Hermione Granger In the Ministry's Secret Service by apaidan

Rating: PG13
Genres: Action & Adventure, Mystery
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 11/02/2009
Last Updated: 10/05/2009
Status: Completed

Hermione Granger, member of the Golden Trio, driving force behind the Bureau of House-elf
Relations and best mate of Harry Potter has a secret life. Well, two of them if you count the fact
she acts as the Ministry's secret agent. On a trip to America to retrieve some stolen artifacts
she finds a conspiracy, evil waiting to be reborn, and more about herself that she ever bargained
for.




1. Secrets
----------



Chapter One - Secrets

The office was a study in contrasts. Decorated in delicate shades, it appeared light and airy.
Seemingly delicate bookcases that had been enchanted by the occupant of the office to contain many
more volumes that a casual observer would have thought possible graced two of the walls.

Despite the institutional feel of the cabinets and tables that framed the remaining walls, the
desk was a curious blend of whimsy and style. Delicately shaded pieces of crystal were joined by
seemingly random pieces of a silvery metal that gave an air of otherness to the desk, which seemed
to have no upper surface. Yet the invisible top of the desk was the resting place of files and
books, and a strangely out of place black plastic sphere, with a number “8” emblazoned on it's
upper surface in a circle of gleaming white.

Leaning back in the very utilitarian leather desk chair, a young witch stared forlornly at the
ceiling, as if trying to find inspiration or answers.

“Miss Granger?”

Looking down, Hermione smiled as Carra Wellings looked around the edge of the office door from
the outer area. Shaking her head, Hermione noticed that her latest assistant seemed a bit at a loss
trying to deal with her. “Carra, unless Minister Shacklebolt or Director MacAllister have issued a
decree that I'm not yet aware of, my given name is still Hermione.”

Smiling at the grateful look Carra returned, she waved her towards one of the chairs that faced
her desk. “For Merlin's sake. Come in, sit down, and tell me what's got you worried enough
to finally talk to me. You've been acting a bit distracted all day, and I don't think
you've spoken two words since I got here.”

Looking distinctly embarrassed and uncomfortable, the younger witch sat on the edge of the
proffered seat and began to bite her lower lip. The two young women were a study in contrasts and
similarities. Hermione was brown-eyed and dark haired. Her hair was barely constrained in a plait
behind her neck, and she was smiling even as she was inwardly a bit put out at what she surmised
was the reason, no the pair of reasons, for young Carra's discomfort.

Carra, while also petite, was delicate, barely four feet tall in stockings. She was as pale and
blonde as one could become. Her blue eyes were astonishingly so, and seemed to dominate the
delicate features of her face, giving her a seemingly perpetual look of wonder. Sitting back,
Hermione noted again the resemblances and differences between Carra and her otherworldly cousin
Luna.

Looking down at her hands, Cara began hesitantly. “Before you were here this morning, there were
a couple of visitors.” Looking up, Carra seemed uncertain whether she should continue or not.

Starting to laugh, Hermione stopped herself when she saw the stricken look on the younger
witch's face. “Those weren't visitors Carra.” Standing up from her chair, she moved around
the desk and perched herself on the invisible edge, seemingly sitting on nothing. “Those were my
two closest and most meddlesome friends.”

Seeing the look of astonishment on the girl's face, Hermione smiled encouragingly. “I've
had four assistants since I took this position and every time those two have come down and had a
`conversation' with each and every one.” Shaking her head in exasperation at the thought of
Harry and Ron, she looked away from Carra to a picture of the three of them on the wall. Taken
while they were on holiday up in the Hebrides, Harry and Ron were waving madly while her own image
was trying to hide her face in embarrassment at her friends well-intentioned bumbling. Sighing
softly in exasperation at the sight of Ron, she looked back and saw that the young witch look
surprised.

“They said they were worried about you working too much and that they would consider it a
personal favor to both of them if I would try to sort things out in the office so everything
didn't end up on your desk.” Smiling shyly, she looked over at the picture of the three. “They
both seem so… nice.” Shaking her head, she continued. “Luna said that all of you were really
wonderful and that I shouldn't pay too much attention to everything that happened while you in
school, but everyone was still marveling about the things you three did.”

“Carra, I thought Luna would have convinced you that we were just people who did what needed to
be done. You were there for part of it. A lot of folks did what needed to be done. Luna is one of
the heroes of the war. Without her and a lot of other people, the world would be a very different
place right now.” Smiling at Carra's look of astonishment, she leaned forward and whispered.
“Can I tell you a secret?”

Looking around to see if anyone else had appeared, she whispered back “Of course, Hermione. What
is it?”

“Those two are both my best friends and I love them both very dearly. But usually I have to
restrain myself from wanting to strangle them because they both worry altogether too much about
me.” Leaning back, she looked around and sighed. “Carra,” she continued in a normal tone of voice,
“those two are aurors. Not just any aurors but Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. They chase dark
wizards, hunt down dementors, and save the world at least once a month.”

Waving her hand around the office she smiled. “I, on the other hand, work in the Bureau of
House-elf Relations.” Smiling wickedly, she pointed at the picture on the wall. “Who do you think
needs looking after more, me or those two lovable idiots?”

“When you put it in those terms, they are probably more in need of a minder than yourself.”
Carra replied hesitantly. She then smiled and looked at Hermione with a curious look. “You know,
they both care for you very much. Whenever he said your name, Auror Weasley would get this funny
look in his eyes. And Auror Potter would just smile when he did it.”

Smiling wistfully, Hermione looked back to the picture on the wall. “Firstly, it's Ron and
Harry. They'd both probably laugh themselves silly if someone who actually knew them called
them that. And secondly,” she broke off and shook her head at Ron who had the look Carra was
describing watching Hermione in the picture without her knowing it, “Ron has had that same look in
his eyes when he says my name or when he watches me when he thinks I don't know it since we
were in our fourth year at Hogwarts.”

“You do the same thing.” Carra pointed out. “But mostly with Harry, though sometimes you do look
like that when you talk about Ron.” Looking puzzled, she looked as if she wanted to ask a question
and didn't know how to frame it.

“The relationship between Ron and myself is complicated.” Seeing the younger witch's eyes
get even wider as she slowly nodded, Hermione sadly shook her head. “Ron and I are very close to
each other and we do care about each other very much. When we aren't tempted to hex each other
senseless, of course.”

Standing up she put on her stern demeanor that she usually reserved for those who weren't
convinced she was serious about her job. “Humor my boys, it makes them feel good that they're
`protecting' me, but remember that you're my assistant and that means we're going to
change the wizarding world just as much as they are, but we're going to sneak up on it.”

Looking around, she continued. “Ron especially worries about me when I go and check up on
house-elves and their situations, Sometimes it takes me away for visits and trips. Your number one
job is to keep my well intentioned protectors convinced that everything is butterbeer and candied
pineapple around here.” Holding the younger witch's gaze for a second, she smiled slowly.
“Understand?”

Smiling in return, Carra asked “Is this a case of what they don't know won't draw the
attention of wrackspurts?”

“Exactly” Hermione began to chuckle and then both women began to laugh.

Glancing at the mysterious sphere on the desk, Carra looked questioningly. “I've been
wondering about that.”

Picking it up, Hermione began to smile. “This? You know I'm muggle-born, don't you?”
Seeing Carra nod, she continued. “In the muggle world this is known as a `Magic 8 ball'.
It's a muggle device for pretending to divine the future. And it works just about as well as
anything I learned in Divination classes from Trewlaney.”

Noticing her assistant's puzzled look, she held it out for inspection. “What you do is ask a
question and then you turn the ball over. For example, `will I go out with Ron tonight for
dinner?'” Holding the ball so they could both see it, she rotated it until the flat bottom was
visible. “Floating inside is an oddly shaped piece with 20 different sayings written on its sides.
One floats to the top and is visible in the window and `reveals' the answer to your question.”
Looking down, the message `*My sources say no*' floated in the window.

“Oh bother, I was looking forward to going out; we were supposed to try that new American style
pizza place that opened in the West End.” Smiling fondly at Carra's look of astonishment, she
continued, “It's something I've always thought was funny, even before I knew magic existed
for real. I had it in my old room at my parent's house. When I moved here to London I brought
it to remind me of the magic in my life ever since.”

As the ball began to get warm to the touch, and glow just a bit, Hermione hurriedly put it
behind her on the desk and smiled. “Why don't you go out to your desk and see if there's
anything you need to finish. If not, head out a bit early since the 8-ball seems to be convinced
either Ron or I will be working late tonight. There's no sense in you getting caught up in
it.”

As the younger witch giggled and left, Hermione picked up the Magic 8-ball back up. As it kept
getting warmer to the touch, she turned it over once again. In the viewing pane, the message
“*Lift Four, five minutes*” was clearly visible. Sighing, she placed the ball gently on her
desk, looked ruefully at the work she still had to do and walked slowly towards her office
door.

`*Ministry hallways are always much too long,*' Hermione thought to herself as she
walked through the corridor towards the bank of lifts at the central crossway. Forcing a smile to
her face as she watched the occasional memo streak past her head towards some unknowing recipient,
inwardly she fumed at the bother of it all. Between Ron's job, her job and her `job', it
was amazing that she saw him as much as she did. Shaking her head, she mentally sighed.

Drawing closer to the waiting area, she noticed a tall, raven-haired witch wearing her usual
combination of too much makeup and too little clothing. Mentally swearing, the end of a perfectly
dreadful day would be a conversation with...

“Miss Parkinson.” Smiling glacially, Hermione imagined the distinct joy she would feel when this
piece of work finally paid for all of the chaos and mischief she had caused over the years.

“Why Hermione Granger, as I live and breathe.” Smiling warmly, but with malice in her eyes, she
turned slightly to acknowledge the presence of the new arrival. “It still is Granger, isn't
it?”

Her smile broadening, her hand slipped into her handbag as she reached for her ever-present
quill and notepad. “I noticed Ron looked quite the dashing bachelor at the reception for the
Algonquin Grand Shaman last week. Has he finally kicked you to the curb dear?” Her smile widened
even more, and the tip of her tongue briefly flicked between her lips.

“I seem to remember that Minister Shacklebolt promised you that the next time you had that
notebook out here on Ministry premises when it wasn't a sanctioned press event, you would be
joining your mentor Rita in her fact finding tour of Azkaban.” Returning the smile, but with real
warmth at the thought if Rita Skeeter being a long-term guest of the Ministry at Azkaban.

To accommodate her special abilities, the “public” discovery of which finally led to her arrest
and conviction, her cell was populated with a generous supply of bats, sparrows and swallows. To
this day, she still wasn't certain why George wanted to know whether they were European or
African swallows, but the thought of Rita surrounded by those insect eating keepers was enough to
make her begin to chuckle.

“Something funny Granger?” Pansy asked icily, narrowing her eyes trying to decipher what was
amusing the other witch. “I would think that someone who spends their time catering to house-elves
and watching her supposed boyfriend gallivant around while she faded into oblivion would find life
less amusing.” Letting a predatory smile curl her lips, she nodded thoughtfully. “I thought I would
do a story about auror training. I've heard that your Ron was very `supportive' of one of
those Americans that the Ministry has been letting cross-train with our aurors.”

Watching Hermione closely, Pansy slipped into a very bad imitation of a southern American
accent. “I do declare, I think her name was Marysue, or Billyjo or something like that.” Switching
back to her normal voice, she affected an air of innocence. “Would you be a love and ask Ron if he
could forward me her contact information. I'm certain he's `kept in touch'. He was
across the pond recently, no?”

Curling her lip into a sneer she turned her head back towards the door to see if the lift had
arrived. “I wonder what your secret is, how you've managed to stay best friends with two such
eligible young men for quite so long? Maybe I need to have a little chat with your dear friend
Harry. I imagine my readers would love to know the real secrets behind this merry little
`threesome'.” Smiling again, she watched Hermione out of the corner of her eye, looking for a
reaction.

Truly laughing, Hermione leaned back and gave Pansy an appraising look. “Harry said that you
were trying to get another `interview' with him, but I didn't think you were quite this …
desperate. You really don't want me to take notice that you're slutting around after Harry
again, do you?” Shaking her head, she stared at the black-haired witch. “I noticed last time, and
you remember exactly what happened, don't you?”

Watching the wide-eyed fear that quickly replaced the haughty disdain in Parkinson's eyes
for a moment, she continued. “Just how long did that enchanted quaffle follow you around last
time?” Smiling wickedly, she stared into the other woman's eyes. “And in case you're
wondering, I was the one who enchanted that little gem to recognize when you were telling a lie,
which made the entire thing so delightful.”

Reaching up and brushing a stray strand of hair back behind her ear, she smiled coldly. “Harry
is much less forgiving and understanding than I am. If he were ever to find out exactly what your
role was that day, he would be very annoyed.” Looking down at the wand she had tucked into a
convenient spot on the bag she carried around the office, she chuckled. “And much more creative
than I ever was when it comes to making someone's life `interesting'.”

Just then, the subtle chime of the lift sounded and the door to car three opened. Seeing that
the car was occupied, Pansy stepped inside and looked furiously back at Hermione.

Smiling sweetly, Hermione said. “I see you're headed down, just my luck. I'm so unhappy
that we couldn't finish our little chat. It's so good to catch up with old chums from
school.”

Gathering herself together, Pansy shot Hermione a venomous look. “Of course, dear. And I hope
I'll have those secrets all figured out by the time we next talk. Be certain you ask Ron about
his lovely American friend for me.” The lift doors closed. Two seconds later, unbeknownst to both
witches, they said the exact same thing.

“Bitch”

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2. Chapter Two - Mysterious Portents
------------------------------------



Chapter Two - Mysterious Portents

Since Hermione was finally alone, the door for lift four had finally opened. Briskly stepping
inside the lift, Hermione nodded toward Francis Bethune, the head of Centaur Relations, blushing
slightly as her opinion of Pansy had coincided with the opening of the door.

“Good day, Miss Granger, I hope that appellation wasn't directed at me.” Smiling wanly,
Bethune looked at Hermione as she entered the car, apparently all sweetness and light but he could
see that she wasn't her usual calm self.

“Some muggles say that the Queen has a whippet that wears a ruff” she replied in an apparent non
sequitur. Looking casually around, her hand strayed towards the flap on her bag.

“Conformity is the bugbear of small minds” he replied cheerfully, ignoring her and touching a
small set of indentations beside the lift panel which caused the lift to slowly stop.

“Francis Bethune, you know I would never say anything like that regarding your august
personage.” Frowning Hermione turned to face the older wizard. “What has happened that you needed
to see me? I distinctly remember you saying that I was on my own card for at least two more months
after that last disaster you handed me up in Scapa Flow.” Noticing that Bethune was looking a bit
harried, she softened her tone. “Francis, I know I'm a shrew at times, and I also know you
don't call on me unless it's necessary.”

Looking a bit uncomfortable, Bethune studied the younger witch across the car from him. “A
couple of things. Remember, this is partially your fault. You wouldn't come into the
organization like a good little spy. You had to be a freelance so you're suitably out of the
loop until something blows up and I need you to put it back together.” Smiling wanly, he watched
for her reaction.

Scowling in exasperation, she fumed. “I am not a bloody spy. I'm you're `agent of last
resort' as you and the Minister so charmingly put it when you hired me a couple of years ago.
Ron says that I'm a `bloody repo girl' whatever that means. No one suspects me of being
anything other than a `fuzzyheaded know-it-all, insufferable do-gooder, and spinster crusader for
house-elf rights'.” Allowing a smile to break though, she tilted her head a bit and looked at
him questioningly. “Did I get that quote correct?”

Genuinely smiling for the first time since she had entered the lift, Hermione rolled her eyes to
the ceiling and laughed. “Honestly, you know I'm just as dedicated as Harry and Ron are to
seeing things put right. Just as long as I can be sneaky about it and not take the limelight
I'll do what needs to be done, if I can. The boys don't like the limelight any better than
I do, but their being aurors gives them a certain air that the public allows so they can
effectively deal with it.”

Nodding, Bethune smiled in return. “Actually, I think the spinster part is new. You did let Miss
Parkinson get under your skin out there, didn't you?” Smiling back at his protégé, he chuckled.
“That wasn't well done, though, telling her about your enchanting that quaffle.”

“Piffle. She shouldn't have tried to ambush Harry at a Harpies home game and drag him into a
deserted corridor for an `interview'. That was much less painful than if Ginny Weasley would
have happened down there at that moment.”

Shaking her head sadly, she sighed remembering how Ginny had know that `something' had
happened that day, and how her two friends had ended their tempestuous relationship less than a
month afterwards. “People know I was involved with the creation of those cuffs that the Ministry
uses on the folks who are released for community service, this was just a little spontaneous
justice. An enchanted quaffle that sang `I'm Just a Girl Who Can't Say No' every time
she shaded the truth was merely poetic.”

Smiling at the look on Francis' face, she nodded. “Being clever and vindictive is part and
parcel of how I'm seen.” Looking warily at him, she frowned. “Don't change the subject. You
either want to ask me to do something or you're trying to avoid telling me something.” Looking
worried, she bit her lip and stared at Bethune.

“Stars, Hermione. As far as I know everyone is fine. Your two young men haven't left the
building all day, your parents are fine, and Ron's parents are fine. This is just a simple
request for you to arrange to go to the States and see if you can `recover' something for the
Ministry.”

Looking fondly at her he watched her face go from relief to exasperation. Putting his hand on
her arm he said quietly. “You know that I would have come and gotten you personally if we had been
aware of anything wrong with any of yours. Just because I was named after Walsingham doesn't
mean I'm a heartless plonker.” Smiling, he watched her begin to giggle.

“Francis, I don't believe I've ever heard you talk like that.” Laughing at his
expression she added. “I can see that I've been a very bad influence on you.” Sighing she
looked at him. “What is it and where am I supposed to find your misplaced whatever the blazes the
Ministry can't live without.”

Looking severe she continued, “But I was serious about what I told you and Kingsley, I'm
never working with that muggle prat that you and MI-6 matched me up with last time. I don't
know what rock they pried him out from under, but if he wasn't playing the `mysterious
spymaster', he was trying to talk me out of my knickers. I finally had to hex him on the flight
back from Edinburgh. He looked both `shaken and stirred' when he finally got back from the
loo.” Trying to look severe, she couldn't help but smile at the horrified look on the dashing
secret agent's face when he returned from the lavatory.

“You do know the poor boy spent three days in the muggle malady ward at St Mungo's
afterwards?” Watching Hermione begin to giggle, he continued, very blandly. “I believe he and
Dolores wanted to form a new chapter of the `Hermione Granger Fan Association' there towards
the end. Though calling it the `unblue pill hex' did make the female healers at St. Mungo's
who were trying to figure out exactly what you'd hit him with work just a tad bit slower.”

Smiling wanly as she chuckled, he mentally timed how long it took her to regain control. “Of
course not. Both Kingsley and I both promised that we wouldn't do that to you again. Not that
my muggle counterpart would allow her agent within the same time zone as you for an assignment, but
our promise is good.”

Sighing, she crossed her arms, tilted her head a bit to the right in an unconscious mirror of
one of Ron's favorite poses and looked contrite. “You've sufficiently salved my ego and
settled my ruffled feathers. Just what is it that you want me to get and where am I supposed to go
find this mystery item?”

Looking back he answered. “Two days ago, agents from the Ministry and their counterparts in the
Canadian Ministry lost track of a pair of very competent artifact smugglers, originally from
Switzerland of all places. They managed to sneak in disguised as muggles, and steal two things from
a muggle castle off the coast of Scotland. While both were enchanted, one was an item of actual
power. They then escaped over the water to Canada before anyone realized it was missing.”

“They stole the An Bratach Sith?” Shocked, Hermione dropped her relaxed pose and began to look
alarmed. “It's real? I thought the fairy flag of Dunvegan was just a myth. A tourist attraction
and nothing more”

“Someday I will learn how you manage to do that all too often.” Looking at her admiringly, he
shook his head. “You know as well as I do that a goodly number of the muggle myths and fairy tales,
especially here in Britain and the rest of Europe have a basis in half remembered tales from before
the wizarding world withdrew from sight.”

Looking more agitated than before, Francis began to pace in the confined space of the lift car.
“And the flag that the MacLeods have protected dates from far before that.” Looking more worried,
he stared off into space. “It's part of the clan heritage, part of the clan itself. Both the
muggles and wizards of MacLeod have studied and protected the flag for over one thousand
years.”

“Francis, this is personal, isn't it?” Hermione looked at her handler, suddenly realizing he
was more involved in this than in anything she'd ever been involved in. “I know your family is
from north of the wall.”

“Yes, and if you check the books, you'll find the Bethunes listed as one of the septs of
Clan MacLeod.” Shaking his head grimly. “And it gets bloody worse. The Canadians think those two
are going to try to sell the flag to one of those separatist groups that spring up like gnomes in
Quebec. They lost them as they crossed one of those bloody lakes that the Americans dote on.”

Silent for a moment, Hermione looked puzzled as she tried to work something out in her head.
“From the stories I've read, I still cannot fathom what Quebec separatists would want with the
An Bratach Sith. An operation like this doesn't come on the cheap, especially since it seems
that they were able to avoid both muggle and magical protections.” Looking quizzically at her
handler, she waited for an answer.

“This part is conjecture, but we think that the thieves actually stole the flag as an extra
treasure that they weren't hired for. There's a connection here that you wouldn't see,
being English and all. I feel that this pair of thieves took what they thought their employers were
actually after because that's what everyone thinks about when they think about Dunvegan. If
they would have thought about Skye, however, a different answer would have come to mind.”

“I'm still not following. What would Quebec separatists want with Skye? Even if I'd
taken my studies in a muggle school, I don't think I would have been able to wrinkle out that
particular nugget of information.”

“Remember that the Quebecois are French and for the French, Scotland is tied to the
Stuarts.”

“And Bonnie Prince Charlie went `over the sea to Skye'.” Hermione finished for him.

“Yes, yes. And there are several Jacobite artifacts at the castle, and one of them is also
actually enchanted. My guess is that the thieves didn't think that the item they were sent to
steal could be what their employers actually wanted, so they also took the flag, a much more
powerful artifact. If their employers didn't want it, they could sell it for a much higher
price tag. What they had been hired to take was the Amen Glass.”

“And why would the Quebecois want Bonnie Prince Charlie's shot glass?” Still puzzled,
Hermione was alarmed by the look on Francis' face. “Sorry about that, but I'm really
confused by this.”

“Not your fault. The Prince gave the glass to Donald MacLeod. A charm was placed upon the glass
by one of the MacLeod daughters who had returned from Hogwarts that it would `shine as a star in
the presence of the royal heir and true king of Scots'. As magical items go, it's
relatively small water with only a single purpose. My guess is that the Canadians have someone they
think is the Stuart heir to the throne of Scotland and they want to use that in some way.
They're going to be very unhappy when they're presented with the flag and its additional
price tag.” Looking away, Francis' eyes clouded.

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione asked, again. “Francis, what does that family heirloom of yours
that they took actually do?”

“No one's totally certain, Hermione. It's doubtful that they have someone available from
the proper bloodline of the family to exercise the main power of the flag, so you most likely
don't have to worry about the Sidhe battle host charging out of nowhere. But some of its
secondary powers are easily accessible to anyone who passed their NEWT level exams in
Transfiguration and Conjuring.”

Looking at her he smiled grimly. “The two things we do know is that it amplifies the power and
range of even simple transfiguration spells beyond what you could imagine and it allows for
extremely rare and unique items to be conjured.” Laughing aloud with a barking sound that Hermione
thought was reminiscent of a seal, she stared at him quizzically until he regained control of
himself. “You know that conch shell that sits on my desk?”

“The one you brought back from holiday in Hawaii years ago?” Smiling grimly he shook his
head.

“My father gave that to me when I came to the ministry as a reminder of our family history.
During war against Grendelwald, a German submarine surfaced off the coast of Skye. My mother's
sister was at the castle at the time. A bonnie lass she was, and very bright. Reminds me quite a
bit of you, if you want the truth. She'd just graduated from Hogwarts and was home trying to
decide what she needed to do with the war on and all. The bloody submarine began shelling the
village. My aunt looked out the window, placed her hand on the frame the flag was contained in,
pointed her wand at the submarine through the window over a mile away and turned it into that conch
shell. Never had the nerve to ask her what happened to the Germans.” Smiling at the disbelieving
look on Hermione's face, he said blandly. “If you don't believe me, you can ask the
Headmistress herself if it isn't true the next time you're at Hogwarts.”

“Minerva McGonagall is your aunt?” Fuming she stared at him. “This bloody well explains how you
seemed to know everything about me when we first met.”

“I thought you'd have a greater difficult believing the submarine than the fact I'm
related to Minerva.”

“I took my NEWTS from her tutoring; nothing surprises me about her abilities. You've
wandered off the path again. Where and when am I going?”

Looking back ahead, he began to fiddle with the recessed buttons on the control panel. “Since
you have a perfectly good muggle passport, we're going to fly you in, muggle style, to the
States. They're a bit touchy about undocumented visitors and though you'll be working with
the American Bureaus on this one, you'll have to cover of flying in as someone from the British
government looking for ideas about promoting American professional sports back here. You'll get
there on the seventeenth of August, which means you'll be flying out from Heathrow early
tomorrow. You'll be met by people from their sports team at the airport, put up in a hotel, and
your American and Canadian Bureau and Ministry contacts will meet you that evening. Don't worry
about the sports angle. They play baseball. From what Arthur has told me, it's very much like
cricket, so you should be in good shape there.”

Placing his hand on her arm again, he looked at her closely. “Hermione, the flag is very
dangerous if it's outside its protective frame. If anyone who's not a MacLeod handles it,
it could be very bad business all around. Repair then recover.” Watching her nod her understanding
he made a small gesture with his hand and the lift smoothly continued is journey.

“Francis, you still haven't told me where I'm going in the States. In case you
hadn't noticed, it's a fairly big place.”

As the doors opened onto the atrium, he turned to her as they left the car. “Cleveland. It's
in Ohio. It's near Canada so it can't be too uncivilized. I hear it's lovely during the
summer. I think the team is called the Aborigines or something like that.” With a brisk nod, he
walked off across the atrium leaving Hermione looking a bit confused, but smiling. The girl wonder
was about to ride again.

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3. Chapter Three - Looking Forward, In Anger and In Love
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Chapter Three - Looking Forward, in Anger and in Love

“America? If you're going to America about that house-elf, why are you studying muggle
sports?” Ron sat on the back of the couch, reading over Hermione's shoulder.

Without looking up, Hermione sighed and lowered the book onto her lap. “Because if I'm going
to have to convince them I'm actually interested in this baseball, then I have to know
something about it. Though I think there must be a bit of magic involved, they keep mentioning
invoking the `infield fly rule' and it seems to force the infielder catch the ball whether he
wants to or not. And I'm not going to ask how the pitcher is transfigured into a `designated
hitter' once every three innings or so.”

Leaning back so her head was resting against Ron, she looked up at him. “This is maddening. And
you might want to tell Arthur that baseball is nothing like cricket.”

Making a rude noise, Ron shook his head at her remark. “This has no more to do with baseball
than it does with house-elves. This is about you gallivanting around on another of Francis
Bethune's oh so mysterious errands.”

Watching him for a second, Hermione nodded. “Yes, but since you never want to talk about my
errands for Francis until I get back, I thought that baseball and house-elves would be safe enough
topics to discuss tonight. Obviously that isn't going to work tonight.”

Turing a bit pink around the ears, Ron scowled at her. “You don't have to do this, you know.
Your work with the elves is enough to keep anyone busy.”

“And you could work for George, or tryout as keeper for the Cannons, Merlin knows they need one,
and that would be enough to keep you busy. But you don't.”

Shaking his head, Ron stared at her. “That's different. What Harry and I do is important, we
make things safe for folks.”

Her voice becoming a bit guarded, Hermione looked back down at folder on her lap. “And what I do
for Francis isn't? I think the Minister would disagree with that characterization.”

Shaking his head, Ron smiled thinly. “That's not what I meant and you know it. All I was
saying was that what we're doing is more of a career, like your house elf work. You can't
flit around running errands for Bethune for the rest of your life.”

Without looking up at him, Hermione closed her eyes. “Ronald Bilius Weasley, if it's your
opinion that I'm nothing more than a glorified `errand girl' then I'm beginning to
wonder exactly how well we do know each other.”

Shaking his head, Ron looked down at her for a second. “Are we ever going to talk about
this?”

Shrugging, Hermione closed her eyes as she rested her head against him. “Talk about what,
Ron?”

“Us? The way our life has gotten to be?” Staring at her, he frowned as he could see the hints of
emotions playing across her face as she thought with her eyes closed. “How I'm always the last
to know when something is going on with your life.”

Sitting up, Hermione carefully placed her briefing materials on the table and then tucked her
feet up under herself. “You're not the last to know. I called my parents to tell them I was
going to America after I told you.”

Sliding down off the back of the divan, Ron ignored the look Hermione gave him as he turned to
face her. “But I wasn't the first, was I?”

Looking slightly amused, Hermione shook her head. “No Ron, you weren't the first person I
talked to about the trip.” Shaking her head, she wrapped her arms around her knee and stared at him
for a few seconds. “After Francis and I talked, I went back to my office, waited for the
`request' for a home visit to that wizarding family that's living outside Cleveland to come
down from the Department, along with my cover story from the muggle government, cleared my calendar
for the next week, reassigned that home visit up in Fort William to Carra, sent Harry a patronus
for his input...”

Growling in frustration, Ron stared at her. “That's exactly what I'm talking about. Why
is it that Harry rates a call before I do?” Shaking his head, he leaned back and glared.

Looking truly perplexed, Hermione shrugged. “Perhaps because Harry was in the States recently?
In case you don't remember, your partner just got back from that conference with the Americans
in Chicago a fortnight ago. I thought he might have some suggestions about how to blend in a
bit.”

Rolling his eyes, Ron blew out a noisy breath. “I was over there not that long ago, remember?
You could have asked me.”

Smiling, Hermione leaned forward and placed her hand on his arm. “Ron, you were in Canada last
year. In the Maritimes. Chasing smugglers across, as you so eloquently put it, `the arse end of
nowhere'. Not quite the urban environment I am headed for.”

Jumping up, Ron began pacing the room. “It's really annoying that you always seem to have an
explanation for everything.”

Laughing, Hermione tried to stop when she saw the look on Ron's face, but was only
successful in stifling her laugh back to a chuckle. “Ron, for almost ten years, you and Harry have
come to depend upon me having an explanation or answer for everything. Suddenly it's a
problem?”

Shaking his head, Ron leaned against the fireplace and nervously fiddled with the small items
Hermione kept on the mantle. “I thought that the idea was when we both moved out and got flats of
our own we were going to work on our relationship, move it forward. Instead, it's the same
thing as when we lived in Grimmauld Place with Harry, except now you're on the floo to him or
across town in his library rather than just down the hall in his library all the time.”

Shaking her head, Hermione studied Ron for a few seconds before responding. “Ron, I don't
think this is about my trip to America for Francis anymore.” Taking the slight shake of his head
for confirmation, she bit her lower lip. “Our relationship hasn't progressed very much since
the end of the summer we moved to London. Living in our own flats or living back at Number Twelve,
things haven't changed that much and I'm not certain why. We still fight as much as we
don't, and we've never come close to doing anything more than talking about moving things
along to a different level. Every time I bring it up, you either change the subject or we end up in
yet another row about something detail that pops up and distracts us.”

As he turned and faced her, Hermione could see that his face was taking on that thundercloud
aspect it did every time they were on the verge of one of their monumental rows. Holding up her
hand to him, Hermione tried to smile. “It's not your fault any more than it's mine. We just
seem to be stuck in a holding pattern and we can't seem to break out of it.”

“So let's change things. Start with a new piece of parchment. You move in with me, or I move
in with you.” Seeing the skeptical look on Hermione's face, Ron shrugged. “We chuck both flats
and find a house. Actually do something to move us forward.”

Closing her eyes, Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ward off the headache she
could feel coming on. “Ron, without any other changes, that's not forward, it's back.
Instead of being at Number Twelve, where there's room for us to calm down when we row, we'd
be on top of each other in one of these flats or in a small house. Where we live isn't really
the issue here.”

Glaring at her, Ron stared in disbelief. “If we took the next step and lived together, we'd
be able to settle into things and work out the problems we have.”

Standing up, Hermione walked around the divan until it was between them. “Ron, for all intents
and purposes, we `lived together' from the time we were eleven until we moved out of Number
Twelve and into these flats. It didn't help. If anything, things were worse because we
didn't have anywhere to go when we annoyed each other.”

Shaking his head, Ron closed his eyes. “You mean when I annoyed you, don't you?”

Shaking her head, Hermione watched him carefully. “No, I meant exactly what I said. I'm
fully aware of the fact that I'm just as annoying to you as you are to me, once we get started.
Heavens Ron, I'm not under the misconception that I'm blameless in this situation.”

Starting to turn red in the face, Ron glared at her. “Then exactly what do you think is wrong
here?”

Looking at him, Hermione could feel the tears start to form in her eyes. “Honestly, Ron, I'm
not certain. Things aren't working, and we really can't seem to make them work. I care
about you desperately, but all I can see is that we mostly make each other very unhappy. I
don't think we can live like this.”

His body rigid with emotion, Ron balled his fists and then unclenched them. “Then how should we
live?” His voice was low and controlled, but Hermione could feel the tension radiating off him from
across the room.

Taking a step back, Hermione watched him for a few seconds. “We need to try something else,
because this is obviously not working. Maybe take a step back. We both feel pressured to `make
things work'. If we could get back to the point where we were having fun and enjoyed seeing
each other, maybe we would find what we're looking for.”

Ron's face went pale, as the colour drained out of him and he slumped. “I can't believe
it's coming to this.”

Shaking her head, Hermione sighed. “It hasn't come to anything, yet. Ron, can you look me in
the eye and honestly say you've been happy these past six months?”

Refusing to look her in the eye, Ron glanced around the apartment. “Do you want me to go to the
airport with you in the morning?” Fixing his gaze on a side table that had pictures of them from
when they were at Hogwarts, he sighed. “You know I worry about you when you fly.”

Nodding, Hermione blinked back tears. “That would be wonderful. Do you want to meet there or
come by here in the morning and go together?”

Shaking his head, Ron looked up at her for a couple of seconds, pain and regret written in his
eyes. “That wasn't my thought, but since they're my only options, I'll meet you in the
Ministry lounge at Heathrow. I'll floo from the atrium and be there at seven.” Without waiting
for her to reply, he turned abruptly and apparated out of her living room.

Her warning to him not to apparate died unspoken as a small chime sounded. Shaking her head, she
looked over to her fireplace as green flames erupted and a familiar face appeared.

“Everything all right Hermione?” Harry's voice sounded guarded as he smiled at her.

Shaking her head, Hermione sank to the floor and cradled her head in her hands. “Harry, I
don't know what I'm going to do about Ron.”

Looking at her intently, Harry shook his head. “Mind if I come over?”

Looking up at him, Hermione smiled thinly. “You might as well. Technically, I'd say
you're partially here already. Besides, you need to reset those annoying apparition wards
you've got on my place; I'm too tired to think about them.”

Shaking his head, Harry pulled back from the flames. A few seconds later, he came tumbling
through the connection and landed on his feet with a small flourish. One of the handful of silver
tokens on the side of Hermione's fireplace briefly glowed as Harry entered. Shaking his head,
Harry smiled as Crookshanks appeared out of nowhere and began winding his way between Harry's
ankles.

Looking up at him from her place on the floor, Hermione smiled. “Don't you dare feed that
mooch. He ate not an hour ago, just before Ron arrived.”

Kneeling down, Harry ran his hand along Crookshanks' back, eliciting a contented purr from
the feline familiar. “Crooks isn't hungry tonight, he just wants some attention, don't
you?” Harry chuckled as the kneazel-mix glared at him when he stopped paying attention to him for a
second. “You run along, I'll spoil you later.”

Crookshanks stared at Harry for several seconds, pushed his head against Harry's hand and
then looked over his shoulder at Hermione. Sneezing once, he stalked off towards the open door that
led to Hermione's bedroom.

Shaking his head, Harry stood and walked over to where Hermione was sitting on the floor.
Holding out his hand, he waited for several seconds before sighing and sitting on the floor beside
her. Putting his arm around her shoulder, he waited for her to settle in beside him before reaching
over and gently stoking her hair. “It'll work out. You two will be fine.”

Looking up at him, Hermione studied his face for a few seconds before she haltingly shook her
head. “Harry, I don't think so. We row at the drop of a hat, these days. We can't seem to
talk about anything without turning it into a power struggle.” Shaking her head, she rolled her
eyes. “He actually suggested moving in together, for Nimue's sake.”

Sighing heavily, Harry nodded. “I know. He was looking at a house in Loch Maree yesterday.”

Sitting bolt upright, Hermione stared at Harry for several seconds. “He what? A house? In the
loch?”

Smiling, Harry shrugged. “Well, technically the house was on an island in the loch. The islands
up there are a Conservancy area for the muggles, and there's a growing community of wizards and
witches forming on the islands. It's even got its own loch monster, to remind folks of
Hogwarts.”

Staring in disbelief at the look on his face, Hermione shook her head. “I can't believe you
knew about this and didn't warn me.”

Shrugging, Harry smiled mischievously. “As far as I knew, this was only the second place he had
looked at. And he only looked at the first one because Molly made him go look at the Kellerman
place in Ottery St. Catchpole last Sunday when neither of us were at the Sunday dinner. The pace
Ron usually works, I thought I had about four more months to warn you before he'd actually
spring it on you.”

Shaking her head, she leaned back against him and sighed. “After tonight, I don't think
he'll be looking at any more houses.” Sitting up and looking at Harry, she shook her head. “The
Kellerman place?”

Smiling, Harry nodded. “Molly tried to get Bill and Fleur to look at it before their wedding,
and she took me by to see it six months ago, a few weeks before `the incident', as she so
charmingly puts it.” Closing his eyes and leaning back, Harry missed the look of concern in
Hermione's eyes. “She seems to think that being within walking distance of the Burrow is a
selling point for a young couple.”

Snorting in disbelief at that last comment, Hermione chuckled. “At least if Ron's delusional
enough to think we should live together right now, he's sane enough to pick the far end of
Scotland to keep me from hexing Molly after the first week of unannounced drop ins.” Leaning over,
Hermione placed her hand on Harry's arm. “Are you doing fine?”

Opening one eye, Harry shrugged. “I'm a bit peckish, but other than that, I'll live. You
two eat before you started rowing?”

Shaking her head in exasperation, Hermione smiled. “That's not what I meant, and you know
it. And no, we didn't eat. Indian or Chinese?”

Smiling, Harry launched himself upright from his seated position with one flex of his legs.
“I'll do the honors, milady.” Walking over to her fireplace, he glanced at the floo tokens
attached to the side and saw that Ron's was still attached in its usual spot beside his. “Why
didn't the git just floo home rather than busting your wards like that? We go to all the
trouble of setting you up with a restricted access floo and he pops out of here like its Victoria
Station after a football match.”

Shrugging, Hermione sighed as she got up from her spot on the floor. “Who knows? Half the time
he forgets. Tonight I think he was so annoyed that I didn't ask him to stay the night that he
just left before it could get any worse.”

Shaking his head, Harry reached into the small clay container on the mantle and took a pinch of
floo powder. Tossing it in, he called “Chuck & Vicky's Takeout” as the flames turned green.
The flames resolved themselves to show a harried looking young woman with long dark hair sitting in
front of two portraits, one of Queen Victoria and the other of Prince Charles. Starting into her
spiel “Welcome to Chuck & Vicky's, the wizarding home of the best tandoori chicken in
London…” she looked up and smiled. “Wotcher Harry. Slumming in Kensington tonight with Hermione I
see.”

Smiling Harry nodded. “Hey Premila, how's the shop tonight?”

Shrugging, the dark eyed young woman smiled at him. “Eh, so so for a summer evening. Have you
seen my cousins recently?”

Nodding Harry smiled. “Padma was in just this morning for a meeting with my team. I don't
see her sister as often now that she's an Unspeakable. How's University going?”

Rolling her eyes, Premila laughed. “Not bad. You two want your usual?”

Looking over his shoulder and seeing Hermione shake her head, Harry sighed. “Let's try
something different tonight. Any suggestions?”

Smiling mischievously, she nodded. “I'll start you two with Batak Hara Pyaz and Achari
Murgh. We'll follow that up with buttered chicken, and finish it off with Mum's special.
What are you two lushes drinking tonight?”

Shaking his head, Harry thought for a second. “Are you guys stocking that new brew from Vannin?”
Seeing her nod, he smiled. “We'll take four of them.” Leaning closer to the floo, Harry lowered
his voice. “And could you send someone next door a pick up a quart of Rocky Road and add it to the
tab?”

Rolling her eyes, Premila shook her head. “They're at it again?” Seeing Harry's nod, she
sighed. “If she ever gets tired of it, let me know. I have a cousin who's dying to be
introduced to the fabulous Hermione Granger.” Seeing the scowl that crossed Harry's face, she
amended. “Or, maybe not.”

Shaking his head, Harry grinned. “Sorry about that, I'm certain your cousin is an excellent
fellow.” Looking over his shoulder at Hermione, who was bringing plates and flatware to the table,
he smiled and turned back to the front. “How long?”

Looking over her shoulder towards the kitchen, Premila shrugged. “Eh, between fifteen and
twenty. “ Handing him a small bronze token through the floo, she glanced down at the sheet in front
of her. “That'll be eight and seven.”

Smiling Harry nodded. “Make it an even twelve and put it on the Grimmauld account. I'll send
Kreacher around in the morning to settle up.”

Nodding, Premila smiled mischievously. “Roger Harry. By the way, my cousin has a cousin who
would like a second chance with the fabulous Harry Potter. Seems she wants a rematch from the Yule
Ball.”

Laughing Harry shrugged. “Since Parvati's an Unspeakable now, she not only knows whether
I'll ask her out, but whether or not we'll have a good time. Seems to take all the fun out
of it.”

Winking at him, Premila nodded. “True, but that means she also knows whether or not she'll
be having breakfast at Grimmauld Place the next morning.” A slight look of panic crossed her face
as she looked over Harry's shoulder. “Your food will be there in ten minutes. Namaste.”
Abruptly cutting the floo connection, Premila's face disappeared.

Without turning around, Harry shook his head. “I think you scared the poor girl.”

Sounding a tad waspish, Hermione stepped up beside him. “And exactly who will be having
breakfast at Grimmauld Place?”

Shrugging, Harry wrapped his arm around Hermione's shoulder and steered her back towards the
sofa. “She's hinting that Parvati is looking for a rematch to make up for the bad time I showed
her at the Yule Ball.” Seeing the skeptical look in Hermione's face, he grinned. “She started
off by mentioning that she has a cousin who was interested in meeting the `fabulous Hermione
Granger'.”

Shaking her head, Hermione laughed. “If you'd stop ordering ice-cream for me every time Ron
and I row, she wouldn't make those suggestions.”

Shaking his head, Harry groaned. “I'm getting predictable in my old age, I suppose.”

Rising up on tiptoe, Hermione kissed him on the cheek. “Wonderfully so.” Seating herself on the
couch, she patted the cushion beside her. “Sit. Do you want to hear about the trip or the
fight?”

Lowering himself to the couch, Harry tossed the delivery token to the coffee table. “The trip.
We'll talk about the fight with dessert.”

Turning so he could look at her, Harry smiled as Hermione tucked her feet up under her and
leaned back into the back of the sofa. “You know, part of the problem is that he worries about you
going off on these expeditions for Francis.”

Grabbing a throw pillow and hugging it to her, Hermione nodded. “I know. You both worry about
me, but at least you're willing to credit me with a bit of common sense and ability to take
care of myself. Ron sees me as a walking menace, I think.”

Shaking his head, Harry smiled. “It's not that as much as it is he's as much a victim of
FTS as Ginny is.”

Biting her lower lip for a second, Harry could see the wheels turning as Hermione tried to
puzzle out his last comment. Finally shaking her head in exasperation, she looked at him. “FTS?
What in Merlin's name is that?”

Chuckling, Harry nodded. “Fairy Tale Syndrome. Ginny always expected me to be this immaculate
knight in shining armour out of some story. Ron sees women, primarily women he cares about, as
damsels in distress, whether they are or not.”

Staring at him in disbelief for several seconds, Harry could see that she was trying desperately
not to laugh. Biting her lower lip, her eyes began to light up as she gave way to laughter. “Harry…
that...was…” Finally losing control, she leaned back and just started laughing uncontrollably.

Smiling as he watched his best mate lose control of herself, Harry flinched a bit as Crookshanks
launched himself from somewhere into Harry's lap. Ruffling the ginger feline's ears as
Crookshanks settled himself into place, he leaned over and whispered into the cat's ear, “See,
and you were worried about her.” Looking up at him with a haughty expression, Crookshanks rubbed
his head under Harry's chin a couple of times before settling down and watching his mistress
try to regain control of herself.

Tears running down her cheeks, Hermione smiled at Harry as she tried to regain her breath. “That
was the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. A pureblood witch and wizard suffering from
Fairy Tale Syndrome?” Laughing again, she reached up and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I never
thought of it in those terms, but it exactly explains both of them.” Shaking her head, Hermione
stared at Harry for several seconds. “What am I going to do with him? He's never going to
credit the fact I don't need saving every time I turn around.”

Before Harry could answer, the delivery token shimmered once, the sound of windchimes was heard
and a tray with their dinners on it appeared. Next to the tray was a small carrier with four brown
bottles sitting in it and a padded bag marked `Chilling charm 45:59 ` with the numbers counted down
in one-second increments.

Inhaling, Hermione smiled. “Harry, that smells heavenly. Even if she's an interfering,
matchmaking busybody, Premila certainly does know how to select a menu.”

Laughing, Harry summoned a pair of beer glasses from the kitchen and proceeded to pour their
first drinks into them. “She means well. Face it, the fact that you and Ron row as much as the
Cambridge University Boat Club is not exactly a secret and Molly's the only person in England
who isn't aware of the fact that Ginny and I are, mercifully, history.”

Shaking her head, Hermione accepted her glass from Harry as she levitated their plates into
position. Conjuring a small saucer, she placed a couple of bits of chicken on it for Crookshanks
before she looked up him. “Ginny's finally given up the chase?”

Nodding, Harry swallowed a bit of his duck and smiled ruefully. “It looks that way. I think she
finally realized that she was meeting blokes left and right who were dying to chat her up and more,
so why spend any more time chasing after the `Boy Who Got Away'.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Hermione watched Harry for a couple of seconds. “You're all right with
that?” she asked as she took a forkful of the duck from Harry's plate.

Shaking his head, Harry returned the compliment by snagging some of her achari murgh before
answering. “It's way overdue. I just hope she finds someone who can actually make her happy,
since I couldn't ever seem to do that.”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione laughed. “Harry, no one can make anyone else happy, you can only
contribute to her happiness. The two of you weren't very well suited to each other, really. I
suppose you're correct about that fairy tale business, she was looking for something in you
that no living man could have provided.”

Feigning outrage, Harry drew himself haughtily. “Are you implying that I'm not Prince
Charming?”

Smiling, Hermione shook her head. “Not at all, I'm just saying you're obviously not
Ginny's Prince Charming, and I don't think anyone this side of Godric Gryffindor could be.”
Looking at him with a faraway look for a second, she smiled shyly. “You'll make the right witch
very happy someday.”

Shaking his head and blushing slightly, Harry smiled. “Care to tell me about your latest
excursion for Francis, while you eat my duck?” He quipped as Hermione was in the middle of taking
another forkful from his plate.”

Smiling warily as she returned the purloined forkful of food to her plate she nodded. “Nothing
much, just a quick pickup from some of Francis' `cousins' in the States. Some trinkets got
picked up by mistake here in England and we need to bring them back before they're missed.”
Smiling at the incredulous look on Harry's face, she nodded.

Shaking his head, Harry sighed. “I'm not Ron; you don't have to cloak everything. We
both know what's going on; at least I'm mature enough to think about it directly.”

Smiling sadly, Hermione nodded. “Sorry Harry, I just get used to having to talk around
everything, trying to avoid a row with Ron. As I was saying, a couple of smugglers stole a pair of
enchanted items from a castle up in Scotland and are in the process of peddling them to some group
in Canada or America.”

Nodding, she accioed the briefing packet to her and handed Harry the sheets on the two missing
items. “One of them, the Fairy Flag of Dunvegan is actually quite powerful and potentially lethal
if they're not very careful. Francis and the Ministry want them back before they cause an
incident that can't be explained easily.”

Nodding, Harry looked thoughtful as he glanced at the datasheets. “Makes sense to send you, I
suppose. No one on the outside ever suspects you're death on two legs until you unleash on
them.” Grinning at the shocked look on her face, he looked thoughtful. “Going to take a side trip
down to Mobile to finally meet Marysue?”

“You're as bad as Ron. I swear that if I'd known how he was going to react, I never
would have agreed to Francis' plan. I spent thirteen weeks transfigured as Ms Marysue Carter so
I could go through the physical and combat training part of Auror basic with you and Ron without
attracting attention.” Stabbing an innocent portion of buttered chicken into submission on her
plate, Hermione scowled at Harry. “Except for you, every auror candidate in the place and most of
the instructors hit on me at least twice a day. Why couldn't they have picked someone more
normal?”

Raising an eyebrow, Harry smiled at her. “Normal? She seemed normal enough to me. Not quite as
pretty as you, but definitely normal.”

At a loss for words, Hermione shook her head. “Normal women who become aurors aren't `Miss
Hog Wild Festival' queens.” Smiling smugly, she settled back to eat more of her meal. “Well, at
least her spending the same amount of time transfigured as me helped to slow down her social life
back in Mobile.”

Chuckling, Harry shook his head. “I don't know. When I was in Chicago, there was a trio of
very earnest young agents from the Alabama Bureau who were highly impressed when Marysue mentioned
that I'd been your best mate since school days. Marysue blushed Weasley red when Agent Mayhew
asked me to tell you he was looking forward to exchanging whipped cream recipes with you again on
your next visit to Alabama.”

Staring at Harry in horror, Hermione shook her head in disbelief. “Harry, please tell me
you're joking. Why didn't you mention something about this when you came back from
Chicago?”

Shaking his head, Harry smiled at her. “I covered for you. I told him that I was the only wizard
that you swapped recipes with these days, and I was certain that my technique with whipping cream
was much preferable. He took one look at my scar and suddenly remembered he had another seminar
that he was going to audit.”

Staring at Harry as if he'd just burst into flames, Hermione shook her head as he calmly
went back to eating. “How could you?”

Smiling knowingly, Harry shrugged. “Did you or did you not rave about those gooseberry pies I
made last spring?”

“Well yes, but what's that got to do with it?” Looking exasperated, Hermione started turning
a bit pink around her ears.

Looking innocent, Harry shrugged. “I doubt Agent Mayhew could make those as well, and since the
whipped cream was part of it…”

“Harry James Potter, that wasn't what he was talking about and you bloody well know it.”

Smirking, Harry nodded. “Language Hermione. We don't know anything of the kind. But if he
thinks I'm talking about whatever it was he might have been talking about, it'll keep him
from pestering you if he ever runs across you in a social or work setting in the future.”

Picking up a throw pillow and heaving it at him, she laughed when he wandlessly deflected it.
“What about the you're the only wizard I swap recipes with part?”

“I gave you my mum's recipe for gooseberry pie; you gave me your mum's recipe for
treacle tart. Have you swapped any recipes with any other wizards?”

Shaking her head slowly, she sighed. “Well, no.”

“QED, what I told him was nothing but the unvarnished truth.” Sitting back, Harry wandlessly
snagged the throw pillow from the floor and swatted her in the back of the head with it.

Shaking her head, Hermione stared at him for several seconds. “Did it ever occur to you to hint
that I was swapping recipes with Ron? That would have defused the situation just as easily, you
know.”

Chuckling, Harry cleared the last few bits of chicken from his plate. “Not a chance. If your Mr.
Mayhew ever ran into Ron, Ron would either be totally confused about the entire conversation,
giving the game away or he'd pummel the young man into blood pudding if he figured out what he
was getting at. Safest thing all around was to make myself the brooding, possessive wizard who was
firmly entrenched in your life.”

Smiling innocently, Harry proceeded to snag the last bits of dinner from the table in front of
them. “There isn't anyone on the planet who doesn't think something's gone on between
us, at some point. We finally found a situation where it works for us.”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione sighed as she reached for another bottle. “Harry, he's not `my
Mr. Mayhew', he's Marysue's. And for another thing…”

Whatever else she was going to say was interrupted by a brief flare of green fire from her
fireplace and a leather valise landing in the middle of her hearth with a resounding thump.

“There are times I bloody well hate my job.” Getting up gracefully, she walked slowly over to
the case and carried it back to set it gently on the table in front of them. Smiling at Harry, she
picked up her wand and tapped the valise twice on each latch. “I solemnly swear I first met Harry
James Potter on the Hogwarts Express.” The latches opened with an audible snap.

“And what does your boss think about your pass phrase to get into your top secret compartment of
your valise?” Chuckling, Harry's eyes got a far-away look as he remembered that day when
Hermione first came bustling into his life.

“I've never had to open it in front of him, but I doubt he'd be surprised. The Ministry
is in debt to your father and the rest of the Marauders for that little security device they
created for the Marauders' Map.” Grinning, she blushed a bit as she remembered the day when she
and Harry first met. “Let's see what they've got for me to take on my little trip.” Opening
the case, she looked at the various envelopes, binders and a slim book of spells that lay in the
case. On one side was an old-fashioned black wool tam with a white silk cockade attached.

“Since when has Francis started making fashion suggestions?” Harry asked as he watched her
gently take it out and place it on her head. Smiling, he moved his wand in a circular pattern and
the air in front of Hermione's face shimmered and turned into a reflective surface that showed
her how the tam looked while she was wearing it. Smiling her thanks, she tilted her head and turned
slightly so she could see Harry in the mirror along with her own reflection.

“It's something that might make some of the people I'm to meet a bit more receptive to
working with me. The other things are just standard issue for a trip away, stop worrying.” Smiling
impishly at his reflection, she raised an eyebrow and asked “Does this mean you're volunteering
to go shopping for me the next time I need to find something new for my wardrobe?” Laughing at the
look on his face, she added “I'm much less painful to go shopping with than Ginny, it won't
kill you.”

Smiling Harry nodded. “I've gone shopping with you before. I seem to remember one Saturday
before Easter last year when you decided you needed yellow heels to go with that dress you were
wearing the next day. We spent seven hours, went to fourteen different stores in three different
towns and you tried on forty-two different pairs before we went back to the first pair you tried on
that morning just as Harrods was closing.”

“Just that once, I'm usually not that bad, I'll thank you very much.” Dispelling the
mirror with a flick of her wand, she quickly turned her head and caught him watching her. “If you
want painful, I'll tell Bill that you're willing to accompany his wife. Fleur is much more
`demanding' than Ginny or I about clothes.”

Chuckling, he reached into the case and picked up an official looking muggle folder. “Diplomatic
Credentials?”

“If I get caught doing something I shouldn't by the local muggle authorities, those
credentials will give me a pass out of being detained. Eventually. Unless it's simpler to just
adjust their memories and let me go on my merry way.”

Shaking his head, Harry smiled at her blithe explanation. “You know I do worry about you.”
Seeing the look in her eye, he held up both hands in surrender. “I never worry about you being able
to handle things. Merlin knows, you're twice as smart as Ron and I put together.” Seeing that
dangerous glint begin to fade, he put his hand lightly on her arm. “I just worry about you being
all by yourself on these things. When I'm undercover, there's a whole group that knows and
is ready to come find me if something goes wrong. With Francis' missions, if something goes
wrong I don't trust them not to pretend nothing ever happened if it suits their purposes.”

Smiling sadly, Hermione nodded. “Harry, I worry about you and Ron while you're out running
around saving the world, but you're correct. What I do is different.” Stepping close, she
wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. “I have every intention of coming home to you from
this, don't worry.”

As Harry returned her hug, he held her for several seconds before answering. “You know that if
something happens, I'll be over there tearing that place apart until I find you, rules or
not.”

Nodding, Hermione smiled at him. “Harry, let's sit down and divvy up that ice cream you
ordered, and I'll explain my backup plan to you.”

Sitting down, Harry grabbed the briefing folder from the table and began looking over the
background materials on the flag and glass again. Hermione summoned a pair of bowls and spoons from
her kitchen and broke the seal on the protective bag surrounding the ice cream. Filling both bowls,
she set them in front of Harry and slid onto the divan beside him, ducking under his arm and
leaning across him to see what he was so fascinated with.

Watching him for a second, she shook her head as she picked up a bowl. “I would have thought
that you would have been more interested in the flag.”

Frowning in concentration, Harry shook his head as Hermione held a spoonful of ice cream up for
him. Absentmindedly taking the proffered bite, he smiled, as he tasted the dessert. “Um, that's
good. I can see what you see in this. But no, I think Francis is wrong in his thought that the
Fairy Flag was an add-on. I think they were sent to collect both items. There's a connection,
something that links both items other than the fact they were both conveniently housed in Dunvegan
Castle.”

Looking thoughtful, Hermione closed her eyes while eating a spoonful of ice cream. Shrugging,
she opened her brown eyes and frowned. “A MacLeod who's a candidate to be Queen of Scots?”

Chuckling, Harry nodded. “That's one possible answer. All hail Minerva, Queen of Scots.”

Giggling, Hermione rolled her eyes. “I don't think the world is quite ready for that, as
appealing as it would seem to us Gryffindors.” Grinning cheekily, she nodded, “Of course, it could
be an elf that's heir to the Scottish throne.”

Smiling, Harry took another bite of her ice cream as she shook her head at the thought. “You
were saying something about a backup plan?”

Nodding, Hermione smiled. “If I mention, December 26th, what do you think of?”

Furrowing his brow, Harry looked puzzled. “Your backup plan is Boxing Day?”

Shaking her head, Hermione laughed. “Not exactly. If I said the day after Christmas our seventh
year?”

Frowning, Harry shook his head. “Since I'm certain your plan doesn't hinge on either of
us pulling out the Sword of Gryffindor at a crucial moment, you're talking about Ron coming
back to us while we were on the Hunt.”

Nodding, Hermione smiled. “Albus' deluminator allowed Ron to find us when we spoke his name
in our tent.”

Looking puzzled, Harry tilted his head a bit. “If you get in trouble, Ron and I set around with
the Put-Outer waiting for you to call for us?”

Shaking her head, with a twinkle in her eye, Hermione grinned. “Ron will be panicking and doing
random, useless stuff while you'll be coming up with a brilliant plan. To make it a bit easier,
I've spent the last six months working on these.” Holding out her hand, a small velvet bag
sailed out of her bedroom door and into her waiting hand. Opening the bag, she removed two familiar
looking silver objects.

Whistling, Harry shook his head in disbelief. “Scrimgeour said that Dumbledore's was
unique.”

Nodding, Hermione looked very happy with herself. “It was, and it took a great deal of genius
for him to create that out of whole cloth. It didn't take quite as much genius on my part to
reverse engineer his to create our own.” Nodding at Harry's gobsmacked expression, she handed
him one of the pair. “One for you, one for me, and the original for Ronald.”

Placing her hand on Harry's arm, Hermione stared into his eyes for several seconds before
speaking. “Harry, I have one, because I'm just as much a part of this as you and Ron. If you
ever need me, call for me and I'll come for you.”

Silence descended over the room for several moments, only broken by the gentle crackling of the
floo. The tableau was broken when Crookshanks appeared out of nowhere and landed heavily in
Harry's lap, noisily demanding attention.

Nodding, Harry looked down at Crookshanks as he rubbed the fur along his back. “You know I will,
just as I'll come when you need me.”

Smiling, Hermione nodded. “Harry, can you do two things for me tonight?”

Looking up, Harry nodded, “Of course. Just name it.”

Smiling, she got up to begin clearing the dishes from the table in front of them. “When you go
back to Grimmauld Place in the morning, could you take Crooks with you and let him run around the
house until I get back?”

Smiling, Harry rubbed Crookshanks under his chin and nodded. “Yes I'll spend the night and
yes Crookshanks can stay with me until you come back for us.” Looking at the blush on her cheeks,
he sighed. “That row with Ron was worse than you've let on, no?”

Blushing, she shrugged. “I just don't really feel like being alone tonight. I know it's
silly, it seems we've spent more nights together on the chesterfield here or at your place than
we haven't.”

Gently setting Crookshanks on the cushion beside him, Harry stood and began collecting the
remains of dinner. “Nonsense, there's nothing to apologize for. We've both had nightmares
from time to time, and we've both been there for each other.” Leaning over, Harry kissed her on
the top of her head. “If you'd like, I'll talk to Ron while you're gone.”

Shaking her head, Hermione bit her lower lip for a couple of seconds before answering. “I'm
a big witch, I can handle him. But honestly, I think the time is coming, and coming soon, when
we're going to have to acknowledge the fact it hasn't worked and it's not going to work
between us.”

As she looked up, Harry could see the tears in her eyes. “Does that make me a bad person?” she
asked, quietly.

Shaking his head, Harry smiled ruefully with a strange expression on his face. “Hermione, you
couldn't be a bad person, if you tried. You're simply honest. I'll back whatever
decision you make. The two of you have been particularly adept at making each other miserable for
the past while, and I don't think it's going to get any better until you come to terms with
where your future lies.”

Taking her hand and squeezing it gently he nodded. “You know I'm in your corner with this. I
made quite a few mistakes over the years trying not to choose between the two of you and I've
regretted every time I didn't choose you. I'll never make that mistake again. You know
you're the most important person in my life, and you always have been.”

Nodding her thanks, she smiled a watery smile. “Harry, that means a great deal to me.” Looking
towards her bedroom door, she nodded. “You've still got clothes in the wardrobe in my room.
I'll tidy up in here and in the kitchen if you want to grab the first shower.”

Seeing him nod, she smiled as he gave her a lazy grin and ambled towards her bedroom. Gathering
up her briefing materials, she placed everything in her valise. Closing it, she paused for a
second, until she heard the water start in the bathroom before taking out her wand. Tapping each
lock twice, she smiled and whispered, “I met the love of my life on the Hogwarts Express, and he
doesn't know it.” Both locks sealed with an audible click as she gathered up the remaining
dishes and headed for her kitchen.

----------

Just after two a.m., while Harry and Hermione slept on her sofa, the gently crackling fire in
Hermione's floo flared up and turned green as one of the tokens on the side of the fireplace
glowed. A red-haired wizard watched the scene before him, the two best mates sleeping on the couch
with Hermione's head on Harry's chest and his arms wrapped protectively around her. Shaking
his head, he closed his eyes as the floo connection closed, his face disappeared, and the flames
died back down. Crookshanks' eyes glittered balefully in the flickering light as he kept a
protective watch over his mistress and the wizard who slumbered beside her.

-->



4. Chapter Four - A Warm Welcome to Cleveland
---------------------------------------------



Chapter Four - A Warm Welcome to Cleveland

Bustling and crowded, Cleveland Hopkins Airport was hectic even at this late hour. Customs in
Detroit had been a nightmare and the connecting flight was even worse. Having missed her original
connecting flight, Hermione hadn't registered an alarm when the ticketing agent told her he had
booked her on a `puddle jumper' into Cleveland.

The small plane would have appealed to Harry's sense of adventure, but it had done nothing
for her peace of mind. Especially since she could have sworn that the pilot had a Michelin road
guide tucked under his arm as he made his way into the small cockpit.

Fuming, Hermione exited the walkway from the embarkation site into the reception area hoping
that the airline had made good on it's promise to contact the offices of the team so that they
would know that she was on a later flight.

Eighteen hours after she'd left a highly irate Ron still trying to argue with her back at
Heathrow, she still wasn't certain what had possessed him to start a row over absolutely
nothing this morning. She had been honestly surprised when he had offered to check on Crookshanks
while she was gone considering that the two of them barely tolerated each other at the best of
times.

Ron had never really gotten over the entire Scabbers incident, conveniently forgetting that his
`pet' had actually been the wizard who betrayed Harry's parents in animagus form and
Crooks' highly negative reactions to him were totally justified. Crookshanks, on the other
hand, possessed that less than admirable feline attribute of never ever forgetting a slight,
perceived or otherwise, in full bloom. Crooks' purposeful snubbing of Ron was made abundantly
clear by the genuine rapport and affection he had for Harry, which was returned.

When she thanked Ron for the unexpected offer and explained to him that she'd already made
arrangements for Crookshanks to have a short holiday back at Grimmauld Place, he went from being
mildly annoyed and snarky to apoplectic and things had escalated from there. Shaking her head, she
felt that the time was coming when the two of them wouldn't be able to postpone `the
conversation' any longer.

Smiling bitterly to herself, she scanned the crowd, wondering if anyone was waiting for her.
There was. Suddenly she was wondering if it was too late to get back on the plane and go wherever
it was heading next. All of a sudden Thunder Bay didn't sound quite as remote as it had when
the original boarding call in Detroit had been given.

Standing in front of the crowd in the reception area was a seven-foot tall hairy purple
`something' that was wearing some sort of white sports jersey. The creature was holding a
gaudily painted sign with her name on it. Stopped dead in her tracks, she was buffeted by the
people behind her trying to enter the reception area. `*Stars, on top of everything else, someone
sends a cross between a pwca and that dreadful muggle dinosaur to collect me at the
airport*' she thought as she started hesitantly towards the towering purple and yellow sign
bearer.

Silently gesturing from his sign to her and back again, the tall purple creature waved silently
as she stopped in front of him. “I'm Hermione Granger” Expecting some sort of reply, she
noticed that she could see the eyes of someone inside the suit giving her a cheeky wink and
pointing towards a very petite blond bustling towards her, talking rapidly into a cell phone.

“I can see that her plane has landed, you idiot. What I'm not seeing is why she didn't
make her original connecting flight from Detroit. And don't even let me start on whether or not
that flying deathtrap you booked her on is an appropriate substitution. Call me back before morning
or we'll see about having a different airline for the team's business.” Snapping the phone
shut with a loud crack, she looked up and smiled apologetically. “Ms Granger, I'm Terri
Blackstone, media relations for the Indians. I'm so sorry that we've gotten off on the
wrong foot for this. Is it too late to welcome you to America and certainly welcome you to
Cleveland?” Turning a very bright, and apparently sincere, smile on Hermione, she stuck her hand
out.

Laughing, Hermione took the woman's hand and shook it. “Terri, I'm certainly glad to
finally be here. Please, call me Hermione. Ms Granger makes it sound as if I'd taken an offer
to teach primary school. And I can't imagine why any of this would be your fault. Unless your
team is responsible for the customs people in Detroit, that is.”

Taking a liking to the young woman, she returned the smile and set her carryon down. “Your tall
handsome escort seems to be from the `strong silent type' school.” Nodding towards person
holding the sign she raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Ack. Slider, this is Ms Granger from England. Ms Granger, this is Slider. He doesn't talk
much. Ms Granger is here to observe American baseball and see if we can set something up with
exhibition games in England in the next few years.”

Nodding pleasantly, Hermione winked at Slider. “I'm still Hermione, Slider. I'm pleased
to meet you. Hopefully you'll be able to explain this pesky `infield fly rule' to me when I
go to the park on Friday.”

“Sorry, Hermione. I didn't want to compound your bad impression of us by mispronouncing your
name on top of everything else, so I was waiting until I heard you say it a couple of times before
I attempted it. It's a lovely name, but I don't think I've ever met anyone who was
named that.”

“Quite alright. I've had it mispronounced every way imaginable over the years. My parents
named me after a character in one of Shakespeare's plays. Even in England, it's considered
a bit odd. I briefly dated an exchange student from Bulgaria who kept calling me
`Herm-own-ninny'. Obviously that wasn't going to last long.” Smiling wistfully, she
remembered the Yule Ball with fondness and regret. “I was fifteen and trying to get another boy
notice me. But it was fun for a while.”

As Slider gallantly collected her carryon, Hermione and Terri headed towards luggage claim. “Did
it work?” Seeing the puzzled expression in Hermione's eyes, she laughed. “The other boy, did he
notice you?”

Chuckling at the irony of the question, she nodded. “He said good-bye to me this morning. What
do you think?” Hermione blushed as she remembered saying `goodbye' both to a very subdued and
pensive Harry at her flat, somehow feeling as if something unresolved was between them, and then an
hour later to Ron the madman, with the ticket agent threatening to have the plane depart without
her if they didn't stop their row and her get on the jetway that instant. Thinking back on both
of their reactions to her the night of the ball, she wondered how she ever had allowed things to
come to their current impasses.

“I'd say so.” Smiling they headed down the escalator to baggage claim with Slider getting
lots of attention from the people in the airport. “Slider's always good to draw a crowd of
Tribe fans, so if things get a bit hectic, I might have him stop and let folks take pictures of him
while we go out to the limo.”

Reaching the baggage claim area, Hermione saw that her flight number was set for the farthest
carousel. Walking past all of the travelers waiting to get their luggage, she noticed the small
case that Harry had bought her last Christmas in muggle London and Arthur had enchanted so it was
much roomier than it looked. Picking it up, she hefted it in her hand and smiled.

“Certainly not the clothes horse.” Terri observed as they made their way towards the arrivals
area. “I'm always amazed that folks can travel lightly. If I run to Erie for the day, I take
more than this.” Smiling wryly she led the way out into the muggy Cleveland evening.

“I learned to be a careful packer at school.” Thinking about her old Hogwarts trunk that carried
her for a year of school compared to the beaded bag that she, Ron, and Harry escaped with after the
wedding, she delighted in the bag that Arthur had enchanted for her.

“I attended a private boarding school in Scotland so every September I carried everything I
needed for an entire year in a trunk on the train. My first year I was certain that the trunk
outweighed me and one of my roommates.” Grinning mischievously as she hefted the bag in her hand.
“I learned quickly if I was going to take everything I wanted to have with me I had to make choices
about what was important.”

“With so little luggage, what on Earth happened to hold you up in customs long enough to miss
your connecter from Detroit?” Looking puzzled, Terri was trying to reconcile the visible luggage
with the phone message that let her know that Hermione had missed her connecting flight because of
difficulties getting her luggage through the customs check.

Stepping out into the muggy evening, Hermione shrugged as she looked around at the bustle that
was the carpark of Cleveland's airport. “Haven't a clue. Things were going well until she
saw that promotional folder you sent me in my valise. After that, she started questioning that
there wasn't enough luggage, trying to see if I was hiding something. Honestly, it was
incredible.”

Hermione smiled wryly about everything she had been hiding, magically, and how she almost felt
bad for the exasperated customs agent who was correct in her feeling that she was hiding something,
several somethings actually, but had no real chance to find it. “Finally I had to use the
credentials folder that my boss had provided. She kept muttering something about `Leavenworth'
until I showed her this.”

Holding up a slim blue folder embossed with the seal of Her British Majesty's Diplomatic
Service in gold. “After that, her supervisor appeared out of thin air and suddenly everyone was
ever so helpful.” Shaking her head, she smiled at the look on people's faces after she used her
backup plan.

“Diplomatic credentials?” Terri whistled softly as she touched them with a disbelieving look. “I
thought this was just a cultural exchange plan. We send you a couple of baseball teams, you send us
a couple of cricket teams and we see if we can generate any interest.” Looking warily at Hermione
she asked. “That is the plan, isn't it?”

Smiling, Hermione tried to look reassuring. “Of course it is. Everyone in my office has these
folders. We usually never need to use them. For whatever reason that woman had made making me late
and annoyed her personal agenda. So I just thought I'd repay the favor. When her boss showed up
he kept mentioning something about the `Tigers'. Does that make any sense?”

Laughing, Terri almost dropped the case and the folders she was carrying. “Sorry about that.
Detroit's baseball team is called the `Tigers' and they're about seven games behind us
in the wild card race at the moment. That idiot must have thought you were affiliated with us and
decided to do her bit for making the Tribe miserable.”

Smiling broadly, she waved her hand towards a towering advertisement board featuring Cleveland
baseball players. “Welcome to the great American pastime, you're now officially part of a
rivalry.”

-->



5. Chapter Five - The Golden Torc
---------------------------------



Chapter Five - The Golden Torc

Walking across the muggy carpark, the two young women headed towards a large limousine that was
idling in the pickup area. Smiling Terri indicated the waiting limo. “We'll just give Slider a
chance to catch up and then we'll get you to your hotel.”

Looking a bit perplexed, she looked at Hermione curiously. “I've been meaning to ask you
about your choice. I can't remember ever booking someone in that hotel, I didn't even
realize there was a hotel like that along the river. Of course there are the usual airport digs,
but I've never heard of this place that's actually inside the green area.”

“One of my coworkers has relatives here in the area and it's a place that they recommended.
Actually I think it's a little family establishment owned by an American cousin or something,
but Francis spoke so highly of it I decided to give it a try. Though I live in London now, my
heart's really at home up in Scotland, out in the middle of a great deal of natural forest. I
think this place will be somewhere I can feel at home for a few days and still get some work done.
From what Francis' cousin told me, you'd never know there was a major city just out of
sight.”

Smiling blandly, Hermione was trying not to laugh at what Terri's reaction would be to an
actual wizarding inn like the Torc would be. She'd sent a patronus to her American contact in
the Ohio Bureau of Magic from the lavatory in the VIP lounge before she boarded her connecting
flight letting them know that she'd be arriving in the company of muggles and to make certain
that the more `interesting' residents and staff members were well disguised.

Carefully taking the miniature wand that Ollivander had created for her out of the loop on her
bracelet where it usually resided, she touched the windscreen of the limo and silently cast a charm
that would allow anyone who rode in this vehicle to see the Torc until sunset tomorrow. She also
cast a similar charm on Terri to allow her to see the actual building but not any protections cast
upon it for the next 48 hours so that she could see what was going on since she'd insist on
accompanying her for check in.

“I've never actually ridden in one of these beauties, I'm afraid you Americans are going
to spoil me terribly.” Smiling warmly, she looked around to see if her costumed greeter was
catching up with them yet. “Is Slider going to be able to get himself away from his admirers?”

“I'll beep him and tell him to get a move on.” Reaching for her phone, she flashed a smile
at the waiting driver and nodded towards Hermione's bag. “Just get inside out of this humidity
and we'll be off in a second or two.” Punching a code into the phone, she looked back towards
the terminal in expectation. “I don't know how he does it, but he's usually here before the
page gets to him. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he knew somehow before I told him when
I needed him.” Shaking her head, she watched as Slider came jogging out of the sliding terminal
doors and headed towards the waiting limo, trailed by the last few of his fans.

As the trunk lid closed on Hermione's bag, Terri looked to the driver who nodded to her.
“Time to roll, let's get you checked in so you can get some sleep and be ready for tomorrow.”
Laughing as Slider joined them, she started to get into the car. “Give away any passes for
tomorrow?” Watching the big mascot bob his head enthusiastically, she sighed. “Our work here is
done; let's get Hermione to her hotel so she can relax.”

Seated in the back of the limo, the three settled in and began to relax. The driver pulled away
from the curb and began to head for the exit and the open road. “First time in the States?” Terri
asked as she settled back and watched Hermione.

“First trip over, yes.” Smiling she started to relax in the large seat and appreciate the
spacious accommodations after spending so many hours in an airline seat. “You Americans certainly
have more money to spend on baseball than we do on cricket.”

“Old American saying, `you spend money to make money'. If everyone thinks you're doing
well then they'll spend their money with you to make it true.” Smiling wryly at Slider, she
continued. “You might as well take that thing off, you're just uncomfortable and Hermione
won't tell.” Removing the head from the costume, a young man with a ready smile grinned at the
two young women.

“That thing was killing me. When my graduate advisor was talking about an internship in baseball
management, I envisioned something a bit different.” Looking sheepish he removed a glove from his
hand and held his hand out to Hermione. “Irving Taledan, at your service.”

Taking his hand, she smiled. “Hermione Granger. Pleased to finally meet the man behind the
legendary Slider.”

“See, I'm legendary. Terri, I've told you I deserve a raise.”

Laughing, she countered. “Slider's legendary. You're merely adequate.”

Trying to look serious, Hermione joined in. “Terri weren't you just saying that he was
uncanny in how he was able to be where you wanted him and when?” Tilting her head to the side a
bit, she looked thoughtful. “That sounds a tad better than `adequate' in my book.”

“Uncanny is good. Beats the heck out of adequate.” Looking at Hermione with a silly grin, he
nodded towards Terri. “What say we pack Miss `Adequate' here off to jolly old England and you
can be my boss?”

Trying to look thoughtful, Hermione batted her eyes at Irving. “Well just two little reasons I
can think of off the top of my head.”

“This should be good.” Terri countered. “Tell us, Miss `Can't keep a secret from the
mascot'. He's been here less than a month from Ottawa and now he wants a new boss”

“Firstly, since I still don't know how you make that infield fly rule thingy work, I think
Terri's a bit more qualified than I, even if I do give you more leeway than she does. Which, by
the way, I'm beginning to see why she keeps you on a short leash.”

Laughing, Terri asked, “Secondly?”

“Well there would be a pair of very annoyed young men at the airport if I didn't get off the
return flight next week. I'm certain that both Harry and Ron would notice that she wasn't
me. And since I'm supposed to be at a family dinner with everyone the next day, I really
don't want to have to explain to Ron's mum why I didn't come home to England. It's
been years since Molly Weasley has been mad at me, and I'd like to keep it that way, thank you
very much.”

Noticing a startled look on Irving's face, Hermione looked puzzled. “Did I say something
wrong?”

Looking earnest, he asked. “Ron? As in Ron Weasley?”

Totally confused, Hermione answered warily. “Well yes, we've known each other for years
now.”

Laughing, Irving gave Hermione a look. “Ron was up in Canada a year or so ago and he worked with
my brother in our Foreign Ministry on a smuggling case. He kept going on and on about this girl
back home. Wouldn't stop talking about her when they weren't working. If you're his
`Mione, then I'm very pleased to meet you.” Smiling he nodded slowly as Hermione's eyes
widened.

Colouring a bit at Irving's characterization, Hermione shook her head slightly. “I
wouldn't say I was `his', but I've been friends with both Harry and Ron since we
started school.”

“Irving, you're telling me you've met her boyfriend?” Laughing Terri started shaking her
head and missed the slight frown on Hermione's face. “This is too much. Hermione, just what
does this guy of yours do?”

Without batting an eye, Hermione called up Ron's cover story for that particular assignment.
“He's with Customs Service. He was in Canada assisting the locals with some smugglers who were
going back and forth between Britain and the Canadian Maritime Provinces with contraband and
endangered animals.” Remembering Ron's endless complaints after he got back from tracking down
a blast-ended skrewt that some idiots were trying to smuggle into Labrador to see if they'd
flourish here, Hermione shook her head in amazement.

“I'm supposed to call both him and Harry when I get checked in and settled. I'm certain
Ron would be floored if he gets a chance to talk to someone he knows.” Looking at Irving in a
different light now, she smiled and turned back to Terri. “You wouldn't mind if I borrowed the
mascot to help me up to my room and then ambush Ron on the phone?” Smiling sweetly, Hermione was
wondering if it would be necessary to meddle with her memory a bit or if she'd cooperate.

“Won't this Ron mind if you have a strange man in your room the first night you're
away?” Laughing, she teased Hermione. “I usually don't let the strange ones up until the second
night.” Both women watched their companion blush faintly.

“He's not that strange, he's just Canadian.” Hermione replied, grinning at her newfound
cohort.

“Hey now. Firstly, I'm still here so let's not do the `talk about him like he's not
here' routine. And secondly, one of you is English and the other one's from California so I
don't see where being Canadian qualifies as `strange'.”

Shaking her head, Hermione laughed. “I'm British, not English, thank you very much. My
father was originally from Scotland and my mother's family is from Wales and the States,
actually. Very big differences, don't you know.”

As the limo proceeded along the scenic drive along the river, the driver slowed and turned into
a secluded drive with a discrete sign proclaiming `The Golden Torc - Serving the Western Reserve
since 1797'. Looking at it incredulously, Terri shook her head. “You'd think that if a
place had been here that long, it would be better known. Must be some sort of marketing ploy.”
Hermione and Irving exchanged looks as Terri watched the drive wind its way back through the woods
as the rustic looking inn came into view.

Nestled among the trees, the Golden Torc bore a striking resemblance to a classic hunting lodge.
Two stories of dark wood and fieldstone with a sloping shake roof, the inn seems to be strangely
quiet. To her muggle companions, the building is rustic and isolated with a single individual
occupying a rocking chair on the spacious veranda. In contrast, Hermione and Irving could see a
kneazel, so dark its fur appears almost midnight blue, on the railing watching them while a
house-elf peered out of a window on the second story.

As the car pulled into the turnaround when they'll unload, she could see eyes in the woods
that press on the building and what looked like a enclosed barn off to the right. A flash of
skeletal wing from the door suggested that someone has stabled a thestral, but she couldn't be
certain. Descending the steps from the inn, a young couple looked expectantly at the limo as it
smoothly glided to a stop.

“Looks as if you have a reception committee, Hermione. Anyone you know?” Terri inquired as she
helped gather her carryon and other things.

“Never saw them before, but if I know Francis, these are a couple of his relatives whom he asked
me to look up. If they're anything like him, they were probably here an hour before my original
flight was scheduled to arrive.” Shaking her head, she was wondering how many things she was going
to have to explain away before she could get Terri safely on her way.

”I might have to consider staying here from time to time because he's drop-dead gorgeous, in
a `take me away to the Caribbean for the weekend and then tell me you name' kind of way.” Terri
countered, giving the young man of the pair a very predatory look.

Glancing at Irving, Hermione saw his eyes widen as he shrugged his shoulders. “Terri, you might
want to see if the woman with him is his cousin or his fiancé before you start planning how
you're going to shanghai him.” Exasperated, it looked as if she wouldn't be getting rid of
her keeper anytime in the near future.

“She's with him but not `with' him. Closer than a cousin, probably a sibling if I'm
reading their body language right.” Smiling she settled back and did a quick makeup check with a
compact she pulled from her bag. “Let's meet the relatives, shall we?” Smiling brightly, she
opened the door and exited the vehicle.

“Never saw her do that before.” Irving whispered as he prepared to exit the limo on the other
side. “Usually she doesn't give guys a look other than her professional “Hi I'm Terri and
I'm here to help you so don't waste my time chatting me up' routine. This should be
interesting. I'll help you in, leave with Terri and come back for a meeting with those two in
your room in about a half hour or so. They're you contacts from the Ohio Bureau. I've met
him; she was out of the office when I checked in with them.” Sighing in exasperation, he
complained. “Americans can't have a central ministry like everyone else. They've got
sixty-four separate Bureaus or Tribal Councils for each of their states and native nations plus the
Confederation Bureau down in DC.” Shaking his head, he exited the limo and held out his hand to
assist Hermione in getting out.

Exiting the limo, Hermione noticed that Terri is in an intense discussion with the two who were
waiting at the foot of the steps. The witch seemed amused by the whirlwind tactics of Terri, while
the wizard was intensely interested in whatever Terri is carrying on about.

Looking up, the witch smiled at Hermione, nodded to Irving and gave a helpless shrug of her
shoulders. Smiling to the driver as he handed her bag out of the spacious boot, she nodded to
Irving as they come around the back of the limo and approach the trio by the steps.

“In case anyone's interested, I'm Hermione Granger.” Laughing at the guilty look on
Terri's face, she reached out her hand to her reception committee.

Taking her hand in a strong grip, the young witch smiled and laughed. “I can see that we have
something in common, a mother with more regard for classic literature than she does for her
daughter's well being in school. I'm Florimell Anders, and you must call me Flori, not Mel
as someone who's about to die a very terrible death will no doubt suggest.”

Flashing her companion a look that held both warning and bemused tolerance, she returned her
attention to Hermione and Irving. “Cousin Francis told us loads about you, but he didn't say
you were in the habit of collecting costumed young men.” Arching her eyebrow, she looked
expectantly at Irving.

“Irving Taledan, management intern with the Indians, formerly of Morrow, Archer, Greevey, and
Irving in Ottawa, at your service.” Smiling at the look of understanding in Flori's eyes, he
bowed over her outstretched hand and a very old-world kiss over her hand instead of the expected
handshake.

Suddenly, as Hermione took another step forward, the still quiet of the early evening was
shattered. The kneazel on the porch rail emitted a spitting hiss that sounded more appropriate to a
bobcat than a household denizen. A trumpeting scream from the barn accompanied by a drumming sound
of hooves on a wooden wall was heard. Two loud cracks, the sound of a pair of arriving apparition
points was drowned out by a loud “Down!” from the woman knitting in the rocking chair on the
porch.

Moving at the sound, Hermione turned to grab the driver and put herself between him and the
arriving wizard. The young man at the steps pushed Terri behind him and the steps as he pulled a
wand from his jacket. Florimell removed a wand from her upswept hair and silently tried to shield
the group from attack. Two wizards, dressed in cloaks and hoods, began firing spells at the group
at the steps.

A dark scarlet beam from witch on the porch slid from a shield around the wizard on the left and
sputtered off into the dark, igniting a small ash tree that it struck. Hermione's silent
binding spell took hold of the wizard on the right as his shield crumpled before a cyan beam
streaking in from the open doorway.

Another loud crack announced the arrival of a house-elf with a large iron skillet who proceeded
to apply the well worn kitchen utensil to the cloaked head of the still moving wizard. His
concentration broken by the not so subtle application of cold iron to his skull, he crumpled to the
ground as a trio of spells engulfed him.

Looking quickly from Irving to the pair at the steps, Hermione nodded from Irving to the driver
and from Florimell to Terri. Watching as both cast silent confundus spells, Flori rolled her eyes
when her companion glared at her.

Hermione pointed her wand towards the burning tree and summoned a stream of water. “Now that
they're under, repair any damage and clean them up and give them some memories that won't
give them nightmares for the next week.” Looking over her shoulder at the witch on the porch. “Is
there a healer on the premises in case anyone's injured?”

“Other than that concussion that Thunder gave that one over there.” Pointing at the downed
wizard, the house-elf was standing threateningly over the unconscious wizard brandishing the
skillet menacingly in case the unmoving wizard began to move. “Keller in the bar can heal well
enough to cover up any small scrapes or bruises these two may have gotten. Any of you know those
two?” She pointed at the two robed figures.

Florimell, carefully advanced on the wizard not being guarded by the house-elf, and rolled him
over with a flick of her wand. “Looks familiar, but we've been going through so many threat
sheets that they all start to look the same. Oscar?”

Shaking his head at Terri, who was standing there glassy eyed, before he looked up, he sighed.
“Beats me Mel, I think they might be on the list that Ottawa sent down last month, but it's
difficult to be certain. Irving, are these two of yours or ours?”

“They're yours, sort of.” Watching Oscar and Terri closely, Irving began to shake his head.
“They're the Taliaferro brothers out of Atlanta.” He replied, pronouncing the name
`Tolliver' with an exaggerated southern drawl. “Cronus and Fornjot, two very disreputable
scions of a very old and very wealthy pb family.” Shaking his head slightly at Oscar, he continued.
“The Georgia Bureau sent out a notice about these two about a year ago. I'm surprised you
didn't get the word here in Ohio if they bothered to tell Ottawa about it.”

Snorting, Oscar looked at his sister and smiled. “Last summer? Are you kidding? New Albany was
300 points ahead of Stone Mountain in the quidditch standings at that point in the regular season
and they were a lock for the continental playoffs. First time in eight seasons that Stone Mountain
hadn't made the playoffs. I'm surprised Atlanta would even admit we were part of the
Federation, much less cooperate with us.”

Shaking his head, he looked down and smiled at Terri “Sorry about this.” Tapping her gently on
the temple with his wand, her eyes fluttered close as Oscar modified her memory. “Hated to do that,
she seems the type to be very appreciative of a guy who just saved her life.”

“Oscar, behave yourself or I will tell your mother.” Florimell said sharply with just a hint of
a smile. Looking up at Hermione, she grinned, “Younger brothers, what can you do with them.”

“Wouldn't have the foggiest, I was an only child. But a friend of mine is the youngest of
six brothers, so I can see your point.” Shaking her head, she stood up and looked around. “Was this
for me, you folks, or were your two good old boys just muggle baiting and bit off more than they
could chew?”

Standing up from the rocker, the witch on the porch put her knitting down and sighed. “We better
get everyone inside, I'll set the wards up to keep out the riff raff and we'll decide what
needs to be done. Usually when there's a problem here, the authorities aren't here until
afterwards. Going to be a bit strange with sheriffs and aurors onsite when something starts, rather
than after the fact.” Leaning over the railing and extending her hand to Hermione, she smiled.
“I'm Mary Tudor Bethune and welcome to the Golden Torc.”

--------

A/N - A couple of points of clarification. Slider is the mascot for the Cleveland baseball team.
I really should have clarified that last chapter. Sorry for any confusion that may have caused.

The American Wizarding community (in this world) never moved past the *Articles of
Confederation and Perpetual Union* in their thinking. They weren't particularly enamored
with the English wizarding authorities after the Revolution for some strange reason so they became
very big proponents of less centralized government, regardless of what their muggle neighbors
decided to do several years later. They also kept slightly better relations with the native nations
and tribes, and now had a Confederation that roughly paralleled the Muggle states with decent
relations with most of the wizarding tribal councils on the continent. The central government in
Washington (such as it is) has limited authority and jurisdiction and is mostly tasked with keeping
the massive muggle bureaucracy from mucking things up too badly for the Wizarding states.

Irving knew very well who Hermione was when he met her at the airport, but he had never
connected `the' Hermione Granger that he knew from what he had been told about the War Against
Voldemort with the `Mione' that Ron was going on about while he was in Canada.

-->



6. Chapter Six - More Questions Than Answers
--------------------------------------------



Chapter Six - More Questions than Answers

Seated in the common room of the Golden Torc, the impromptu group was beginning to relax as
Irving returned from seeing the two muggles home. Having unpacked her belongings up in her room and
sent Harry and Ron quick messages that she was indeed fine and she'd tell them more later,
Hermione had joined the others downstairs to await Irving's return.

“Finally got them settled in and safe?” Florimell looked up from the papers she was reading as
Irving helped himself to coffee at the bar.

“For the most part. I think Terri remembers that something happened, she's just not certain
what.” Looking suspiciously at Oscar, he grinned. “It wouldn't be that you're worried about
Ms Blackstone forgetting all about you so you didn't fade everything?” Watching him grin,
Hermione decided that there must be a bit of history with Oscar and attractive muggle women that
she probably didn't need to know about.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Trying to look indignant, it wasn't helped
by the indelicate snort that came from somewhere in his sister's vicinity. “I'm just a bit
more circumspect in adjusting their memories than you lot.” Putting on a pair of sunglasses and
holding up his wand he stated seriously. “This is a wand, not a neurolizer.” Watching everyone else
break out laughing, Hermione wondered what in-joke she was missing.

Seeing the puzzled look on her face, Flori quickly spoke up. “Sorry Hermione, it's from a
muggle movie a couple of years ago. The muggle agents had a device that they used to erase the
memories of people who had seen things they shouldn't have. It would flash a bright red light
and then blank their memories of the past few minutes or hours. Everything in the Bureau thought it
was very funny and wondered who on the movie's production team was one of us. I hear one witch
from the Las Vegas office of the Nevada Bureau actually modified her Obliviate spell so that it
produces a red flash when she casts it.” Grinning, she looked at her brother. “And my brother's
well known fondness for muggle blonds doesn't help his credibility in the least.”

“That's not fair Mel, and you know it.” Smiling slyly he looked beseechingly at Hermione.
“Can I help it if I'm a helpless captive of female perfection and beauty?” Looking intently at
Hermione, Oscar tried to hold his serious pleading look in the face of his sister's red-faced
laughter and Hermione's twinkling brown eyes.

“Oh please, I've been chatted up by the best. And while you're kind of sweet, you're
a total amateur.” Laughing at the stunned look on his face, she glanced over at Irving. “Slider, do
you think there's any chance I'm going to fall for this?”

“Not likely. And the name is Irving, thank you very much.” Sipping his coffee Irving looked at
her with a curious expression before turning his attention back to Oscar. “The witch who is at the
heart of the infameous `Golden Trio' isn't likely to be taken in with cheap theatrics, old
chap.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione sighed. “I had hoped traveling across the ocean would have allowed me
to escape that dreadful name.” Seeing the look on Irving's face she shrugged. “What can I say?
But you're correct, if I can manage to keep Harry Potter and Ron Weasley in line, not to
mention that little dustup with Voldemort…” Letting her voice trail off, she nodded at the look on
Oscar's face.

Nodding, she smiled blandly, “At your best, you'd be a challenge for second year witches to
handle. Be careful with Terri, I get the feeling that she's more than a match for you, even
with your wand.” The group erupted into a round of laughter at the indignant look on Oscar's
face as he realized Hermione wasn't buying his act.

Shaking her head, Mary chuckled at the look on Oscar's face. “As much fun as this is, we
still have the minor matter that guests were attacked on the front steps of my inn and we need to
know what is going to happen next.” Looking from face to face, Mary sat forward in the chair she
was occupying and waited. “Flori, was your office able to give us any insight into what the
Taliaferro brothers were doing here just as Ms Granger arrived? Or has ambushing random tourists
become part of their modus operandi?”

“MT, we still don't know why they're here or who hired them. Usually they're above
small stuff, with the resources of their family behind them, you usually see them as facilitators
and power brokers, rather than actually involved in something as hands on as this. If they're
doing their own dirty work, then someone very well heeled is pulling their strings.”

Taking a sip of her chocolate, she looked over at Oscar before continuing. “Our best guess is
that they didn't bank on Hermione being delayed in Detroit. However they homed in on her
arrival here, they didn't realize that we'd be here and thought that a quick blitz would
overcome the inn's staff and grab her before anyone could react and apparate her out of here.
Oscar, show MT what they found out in the yard.” Nodding to her brother as he held up what looked
like a tarnished silver coin or medallion.

“Quite clever, actually. We got a briefing report from the British Ministry liaison in Erie on
these about six months ago, but this is the first we've ever seen one here in North America in
the wild, so to speak. Both of the brothers had coins that matched this one, which was lying in the
dust next to the front steps. This is the master coin, and it's keyed to the presence of a
specific individual. When that individual comes within range of this coin, the other two act as
homing beacons and allow the holders of the other coins to apparate within a specific distance of
the original without worrying about splinching or knowing the apparition point. Quite ingenious, my
hat's off to the boffin that came up with these.” Noticing the look on Hermione's face he
asked. “I take it this isn't the first time you've seen one of these.”

Hermione answered cautiously while her mind raced considering possibilities. “Those are still in
the final testing phase with the Ministry. They've been produced on a limited basis, and
distributed to a single auror team for evaluation.” Mentally ticking off a list of the people who
officially knew about the existence of the coins she shrugged. “I'm not certain how your locals
came in contact with them; I trust Team Twelve with my life. There must be a leak in the
distribution chain. May I?”

Holding out her hand, Hermione looked at Oscar while she waited for him to toss her the coin.
Catching it deftly when he tossed it underhand to her she turned the tarnished silver medallion in
her hands as she examined it. “One of the Slytherins, those would be the easiest for someone to
come up with,” she mused as she stared at the coin.

“I'm not following.” Oscar, looking puzzled, looked from one face to the other to see if any
of the others were following her.

“Sorry, just lost in thought.” Smiling wryly, she leaned back in her chair and held up the
medallion. “They developed four different series of these, and named them after the four founders
of Hogwarts. Sort of an inside joke from the creator of these, you could say. The Slytherin
medallion sets are all one shots; once they're triggered they're no longer useful until
they're recharged. If you've still got the two medallions that were linked to this one,
they can be reset easily enough. What I'm not fathoming is how and when this set was linked to
me.” Shaking her head, she gave a low whistle. “Poetic, I suppose.”

What are you talking about Hermione? I'm confused. How is it `poetic'?” Flori asked.

“Easy enough to guess.” MT answered before Hermione could. “Hermione's the one that created
the prototype of these for the British Ministry.” Smiling at the startled look on the younger
witch's face. “Poetic justice that your own creation could be the instrument of your downfall,
correct?”

“Well, yes. But added to all of the other mysteries before us is the one regarding how you knew
that.”

“I didn't `know' for certain until I saw the look on your face when I said it out loud,
but I guessed it easily enough. Francis has been most complimentary regarding you when we talked
about your visit. Anyone whom Francis thinks is a match for Great-aunt Minerva is a very good
candidate for being the person behind that little gem.”

Smiling at the blush that was spreading across her face, she continued. “Francis briefed me in
on things. You're where you are because you don't want the limelight, but those that know
will recognize your subtle and not so subtle touch with things. The question is whether or not this
is just irony that a tool you developed was used to try to trap you. Unfortunately, that's not
something we're likely to answer tonight.”

“And none of this is getting us any closer to the Fairy Flag and our pair of artifact thieves.”
Taking charge of the conversation in an effort to get the topic away from herself, Hermione looked
at Irving expectantly. “Your folks in Canada were the last to see this pair. What can you tell us
Slider?'

Fixing her with a baleful look while the others chuckled, Irving replied “Cranston and Merveaux?
Not much. They're a pair of moderately successful artifact smugglers, originally working out of
the Swiss cantons. Their specialty, as is shown in this case, is collecting items of actual power
that are under the control of muggles and selling them to whomever is willing to pay.”

Shaking his head in grudging admiration, he continued. “They also have a related sideline of
selling careful fakes and doctored items. If something has a reputation of being an item of power
and it isn't when they steal it, they're perfectly capable of casting minor charms and
enchantments on the items to make them seem to be actual items of power Or if they can't steal
it, or have already stolen it and replaced it with a fake, they have no scruples about selling an
item to the buyer that matches the description of the item wanted. This pair has more disgruntled
customers chasing after them than they do aurors on occasion. It's actually amazing that
they're still in business considering their proclivities for swindling their erstwhile
employers.”

Giving a very Gallic shrug, he chuckled. “While they're most often contacted through a blind
drop in Switzerland, persistent rumors link them to a small town in Britain, Marazion in Cornwall.”
Finished, he looked around the room for questions.

Nodding thoughtfully, Hermione sighed. “How about any leads on the possible buyers. Where do
closet Jacobites hang out around here?”

Snorting quietly, Mary looked at Hermione in disbelief. “Where aren't they? You have to
remember that most of the Scots that immigrated to the colonies after the `45 were Jacobites. There
are chapters of the Stuart Society and other groups scattered all about. Every Highland Games has
at least one brawl between supporters of the various claimants to the throne.”

Rolling her eyes, she smiled sadly. “Since they came in from Canada, our friend over there might
have a better idea where they'd go to ground, but there are literally dozens of places in the
Cleveland area where they'd at least find a sympathetic ear, especially if they were claiming
they could prove that there was a legitimate heir to the Stuart throne. The only ones around here
who wouldn't give them the time day are the Haudenosaunee.” Smiling at Hermione, she gave her a
peculiar look. “Speaking of which, there's someone who's asked about you.” Looking up the
stairs she called “Thunder?”

A soft pop and the house-elf that had assaulted the one wizard in the yard earlier appeared in
the common room. “You called MT?” His voice was a mellow baritone, not the raspy bass of
Kreacher's nor the tenor of Dobby's. “The kitchen is still open, if that what you're
wondering.” Looking expectantly at Mary, he was a contrast to the house-elves that Hermione was
used to. Instead of being clad in some cast-off household linen, he was dressed in an outfit that
was a curious blend of greens and browns.

“Thanks for holding the kitchen for this lot, but I asked you down to meet someone.” Nodding
towards Hermione, she included her in the conversation. “Cooks with Thunder, this is Miss Hermione
Granger from England. Hermione, this is Cooks with Thunder. I won't attempt to pronounce his
Haudenosaunee name for you, but he's been the chief cook and bottle washer here at the Torc
since before I can remember.

Turning towards Hermione, Cooks with Thunder took two steps forward and bowed towards her,
holding the bow for several seconds. “Miss Granger needs no introduction. Her name and face are
known to the elves of the Six Nations as they are to the rest of the People of this land. Welcome
to the Western Reserve Miss Granger.”

Standing Hermione nodded to the house elf and returned the bow for two seconds before seating
herself again. “I'm pleased to meet you Cooks with Thunder, but I'm certain I've never
met any house-elves from America. How is it that the elves here know me?”

“We have been watching your efforts to impact, for the better, how the tribes and clans in
Britain are seen by the wizarding world there. We watch to see if you will be successful, but we
honor the attempt.”

“It's funny that you notice here, I get the feeling that I'm ignored when I'm not
being ridiculed at home.”

“What you do is noticed, both here and there, especially there. It will take longer for you to
be noticed by the house-elves themselves, but the wizards and witches have noticed you. It will
take time before the elves will realize that they need a change, but that day will come.”

“I thank you for your kindness and I offer the service of myself and my house to you and
yours.”

“And the service of mine to you and yours. You honor the old forms. Fitting and proper, but
unusual for one as young as yourself. Yet it fits what has been said of you and your house.”

Clearing her throat, Flori looked around. “Is it just me, or are these two reading from a
different set of pages than the rest of us?”

Turning his attention to Flori, Cooks with Thunder answered. “Miss Granger observes the old
forms, the traditions of the People here in this land, the forms the People observed in the Old
World before the Sundering. But she has come to the attention to the elves here in the Americas
regarding her efforts to reform the shameful way house-elves are treated in the Old World. The
Council of the Six Nations has declared her to be Of The People.”

The puzzled look on Hermione's face was counterbalanced by the collective intake of breath
from the others in the room. Mary was almost out of her seat looking as if she had suddenly lost
the ability to breath. Irving was looking at the coffee cup in his hand as if he had never noticed
it before. Oscar's jaw had dropped to the ground and was threatening to become lost while his
sister was attempting to say something, but she would swallow, shake her head and then try again.
Only Cooks with Thunder was calm, looking expectantly at Hermione.

Rising once again from her seat, Hermione bowed to the house-elf and held it for a prescribed
five seconds. “My house is honored by the trust of the Council and the People. Though I am
singularly unworthy of such an honor, I will uphold the honor of the Council and the Six Nations as
I uphold my own.” Rising back up, she looked worried. “But honestly, I can't begin to
understand why you and your clan would think to honor me in such a manner.”

“The Council honors whom it will, without regard for the opinions of those outside the Nations
or the People. And this request came from those who hold the seat for the Hidden Clans, although
the rest of the People found it to be proper and deserved once it had been brought before the
Council.”

“The Hidden Clans?” Hermione sank slowly back into her seat as she frantically searched her
memory for all of the scraps of information she had been able to find regarding house-elf culture.
“They are the same as the `clans beneath the hills' that are talked about in England?”

Cooks with Thunder shrugged with a curious gesture. “The elder elves, the hidden Sidhe, the
Shining Folk, the Mikumwess, whatever the name you give to them, but the Old Ones are the same here
as they are in your England. The great houses of the People retreated from the world with the rise
of mankind and only the least of the tribes remained, those of us you call house-elves and the fey.
But, the Old Ones watch the happenings of this world from theirs. Their words are still regarded by
those of us who remain as the words of the kings and queens who once were. And their influence and
contact with the houses of men is still felt. The banner you seek is a token of one such pledge
between a house of Sidhe and a house of men. It still holds a promise that can be redeemed by the
MacLeod or his heir or his designated champion.”

Looking directly at Hermione, his voice took on a distinctly sad tone. “You must exercise care,
Silver Otter who Dances with Joy, for the power of the Old Ones is both a blessing and a curse here
in the sunlit world. The attention of the dwellers beneath the hills has been on you and your house
for years, that much I may say. And more recently, that of the dwellers in the dark and their
cat's-paws among the houses of man.” Shaking his head sadly, he finished. “Surely you realize
that this entire affair is an attempt to end your place in the world of men?”

A/N - The Haudenosaunee are the Iroquois Federation, the modern inheritors (in this world) of
the Five Nations (later Six after 1720) that held sway from the Connecticut to the Cuyahoga rivers
at one time. The Native American Nations, in this storyline, have maintained a much different
relationship with the elves than the Europeans, and this attitude influenced the wizarding
colonies, house-elves have a much different status in the New World than they do in the Old.

-->



7. Chapter Seven - The Best-laid Schemes of Elves and Men
---------------------------------------------------------



Chapter Seven - The best-laid schemes of elves and men

The room erupted into a frenzy of competing conversations. With the exception of Hermione and
Cooks with Thunder who were regarding each other with silent fascination, the others were trying to
make themselves heard or get a clarification from the silent pair. The chaos lasted for several
minutes, until the rest fell silent as it became apparent that the two who started this firestorm
of conversation were involved in a moment that the rest were excluded from. The silence had become
palpable when Hermione finally broke her silence and addressed the house-elf.

”Silver Otter Who Dances With Joy?” Oddly enough, the strange name that the elf had gifted her
with was the first question she broached, not one about any of the other revelations.

“The People do not choose the name of one who joins the tribes, but we take the guidance of the
soul or spirit twin of the individual. Call forth your spirit twin so they may see the mirror of
your soul and we will see if you have been misnamed.”

As he looked at her calmly, Hermione had an eerie flashback to those moments when Minerva had
quietly pointed out something that was so painfully obvious that she should have known the answer
before she asked, but still allowed her the dignity of displaying the answer herself. Hesitantly,
she produced her wand and focusing her mind's eye on Harry and her sitting beneath `their'
tree beside Black Lake, she whispered “Expecto Patronum”.

A silvery jet erupted from the tip of her wand, and coalesced into the familiar form of a
graceful silver otter. The gleaming mustilid launched herself into the air, joyously pirouetted in
mid air, gave an exaggerated wink to Hermione and then bowed to Cooks with Thunder before streaking
through the nearby window. The sight of her patronus always filled her with happiness and a twinge
of regret because she was so much more free and expressive than Hermione herself. Grinning at the
elf, Hermione gave an exaggerated curtsey, “Silver Otter Who Dances With Joy at your service.”

Bowing to her, he replied “And for your service, I will answer what you have not asked.”
Gesturing her back into her seat, he sank to the floor, crouching effortlessly on his heels. “The
followers of the deposed king are not a part of this except as a lure, though the heir of a fallen
king may well figure into these events. The banner of the Queen's promise was the ruse to bring
that which they seek where they could strike, yet it must be reclaimed or much ill could be
released into the lands of men.”

Seeing the look on her face, Cooks with Thunder raised his hand to forestall her questions. “You
must remember that the Old Ones do not concern themselves overly much with your concepts of good
and evil. They mark their conduct by lawful and unlawful, oaths sworn and fulfilled, pledges made
and redeemed. Honor and the thousand traditions that are kept, the ancient laws of hospitality and
kin-right are more telling to them than what you consider right and wrong. The Dark Ones will
commit mischief for mischief's sake for they see the houses of men as the reason that they were
driven from the twilight lands, but the Lords and Ladies of the Court will conduct themselves by a
code that was old when they were young.”

Clearing her throat to get his attention, Flori waited until the house-elf turned his gaze on
her before speaking. “Cooks with Thunder, are you saying that this entire set of events was a
deception to lure Miss Grainger here to America from England?”

Looking from Flori to Hermione, the house-elf nodded to her. Looking thoughtful, Hermione
shrugged. “On face, that would seem to be preposterous.” Hermione mused out loud. “Here in America,
outside this room, no one here knows me, much less well enough to dislike me enough to go to all of
this trouble.”

Idly fingering the pendant she wore around her neck, she frowned. “It would have to someone from
Britain who has sufficient contacts here in America to drag me here. But why?”

Oblivious to the questioning stares she was receiving from her companions, she got up and began
to pace the room, talking all the while. “The only reason that would justify this much trouble and
expense is that someone thinks that bringing me here puts me at a disadvantage.”

Frowning, Mary interrupted Hermione's soliloquy. “Obviously, if you're here you're
isolated from your usual support and friends back home. Might make you seem an easier target. Also,
in unfamiliar surroundings you're less likely to notice something off or wrong.”

“Precisely, MT,” Cooks with Thunder nodded solemnly. “Her foes wish to sunder her from He who
defeated the Dark Lord and the Red Knight as both are far across the sea and they see them as her
primary strength, ignoring the strength that is hers by right and the talent that is hers by
choice.” Nodding to the assembled group, “They also misread the ability of Silver Otter to find her
natural allies no matter where she travels.”

Looking out the window, gazing towards the east, Hermione sighed and leaned her forehead against
the glass. “So if we don't have the lead of looking for the Stuart supporters to go on, how am
I supposed to find the flag and glass and return them to Scotland before something dreadful
happens?” Turning, she folded her arms in front of her and smiled grimly. “Or they succeed in doing
me in.”

“I think we can assume that both items are going to be in one place.” Oscar began looking around
the room for consensus. “If not, it sounds as if the elven banner is the immediate concern. Cooks
with Thunder, am I correct in thinking that as a house-elf you and yours might have some sort of
connection to the banner, or at least a better chance of determining its rough whereabouts than we
would?”

Gazing at the dispassionate house-elf, the young wizard watched for some indication he was on
the correct path. “If that's correct, then could you and your kinsmen try to locate the general
location of the flag so we can recover it before it's misused or destroyed?”

Looking directly at Oscar, Cooks with Thunder seemed to be searching for something within the
young man. “If the Folk were to become actively involved in this, it would only be at the request
of the MacLeod or his champion. Even then, requests made to the Old Ones are fraught with peril.
Unleashing the An Bratach Sith would only result in death, destruction, and mortal peril. Dealing
with the People of the Hills is usually much more dangerous for mortals.”

Shaking her head in exasperation, MT sat back into her chair and sighed. “He's not going to
give any of you a direct answer without being asked by the one who has the right to ask.” Looking
over at Hermione, she grimaced. “You're the champion of the MacLeod for this; you're the
one who has to invoke the help of the Folk. Wonder if the MacLeod will thank you for that or
not.”

“Silver Otter has claims other than that of the MacLeod's or the dead Stuart kings. By right
of the Dunkeld she can ask for help, but as the MacLeod's champion she can pursue the banner
without additional peril attaching.” Looking at Hermione, he shifted slightly as if uncomfortable
at the turn the conversation is going. “It was not my intent to involve you in these matters, but
the will of the Court is difficult to ignore.”

Gripping the windowsill behind her, Hermione leaned forward for a better view of the elf.
Shaking her head, she then stood and bowed to the house elf, holding her bow for ten seconds before
standing upright. Frowning as if trying to remember something she had read long ago, she spoke
slowly and distinctly. “By kith and kin, I invoke the hospitality of the People beneath the Hills.
By Star and Stone, I acknowledge the bonds between your house and mine. By the call of the
Cranntara and by the right of blood, I ask for the aid of the Folk.” Waiting expectantly, she
watched as a change came over the house elf in front of her.

Gone was the affable house elf that was part of the inn's staff and a friend to everyone
present. In his place, for a moment, stood a courtier of the ancient Elven realms that once ruled
the forests and wild places. Cooks with Thunder drew himself up with an aura of power as he
graciously acknowledged the young witch in front of him with a nod and grim smile. “Silver Otter,
in the Name of She who was and She who is, the hidden clans beneath the hills welcome the daughter
of the Dunkeld. Hospitality and kinship are the ancient pledges between the Folk and yours, by
right of blood shared and blood spilled. Your grandfather Martin was the last to call upon the
Folk; we heard no more from him after he left for the war until we found out he had perished.”
Nodding sadly to Hermione, he finished. “Ask what you will. If I can assist, I will. If I cannot, I
will take you to those who can.”

Once again, the room erupted into a whirlwind of conversation. Hermione sagged back onto the
windowsill, collapsing and releasing the breath she had been holding since she had finished
reciting the strange oath that she had found written in the margins of her grandfather's diary
so many years ago. Watching the house-elf as the chaos swirled around them; he nodded to her and
smiled grimly. Nodding slightly towards the doorway, Hermione began to make her way quietly towards
the hallway and the quieter confines of the rest of the inn. Noticing that the house-elf was
following her, she quietly slipped through the door.

Guiltily, looking back into the room, she saw that MT had noticed their departure and was
gratified that she nodded to them as she continued arguing some fine point with Oscar.

Climbing the stairs to the second floor, she silently led the way to her room. Unlocking the
door, she motioned for Cooks With Thunder to enter, and then she closed the door behind her, cast a
quick muffliato on the door and finally collapsed onto the desk chair.

“I think if we go back down there with a plan, it'll be easier getting them on board than
trying to hammer things out in front of them”

Nodding towards the bed, the house-elf waiting until Hermione gestured her assent before he sat
down. “They are concerned about you, and they don't understand everything that is going on
here.”

“Well, the not understanding thing is universal since I'm a bit lost on all of this,”
shaking her head she laughed. “I'm still trying to get a handle on who hates me enough to steal
two artifacts from a Scottish castle and bring them to America just to get me here.”

“It's not just you, but you're the first that the servants of the Defeated One have
targeted. All three of you are at risk, you and the Red Knight first to weaken your friend with
guilt about your deaths, then your Mr. Potter himself.”

“That's twice you've called Ron the Red Knight. Why?”

“It's the role he plays in your group, he's Peredur from the old tales returned. He
redeemed himself on the quest to destroy the Dark Lord, but he still searches for that which will
complete him. Also, I can see your regard for him. You never let anyone see your fears except for
him and the other. Yet, the other will be the one you will allow to rescue you.”

Feeling vaguely uneasy with the way the conversation was going; Hermione began to shift the
focus to the problem at hand. “If we don't really have the Stuart connection, how do we find
the flag and the glass?”

Deep in thought, Cooks with Thunder mused. “We know what we want, we know what they want.”
Looking up at Hermione, he smiled grimly. “If you're willing to dare it, we should not appear
to have found out their plot, and allow them to continue. Go about your original plan, make plans
to seek the supporters of the Stuart king, and wait for them to move.”

Frowning, Hermione fiddled with her hair as she considered the proposal. “Bait?” Shaking her
head, she seemed uncomfortable. “I don't mind being the bait, but if I go to the stadium
tomorrow, I'll endanger all of the muggles I'll be associating with.” Looking into the
elf's eyes she continued. “I can't countenance risking their lives just to flush out this
plot against me. There must be a better way.”

“Would it be better if they release an elven host in the middle of the city to draw you
out?”

Biting her lip, she conceded “No, that wouldn't work either.” Sighing, she shook her head.
“What's your plan?”

“Basically the same plan that MT and the others had before this attack, with a twist. The
stadium is a contained environment. The local bureau sheriffs and county reeves can stake the place
out well enough to protect the muggles working there. You'll go there tomorrow, with young
Irving set to cover you in the office area. Fortunately, with the presence of Ms Blackstone, we now
have an `excuse' for Oscar to be there as well.”

Nodding at the sardonic chuckle from Hermione, Cooks With Thunder continued. “Flori will make
contact with two of the local Stuart supporters during the day and dangle the bait for them to be
at the stadium to meet a supporter from England with ties to the MacLeod's. The word of that
meeting should reach the appropriate ears. During the game, Flori will be polyjuiced to replace
you, while you, Irving and I will seek out the root of this plan. We'll track the serpents to
their lair.”

“Serpents?”

“From what I can tell, your opponents are followers of the Dark Lord's patron,
Slytherin.”

“And just where will we find Salazar Slytherin's followers here in Ohio?”

“Where else? The barrow mound of the great serpent is where we will find them.”

-->



8. Chapter Eight - Take Me Out At the Ballpark
----------------------------------------------



Chapter Eight - Take Me Out at the Ballpark

Morning arrived all too soon, and Hermione decided that Ohio songbirds were just too bloody
cheerful this early in the morning. With a five hour time differential between Cleveland and
London, she and Ron and planned for her to stay up until one in the morning and he would get up at
six so they could exchange patronuses and test the deluminator before she went to bed.

They also set a backup plan in place for the next day's mission. Ron could hear Hermione
speak his name and a bit of the sentences that followed it and he felt certain he could recreate
his apparition as he had on the hunt for the Horcruxes. Things went quickly south when their
conversation strayed into their personal relationship. The ensuring row lasted for over an hour
before they both gave over to silence. Harry's phone call within seconds of the disappearance
of Ron's patronus the last time led to an awkward conversation where both avoided saying
Ron's name as they discussed the most recent row until almost sunup in Ohio.

Unfortunately for Hermione, even with a Pepper Up potion as compensation, Terri was very much a
morning person and she bounced into the lobby of the Torc at 7:30, smiling and apparently none the
worse for wear after the, hopefully, unremembered adventures of the previous evening. Oscar's
presence beside a scowling Hermione increased the wattage of her smile as Hermione tried to find
solace in a cup of coffee that was threatening to melt its way through the mug in her hand.

“Hello Hermione, I see you still must be on London time. Morning Oscar, you're looking
rather chipper.” Beaming, Terri smiled at both of them as she swept into the lobby. “Stayed up late
with your boyfriend on the phone I imagine.” Taking Hermione's lessened scowl as a `yes',
she smiled knowingly.

“You two must have burnt up the phone lines between here and London last night. I hope your
boyfriend went to work with a bigger smile than you seem to have woken up with.” Missing
Hermione's shocked expression, heightened by a growing blush as she remembered both of her
conversations from last night; she turned her attention to Oscar. “I don't suppose you would
like my contact numbers, would you?”

“Why Terri, that might be a very good idea. I think we could seriously try to have a good
evening some night, don't you?”

Laughing, Terri shot back. “Oscar, I think you've seriously misjudged what kind of girl I
am.” Giving him a second of two to begin apologizing, she put her hand on his arm and said
seriously. “I never just try to have a good evening. I always have a very good evening.”

Leaving the two engaged in their own version of the ancient courtship dance, Hermione walked
over to the desk where Flori and MT were engaged in a serious discussion. Joining the other two
witches she nodded towards Oscar and Terri. “Should I brief him in on the rest of the plan?”

“My little brother? Not if you think that there's the slightest risk to little miss sunshine
there. He might play the gallant rake, but he's over protective to a fault. If he thought that
there was the slightest risk to her, he'd pull some stunt and she'd end up on a wild goose
chase to Toledo or Erie before you could say `Open Sesame'.” Shaking her head at her
brother's foibles, she looked at MT. “Have you ever seen him this bad?”

“Him? Just the one time.” Chuckling at the memory, MT shrugged her shoulders. “It was a few
years ago while you were down in Virginia on loan to them for that counterfeit crystal ball scheme
that was hitting the DC area. He was absolutely gaga over some muggle dancer in a touring company
of `Chicago'. He was supposed to provide discrete protection to the performance, there was a
hint of some sort of magical threat, and he ends up falling very hard for this dancer in the show.
Things went really well until the last night of the run here in Cleveland and someone released an
uktena back stage. From what I understand, Oscar gets himself tossed by the first sweep of its
antlers and his muggle dancer pulls a wand out of her hairdo and nails the scaly threat to the wall
with a pair of spells.”

“Uktena?” Hermione asked, intrigued by the antlers and scales. Flori looked askance.

“Very large snake, very deadly, very bad tempered. Has a crystal crest on its head that shoots a
very nasty beam, antlers that'll shred body armor like tissue paper and an appetite for
anything moving it can catch. It figures in the cautionary stories of the Tsalagi which usually end
with `…and everyone died.' Nasty buggers if you're not prepared for them. I don't think
Oscar ever got over being rescued by his `damsel in distress'.”

Chuckling over the look on Flori's face, she nodded. “As soon as she finished putting down
the threat, she obliviated everyone back stage and tried to give Oscar a hand up, he'd broken
six or seven ribs when the serpent body slammed him into a brick wall. Stupid fool ignored her and
ended up puncturing a lung pulling himself to his feet. He ended up spending three weeks in St
Alban's Hospital, wouldn't even let the poor girl in to see him.”

Sighing, MT smiled at the knowing look Flori was giving her brother across the lobby. “She was
from one of the western bureaus, got seconded to the touring company as undercover security by one
of the hotels out there since they were going to spend about a month playing Vegas when they got
out west. Of course the touring company didn't compare notes with the theatre management, so
the two undercover security people spent a six week run chatting each other up, not knowing that
the other was also magical.” Shaking her head, she smiled sadly. “Felt bad for the poor boy, but he
treated that poor girl terribly after she saved his sorry ass.”

“Goodness, you wouldn't think that he'd react that badly.” Shaking her head, Hermione
studied Oscar and Terri closely. “It's not as if he had been totally honest with her, either.
Is he always such a flirt with muggles?” Turning to Flori, she watched her eyes narrow as she shook
her head at her brother.

“Actually, I think this might be the first muggle he's spoken more than a half dozen words
to, outside of work, since he got out of St. Alban's. Which is sincerely odd since it was
actually a witch who broke his heart.” Sighing, she looked at Hermione. “Brothers, you can't
live with them, and the Bureau won't let you hex them without a license. What's a poor girl
to do?”

Smiling, Hermione retorted. “Wouldn't have the foggiest. Grew up an only child in a muggle
household, didn't meet my `brother' until the summer I was eleven on the train to school.
My best mate and I have been like sibs, I suppose, since the day we met so getting one when
you're old enough to housebreak him isn't a bad deal.”

Smiling as she thought of Harry, Hermione ignored the growing mental misgivings at her usual
assessment of him and their relationship. Hushing the snarky voice in the back of her mind that was
making very unsisterly comments about Harry and their conversation last night, she turned back to
MT. “Anything you can think of before we get this shooting gallery on the road?”

“Nothing we didn't discuss last night. Irving will be at the stadium, so you'll have him
today for backup along with Oscar. Flori and I will beat the local bushes for Stuart supporters to
keep up the impression that we're still following the breadcrumbs they left for us. During the
game tonight, Oscar will join Flori and I to “follow-up” on whatever clues that are left for us to
find, and you and Cooks with Thunder can move on Serpent Mound without being noticed.”

“Right, then. Well, let me collect those two and we'll be on the road. You two be careful
today, don't stir up a bigger puka's nest than you can handle.”

Laughing MT put an arm around her and smiled. “It has to be believable, they have to believe
that we're searching for our two thieves among the Jacobites so they they'll not be looking
for you tonight. You just be careful at the stadium today. They know you're going to be there
and they'll have had time to prepare.”

Walking determinedly over to the couple chatting by the desk, Hermione put on her best
`let's get started' smile. “Ok, you two. What say we head out and see exactly how baseball
works around here?”

Half an hour later, the limo was pulling into the VIP area of Jacobs Field, the Indians'
home in Cleveland. Still impressively new, the stadium complex rose around Hermione as the limo
navigated the spacious parking area. Coming to a rest beside a check in area, Hermione exited the
limo as Terri and Oscar followed. Waiting for her escort, she looked cautiously around, trying to
see something that didn't belong in an environment she was totally unfamiliar with. As the door
opened, she smiled as Irving flashed her a reassuring smile and nodded cautiously. “Hello Slider.
Everything going smooth today?”

Sighing dramatically, Irving shrugged his shoulders. “I don't suppose I'm ever going to
garner any respect after having met you dressed that way, am I?” Taking her grin as a negative, he
continued. “Didn't think so, but I thought I'd give it a shot. Everything's as quiet as
an elf, don't you know.”

“Quiet as an elf?” Terri asked as she came up to join them. “I don't think I've ever
heard it put like that before.” Looking puzzled, she smiled at Oscar who was frowning.

Oscar, after throwing Irving a dirty look, smiled back at Terri. “Must be a Santa thing, living
up near the North Pole like he does.”

Trying to cover, Irving offered, “Sorry, I'm Canadian. Our mice are very noisy. I think the
Brits also say something else totally different.”

Grinning, Hermione shook her head. “Nope, we pretty much set the quiet standard at
church-mice.”

Exasperated, Irving shook his head. “Anyway, the schedule for today is fairly straightforward.
Ms Granger will observe a meeting with team operations this morning, then a quick lunch meet with
management, followed by batting practice and then the game from the owner's suite. There's
a quick reception between bp and the first pitch with the Mariner's reps, they have a fairly
big cricket league up in the northwest so there's a bit of interest in scheduling games in the
Seattle area.” Smiling blandly at Hermione, she could see a twinkle in his eyes. “I think
they've got a couple of bowlers and a striker from one of their clubs up there to talk to
someone from England about getting the Americans more into the international mix.”

“Sounds, lovely.” Looking over her shoulder at Terri and Oscar talking animatedly to each other,
she stepped closer to Irving. Palming the miniature wand from her day-planner, she cast a hasty
muffliato towards the pair still chatting by the car. “Just bloody marvelous. I'd last five
minutes in a conversation with actual cricket players, and I've actually been to matches. Used
to try to follow a local club during the summers when I was in school. How's MT going to handle
that?” Smiling cheerily, she nodded towards Irving as if she were just asking details about the
reception.

“Relax, Hermione.” Irving countered with a grin. “We'd already thought of that, even before
things got a bit dicey. MT did her schooling in New Zealand, played both Quidditch at school and
cricket on a muggle club. A bit scandalous, actually. Female players weren't common, but
somehow she “convinced” the club and the league to let her play with the big boys. Very good
bowler, she had a way with the ball that was almost `magical'.”

Grinning at the expression on Hermione's face, he continued. “Needless to say, while the
ministry in Auckland is a bit more lax than Ottawa or London, they still eventually got around to
talking to her about underage magic. She never cheated, but she did cast a few very interesting
hexes on some opposing strikers who expressed their verbal dissatisfaction regarding her gender.
You didn't think they picked cricket for your cover story quite out of the blue, did you?”

“Well, no. But I thought that they picked cricket since there aren't many fans here in the
States.” Hermione shrugged, looking back at the other pair to see if they were getting ready to
proceed inside.

Laughing, Irving shook his head. “I think there are several leagues in the lakes region, almost
a dozen teams in Ohio alone. If someone in England actually decides to send a pair of teams here,
you'll see a goodly amount of interest.”

Following her gaze, he shook his head. “Oscar's got a bad case of it; I can see that from
here. Ready to meet the Marketing Department?” Waiting for Hermione to drop her spell, Irving
cleared his throat noisily. “If we're not inconveniencing you two, I think Ms Granger has a
meeting in five minutes.”

Shaking her head at the guilty looks the two were exchanging, Hermione noticed a sudden flash of
movement out of the corner of her eye. Shouting, “Oscar, seven o'clock, jump,” she drew her
wand and cast a quick jinx at the slavering hound that was leaping at the pair from a roiling cloud
of darkness that suddenly erupted from the empty air. Oscar wrapped his arm around Terri's
waist and turned to apparate.

A distinctive “pop” marked their disapparition and return five yards away. Irving cast a pale
yellow beam that swept across the open area, illuminating two shadowy figures moving towards
Hermione. Waving her wand in a delicate pattern, a parliament of ominous looking owls appeared,
circling her head. Following the line of her wand, they flew at the two figures limed in the yellow
glow from Irving's spell.

Oscar, pushing Terri behind him, began casting pale blue beams at the hound and into the cloud.
Irving grabbed an ink pen from his pocket, twisted it counterclockwise and threw it towards an open
space on the garage floor. As it struck the concrete, it began to glow with a pale blue sheen and
two wizards and a witch dressed in the robes of the local reeve's office apparated in a
triangle centered upon the pen.

Car alarms began sounding as stray spells ricocheted from the walls and other surfaces and
struck the parked vehicles. Adding to the cacophony, the hound began a mournful howl that raised
the hairs on the back of the neck of those within ten yards of it. As a feeling of unease and dread
began to grip her heart, Hermione enfolded the bizarre canine with a globe of force designed to
reflect magical energies within its confines. While the howling continued, the grip of panic on her
disappeared.

Turning to her right, she noticed an unfamiliar pair of wizards moving stealthily around one of
the blaring cars. Leading them slightly, she deftly bounced a jinx off the windshield of the car in
front of them that sent them stumbling back into the line of fire of the county-reeves that were
supporting her.

Ducking as a pale green beam flashed towards her, she silently disarmed the witch that had cast
the curse in her direction. Grabbing the wand out of the air with a practiced ease that would have
made Harry proud, she caught a flash of movement out of her eye. Turning her head, she saw Oscar
slumping to the pavement as a wild-eyed witch grabbed a stunned Terri around the waist and begin to
turn to disapparate out of the parking area.

Heedless of the magic flashing around her, she moved towards the strange witch and attempted to
disrupt her apparition. While her hex caught the woman's shoulder, obviously it wasn't
enough to disrupt her concentration as the pair disapparated out. Rushing over to the spot where
the pair had disapparated from, she knelt down and checked Oscar's vitals. A hasty reennervate
roused him from his stupor.

“Destination, determination, and bloody hell deliberation.” Hermione fumed while checking to see
how the rest of the impromptu battle was progressing. “The witch that stunned you grabbed Terri and
apparated out of here.” Seeing that the local county-reeves had the situation under control, she
pulled Oscar to his feet and dragged him over to Irving.

“Some poxy witch stunned Oscar and grabbed Terri and side-along apparated her out of here.”
Hermione explained as she leaned Oscar against the side of the limo and began checking him for
obvious signs of trauma. Watching with narrowed eyes, she saw Oscar begin to shake off the
after-effects of the curse that had downed him.

“We've got to get her back.” Gritting his teeth against the lingering pain, he tried to take
a deep breath and winced as his ribs protested the continued abuse. “Hermione, have you got any
clue as to what we do next?”

Hermione paused casting the healing charms and looked over at Irving. “Call for MT, tell her to
bring enough polyjuice potion for two for twenty-four hours and we'll need Flori back here for
a bit. Tell her it's Plan B with a slight twist.” Picking a blond hair from Oscar's sleeve,
she held it up with a satisfied grin. “Your sister will have to be your girlfriend long enough for
her to go home sick for the day.” Smiling sadly at the horrified look on Oscar's face, she
resumed casting a charm to knit up his ribs. “Don't worry, we'll get the real one back
before morning.”

-->



9. Chapter Nine - The Serpent's Barrow
--------------------------------------



Chapter Nine - The Serpent's Barrow

The day of meetings passed in a blur. Hermione suffered through the meeting with Marketing with
the assistance of Irving, who stepped in for his boss who went home after becoming acutely ill from
something she ate for breakfast, thanks to a Skiving Snackbox that Hermione had brought with her.
Elsewhere, Oscar and MT assisted the local wizarding law enforcement agencies in scouring the area
for any sign of Terri, the missing artifacts or the local Stuart supporters.

Mid-afternoon turned up an informer who wanted to arrange a meeting with Hermione during the
game tonight with an agent of the persons selling the artifacts. Sensing a trap, they pushed the
meeting until the break in the seventh inning, something the Americans called the `seventh inning
stretch' to give the real Hermione enough time to get into place. Darkness fell just as the
sixth inning was beginning, so Hermione, Oscar, and Cooks with Thunder apparated into a wooded
area, over two hundred miles from the stadium. Looking around, the park was deserted, as had been
arranged with the muggle authorities.

Picking their way carefully across the open ground to the mound, Hermione was amazed by the size
and scope of the ancient monument known as Serpent Mound. She could feel the residue of ancient
power and magic that surrounded the structure. Half thinking aloud, Hermione muttered, “At least
the old prat left enough clues to figure out how to get into this monstrosity.” Shaking her head,
she walked slowly, feeling the currents of magic, looking for something that led into the
mound.

Shaking his head, Oscar looked around, peering into the darkness that surrounds them. “No
one's ever been able to find a chamber or interior space in Serpent Mound. What are you looking
for?”

“Hopefully he was nasty, rather than clever when he sealed his bolt hole.” Shaking her head, she
closed her eyes for a second, straining to feel which way the magic was flowing around the mound.
“If he was clever, then I'm going to have to call on my skeleton key to get us in.”

Opening her eyes, she moved forward to a spot by the edge of the mound where she could see faint
patterns in the soil under the sod. Shaking her head at the residual feeling of wrongness left
behind by the ancient use of blood magic, she grimaced. “He went for sacrifice, rather than being
clever.” Looking around she sighed. “Probably a good choice. A formal portal here would have tipped
the fact that there was an entrance to something.”

Looking bewildered, Oscar glanced around to see if he could spot what she was talking about.
Cooks with Thunder was staring at a particular spot on the ground with a look of utter disdain. “Is
that the spot?”

“It appears so. At least this spot did something, once upon a time. It's been used in the
recent past, but not recently.” Shrugging and looking at Cooks with Thunder, she wondered aloud.
“What do you think, a couple of ways in and out?”

“The People have catalogued three, over the years.” Shrugging, the house-elf crouched on his
heels and watched the two humans. “One is seasonal and only appears near the mouth of the serpent
at the winter solstice. Of the other two, this one takes the most power and the least sacrifice to
activate. The other takes less power, but more blood to open. We surmise that this was the lesser
known of the entrances, used by Slytherin himself while the other was the one his followers used.”
Shaking his head in disgust, he turned his head and spat. “Typical Dark foolishness. He seeks to
weaken anyone coming in to make them less of a threat.”

Smiling, Hermione nodded. “True, but since we know the way in, and have enough ability to open
this side door, we can avoid most of the penalty.” Turning to Oscar, she held her hand out, over a
particular piece of sod. “Oscar, did you bring the penknife I asked for?”

Nodding cautiously, he handed it to her. “Here it is, but I'm not certain I like the thought
of you feeding this doorway.”

Smiling she took the small knife from his hand and flicked it open with practiced ease. “Oscar,
don't go all chivalrous on me, or I'll have to tell your sister that you're actually
quite a gentleman.” Smiling as he blushed, she patted his hand, carefully. “It's just a small
cut and I'll be able to heal it once we're through the door. If I'm going to open the
door, then I'm the one who has to `donate' to power it.” Nodding towards Cooks with
Thunder, she added. “Once we're inside the first time, we won't have to use the doors if it
becomes necessary to exit and reenter. Cooks with Thunder here can bring us in and out, once
he's been in or once one of us has entered and can direct him to wherever this door leads.”

Holding her hand out outstretched, she took the small knife in her off hand and quickly slashed
the palm of her hand. Wincing just a bit as the razor sharp blade flashed through her skin, the
blood immediately began to well. Turning her hand over, she watched with an intense fascination as
her blood began to drip into the square of sod she had previously identified. As the drops hit the
sod, they are quickly absorbed into the ground. A sickly green glow begins to emanate from ground
as pale silver tracings outline the edge of the effected area. The ground within the silver
tracings began to roil.

“You two step into the area that's active.” Nodding to Oscar, she motioned towards the
square in front of them. “Once I step in, I'll activate the door and we should be inside
wherever this leads to.” Watching as Oscar and Cooks with Thunder gingerly stepped into the area,
she kept the blood dripping as she stepped into the square. As her foot left the ground outside the
area, the green glow intensified and she felt that queasy feeling of her stomach being elsewhere
she always associated with magical travel.

As the green glow faded, the trio found themselves in a large open underground space. Looking
around, Hermione noticed that the room looked eerily familiar. The high vaulted ceiling was lost in
the fey green glow that surrounded the snake entwined stone pillars that disappeared into the
gloom. “I think the same decorator did this place that did the Chamber of Secrets back at
Hogwarts.”

Nodding towards the distant end of the room that was shrouded in darkness, she grimaced. “If
this place stays true to form, there's a very ugly statue down there of Salazar Slytherin.”
Shivering a bit, she remembered the last time she had been in the Chamber. “Hopefully no basilisk,
living or dead in this one, but the door behind us should open into a series of stone tunnels and
chambers.”

Looking around, Oscar tried to peer into the dark recesses of the room. “Basilisk?”

Shrugging, Hermione tried to look unconcerned. “A pet that Slytherin left behind at Hogwarts to
watch over the place and await the return of his true heir. It was a close thing but Harry was able
to kill it our second year.”

Trying not to look too disbelieving, Oscar turned towards Hermione. “A twelve year old student
took down a basilisk?”

“And a copy of Voldemort's soul, all while rescuing a classmate from a very nasty death.”
Smiling at the look on Oscar's face she shook her head. “Honestly, don't you
Americans read the papers? Harry, Ron and I told our story to the `Quibbler' after the war was
over. I thought that was a very rousing chapter, even though I was stuck in the hospital wing for
the finale of it.”

Snorting, Cooks with Thunder shook his head and moved towards the door. “Leave it to Silver
Otter to make something like that sound like an afternoon's diversion.” Extending his arms, he
concentrated on the door. “If we're supposed to go through this, I think you'll find the
fact that all of the hardware is on the other side a slight drawback.” Shaking his head, he looked
over his shoulder at Hermione. “You mentioned a plan?”

Sighing, Hermione shook her head as she examined the door. Entwined carvings of various
poisonous serpents adorned the otherwise spartan frame to the massive bronze doors. Standing up,
Hermione brushed her palms against her jeans. “I don't suppose either of you is a parselmouth?”
Looking between her two comrades, she hopefully beseeched each one to admit to being able to
converse with snakes.

Cooks with Thunder smiled, but shook his head no while Oscar just stared at her in disbelief. “I
had to ask, it was a long shot but it would keep me from having to go to my backup plan if it
worked.”

Shaking her head, she sighed. “Bother, he's going to be bloody pissed.” Looking sheepish,
she stepped away from the other two and pointed her wand at an open spot on the ground. Murmuring a
quiet “Expecto patronum” silvery strands began to coalesce and her familiar otter was cavorting on
the floor, chittering animatedly at the gloom that surrounded them.

Smiling, Hermione allowed the mustelid to play for a couple of seconds before she cleared her
throat. “That's just enough of that. Go find Ron and tell him I need him to open a
snake-covered door for me. Don't worry, there's no basilisk this time, just a couple of
stubborn thieves.” Nodding towards her patronus, she watched as the silver otter leapt into the
air, buzzed a circle around the house-elf's head and then zoomed off into the darkness.

“Your boyfriend is a parselmouth?” Oscar asked disbelievingly. “Irving said that Ron seemed like
a normal guy.”

Trying not to frown at Oscar's characterization, Hermione shook her head. “Ron's
anything but normal, but he isn't a parselmouth.” Hermione smiled grimly as she was imagining
Ron's reaction to being awakened by her request. “However, he is an expert mimic, and he
listened to an actual parselmouth open one of Slytherin's doors years ago and was able to
repeat it several years later when we needed back in the Chamber of Secrets.”

Shaking her head, remembering Ron's usual reaction to these missions of hers, she sighed.
“He's not going to be happy with this, but I'm certain he'll come through for us.”

Refusing to worry about the lecture she was going to get about needing a parselmouth for her
innocent `souvenir hunt', Hermione bit her lower lip while she waited for an answer. Cooks with
Thunder snorted and shook his head. “You have something to add?”

“You know the Red Knight will aid you, you worry needlessly about his concern for you. Quiet,
Silver Otter, I sense the approach of your friend.” Nodding towards the far end of the hall, a
silvery light began to brighten the gloom.

Streaking through the dark, a small silver terrier landed in front of Hermione. Looking at her
with disapproval, or as much disapproval as a Jack Russell terrier can register, the dog shook
it's head and glared up at her. “As soon as I'm finished playing skeleton key, I'm
going to go have a word with Francis `travel agent' Bethune.”

Turning his head the small dog opened his mouth and a serious of sibilant hisses came out of his
mouth. Sitting and looking very dissatisfied, the dog continued to glower at Hermione as the
serpents around the edge of the doors began to writhe and retract. The two bronze doors slowly
opened outwards as the glow of the unhappy patronus faded from sight.

While the great hall they arrived in was sheathed in shadows, the outer passageway was downright
gloomy. A dry musky scent permeated the air, and the passage was surprisingly clean for a long
abandoned complex, as if something had regularly swept through the corridors. Echoing through the
stone passages, the three could hear the sounds of magical combat coming from somewhere ahead.

“A falling out among thieves?” Oscar whispered, trying to hear how far away the combatants
were.

Shaking her head, Hermione looked over at Cooks with Thunder. “More likely a mutual double cross
between the followers of Slytherin and the hired thieves.” Looking over at a large scale lying
against a protruding stone, she shrugged. “Or one of Salazar's guardians decided that dinner
had been delivered.” Watching the house-elf shrug in return, she sighed. “Forward, I suppose. If
there's going to be anyone left for you to arrest, I suppose we're going to have to go and
rescue the bad guys.”

Starting forward, the trio tried to move cautiously as they navigated the unfamiliar passages.
The oppressive gloom was relieved by the faint glow from the two wands, but the feeling of
wrongness intensified as the sounds of combat increased.

Winding their way through the darkened tunnels, they could see flashes of light and sounds of
explosions coming from around one last bend that seemed to open into a larger space. Nodding at
each other, Hermione and Oscar doused the lights from their wands and with Cooks with Thunder they
slowly stepped around the last bend to see what they would find.

The tunnel opened into a larger chamber, and it appeared that their doorway was high on one of
the walls. Looking down they could see two distinct groups in the egg-shaped chamber in the eerie
green light that bathed the scene. Four figures in dark robes and cowls were taking cover behind a
couple of broken columns and a large stone table concentrating on the other two figures in the
room.

The other two wizards, dressed in muggle clothes were holed up behind a particularly ugly stone
statue that had fallen on its side. The two were taking turns firing curses at the others while
they shouted offers to the dark wizards that were attacking them. Between the two, was a large
framed object that could only be the An Bratach Sith.

Grinning, Oscar whispered, “I suppose we could wait until one side or the other wins and then
mop up the rest?” Looking hopefully at Hermione, he quickly lost his grin at her scowl. “Suppose
not.”

Shaking her head, Hermione whispered back. “That's a bad idea on several levels. Not the
least of which is that you're a law enforcement official, you're supposed to arrest the
lot, not just the survivors.” Watching the battle down below, she continued. “Besides, how long
before those two decide that unleashing a fairy host, or attempting to, might be preferably to
falling in the hands of those blighters.”

Patting him on the shoulder, she chuckled. “If we play our cards right, we can take them down
before they know we're here.” Quickly casting a disillusionment on Oscar and then herself, she
watched as Cooks with Thunder faded from view without her assistance. Stepping into the chamber,
the moved cautiously down the steps cut into the wall of the chamber to the lower level. Flanking
the four dark wizards, Hermione put her hand on Oscar's forearm to halt him.

Nodding towards the wizard that was slightly behind the rest, she timed the curses from the
other two and just as a blast from the others covered her spell, she cast a silent stupefy at the
wizard's back, and was rewarded as the red beam slammed into the dark wizard and he slumped
silently to the ground, unnoticed by his companions. Nodding towards the next one, Hermione pointed
to Oscar. Watching with amusement, she saw him move his wand in an unfamiliar pattern as a grayish
beam caught the dark wizard on the shoulder. He flopped bonelessly to the ground.

Nodding towards Cooks with Thunder, she indicated the dark wizard on the right. Focusing his
eyes on the dark wizard, the house-elf made a slashing move with his right hand while he cupped his
left as if catching something. The dark wizard was drawn towards them, transfiguring into a small
furry figure as it approached. A small ground squirrel appeared in the palm of the house-elf's
hand and he placed it a pouch that hung from his belt.

The final dark wizard, finally noticing that events had turned against him, stood behind the
column, began looking around for who or what had taken down his companions. Grabbing a wicked
looking dagger from the belt around his robes, he slashed the blade deep into his palm. In a loud
voice, he cried out. “Bring forth the champion of The Founder.”

Collapsing as a pair of beams from the other two caught him, the room fell into a relative
silence for a couple of moments. Then a high pitched whistling sound was heard from behind the two
wizards dressed in muggle clothes, and an orange coloured beam lashed out of the darkness towards
the statue that they were hiding behind.

Exploding in a flash, the statue's fragments flew through the chamber. Slithering out of the
darkness, an enormous serpent came into view. Hermione stared in fascination at the wickedly sharp
set of antlers that crowned its head, on either side of a sickly glowing orange crystal that was
embedded in the creature's head. Hermione didn't need Cooks with Thunder's muttered
“Uktena” or Oscar's “not again” to recognize the monstrous serpent from MT's
description.

Looking sharply around the debris littered room, Hermione whispered to her companions.
“Let's split up and see if we can take that monster out. Cooks with Thunder, keep an eye on
those two, don't let them take advantage of the chaos to escape or make things worse.” Moving
to her right, she noticed that the uktena started tracking her the moment she moved, swiveling its
antler-crowned head in her direction.

Launching herself at an angle to the direction she was heading, she felt the heat from the
orange beam as it passed her, slamming into the spot she was standing with a sizzling crack. Stung
by the shards of stone that erupted from the impact, she watched as her stunner slid off the body
of the serpent. Noticing that the area that she had targeted had glowed with an orange light for a
split second when she cast her curse, she moved again trying to get an angle on the serpent's
head.

Seeing Oscar's beam strike the snake and bounce off from the corner of her eye, she saw the
same telltale orange glow from the impact site. Watching the evil head turn in Oscar's
direction, she took aim and muttered “nox sphaera” and a globe of darkness formed around the head
of the serpent.

Shouting “Take it down before the darkness fades!” she channeled all of her annoyance with the
entire adventure through her wand as she slammed several well-placed stunners into the
serpent's body.

A sickly globe of yellow encircled the area behind the head and she could see the flesh start to
slough off in ribbons. Hearing a shout of pain, she turned her head slightly to see Cooks with
Thunder bouncing one of the two smugglers off a support pillar while the other one concentrated on
taking down the uktena. Focusing again on the writhing snake, she made a slashing motion with her
wand, and nearly severed the remainder of the body behind the head that Oscar's curse was busy
dissolving away.

A high pitched cry of pain, something more appropriate to a small woodland animal rather than
fifteen meters of serpent, filled the chamber as the uktena flopped to the ground, oozing various
fluids from the multiple wounds that covered its body. Hermione maintained the globe of darkness
around its head while the yellow glow finished its mission and severed the head from the rest of
the body.

Looking around, she saw that Oscar was as pale as a sheet, but had his wand still trained on the
serpent, waiting for it to somehow resume its assaults. Cooks with Thunder was sitting,
cross-legged, on the prone body of one of the smugglers, glaring at the other as if to dare him to
move. Looking down, noticing that her clothes were covered in rock dust and she was spattered with
fluids from the thrashing of the uktena, she cast a silent tergeo to make herself as presentable as
possible. “Oscar?”

Still looking pale, Oscar had finally lowered his wand but was breathing deeply and regularly.
“Yes, Hermione.”

Smiling at him, she nodded. “Went a bit better this time?”

“Think so, at least I'm standing at the end of it this time.” Calming down, he looked over
at the conscious smuggler. “It's been a very bad day, if you were to try to bolt, someone's
likely to take it the wrong way and blow you clean apart.” Walking over to him, he raised his wand
in a very menacing fashion. “Did any of these four happen to mention where the girl is?”

Looking nervously around, the smuggler swallowed and tried to look anywhere but at the wand that
was pointing at his face. “Girl, vat girl?” he replied in lightly accented English. “”Ve came to
trade the glass for the galleons, ven these nutters vent all irrsinnig.” Shrugging his shoulders,
he supplied the translation by tapping his forefinger to his temple. “Irrsinnig, yes?”

Smiling, Hermione supplied. “Insane is the word you want. Herr Merveaux is it not?”

Rising to stand, giving Oscar a wary eye, he clicked his heels and bowed towards Hermione. “You
have me at the disadvantage. Gilbert Merveaux at your service.”

Laughing, Hermione's hand covered her mouth as she tried to control herself. “Hermione
Granger at yours. Stars, you live in Penzance and I'll bet my next checque that your
unconscious partner's name is Sullivan.” Losing her battle with laughing, she dissolved into a
fit for several seconds. “If you tell me you have got a little list, I'm seriously going to hex
you.”

“Ach Fraulein, but you are not the type to eat peppermints and puff them in people's face,
so you needn't vorry about that.” Nodding his head at her respectfully, he laughed. “I can see
vy she varned us about you.”

Becoming serious again, Hermione was beginning to ask about this mysterious `she' when she
noticed movement to her left. The dark wizard that Oscar had dropped was dragging himself along,
using the arm that Oscar hadn't hit him in, and his hand was just inches from the frame
containing the fairy flag.

Without thinking, Hermione shouted “Accio An Bratach Sith” to prevent the dark wizard from
grabbing the artifact. As it streaked towards her outstretched hand, she noticed that the glass
covering the flag was cracked. As the flag came to her outstretched hand, she felt the glass slice
her thumb as it came into contact with the flag. The room erupted in a brilliant bright white light
that seemed to overpower everything as she was suddenly elsewhere.

-->



10. Chapter Ten – An Underhill Family Reunion and Back Again
------------------------------------------------------------



Chapter Ten - An Underhill Family Reunion and Back Again

The bright white light disappeared as if someone had flipped a switch. Without any of the
sensations that usually accompanied magical transportation, Hermione found herself standing in a
large open room. The walls were wood paneled, the floor was dressed stone and the furnishings all
had that air of age and comfort to them. A fireplace was merrily crackling at one end of the room;
it was set up for cooking with a large cauldron bubbling over it.

At the other end of the room, a woman with dark wavy hair sat on a table, dressed in clothes
that were very finely made, but out of a costume drama from the Middle Ages. Smiling, she was
watching Hermione as she pushed her hair back behind her ears, which were a bit pointed. Radiating
an air of power, she looked expectantly, as if she were waiting for something.

“Would it be rude to ask where I've ended up?” Watching the woman at the end of the room
cautiously, Hermione noticed that her eyes flashed with a light of mischief and something else that
she couldn't quite place.

“You've an air about you much as your Grandfather did, but you're much too serious.” The
woman answered, looking Hermione over with an appraising glance. “I'm not criticizing, but
you're a bit stuffy for being Martin Granger's granddaughter.” Smiling warmly she pushed
herself off the table she had been perched upon and approached Hermione.

“Considering my grandfather never returned from France during the war forty years before I was
born, I'm sorry his influence is totally lacking in myself.” Hermione replied a bit stiffly,
wondering exactly how this woman who wasn't that much older than her could be speaking of her
grandfather so familiarly.

“Peace child, you're the spitting image of my bonnie Sandy when you get your back up.”
Laughing, the woman extended her hand to Hermione with the palm up. “As bonnie a lad that ever
charmed a lass, but he would bristle like a boar if he thought he'd been slighted.” Smiling
mischievously, she slyly added. “That laddie of yours is correct, you do need to learn to play, and
it'll make your life a bit more agreeable.”

“That was Harry, not Ron.” Stopping herself, she began to look at the other woman a bit warily.
“And I'm certain no one was around when we were discussing that.” Looking at the woman's
dress, the fey light in her eyes, and the delicately pointed ears she began to blush. “You're
one of the good folk of the hills, aren't you?”

Laughing again, Hermione could hear the pealing of delicate bells in the sound, as the other
woman clapped her hands in delight. “Aye, and sure who else would I be? But my manners are
atrocious, Hermione Jane Granger, daughter of Alexander and Helen Granger. The Scots called me Mab,
the Irish Maeve, but your English poets named me Titania, of all things.” Smiling impishly, she
pirouetted gracefully. “Honestly, do I look like a Titania? It makes me sound so cold and imperial.
Names make the woman, you know.”

“Really now.” Getting a bit irritated, Hermione crossed her arms and glared at the Queen of the
Elves. “But, you're correct; I think I like `Maeve' better for you than Titania.” Watching
the other woman nod in acquiescence, Hermione could feel the concept of her mysterious hostess
settle into her mind as Maeve. “And I suppose that I'd have been a different person if my
mother had named me Susan or Elizabeth?” The other woman had an unbelievably smug look on her face.
Studying her, Hermione began to notice the small but exotic differences about her.

“Not totally different. If your grandfather had returned from that war, I'd like to think
your father would have been in a position to listen to a wee bit of advice. If your mother was so
intent on an exotic name for their daughter, I would have suggested a couple.” Stepping back and
looking appraisingly at Hermione, she tilted her head to one side. “However, looking at you now, I
can see you as a Morrigan, definitely.”

Laughing, Hermione leaned back against a table and looked at her hostess with disbelief. “That
would have been a lovely choice. Why not go all out and have them call me `Megaera' or
`Tisiphone'? That would have made my childhood oh so much better.”

“Never liked those two, very pushy women. Morri and I always got along, though she took herself
very seriously. Always had to be `The Morrigan' unless you'd known her for at couple of
centuries, at least. The world became a much more boring place once she decided to retire from the
mortal realms.” Eyeing Hermione with a glint in her eye, she added slyly, “You do have a bit of
that Tisiphone complex going for you, especially when it comes to that young man of yours.”

Smirking in return, Hermione shook her head. “Preposterous. When have I gone all `avenging
angel' over Ron?”

Laughing, Maeve gleefully clapped her hands as she regarded Hermione with a look of pure
affection. “You are so my bonnie Sandy's child in spirit as well as by blood, though a few
times removed. He would have approved of you. Very headstrong, too intelligent for everyone's
comfort and you wouldn't recognize your own heart if you tripped over it.”

“Whatever are you going on about? Sandy who?”

“Ach lassie, Alexander of Dunkeld*. Right bonnie King of Scots he was. Chased any lass in a
skirt that caught his eye, whether she was a crofter's daughter or wife of a noble lord.
Captured my heart for a while and he was the father of my own bonnie bairn Robin Granger. I
actually cried when the poor fool got his self killed.”

Stunned, Hermione put her hand to her mouth. “My great-great-great grandfather was named Robin
Granger. He died in China during a siege in the 1860s.”

Looking contrite for once, the other woman bit her lip and lowered her eyes. “Robin came home at
my insistence. He'd spent too long in the mortal realms and was in danger of becoming lost to
the Folk. It pained me greatly to bring him home; he loved his wife so much he didn't speak to
me for almost forty years afterwards.”

Becoming grim, Hermione lashed out. “You incorrigible fraud. You were pained? How do you think
my great-great-great grandmother felt? She mourned her husband, lost in a war far away. She never
even got to say goodbye!” Almost shouting, Hermione's eyes were flashing a dangerous glint.
“Have you come to collect another `wayward' child for your house? Is Harry going to be left to
wonder and mourn when I never come back from America?” Biting back tears, she stared defiantly at
the elven woman.

Drawing herself up, Maeve looked straight into Hermione's eyes. “Robin went back for his
bonnie Kate the day she `died'. He left a glamour in her place and brought her home to the
halls. That was when he spoke to me and asked me for an oath regarding his family as the honor
price for her suffering.”

Walking over she laid her hand on the frame of the An Bratach Sith. “You were brought here by
your blood and the power of my cloak. The cloak recognized the elven blood and brought you home to
me.” Smiling, she nodded her head. “After we've had our talk, I'll have you return
what's left of my cloak to the MacLeod and you can return to your bonnie lads. But we do need
to talk.”

Calming herself, Hermione watched the other woman carefully. Holding up her cut thumb, she
smiled grimly. “I take it this is what you meant by `my blood'?”

“Aye, merely touching the banner would have done nothing. It would have recognized your right by
blood and it would have allowed your touch without harm to you. But your spilt blood triggered a
reaction in it and it brought you to a safe place.” Smiling warmly, she waved her hand around at
her surroundings. “It brought you home.”

“And if I hadn't had the right by blood?” Hermione looked warily at the banner, propped
against the leg of the chair like an innocent wall hanging.

“Then another object lesson to the powers of the An Bratach Sith to protect itself and its own
would have been had. But you did have that right, so none's the worse.”

Taking her wand, Hermione cast a silent reparo on the frame. “That should keep unintended
fingers from incurring your wrath.” Looking defiantly at the other woman, silence grew between
them.

Finally breaking the standoff, the elven woman sighed. “It's not my wrath, child. Objects
like the An Bratach Sith almost have a mind of their own and tend to have their own rules regarding
behavior and the like. It was a token of a pledge between an earlier MacLeod and myself. It was
meant to protect and prosper the MacLeods, but Scotland was a very different place in those days,
so its protections are a bit `severe' by your standards.”

Sighing in return, Hermione relented, a bit. “Leaving all that aside, you've said some
fairly preposterous things since I've been here. You can't blame me for being a bit off
after all this.”

Her smile returning, Maeve nodded in Hermione's direction. “True, and while old home week is
always interesting, we should talk about a couple of things.” Holding up her hand to forestall the
next question, she shook her head. “And no, I can't interfere in the mortal realms to the
extent to tell you where your missing friend is.”

Seeing the look of frustration on Hermione's face she added. “I can tell you that you have
the key to finding her, but you'll need all of your ingenuity to pull it off. You must remember
to think, Hermione Jane.” Grinning at the look on Hermione's face, she added, “Once you're
rescued the lass, then you can go all `avenging angel' as you so quaintly put it.”

“Why am I here? Really. The banner could have taken me anywhere to be safe, so why here?”
Intrigued, Hermione relaxed as she leaned against the table behind her. Watching the elven woman,
her mind began to recognize the other woman's moods and methods.

“Honestly, I'm fulfilling my oath to my son, and paying part of the suffering price your
great-great-great grandmother is owed. You should remember what the elf you know as Cooks with
Thunder said. The Seelie Court isn't motivated by what you mortals determine as good and evil.
We bind ourselves with traditions and oaths. You are the only child of your generation so I have
watched you, off and on, since your birth.”

Beginning to pace, Maeve walked around the room, examining items on shelves and tables in an air
of reminiscence. “I was there the night your young man faced down Tom Riddle, and I watched your
prowess in the battle that followed. If you would have asked for help, I would have answered, as
your cause against the oath-breaker Riddle was just by our laws. Even though you didn't know to
ask, any plea I would have interpreted as a request against the bonds of family.”

Shaking her head wryly, Hermione looked at Maeve in amazement. “With all of the deaths and evil
that Tom Riddle caused, you would only move against him because he had broken his oath?”

Stopping, the elven queen turned and faced the bubbling cauldron, placing her hand upon the
ornate torc that surrounded her neck. Shaking her head at what she could see in the mists rising
from the cauldron, she began to speak. “He broke his oaths to his fellow students when he allowed
that creature to terrorize your school. Kin-slayer I name him when he murdered his father and
grandparents. Kin-slayer again I name him when he murdered his uncle for material gain. He abused
the laws of hospitality when he slew that witch for material gain. And he abused the
responsibilities of power and family when he slew a retainer who was defending his family home.
Oathbreaker I name him as he swore he wasn't pursuing that abominable knowledge of sundering
his soul to escape the judgment of death. By our laws and customs, I would have gladly ended his
life and plans, if you would have asked.”

Turning to look at Hermione, she drew herself up, and wrapped herself in the glamour that was a
part of her. Hermione could see the ancient queen that the Celts of the seven ancient lands had
venerated centuries ago. A cold chill settled over her as she realized just how `other' this
woman really was.

Biting her lip, Hermione watched Maeve warily. “Twice you've said something regarding Harry
as if he and I were together. Why?”

Laughing, Maeve shrunk within herself and she was nothing more than an exotic woman with a love
of mischief. “You've come a long way child. Thanks to your Harry, you've learned to listen
to your heart instead of your mind. You care for your Ron and he cares for you, but the two of you
are as ill-suited a pair as I have ever seen. Your heart cares for him, as does his for you, that
makes you companions and friends, not lovers.” Looking sadly at her, she tilted her head as she
continued. “Your friendship with Harry has made you able to do that. Soon will come a time when
you'll have to listen with your soul, not just your heart. When you do that, you'll know
what I meant when I spoke of your Harry.”

Picking up the framed An Bratach Sith, she strode over to where Hermione stood and handed her
the banner of the MacLeods. “I promised that I'd return you to your friends. I'm very proud
of you and I believe your grandfather would have been proud of you, also. You'll find some
differences in your life because of your contact with my old cloak, embrace the changes and
you'll prosper.”

Leaning forward, she kissed Hermione of both cheeks and on her forehead. Hermione felt a surge
of power that settled deep within her as the elven queen released her and stepped back. “Remember
to think and you'll save your friend and start solving the mystery of whom opposes you and your
friends.”

A bright white light began to come from Maeve. Overwhelming Hermione's eyes, she averted her
head as the room around her disappeared. Suddenly the cavern surrounded her that she had left so
suddenly not that long ago. Blinking, she looked around to see everyone staring at her. Everyone,
that is except for a certain house-elf.

“Hermione, where'd you disappear to?” Oscar whispered. “One second you're grabbing the
flag away from this dark wizard and then its flash, bang, and you're gone.”

Shaking herself, Hermione looked wearily at Oscar. “Merlin's sake. It's not like
it's a secret, Oscar. Everyone left in here noticed I disappeared.” Nodding towards the corpse
of the dark wizard who had died summoning the uktena, she grimaced. “I think he's the only one
in here who didn't notice. I have no idea where, other than I went to visit my fairy
godmother.” Glaring at Cooks with Thunder, she asked. “Isn't that right?”

“Silver Otter, no one was more surprised than I when you disappeared. However I knew where the
An Bratach Sith would have taken you once you left. I also knew that the Queen of the Hills would
return you here promptly. She only wished to meet you and see for Herself what you had made of your
heritage.”

“You knew?” Incredulously, Hermione stared at the house-elf in disbelief. “You didn't think
that a mention of the fact I was related to this entire goose chase might be appropriate?”
Dissolving into sputtering disbelief, Hermione could do nothing but stare at the elf. His calm,
dispassionate gaze in return seemed to draw her into it. She could see the emotions behind those
placid eyes, and suddenly she understood exactly why she had been drawn to the plight of
house-elves for all these years. “I'll be.”

Calming down, she began to appreciate the position that her friend had found himself in. “You
could only tell me what she allowed. And I'm certain you pushed the bounds of what you were
allowed.” Carefully setting the framed banner on the ground, she dropped into a curtsey and smiled.
“I thank you for your friendship and assistance. And on behalf of my great-great-great-great
grandmother, I apologize for the discourtesy shown you by putting you in this position.”

Breaking into a grin, Cooks with Thunder bowed in return, holding his bow for a full ten seconds
before he spoke. “My service to you and your esteemed family.” Straightening up, he laughed.
“She's going to be madder than a puka since you've obligated Her by your apology. Which was
your intention all along, I can see.”

Shaking his head, he stopped laughing. “I believe that your guests are waiting to answer some
questions for you.” Indicating the two smugglers who were sitting there, watching the three with
wondering eyes, Cooks with Thunder glared menacingly in their direction.

Looking from the two smugglers to the three surviving dark wizards who were struggling to free
themselves, magically silenced to reduce the annoyance of their threats and imprecations as well as
inhibit them from casting spells. “I take it our other three guests aren't willing to discuss
things, no?” Smiling at Oscar, she attempted to reassure him. “Everything is fine. As soon as I
find out what our two travelers know, we'll discuss Terri's whereabouts with our three
friends in the robes.”

Walking over to the two smugglers, Hermione smiled reassuringly. “Good evening Herr Merveaux,
Monsieur Cranston. I believe you were talking about someone who had warned you regarding my humble
self before we were so rudely interrupted.” Nodding to Merveaux, Hermione attempted to encourage
the pair to be forthcoming. “You were mentioning a `she' who had warned you about me?” Smiling
sweetly, Hermione twirled her wand to emphasize the point that she didn't need to be so
accommodating.

“Ja fraulein. Our employer varned us about you, but she your abilities underestimated greatly. I
think she dislikes you so that she fails to respect you, a mistake that my partner and I are paying
the price for.” Shaking his head, the bedraggled smuggler smiled wryly at his partner. “Sully, I
vould say our contract is over, no?”

“Oui, Gilbert. Most assuredly. Mademoiselle Granger, we consider our contract at an end and are
at your disposal to answer any questions you might have. However, the question you most wish to ask
us, we cannot answer, because we do not know the name of our employer. Anonymity is part of the
trade in our business and we did not think it strange when our now former employer hired us to
bring the Amen Glass and the Fairy Flag to America and deliver them to the Order of the Hidden Path
failed to mention her name.”

Scowling, he nodded to the trio of surviving dark wizards off to the side. “The `jeune femme
dela nuit' said she was acting as a middle woman for the Order and her own organization. She
paid half up front and the remainder was supposed to have been provided by those magique malvais
over there.”

Smiling, Hermione chuckled and shook her head. “And just what did this `Maiden of the Night'
look like?

Smiling broadly, Merveuax answered. “Ach, coldly pretty, the kind of looks that chill rather
than varm the heart. Dark of hair and eye, she always dressed...” Shrugging he turned to Cranston.
“Vat is the vord I'm looking for Sully?”

“Eh, she was dressed as une salope. But too cold, that one for my tastes.”

Laughing, Hermione began to shake her head. “A pretty brunette who dresses like a slut? Except
for the fact that she's too petty and childish I'd say it was that cow Parkinson.” Turning
to Oscar, she grimaced. “An old schoolmate of mine, but the aurors have been watching her for years
and while she's petty, spiteful, vindictive and malicious, they're convinced she's not
capable of pulling something like this off.”

Grinning back, Oscar asked innocently. “What'd she do, try to date Ron in school?”

Her face becoming an expressionless mask, Hermione replied in a voice colder than Oscar had ever
heard. “She suggested turning Harry over to Voldemort.” Leaving the phrase hanging between them for
several long seconds, she continued to stare with a death mask for a face. “The only reason
she's still troubling the world with her annoying presence with all of her limbs attached is
that Ron and I were in the Chamber of Secrets at that moment.” Turning abruptly, she glanced back
at the two smugglers. Seeing that they visibly flinched from the look in her eyes, she closed them
and took several calming breaths.

“Mon Dieu,” whispered Cranston. “For a moment it was as if Jeanne D'Arc had returned. Except
you are English, of course.” Laughing nervously he looked to his partner for a clue as what to do
now.

“My apologies gentlemen.” Opening her eyes, Hermione looked at the two and wondered exactly what
it was that they had seen when she turned towards them. “Before I discuss options with the Order of
the Hidden Path, we have one more thing to settle.” Holding out her hand, she asked quietly. “The
Amen Glass, gentlemen?”

Looking guilty, Cranston nodded towards the dead dark wizard. “We had turned it over to that one
when everything started to go bad.”

Still holding her hand out, Hermione continued to stare into the Swiss thief's eyes.
Remembering the trick that Maeve had done, she gathered her will and attempted to recreate the
effect that the Queen of the Sidhe had employed. Something must have happened because she could see
Cranston's eyes go wide and she could hear a sharp intake of breath from both Merveuax and
Oscar. The scuffling of bare feet indicated Cooks with Thunder had taken an involuntary step
backwards. Pitching her voice low and speaking deliberately she asked again. “The Amen Glass. Not
the fake you palmed off on those unsuspecting dolts. The real one. Now.”

Mesmerized and unable to break her gaze, Cranston just stood there. Swallowing noisily, Merveaux
whispered. “Against the wall, a carry sack. It's wrapped in blue cloth in case we needed it.”
Nodding towards the fallen pillar they had hidden behind, Hermione followed his gaze and saw that
there was, indeed, a dark cloth bag setting in the shadows. Without pulling her wand, she simply
stated. “Accio sack” and the bag flew towards her waiting hand. As she had turned her head,
Cranston collapsed to the ground, swearing in French as he gathered himself together.

“Oscar, before we start questioning those dark wizards, I think I'm going to check to see if
our two `friends' have actually given us what we were looking for, and not a stage prop for
some elaborate triple cross that they had concocted. “ Opening the bag, a blue glow began to
emanate from the cloth wrapped object within. Gingerly removing the cloth wrapped item, even the
touch of her hand on the insulating cloth intensified the glow of blue light.

Ignoring the whisperings of the two smugglers, Oscar shook his head. “Hermione, is it supposed
to do that? The pictures and description that your Ministry sent didn't mention anything about
it glowing like a bluelight special.”

Unwrapping the upper edge of the glass, Hermione gazed in fascination at the etched glass
artifact. The light emanating from it highlighted the Jacobite anthem etched into the glass.

`*God save the King I pray*

*God bless the King I pray*

*God save the King*

*Send Him victorious*

*Happy and glorious*

*Soon to reign over us*

*God save the King*'

Intrigued, Hermione ran her finger over the edge of the glass, and a familiar feeling overtook
her. That familiar feeling of a hook grabbing her by her navel and pulling her away.
`*Damn*' she thought to herself. `*I suppose this isn't what she meant by telling me
to think'* as she was pulled elsewhere by the Amen Glass portkey.

-----

A/N * - Alexander III, King of Scots

-->



11. Chapter Eleven – Ambush, Oblivion, and Opening Night
--------------------------------------------------------



Chapter Eleven - Ambush, Oblivion, and Opening Night

The sound of waves on the shore was the next thing that Hermione knew. Landing hard on her
knees, she looked around to see if she could recognize where she had ended up. The moonlight
illuminated an old lighthouse and a two storey red structure next to it. The blue glow of the Amen
Glass hadn't diminished and it added an eerie dimension to the scene. Looking around, she saw
that she was on a grassy strip near the lighthouse.

She could hear the water, but not see it. The air didn't have that scent she associated with
the ocean or the Channel, more the smells she remembered from days by the River Otter near
Ron's and Black Lake at Hogwarts. Hopefully this meant she was near the shore of the lake that
bordered Cleveland and not somewhere else in the world. Thanking her astronomy classes, she looked
up in the night sky and saw that the stars looked the same as the ones she had watched last night
while talking to Harry.

Returning her gaze earthward, she noticed that she was near an empty carpark. A bronze sign
proclaimed the historical importance of the lighthouse behind her, but other than confirming she
was near the shore of Lake Erie and still in Ohio, her limited knowledge of the local geography
didn't tell her how close she was to Cleveland. Wrapping the Amen Glass securely back in its
protective wrap, she placed the entire carrysack in her trusty beaded bag and stored it all away
for safekeeping.

Hearing a small noise behind her, she whirled and found herself pointing her wand at a wandering
blackberry cat with a ragged ear that had come to see who had interrupted her night's hunting.
Smiling at the thought of Crookshanks hunting voles in the gardens behind Grimmauld Place, she
reached over and attempted to ruffle the cat's ears. The black cat reared back and spat at
Hermione, causing her to withdraw the proffered hand. “Touchy, aren't you. Well I shan't
interfere with your search for voles.” Turning back around Hermione got cautiously to her feet and
began to walk slowly towards the red painted building that sat next to the lighthouse.

A voice rang out with a jubilant “Crucio” behind her and as she turned quickly, a dreaded
familiar pale green beam caught her in her mid-section as she began to collapse in pain unimagined.
Forcing herself to focus, she saw a slight, older witch dressed all in black with a scarred left
ear, exactly the same as the feline that was no where to be seen. As the pain intensified, she
doubled over; trying desperately to focus long enough to summon a patronus, but another spasm sent
her wand clattering from her hand. The pain reached a final crescendo then disappeared. A second of
blissful absence, followed by the sharp pain of something being ripped through her thigh and she
passed out from the assault and the pain.

-----

Light and darkness. Pain and oblivion. Time standing still and time stretching into eternity.
Screaming and silence. Her body being tortured and then being healed until she could barely
function, alive just enough to be tortured again. Once she caught a glimpse of Terri, sitting
horrified watching her being systematically abused, but she blissfully lost consciousness and she
was alone with her pain. But not alone. Always there was a presence that bolstered her, held her
up. Loved her. Despite the injuries and indignities, for the first time she felt whole. Though the
worst of it, she knew she was loved and help was coming. He was coming.

-----

Awareness returned slowly. Hermione was aware of pain in every part of her body. Lying on a
cold, hard surface, she could feel the uneven stone, rough against her skin. Opening her eyes, she
could see Terri, sitting against a stonewall with her hands tied in front of her, staring at her
with tears rolling down her cheeks. She was shaking her head, muttering something between sobs, and
not taking her eyes from Hermione. As she noticed Hermione looking at her, her eyes widened and she
tried to control her crying.

Swallowing, Hermione wasn't surprised to find that her throat was raw and painful, as if she
had been screaming for a long time. “How long?” Her voice startled her, it sounded as if someone
else were speaking.

Her breathing ragged, Terri tried once to answer, but nothing came out but a gasp. Closing her
eyes for a second, she settled herself before answering. “You've been here for two days now.
Hermione, please tell me that she's a deranged Yankees fan.” Whispering, her voice held a
pleading quality that indicated that she was on the verge of losing control.

Smiling, in spite of the fact that it seemed that every muscle she owned was screaming at her,
Hermione lifted her head from the floor and started to look around. “Terri, I'm afraid the
answer is a bit worse than that.”

The room that they were in had a stone floor and the walls were also of a similar material and
had that feeling a place gets from being far underground. The room was dimly lit; Hermione could
see where magical light had been conjured in a couple of places haphazardly to create an effect of
gloom and shadows.

“Wonderful, a deranged soccer fan.” Trying to laugh, her sobs quieted as she looked to Hermione
with hope in her eyes. “With really great special effects, right.”

Slowly pushing herself up, and finding at least two broken ribs and some torn muscles, Hermione
carefully got herself into a sitting position. “The `special effects' are actually magic and
while she's most likely seriously deranged, I'm afraid I sincerely doubt she follows any
football clubs, quidditch is most likely her game. She's a witch.” Watching Terri closely,
Hermione was trying to decide if the truth had been her best choice, but she realized that the
Secrecy Statutes really didn't apply at this point.

Terri's face became very serious as she thought about Hermione's response. Speaking
slowly, she was considering her words carefully. “I suppose that would explain all of the things
that she was doing and saying.” Looking at her friend with fear in her eyes, she asked in a
whisper. “Does that make you a witch, also?”

Smiling wryly, Hermione remembered an old movie that had played on the telly when she was a
little girl. “As Glinda would say, `I'm a good witch.' That one, on the other hand, meets
all of the criteria for being a very wicked witch.”

“Oh.” Terri's face became a blank as she processed that bit of information. She smiled a
bit, as something Hermione said began to register as funny. “Ok, Glinda, I suppose that means
Oscar's a witch, also.”

Pushing herself up on to her hands and knees, a painful exercise due to the abuse and
half-healed wounds Hermione had, she looked back at Terri and smiled. “Oh, of course not.”

“Good, not that there's anything wrong with being a witch.”

“He's a wizard, like Harry and Irving.”

“Oh”

“He's really a nice guy, he just has a slightly different job that the guys you normally
meet.”

Starting to laugh, Terri began to resemble her old self. “It could be worse, I suppose. He could
be a lawyer.”

Laughing, Hermione found out that she hurt in places that she could barely remember ever feeling
before. “Good point. Although we do have wizards who are also barristers and they're a scary
lot in their own right. As soon as we get out of here, I'll show you some things that will put
our lot in a better light. Our hostess isn't really a shining example of who we'd trot out
as a recruiting poster.”

Becoming serious, Terri looked around. “Hermione, how are we going to get out of here? I mean,
she has magic and everything?” Terri's voice began to take on that desperate edge again.

“As I was reminded earlier, I need to think and we'll be fine. And besides,” concentrating,
Hermione wandlessly conjured the blue flames that she had mastered as a student and started to feed
healing energy through the flames and she felt some of the minor aches and pains start to abate,
“we have magic also.”

Smiling encouragingly at Terri, she watched the blond nod in response. “Since I've been out
of it, you need to tell me what's been going on. Does she come in through that door over there
or does she just appear out of thin air?”

Watching the flames with fascination, Terri answered slowly. “She comes in through the door.
Usually she just stands there and watches you for a while before she starts pointing that stick at
you and then you start screaming.”

“That stick is called a wand, and it's something that wizards and witches use to focus their
magic. I can do wandless magic for some things, my Harry is really good with this, and I've got
a few new tricks up my sleeve along with a plan.”

Relieved that Terri seemed to be taking this so well, Hermione made a movement with her free
hand and released the ropes around Terri's wrists and ankles. “Keep those ropes around your
wrists and ankles, but if things go badly and she's concentrating on me, run like hell and see
if you can find a way out of this place. If my plan doesn't work, she's likely to be very
annoyed with me.”

“She should be coming back soon, I feel like it's about time for her to be back.” Terri
shuddered, and wrapped the ropes back around her ankles and gathered the loose ends in her hands to
make it appear that she was still bound. “You have a plan?”

“Yes, I do.” Tilting her head a bit, she smiled. “Are you familiar with the Scottish Play?”

“The Scottish Play?” Looking incredulous, a look of recognition began to dawn in her eyes. “What
does Shakespeare have to do with it? You're not going to go all double, double, toil and
trouble on me, are you?”

Shaking her head, Hermione grinned. “As soon as my audience arrives, I'm going to have my
opening night as Lady M. I don't think I'm really crazy, but hopefully she will.” Hearing
the door behind her rattling, Hermione whispered. “Stay calm, and if she starts throwing curses
around, try to get out of the way. Anything with a green light is bad, run like hell.” Nodding at
the younger woman, she smiled. “It's show time.”

Standing up, Hermione called up just a bit of the glamour that Maeve had used, just enough to
make herself the center of attention in the room. Focusing on where the fireplace in her flat would
be if the door her mysterious assailant was the bedroom door, she began to screech like a fishwife.
“Ronald Bilius Weasley. Get your bloody arse in here right this second.”

As she heard the door swing open, she forgot about the pains that wracked her body. She focused
herself on what she would do if she'd come home and found a certain blond in her bedroom
waiting for Ron, all of the frustrations that had built up in their relationship over the years
came spilling out.

“I can't believe I'm standing here by my couch and you've got Lavender `snog
anything anywhere' Brown standing in my bedroom door.” Raising her hands towards the ceiling
she upped that glamour just a bit trying to hold her audience's attention. “I can't believe
you let that trollop in my bed. Ronald Weasley you get your sorry self in here right this second.
Don't make me call Harry Potter to drag your sorry, treacherous arse down here.”

Tears began streaming down her cheeks, she focused on the last argument they'd had, and all
the ones that had led up to it. “I mean it Ron, if you don't get yourself here right now;
I'm going to be more pissed than you've ever seen. Ronald Weasley, I need you to come
through that floo right now, don't you dare apparate into my kitchen. You've busted
Harry's wards for the last time. I'm standing right in front of the floo with that slut
right behind me.”

Gathering herself together, she started concentrating on what magic she had available to see if
she could surprise her audience if her plan failed. “Harry's going to kick your ruddy arse for
this. Ronald Bilius Weasley, if you're not here on the count of three, I'm going to floo
your mum, and you'll have to explain to her why her ickle Ronniekins is such a philandering
two-timer.”

Gathering her strength for once last go, she almost screamed. “Ron Weasley, you stick you head
in the floo right this instant and take your punishment like a Gryffindor, you bloody arse.” Just
as she finished, she heard a noise off to her left, where her kitchen would be if she were actually
home. Whirling around, she caught a glimpse of Ron and Harry pointing their wands at the mysterious
witch in the doorway.

Trying to focus her rage and magic through her finger, instead of her beloved wand, she shouted
“Expelliarmus” at her foe before either of her rescuers could react. As the other witch's wand
sailed towards her, she caught it deftly in the air and then lashed out with a “Stupify” and smiled
as the witch was slammed across the room by the force of her hex.

Turning unsteadily towards the boys, she smiled faintly and whispered, “I knew you'd come,”
as she collapsed to the ground and oblivion finally claimed her.

-->



12. Chapter Twelve – Revelations among Friends
----------------------------------------------



Chapter Twelve - Revelations among Friends

Consciousness returned, and with it the blissful awareness of the absence of pain. Hermione kept
her eyes closed and quietly reveled in the sheer bliss of not hurting. The feel of clean
institutional quality sheets and that faint antiseptic smell that marks medical facilities
worldwide, magical or muggle, told her that she was once again waking up in a hospital bed. Hearing
a quiet snoring to her right, she smiled, as she knew Ron was with her. In the back of her mind,
she could feel that quiet comfort that was Harry. As always, she realized.

“He's extremely annoyed with you, you know.” Harry's voice caused her eyes to pop wide
open. Looking around, she could see Ron sleeping in a chair at her bedside, his wand tucked under
his arm as he slept. Sitting in another chair across the brightly lit room, Harry was sprawled,
looking at her with a strange look on his face. Relief mixed with regret, along with something else
she couldn't quite place.

“Hello Harry, I honestly didn't expect it to take quite that long for me to call for you to
rescue me, I feel like a total idiot.” Grinning guiltily, Hermione tried to figure out why Harry
was looking at her so strangely. “What happened after I made my dramatic exit?”

Sighing, Harry popped himself out of the chair with a move that indicated just how much time he
spent working out. Strolling over to the bed, he perched himself on the edge of it as he took her
hand. “Hermione, you scared both of us to death, not to mention Kingsley and half the senior
aurors.”

Looking puzzled, Hermione asked warily. “Harry, what happened back in London that I don't
know about?”

“Well, as soon as you went missing, for what turned out to be the second time, we reported it to
Bethune and Kingsley. I told Kingsley and Ron went down to Centaur Relations and began raising a
ruckus until they finally called Francis in. I understand that even the night watch down in the
Department of Mysteries heard parts of his `discussion' with Francis.” Smiling wryly, he
gripped her hand tightly. “There's more, but I'm not certain I should be the one to tell
you.”

Returning the squeeze, Hermione ruffled Ron's hair with her free hand while she looked up at
Harry. “Harry, you might as well get it out now so I can wrap my head around it before Ron wakes
and starts telling me how worried he's been. Once he starts on that, it'll be a couple of
days before we get around to the specifics.”

Sighing, Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I don't think that's going to happen this time.
The two days you were gone changed things, changed him. Anyway, when you started your performance
for the deluminator, I thought Kingsley was going to have a muggle heart attack right there on the
spot. He and Dawlish were both convinced that whatever had happened to you had left you more than a
bit unhinged and you were going off the deep end.”

Blushing a furious crimson, Hermione looked up at Harry totally aghast. “How many people heard
my little improv?”

“Other than Ron and I? Well Kingsley and Bethune both happened to be in the ready room. Along
with two full squads of Aurors on combat alert.”

“Oh. My. Stars. I can't believe that you two would drag that many people in on this. What
were you thinking?”

“What were we thinking?” Ron's voice broke into the conversation; Hermione turned her head
towards him and saw him looking at her with a strange look in his eye. “What were we thinking? We
were thinking that someone had taken you, Merlin only knows whom, and we knew that you were being
tortured for two solid days. Hermione, if you weren't in a hospital bed I'd probably shake
you until some sense came into that head of yours.”

A bit taken aback by the intensity in Ron's look and voice, Hermione grabbed his hand and
looked him dead in the eye. “Ron, before you finish scolding me, answer me one question
truthfully.” Waiting for his wary nod, she continued. “How many times did your heart stop beating
in the field hospital in Norway? Remember? It was after that assault that went pear shaped when
your and Harry's team were assisting the Norwegian ministry last spring?”

Boring her gaze deep into his eyes, she lowered her voice. “Was it six? Seven? No, wait; it was
eight bloody times they had to restart your heart. Eight bloody chances for you to leave us. And
there I was, sitting in Swansea interviewing some poxy cousin of the Malfoys who wanted a house-elf
to replace their last one that disappeared under mysterious circumstances. All I knew was that
something wasn't right but I had to smile at that prat and wait for three bloody days before I
heard that you were `fine'.”

Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and her voice got husky. “I love you and Harry more than I
can ever tell either of you, and the fact that you both love me is one of the great joys of my
life. Before anything else, we're best mates, and that goes back a long time. I realize it was
a chancy thing this time, but it was no chancier than what you and he face every time you two leave
the Ministry.”

Reaching out, she cupped his cheek and leaned toward him and placed a very tender kiss on his
cheek. “This is who I am, just as this is who you and Harry are. We're the bloody `Golden
Trio' according to the Prophet and this is what we do.” Looking around, she grabbed Harry's
hand and pulled it over to rest on top of hers and Ron's. “Are any of us likely to suddenly
become `Jane sit by the fire' and take up knitting because we suddenly realized what we do is
dangerous?”

Looking between the two of them, she could see that they both cared deeply about her, and they
were actually listening to her. “Before I tell you both everything that happened, I want to know
three things.” Looking from Ron to Harry, she waited until they both nodded their assent before she
continued. “One, exactly how bad was it at the Ministry because of my little performance. Two,
exactly how did you two `know' I was being tortured. And three, what happened when you two
popped into wherever I was?” Leaning back onto her pillows she smiled. “Let's go for four,
exactly how bad is my cover blown and who was that witch that captured me? Well gentlemen?”

Shaking his head, Ron got up from his chair and perched on the bed, on the other side of her
from Harry. “Well, as Harry said, there were two combat teams of aurors waiting to rescue you,
along with Kingsley and Bethune, and a medical team. Dudley's fiancé Chastity was heading that
one up. I suppose that I'll survive having you call me “Ickle Ronniekins” in front of the
Minister of Magic, the Ministry's secret spymaster and a couple of dozen other folks I have to
work with on a regular basis.” Watching Hermione blush, Ron leaned over and kissed her
forehead.

“And I suppose I can eventually convince Seamus that you really aren't carrying a grudge
against his new fiancé over something that happened quite that long ago, though I did have to swear
an oath that, as far as I knew, Lavender had never been in your flat and you were just making this
up as you went along.”

Waiting for Hermione's blush to deepen to a shade of crimson to rival any Weasley blush in
recent history, he added. “You do know that Lavender has taken an entry level position with the
Department of Mysteries? It seems her graduate work in Divination has been very promising.”

Grinning, he squeezed Hermione's hand to keep her from pulling it loose to hide her face.
“Harry, I've been told that no one's ever actually died from embarrassment, do you think we
should call in a healer before we continue? “ Grinning at his best friend, he saw Harry crack an
embarrassed smile at what was coming next.

“I think she's strong enough to take it like a Gryffindor. Might as well get it over with.
You'd hate for her to rat us out to Molly if we don't do what she wants.'

Growling in frustration, Hermione closed her eyes, hoping she was still asleep and this was all
a very embarrassing dream. Reopening her eyes and seeing her two best friends still sitting on her
bed with grins on their faces, she sighed. “I am a Gryffindor so I suppose I can handle what's
next. Is there anything else about my little impromptu wireless broadcast that I should know?”
Seeing both of them begin to blush, she began to worry. “What is it?”

Coughing Harry dropped his eyes from hers and seemed very interested in the tile on the floor
beside the bed. Looking over at Ron, who was blushing and trying not to laugh, she started to worry
even more. “Hermione,” Ron began, “I think that's part of the third question. Harry, do you
want to take questions two and four for Miss Granger?”

Still blushing, Harry looked back up from the floor and coughed. “Right, yes. Starting with
four, your cover is still intact. Kingsley and I immediately put it out that you were taken by a
group of American Death-Eater fan boys who refuse to believe that Riddle is dead. They were trying
to make you `confess' to knowing where Riddle is so they could rescue him and go on their merry
demented way conquering the world.”

Seeing the look on her face, he shrugged. “There is a group of idiots over here that refuses to
believe that Voldemort's dead, they think we have him locked up somewhere or he's in
hiding. Francis was merely there representing your boss and because there are a couple of herds of
centaurs running around some of the American National Forests so we were reaching out to them for
help in locating you.” Shaking his head, Harry grinned. “It would appear that your secret is safe,
Dr. Gayle.” *

Ignoring the indelicate snort from Hermione and the look of confusion from Ron, Harry continued.
“Your hostess, on the other hand, has quite the colorful history.” Getting that faraway look he got
when he was reciting from his mental notes, Harry shrugged. “Deidre Comstock, age approximately
eighty-four, originally from the state of Nevada, she's been an official resident of Alaska for
the past forty years or so.”

Seeing the amused look on Hermione's face, he shrugged. “What can I say? Some of these
American states are a bit laid back in their attitudes towards record keeping and in cooperating
with the other states and nations. Though the Alaskan Bureau lost track of her about ten years ago,
she has quite the documented past of being more than a bit unstable and rabidly anti-muggle. Which
is surprising since her grandfather was apparently a squib who lived most of his adult life as a
muggle, mining in the American West until he died under `mysterious circumstances' in Montana
back in the 1870's. Since he was well known in some of the muggle communities in the area, the
Marshals that found the body made it look as if he had killed himself with a muggle handgun. Their
report, however, made mention that he was found dead, without a mark, in the middle of an area that
made no sense for him to be in if he was actually looking for gold.”

Shaking her head, Hermione stared at Harry for a second. “As fascinating as all that is, I'm
not certain how this helps explain my ending up in his granddaughter's tender care.”

Nodding, Harry smiled mysteriously at her while Ron snorted again. Glaring at Ron, she turned
her attention back to Harry. “Well? You two obviously know something so spill.”

Nodding, Harry smiled. “Back in 1870, it didn't mean anything to anyone, but there was a
magical tattoo on Comstock's arm.” Reaching into his pocket, Harry pulled out a very old square
of glass in a metal frame and held it out to her. “Here's a magical ambrotype of the body.”

Taking the magical precursor to enchanted photographs from Harry, Hermione studied both the
artifact and the scene portrayed. Trapped in a elegantly etched silver case, Hermione marveled at
the work that had gone into transferring a moving, magical image to a six inch square piece of
glass. Gently nudging the image of one of the Marshalls out of the way, she focused on the forearm
of the corpse lying on the ground. Shaking her head, she stared at Harry. “Merlin's wand, is
that what I think it is?”

Nodding, Harry smiled grimly. “Almost. It's not a Dark Mark, but we now think that it's
the mark Tom Riddle used as inspiration to create his magical tattoo.” Looking back down at the
depicted mark, Hermione could see the subtle differences between the marks that branded the
fanatical followers of Lord Voldemort and this mark that graced the arm of someone over one hundred
and thirty years ago.

Trying to focus on the image, Hermione found what was different from this mark and the one she
had seen all too clearly too many times. “That's not a human skull. Some sort of bird I would
hazard to guess.”

Nodding, Harry sighed. “Yes, and that's one of the things that's giving people in our
Ministry and the American Bureaus nightmares. If the serpent is meant to symbolize Slytherin, then
the appearance of a phoenix skull in this mark leads to all sorts of unpleasant thoughts.”

Swallowing, Hermione shook her head. “Let me guess. His darling granddaughter had one also?”
Seeing Harry's nod, she chuckled. “So much for Grandfather Comstock being a squib.”

Nodding in agreement, Ron smirked. “Our thoughts exactly. He spent a lifetime passing as a
muggle, which should have been totally out of character for someone who venerated old Salazar. And
you might be interested to know that all four of your playmates from Chamber West had the same sort
of brand on them. Your friend Oscar said to tell you that this was a departure for them; the ones
they had captured prior to this didn't have that mark.”

“Curiouser and curiouser.” Looking thoughtful, Hermione glanced between the two of them. “A cult
dedicated to bringing Slytherin back? That makes no sense, you can't raise the dead.”

“Maybe he's not dead.” Blushing that he had spoken aloud, Ron looked from Harry to Hermione
with a defiant look. “Perhaps he's only mostly dead. They don't list a date of death for
him; they simply mention that he `disappeared'. The rest of the founders are all chronicled as
to when they passed away, but Slytherin just up and walked away years before.”

Looking down at the floor beside Ron's chair, Harry shook his head and grinned. “Which
`they' would that be?”

Blushing, Ron shrugged. “I'm not certain. While we were waiting for Sleeping Beauty here to
decide to wake up, I did some reading and research.”

Looking puzzled, Hermione followed Harry's gaze to the floor beside Ron's chair. Looking
up, she glared. “What in the name of Carnac is my copy of *Hogwarts: a History* doing on the
floor?”

Shaking his head and giving Harry a despairing look, Ron shrugged. “I fell asleep reading it
while we were waiting for you to wake up.”

Hermione stared at him in disbelief for several seconds before she started laughing. Clutching
her side, she shook her head as her face started to turn a bit pink. “Ron, after nine years, you
had to travel 3700 miles and find me unconscious and half dead before you opened up that book?”

Looking to Harry for support, Ron lowered his head. “It wasn't exactly like that, you know.”
Shaking his head, he nodded towards Harry. “Actually, this would be Harry's fault. He's the
one who brought it,”

Stopping laughing, Hermione looked up at Harry. Staring at him for a few seconds, she shook her
head. Holding out her hand, she silently summoned the book to her. As it came to rest in her hand,
she gently opened the front cover and read the inscription. “It's the one you bought for me
that summer after everything was over.” Shyly looking up at him, she smiled. “You said it would be
the last one safe to read because the newer ones would be full of dreadful accounts of the things
we did. Did you bring it with you or did you go back for it once you knew I was safe?”

Blushing, Harry smiled and looked at her. “I went to your flat after you lost consciousness that
last time before we jumped. I guess I `knew' that the next time you were going to be able to
let us know where you were, so I thought it would be appropriate. I was certain you'd want
something to read while you were recovering.”

Sitting up, she clutched the book to her and leaned over and kissed Ron gently on the cheek.
“Thank you.” Leaning back, she levitated the book to a spot on the small stand beside her bed. “You
were saying that you don't think Slytherin's dead?”

Ron turned to Harry and gave him a questioning look. Seeing Harry's smile, he shook his head
and continued. “We were thinking that old Salazar might have gone a different route than Tom Riddle
did. Instead of Horcruxes to gain immortality, he might have used a different, but equally
disturbing, path.”

Arching an eyebrow, Hermione smiled. “I'm listening.”

Blushing a bit, Ron nodded. “Well, Irving put us in touch with some researchers at one of the
local schools here in America. While we were a bit general in describing the situation to them,
they immediately started pulling out scrolls and codexes from the Mayan and Aztecan cultures in
Central America.” Pausing for dramatic effect, he nodded. “Where they venerate serpents, among
other things. The researchers suggested that an individual with the proper motivation, no morals or
scruples to speak of, and plenty of time to prepare could utilize a couple of these rituals to give
them a new lease on life, so to speak.” Seeing the confused look on Hermione's face, he
smiled.

Shaking her head, Hermione fixed him with a Minerva class glare. “Ron, if there's a point to
be made here, could we get to it.”

Shaking his head, he sighed. “Right. According to the researchers at the Western Reserve
Institute of Thaumaturgy, there are references to an ancient codex that instructs someone in how to
prepare a resting place, construct a specific ritual, and then they almost commit suicide using a
special potion which takes fifteen years to brew. The potion takes them to the brink of death, and
they wait there at Death's door until someone comes along and performs the required ritual and
they're brought back with a brand spanking new lifespan.”

Shaking her head, Hermione looked at Harry who was shrugging and then back to Ron. “That totally
makes no sense at all. It violates one of the basic magical laws regarding healing, the TINSTAAFL**
principle.” Seeing the blank looks on their faces, she sighed. “TINSTAAFL. It's been known for
centuries, but an American coined the name a while back. It stands for `There Is No Such Thing As A
Free Lunch'. I don't care how powerful a wizard Salazar Slytherin is or was, he can't
conjure a renewed life force out of thin air.”

Nodding, Ron agreed. “And this doesn't violate your tin staff thingy. This is where the part
about having dodgy morals comes in. It's also helpful if you have greedy and not too bright
followers. The ritual requires the individual to be almost dead for at least as long as they were
alive when they drank the potion. The ritual takes three people to cast, a pair of purebloods and a
muggle. Obviously, the muggle isn't involved in the casting, but the other two think that the
muggle is the sacrifice that brings old Salazar back. When they sacrifice the muggle, the energy
released by that death rips loose the life force from the other two and transfers it to the waiting
almost corpse”

Nodding at the scandalized look on Hermione's face, Harry sighed. “We're thinking that
Slytherin set up some sort of cult or society when he did this and instructed them to wait for a
period of time before they brought him back. Since they had access to the rituals for almost two
hundred years, at least, by the time came to kick off his return, someone in this group figured out
the catch in the plan. So they've been trying to find a group of dupes to con into making the
sacrifice and bringing Salazar back. The ritual requires the two venerate, or at least highly
respect, the individual being brought back, so you just can't go and pick up losers off the
sidewalk to accomplish this.”

Nodding, Hermione looked at both of them and smiled. “It's about time you two started doing
some of the heavy lifting around here. This mystery group is trying to use either the Order of the
Hidden Path, who venerates Slytherin, or the leftover Death Eaters, who venerate Voldemort as the
Heir of Slytherin, to fuel Salazar's return. Brilliant.” Looking at her boys with pride, she
smiled. “What did Comstock have to say about all of this when you finally got to question her?”

Shaking his head, Harry closed his eyes. Hermione could feel the acute sense of failure
radiating from him, and she instinctively reached out and placed her hand on his. “Lost her in the
interrogation, correct?”

Nodding, Harry opened his eyes. “She wasn't our prisoner, but it wasn't the local
Bureau's fault. They had to wait a couple of days until the healers said she was healthy enough
to question. They got permission from the local court to utilize Veritaserum, and everything seemed
to be ready to go. Unfortunately, after the opening questions to gauge her reaction to the potions,
they asked the loaded question first.” Seeing the look in Hermione's eyes, he shook his head.
“Apparently, there was some version of the Unbreakable Vow in use because as soon as she said the
name of the person who was her contact in Britain, it released the stasis spell on an ashwinder egg
that had been implanted in her skull. Brainfried in a matter of seconds, and there wasn't
anything anyone could do to stop it.” Shaking his head, he grimaced. “The Chief Forensic Healer
said the egg must have been unplottable, it didn't show up on any of test they did when she was
admitted here.”

Her face paling a bit, Hermione could feel the guilt radiating off Harry. “Its fine, you did
everything you could. You can't account for fanatics like that. I'm just glad that most of
the Death Eaters who are left are cowards enough that they'll sell out their comrades to save
their own poxy hides.”

Shaking his head, Harry looked at her for several seconds before answering. “I'd feel a bit
better about it if we had gotten a name we could use. No one I've spoken of at the Ministry has
ever heard of this witch.”

Looking over at Ron for conformation, Hermione nodded. “Did you check with the Americans?”

Seeing him roll his eyes, Hermione tensed expecting him to lash out at her for asking him
something like that. Instead, he merely chuckled and shrugged. “Oi, of course we did, they were
doing the interrogation so their people were there when it happened. They haven't heard of old
Viola either.”

Blinking in surprise, Hermione arched an eyebrow. “Viola?”

Nodding in response, Ron chuckled. “Heck of a name for the key player in the plot to bring a
centuries gone madman back to life, but apparently we're looking for Viola T. Hortense.”

Shaking her head, Hermione looked at Harry for a second. She could sense that he had the same
nagging feeling of familiarity with that name that she did. “We've heard that before,
haven't we?”

Looking a bit guilty, Harry slowly shook his head. “More like I've read that name somewhere,
but for the life of me I can't remember where. The only thing that comes to mind is Privet
Drive, and I can't imagine Vernon allowing the name of a witch anywhere around the house if he
could help it.” Still looking guilty, Harry blushed a bit. “Before I forget, Petunia sends her love
and I'm not supposed to mention she's mad at me for letting you go off on your own and get
into trouble.”

Smiling at the mention of Harry's aunt who had changed greatly over the past couple of
years, since the family's year in hiding from the Death Eaters, she nodded. “Give her a call
tonight and let her know I'm recovering nicely and it's not your fault in the least. And
ask her about our mystery witch to see if she recognizes the name.” Blushing a bit, Hermione was
about to ask another question when Harry held up his hand.

“We've been talking to your folks twice a day since we got here. We'll let them know
you're awake and you'll call as soon as we can get you down the hall to the solarium.”
Seeing the look on her face, he smiled. “They have one of those old fashioned telephones that you
have to crank and then tell the operator what number you want down there so that people can call
out from the hospital grounds. Apparently someone convinced the local phone company that it's
part of a historical site, so they have the connection set up to a local operator who connects the
calls through for them.” Seeing her eyes light up, both Harry and Ron laughed.

“As soon as you can walk that far without fainting, we'll take you down there so you can
call Helen and Alex.” Smiling, Ron noted the look on her face.

Shaking her head, Hermione shot back. “I don't faint. That's a very girly thing to do
and so not me.”

Nodding at Harry to forestall any further discussion of her `fainting' Hermione smiled. “I
think we've just about beat this hippogriff as much as we can. Care to try for question number
two?”

“As for question two, this is one of the things we don't understand. I could feel echoes of
what was happening to you.” Ignoring Ron's look of disbelief, Harry nodded to her.

Becoming serious, he laid his hand on hers. “It wasn't the pain, but I could feel you
feeling the pain in my head. The healers are going to give you a full rundown, but that witch broke
almost every bone in your body at least once during those two days. She'd half heal them and
then torture you again. Chastity was totally amazed that you were conscious, much less upright and
casting spells without a wand. It was pretty unnerving for us, all we knew was that someone was
hurting you very badly but we couldn't get any sort of clue where you were. You never actually
spoke any words to us; Ron and I lived with the deluminators hoping to hear something. About two
hours after the last time the pain stopped, I felt you wake up. That's when we called for the
two assault teams.”

Staring at Harry, Hermione narrowed her eyes. Deep down, everything he had just said, except for
the last bit, seemed `off'. The whole explanation about how they knew she was being tortured
was wrong. Now that she thought about it, she knew she could feel Harry's concern and love for
her through it every minute of that ordeal, and for the first time she felt a bit of distance creep
between them as he blatantly lied to her. Staring at him, she captured his gaze, looking deep into
his emerald eyes. She could see behind the masks he wore, most of the time, and she could see the
fear and love he had for her. Trying to reassure him, she waited, but she wasn't quite certain
what she was waiting for.

Shaking his head, Harry's voice faltered before continuing. “'Mione, Ron and I were both
half convinced that we were going to find you in the same condition that Alice and Frank Longbottom
are in. I don't think I was ever so scared in my life.” Tears were forming in his eyes, and
looking over at Ron she could see he was openly crying.

Shaking her head, Hermione looked at both Harry and Ron with tear filled eyes. “I think that
part of this was either a bit of outside help from my fairy godmother or it's one of the
changes she was talking about. “ Seeing the mystified looks on their faces, she gave them a brief
rundown of her encounter with the elven queen, leaving out all of the cryptic comments regarding
her relationships with Harry and Ron other than to say she seemed to think the three of them were
closely linked.

“My guess is that either she was watching and strengthened the existing connection between the
two of us, considering this a way to `help' me without violating her precious rules or the
changes that occurred to me because of my contact with the Fairy flag allowed me to reach out to
you unconsciously because I knew you two would rescue me” Squeezing their hands, she smiled at each
of them. “I can think of worse side effects of spending time with the elves”

Watching them brighten up a bit, she added, “But that still leaves us with question number
three.” Watching them warily both seemed very interested in looking at anything in the room but
her. “Well gentlemen?”

Harry looked at Ron imploringly. Ron shook his head. “Harry we agreed, you'd tell her if she
asked.”

“Come now, it can't be that bad.” Hermione insisted. “I'll start it and you can finish
up. There I was, doing my best Lady Macbeth with a side order of fishwife impersonation when the
pair of you portkey into the room. Start by explaining that and then you can tell me what is so
distressing.”

Seeing the look in Ron's eyes, Harry shrugged and started talking. “We knew that the
deluminator Dumbledore left Ron would work and I never doubted that the one you created would work
just as well. As soon as you said she was standing in the bedroom door, we both nodded to each
other and gave the go signal to the assault teams. They were planning on following on, using this.”
Holding up a gold coin, Harry smiled.”

Looking amazed, Hermione shook her head and took the coin from his fingers. Gleaming in the
morning light, the face of the coin was struck with the profile of Godric Gryffindor and the
obverse bore the motto `Follow On!' Looking up at Harry and Ron, she smiled. “They work?”

Shaking his head, Harry laughed. “Of course they work. You're the one who created them. We
practiced twice while you were taken. That Canadian you were working with helped us test them. We
popped both teams across the bloody Atlantic twice and home again using them.”

Nodding, Hermione sighed when Harry fell silent again. Looking over at Ron, she rolled her eyes
when he simply nodded at Harry. Sighing, she took Harry's hand and started again. “There I was,
doing my best Lady Macbeth with a side order of fishwife impersonation when the pair of you portkey
into the room...”

Harry's cheeks began to redden again. “We got there perfectly; I took one look and confirmed
the hold signal back through the coin. I suppose that you were using that glamour trick that you
were telling us about. You were magnificent. You were standing there like you were some ancient
Celtic queen, about to ride forth to war. You were bloody scary.” Averting his eyes, Harry turned
his head and mumbled something.

“Beg pardon, Harry. I didn't catch that last part.”

Coughing, trying to stifle a laugh, Ron looked over to Harry to see if he was going to be able
to pull himself together enough to tell her. Sighing Ron reached over, cupped his hand under
Hermione's chin and turned her face towards him. “You were starkers when you were doing your
madwoman act.” Grinning he kept her from burying her face in her pillows.

Looking pointedly over at Harry, Ron shrugged. “Somehow, Harry got a `picture' of what was
going on before we jumped, he told the assault teams to hold for our signal on the coins right as
we were leaving the jump off point. As soon as we got there and got a good picture of what was
going on, Harry changed everything to Plan B and we continued on alone. Not that you needed
rescuing mind you, so the aurors were extra. Kingsley still doesn't have any idea why we
decided not to have two full teams of aurors come storming to the rescue other than the fact you
had managed to rescue yourself, we told him we were simply your ride home, so to speak.”

Grinning, he nodded his head at her. “You were standing there, covered in dried blood and you
were the scariest thing I'd seen in ever.” Shaking his head at the memory, he continued. “You
whirled around, pointed your empty hand at her and your disarming spell broke every bone in her
arm. You caught the wand as if you were the seeker from the national team giving a demonstration
and I thought you were about to bloody curtsey. Before either of us could think, you hit her with a
stunner that would have punted her halfway across a pitch if there'd been room; she put a
bloody dent in the wall she ended up against. Then you calmly turned towards us, told us you knew
we'd be there, and passed out and hit the floor. Harry conjured a cloak to cover you with,
knelt down and started first aid while I checked on the witch you'd knocked out.”

Closing his eyes at the memory of the extent of Hermione's injuries, Ron shuddered. “That
muggle girl who was with you came over to help, and Harry yelled at me to send a message to
Kingsley for him to get the medical team there as fast as they could activate those coins. After
that, the rest came in, secured the complex and we notified the local authorities so that Oscar and
his lot would stop worrying about you and tearing the countryside apart.”

Smiling sadly at her, Ron watched her blushing furiously and shooting horrified looks at Harry
who was still busily examining the windowsill of Hermione's room. Looking between the two of
them, he shook his head sadly as they tried to ignore each other. Ron got up from the bed, and
cleared his throat. Waiting until they both looked up, he smiled. “Harry,” he said, nodding towards
the door, “would you mind giving us a moment? Alone?”

------

A/N - * Dr. Cathy Gayle, the original female partner for John Steed from the British television
series “The Avengers”. Brilliant, self assured, and highly educated, she was a surprise to her
adversaries, a virtual fountain of information on almost any subject, and involved in a
long-running beneath the surface unresolved relationship with her partner in solving mysteries and
crimes (sound like anyone we know?). Though, the usual HHR banter does lend itself more to the Emma
Peel period of the show.

** Hermione knows very well that it's usually written as TANSTAAFL (There Ain't No Such
Thing As A Free Lunch) but she's not about to encourage Ron or Harry in the use of slang,
American or otherwise.

-->



13. Chapter Thirteen – Moments of Truth
---------------------------------------



Chapter Thirteen - Moments of Truth

Disclaimer - Everything recognizable is owned by JKR and various corporate entities. No
infringements intended

-----

“Harry, would you mind giving us a moment? Alone?”

Looking up, Harry gazed at Ron for a couple of seconds and then at Hermione. Looking at the two
one last time, he gave them a thin smile and nodded. “No, not at all, I'll run down the hall
and check on what time your meal tray is.” Standing up, Harry leaned over and kissed Hermione on
the top of her head. Looking at Ron for a second, Harry shook his head and headed for the door.

Waiting until the door was closed; Ron sat back down and took Hermione's hands between his.
Sitting there for a minute, he closed his eyes and sighed.

“I don't think I've ever loved anyone like I've loved you,” he began. A bit
startled, Hermione stared at him with surprise. “During the last few days, the question that
I've asked myself a hundred times wasn't `Do I love you?', but `Do I love you
enough?'.”

Sitting there quietly, Hermione watched Ron as he sat there, eyes closed. Realizing that the
time had finally come for them to be honest with each other, she found that it was harder to begin
than she had feared. Taking a deep breath, she decided to let him lead. “Ron, I've never
doubted how you felt about me. Even though you never said it, I knew that you loved me. Why would
you ever doubt that you loved me enough?”

Opening his eyes, he stared at her, his blue eyes swimming with tears as he gazed into hers.
“Because I have to stop being selfish and think about what's best for you, not what's
comfortable for me.” Looking away for a second, he squeezed her hands. “How many major arguments
have we had over the past two years?”

Looking a bit taken aback, Hermione sat back against her pillows. Shaking her head slightly, she
hedged. “A few, but nothing we haven't survived.”

Shaking his head, Ron smiled. “A few? We have a few every week. That big one, in the terminal,
made me start thinking, even before you disappeared.”

Leaning forward, she raised her hand and cupped his cheek. “It's just that you worry about
me, you care. When I'm not being a total shrew, I understand that.”

Smiling ruefully, Ron shook his head. “I'm ashamed of some of the things I said that morning
at Heathrow. What if those were the last words I'd ever spoken to you? Or you to me? Could
either of us live with that if something happened to one of us and the other survived after
something like that?” Tilting his head, he kissed the palm of her hand tenderly. “Those two days
you were gone made me realize that something desperately has to change.”

Sighing, Hermione nodded. “We need to change, but I'm not certain we can.”

Standing up, Ron began to pace back and forth. “When we were in school, we bickered and fought,
all the time.” Looking up defiantly at her, he waited until she nodded until he continued. “The
first four years it was because I was an idiot and didn't appreciate you as a friend and a
person. I was too immature and petty to be a good friend to either you or Harry, but you both stuck
by me and I'll be forever grateful for that.”

Clasping his hands behind him, he began to pace again. “After the Yule Ball, we fought because I
knew that I fancied you, but I couldn't think of a mature way to let you know. And, of course,
since you knew it, we both fought rather than actually going out with each other. I heard a muggle
born friend of Ginny's call it `the worst of all possible worlds'. We didn't have any
of the positive sides of a relationship, but we had all the negatives.”

Shaking her head, Hermione sighed. “It was pretty bad; I'm surprised Harry didn't chuck
both of us.”

Stopping pacing, Ron came back and sat on the edge of the bed. Giving her a sad smile, he
smiled. “The problem is that Harry loves both of us too much to do that, no matter how much we
richly deserved it.” Putting a slight emphasis on `both', he watched for her reaction.

Looking at her for a second, Ron shook his head. “We finally got together, and it's been two
years of moments of being happy and moments of tearing each other to shreds.” Shaking his head, he
sighed. “And the last few days I finally realized I loved you enough to do the right thing.”

Looking at him in amazement, Hermione slowly nodded. “Ron, what are you trying to tell me?”

Turning back to her, she could see the tears in his eyes. “Hermione, I love you. There isn't
anything I wouldn't do for you, but the thing I finally figured out is that while we both love
each other, I don't think we've ever been `in love' with each other. We've been
trying to make this relationship work for two years now. There are only two things I can take from
that. Either we're both incredibly bad at this relationship thing, or there's nothing there
to make work.”

Closing her eyes, Hermione took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Do you realize what
you're saying?”

Nodding, Ron sighed. “I think so. For two years we've been trying to make something out of
this because everyone expected it to work. My Mum was the worst. If we both weren't so bloody
stubborn, we would have seen that it wasn't going to happen.” Shaking his head, he chuckled.
“I've loved you for a long time, but I could never say it because I knew, deep down, that I
didn't love you in the way that we needed for it to work.”

“What changed?”

Smiling sadly, he shrugged. “Irony is becoming my new best friend, I think. When you were taken
and being tortured, you showing up in Harry's mind was what made me realize exactly who you
were in love with.” Seeing the look on her face, he nodded. “From what we can determine, Harry
`knew' you were in trouble almost the second you were portkeyed away from Oscar by that cup. He
apparated out of a dead sleep to my flat and was standing beside my bed, trying to wake me up, when
the first Cruciatus hit.”

Shaking his head, he stared at Hermione, noting the look of disbelief on her face. “There I am,
trying to wrap my mind around what Harry was doing in my flat at four in the bloody morning when he
falls to the ground and begins writhing in pain. Once he stopped, he gasped out that an animagus
dark witch had taken you and we needed to alert the Ministry. My first reaction, for about half a
second, was to be angry that Harry could connect with you on that level and I couldn't. Then I
kicked myself in the arse and realized what a prat I was.”

Leaning forward, Hermione wrapped her arms around him and whispered in his ear. “What do you
mean by that?”

Putting his arms around her, he held her tightly for a few seconds. “Harry glossed over his
connection to you.” Feeling her nod, Ron took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Actually, he flat
out lied. He could feel everything that happened to you. It was the old days with the scar all over
again, but this time it was much worse.”

Hearing Hermione's sharp intake of breath, Ron nodded. “Instead of a few minutes of Tom
Riddle torturing someone and him having to watch it, it was you being tortured for longer than
anyone should have been able to stand and him feeling it. This time, all he would do was stay
connected to you and push as much strength and love as he could to you.”

Nodding her head, Hermione could feel the tears starting in her eyes. “Merlin, Harry felt
everything?”

Nodding, Ron leaned back so she could see his face. “Every bit of it, the Cruciatus, the
torture, everything she inflicted on your for those forty-eight hours. Chastity alternated from
feeding him potions to trying to find a way to break the link. Harry told her, in no uncertain
terms, that if she broke the link, it would be the last thing she would ever do as a healer.”

Shaking his head, Ron closed his eyes as he remembered his best mate's face. “I hope no
one's ever mental enough to try to use you to get to Harry.”

As he opened his eyes and saw the look on Hermione's face, he shrugged. “There was an auror
class we took, Misuse of Magic, during the last month of our training. The trainer was an older
witch who had been an auror during the Grindelwald Wars with Dumbledore. One day, she was talking
about Atlantis and the collapse of the magical fields that destroyed the island. She quoted from
one of the firsthand accounts that survived the destruction. The writer was going on about the
Autarch and the look on his face when he cast the spell that sank the island. The `look that killed
Atlantis' was the look on Harry's face that last time you were being tortured.”

Shaking her head, Hermione stared at Ron in disbelief. “What do you mean?”

Sighing, Ron nodded. “It was Harry, but for one brief moment it was Harry as he could have been
if we hadn't been his friends, if you hadn't loved him since that day on the train. Cold,
merciless, and utterly without anything remotely resembling compassion is how he looked for just a
moment. One of the senior aurors was in the room just then. He took one look at Harry, when pale as
a sheet, and then raced out of the room and puked up everything he'd eaten for the past ten
years. I just kept telling Harry, over and over, `We'll find her, we'll bring her home, and
it will be fine.'”

Leaning back, they both looked at each other for several seconds. Smiling sadly, Ron looked at
her for several seconds, as if he was trying to memorize her features, one last time. “We both knew
today was coming, didn't we?'

Shrugging, Hermione smiled back at him. “We probably did.” Looking at him intently, she seemed
hesitant. “Is there anything I can do to make this easier between us?”

Looking thoughtful, Ron smiled. “If anyone asks, I'm the one that broke up with you.”

Nodding, Hermione looked thoughtful for a couple of seconds before she smiled back at him. “I
suppose I can live with that. I can have a talk with Lavender for tips about how to get over losing
you.”

Looking a bit guilty, Ron glanced over his shoulder and then back. “I knew enough that you
should be the one that I talked to about this first, but I did try to clue Harry in on the fact
that I had finally figured out what I needed to do about our relationship.” Rolling his eyes, Ron
shrugged. “Harry, being Harry, jumped to the conclusion that I was finally going to ask you to
marry me and he's been killing himself trying to keep what he feels for you from me.”

Shaking her head in turn, Hermione chuckled for a second. “You do realize it was a tad cruel to
ask him to step out like that? He's out there trying to figure out how he's going to
congratulate us on our engagement.”

Smiling sadly, Ron agreed. “I know, but I thought since he's the one who's actually
getting the witch out of all of this, a little anxiety won't kill him.”

Looking at him carefully, Hermione could see the sadness and relief in his eyes. “Still my best
mate?”

Nodding, Ron broke into a smile. “I think it'll be sort of a relief. Not only will I be able
to for several months or more without annoying you into wanting to hex me, I finally get to be the
one that says `You know she hates it when you do that' to him when you two are rowing.”

Grinning at him, she put her hand on his arm. “Are you going to be all right if things change
between Harry and me?”

Snorting, Ron looked at her in disbelief. “Change? If the two of you become any more of a
couple, you will be scary. I've lived with the fact that my two best mates were inseparable for
the past nine years. While we were together, the two of you spent more time with each other than
you either did with Gin or me. Just because the two of you are going to come clean with each other,
why should anything change?” Seeing her nod, he added. “But the two of you are going to have to
deal with the fact that you've loved each other for almost as long as you've known each
other and you've spent all this time trying to convince everyone, including yourselves, you
didn't.”

Hearing the door open behind him, Ron winked cheekily. Sliding off the bed and down onto one
knee, he took Hermione's hand. Pausing for a second, Ron waited until her face started to turn
red as she realized what he was doing before he started to speak. “He'll probably kill me for
saying this, but Harry's been in love with you for longer than he can remember. He'll never
tell you, for some reason he thinks you deserve better than being with him.”

Bringing her hand up to his lips, he placed a gentle kiss on it as he began to stand. Looking
over his shoulder, he could see Harry standing in the doorway, staring at him with a shocked look
on his face. “Harry, you can hex me later, but the only thing you're going to do right now is
come over here and tell this witch exactly how much you care about her and how long you've
loved her.”

Chuckling, Ron watched Harry walk over and sit on the other side of the bed, staring out the
window and not looking at Hermione. Shaking his head, he leaned over and kissed Hermione tenderly
on the lips one last time. “I'm going to go out and send a message home to let everyone know
that Sleeping Beauty is finally awake. I'll also call Helen and let her know you'll be
calling with news after a bit.” Smiling at her and nodding encouragingly, he sighed. “I'll just
leave you two to discuss this.”

Heading towards the door, he stopped and turned just has he reached the door. Shaking his head
at the sight of them sitting there, Harry with his back to her and Hermione looking over at him and
then away, trying to decide where to begin, he sighed. “And by `discuss this' I mean you two
should actually talk to each other, because if I come back and find you two still sitting like
that, even I will be able to figure out that this isn't resolved.” Turning on his heel, he
exited, closing the door behind him, heading down the hall of St. Alban's.

Silence reigned in the room, as Harry seemed to be very interested in different spots on the
wall while Hermione would start to speak, and then lapse back into watching him intently. After
about five minutes, a silver streak flew into the room and coalesced into Ron's patronus.
“Enough of this, you two. Talk to each other. I can't believe you're making me be the adult
this time.” Shaking his head, the patronus looked at both of them for a second. “Don't make me
call in reinforcements. I can have Hermione's mother here before dinner if that's what it
takes.” Sitting there, with a smirk on his face, the silver dog faded from sight.

Smiling guiltily, the two looked at each other. Snorting in disbelief, Hermione chuckled. “It is
sort of ironic that we're depending upon Ron to have us sort out something between us.”
Grinning, Hermione reached over and grabbed Harry's hand. “Was the sight of me standing there
starkers so hideous that you can't bear to talk to me about how you feel?” Hermione's eyes
were twinkling as she asked Harry in a very serious voice.

Caught off guard by Hermione's question, Harry closed his mouth with an audible snap and
stared at her in disbelief. Twice more he opened his mouth, but nothing would come out. “Out with
it Harry, I think I can live with the fact that you find me physically repulsive.”

Suddenly Harry burst into laughter. Hermione began giggling and the two of them kept going for a
good five minutes. “For Merlin's sake, Hermione, I can't believe you said that.” Wiping his
eyes, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Hideous is the last word I would have used. A
cross between magnificent and downright scary is more like it.”

“I think I've heard `scary' used a bit too often for my liking, but I'm glad to see
I was up to snuff, otherwise.” Smiling, Hermione watched Harry blush and then look down. “Then what
is the problem? Why can't we talk about it? I can't believe that after living in a tent
with me for seven months, we'd suddenly get this way with each other. You'd think we could
finally talk about what we've both been ignoring for years. Especially after Ron has ever so
politely rubbed our noses in it.”

Before Harry could speak, Hermione reached over and took both of his hands between hers.
“However, we're going to start this from a point where we don't have to backtrack later.
You were living in my head for two days, Harry. You felt everything I felt, you knew everything I
knew. You know exactly how much I love you, as I know exactly how much you love me. I didn't
have any choice about being crucioed by that fanatic, but you did. And you stayed. And told me that
you loved me. Repeatedly. So we can cut all that `echoes of pain', `she's my best
mate', and especially the time honored `she's like a sister to me' shite that we've
been feeding the rest of the world for almost ten years now.”

Blushing, Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know, for so long I was so afraid to feel
anything for anyone. Everyone I became close to, anyone I dared to love was taken from me.” Seeing
the look on her face, he nodded. “After the Department of Mysteries, I promised myself I'd
protect you by keeping my distance, so I just locked everything away.”

Shaking his head, he sighed when Hermione reached up and gently caressed his cheek. “I finally
realized that the reason I let things go on with Ginny for as long as they did was I knew it would
be safe to be in a relationship with her because, though I loved her, I didn't love her enough
to endanger her.”

Nodding Hermione wrapped her arms around him and held him close. “Harry, it's all right, I
think I understand a bit. I do love Ron, and I think I always will. But I think you and I have both
been `taken' for a long time now, and it wasn't with the people we thought it was.”

Sighing, he returned the hug and held her close for several minutes. “After that last night in
your apartment, I realized that I couldn't lie to myself and you any longer, but I couldn't
see what I could do about things. It felt wrong to tell you how I felt since I'd been the
sounding board for your dissatisfaction with your relationship with Ron. It felt like I'd be
betraying the trust you both had in me if I told you how I felt after all of that.

Shaking her head, Hermione leaned back against the pillows and rolled her eyes. “Even at his
most barking mental, Ron knows deep down that you'd die before you'd betray us, or let one
of us come to harm.” Tears glittering in her eyes, she nodded. “You did die before you let us come
to harm.”

Leaning over, Harry brushed his lips against hers, his emerald eyes fixed on her chocolate brown
ones. Seeing her slightly nod, he slowly began to kiss her. Hermione's arms moved up around
him, pulling him closer to her as they began to deepen their kiss. Feeling her body begin to
respond to his, Harry leaned closer and wrapped his arms around her as he began to feel her
presence in the back of his mind. Feeling her love and need for him match his own for her, their
minds became as entwined as their tongues.

The need for oxygen forced them to break the kiss sooner than either one wanted. Sitting back,
matching grins on their faces, they both fought to bring their breathing back under control.

Opening her mouth to speak, Hermione slowly shook her head. “Harry, that was only a kiss. I
don't think I'm quite well enough for anything else, but I'm willing to risk it if you
are.”

Swallowing, Harry looked at her, her flushed cheeks and her eyes shining with love and desire.
Slowly shaking his head, he raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed it. “Hopefully we can
find a way to gracefully ask the healer, but we've waited years for this, I'm willing to
wait a bit longer until we're both ready.”

Laughing, Hermione closed her eyes and leaned back on her pillows again. “Harry, I'm very
ready and very willing. It's just `able' that's in question.” Moving a bit, she shook
her head. “We'll figure out what we can do and what we can't until we can do it all.”

Shaking his head, Harry held onto her hand and watched her. “Before we do, I suppose there's
a confession I need to make.” Seeing the look on her face, he smiled. “Just so you know, the
Thursday edition of *The Daily Prophet* is running a story tomorrow about how Ginny and I are
back together.”

Shaking her head, Hermione leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “Harry, even for you, this is
a bit odd. Just why is the Prophet heralding the return of the `Golden Couple'?”

Getting up, Harry removed his shoes and clambered up on the bed beside her. Settling himself
into the pillows, he conjured another one so they were both comfortable.

Arching an eyebrow at him, Hermione turned sideways a bit and let her legs drape across him as
he wrapped an arm around her. “I'm still waiting, by the way. Just what have you and Ginevra
being getting up to the moment my back was turned?” A faint smile playing around the corners of her
mouth, Hermione treated him to a McGonagall worthy glare.

Watching her out of the corner of his eye, Harry waited until she was just about to speak again
before starting. “Thursday morning, after I took Crooks back home and dropped him off, I went to
the Ministry and attempted to be a productive member of my team.”

Nodding, Hermione smiled a bit as she snuggled closer to him. “And Ginny's now a member of
Auror Team Twelve?”

Rolling his eyes, Harry looked at her. “Would you like for me to tell you what actually
happened, or are you going to take a leaf from Pansy's notebook and go with what makes the most
sensational story?”

Shaking her head and biting her lower lip to keep from laughing, Hermione pulled a contrite
face. “I'll behave. You go ahead and tell the story at your own pace. I'm not doing
anything for the rest of this week.”

Sighing, Harry leaned over and kissed her on the top of her head. “Sorry, I deserved that, I
suppose.” Closing his eyes, he leaned back against he pillows. “I couldn't concentrate,
couldn't think, all I could do was fret about what I should do regarding you. I needed to talk
to someone, but the particular someone that I usually talk to about things like this wasn't
exactly available or suitable for this particular conversation.”

Nodding sagely, Hermione's eyes twinkled. “I can see how my being in America would make a
discussion like that a bit problematic.”

Smiling, Harry agreed with a nod of his own. “And that's totally discounting the fact that
my talking about my dilemma with you to you would be a bit sticky.”

Chuckling, Hermione agreed. “There is that. Please continue. You were skiving off at your
desk…”

“I wanted someone who would be very honest with me, someone who would not tell me what I wanted
to hear but tell me what I needed to hear. Someone who wasn't afraid to tell me if I was being
an egregious prat.”

Sitting upright, Hermione stared at Harry in wide-eyed disbelief until he opened his eyes and
looked at her. “Are you barking mental? You went and talked to your ex about your feelings for me?
Ginevra `Bat Boogey', `I'm going to hex you into next week' Weasley? You went to her
about your feelings for the person that she blames for your relationship ending?”

Eyes twinkling, Harry nodded. “Are you finished? And Gin never blamed you for what happened that
night. It was totally my fault that I blew off dinner with her to help you repaint your flat.”

Shaking her head, Hermione started laughing. “Harry, you blew off dinner with your girlfriend on
Valentine's Day to show up unannounced and help me paint my flat. I had an excuse for not
remembering, Ron and I were fighting and he was in Ulan Bator picking up a Death Eater that they
were holding. You, on the other hand, showed up out of the clear blue sky with Caribbean takeout
and pails of paint to help me redo my bedroom.”

Blushing, Harry sighed. “She called and asked me to dinner that morning and didn't make a
big deal about it, I'd been on an assignment for over two weeks and just gotten back in
country, so I'd forgotten what day it was. As far as I knew it was just Monday.”

Shaking her head, Hermione stared at him for almost a minute. “Harry, when did we first
meet?”

Looking perplexed, Harry tilted his head to get a better look at her. “First of September, 1991,
on the train to Hogwarts. It was a Sunday.”

“When did you first meet my parents?”

Thinking for less than a second, Harry shrugged. “19 August, right before our second year,
Arthur took your parents to the Cauldron for drinks so he could ask you dad to explain everything
muggle to him.”

“When was the first Hogsmeade weekend we went together?

Smiling, Harry nodded, “21 November our fourth year was the first one we officially went
together, but I snuck out back in December and February of our third year using my cloak,
remember?”

“The first time I flew with you?”

“When we rescued Sirius, June 9th our third year”

“When was the first time you took me to that little Thai place in Kensington?

“We went the night before your birthday back in 98, September 18th.”

Shaking her head in exasperation, Hermione looked up into his eyes. “Harry, if you can remember
the date of everything we ever did together, how is anyone supposed to credit that you didn't
remember it was Valentine's Day?”

Sitting there for several seconds, Harry grinned sheepishly. “I wasn't doing it with
you?”

Giggling, Hermione rolled back on the pillow. “You're hopeless. You do remember you sent me
flowers, don't you? You thought ahead enough to make certain Neville would deliver flowers from
his private greenhouse on Valentine's Day for me, but you didn't remember what the day was
when your girlfriend called and asked you to dinner?”

Blushing, Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I did that before I left for Estonia back in January.
You had just had a fight with Ron and I thought it would be nice if you received flowers on
Valentine's Day. Though Neville did look a tad confused when he showed up to deliver the
flowers and saw that I was actually there.”

Trying to smother a laugh, Hermione's eyes glittered as she stared at him in disbelief.
“Harry, Neville asked you if he was delivering the flowers to the right witch, because he just
passed Ginny heading for Grimmauld Place from the Cauldron where she was supposed to be meeting
you.”

Looking distinctly uncomfortable, Harry nodded. “Well, yes. That was when I deduced that I might
have made a mistake just leaving Gin a note with Hannah that I wasn't going to be able to make
dinner, something else had come up.”

Laughing hysterically, it took Hermione several minutes to regain her breath. “Might have made a
mistake? The only thing that made the evening worse is that Kreacher informed her that you had left
for Kensington with a couple of pails of paint. She apparated to outside my building and started
threatening to level the neighbourhood if you didn't come out.”

Shaking his head, Harry smiled ruefully. “Well yes, that's why Molly calls it `The
Incident'. I'm not certain who called the Magic Reversal Squad, but I do know it was that
nice old lady on the corner who has that vicious rat dog who called the constables on her.”

Shaking her head, Hermione sighed. “Harry, they're called Chihuahuas. And she's not the
one who called the constables. I can still remember the look on Kingsley's face when he told
you about having to call 10 Downing Street to get her released since New Scotland Yard was
convinced she was some sort of terrorist.”

Trying not to laugh, Harry nodded. “I suppose red hair, freckles, and four burning SUVs might
cause the authorities to jump to a few conclusions.”

Looking at him in disbelief, Hermione shook her head. “And how many vehicles went up in flames
when you told her that you'd finally sussed out how you felt about me?”

Blushing, Harry mumbled something and looked over at the windowsill.

Smiling, Hermione put her hand under his chin and turned his face towards hers. “I didn't
quite make that out, Harry. Was it four or five burning lorries?”

If anything, Harry's blush became almost Weasley worthy. “Actually, she squealed, jumped up
from our table at Maxine's, threw her arms around me and kissed me.”

“She what?”

Nodding, Harry closed his eyes. “Which gets us back to how the Prophet is running a story about
the return of the `Golden Couple'. It seems Pansy and that idiot photographer of hers just
happened to be at the restaurant interviewing someone else and he got a couple of very good
pictures of Ginny kissing me.”

When silence followed, Harry opened his eyes and glanced over at her. Seeing the look on
Hermione's face, he amended. “On the cheek.” As the glare intensified, he added, “In a public
place. We went dutch.”

When Hermione closed her eyes, Harry sighed. “She's actually very happy for us, as long as I
don't mess this up.”

Opening her eyes, Hermione stared at him for a couple of seconds. “What's that supposed to
mean?” She asked icily.

Looking a bit nervous, Harry smiled thinly. “Well, she did mention something about if I was
actually stupid enough to blow this, she'd hunt me down and turn me into something that even
Luna's never imagined seeing before.”

Breaking out laughing, Hermione threw her arms around Harry's neck and started pulling him
towards her. “I was wondering how long you'd babble on if I just kept giving you `the
look'.”

Putting his arms around her, Harry held her while she laughed. “You might think it's
hilarious, but I'm still convinced Ginny means it. And I have a high degree of faith in my
ability to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory when it comes to witches.”

“Merlin, Harry. Have a bit of faith in yourself. To them, you're the `Boy Who Bloody
Lived', the `Wizard Who Won', Witch Weekly's most eligible wizard every week since we
got back from Australia.”

Shaking his head, Harry scowled. “And you don't give a tinker's damn about any of
that.”

Putting her hands on either side of his face, Hermione gazed into his eyes for several seconds.
“Exactly. Which is why I'm telling you to have faith in yourself. I love you in spite of all
that rubbish, not because of it. Thank Merlin you're not one to believe your own press
clippings.”

Kissing him tenderly on the lips, she held the kiss as he wrapped his arms around her. Breaking
the kiss, she smiled. “It doesn't matter what the Prophet says, the three of us know the
truth.”

Leaning back on the pillows, Harry rested his head against hers. Smiling, he felt her move until
she was pressed against him and her legs were back across his lap. “Comfortable?”

Nodding, Hermione sighed. “Very, but I'm getting the sense that you're still a bit off
about something. Care to share?”

Blushing a bit, Harry shook his head. “It's just that it's a bit awkward, being there
and seeing you standing there all starkers with Ron in the room and all.”

Pushing herself up, Hermione tuned until she was facing him, half across his lap. “Why? Is there
some unwritten guy rule about seeing your best mate naked?” Keeping her voice calm, Hermione
watched him carefully, feeling his unease through the connection they had always felt to each other
which had suddenly blossomed into something more.

“Not that I know of, but this was different.” Harry relaxed, leaning back on the pillows. “Once
I thought about it, it was different.”

Sighing, Hermione just let the moment go on for a second. “I suppose some people would say we
think too much. You've seen Ron starkers and it wasn't wrong.”

Blushing a bit, Harry laughed. “True, but in case you haven't noticed, Ron isn't a
girl.” Looking down at her, his grin became a bit mischievous. “But, then again. Neither are
you.”

Sitting up and blushing indignantly, Hermione punched Harry's arm hard enough to rock him a
bit. “Oh, really, Mr. Potter? It only took Ron until our fourth year to notice I'm a girl.
What's your excuse?”

Laughing, Harry rubbed his arm as he watched her bristle. “Miss Granger, I noticed you were a
girl the first day we met on the train. You left being a girl behind the moment I saw you in that
dress for the Yule Ball. You're very much a woman, Hermione. And that is the problem.”

Blushing, Hermione stared at Harry for almost a minute. Sighing, she nodded her head and leaned
back against shoulder. Waiting until they had settled against each other, she asked, in a very
timid voice. “Would it make a difference if I told you that we were even now?” Feeling Harry start,
she looked up to see his emerald green eyes staring at her, gobsmacked.

“Hermione Jane Granger, I think you need to explain that remark.” Turning slightly, Harry
watched Hermione as if he'd never seen her before.

Blushing, Hermione looked down at her hands, unable to look him in the eye. “Near the end of our
sixth year, I puzzled out how to cast a disillusionment spell.” Looking up, she watched Harry nod
warily. “Well, and you know how the stairs to the boy's dorms will let the girls up, but the
other set is trapped to keep the guys out of the girl's dorms?”

Harry nodded, again, comprehension dawning in his eyes. “Well, I decided to sneak up to your
dorm to see what you and Ron talked about when I wasn't around.” Blushing furiously, Hermione
defiantly looked Harry right in the eye. “You two were going on about Snape, your detentions, how
you didn't have enough time for Ginny between the detentions and trying to find out information
for Dumbledore. Then you decided to start changing for dinner and I was trapped sitting on your
bed. You pulled the hangings but I had a very free show of you changing to meet Ginny down in the
Great Hall.”

Smiling a bit at the thought, she kept her gaze locked on Harry. Watching him blush, she saw he
was going to ask a question. “I know what you're going to ask, but it really never had a chance
to come up. This was not long before Dumbledore's death and after that; there really was never
a good time to discuss it.”

Smirking, she added in a deadpan voice. “Of course, later that night I was able to contradict
Ginny most authoritatively up in the dorm about your alleged tattoo. She was very cross with me
until I showed her how to cast the spell and how to sneak up without being noticed.”

Laughing, Harry slid off the bed and landed on the floor with a thump. “I'm so dead if Ron
ever finds out.”

Smiling and leaning over, giving Harry a hand up, she hauled him back up onto the bed. “Harry,
why are you worried about Ron now? He's no longer my boyfriend, you are. He's certainly
seen me starkers, and he knows you saw me starkers.”

Pulling himself together, he sat up and grinned. `Yea, but he doesn't know that not only has
his former, by a matter of minutes, girlfriend seen me starkers, but his then underage sister saw
me as well. You might as well pass the marmalade, Hermione.”

Looking puzzled, Hermione tilted her head to one side. “Marmalade?”

Grinning, Harry answered back, “Because if Ron ever finds out, I'm toast.”

The two of them were still rolling on the bed, laughing, when Ron returned.

-->



14. Chapter Fourteen - Visiting Hours
-------------------------------------



Chapter Fourteen - Visiting Hours

A/N - Apologies for this taking so long. I thought I had Chapter Fourteen all sewn up. A couple
of questions in reviews and a couple of stray thoughts, and I ended up with two Chapter Fourteens.
This would be the third one, I hope you enjoy it.

And, just for the record, everything recognizable is the property of JKR and various corporate
entities, except for the Cleveland Indians, the Chicago White Sox, and Slider who are all part of
Major League Baseball. I think Chili Cheese Fries are part of the public domain, but if they're
not, I'll acknowledge their creator as well. No infringement of any sort is intended and no
actual pixels were injured during the writing of this fiction. And now, back to our story…

-----

It was another fortnight before the healers at St. Alban's would even think of releasing
Hermione. Harry and Ron had concocted twelve different plans to smuggle her and Terri out of the
place, but Hermione firmly vetoed each of them on the grounds that she was going to listen to the
healers and this was the only way she'd get to spend fourteen days with the two of them without
having someone firing hexes at her.

The night before her departure, Hermione finally got to see a baseball game. The three of them,
with her healer's grudging approval, accompanied Terri and Oscar to Jacobs Field to see the
Indians play a team from Chicago, the White Sox. Watching the game carefully, Hermione marveled at
the differences between baseball and cricket.

While Harry was convinced that Quidditch was still a superior sport, he begrudgingly admitted
that there must be some magic involved since it should be impossible for a split finger fastball to
move like that without arcane help and the knuckle curve was beyond explanation, even with magic.
Predictably, Ron was impressed with the culinary offerings of the stadium, declaring chili cheese
fries to be one of the few perfect foods in existence.

The fact that the home team won the game 9-3, with the outcome never really in doubt, made for a
festive evening. Hermione was mortally embarrassed when, during the seventh inning stretch, she
ended up on television and the big in park screen, first being mock snogged by the ever popular
Slider and then truly snogged by Harry in a kiss that was televised to the crowd, much to the
delight of Ron and Terri and the good natured acceptance of Harry.

Hermione lay in her hospital bed, listening to the night sounds of early fall in Ohio as she
watched the moonlight stream through the open windows. Glancing over to the chair in her room, she
smiled at the sight of Harry sprawled across the arms, sound asleep.

“He could fit in that bed with you, easily enough. I thought the two of you were going to prove
that earlier.”

Smiling guiltily, she turned back towards the window. A chair was now sitting in the moonlight,
definitely not standard hospital issue. Sitting in the chair was Maeve, leaning forward and
watching her intently. “I think it's a bit past visiting hours.”

Nodding, Maeve stood up and walked over to the bed. Passing her hand above Hermione's
reclining form, she left a trail of glowing sparkles that drifted slowly down to the sheet. Nodding
appreciatively, she smiled. “You're definitely mended. A couple of days rest in a comfortable
bed wouldn't hurt, but physically you're fine.” Looking pointedly at the edge of the bed,
Maeve waited until Hermione nodded before she sat herself down.

Smiling, Hermione glanced over at Harry. Looking back at Maeve, she quirked an eyebrow. Rolling
her eyes, Maeve waved her hand in Harry's direction. For a split second, the air between Harry
and the bed shimmered and then resolved back to normal.

“Impressive. I think you'll have to teach me that little trick.” Smiling, Hermione pulled
herself up, fluffed her pillows and sat up against the headboard of the bed. “We've both agreed
that this is better, at least until we're home and can explore our options in a more private
setting.”

Smiling wickedly, Maeve cast an appraising look at her. “And here I thought the pair of you knew
exactly what you wanted.”

Chuckling, Hermione shook her head. “Neither of us are in doubt about what we want, believe me.
We want to be together for the rest of our lives, and we want to be there for each other in every
way possible.” Smiling wickedly, Hermione winked in Harry's direction. “The difficulty is that
I seem to have a boyfriend who's more romantically inclined than I am. For some reason he
doesn't see a private room in St. Alban's as the most romantic setting in the world.”

Chuckling, Maeve nodded. “I take it that you tend to disagree with him on that?”

Blushing, Hermione looked over at Harry for a second and smiled. “I would hardly call this place
romantic, so in that respect he's very correct.” Nodding to Maeve she smiled. “And I also agree
that this would hardly be the truly memorable spot that romantic memories are made of.”

Grinning, Maeve nodded in return, “But you wouldn't let that stop you, if you thought
he'd let you get away with it.”

Making a `what's a poor witch to do' gesture with her hands, Hermione sighed. “I'll
admit we've been very creative this past couple of weeks, but I think we're going to take a
bit of time off, alone, when we get back to England.”

Shaking her head, Hermione chuckled. “The sad thing is that Ron was the one who summed it up
best, I suppose.”

Leaning back, Maeve watched the young witch as she sat in the moonlight. `How so?”

Shrugging, Hermione rolled her eyes. “Tonight, at the game, when Terri mentioned that Harry and
I had made the transition from being `just friends' rather quickly, Ron started laughing. He
said that the two of us hadn't been `just friends' since we were twelve or thirteen.”

Seeing the look in Maeve's eyes, she blushed. “The moment we kissed, here in this room, I
realized exactly what I had been missing and what I almost lost. For over seven years, we've
literally been within touching range of each other and we allowed our fears and insecurities to
blind us to what we had, what we could have had.” Shaking her head, Hermione closed her eyes. “We
realize how maddening it must have been for everyone who knew us. We acted like a couple, and
denied it every second when someone would ask. And now that we're here, I think we're both
just a bit scared. It's silly, I know, but as close as we are, the thought of taking the final
step, that final sharing, is almost too much to think about.”

Watching Hermione, Maeve smiled as she watched her looking at Harry. “He's not going to run
off, you know.”

“I know that, it's just that it's all so new, and it really shouldn't be.” Turning
her attention back to the elven woman, Hermione frowned a bit. “She'll be waiting, won't
she?”

“She's not going away, especially since you cost her so dearly with this little adventure.
Both in resources and allies, you've hurt her badly.”

Hermione's face darkened as she narrowed her eyes in thought. “This was just a stepping
stone to get to Harry. I won't be used against him.”

Putting her hand atop Hermione's, Maeve nodded. “To stop that, you must stop her. You
can't run, and you certainly can't push the boy away. He's not Ginevra to be fobbed off
with some half thought through notion of an excuse. The two of you will face this together, along
with the other.”

Shaking her head, Hermione glared for a second. “He has a name, you know. Ronald has been our
friend for as long as we've known each other and I don't see that changing anytime in the
future.”

“My apologies to your ex, then. And I'm very impressed with the way he handled things. I was
expecting a fit or two before things settled down.”

“He realized what was happening before I did. Even though I accepted the connection with Harry,
I never really put everything together until Ron started talking to me about it. Fortunately, Ron
didn't take it as me choosing Harry over him; he sees it more of an accepting of what has
always been. He kids that we've been together so long we should have a tenth anniversary rather
than a wedding next year.”

Reaching into the pocket of the gown she wore, Maeve withdrew a dusty glass ball that was
clouded with a roiling mist inside. Attached to the glass was a slip of parchment that appeared to
be not exceedingly old. Holding the glass out to Hermione, Maeve shrugged. “Before you go planning
a wedding, you should take this back with you and have a meeting with your Headmistress and the old
fool in her office. You needn't invite everyone whose names are on the label, but the ones you
trust you should gather for the revealing of this.”

Hermione's emotions spiked as she gazed at the globe in her hand. Looking at the labeling,
written in a spidery hand, she read, *“SPT to APWBD(d) - Harry Potter, Hermione Granger
(Potter?), Ron Weasley, Ginevra Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Salazar Slytherin, unknown wizard (Lucius
or Draco Malfoy?), and unknown witch (?) - 3 May, 1998”*

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she read the label. When she came to her name, she shook her
head sadly. When she came to the date, she bit her lower lip and looked up, fire in her eyes. “That
egregious old fraud. I've been in Minerva's office dozens of times over the past two years
and he's never once mentioned this to me.”

“How long did it take for him to tell your Harry about the last prophecy?”

Before Hermione could answer, Harry's voice broke into the conversation. “I was never told
the entire thing until the last second. I knew the prophecy before that, but the specifics of what
Albus envisioned as our only solution were kept from me until it was too late to do anything else.
And he let Severus have those honors through his memories.” Smiling at the pair, Harry gently sat
on the other side of the bed from Maeve and raised an eyebrow at Hermione.

“You're supposed to be sleeping.” Shaking her head, she leaned forward and kissed him gently
on the cheek.

Chuckling, Harry shook his head. “Last I knew, you were the patient this time.” Pausing, he
looked over at their companion. “Are you going to introduce me or leave me to make my own
introductions?”

Laughing, Maeve smiled as she watched Hermione color slightly. “You're everything she's
said you were. I can see why she's so taken with you.” Reaching over, she extended her hand to
Harry. “As you have guessed, I'm Maeve.”

Taking her hand, Harry gazed into the eyes of the woman before him for several seconds. The two
of them seemed to be weighing each other, judging the other by their own standards. Finally he
spoke. “I won't have her toyed with.”

Ignoring the shocked look on Hermione's face, Maeve nodded graciously. “Neither will I.
We're both agreed then?”

Nodding slowly, Harry smiled. “I think we are.”

Growling in frustration, Hermione glared at both of them. “In case either of you have forgotten,
I'm right here and I'm an adult so it would be considered polite to include me in your
plans, since I seem to be the focus of conversation here.”

Smiling sheepishly, Harry reached over and took her hand. “Sorry, but your grandmother and I
were just coming to an agreement about this new prophecy.”

Shaking her head, Hermione stared at Harry curiously for several seconds. Turning to Maeve, she
raised an eyebrow.

“Don't look at me; he wasn't awakened by our conversation. You're the one who was
mentally shouting and woke him up.” Smiling mischievously at her, Maeve nodded at Hermione's
shocked expression. “Ask your new boyfriend for some occlumency lessons when you get back to
England, I'm certain he'll be happy to oblige you.”

Shaking her head, Hermione stared at the two of them for almost a minute while they both sat
back and grinned at her. Muttering, `this is so wrong' under her breath; she reached out and
took Harry's hand. “We agreed, partners?”

Smiling, Harry nodded. “I'm not cutting you out of anything here. And the two of us
aren't conspiring behind your back. We simply agreed that we're not going to treat this
prophecy like the last one was treated.” Looking down at the globe in her other hand, Harry raised
an eyebrow at the names listed. “With a few notable exceptions, we're going to gather the folks
listed together and let them hear the prophecy first hand.”

Looking over at Maeve, Harry shrugged. “I take it your `rules' won't allow you to
discuss this with us until we actually know what the prophecy says?”

Smiling coyly, she nodded. “Specifics, no. But in general terms, we could talk about people who
still hate you enough to become involved in an ancient conspiracy to bring back a fairly nasty old
wanker like Salazar.”

Chuckling, Hermione reached up and ruffled Harry's hair, as she looked the older woman in
the eye. “There's not a shortage of candidates for that award, to my thinking. Between the
three of us we've helped put dozens in Azkaban over the past two years, not to mention the ones
we've exposed to scrutiny from the public for their borderline pasts.”

Looking worried, Harry shook his head. “This feels personal.” Looking over at Hermione, he
nodded. “Lucius was released from Azkaban two months ago.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Hermione looked at him. “Remind me again why it was a good idea to release
him from prison?”

Shrugging, Harry sighed. “He was going to get out eventually. Enough of the old families in the
Wizengamot thought that if he renounced his claim to the Malfoy title and accounts, he would be
harmless. Those were the conditions they released him under so he could take care of his mother,
who is dying.”

Shaking her head, Hermione rolled her eyes. “Stupid bastards. I wouldn't put it past the old
bat to have poisoned herself to get him out. Jezebel refused when Narcissa offered to take her in,
said she wouldn't spend her remaining days with a blood traitor. Makes you wonder whom her
husband caught dragon pox from.”

Shrugging, Maeve smiled knowingly. “Abraxas' tastes were always a bit bizarre, even by
Malfoy standards. Rumor had Jezebel as a close confident of Grindelwald.”

Resting her chin on her steepled fingers, Hermione closed her eyes as Harry began to run his
fingers through her hair. “They say Draco's reformed. His nine months in Azkaban proved very
enlightening it would appear.”

Chuckling, Harry smiled knowingly. “I think you'll find that Hector Greengrass' youngest
daughter has been more enlightening than Azkaban ever was.” Seeing the look on Hermione's face,
Harry nodded. “She was a year behind Luna in Ravenclaw. One of my aurors was in Greengrass'
having dinner about six weeks after Malfoy got out. Draco was there, having dinner with Zambini,
and made some sort of typical smarmy comment to one of the servers.”

Seeing Hermione open her eyes and stare at him, he nodded. “Ten seconds later, Asteria came
boiling out of the kitchen, her wand in one hand and a meat cleaver in the other. She laid into
Draco in front of the dinner crowd, verbally tore him a new one and told him exactly what she
thought of him. She then announced that if either of them ever wanted to set foot in the restaurant
again he was going to apologize to the server right then and there.”

Trying not to laugh at the thought, Hermione's eyes were shining brightly as she bit her
lower lip. “What I wouldn't have given to have been there. What did he do?”

Shrugging, Harry smiled. “The strange thing was that Draco just sat there and stared at her for
almost a minute when she was done. He then stood up, motioned the server over, and proceeded to,
very humbly mind you, apologize to the poor witch for almost five minutes.”

Staring in disbelief, Hermione whistled softly as she thought. “Let me guess. The next day he
makes an appearance at Greengrass Manor to apologize to the father.”

Smirking, Harry shook his head. “Close. He tracked her father down at the Hyperion Club the next
day and apologized to him in front of half the membership for `rude and inexcusable
behavior'.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Maeve smiled. “The Hyperion? I take it young Mr. Malfoy has taken his
place in wizarding society trying to live up to the family name and responsibilities.”

Shrugging, Harry tried to look casual. “It was very impressive, I'll grant him that.”

Arching an eyebrow, Hermione looked at Harry with interest. “And just how would you know that,
Mr. Potter?”

Harry's blush set off a knowing chuckle from Maeve. “Let's see, I seem to remember that
the Potter family was one of the founding members of the Hyperion. It seems that young Draco
isn't the only new member of an old and venerated establishment.”

Nodding self-consciously and keeping one eye on Hermione, Harry agreed. “Well, it seems that
membership in institutions such as the Hyperion comes as part and parcel with family
responsibilities.” Seeing the look on Hermione's face, Harry shrugged. “It's actually quite
a nice place. Very quiet and relaxing.”

“I wouldn't know, since there seems to be a very strict `wizards only' policy about
membership and the like.” Glaring at Harry, Hermione sat back. “Honestly Harry, do you really feel
compelled to help prop up these antiquated and obsolete views?”

Smiling mischievously, Maeve chuckled. “Actually, it's a very interesting place, not quite
as stuffy as you'd imagine.” Seeing both of the teens staring at her, she nodded. “I've
graced the halls of the Hyperion various times over the years. You'll find that there's
nothing that prevents you from taking her with you the next time you visit, other than custom, of
course.”

Winking in Hermione's direction, Maeve smiled. “And, as a holder of the Order of Merlin, you
should have received an invitation to join this prestigious group.”

Looking very thoughtful, Hermione smiled as she gazed at Harry. “Harry, once we're back in
London, it doesn't have to be our first evening back, but sometime that first week, you're
taking me to the Hyperion for dinner and drinks.”

Nodding graciously, Harry smiled. “I am?”

“Yes you are. And I'll even wear that midnight blue dress you're so fond of seeing me
in, but we are going.”

Trying not to smile, Harry nodded seriously. “As long as you promise to behave. At least until
they get around to offering you your own membership.”

Drawing herself up and giving him a McGonagall worthy stare, Hermione asked icily. “And just
when have I ever been less than proper?”

Trying to keep a straight face, Harry thought for a second. “Well, there was the time you broke
Draco's nose.”

“He provoked me.”

Deciding that a slight change of topic was in order, Harry nodded. “Speaking of which, Draco is
allowing Lucius to live in the old mansion while he's living in London in the townhome. He
allowed the Ministry to scour the place for two months to rid it of any and all traces of Dark
magic they could find, but it's been a seat for pureblood nonsense for centuries. Merlin only
knows what that crazy old wanker is up to in the gloomy old house.”

Sighing, Hermione opened one eye to gauge Harry's reactions. “Would you be surprised to know
that our old chum Ms Parkinson has been a frequent overnight visitor at the Manor?”

“That's just sick. Lucius doesn't have any money or position any longer; this is getting
too bizarre for me.” Looking at Hermione strangely, Harry rolled his eyes. “And I'm not even
going to ask how you know this.”

Smiling impishly, Hermione pulled an innocent face. “It could have something to do since
he's forbidden any association with house elves; he's had to hire human servants as
domestics. Since he's also forbidden to associate with Muggles without supervision, it was
child's play to ensure that one of the temps he hired was someone we could rely on.”

“Temps?”

Nodding, Hermione smiled. “Another of the conditions of his release was that permanent staff he
hired had to be examined by Ministry Healers every full moon to ensure they weren't being
abused or coerced.

“And even the dodgiest of the agencies that provide domestic staff will hesitate to keep sending
him personnel if they come back too abused.”

“Pansy and Lucius?”

Snorting, Maeve shook her head. “Try to grow up a bit Harry. It's hardly the strangest or
most disturbing couple anyone's ever heard of.”

Shaking his head, Harry shivered. “Name one.”

Smiling wickedly, Hermione answered. “Cho Chang and Harry Potter come to mind.”

-->



15. Chapter Fifteen - Breakfast Meetings
----------------------------------------



Chapter Fifteen - Breakfast Meetings

The late night conference with her grandmother had finished up just as the night rounds had
occurred. A knowing smirk and a quick pass of her hand was all that signaled a change when the
mediwitch entered the room and immediately started fussing at Harry for keeping Hermione awake well
past midnight, totally ignoring the elven woman setting on the other side of the bed.

Harry begrudgingly allowed himself to be banished to his usual chair while the mediwitch checked
Hermione's vitals and administered two potions. Shaking his head in disbelief, Harry watched as
the night mediwitch maneuvered around the smirking Maeve without noticing her presence.

Sleep had come slowly to the two, even after Maeve's exit shortly after the departure of the
mediwitch from the room. Hermione had lain there, watching him as he drifted off in the moonlight,
wondering exactly what their return to England would bring for both of them. Finally drifting off,
her dreams turned to the Chamber of Secrets. This time, instead of being confined to a hospital bed
paralyzed by the reflected gaze of a basilisk, the two of them were being chased by some sort of
scaled horror as they tried to rescue…someone. Never getting close enough to see the object of
their search, the nightmare was finally interrupted by the morning sounds of the hospital waking
her from a fitful slumber.

The day of her departure dawned bright and fair. Hermione woke to sunshine and stretched, trying
to drive the dreams of the previous night from her mind. Looking around her room, she smiled at the
sleeping form of Harry, sprawled almost bonelessly in a chair.

The door to the hall pushed open a bit. Instead of the expected mediwitch on her morning rounds,
Terri and Oscar stuck their heads in the room and grinned when they saw Hermione was awake. Putting
her finger to her lips, she beckoned the two to come in. Casting a quick muffliato towards Harry so
as to not waken him, she nodded to Oscar.

“Morning you two, you're up and about fairly early.” Looking at her watch, sitting on the
table beside her bed, she saw that it was almost eight. Smiling at Terri, she nodded towards Oscar.
“I take it you've decided that hanging around with witches and wizards has its upside.”
Watching the blush spread across both of their faces, she laughed. “That's not what I meant,
and you know it.”

“Hermione, I have no idea what you're talking about.” Grinning at Oscar, Terri looked over
her shoulder as she perched on the edge of the bed. “Shouldn't your boyfriend sleeping in the
bed over here, and not that dreadful chair? And just where is your ex?” Arching one eyebrow, Terri
looked intently at her.

“Dear, that's none of our business. Besides, you remember Ron saying that he had to head
back to England last night at the game.” Shaking his head, Oscar smiled indulgently at the
mercurial blonde by his side.

Taking Oscar's hand, Hermione smiled warmly at him. “Oscar, after everything that's
happened, I wouldn't quibble at a simple question.” Glancing over at Harry, she smiled. “Ron
had to report back last night, well early this morning in London for a briefing. Harry didn't
fancy going back to the Torc last night after the game. Something about some couple making too much
noise in the next room for the past couple of days, so he crashed here.”

Remembering back to the hunt and their time on the run from the Death Eaters, she smiled sadly.
“Trust me; it isn't the worst sleeping accommodations either of us has had. And it's
certainly not the first time one of us has spent the night in a hospital chair waiting for the
other. I transfigured the chair so it's reasonably comfortable for sleeping, it just looks
awkward. So what brings you two out so early?” Looking at the two blushing, Hermione grinned,
wondering if they were Harry's erstwhile neighbours at the Torc.

“We thought we'd stop in and catch you before everything started happening with your release
today.” Terri wrapped an arm around Oscar's waist as she smiled broadly. “And I wanted to thank
you for everything.” Looking up, she shyly kissed Oscar on the cheek.

“Hey, I had nothing to do with that. You two were drawn together like a cat to cream, but
I'm glad things seem to be working out for you so well. Your GM seemed very happy last night at
the game, I take it everything is fine with `our' work and the sports exchange program?”
Shaking her head, Hermione rolled her eyes at the glances being exchanged between the pair.

Laughing, Oscar nodded. “Mel and MT made a pretty convincing set of replacements for you two
until Terri got released three days ago. There's a Memorandum of Understanding you're going
to be taking back for the muggle government in London regarding a proposal to exchange cricket and
baseball teams on a trial basis. And, thanks to Ron, there are gong to be a series of games next
preseason between two of the Ohio quidditch teams and a couple of your English teams.”

“Let me guess, he wants the Cannons to come over here for a couple of games.”

Laughing, Terri nodded. “He got his sister involved and it'll be Chudley and Holyhead coming
over for a series of exhibition matches in Cleveland, Columbus, and Morgantown with the Pataskala
Phoenixes and the Venedocia Dragons.” Looking at Oscar to see if she had gotten the names of the
English teams correct, she smiled brightly when he nodded. “And Oscar and I were thinking that if
you could talk Harry and Ron into it, you three could come back. Since Ron's sister is a Harpy,
the four of you could spend some time with us and Flori and Irving, without crazed Yankee's
fans making life interesting.”

Seeing the amused look on Hermione's face, she shrugged. “I know I've got a girlfriend
who wouldn't mind going out with your ex and I'm certain Oscar here can find someone
willing to go out with our favorite Harpy.”

Harry's voice cut into the conversation. “Gin's on the Harpies, she's not a Harpy.
Big difference, wouldn't you say `Mione?” Stretching, Harry surprised Oscar and Terri by coming
up unnoticed. “Really, if you're going to cast that spell, remember it works both ways.”
Smiling smugly he leaned over and kissed Hermione briefly but passionately before seating himself
on her bed. Nodding towards Oscar and Terri, he nodded. “You lot look as if you got everything
settled out.” Yawning, he looked blearily around the room. “Has anyone seen a pair of glasses?”

“Honestly, Harry. Try to remember you're a wizard. Accio Harry's glasses.” Harry's
glasses soared into Hermione's outstretched hand from their hiding place under the chair he had
been sleeping in. Handing them to him, she shook her head in disbelief. “I still can't believe
you haven't talked to a mediwitch about your eyes. Aren't you tired of sorting these things
out every morning?”

A faint blush coloured Harry's ears as he mumbled something. Exasperated, Hermione turned
back to Terri and Oscar who were smiling at the two of them. “Terri, did you ever figure out where
we ended up?”

“I should have figured it out as soon as you mentioned the witch turning into a cat thing.”
Seeing the puzzled look on Hermione's face, she nodded. “I finally realized where we were by
remembering some old ghost stories that I had heard on a tour when I first got to Cleveland. We
ended up at the Old Fairport Harbor Lighthouse. There have been stories about the lighthouse being
haunted by the ghost of a cat for years. No one knew about that secret subceller, hidden evil lair
thing she'd constructed.” Looking to Oscar for confirmation, she smiled when he nodded.

“Usually we just call them dungeons dear, but I like `secret subceller, hidden evil lair
thing'. It has a nice ring to it.” Laughing, Oscar dodged out of the way of a vicious slap that
was aimed at him.

“I warned you she was a match for you, with or without a wand.” Smiling at the two, she noticed
Harry looking at her. “Well Potter? Since you're now in charge of seeing that they treat me
well, why isn't my breakfast here?” Mock frowning, she nodded towards the door. “And I want
real butter on my toast, none of that fake stuff these Americans seem to be so fond of. “

Laughing, Harry got up, bowed deeply and looked at her with mischief in his eyes. “And I'll
tell the mediwitch to check your vision, since you've obviously mistaken me for one of the
house-elves that follow you around, oh Queen of the Elves.”

Sobering, Hermione looked around. “Careful Harry, that's someone else entirely. And as fond
of you as I am, I don't think that would cut you any slack if she thought you were getting
cheeky with her.” Smiling as he waved and left the room, she sighed and leaned back against her
pillows.

“Hermione, can I ask you a question?” Looking unusually thoughtful, Terri was glancing at her,
ignoring the shushing motion that Oscar was trying to make where he thought Hermione couldn't
see it. “If you don't want to, I'll understand.”

“Not at all, spending time together being tortured makes us close enough to ask questions of,
though for the life of me, I can't imagine what you'd want to know that requires that sort
of look.”

“Well two things actually. What did Harry mean when he said his glasses remind him of you?”

“What?” Blinking in surprise, Hermione stared at Terri in surprise.

“When you asked him why he didn't get his eyes fixed, he muttered because they remind him of
you.” Grinning she shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry, but I've got fairly acute hearing from
having trained as a musician when I was in university. Comes in handy deciphering the mumblings of
men from time to time.” Poking Oscar in the ribs, his answering blush told Hermione that there was
more to that particular tale than she was likely to ever hear.

“Haven't the foggiest, unless….” Closing her eyes in concentration, she smiled as she
replayed the memory of when she first met Harry and Ron, all those years ago. Ron casting a
`spell' and her casually tossing off a `Reparo'.

Opening her eyes, she saw that both Oscar and Terri were staring at her. “When I first met them,
Ron was trying some ridiculous spell on his pet rat. It didn't work, but I noticed that
Harry's glasses were broken, so I fixed them without even thinking.” Smiling wistfully,
Hermione thought back to those days before everything had become so complicated. “Curious that
Harry would find that memory so compelling. What's your second question?”

“How on earth did you ever not know Harry was the one? “ Raising her hand to ward off the look
on Hermione's face, she looked over at the door to see if Harry was returning. “No offense, but
after spending two weeks with you three, except for you and Ron bickering once or twice, I would
have sworn that there wasn't anyone who would have missed the fact Harry was your boyfriend. Or
closer.” Shrugging her shoulders, she tried to smile apologetically.

Shrugging in return, Hermione frowned a bit. “You're not the first to wonder that. Harry and
I have been friends since that day we met back in 1991 and we've been best friends since he and
Ron saved my life on Halloween that year. I guess the only thing I can say is that we never felt
the need to date; we just did everything together for seven years.” Smiling ruefully, Hermione
blushed a bit. “I think we just became so comfortable with being best mates, that we missed the
signs that our relationship had changed. Merlin knows it's annoyed Ron from time to time before
the three of us finally came to our senses.”

The conversation was cut short by Harry's return with a large tray heaped with various
breakfast treats. “It's not Molly's cooking, but it's not bad.” Placing the tray in
front of her, he ruffled her hair as she smiled appreciatively up at him. “Now if you clean your
plate like a good little witch, I've got it on good authority that you can get ready to go home
after a bit.”

Looking at the glances that Oscar and Terri were exchanging, Harry shrugged his shoulders at the
two. Hermione caught his reaction and looked up sharply. “You two behave yourselves, I told you the
truth.” Her eyes twinkling mischievously, she turned back to Harry. “Harry did you or did you not
have to cross the Atlantic and find me confined to a hospital bed before we ever talked about us?
And we had to have Ron rub our noses in it to boot.

“Well, as long as you discount the fact that we spent more time `not on dates' with each
other than we spent on dates with the people were supposedly dating, that's about correct.
Why?” Grinning at Oscar and Terri, he winked before he kissed Hermione on the lips.

Raising her hands in mock surrender, Terri laughed. “Ok, I get the point. I can't believe in
almost a decade it never occurred to either of you. And I certainly want to meet this Ginny, the
fact that she's happy for the two of you isn't really proper.

“While we never fought like Hermione and Ron did, our relationship sort of drifted back to a
holding level that got blown apart when I forgot it was Valentine's Day and went off to
Hermione's flat to help her paint instead of going out to dinner with Gin.” Grinning at
Hermione's scowl, he shrugged. “What can I say; I think she finally figured out that if
painting someone's flat was more appealing to me than Valentine's Day dinner with her, we
were seeing the wrong people.” Feeling Hermione's annoyance with him fade, Harry sat beside her
and accioded a banger from her tray.

“What's next for you two?” Oscar asked, grinning at Harry's familiarity.

Scowling at Harry, Hermione put a possessive hand over the rest of her breakfast. “Harry,
that's just rude.” Turning back to Oscar and Terri, she laughed. “After I'm released,
we're returning by transatlantic portkey to Dunvegan Castle in Scotland. My boss is going to
meet us there and we'll return the banner and the glass to its rightful owner. After that, I
suppose we start looking for this mysterious witch that set this thing in motion.”

Looking back, just in time to catch Harry sneaking another bit of sausage from her tray, she
scowled, “and Mr. Auror here doesn't want to believe it could be our old school chum Pansy
Parkinson.”

“Hermione, we've discussed this. We have a perfectly valid clue as to whom the catlady was
working for. Between the Americans and our own Ministry, we should have some sort of lead on old
Viola in short order. However, I do agree, after what we talked about last night, that we need to
keep a closer eye on Pansy.”

Grinning he grabbed a fork and offered Hermione the last piece of her sausage. “Her involvement
with Lucius is too compelling, I'll ask Smithers to open another casefile on her and we'll
have her put under surveillance for a while to see what we can find.” Shaking his head, he grinned
at her. “You really need to get over her offering to turn me over to Voldemort that night. She
probably didn't really mean it.”

“I meant, what's next for you two?” Shaking his head at the two of them, Oscar smiled.

Blushing a bit, Hermione smiled at Harry, as she looked thoughtful for several seconds before
turning back to Oscar and Terri. “Well, I think I'm going to be talking to my landlord about
subletting my flat, since I really don't see it getting much use anytime in the near future
since I'm moving back home. As for anything else,” pausing as she looked at Harry out of the
corner of her eye, she continued, “I think we're going to be taking things a bit slowly. There
are some people back home that will need time to adjust to the changes in our relationship,
ourselves included.”

“Hermione means that Ron and Ginny's mother will need some time to get over the fact that
we're not with her youngest and that's not going to change.” Harry rolled his eyes at the
scowl on the Hermione's face at the mention of the Weasley matriarch. “As for the two of us,
the biggest thing that will change is that we'll actually be able to admit to ourselves that
we've been acting like a couple for the past eight years or so.” Winking at Terri, he smiled.
“Of course, there's this.”

Leaning over, Harry slid his hand behind Hermione's head, and moved until their lips were
just inches apart. Waiting a second for her barely perceptible nod, Harry kissed her tenderly. As
her arms came up and wrapped themselves around him, the tray floated away and placed itself on the
stand beside the bed as Harry lowered himself to sit on the bed.

Shaking her head, Terri looked up at Oscar. “Well, I can see that this is going to take a
while.” Her eyes twinkling, she looked at him speculatively. “Think you can do that mojo thing of
yours and find us a quiet place to wait for these two to come up for air?”

Smiling in return, Oscar shook his head as he slid his arm around her shoulders. “You could have
a parade in here and not disturb the two of them.” Looking around at the chair Harry had been
sleeping in, he smiled. “What say we see if that thing's as comfortable as Hermione said it
was, and we'll just find some way to entertain ourselves while we wait for them to return to
the real world?”

Smiling broadly, Teri winked. “Mr. Wizard, I do like how you think. It's either that or back
to your room at the Torc, and apparently you need a refresher course on that silent room spell of
yours.”

Sitting in the chair and drawing Terri onto his lap, Oscar nodded. “Well, as they say, `practice
makes perfect'. Shall we?”

Wrapping her arms around him, Terri gave him an affirmation that was unmistakable. Both couples
were completely oblivious until a mediwitch dropped a tray of potions an hour later when she came
in to begin Hermione's final examination.

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16. Chapter Sixteen - Epilogues (and not a train station in sigh
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Chapter Sixteen - Epilogues (not a train station in sight)

Epilogue the first - Dunvegan Castle, Scotland

The sun was setting over the western sea as the two appeared on the windswept balcony of
Dunvegan. Stumbling a bit, Harry held Hermione up as their eyes adjusted to the oncoming twilight.
Looking around, they saw Francis Bethune standing in the lee of the wall, waiting for them. Walking
towards them he held up both hands in surrender.

“Hermione, we had no idea that this wasn't what it seemed.” Francis began before Hermione
could begin to take the offensive. “We've launched an investigation to see where this
mysterious witch has come from. The aurors have started looking in the obvious places and our
people are looking in the unobvious ones. For what it's worth, I'm very sorry.”

“Francis, I'm not going to bite your head off for this.” Nodding to her companion, she
grinned. “Harry brought me all the briefing documents that you offered him and Ron and I would have
agreed to do this mission knowing what you knew, even the stuff you didn't tell me. Let's
just get these trinkets back where they belong so I can go home and soak in a nice hot tub.”
Nodding towards the doors leading into the castle, Hermione motioned for Francis to lead the way,
ignoring the knowing look he gave them as they were standing there hand in hand.

Following him through the drawing room and into a hallway, the climbed a steep set of stairs and
entered the main hall. Hermione's eye was immediately drawn to the framed copy of the An
Bratach Sith that had hung there since the robbery.

Walking over she nodded to Harry and he lifted the replacement from its place on the wall.
Hanging the original back in its place, she stepped back, closed her eyes and sought for currents
of magic that swirled around the ancient castle. Binding a protective screen around the frame, she
tied the screen to the two bloodlines that held claim to the Fairy Flag, the MacLeods and the
Sidhe.

Stepping back, she slumped a bit as the toll of the magic took its effect. “Tell the MacLeod
that he's going to have to make arrangements for a relative to do any moving of the An Bratach
Sith from now on. Just dusting it or straightening it won't cause a problem. If anyone not of
the blood tries to take if from its spot on that wall, both he and I will be notified that
something is amiss. It's not perfect, but it should supplement any muggle burglar detectors he
has installed.”

“I'll notify the auror detachment on Eilean Mor so they can arrange to make periodic checks
on the castle here.” Francis shook his head at the wards established by his protégé.

Looking at Harry, Hermione grinned. “Harry, would you mind waiting here a bit while Francis and
I return the Amen Glass to its display case?” Nodding warily, Harry flashed her a tight smile.
“Don't look like that; I'm not going to murder him as soon as we're out of sight. You
know how I work; I try never to kill anyone unless you're there to help me clean up the mess if
I can help it.” Grinning at Harry's slow smile, she turned to Francis. “Lead on, MacDuff”

Grimacing, Francis started down the twisting stair to a lower level. “You could at least get the
quote right, Granger.” Smiling over his shoulder at her, he was taking the stairs without looking
as if he had gone this way numerous times before.

“What fun would there be in that?” Smiling impishly, she sensed that she was finally getting to
the end of this entire sordid mess. “Besides, in the Scottish Play, Macbeth says that to his enemy,
and despite my occasional shrewish display of temper, I have never considered us to be
enemies.”

Chuckling, he turned around as he came to a landing with a doorway leading into dimly lit
hallway. “And thereby hangs the tale, Kate. Do you really think your young man is going to
patiently wait up there for us to return from our errand?”

Growling in frustration, Hermione looked at Bethune in disbelief. “He's not `my' young
man….” Stopping and blushing, Hermione sighed. “All right, you're correct in that, but
that's not what would bring him down these stairs. Harry's an auror and my oldest friend.
In an ideal world he'd not budge an inch, but since he knows that things around you become
`interesting' more often than not. And since I never actually asked him to stay put, I
wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't half a dozen paces behind us waiting to see if something
else comes unglued with this escapade.” Feeling Harry's mental chuckle at that remark, Hermione
wondered exactly how much of a headstart Harry was giving her.

“Then why bother with the charade?” Using his wand to silently open a door, He ushered Hermione
into a room containing several display cases containing Jacobite memorabilia. Hermione smiled as he
pointedly left the door ajar.

“Thank you, Francis. That's an easy one. This gives Harry and myself the leeway to ignore
what's about to happen next, if we decide it's not something we want to talk about just
yet.” Looking into the case, she saw that a very accurate copy of the Amen Glass was resting in its
place of honor. “Do you want to do the honors, or shall I?”

Reaching into her bag, she drew forth the cloth wrapped glass. Peeling back the protective wrap,
the blue glow of the MacLeod heirloom lit up the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a
peculiar shadow on the wall, indicating that the light of the Amen Glass wasn't totally fooled
by Harry's invisibility cloak. “I do wish it would stop doing that.”

Smiling Francis opened the cabinet and removed the ersatz glass. “That's what it's
supposed to do. The MacDonald daughter who enchanted this envisioned it bolstering the claim of the
rightful Stuart claimant to the Scottish throne, and thereby the throne of England as well.”
Nodding towards the vacant spot, he waited for Hermione to unwrap the glass and gingerly set it
into place.

Stepping back, the glow faded until it was a bare glimmer when they were about six feet from the
glass. “However, she was too general in her spellwork, and any rightful claimant to the Scottish
throne will evoke the expected response.” Nodding towards Hermione thoughtfully, he motioned her
forward. The glow intensified with her proximity. As she stepped back, he smiled. “It works for the
heir of the royal house of Dunkeld or Canmore,” nodding towards her in respect as he stepped
forward and touched the glass as its glow intensified again, “as it does for the heir of the royal
house of Stuart.”

Closing the display case, Charles Edward Francis Bethune, heir to the House of Stuart offered
his arm to Hermione Jane Granger, heir to the House of Dunkeld as they turned and exited the room,
neither one looking back at the Amen Glass sitting quietly in it's case, both trying not to
notice the faint sound of footsteps hurrying up the stairs ahead of them.

Epilogue the Second - A dungeon below Malfoy Manor

Torchlight flickered fitfully, dimly illuminating the edges of the underground chamber. The
center of the room was visible in a baleful reddish glow that emanated from a sinister statue of a
monkey-faced wizard presiding over a basalt block that was streaked with reddish stains. The lower
part of the statue flowed into a macabre throne, where a dark-haired witch lounged in apparent
boredom.

Kneeling in front of the block were three wizards in black robes. Heads down, all three waited
silently as a fourth wizard paced around them. Glowering, Lucius Malfoy shook his head as he
periodically cast a minor curse at the three, receiving some small amount of satisfaction from
watching them flinch at the continued assaults. Finally stopping, he looked up at the figure
lounging in the throne before the statue. Seeing her languid nod, he turned his attention back to
the three in front of him.

“Fools! Incompetent fools.” Lucius Malfoy resumed his pacing around the torch lit room, glaring
at the three kneeling before the blood crusted stone. “I can't believe you three couldn't
orchestrate the demise of one pathetic mudblood. My contact in the Ministry was correct that they
would send her to retrieve those toys you had stolen from the muggles, why couldn't you finish
her off?” Throwing his hands in the air in frustration, he stopped directly in front of a
particularly thuggish looking member of the trio. “I can't believe that I once considered you a
suitable companion for my son.”

Laughing, Pansy Parkinson displayed her contempt for Lucius' comment. “Your son? You mean
Draco, the one who failed when the Dark Lord tasked him with the death of Dumbledore? The one who
had to be rescued twice in one night by Harry Potter? The one who has repudiated you and everything
we stand for? That son?”

Spitting to one side, she grimaced. “Draco is no more one of us, you really should write both
him and that baggage you call a wife off and move forward Lucius.” Gently caressing his forearm,
she shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. “I can't believe that neither my agent in
America nor that group of cultists that follow The Founder there were able to clip the wings of
that overrated trollop.” Shaking her head, she sighed. “She must be sleeping with Bethune or
Kingsley, or both. That's the only reason I can see for them to use her as their personal
errand girl while they allow her to play with her elves. But, the exercise wasn't a total loss”
Smiling coldly, she drew an ancient looking piece of parchment from beneath her robes.

“I don't see how you could think this was anything short of a catastrophe.”

“Because, while I was hoping to see the death of the mudblood Granger there in the Serpent Fane,
I found this concealed within an altar before those incompetent Americans searched the premises.”
Using her wand to conjure a low table, she placed the parchment on it. “This was written by The
Founder himself.”

Stepping back, she gestured towards the page in mock gallantry, motioning Lucius forward. As he
stepped forward and bent over to look at the document, his gaze was drawn to the text and the
accompanying drawing. Looking up sharply he looked at her with a gleam in his eye. “You have read
the entire text?”

“Yes Lucius, I didn't suffer through three years of Ancient Runes for nothing. It's
exactly what you think it is.”

Smiling coldly, Lucius' mind began to plan. “A map to the resting place of Salazar Slytherin
and directions for raising him from his long slumber.” Smiling at Pansy he asked, “Whatever shall
we do with this?”

Epilogue the Last - Number Four Privet Drive, Surrey

The sun was dropping below the horizon as Petunia Dursley worked the flowerbeds in front of her
home. Carefully weeding and mulching, she lovingly tended the beds that had become a place of
solace and comfort, partially because they reminded her of her sister's son Harry.

Pushing back guilt and bitter thoughts about how he had been treated growing up in her house,
Petunia allowed her head to hang a bit as she offered a quick prayer, thankful that Harry had been
able to forgive her and her son Dudley for the horrendous way he had been treated. The last two
years had seen a remarkable change in the young man after he finished the war that took the life of
her sister, his mother, so many years ago, and Petunia marveled that he was able to set aside so
much of what happened.

Looking over the joyful colours spread before her, Petunia smiled as the late season bloomers
were beginning their annual show. Shaking her head, she wondered if Vernon would bother to come
home at all this week, and she smiled ruefully when she admitted to herself that she really
didn't care. Harry's young friend Hermione had introduced her to a solicitor who dealt with
family law cases and she was quietly gathering together papers and records that would see her and
Dudley free of Vernon's toxic personality and influence.

“Petunia, are you feeling all right?”

Looking up, Petunia smiled as she saw Chastity kneeling beside her. The young witch had
accompanied them during their year in hiding from the magical terrorists who had killed her sister
years ago, and she and Dudley had become inseparable since that evening Dudley had rescued her by
charging a pair of Death Eaters who were too busy torturing her to notice him and laying them both
out with a cricket bat that had been at hand. Shaking her head, Petunia thanked Providence that
Death Eaters seemed clueless to the fact that they weren't invulnerable to a well-placed swing
from an enraged striker. Smiling, she nodded. “I was just thinking about how much things have
changed in the past three years.”

Smiling, Chastity bobbed her head as she unconsciously ran her finger over the engagement ring
that Dudley had given her last month. “And things are still changing. That solicitor that Hermione
set you up with is the older brother of a classmate of mine. He'll be able to get everything in
about what kind of man Vernon really is into the record without letting anything slip that might
cause undue attention.”

Looking at her soon to be daughter-in-law, Petunia smiled. “There's something else,
isn't there?”

Smiling, Chastity nodded. “I don't know anything for certain, but Helen Granger,
Hermione's mum, just sent us an owl.” Watching the older woman nod in anticipation, the blonde
witch grinned. “You were saying that Harry was sounding too happy while he was in American after
rescuing Hermione to be explained by just his relief at finding his friend safe and sound, even his
best friend.”

Rolling her eyes, Petunia snorted. “It's like watching my sister and Harry's dad all
over again. Isn't there someone at the hospital of yours that can check and see if they've
been cursed or something? I do believe that they're the only two in England who hasn't
figured out they actually belong together.”

Shaking her head, Chastity chuckled. “You're not the first person to make that suggestion,
though usually people wonder if his ex-girlfriend had inherited her mum's hand at potion
making. But Helen said that they're having a dinner in Oxford tomorrow for the two of them, it
seems that there's some sort of announcement to be made and she's wanting the three of us
to be there for it.”

Her eyes lighting up, Petunia began to gather up her gardening tools. “I wouldn't miss that
for the world.” Sobering for a second, she shook her head. “I do hope that other boy isn't too
hurt by this. He's always seemed a bit taken with Hermione.”

Nodding, Chastity smiled. “I was there in London with them the two days we were waiting for
Hermione to be found and I was first on the scene after Ron and Harry went in. He's a better
man than I ever imagined him to be. I think he sussed out how everything stood before they did.
That whole forty-eight hours, he kept telling Harry that she'd be all right, that they'd
bring her back to him.”

Smiling wickedly at the thought of another blonde Ravenclaw, she added. “And I don't think
Ron will be sitting on the bench very long, not if one of my old housemates has anything to say
about it. She's fancied him for years and as soon as word gets around that Harry and Hermione
are together, she'll be checking in on him very quickly.”

Nodding towards the house, where Petunia could see a diminutive pygmy owl sitting on the
windowsill to the living room, bobbing its head enthusiastically, she smiled. “Since there's an
owl available, why don't you send your friend a note that she might want to check in on Ron?
Just to see if he's all right, of course.”

Chuckling, Chastity nodded. “You're always such a thoughtful person, Petunia. I think that
Ms Lovegood would appreciate that.”

“Luna? She's been by the house a couple of times over the last year. Lovely young woman, but
I can never make heads or tails of what she's going on about, half the time.”

Reaching down, Chastity adjusted the small stake that was stuck in the ground at the edge of the
flowerbed. “I've always meant to ask, why do you put these stakes out like this?”

Shaking her head, Petunia smiled as she looked down at the small stake. “I've always done
this with my gardens, though for years it was Harry that put the stakes out. It was a habit my mum
had and I just started doing it when we moved here to Surrey. One of the teachers from the local
school brings her classes by on walks and we've got most of the houses in the area labeling the
flowers so the students can learn to identify them.” Gazing down at the stake bearing the label
`*viola tricolor hortensis',* she smiled. “Although anyone can look at these and know
they're Pansies.”

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