A/N: Thanks for the reviews - it's nice to have crossed the 250 review mark when one puts together all reviews from Portkey, ffnet, and GrangerEnchanted. Of those, 18 were from ffnet for the last chapter - thanks to MagicalRain, kittydemon18, Sinkingboat, Irishfighter, minerdude, Jimbocous, lycus, killing u with umbrellas, Clayton Rickey, Jade, elleminnowpee, jkarr, Sarina Malfoy 22, Phoenixfiregirl157, hpnut1, and even the Ginny-lovers redwoodhouse and SomeGuyFawkes. Oh, and, mustn't forget the anonymous flamer who has the most delightfully wrong spelling of 'disgust'.
I haven't watched OOTP yet, and still don't plan to. And no, I'm obviously not going to read DH either! It's strange, really - I just watched PoA on the telly here in Sydney - you can see a couple of places where RHr moments are forced in, and yet the HHr is so natural that it needs no anvil-sized hints for anyone to get it. Kinda like the pre-HBP books.
The aftermath of the duel was straightforward enough. Ron was taken to St Mungo's, and news agencies haunted the Press Room there awaiting the bone count. They were disappointed when the medics announced that Ron only had sixty three bones broken, as that was well short of the British record, let alone the European and world records, for number of bones broken in a single duel. On the other hand, it was a new British record for number of bones broken in a duel that last less than one hour, so that gave at least the local press some headlines.
Hermione collapsed about a minute after she was declared victory, though she would later argue that she was merely 'taking advantage of a prime opportunity to have a kip'.
Harry and Alyx and the two Felician medics Hermione had brought with her (she couldn't risk her secrets being revealed at St Mungo's) were the first by her side, taking full advantage of the anti-Apparation wards going down as soon as the duel ended. For once, Alyx didn't glare at Harry.
"Is she alright?" asked Alyx worriedly.
"Is there anything we can do?" asked Harry, who was a lot more used to dealing with medics in injury situations.
One of the medics, an older witch who reminded him of Madam Pince, was efficiently running a scan of Hermione's body with her wand. The other, a young wizard who was an apprentice of hers, looked up from the bag of medical equipment and potions vials that he was examining.
"Yeah," he said, noting the need to keep the onlookers out of his way, "actually there is. It would help if we knew exactly which curses Weasley used on her. Especially that one." There was no need to specify which curse he was referring to.
Harry nodded curtly and Apparated to St Mungo's, where Ron had already been taken.
"And me?" asked Alyx.
The medical apprentice nodded to the rapidly approaching forms of Brian and Chris. "Keep them out of the way. Please."
Alyx nodded. "You better come up with a quick assessment to keep them satisfied, though."
The old witch looked up. She looked a lot calmer now. "She'll be alright. Mostly exhaustion. Hardly surprising, that. That curse was nasty though. Either Vernius or Nervatus or some variant. Hope it's the latter."
Brian and Chris had gotten there by now, and were hanging on her every word.
"So we don't need to take her to St Francis, then?" asked Alyx, referring to the Irish equivalent of St Mungo's, where Hermione's Felician origins wouldn't cause any problems with the Healers.
The old Healer shook her head. "No. You mentioned that her mum has a room all ready for her? That'll be fine."
Brian, with more than a touch of relief, muttered to Chris, "Gran will be chuffed. She's been wanting mum to visit her more often for aaages!"
There was a small crack then; Harry had returned. The twins had their wands in his direction by reflex, and lowered them when they saw who he was. Tensions between them had dissipated a bit due to familiarity and some stern words from their mother that their father had been a victim too, but he was still far from being considered a father in their eyes.
"Nervatus," said Harry, looking at the old witch. "Ron cast Nervatus on her."
She nodded back at him. "Good. She'll recover fine then. We'll get some potions together for her."
"How on earth did you find out anyway?" asked Alyx.
"He had a wand in his arm," replied Harry. "No, I didn't know he had one. Don't look at me like that, we both had our secrets. Anyway, Hermione broke it when she broke his arm so we couldn't do Prior Incantato on it. So I woke him up and ripped the memory of the duel from his mind."
The two medics winced. "The folks taking care of Weasley must be cursing your name," commented the apprentice. "That's not particularly conducive to recovery."
Harry shrugged. "I've hurt Hermione enough by always supporting Ron." He added, in a lower voice, "Even at school."
Brian glanced at Chris, who looked thoughtful.
Ginny Weasley looked at the anonymous letter she had just been sent. 'Granger is Felician,' it said. She blinked. That couldn't be, could it? Unlike her ex-husband, she didn't need to look them up. She was well aware who cat people were; she'd heard of them while growing up, and had even written an essay on the last Felician Rebellion in Britain in her seventh year for History of Magic.
The first thing that came to mind was the way Harry's body had looked like after Hermione had f--ked him. He was more mauled than scratched, particularly on his back.
The strange thing was, when she had shown the photographs of his abused body to Harry, he'd simply widened his eyes for a moment, and then laughed wildly. She'd even worried slightly about his sanity for a moment - until he'd sobered up and told her that she - Ginny - had cut him a lot worse.
The nerve of the man! Ginny had rescued Harry from Hermione's claws, and now she was the one getting cast away like yesterday's stale merchandise! And the concern that he had shown Hermione after the duel with Ron - when it was his best mate who had dozens of bones broken - was a scandal.
Something had to be done to bring down Hermione Granger. And all it would require was someone who knew Magical British society inside and out. In other words - herself. And she knew some Purebloods who would be delighted to help...
Petr stood by Alisha beside the door to Hermione's room. The brunette witch had not woken up yet. She'd taken some potions, which were directly sent into her body by the medics. They had now gone, and Petr - having the most medical training of anyone present - was now officially designated as her watcher. In the unlikely event than anything happened to her, he would be the one who looked after her for the first few minutes while the others summoned the Healers.
Since they knew Hermione would be fine with time, the atmosphere was fairly relaxed for a room that was acting as a makeshift infirmary. Hermione's mother was downstairs making mince cupcakes, while Brian and Chris were doing their Transfigurations homework outside. It was just their summer homework from Hogwarts, which meant it was easier than the stuff their mother gave them. It wasn't as fun though - at least she gave them tasks like turning blocks of wood into dinky cars and then charming the dinky cars to play robosoccer. Petr was rather impressed by that idea, and was already planning how to modify it to use with his rambunctious nieces. They would probably charm their Barbie dolls to throw kicks like Buffy.
Most interestingly, Harry sat by Hermione's bedside, watching. Petr and Alisha had got the story of their new colleagues' past - both ancient and recent - history from Alyx and Mrs Granger.
Petr watched the look on Harry's face and soon placed the Boy Who Lived high on his list of people never to play poker with.
"He's confused," commented Alisha.
Petr blinked, and then looked at the Egyptian witch. "What?" he said.
"Harry," she said, inclining her head slightly in the British wizard's direction. "He's confused at the way life has turned upside down for him. He remembers simpler times where she was the rock he held on to, and now he wants her to be his rock again."
Petr blinked again. "How do you know?"
"Can't you tell?" she asked, genuinely curious.
He shook his head.
"Oh," she replied. "Oh well. Never mind. He probably doesn't know it himself either." She shook her head, as if clearing cobwebs from it. "We need to have a talk about the mission. I'll create a table here, you go bring him."
The Potions Master nodded, and went over to Hermione's bed. He first made to touch Harry's shoulder, then stopped himself. One of his cousins was an Auror in Slovenia and had once punched him when he tried approaching from behind. Paranoid folks, Aurors, even ones that had just retired. Instead, he walked over to the other side of the bed, opposite to where Harry was. The messy-haired fighter glanced up towards him. Petr inclined his head to where Alisha had already set up a table and three chairs and some files. Harry nodded and got up, giving a final glance to Hermione's prone form.
Alisha had set up the three chairs around the circular metal table so that two of them had a good view of Hermione. She took the third. Petr nodded at her in appreciation; this way he could keep an eye on the unconscious witch should she stir. Harry said nothing, and made no inclination that he'd noticed. It was entirely possible that he hadn't.
"Muffliato," cast Alisha. "You alright there, Harry?"
"Yeah," said Harry. "Just worried about my ki - never mind. Say, Petr," he perked up suddenly, "is there a Potion that one can take to make you immune to other Potions? You know, like love and lust and loyalty Potions?"
Petr thought for a while. "No," he eventually replied to Harry's disappointment. "Not against all of them. There are a couple of reliable potions against love potions. And some good immunity charms against most other types. Use them both, and you should be mostly covered. But they aren't foolproof." He didn't ask who they were for, but figured that Harry had a long list.
"Safe for kids?" asked Harry.
Petr raised an eyebrow. "Some modifications will be required, but in principle, yes. Shall we meet after this and talk about it?"
Harry nodded gratefully and turned to Alisha. "Sorry," he said. "You were saying?"
She brushed his apologies aside. "Right then. Yesterday I Flooed to Chicago and stole Akenhaton's Third Amulet from the Field Museum. Akenhaton was Nefertiti's husband, remember? I had to see some folks at the Oriental Institute in Hyde Park anyway, so it was on my way." She took out her handbag and started to empty it.
Petr and Harry watched open-mouthed as she began placing things from her handbag on the table. It soon became obvious that it was a bottomless container, containing various empty and full potions vials, a packet of owl treats, innumerable brands of chocolate, a video ipod, an Uzi, a magnetic wizarding chess set...
"She's got more stuff in there than my sister!" gasped Petr in disbelief. "She's got four daughters!"
Harry looked at Alisha curiously, and then at Petr.
"My sister, I mean," clarified the Serbian wizard.
... a plastic cutlass, a framed and signed photograph of Matthew Macfadyen snogging some doe-eyed beauty, two table tennis bats, three broken table tennis balls, and - finally - an amulet.
"Aha!" cried Alisha triumphantly. "Here we are!" She held the amulet up. "Behold!' she cried theatrically. "The Third Amulet of Akenhaton!" Then, as if realizing that the old trinket looked somewhat unimpressive, she added a sparkly charm to it. "There. Isn't he a beauty?"
Petr peered at it closely. "There's a bit of someone's soul in that thing?"
"Hang on a moment," said Harry. "You said you stole it from the Field Museum? Didn't they notice?"
"Oh, they didn't. I left a copy behind," replied Alisha. "Hermione made it earlier. She's really good at it. If she ever gets tired of this research lark, she can always make her living ruining the economies of Muggle countries by creating perfect counterfeit currency."
"And the cameras?" asked Harry, ignoring his old friend's less legitimate career options.
"Security's gotten worse over the centuries," replied Alisha with a shrug. "When you've gotten past cursed tombs that could turn your blood to iron, getting past a few recording devices and lasers is child's play." She gestured at some of the items on the table. "And child's play is something I've had a lot of practice at."
Petr was still looking closely at the amulet, though he made sure not to touch it. "Is there really a bit of soul in that?" he asked again. He then cast a spell to project a larger three-dimension projection of it in front of them.
"Beats me," replied Alisha. "Hermione's the expert on that. We'll have to wait for her to wake up." She began placing things back in her handbag. It was particularly enlightening to watch the Uzi fit inside. Bottomless bags were truly remarkable.
While watching, Harry had a sudden realization. "You use Sequential Wards in your handbag!" he cried.
Alisha grinned at him.
"I wondered why you had to take so many things out of your handbag before you got to the amulet!" exclaimed Harry, impressed. "I didn't know you could place those wards on something so small - oh, it's bottomless, that's why. It's not small at all. Very nice."
By this time, Petr was watching with interest as well, and making a note of what to buy his sister for a Christmas present. She could use the wards to stop her kids digging through her handbag for chocolate. "What would happen if someone tried to take something out without taking stuff first in the right sequence?" he asked.
In response, Alisha conjured a small wooden pole and poked it into her handbag. After a few pokes, it snapped shut with a loud crunching sound, leaving the pole even smaller.
Petr reminded himself to investigate handbags with wards that his sister would find less ... offensive.
"Right," said Harry, "You won't find me ever digging in your handbag for loose change."
As Alisha continued putting things in her handbag, Harry joined Petr in examining the large projection of the amulet above the table.
"Can you make out anything from those verses written on it?" asked Harry.
Petr turned towards him in bewilderment. Alisha stopped her movements as well. She hadn't seen anything written on it. A few funny squiggles and designs, but nothing else ...
"What verses?" asked Petr. "And where?"
Harry pointed at a point on the projection. "There!"
Alisha exchanged a look with Petr, who then said in an awed voice, "Parseltongue..."
"What?" asked Alisha. "Oh. Oh! It's a written language! Wow! This has so many possibilities! Harry, you're going to have to come back to Egypt with me! We need to drag you to some tombs and see if you can see any more Parseltongue written anywhere!"
"Er," said Harry, who had also realized what had happened. "These would be the cursed tombs you were talking about?"
"Yes! Yes! It will be so exciting!" She clasped her hands together in anticipation.
"Never mind that," interrupted Petr, saving Harry from their friend's nefarious plans to turn him into a Archeological translation device. "What does it say?"
"Oh, right," said Harry. "Got a paper?"
Alisha grabbed a notepad and pen from her somewhere on her voluminous robes, and nodded at him.
He read the words out.
His companions sighed.
"Don't read them out," said Petr. "We don't understand spoken Parseltongue any more than the written version. Translate it."
"Ah," replied Harry. "That could be difficult."
Amy Potter sat by the fountain in the backyard of the Potter Manor, waving her legs in the pool. This was her Official Thinking Place, and even Nigel didn't actively bother her when she thought here.
Adults everywhere teach children that truth is an important and precious thing. And like other precious things such as TV remotes and china plates and firewhiskey, it must be kept away from children for as long as is possible.
Children everywhere know that they are far stronger and more resilient to the burdens of truth than adults perceive them to be. (This knowledge is rapidly forgotten as they become adults themselves, but that is another story.) They wish that adults would just tell them the truth, instead of leaving them to rely on methods such as eavesdropping, watching body language, eavesdropping, reading old newspapers, and eavesdropping.
If there was an association called Overhearers Anonymous, its average age would be nine and three quarters.
It was obvious to Amy that her parents had had an Argument. With a capital 'A'. They had only had arguments - with a little 'a' - before, over things like some interviews she wanted him to attend or that she was spending too much on shoes. But those were small, those were fixable. This one though, this Argument didn't fit in that category. It sounded awfully Final. With a capital 'F' that needed no explanation.
It was also clear that the argument didn't just involve her parents. Uncle Ron was in on it too, and Grandma, and they were both on her mother's side. Which was why she hadn't seen either of them in a week. She had seen her mother a couple of times - she had been crying a lot and looked like she had just been in a fight. Mostly though, she'd been seeing an awful lot of her aunts and uncles.
And her dad, of course. He'd quit his job and was now staying at home a lot. And he still refused to give her a straight answer whenever she or Nigel or Nicholas asked him where their mother was. The best answer, which Nigel had managed to pry out from him, was that their mother had done something very, very bad, and that she would have to get punished for it.
She sighed, and suddenly noticed that Nigel was also sitting at the fountain, watching her.
"How long have you been there?" she asked him.
"Some time," he replied with a shrug. "Five minutes, maybe."
Amy raised her eyebrows like her father had unknowingly taught her. She was surprised he was that patient with her. He'd been behaving differently ever since Harry had showed all of them, individually, some memories of his childhood. She'd been horrified herself, and vowed never to bully anyone again, or stand by idly while someone was bullied. She knew Nicholas felt likewise, but she wasn't sure about Nigel. Even though he was her twin, she couldn't always tell what he was thinking - they weren't like their Uncles Fred and George.
"Mum managed to get us a letter," he said, holding it out for her. She grabbed it at once.
Dearest Nigel, Amy, and Nicholas,
I miss you three so much! I wish I could see you right now, but I can't. Your father has been tricked by an evil witch. Her name is Hermione Granger. She has placed a spell on your father and made him believe that I tricked him a long time ago. I need your help to rescue your father. For now, pretend to do what he wants.
I must go now. I will contact you later.
I love you all!
Mum
Nature abhors a vacuum. The absence of truth creates a vacuum. Anything can fill a vacuum.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed the reference to Pride and Prejudice.
Also, I have a list on my LJ page of Grangerverse fics I'd like to see, like Hermione/Lily or Hermione-is-Lily or Medusa!Hermione (she sees the basilisk and the snake gets petrified) ...
Finally... I'm getting sick and tired of all this Deathly Hallows hooplah. With the fanfiction universe as diverse and good and thriving as it is, who cares what happens in canon any more? Can't we just treat Jo as one of the more important Potterverse writers and leave it at that? Okay, maybe she's not just any other writer, but you get my point...
Keep those flames coming; they add to the review count. And will all flamers please check their grammar and spelling before submitting their - er - contributions? Nothing lowers the heat of a flame like a typo.
Complimentary and constructive reviews are welcome as well. I am well aware of some (apparent) plot holes in this fic - like "How come the European Felician Council got an Egyptian on the team when Egypt isn't in Europe?"