins won't say anything and neither will I. Probably best to wait two or three days before you try to make a withdrawal. Why don't you stay here on the property while we listen for a bit? See if this makes the Prophet."

"What about Andy?" asked Narcissa. "If I can't talk to someone…"

"Ah," said Potter. "Can't say I understand, exactly, but I get how that could become stressful. Let's try the salon."

Two minutes later, Potter and his houseguest were expecting company, Andromeda and Teddy Tonks. They returned to the kitchen, where Potter ordered scrambled eggs and toast. Andromeda arrived, little Teddy swaddled from head to toe against the floo system bumps and soot.

"Oh," said Andromeda in surprise, Narcissa not having spoken when Potter asked the Tonks to join him for breakfast at Grimmauld Place.

"Andy," said Narcissa, standing.

"Cissy," Andromeda replied, a bit of puzzlement coming through.

"Narcissa spent the night," interjected Potter. "Black family business, nothing untoward about it. The family magic or the marriage contract or Magic itself, probably all together, I'm guessing. Narcissa is no longer married to Lucius, or so it appears, and was thus sent packing from Malfoy Manor."

Andromeda had questions, of course, so Narcissa told her story again, from the beginning.

"Does that all sound logical?" Potter asked when she'd finished.

Andromeda Tonks nodded.

"Father!" she said. "Wish I could see him. I'd tell him he did a good job!"

"What do you think he'd say to you?" asked Narcissa.

"Oh, he'd shun me, I suppose," said Andromeda. "I'd shame him by showing some respect. He wouldn't grasp my subtle meaning but I'd have the satisfaction."

"That's some complex thinking," said Potter. "Do you want some breakfast? Kreacher!"

Potter turned his attention to overdoing the hospitality. Two Blacks were in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and Lord Harry would see that they were accommodated in accordance with their rank. He kept an eye on the clock. Gringotts Bank opened at nine, so he excused himself to dress for business before proceeding to Diagon Alley, returning to Grimmauld Place just before ten.

"Let's talk," said Potter when he found the two witches.

They sat at the dining table. Potter handed over two receipts from the bank.

"This is a gift from me," he began. "I don't know how you're both set for ready cash and I don't want you coming to me when you're down to your last knut, so please accept without arguing. It's just a cushion to give us time to assess income and outflow. Someone among the Blacks had to be thinking about something other than blood purity, or so it appears. There is a little bit of income from investments and no one has been spending it, so there you go."

"Harry—" Andromeda began.

She was looking at her receipt as Narcissa was hers.

"Ten thousand?" Andromeda asked.

"No arguments!" said Potter. "I mean it. Let's get through the next month or six weeks. The picture should be much clearer by then."

"Narcissa, do you need a lawyer? Don't try to negotiate with the Malfoys and their hacks on your own. They probably have orders to humiliate you whenever and wherever possible."

This brought forth a bark of a laugh from Andromeda. For just a moment, Narcissa looked like she was going to start crying.

"True," Narcissa admitted. "I expect I'll be hearing from them soon. I wonder if they need contact information?"

"Let's think about that," said Andromeda. "If you want to keep Number Twelve confidential, for now, don't just give away your location. That's another reason to get representation. Their solicitors can write to yours, who can write back…"

That was where everything stood when the discussion ended. After Dobby was liberated, a new house elf came to Malfoy Manor. This one managed to survive Lucius' rages and the residency of Tom Riddle, also known as the Dark Lord Voldemort. Scythe, the new elf, was the only fulltime resident of Malfoy Manor after Narcissa was cast out. A breakfast table discussion of property division brought the Black elf, Kreacher, into the solution.

"If Madame wishes, Kreacher can assist," the elf volunteered.

"Pardon me?" asked Harry.

"Milord, if Madame wishes, Scythe can collect her belongings and place them on the green. Kreacher will travel to Malfoy Manor and bring Madame's property here."

So it transpired. Narcissa agreed, Harry gave his permission and the house elves worked it out. Kreacher put everything in the shed behind the garden at Number Twelve.

"With Madame's permission," Kreacher said, "Begging Madame's pardon, but Kreacher thought that spells…"

Narcissa understood immediately.

"Of course! Excellent thinking, Kreacher!"

"What?" asked Harry.

"Anyone could have done mischief to any of these, or all of them," said Narcissa. "I'm thinking of Lucius, mainly, but Bella could get into a state now and then. Come up with something to bedevil me, if I didn't meet her standards of loyalty. A trace, so she could track me down if I disappeared. A toxic hairbrush that activated when some line was crossed."

"Maybe I'm lucky I never had a sister," Harry muttered. "What do you want to do?"

Narcissa looked at the pile on the floor of the shed.

"Get some help," said Narcissa.

For the next two days, Harry Potter was a full-time godfather to Teddy Lupin, while Narcissa and Andromeda cast revealing charms on the objects in the pile. Relatively few showed signs of being enchanted. The experienced witches reversed the spells quickly. Narcissa took the opportunity to dispose of the worn-out, obsolete and no longer useful. The remaining property went inside to Narcissa's room with a snap of Kreacher's fingers.

"Kind of crowded," Harry said, surveying the result.

"Maybe that will force me to get rid of some more," said Narcissa. "New life, new stuff."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Aren't we all? I can't get over the feeling that I'm in a new world. Everything I thought about for the last seven years is done, and I don't know anything about living like…well…this. Like a normal person. In a normal world."

That put an end to the conversation as the two entered their own thoughts about their new situations.

The legal proceedings in Malfoy v. Malfoy, which Narcissa and Andromeda had feared would dominate news coverage for weeks, if not months, were relatively short-lived and painless. The marriage contract was definitive. Lucius, Narcissa and their clan chiefs at the time had all signed away their privacy rights as to the fulfillment of the contract. The blood signatures pledged the signers to good-faith efforts to meet the terms. Lucius struck his wife in anger just before commencing a term of confinement, the combination sufficient to trigger dissolution of their marriage without further legal proceedings.

The physical abuse wasn't sufficient in and of itself. What set Narcissa free was Lucius' conscious and willing commission of crimes sufficient to result in his incarceration. Narcissa suffered the legal injury known as 'Loss of consortium.' Going to prison, which he richly deserved, made Lucius unavailable so Magic judged him in default.Confirmation and a joint reading of the contract at Gringotts, with Lucius' solicitor present as the Malfoy representative, were sufficient to affirm the language and the result.

A witch had entered Gringotts, invisibly bound by a broken contract and habits of restraint. A free witch of London, her honor and true name restored, walked out. Narcissa didn't dither in Diagon Alley, but apparated to Number Twelve.

"Lord Harry is in the kitchen, Madame, with your sister and Master Teddy," said Kreacher as he took Narcissa's cloak.

Narcissa walked down the short flight of steps to the kitchen, tossing an accordion portfolio on the table. Andromeda Tonks looked at the package, then back at her sister.

"And?" she asked.

"Hi. Narcissa Black, pleased to meet you," answered Narcissa, extending her right hand.

Congratulations and celebratory noises took up the next half-minute, followed by suggestions for libations or tea or coffee. Teddy looked on, initially showing some alarm at all the loud talk. Once he decided the big people were happy, he added his toothless laughs to the merriment.

"So, what next?" asked Andromeda.

"If I could have a few more days?" answered Narcissa, looking at Harry.

"Of course, whatever you need," he answered. "I'm gone, most of the time. School will start back up. I decided to take the makeup year. Walburga will appreciate the company."

"No she won't," the sisters said, together.

"Anyway, thank-you, Lord Harry," said Narcissa. "I won't forget this."

Andromeda looked between the others, some puzzlement showing. As could be expected, she was wrong, until she was right.

Potter returned the following Saturday evening, a long day's work at Hogwarts behind him. He arrived via the floo system, stepping out of the fireplace in the front parlor of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

"Wow," said Potter, looking around the parlor. "How…?"

The room was recognizable, with enough changes visible to make it somewhat unfamiliar.

"Cleaning," said Narcissa. "Everything, floor, walls, ceiling, pictures, furniture, windows. Kreacher just needed instructions. Some of the pieces couldn't be repaired so they're gone. That opened the room up so it feels larger. Want to see the rest?"

Potter agreed to a tour and Narcissa led him around. Kreacher and Narcissa had gone through every room. Sirius' and Regulus' rooms were free of pinups and the collectables every adolescent acquires. All of the furnishings were gone as well, except for an antique armoire in Regulus' room that Narcissa declared too significant to let go.

"So, you're free to re-furnish and decorate in whatever style you want," said Narcissa.

Potter stood, staring straight ahead.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked.

"No, not at all," said Potter. "I guess it is just the fact that I've never had a room to treat the way I wanted, forget about a whole house. Maybe that takes getting used-to."

Narcissa looked at Potter, her closed-mouth smile causing dimples to appear on her cheeks.

"Like it?"

"Very much," said Potter.

"Getting ideas? What you'd like to do?" Narcissa asked.

"Yes," Potter said. "Go slow. Until I figure out what I'm doing. Like I said, getting used to it."

"Lord Harry, if I may be so bold, this is your station in life now. It was all along, to be truthful. Even if others kept it from you. I know you'd rather have your parents back than some title. Same with Sirius. So would I. That is water under the bridge, though, isn't it? You are stepping up to your responsibilities. Now, ready for dinner?"

Potter stood, blinking, thinking over Narcissa's brief soliloquy.

"Yes," he said. "I'd better. Give me a poke if I fall asleep in my plate. We had quite a day today."

Summer became late summer, which blended seamlessly with fall. Hogwarts was able to commence classes in mid-September. Potter took the Hogwarts Express to Scotland, at the request of Hermione Granger. She had been named Head Girl by the new Headmistress, Professor McGonagall. The professor had traveled to London to offer Granger the position.

"It's the highest honor we can give you, Miss Granger," said McGonagall.

"Honors," muttered Granger.

She paused to consider her next words.

"I'm not sure I feel a need for honors right now."

"I understand that," said McGonagall. "However, I have accepted responsibility for the restoration of magical education at Hogwarts. That isn't something anyone should attempt without help. Even Albus Dumbledore would find this coming year challenging. We're in fair shape, except for one position. The one I'm offering you."

"Ah," said Granger. "You've a Head Boy? Harry, I suppose?"

"No, he would have been a little further down the list," said McGonagall. "Still a bit…controversial. Could be a lightning rod, so soon, you see."

"Oh," Granger replied. "Who, then, if I may ask?"

"Your classmate and fellow Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom," answered McGonagall. "Steady, very brave, led the underground while the school was under occupation. Stood up to Nagini, with a sword, in front of much of next term's student body."

"Mmm…Yeah. I owe Neville," said Granger. "Okay. If Neville can do it, so can I."

Granger came to Hogwarts for work details, although not as often as Potter did. She saw an opportunity a week before return to classes and drafted Neville Longbottom. Together, they cornered Potter and made their pitch.

"We need you on the train," Longbottom began.

It took both of them, but they did manage to wear Potter down. The usual chaos on the platform at King's Cross was quite tolerable, Potter found. That was a surprise. One reason for his hesitancy was a healthy fear of an attack of post-traumatic stress, brought on by a return to the scene of so many troubling childhood experiences.

Once the journey got underway, Potter found that he welcomed the distraction. The summer schedule was taking its toll. Being a godfather doesn't entail a lot of work for most men. Potter found that is not true when one's godson is an orphan with a single grandparent for a caregiver. Andromeda Tonks doted on Teddy. She had finished her own child-raising over twenty years before, but retained sufficient energy to shower Teddy with love and attention. Still, she was ready for whatever relief Potter could supply.

Castle restoration and being a godfather kept Potter tired. It sounded perverse to say it, but he liked the effect of dulled senses. When he turned in, he nearly always got a full night of uninterrupted sleep.

Andromeda and Teddy joined Potter and Narcissa at Number Twelve, for a meal, once or twice a week. They'd departed for home following dinner, the evening of the third Saturday in August. Narcissa excused herself and went upstairs, while Potter and Kreacher cleaned up. Kreacher's house elf magic made short work of the dining room, the kitchen and the dishes. Potter's tasks were uncomplicated. He was free to go over mental checklists in preparation for commencement of the school term while he dabbled in housekeeping.

When the kitchen was put right, Potter sat in his favorite chair, next to the wizarding wireless set, looking through the Daily Prophet. He was glad to read about life returning to normal. One indication was the number of engagement announcements. It made sense. Every war of any size is accompanied by intense emotions. Love happens, often with poor prospects for fulfillment. Peace breaks out and the actors must accommodate their feelings. Wartime romance, post-war weddings.

Potter was looking forward to Sunday. He would not be going to work in Scotland. His only plan was a desire to sleep until he woke up. Then he'd decide whether to order something up from the kitchen or go to the Leaky Cauldron for a nice, greasy breakfast.

He didn't hear any sounds coming from her direction so Potter assumed Narcissa was tucked in, sound asleep. After taking care of his teeth, Potter lay in bed, still thinking over the next couple of weeks and the final chores he needed to do before starting school. It was all pretty boring.

Sleep came quickly.

It didn't last very long. Well before midnight, Potter was awakened by the sounds of someone trying to cry, while keeping it to themselves. He heard sniffing, choked-off whimpers and long, shuddering exhalations. Then there would be a period of silence, followed by a repeat of the same sequence.

Potter grabbed his bathrobe and stepped out into the hall. A floorboard squeaked as a period of silence began, making him wonder if it was an instance of cause and effect. He stood in front of Narcissa's door, pondering courses. He was not a compulsive meddler in others' lives. On the other hand, Potter had taken in a relative in distress. He had some responsibilities.

"Narcissa?"

Potter knocked twice, softly.

"Narcissa?" he repeated.

"Can I come in?"

Silence, then, "Give me a moment."

Potter stood before the door, which opened, slowly.

"Please," said Narcissa, one hand on the doorknob, the other wiping tears.

She left the door open, turning her back on Potter.

"What's wrong?" Potter asked as he sank into a wing chair.

Narcissa opened an armoire and took a long housecoat down from a brass hook. She pulled the housecoat on, knotting the belt before rearranging her blankets and piling pillows against the bed's headboard.

"I was thinking about my life," said Narcissa. "Two years ago, I believed that the husband…or, the former husband and I, had our lives all sorted. We'd an heir, a home, a nice family fortune to tend. Lucius was interested in public life. Unlike me. I assumed that would be his hobby for the next few decades and mine would be Draco and whatever grandchildren he could give us. I guess I was oblivious to a few key issues. Stupid, wasn't I?"

Potter stared at Narcissa in the near-darkness, propped up on her pillows, turned toward him, bent at her waist and knees. She looked so beaten.

"I'm not that sure," Potter replied. "You missed some critical information about Riddle. Lots of people did. Until a few weeks back, there wasn't a reason to believe anyone, or any combination of witches and wizards, could stand against him. He dueled Dumbledore and Dumbledore couldn't kill him. Why should anyone else?"

"But you did," said Narcissa. "You showed us. There really was a Chosen One."

"Only if looked at from this end," Potter replied. "The prophecy did give people hope, I admit. Even me."

Narcissa looked at the wall above Potter's chair.

"Me, too," she said, after a bit. "When he moved into Malfoy Manor, it all hit at once. I was terrified, especially for Draco. Lucius had had a life, a good one, three or four lifetimes' worth of money and pleasures. Draco had barely begun to live. Seeing You-Know-Who in our home made it all real. He really was evil. He visibly enjoyed doing the vile and horrid. It comes back, in that place in between sleep and consciousness. I want to vomit. I want my skin scourged. Just from being in contact with that."

"You aren't alone, you know," said Potter.

"What do you mean?" asked Narcissa.

Potter didn't speak right away. He went cautiously, choosing his words. In time, he would sort the things he must take to his grave. He knew that. It had all come to him one day when he was working on the Rockpile, the area where the largest building blocks were collected before going back into the rebuilt Hogwarts castle. The heavy work challenged him, magic notwithstanding. When Potter was taking a few breaths, between blocks, his situation clarified. His life, going forward, would be bearable only as long as he disciplined his mind.

"I've seen things," he said. "Done things. I have to remember, several times a day, that each one seemed like something that couldn't be avoided, at the time. Maybe you have to remember that, too. If you didn't get a choice, you don't get any blame."

Neither said anything further. Narcissa lay on her left side, stretching her right leg out, straight. She pulled her left leg up until it looked as if it had belonged to a grasshopper. The rearrangement stretched her housecoat tight over her thigh.

"Can you hold me?"

Potter, on the verge of dozing off, snapped upright in the wing chair.

"What…I…don't know," he answered.

"Yes, you do," said Narcissa. "I needed to hear what you just said. Now I need to be held. Please."

Potter stood up and stepped to Narcissa's bedside.

"Stop thinking. Leave the bathrobe. Just lay down here beside me," she said, giving the duvet two or three pats with her hand.

Potter did as he was told. Narcissa raised herself up, found Potter's near hand and used it to position his arm so she could snuggle against the bicep, her cheek on his pectoral. He could see, in the dim light, that Narcissa had somehow discarded the housecoat.

"I did my duty, to the Blacks and the Malfoys," Narcissa muttered. "The Malfoys will go on, courtesy of Narcissa Black. I wonder if they will remember that, twenty years from now?"

While she talked, the thumb on her right hand began stroking the short hairs just above Potter's navel. It was so subtle it could have been an afterthought.