Two beat up Land Rovers shod with knobby off road tyres sat in sandy grooves worn into the scruffy bahia grass lawn. Her eyes went misty when she remembered her father's rants about, "Growing a proper lawn instead of that cursed stringy stuff full 'o salad fixins that wouldn't even make good goat fodder." It didn't matter how many times she explained the health benefits of all of those so called "weeds" or their value to potions. She let out a sad chuckle tinged with tears. No, his solution to her free ingredients was a big jug of chemical herbicide.

An iridescent purple Honda civic sat in the driveway, exactly like in the officer's memories. She steeled herself and checked down her mental lists. The locks clicked and the door silently slid open. A horse of a brindle bull mastiff looked up. Always greet the dog. A quick scratch and "Hey Laddie," and the mountainous dog stretched itself back across the entire couch, resting it's head in the heap of laundry. The cricket bat beside the door slid into her hand as she ambled into the living room.

They were huddled around the television, playing video games and swigging out of tall beer cans. Their heads didn't even turn to investigate the intruder.

The short, black haired one belched and crunched his beer can. He tossed it at the trashcan, but it clanked and landed on the floor beside three others. "Sweet, grab us another, yeah?"

"Yeah." She walked past the couch and was rewarded with a slap on the ass.

She snarled. Bloody bastard! Even Slytherins knew better! Goyle had tried it once, and she had knocked every single tooth out of his mouth. Oh, Pomfrey loved trying to sort out her toothless git curse.

Bellatrix's wand flicked. Her Imperius slammed into the leader's skull. A Petrificus smashed into the others like a brick. Hermione sculpted the pattern with a box of salt and marked each rune point. Precision mattered, so each line was razor crisp and oriented exactly on the sacred axis. She bored into the leader's mind and found her parents begging while he laughed. Acres of violence skitttered past as she sifted his memories for any evidence of mental manipulation or obliviation, but there was none. Next came the other two. They were the lackeys, laughing while they wrestled her father and mother down for him.

Filth! These were vermin like death eaters who preyed on the innocent because it was easy. Her mind was clear and focused. The repellant charm went up before the big, red faced leader perched the cricket bat over his head like an axe.

She poked two fingers into the short one's nose. "Slap my ass will you?"

His swing crushed into the first minion's forehead with a hollow thwop like a pumpkin, over and over. Then he turned to the second one and hacked him down too. Finally, he marched to the kitchen and returned with a long knife to plunge into the dog. It was a shame, he was a beautiful and friendly beast, but aurors would interrogate his memories as easily as a human.

Now, though, it was her turn. Hermione released the Imperius and substituted a Petrificus. His eyes twitched and his jaws flexed. His sunburned face darkened as his fury mounted. She allowed herself this one flight of fancy. As a rule, you never waste precious time on speeches. "I loved my parents dearly. Did you know that magic doesn't come naturally to our kind? No. Your lot always thinks its free, springs up out of the ground or pours out of a pixie's purse. Some rubbish like that." She raked a sharp nail down his cheek, drawing a bead of blood. "There's a price that needs to be paid, and I'm giving you the opportunity to contribute."

The bat floated into the air, mirroring the wand as it swished back and forth. She slid it across his cheek and then took up the batting stance. It hung tip down as she gripped Bella's wand with both hands. "Is this how you do it? Ready to pitch me one?"

His jaws clenched but his muscles flexed as his body bent backwards. The man's right arm spun like a windmill, his hand released a translucent red sphere, and the bat smashed his mouth. She slashed the wand like a sword, chopping into the big man. With each swing, the bat crushed deeper and deeper. He was gasping and sucking for air. Hermione shook herself out of her rage. Revenge felt bloody good, but she had wasted precious time. An icy glacier of task orientation banished her emotions.

The bat floated up and presented itself for her inspection. "Truly a beaut. Nary a scratch. But it needs summat."

One more smash into the man's mouth came back with a tooth stuck into the edge. Her smile bloomed. "Perfect."

With a twist of her wrist, the man's body crackled and popped into a deep bow. The bat swung one final time, gouging the broken tooth under his ear. A crimson geyser erupted, perfectly painting within the lines of the five-pointed star. Runes glistened red and the outline glowed white as the pools of blood disappeared into the cement. The surge in her magic told her that the ancients were satisfied with the terms of her revenge.

A flick of the Black sister's wand vanished the runes and patterns. Her path to the door spread the hovering cloud of crimson splatter back where it would have landed. Not a single fingerprint, footprint, hair, or skin cell betrayed her presence. Every trace of magic evaporated an instant before the locks clicked shut behind her.

Hermione's eyes flickered open. The sunbeams pouring in through the round windows warmed her skin. The white plaster walls set into natural oak beams of the Hufflepuff dormitory made her happy. Little gardens full of herbs hung from the ceiling, perfuming the air with the soothing scents of lavendar, rosemary, and coriander. Her ancient sabers hung behind disillusionment charms as she sought out Helga's contribution towards victory. Auras flicked and swirled as students rushed towards platforms perched beneath the high windows.

Bring the first one you desire.

A doe eyed first year shivered behind an overstuffed couch tugged on her robe. "Hermione! Is that you?"

"Luciana, we need your help."

The girl perked and then followed her through the doorway behind the tapestry. They slinked down the hidden staircase inside the walls. The passage opened into a circular room. Five yellow witch lights flickered to life along the wall. She slid the bag of sacred powder the girl's hand. "Quick, help me lay the lines while I set the points."

The girl nodded but did nothing. Hermione pinched some powder and drizzled it into the groove at the start of a point. "See, just follow the lines laid in the floor. Quickly."

Harry's life depended on her. Hogwarts and all of wizarding England was counting on her to remain strong and finish the task, but her guts twisted inside her stomach when the old saber flashed and the girl's life force drained into the pentagram. The lines burned bright, like yellow fire inside the dark chamber. Over and over she told herself there was no other way. Blood was running down her sticky hands. She had no choice, so why did she always feel dirty, so dirty?

Hermione awoke with a jerk. Her own screams pinged and squelched within the confines of her mufflatio charm. Her fingers were shaking so badly that the new identity card was an impossible blur. She fished in the girl's purse for a calming draught, but cursed herself for her stupidity. It was all at the morgue now. Her eyes darted back and forth, searching, but her wards held.

Hermione had made proper supplication. She always strove to please the ancients, and this payment was complete. Why were her parents taken?

Did she doubt the ancients?

Her eyes fluttered and the taxi cab's walls peeled away. Darkness swirled and she was staring through a picture frame at her parents. They were on their knees, begging a gnarled witch. Pleading for her life. Her mother mouthed the word basilisk and the old one frowned. The monstrous snakes were sacred. Sent by the ancients to collect souls. Their daughter was numbered among the dead, but there was a procedure. They had tricked an old man who lived alone. They mingled his blood with their own, then offered it in the rune circle with fire, water, ice, and iron. Their daughter was spared and the basilisk's blood poured out. The voices whispered, "Whoever sheds the blood of a man, by man shall his blood be shed."

Hermione banished her doubts under cold steel.

What sort of student had Jessica Mallory been? Where should she go? Australia was out. So was England. What did that leave? Canada? Too cold. India? She would stand out like a sore thumb. On a first pass, The United States was the obvious choice, but she was going to need a bit of research. Stamped passport pages fanned past her fingers. Jessica traveled. The resemblance was striking.

The musty scent of books was like a calming draught soothing the hurricane's ravages. The Gang would find her in ten seconds if she stayed here. She rubbed her belly. Harry and Ron would surely be here today, tomorrow at the latest. The whole thing would unravel and ruin their lives. She had to front-run them.

The beautiful, shimmering library came through like it always did.

The Wizarding War had never even darkened the The United States doorstep. Americans loved their guns and their dark magic, not to mention the place had laws which encouraged armed citizens to kill attackers. Riddle's hoard had tried to gain a foothold and every last one of them had been put down like the diseased animals they were.

That's the right sort of place! Where, though? Eeny, meeny, miny, moe was about five seconds away when she saw Portland, Oregon. It looked like a place she could blend in. A big city meant hospitals and infrastructure. It wasn't massively sprawling like New York or Los Angeles. There were parks full of trees, museums, a zoo, and nice people. It was fairly modern and liberal. Pure blood nutters like Malfoy and Yaxley wouldn't be tolerated. The local laws meant she could have a baby and get a job without too many questions. Best of all, they wouldn't know Australian from a British accent.

Jessica Mallory eyed the clock as she counted out eight hundred seventy five dollars cash for a seat on the next direct flight to The United States. She had no baggage save the brown studded purse. They announced boarding, checked her passport, and sent her down the jetway into the giant airliner while Hermione Granger's mangled corpse laid silent in a steel drawer beside her father and mother. The paperwork pronounced the case closed. A pedestrian hit by a drunk driver. No next of kin. It hardly mattered. Voldemort's administration confiscated everything that The Goblins hadn't. The only thing left was a blood stained house and a used car with a flat tyre that she couldn't bear to think about one second longer.

The roaring engines droned her into fitful sleep. Beams of sunlight pierced her eyelids. Travelers jostled for bathrooms, snacks, and nondescript meals. The movie was the sort of sappy romance that Ron would hate. It had been two years since the last time she had watched... She fought back the tears and stared out the window.

Twenty hours later, withering heat blasted Hermione's, no, Jessica's hair into an unmanageable mess the instant she walked out of the Los Angeles International Airport. Her hands tamped the frizz down while she drilled herself. Hermione is dead. You're Jessica now. All her British pounds and Australian dollars were now American dollars. The Galeons were another matter. She wasn't totally sure if she could sell them without attracting unwanted attention. Questions would be asked. How would a muggle even end up with wizarding money.

Her bigger problem was getting to Portland. It never occurred to her that Americans drove everywhere. She had not seen a single train or bus anywhere at the airport. Her father had her signed up for summer driving lessons, but that was blown all to hell along with everything else. The image of his waxy face burned through her mind and she doubled over.

Fingers touched her back and a woman's voice softly drawled, "Sweetie, do you need some help?"

She snorted the words out between gasps. "My father and mother died. I'm trying to get to Portland."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. We're headed that way. Do you want to ride with us?"

The back of her hand scrubbed over her eyes. "No. Thanks, but..." She wrestled her thoughts back towards the task. Transportation signs... There had been a kiosk. She wandered back through the thronging crowds and found the Greyhound Bus telephone.

Twenty eight hours later, Hermione's back ached and her entire book supply was exhausted. Cool rain drizzled down over the worn bus station. It was the middle of the night and she stumbled her way into a cab. Four hotel rejections later and she was sitting on a park bench shivering. It never occurred to her that American hotels wouldn't rent rooms to seventeen year old's. She had no idea where to go so the tears poured out.

She snorted awake to blue lights flashing and the bleep of a police siren. The officer was waving her over. She shivered and wiped away the slick of rain as she recounted the story. Her parents died two weeks ago. She was seventeen and pregnant, and had no place to go. He welcomed her into the car and made a phone call. Soon, a steaming cup of coffee warmed her hands as they headed across town. Officer Hank Griffin gently prised details out of her as they went. She subtly probed for magical residue but found absolutely no traces. It was now or never... "You'll never believe me if I told you..."

"Try me."

She let a long sigh drift out and sipped the warm elixr. The best lies always had an element of truth... She grew up in a religious cult. Betrothed as child bride to the son of one of their prominent families, her life had been planned. She dropped out of school a year ago and shacked up with one of her friends. She ended up pregnant but he was already betrothed to her best friend. She ran off to live with her parents, but they had been murdered by a street gang two weeks ago. Now, she was on the run from the cult members trying to kill her.

Sadness blanketed his face. He inspected her passport and then looked her over. "Its pretty close, but its not you."

She itched at the scab under her neck. "It was a body in the morgue. They almost killed me."

He was staring again. She quickly drew her fingers away and shuddered at the red slicking her nails. Dirty. Her hands were so dirty. The officer looked guilty for asking as he passed her a wad of napkins. "Are your parents really dead?"

She nodded.

"What are their names?"

She was shaking as they took a seat at the desk in Portland's precinct office. He pulled up the computer and she told him. He nodded at the glowing screen. "I'm sorry for your loss." He clicked some more keys and then squinted back and forth between herself and the computer. "So, then you're..."

"Hermione."

"And you're really pregnant?"

She nodded. "The whole box of those Clear Blue Easy things said so."

He clicked some more, stared at the cut on her neck, then pinched the bridge of his nose. His voice lowered as her passport slid back into her fingertips. "Jessica. I can't imagine what you are going through right now. The police precinct isn't really equipped to take in young women in your situation. You aren't a citizen. We might he able to work out some sort of foster care arrangement through Child Protective Services, but then Immigration would get involved. You don't deserve to go to jail because your folks were murdered. I know some people with the Crisis Pregnancy Center that specialize in girls who are victims of human trafficking. If you would like to talk with them, I'll make the arrangements."

A month ago, she would have been disgusted by the implication, but now it was the best news in four days. The officer made another call and escorted her back to the police car. When they arrived, she laid her hand on his wrist and focused her powers. There was neither Hermione, nor her parents. Just Jessica. Another faceless girl from LA fleeing from a life of human trafficking. It was always the same story. Seventeen is too old for the johns and there's no demand for the knocked up ones.

The glowing steeple raised ominously into Portland's inky night. A stainless steel door opened, sending yellow halos through the fog. Holding it open was a gray haired woman in a beige cardigan sweater and blue pants. Officer Griffin nodded and Hermione got out.