Disclaimer: [insert witty way of saying that the obvious facts concerning ownership and potential income here]

This chapter is brought to you by the perfect coffee mug. You never know how important a single cup is until you don't have its steady weight in your hands. Then you proceed to spend an hour and a half in a dusty warehouse picking up and setting down mug after mug, searching for the perfect mixture of color, heft, and drinkability. Goddess bless Old Time Pottery and its vast and varied selection of ceramics.

Chapter Warning: This chapter contains things that are ideologically sensitive such as a pagan rite and a teenage male being a teenage male. If you are offended, I apologize but will tell you to grow up in the same breath. All flames will only serve as laugh fodder and will be treasured for prosperity.

The play-park was loud with the glorious noise of children enjoying themselves. Even in the little warded section that was hosting Neville and Harry's birthday party was filled with the floating laughter and shrill screams of delightful mock battles. Molly's boys were making a competition out how much noise they could make compared to the muggles outside the wards, especially the precocious twins who despite being barely out of toddler years themselves were causing all sorts of problems for their oldest brother. The sun smiled cheerfully upon the celebrating crowds. Knots of conversing adults were wonderful islands for the children to run around and the little sandbox conjured for the event was popular with the toddlers.

Lily sighed happily and felt the yoke of fear caused by the war lift from her. This was a slice of normalcy and just what she needed. Instinctively, her eyes sought out her son, but he was happily playing with the toy dragon that Frank had given him for his birthday. The tiny spouts of flame that the dragon made had her concerned despite knowing about the build-in Tickling Charm. But despite it all, at this very moment, that was her only fear.

"Lily," Alice said quietly. Lily turned towards her friend and smiled, intent on sharing this newly-discovered peace. Like ice before the flame, her smile melted at the look on her sister's face. The round face had a sorrowful look upon it, unnaturally placed to all who knew that woman's kind and joyful heart. Alice's brown eyes shimmered in the warm sunlight and Lily knew that shimmer was from unshed tears. "Lily, can we talk? Away from the crowd?"

Lily nodded her assent. The pair quickly slipped down a tree-lined path and around a curve. They could still hear the noise that the children made, but it was now muffled by the trees and growth. Lily waited for her best friend to begin to speak and when she didn't, the redhead grew even more concerned.

"What's this about, Al? What's wrong?"

"I…The Mother came to me last night," the brunette started. Her voice was so soft that Lily moved closer to hear her better. Alice swallowed hard and took a deep breath. She hugged herself as if she had a chill. Lily touched the crossed arms, causing Alice to meet her gaze. She smiled with reassurance that she did not feel. Alice's pale lips twitched as if she was trying to smile back, but had failed. Alice continued, but her voice, for all that it was stronger, lacked emotion. "She told me that Harry was the child that the prophecy spoke of and that She would protect him as you had asked…She said that his life would not be easy as those we trusted would betray us. Lily…I think you need to be more specific in your and James' will about where Harry should go…and not go. The Mother warned me against Albus Dumbledore; She said he did not have Harry's best interests at heart."

"What does Dumbledore have to do with anything? We're neighbors, of a sort, and we work together in the Order, but why would he have anything to do with Harry?" Lily was confused. It was not that she doubted Alice's vision. It would not be the first time that the Goddess had visited the faithful witch about something and since she had started praying with Alice, Lily had grown to believe in those visitations even more. But the warning didn't make sense. "Harry goes to Sirius if anything happens to us; to you if anything happens to Sirius. Where else would he go?"

"Petunia," Alice spat. Lily felt an answering wave of anger. Petunia had been very hateful at her wedding and had declared her intent to never again contact Lily before she had left. Despite not having magic of her own, magic had recognized that they were sisters no more. Then cold fear replaced the anger as the thought of Harry in the woman's custody.

"He couldn't- -she's not related! Even if she fought for him, she couldn't get him." The words lacked the strength of conviction. The little voice that forecast doom and nothing else gleefully pointed out that wills could be sealed by order of the Wizengamot of which Dumbledore was head. Lily was distinctively nervous and could not think of any way to change that fact. "Will he be safe?"

"Lily," Alice growled, "that's not the point! Petunia could get Harry."

"What did She say?"

"She said he'd be safe- -that She would protect him, but Lily, Petunia."

"We just- -we just need to have faith that She just has it handled. Isn't that what you're always telling me? Have faith?"

The tears that Alice had been holding back began to trickle down her cheeks. The brunette lost the desperate look and gained an air of defeat in its place. Lily tightened her grip on her coven-sister and pulled her close. Lily rested her chin on Alice's shoulder as they both cried, for the death they knew was coming and the childhood that Harry would not enjoy should he go to Petunia. Sometimes, certainty was the hardest part of having faith.

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Harry looked at the book he had open on the floor near where he was kneeling. With a critical eyes, he compared his drawn circle with the diagram in the Black Grimoire. The square that was half the size of the surrounding circle glinted in the candlelight as if it were a steel cage containing some terrible beast rather than a chalk shape. Coming out of the center of each of the square's sides was a straight line capped by a sharp arch. There was barely an inch between the curved top of the arches and the wider, gentler curve of the encompassing circle. The Horcruxes sat in the center of it all like some kind of offering. The magic that rolled off of them seemed to be contained within the square, relieving the revolting feelings of helpless anger and restlessness that had been bothering him.

It had not realized just how much that magic might have been influencing him until its subtle voice was silenced. It was like turning off a radio whose volume was just below hearing range. Things just seemed cheerier. Unfortunately, in the absence of anger, his nerves were threatening to mutiny.

A quiet murmur caught his attention and caused him to give Hermione an anxious look. The witch in question was arranging the items necessary for the first step of the ritual while referencing the journal that harry had found amongst the boxes in the attic. Harry hadn't paid any attention to it beyond noting the fact that it seemed to be a hodgepodge of handwritten information and pages of what looked like duplicated pages from other books added seemingly randomly throughout the moderately sized volume, but Hermione seemed particularly taken with it…though she never did say why.

'Hmm. Note to self, ask later,' Harry commented inwardly.

Her light blue dressing gown seemed pale and flimsy in the flickering light cast from the candles in the scones on the wall. It reminded Harry of the gown she had worn to the Yule Ball in their fourth year—a truly odd thought considering what they would soon be doing. Naked.

'Oh, God.'

Harry swallowed around the thickness in his throat at that realization. Even knowing that they would not be doing anything remotely resembling the things that he and Ginny had gotten up to in the various broom closets of Hogwarts, harry had a nervousness similar to what he had felt the first time Ginny had pulled him into one of the aforementioned cramped spaces for a vamp session. He had never seen a girl naked in real life (though he had seen some fetching birds in Dean's skin magazines and groping Ginny in the darkness did inspire his imagination). He had just never even thought that Hermione—his bossy bookworm of a friend—would be the first.

Not that he had ever doubted Hermione's feminineness. It was just…well, she was Hermione. She had always been there through everything, even when Ron had turned his back or acted like a prat. She always seemed to know exactly what he needed, even if it were a smack to the back of the head. It seemed wrong to label that or use her as fodder for what his Aunt Petunia called 'perverse thoughts'. The thought of his aunt brought to mind that odd expression she had had when she told him farewell and was also highly effective at redirecting blood flow away from his groin which had taken a vested interest in the thought of Hermione's curvy form, groping, and broom closets.

"Ready?"

Harry blinked away from his internal thoughts to meet Hermione's warm eyes. She gave him a small, tight smile. One part of her bottom lip disappeared beneath pearly white teeth as she worried it. Somehow, knowing that his normally very confident friend was just as nervous as him about the prospect of what they were about to do bolstered his own confidence. Never underestimate the power of kindred spirits. He nodded at her, but made no move to remove the dressing gown that he wore over his boxers.

Their eyes met again as the nervous tension wound tighter between them. Then Hermione got the strangest look on her face. Her brown eyes crossed as if she was looking at something on her nose and she stuck her tongue out at him. As quickly as the expression appeared, it was gone again, leaving Hermione looking at him as innocently serious as Luna after she mentioned some odd creature. The entire experience was silly to the point of Harry expecting some random guy in a uniform to appear and scold them. The fact that it was Hermione, straight-laced Hermione, who made the face made it even funnier. Harry couldn't help his reaction. He burst out with a bark of laughter that quickly morphed into a gale. Hermione followed with ladylike snickers.

"There now," Hermione said after their laughter had abated somewhat, though she still sounded a bit winded. "Isn't that better? Are we ready now?"

"I think so," Harry gasped. His lips were stretched into a wide grin the like of which he hadn't felt like doing since Dumbledore had died and the war became real. He took a deep breath and let it out, attempting to regain the serious mindset. His hands settled onto the belt's knot. "Um, so how do you want to…you know?"

"I think it would be easier if you came over here—around, not through, Harry! You don't want to disturb the circle's energy. Good. Now, I'll cast the spell on you first so that you can see it one last time. Um…we'll need to be out of the robes…"

Their eyes met again though the tension didn't return. Their bout of laughter seemed to have settled their mutual nerves enough that they weren't going to pass out from embarrassment. Unfortunately, Harry, being the teenage boy that he was, felt a stirring at the thought of 'naked woman' regardless of what he felt about said possessor of nakedness. He felt his face begin to turn the color of Ron's hair. The thought of his other best friend was enough to still that stirring—thankfully. This would have been a terrible time to find out that about himself.

"Rock, Paper, Scissors—for who goes first, I mean?"

"Or you could be a gentleman and offer to go first," Hermione teased lightly with a gentle fist press to his shoulder. Harry gave her a pout, but began to undo the belt of his dressing gown without any other protest. It took less than a minute to slip off both articles of clothing that he had worn during the preparations. He sat them aside easily and looked back at Hermione, prepared to issue a challenge for her to do the same only to find that while he had been focusing on removing his shorts, she had been shedding her own dressing gown. That was not the only thing that Harry had discovered in that moment as his mind gleefully informed his hormone addled imagination.

Hermione was most definitely, without a doubt and without reservation, a woman.

"Erg," he said as he choked on his breath. Hermione turned away to reach for their wands as if unaware of the fact that her best friend was seriously contemplating how much he respected her versus how very toss-worthy her form was under her cloths. If he had had any blood left for cognitive purposes at the moment, Harry might have been more than a tad bit envious of how comfortable she was within her own skin. 'Oh, Ron's gonna kill me,' was Harry's only other thought.

"Ioncuimil," Hermione said, pointing her wand at Harry with a flourish. All thoughts of wanking left him as the spell washed over him like a wave of sandpaper. Despite having bathed earlier so thoroughly that he made an obsessive-compulsive person seem tame, it felt like the necessary purification spell was taking off a thick layer of skin. He understood the need to be completely 'purified' before attempting to purify the artifacts with the ritual, but damn if that didn't feel mighty uncomfortable. It also left him with an odd feeling that was similar to how he felt after carrying Dudley home. Not the crushing pain that was his cousin's bulky weight, but the relieved feeling of letting go of a heavy burden. The whirlwind of sensation left him panting slightly, but energized. When he was finally able to focus again, he noticed Hermione's concerned look. "Are you alright, Harry?"

"I—" Harry's voice cracked in the embarrassing way that he had been spared up until now. He took a deep breath to recover and tried again. "I'm fine, Hermione. It's just rather, er, intense."

He gave her a reassuring smile and lifted his wand. She eyed it a moment before nodding her assent. He repeated the spell. She gave a little gasp despite having braced for it. She didn't seem to be in any pain, however. The emotion covering her face was much different. Harry found himself fascinated by the blissful expression on her face as her gasp turned into a relaxed sigh. It caused something inside him to stir. It was the same hungry beast that had led him to give Ginny that first joyous kiss, but it wasn't growling like then. It only gave a contented purr that Harry did not have the time or inclination to think about at the moment. Hermione opened her eyes and gave him a Madonna-like smile.

"Oh, intense is right," the witch murmured. She shook her head as if to clear it of cobwebs. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Harry had seen her do this to calm herself. Sometimes, she had to be reminded to do it, but Harry knew that it worked for her. Hmm. He added it to his growing list of things to think about later when he wasn't in the middle of trying to destroy Voldemort. Recovered, she reached for his wand and placed them back on the side table that was serving as an altar. With a ruthless determination, Harry squashed the little voice that sounded suspiciously like his Uncle Vernon that was commenting on the freakishness of the whole situation and focused on helping Hermione bless the circle that took up a good portion of the smooth stone floor.

They worked fluidly as if it was a completely normal occurrence to call upon invisible beings called 'Guardians of the Watchtowers'. Surprisingly, Hermione didn't scoff at the thought of them like she did nargles. Harry never did get around to asking her the why of that due to Ron doing his angry bear routine all week, but he suspected it had to do with the fact that the phrase occurred in several books other than the Black Grimoire. It wasn't until he took the chalice from her and had turned to go around the circle to bless it that their fluidity faltered.

At the sight of his back, Hermione had gasped. Harry stilled and looked over his shoulder at her. Her mouth was hanging open as her eyes traced …something… on his back. She seemed to gather herself quickly and mouthed the words 'tell you later' at him. He gave her an answering nod and continued through the necessary motions of the blessing.

After the image had been blessed, the chalk seemed to shine with a light that was more than a mere reflection of the candlelight. Harry had the same feeling of the hair rising on the back of his neck that he got around the Horcruxes, except without the same brooding feeling that they inspired. He knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that they had achieved the effect that they were after. It made him nervous about the next part—the part that was undeniably religious. If this worked, and so strongly, what would calling on a Deity do?

Harry was particularly religious, or even spiritual. The Dursleys had gone to church, yes, but only because that was what normal people did. They didn't put anything behind it. But now that they were going to call out to a goddess with no name and ask her a favor. He had never even thought of the possibility of a goddess before a week ago. What if…what if she was real? What did that mean for…well, everything?

He felt Hermione's hand slide into his and give him a squeeze. The warm moisture of her grip grounded him just as her nervousness earlier had done. Whatever happened, Hermione was there beside him like she always was, a strong lighthouse amidst the turbulent seas of his life ever beckoning him to safety or at very least, sanity. He took a deep breath, feeling the fear leak out of him. He gave her an answering squeeze, but did not drop her hand. He could really use the anchor at the moment. He felt her tap a simple rhythm with her index finger against the back of his hand. Harry didn't need to look at her to catch her signal to start the intonation.

"We come before You, oh Goddess,

Willing supplicants and completely bare

Before Your all-seeing gaze."

Harry felt as if he had caught the attention of McGonagall. From the slight tremble that Hermione's hand now had, he knew that she could feel it too. Whatever was paying attention now was way stronger than anything Harry had ever met before in his life. The strong scent of magic began to be noticeable. If he had been pressed for a description, he would have likened it to the smell of ozone that preceded a storm. But there was a feeling that went with that smell. Harry had never felt like he did in that moment, not that he could recall, anyway. The reassurance and pure acceptance was very similar to how Hermione made him feel, but somehow it was…simply more.

"We seek Your help, Mother of All,

In the purification of these items.

We lay them before You in this consecrated space,

Offerings that are unworthy of Your Purity.

Take away their taint.

Make them worthy,

As You do all things in Your time.

Destroy the darkness, oh Wisest Crone,

That permeates them and by them, us."

A wind whipped around the small room, leaving nothing untouched. The tiny flames atop the candles danced merrily in it, casting strange shadows upon the walls. The faint glow of the circle grew in strength. Its magical light warmed his skin as if it were sunlight—no, as if it were the bloody effing sun. Harry could feel his skin prickling against it. His scar began to ache, dully at first but gradually it grew from ache to sharp pain. Only years of stifling his cries kept him giving away evidence of it beyond a deepening of his voice as he spoke the final words in unison with Hermione.

"May our wills be one, Oh Great One!"

The power that they had raised snapped into action with a blinding flash that painted his vision white. Somewhere in the brightness, there were spots of tarry blackness that popped like the bubbles in the champagne that Uncle Vernon had bought to celebrate his promotion when Harry was nine. Harry could have sworn he even heard the tiny noise similar to that long-ago cork being freed. Something thick and wet trickled down his face to one side of his nose as the sharp pain in his scar graduated to stabbing agony. Grateful that the ritual's crucial parts were over, Harry sank to the ground, his knees too weak to hold him any longer.

"I think you might have to…" He took a deep, shuddering breath as he blinked rapidly in an instinctual attempt to clear the colored spots and growing fog from his vision. "To close the circle by…by yourself…'Mione."

"Harry? Oh, no, Harry! You're bleeding!"

"I am?" Harry reached the hand that was not gripping Hermione's like a lifeline and touched to moisture that was threatening to overflow his top lip. Groggily, he pulled it away and looked at his fingertips. Somehow, through the encroaching grayness, he saw the dark crimson of the aforementioned blood. A foul smell reached his nose from the ichor. He gagged as his stomach rebelled but managed to not embarrass himself. He looked up at his best friend and blinked owlishly at her. "I think…that I'm going to pass out…close…the circle…'Mione."

The last thing he saw was Hermione's frightened face and her lips moving. The sound of rushing water filled his ears and drowned out any sound that might have been coming from Hermione's mouth. The grayness turned to black and he knew no more. He was out before his body finished collapsing into a heap just outside the circle.

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Author's Note: Okay, before you lynch me, let me explain: I took a week off for my anniversary. Then I had a week long migraine (turns out my atlas is out again). Then my daughters broke my coffee mug—which may seem like it shouldn't be on this list, but that mug was important, I tell you. I have OCD which means I can be very ritualistic about things. Having my mug besides me as I write, taking sips as I contemplate the exact phrasing of what my characters are telling me and the merits of using this word over that one…it's more than just a two dollar bit of ceramic. It's part of the process.

So go ahead and think I'm a kook, a nut. Goddess knows that my husband has given me that look often enough over the past half week. Him and my oldest daughter. Thankfully, my youngest is on my side. Of course, she's still young enough to think that everything Mommy says is the greatest thing ever and probably didn't understand my mad ramblings about how to choose the perfect mug from among the several dozens of different kinds on the seemingly endless shelves at Old Time Pottery.