Chapter Two

The Familiar Stranger

Hermione watched as Harry climbed up onto the dragon's back. Certainly, she wanted the poor creature freed of its barbaric existence here within the hidden depths of Gringotts, and yes, they needed a way out, but this seemed like madness! Weren't they trying to not die before he faced Voldemort?

And what was that noise she kept hearing from below? Soft, incredibly distant; it might well be her imagination. She glanced over the ledge, momentarily distracted by what she swore sounded like footfalls echoing up from the craggy rock walls beneath them. Maybe it was just a bank worker lurking down there.

"C'mon!" Harry shouted, snapping her attention back to him, back to the insane scene of her best friend sitting stride that iron belly.

Nodding, she grabbed the length of her black, sopping wet dress in one hand and used the other to steady herself against the dragon's side. She climbed up behind Harry, feeling a bit shaky as she tried to find purchase.

Sooner than she felt securely settled, Ron was clambering up after her.

There was so much noise—she was certain she could still hear the clang of the dragon's chains as they hit the stone floor ringing in her ears—and chaos around them. The beast roared as it lifted off, the sudden boom of sound giving all three riders a start, even as they clung to the creature's back. Hermione felt herself slide sideways a little as those massive wings beat at the air, creating a harsh wind beneath the dragon's body and sending the goblins below fleeing for cover.

Her heart jammed itself into her throat as the upward motion jostled her further from a safe position. She scrambled to hold on.

"Hermione, grab my hand," Ron shouted from behind her, but his words were barely audible over the tumult.

She attempted to turn halfway toward the wizard, trying to catch hold of him as she kept one arm gripped around the bony spike protruding from the dragon's spine before her. They had no control over the creature, if any of them fell—

Too late she felt herself jarred from her place as the dragon picked up speed and she slid down his side and off.

The witch bit back a shriek of alarm as she tumbled through the air. Even as she gripped Bellatrix's nicked wand, ready to cushion her landing if she could, she thought Harry and Ron screaming her name as the dragon smashed at the roof might be the last sound she ever heard.

Pulling in a lungful of air, she screamed back as loud as she could, "Go!" There was nothing as important as Harry facing Voldemort—not even her life—and she could not risk that one of them might be stupid enough to try to throw themselves down after her.

If one of them could survive this, it was her, and they all knew it.

Still, she braced for impact as she tried to turn in the air, the stone walkway and the scurrying goblins zipping by her.

Sucking in another breath even as the air felt ripped from her lungs and the plunge, itself, dizzied her, she opened her mouth to cast the spell as the ground came into view, rushing up to meet her.

But before she could get out the words to break her fall, she simply stopped. Barely two meters from that uneven stone floor, she hung suspended.

Her skin iced over and her heart hammered against her ribcage at this unexpected turn of events. She turned her head to look back up as her own breath thundered in her ears. Everything had happened so fast. Harry, Ron, and the iron belly were gone, and the goblins somewhere between that jagged patch of sky and this craggy rock face assumed her dead—unless this stop was some trap of theirs to ensure thieves they caught couldn't hope to escape by flinging themselves to their own deaths.

But Harry had gotten out. That was all that mattered right now.

"Seems I wasn't too late to help, after all," an unfamiliar voice said from somewhere nearby, relief threading his words.

Hermione snapped her head around, peering through the darkness. That hadn't been her imagination, after all! She had heard footsteps down here! "Um, if . . . if you're trying to help, could you maybe let me down?"

"Oh, right. Sorry."

She felt herself lowered, dropping the last scant bit of distance to land with a soft oomph. As she raised herself up on her elbows to look around, she saw a hand reached down to help her to her feet.

The cuff of the robe sleeve dangling around her rescuer's wrist was tattered and stained, like fabric so worn no matter how many times it was washed, it would never appear clean again. Did this wizard live down here?

It didn't matter, he was helping, and she had to get back to Harry and Ron before they did do something to get themselves killed. Honestly, she felt like she'd spent the bulk of the last seven years of her life saving their skins!

Oh, wait. That was probably because she had.

Nodding, she slid her hand into the stranger's as she caught her breath, letting him pull her up to stand.

It was not until that moment—not until he felt the press of her skin against his—that James realized how long it had been since anyone had touched him. A shudder or relief wracked through him and he all but doubled over, a sharp exhalation rattling out of him as his fingers stayed clasped around hers.

At the contact, he became aware that until now, there was a part of him that hadn't thought this was real. A part of him that believed he was still languishing in that cell . . . that his mind had broken and his taste of freedom, his hope being reunited with his son, was a hallucination.

Immediately, the young woman crouched down, her brown eyes wide and her brow creased in an expression of concern as she peered up into his face. "Oh, no! Are you injured? I've medical supplies! I—I could help—"

"No, no," James said, letting out a breathy laugh as he shook his head. "I'm fine. Besides, you've no time to worry about me. You have to go help Harry!"

He straightened up and she moved with him, her face doubtful at his assessment—that shiver just now didn't seem like he was fine. But there was no way he knew of the commotion, or had seen her companions, from down here, and he was helping her rather than turning a wand on her. There was only one way, then, that he could know she was on Harry's side. "You're with the Order?

Another wash of relief, but he managed to contain his reaction, this time. James Potter was smiling—genuinely smiling—for the first time in nearly seventeen years. The Order was still fighting!

"Yes!" James, nodded, thoughtlessly tugging on her hand as he turned. "We've got to get you out of here. Come, I know the way out."

Hermione stepped to follow . . . and stumbled over her own two feet, barreling right into his back at the spectacle of him holding out his free hand and producing a Lumos charm to hover atop his open palm.

He turned his head to look down at the confused witch just as she peeled her face from between his shoulder blades. The utter amazement in those brown eyes made him chuckle all over again. Yes, he was aware how uncommon, how utterly disbelieved wandless magic was, but he thought she was one of the Order, she was likely someone close to his son. If she wasn't safe, who was?

"Sorry," he said as she scrambled back to put space between them while still holding his hand. "I should've warned you. I've . . . been without a wand for a while." James shrugged. "Had to learn to improvise."

Hermione was . . . well, there weren't words for how impressed she was. She'd pulled off minor feats of wandless magic, herself, but this? He was talking to her, he'd been walking at the time, and he managed to hold the Lumos steady without concentrating much.

She looked him over from head-to-toe, then. He appeared clean, and he didn't have an odor indicating he was unwashed, his dark hair was longish, disheveled . . . looked a bit like it had been roughly cut with some crude implement, actually. He had a beard that obscured his features a bit, and his hazel eyes showed faint creases at the corners, but she had the impression those lines were from long periods of stress and worry rather than smiles.

He actually reminded her of some of the less-fortunate souls she'd glimpsed wandering the dark recesses of Knockturn Alley that time Harry had pulled her and Ron to spy on Draco in Borgin and Burkes.

"You were undercover?" she asked, sussing out for herself that if he was meant to hide amongst those people, he could not risk being caught with his wand on him. If they realized he was an impostor, it might tell them his identity and put those he cared for in danger.

James rolled his eyes in thought, nodding. "You could say that, c'mon."

"Have we met before?"

As she let him guide her along, he once more glanced over his shoulder at her. "No."

Hermione frowned, pensive, but kept her mouth shut so he could focus on the path beneath their feet. He looked familiar, but she could not place where she'd seen him or how she might know him.

After a few winding stone corridors that she thought must once have been used by the bank as some sort of transport area—long forgotten now, clearly—she began to see a bit of light. As they neared what was most definitely an opening in the rockface, he extinguished his Lumos. "Do you have any idea where to find Harry?"

She nodded, relieved to be able to tell from here that the tunnel let out on a small section of deserted shoreline. She'd easily be able to Disapparate without anyone seeing her. "I think so."

James turned to face her, one eyebrow arched. "You think so?"

Hermione sputtered a laugh in spite of herself. He was right to worry about her uncertainty. They were really down to the wire on ending this War, there was little time for her to run about looking for Harry if she were wrong. Thinking strategically, she could guess where Harry needed to go, next. Voldemort was aware by now they were after the Horcruxes and there were only precious few left; it seemed highly likely he'd want to move the one hidden in the castle to protect it.

"I think he'll go to Hogsmeade. He knows coming back for me was never an option, and he has to get to Hogwarts to complete the mission we're on before he faces You Know Who." She knew that was a bit cryptic as far as explanations went, but she couldn't know who in the Order was aware of the Horcruxes and who wasn't—it wasn't as though she was prying about his identity, either, now was it?

"I hope you're right."

She nodded. "Me, too. Oh, I should probably change before I go out there," she said, nudging her chin in the direction of the shoreline. "I stay like this much longer, I'll catch my death."

His brow furrowed, as it was now his turn to give her a head-to-toe once over. She didn't appear to be carrying anything on her. "I'm sorry, I was unaware 'accio robes' actually worked in a pinch."

"No, no," she said, with a laugh and a shake of her head. Hermione relinquished her hold on his hand, bizarrely aware of how cool and empty her fingers felt in the absence of his, and bent to retrieve her beaded bag from inside her boot. Miraculously, the hiding place had kept the bag—and thus it's contents—dry. "I've a change of clothes in here."

"Oh!" Those hazel eyes shot wide and he looked about. "I suppose I'll just . . . turn around, then."

She glanced toward the opening in the cavern wall. "Or," she started, shrugging and crinkling the bridge of her nose. "You could maybe stand watch at the entrance?"

He followed her attention, noting the darkening sky outside. That bit of shoreline might be vacant just now, but there as no telling if some passerby, looking for somewhere to be alone, might not wander along. "Right."

Hermione held in yet another laugh as she watched him station himself at the opening with his back to her. She knew she had bigger concerns, knew Harry and Ron were trying to think and plan around being worried sick for her and wishing that if she survived the fall, she hadn't suffered any sort of crippling injury. Yet, she found herself hoping that maybe when the War was over, she might cross paths with her rescuer again.

There wasn't an ounce of regret in leaving her 'Bellatrix Lestrange costume' in a graceless pile on the ground as she gratefully pulled on warm, dry clothes. Unbinding her damp hair, she carefully rebraided, knowing the last thing she could spare the time to concern herself with was the state of her typically wild mane.

"Okay, I'm ready."

James turned around and immediately froze at the sight of her attire. This was her! The one Yaxley had called Harry's 'Mudblood pet;' the one Bellatrix had tortured. His brows pinching together, he said, "You're a Muggle-born."

A wary expression overtook her features. "I thought everyone in the Order knew about me."

"I was away for a long time," he said, his voice brittle.

"Oh." She swallowed hard, nodding. Hermione wouldn't pry, this wasn't the time and it was frankly none of her business, but she could imagine he'd probably sacrificed much in his service.

"Well . . . ." He forced a smile. "You're here. Best be on your way."

She started toward the entrance, but just as she moved in front of him to step out, she paused. Pivoting on her heel to look up at him, she said, "You're not going to stay here, are you?"

"No." He smiled and shook his head. She didn't even know him, yet she sounded so troubled at the notion of leaving him in such a treacherous place. James thought he couldn't have imagined the first person he'd encounter after being Yaxley's prisoner for so long would be someone like her. He held up his hands. "But I'll have to find my own way. Can't Apparate without a wand, and you're in a hurry."

"Nonsense. I'll just bring you side-along."

He frowned, looking to the sky once more. Night had fallen. Maybe he could get away with moving out in the open right now.

After a moment of thought, he said, "Do you think that's where it'll happen?"

She furrowed her brow, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Hogwarts? You said completing your mission before Harry faces You Know Who will take you to Hogwarts. There's a chance, then, that they may cross paths there. Harry's going to need all the help he can get."

Her shoulders drooped. Yes. It was entirely possible this trip to Hogwarts could be their last. If Harry and Voldemort were both there . . . . It could be the day that decided the entire War.

She forced a gulp down her throat, nodding. "Yes, I do." Perhaps she shouldn't have been so forthcoming with him, but she found her instincts telling her she could trust this man.

"Okay. I'll go with you to Hogsmeade. We'll split up when we get there. You find Harry, you make sure he's safe." He didn't want his son to fight that monster, but he knew it was a fight seventeen years in the making. Everything that had happened had put Harry at the center of this, and there was no stopping it now. Prophecies were annoyingly tricky that way.

He couldn't let Harry know he was there, not yet—it would only serve to confuse and distract him—but he could be there to bolster his son's strength, unseen.

James knew he'd only endanger Harry, otherwise.

She nodded, once more slipping her hand into his and drawing her stolen wand. Hermione couldn't help but notice the way he sneered at the sight of Bellatrix's ugly, twisted weapon.

"Nicked it during a fight."

He grinned, bracing for Disapparition as they walked out to stand on the shore. "Well done."

The second word was lost to the void as they were wrenched through the dizzying whirl of magical travel. Reappearing on a side street, he actually did double over this time, barely holding in a dry heave.

"My God," she said in a hissing whisper, aware of the sound of some commotion not far from them. "You are hurt, aren't you?"

"No," James insisted, bracing his hands on his knees and breathing deep. "Just been a long time since I traveled via Apparition."

"Are you sure you're all right?" Hermione didn't like the idea of leaving the man on his own as he straightened up.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Thank you."

Her brow furrowed. "For what?"

He felt a smirk curve his mouth. "For being worried about me."

She pursed her lips in confusion, but sooner than she could work up a response, the warmth leeched from air and the streetlights dimmed.

The witch turned, her wand out before her, ready to strike as she and her familiar stranger said in the same breath, "Dementors."

"Expecto—" Her own summoning was cut off at the sight of that blue-white stag thundering down the main street of Hogsmeade, light and warmth returning in its wake.

"Harry!" she whispered, excited and relieved all at once.

James' throat tightened and he could feel his eyes water as he watched the beast disappear beyond their range of vision. "He has the same Patronus as his father."

Hermione nodded absently. "I have to go. Please," she said, turning to look back at him as she grasped his hand one final time, "stay safe."

For a heartbeat, he only stared at her. How had he been so fortunate that this brilliant creature was first person he met after his escape? Smart, strong, capable . . . and genuinely worried for a total stranger.

God, James thought he could—

Hermione shot forward, pressing her lips to his. It was foolish. A stupid, impetuous impulse, but hell, they both might die tomorrow, and this had been an experience she didn't want to forget.

The kiss was brief, only a brush of her mouth over his, only the quickest second of shared breath.

He looked at her in a daze as they broke apart. "I was going to do that."

She laughed, breathless—oh, this was so not the time for this! "Why?"

James shrugged. "For luck? We both might die tomorrow, thought we could use all the luck we can get. You?"

She couldn't help but smile, even in this moment when she could hear footfalls heading in the direction from where the Patronus had emerged. "Same."

"Go," he said, his voice barely a thread of sound. "Find Harry!"

Hermione nodded and turned back toward the street as he stepped back and took a better look around, gaining his bearings. She knew the direction the stag had come from. The Hogshead was there, she could Apparate to the alleyway beside it.

She glanced back at him one last time. He nodded and turned, taking off on foot in the direction of the castle grounds.

Giving herself a steadying shake, she Disapparated.

The moment she popped back into existence, she heard a rasping whisper. "Potter, get in here!"

She didn't even give her stomach time to settle, dashing around the corner. The witch collided with the air, forcing her to stumble back a step.

"Oh, God, Hermione!" Harry whispered in a rush of relief. He latched a hand around her wrist and pulled her under the Invisibility Cloak beside him just as he and Ron were hurtling themselves through the open doorway of the pub.

"Up the stairs, and be quick about it," the man who let them in muttered as he passed them and stepped out onto the street.

There was no time for explanations or excitement that she was all right and had managed to find them. "C'mon," Harry said in her ear as they moved behind the bar and headed for the staircase.

"Thank Merlin you're okay," Ron murmured, his words buried under the din of the patrons.

"No one's more thankful than I am," she said, happy to be safe, happy to have found them, though there was a tone of finality in her hushed voice—trust Ronald Weasley to try and have a conversation under these circumstances.

Once they were up those stairs with the door closed behind them, Harry whipped the cloak off of them and pulled her into his arms in a breath-stealing hug, followed by one from Ron. Ron who sounded like he might just collapse in relief.

"How did you manage?"

Hermione shrugged, hoping to keep them focused on finding their way to Hogwarts. "I had help."

Ron and Harry exchanged a glance. "From who?" they asked at the same time.

Again, she shrugged, fighting a smile despite their dire situation. "I never got his name."