Replay

Replay

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Thirty

Disappearing Acts

Draco Malfoy rubbed his eyes sleepily; he yawned and stretched, glad that he could go back to his real bed once he returned to Wiltshire, after breakfasting with the Weasleys. He only had to be Percy for an hour or so before reverting to his own form for a morning of further sleep, then an afternoon of trying to work out what exactly was in the book Crabbe, Goyle and Zabini insisted contained the spell they needed.

It was nothing short of miraculous that he'd survived the summer without hexing Nate, the elder Weasleys, Percy's brothers (especially the twins), Percy's nieces and nephews, and especially Potter and his son. Now that the Hogwarts autumn term had begun he was very glad that he no longer had to see Nate or the Potters, and he even saw the other Weasleys (except for Molly and Arthur) far less frequently. Free from "fatherhood" until the Christmas holiday! Unfortunately, that was fast approaching now that it was almost the end of November, but he still found it easier to be cheerful in the morning knowing that he didn't have to see Nate, World's Most Annoying Young Wizard. Wouldn't you know Percy Weasley's kid would be another swot? he thought before he Apparated to The Burrow, his vial of Polyjuice Potion from the new batch in the pocket of the pyjamas he'd donned in lieu of the ones with the Malfoy crest on the breast.

He climbed into Percy's bed and moved about, to make it look slept-in. He pulled the covers over his head and rolled about on the old mattress before getting up to find some drab, colourless robes to wear, dropping Percy's pyjamas carelessly on the floor. Standing before the mirrored bedroom door, he took a swig of the Polyjuice Potion, unlocked the door, and waited for it to take effect. He grunted in agony, as always, while the changes came over him, and squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. However, today there was a peculiar sensation of someone pulling on his chest; a strange weight was sitting on his ribs and there was an odd absence between his legs...

"Aaaaaaaah!" he screamed when he opened his eyes, staring into the mirror on the door; his body was not remotely like Percy's. He slapped his hand over his mouth, knowing that the high-pitched scream he'd let out would immediately be investigated. He was glad the door was still locked. Damn and bugger, he thought, remembering that it wasn't locked when Arthur Weasley threw open the door, his wife right behind him; they had their wands drawn and appeared shocked to find someone other than their son in his bedroom.

"Erm," Draco started to say, staring at Molly Weasley's aghast face. Draco wondered whether he had found a way to give her a heart attack--not that that killed wizards, who knew how to deal with such things, but it did have entertainment potential.

Arthur Weasley collected his wits first. "Well! Mrs Malfoy. Er, Percy didn't mention that you were coming to breakfast..." His voice was pitched far higher than usual. He cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows at his wife, his meaning clear.

Buggeration, Draco thought. Now they think my mother is sleeping with Percy Weasley! "It was--unplanned," he said awkwardly in his mother's voice. That was stupid, he thought. Say something to make it clear that they're not sleeping together! Say anything to make it bloody clear that they're not shagging! It was bad enough that anyone knew about his mother and Zabini; this getting out would be far worse.

But nothing came to mind. Why else would a middle-aged woman be in Percy's room and robes? He saw where Molly's eyes had gone: to the carefully disheveled bed, which seemed like it had been rumpled by enthusiastic shagging rather than mere sleep. I am going to kill someone, Draco thought, seething. Heads will roll. The Cruciatus Curse will be used and abused.

"Well," Molly Weasley said, sounding less jovial than her husband. And while Draco did enjoy the idea of Molly Weasley's image of her golden boy changing he wasn't convinced that that would work well with the plan. If he, as Percy, was eventually going to kidnap the kids he had to continue to be on good terms with the family, including Molly. "I'm so pleased," she said with the world's most strained smile, "that you and Percy are on such--good terms..."

Draco wanted very badly to laugh at the agony on her face; he'd never associated a particular expression with needing to sit on the loo all day, but if he had, that would be it. "You'll have to excuse me, Mrs Weasley. I have an urgent appointment this morning. Percy asked me to give his apologies; his employer requested that he arrive early today so he's already Apparated to work," he explained in his mother's most genteel voice.

"Would--would you care to join us for breakfast, Mrs Malfoy?" Molly asked, her stiff smile still in place. Draco thought her face might crack if she moved it. He also doubted that Molly Weasley wanted to eat breakfast with Narcissa Malfoy; asking was just good form. He was tempted to accept, because it appeared to be killing her.

"No, thank you. I'm meeting a friend." He continued to swear silently in his head while he spoke to the Weasleys. "Thank you for asking," he added, rather torn between enjoying their discomfort and wanting to be back in his own home and his own body.

"Of course, of course," Arthur Weasley said, guiding his wife from the room. "Well, we won't keep you, of course. Nice to see you again, Mrs Malfoy," he lied unconvincingly. "Mrs Malfoy" nodded, closed the door, sighed with relief, and Apparated to Wiltshire.

"Mrs Malfoy" had at least one murder on the day's agenda.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"So, what's the plan?" Teddy wanted to know.

"Plan?" Harry said absently, not looking up from the essays he was marking. Teddy sighed; Ginny sat in a chair on the opposite side of the desk from Harry, marking exams. Teddy noticed that the case with the sword was missing from the corner of the office.

"The Easter hols. You were going to talk to Mum, work out a plan. Where I'm to be when during the holiday. Which starts in two days." Harry lifted his head now, hardly daring to believe that the young man standing before him, less than a month short of his fourteenth birthday, was actually his son. I was in the Triwizard Tournament when I was fourteen, he thought for a moment. I hope that he never has to go through anything remotely like what I went through.

"Do you need to know right now for a reason?" Ginny asked gently. "I mean, if you've got plans to see your friends I'm certain we can work around your schedule."

Teddy smiled at her; there were still times when he regretted finding out that Harry was his father but not a day had passed when he wasn't enormously grateful that, of all the women in the world, Ginny was his stepmother. Most adults wouldn't do the logical thing--the thing Ginny was suggesting--simply on principle. Not because it was against adults' principles to be logical (although Teddy wasn't always so certain about that) but because one didn't let the children dictate what was going to happen, and when.

"Well, Donna's invited Nate and me and Enika to visit her and see her sister in a play. She's supposed to be good. Donna's very excited for her. That's just one day, though."

"Sounds lovely!" Ginny said, smiling. "Perhaps we could also go... Unless this is something the four of you were hoping to do on your own," she added hastily, seeing Teddy's expression. Enika Fujita had been his girlfriend for only a couple of months and during that time there had only been one Hogsmeade weekend. They often held hands while walking through the corridors; Ginny had wondered whether Donna and her nephew were also a couple but had no idea how to find out without seeming too nosy. "We don't need to monopolise your time. We see you quite often here at school, Rory and Ruby will be first-years in September, and your mum and Severus get to spend time with you as well. It's just Penelope who doesn't see Nate often; perhaps it would be best if we work around their schedule. I'm sure Severus has made arrangements to see Julian."

"Erm, well," Teddy hesitated; "if that would be all right..."

Harry was again staring adamantly at the essays he was marking. "If it's all right with your mother," he said vaguely.

"And Nate's mother," Ginny added.

"And Nate's father," Teddy said with a sigh.

Ginny frowned now. "I'm not sure it really matters what he thinks... Percy seems terribly... uninvolved," Ginny sighed, staring unseeingly at the parchments before her. "Mum says they've hardly seen him for the past five or six months. He's sent owls often enough, telling them what he's up to, but in some ways he might as well be in Gibraltar still... Won't even eat breakfast with Mum and Dad anymore..."

Harry froze for a moment. "What did you say?"

Ginny frowned. "I said that he won't even eat breakfast with Mum and Dad--"

"Not that. The only contact anyone's had with Percy for months has been by owl?"

Ginny shook her head. "You know this, Harry."

Harry swallowed. "Yeah. I just never... never thought about how similar it was to--"

"What are you talking about?" Ginny looked sideways at Teddy.

Harry glanced at him as well. "Erm, maybe we should talk about this later..."

Teddy grimaced. "I can take a hint. Okay. I'm going..."

As he stormed out of the room, Ginny called after him, "Teddy! It's not that--"

He was already gone. Ginny closed the office door after watching him walk away. She turned and leaned on the closed door, examining Harry. "Was that really necessary?"

He gazed up at her innocently. "What? Do you want him telling Nate?"

"Telling Nate what?"

Harry pushed his chair away from his desk, his brows knit. "That's what I don't know. When's the last time someone actually saw Percy?"

Ginny laughed. "Harry, you're as bad as old Moody, seeing conspiracies everywhere..."

"I'm--I'm worried about Percy. Think of the old Death Eaters who may want to get revenge on Dumbledore's spies. Maybe he was better off as a Muggle in Gibraltar..."

Ginny walked around the desk and peered in Harry's face; he seemed lost in thought. "Are you saying that you think it's someone other than Percy sending the owls?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know what I think. But isn't it a bit strange that none of us have seen him for months? Including his son?"

Ginny sat on the desk, her hand on her chest. "What if someone has turned back the clock and made him forget the things he's managed to remember since coming back? What if--?"

Harry patted her hand but didn't quite know how to be reassuring about this; he didn't know anything for certain. "We'll find out what's going on. And if he's lost more memories... Wasn't Ron telling Percy that he should see Parvati?"

Ginny crossed her arms and gave him a meaningful look. "He's not the only one."

Harry rolled his eyes and stood, walking to the casement window where he could see the Hufflepuff team practicing on the Quidditch pitch. "Don't start again, please."

"You've said it yourself, Harry!" she insisted. "You have as much a right to know as--"

He whirled on her. "No, I don't, Ginny. I just don't."

"Why?"

He breathed out through his nose. "How would you feel if you found out that Tom Riddle had told Theo all of the secrets you confided in Riddle when you were eleven?"

She bit her lip. "I--I've just assumed that he did, actually," she said, her voice shaking.

"Yeah, but what if you knew for certain?"

"Harry, what does this have to do with--"

"He violated her, just like he violated you!" he cried suddenly. "And when it comes to both of you it was my fault! I don't have the right to pry into exactly what--"

Ginny stared at him. "Harry! First, it's not the same thing. If anything... well, think about it. It could have been far worse for me, and it was bad enough. But Tilda... considering how much worse it was, and the way he used you, don't you think you have an obligation to know? He violated you, too, Harry, to use you the way he did..."

Harry turned to the window again; the Hufflepuff Seeker had just caught the Snitch and her teammates were congratulating her. "That's what Ron says. And Hermione."

She snorted. "What do we have to do, get the entire wizarding world giving you the same advice before you follow it? Harry, promise me that during the holiday you'll go to Parvati. Honestly! You've known about Teddy long enough without getting to the bottom of how he exists at all."

Harry sighed, leaning on the window sill. "I just don't like to think about being his tool, his weapon..."

Ginny put her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on his back. "No one does, Harry. I suspect that Sirius felt he had to go to the Ministry because he found out that your attachment to him had been used to lure you there... But it sounds almost as though you're still trying to distract yourself from the issue by bringing up things like Percy. So he's behaving like a prat again; what else is new? Stop making excuses."

He grimaced; he couldn't put it off any longer. But as he turned and took her in his arms, resting his chin on her ducked head, he thought, Percy wasn't being a prat--he was working as a spy. We should have realised that something was off. And we should sit up and notice that something is off now.

"Okay. I'll see Parvati. I'll send Percy an owl, see if he wants to go with me, all right?"

Ginny nodded, smiling with satisfaction. "And I'm sure we'll all feel rather stupid about worrying about him when he shows up at Parvati's. He's probably just been busy with his job--you know him. An importer-exporter probably keeps him quite busy."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"When can I go out in public again?" Draco growled at Blaise Zabini. He didn't care that Blaise looked like he wanted to hex the nose off his face; he was tired of being cooped up. It was nearly as bad as Azkaban. In some ways it was worse; he didn't have to see or contemplate his mother and Zabini being together when he was in prison. "And," he added, sotto voce, "what are you doing about keeping my mother from sabotaging us again?"

Blaise was grim as he surveyed the potion's bubbling surface; he was no happier than Draco. He'd been shocked the first time Draco had turned up wearing Narcissa's body. Clearly her hair had been put in the potion, rather than Percy's, but Blaise did not know why, when, nor how to stop it. Batch after batch of very expensive potion had been ruined over a period of months; each time they'd had to start from scratch. Blaise wasn't even certain Narcissa was doing it (he wondered whether Draco was protesting too much). He doubted it was Crabbe or Goyle, their lack of brain power being the chief reason, plus their lack of ambition. Were it not for their willingness to pummel anyone Draco wanted pummeled he'd have wondered long ago how they came to be Slytherins.

That willingness to obey Draco came in handy now; he refused to try any new batch of potion, and as neither Narcissa nor Blaise were willing it came down to Crabbe and Goyle. The second time that Crabbe had tried some nothing happened--or so they thought. So they had Goyle test it--and he became Crabbe. Both denied having tampered with it and Blaise believed them. However, when Draco saw what happened to Goyle he grabbed the ladle and drank, soon becoming the third Crabbe in the room.

"What do you think you're doing?" Zabini had bellowed.

As he poured some potion into his hip flask, he said, "For once I can take Pansy out. I can't do that when I'm me, and I don't want to do that when I'm him, especially after telling the kid that I wouldn't have anything to do with her. Pansy, that is. But no one will care if Crabbe goes out with Pansy, will they?"

Crabbe perked up at that. Or it might have been Goyle. One of them said, "I can go out with Pansy?" while smiling uncertainly. Draco grabbed the front of his robes.

"You absolutely cannot go out with her. I go out with her. See you tossers later."

But Draco was correct: Crabbe could not go out with Pansy. Nor could anyone with Crabbe's face. Someone did care whether Vincent Crabbe went out with Pansy Parkinson: Pansy cared. After he finally managed to convince her that he wasn't really Crabbe, she continued to be appalled at the idea.

"I don't know what you're playing at, Draco, but I will not be seen in public with one of your goons. I have my reputation to think of! What would people say?" And then she complained about the purebloods who had very inconsiderately either ended up in Azkaban or turned into blood traitors (instead of being available to marry her), and she harangued him about not having escaped Azkaban years ago, so they could have run off together. Draco didn't think it a terrible idea, for him and Pansy to run away, and to hell with Blaise Zabini's plan. But whenever Draco seemed reluctant his mother would plead with him to think of her and he'd relent. He didn't dare tell Pansy that he wasn't running off with her because of his mother. Narcissa and Pansy didn't exactly get on; whenever Pansy stayed the night, "someone" mysteriously ordered finely diced tomatoes to be mixed into the fried eggs for breakfast. Pansy was terribly allergic and always had to go off to St Mungo's afterward.

After the potion had been ruined by Narcissa's hair and then Crabbe's, they'd had to go another month without proper Polyjuice that would allow him to infiltrate the Weasley home. The following month he turned into the spitting image of Zabini. (Draco did not like that Pansy appeared to be quite content to go out with Draco when he was wearing Zabini's face. Once she'd revealed this he refused to go anywhere with her and she'd Apparated away in high dudgeon, as he'd promised her a lovely evening out.) The last straw was the potion after that, when Goyle turned into an oversized rat and remained like that for weeks. Zabini had accused Draco of sabotage and had even tried to get Goyle to attack him, as it was "Draco's fault" he was a large rat now.

The following month Crabbe was selected for testing and nothing happened. Draco sighed; another batch tainted with Crabbe hair. He knew better than to try to take it; Pansy wouldn't stand for that again. But Zabini himself was drinking it, grinning. Draco couldn't believe it; Zabini wanted to be Crabbe? But nothing happened to Zabini. Draco frowned. "What's going on? Didn't you add anyone's hair?"

Zabini laughed. "It wouldn't matter if I did. This isn't Polyjuice Potion. I've stopped trying to make it here. I've been tending to the cauldron at my house and I have a proper supply there in which I've put some hair we collected from Weatherby." He took a large metal flask from a leather bag. Draco nodded at Zabini, smiling slowly.

"Very clever. But doesn't it still need to be tested?"

"Already did. I had breakfast with your 'parents' this morning."

Draco stared. "Well, if you don't need me after all, perhaps I can just bugger off to Gibraltar with Pansy..."

"It was just a test," Zabini said, his voice very hard. "We still have a saboteur," he added, glaring round at Crabbe, Goyle and Draco in turn. "That won't do. The holiday is coming and the perfect opportunity to carry out the plan. I believe that we know all there is to know about the spell. We can't test it on ourselves and we can't kidnap random children without the Ministry being up in arms. We need to just jump in and do it. But we can't afford traitors," he finished, eyeing each of them meaningfully again.

Crabbe and Goyle looked at Zabini guilelessly. Draco shrugged. "I have no interest in sabotage. I don't!" he added upon seeing Zabini's sceptical expression. "And neither does my mum, but if you doubt her... well, you're so close to her. You work it out."

"There's a woman I suspect... but it's not your mum." Zabini continued to glare at Draco, who dropped his jaw.

"Pansy is loyal to a fault! She would never--!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Percy backed away from the door to the dining room, smiling to himself. There was definite dissension in the ranks. Everyone was suspecting everyone else and no one was safe from being tainted as a traitor.

Except for him.

As long as he didn't leave the house he could freely go where he pleased; he interacted pleasantly with everyone but Draco and Pansy (who ordered him about as though he was a house-elf, in contrast to the perfectly civil behavior he received from Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle and Mrs Malfoy). He'd worked out that Zabini had put a spell on him similar to what wizards used on elves, and this was why it didn't seem to have crossed Zabini's mind that Percy could be behind the sabotage: he thought the spell prevented it. Percy had discovered that the spell did not in fact prevent him from doing things like working on executing unspoken, wandless spells and sabotaging the Polyjuice Potion, but nonetheless he was working on a way to get around it, so far without success, because it did prevent his leaving the house. He was very glad that the spell didn't make him shut his ears in the oven door or iron his hands every time he'd sabotaged the potion (so it wasn't precisely like the spell used on house elves). He hadn't counted on Zabini working on the potion at his own house but he knew that Zabini still didn't suspect "Weatherby". The one thing that made him nervous was that they were now planning to begin the abductions of the children. He was worried about them, since he didn't think it likely that Zabini would concern himself with their well-being, but he was also excited because of one thing in particular:

Nate will be here.

He would finally get to see his son. He had a son, a fourteen-year-old son, whom he had never seen, and although he didn't want Nate to be in danger, their bringing the children to the Malfoy home would mean that Percy would finally get to see Nate.

Unless he didn't.

What if they take the kids to Zabini's house instead? he thought, panic starting to make him shake. No, no, he tried to reassure himself. They've been planning to bring them here. They're not going to change the plan now... Percy sat at the table in the large kitchen, his head in his hands, hoping that the plan didn't change. Otherwise he didn't see how he could protect his son and the others. Ron's kids--his niece and nephews! Harry and Ginny's kids, Harry's son. And Nate. Nate Clearwater, his son.

Percy opened the table's drawer and reached far into its depths, bringing out a length of pale wood that had once been a spoon but was now a double for Pansy's wand. He needed only the opportunity to do a simple swap. He'd thought of trying to get Crabbe's or Goyle's wands, in that they were both inattentive enough to make it easy, but he was unconvinced that he could duplicate the appearance of either one, since they were both rather stubby and thick. Pansy's had the right look and she didn't seem to use it often, relying as she did upon the Floo Network to travel between her house and the Malfoys' and upon Percy to fetch her anything she needed when she stayed at the Malfoys'. He caressed the length of wood delicately, then put it back.

Soon. Very soon.

He felt almost as though he'd been anticipating the kidnaping as much as the co-conspirators, although for utterly different reasons.

I'll finally get to see my son.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Harry couldn't decide what to do with his hands. He was glad that he hadn't convinced Percy to come with him to see Parvati; a return owl had come to Hogwarts, before he and Ginny had packed up the kids and returned to St Clare's for the Easter holiday. Ginny was disappointed about that but glad Harry was taking steps to find out what had happened on his sixteenth birthday. He was doing the mature thing, putting aside his fears and confronting the past. So why do I feel like running away? he thought.

Parvati no longer just rented the space above the twins' joke shop; she had a shop of her own now, where she was talking to a customer about crystal balls. Harry was tempted to tell the witch, "A crystal ball is good for using as a magnifying glass, or an attractive paper-weight, or a mirror, in a pinch..." As far as he was concerned he'd never seen anything of note in one and still laughed when he thought of Ron's Divination OWL.

He glanced around the room into which Parvati had ushered him, the beaded curtain still clattering a little from her passage back to the front of the shop. It smelled better than Trelawney's stuffy tower classroom, but there were no visible windows. The only light came from flickering lamps set about the room on the mantel and rickety bookcases full of books on Divination. Paisley shawls and elaborately embroidered saris were draped from the ceiling and walls; incense wafted from somewhere. He felt something brush his leg; leaning down to glance under the round table's floor-length tablecloth he saw a large sleek black cat who glared up at him balefully. On the table were some Tarot cards, a crystal ball, and a tea tray.

Conversation between Parvati and the indecisive witch continued and Harry grew restless; he stood and wandered in a circle, lifting the draperies adorning the walls and finding a dirty window looking onto a brick wall, a blank wall with damaged plaster, and a door with the legend "Office" on it in simple black block letters. He let the drapery fall again and was about to sit when he finally heard the bell on the shop door tinkle; a few seconds later Parvati walked through the bead curtain, smiling apologetically.

"Sorry, Harry. I've locked up now and we shouldn't be disturbed."

"Do you not usually do readings during shop hours?" he asked, sitting at the table again.

"I have a few special clients who pay me well to close up the shop whenever they come to see me, but on the other hand, I purposefully have limited shop hours because this is how I make my living, for the most part," she said, looking somewhat abashed.

Harry felt a bit embarrassed to even be in her shop, as though it implied that he believed in Divination, which, in spite of the prophecy that had caused Voldemort to attempt to kill him, he did not. He remembered Dumbledore telling him that the prophecy was only important because Voldemort chose to make it so; it was not inevitable that it should shape both of their lives. Voldemort made a choice and that was what set the events in motion that took Harry's parents from him. He tried to continue to bear that in mind as he prowled around the dark, scented room. Nothing is carved in stone except for the past, he thought. We can all choose any future we like.

"I know that you think this is rubbish," Parvati said, waving her hand at the books on Divination, the crystal ball and the tea. "Once I would have argued with you. But..." She faltered, sitting wearily on the other chair with a dispirited sigh. "I've been trying for over ten years to have even one moment when I truly have the Sight... and nothing. I can follow formulas to do Tarot readings, and I can stare at tea leaves and say what they look like and what that means, and I can make star charts, but..."

She faltered again, drumming her fingers on the table before summarily scooping up the Tarot cards. "You know what that was, Harry? It was a reading for a wizard who comes every week, to decide what to do in his life. And what do the cards tell me every week? That his wife is cheating on him, very likely. For ages now. And I haven't the heart to tell him, mostly because I don't know whether it's really true. What if he kills her? Or himself? What if he gets depressed and can't work anymore?" She laid the cards out in an arc by sweeping her hand across the tablecloth, so that only the rainbow pattern on the backs of the cards could be seen. She plucked a card from the middle of the arc and turned it over; it showed a young man who appeared to be choosing between two women, one who seemed older, like a mother, and one younger, a maiden who seemed very much like the young man's counterpart. A Roman numeral six was at the top of the card.

"Maybe I'm not cut out for this part of it, you know, Harry? I don't even know whether I should help you get your memory back. What if you don't really want to know what happened to you when you were younger any more than that wizard probably wants to know about his wife?" She gazed at him with large apprehensive eyes.

"Please, Parvati. It's been a long time. I think I can handle it. I won't blame you no matter how bad it is. I don't believe in killing the messenger," he added, smiling at her in what he hoped was a reassuring way, even though he was more than a little nervous himself. "What do we have to do?"

She frowned. "You said you suspected that You-Know-Who possessed you and that while you were possessed you were given an order to put a memory charm on yourself. Are you sure you didn't just forget what happened because you were possessed? Ginny told me that she didn't remember what happened to her when she was possessed."

Harry sat up, feeling hopeful. "You know, you've got a good point. So would that be easier, to recover memories of something I did while possessed?"

Parvati frowned again. "Unfortunately, no. Those memories were never in your mind to begin with. So there's nothing to recover. That's the bad news. The good news is that we can discover whether there was a memory charm put on you at all, because if that's the case it can be removed. Your having that memory is your natural state. Magic that changes something from its natural state is much harder. Returning you to your natural state, to wholeness, is much easier because nature wants you to be that way. And since you were the person most likely to have performed the charm we know the wand and the person who did it. It's best if a memory charm is removed by the person who cast the spell, using the original wand. You do still have the same wand?" Harry nodded. Parvati looked grim. "All right. Close your eyes; I'm going to cast a spell that will allow me to see whether there are any areas of your mind that are 'masked' by a memory charm. Try to relax and empty your mind of distractions..."

"Distractions? Like not knowing what happened to me?" he whinged, but stopped as soon as he saw the expression on her face. "Sorry. Okay, okay; I'll try." He closed his eyes and tried not to think but he wasn't certain whether he had succeeded. He was vaguely aware of Parvati moving around him, but he couldn't make out the incantation she whispered. Then he felt the hair on his head stand up as though he'd put his finger into an electrical socket; he swallowed and tried to blank his mind but it was difficult. He felt like he'd been holding his breath when he heard Parvati sit in her chair again.

"You can open your eyes now, Harry."

His eyes sought her face; he was glad to see that she was smiling. "Well, it's official. You have had a memory charm put on you, so we can remove it. Or rather, you can remove it. It's actually a little like putting memories into a Pensieve; you cast a spell that's similar to the Pensieve spell but you remove the specific memory that has been unreachable, put it into the Pensieve, and then once you are able to examine it objectively from that viewpoint the memory becomes part of your memory again. Understand?"

"I think so. You have a Pensieve?"

She nodded, standing and going to a large cabinet sitting in the corner. "It's very useful in my work. Sometimes I need to see something one of my clients has experienced firsthand before I can understand how to read the cards or tea-leaves. I know that Sybill never resorted to this, but I find it enormously useful, since I don't have the Sight..."

Harry frowned. "Stop doing that. Isn't it better to know you don't have the Sight than to think that you do? You're still helping people."

She brought the large stone bowl to the table and set it down with a thunk. "I suppose. What a lot of people want to do is just talk about what's bothering them, about what they fear. They get things off their chest. I don't think it would really matter if I told them what was in their cards or teacups as long as I continued to listen to them. This is the first time I've done magic in this room for a very long time," she admitted.

Harry put his hand over hers on the table. "And I do appreciate it. I'm sure the others do, too. Maybe that's all they need: an ear. Not a miracle."

Parvati gave him a rueful smile. "I know. Which is why I don't mind too much that I don't have the Sight..." She moved the Pensieve a little closer to him. "Okay, now let's practice the incantation: Quidquid latet apparebit. Recordare ilia die."

Harry cleared his throat and repeated the unfamiliar words; Parvati asked him to do it five times before she was satisfied. "Good! Now, when you're doing this, you must put your wand against your temple, think very clearly of what happened just before you can't remember any more, then say the incantation while slowly drawing your wand away." Harry nodded, his stomach doing flips inside him as he realised that he was finally going to learn what had happened on his sixteenth birthday...

"Will I just suddenly remember what happened?"

"Not until you actually enter the Pensieve, to re-experience it. There are other ways to recall buried memories but this is the best way. Then you can decide whether to keep it in your mind. If you'd rather I can give you a small vial to put it in."

Harry wondered whether having it in a small glass bottle would simply tempt him to hurl the bottle into the Thames, though, and he said, "No, I think I'd better have this memory again. Really have it. There's so much that hinges on it..."

Parvati nodded. "Okay, then. You've decided. Are you picturing the time just before you lost your memory? You should include that with the lost memory so that it all flows together seamlessly... Just keep repeating the incantation until it works."

He swallowed and closed his eyes, remembering the morning of his sixteenth birthday...

He was walking up the stairs in Tilda's house; he knew somehow that it was morning. At the top of the stairs he remembered belatedly that Jack had fixed the downstairs loo. However, he was already upstairs and didn't think he could wait to go all the way back down, through the living room and kitchen, down the corridor...

Instead he shuffled toward the bathroom. He was already here; no point to turning back. But just when he'd reached the bathroom, the bedroom door suddenly swung open. He braced himself for the moment when everything would go black...

Putting his wand to his temple, he said, "Quidquid latet apparebit. Recordare ilia die. Quidquid latet apparebit. Recordare ilia die. Quidquid..."

First he felt his entire body shaking, down to the smallest molecule, it seemed. Then it was as though a storm was blowing through his mind; there was a rush of whiteness and the sensation that a great hook was tugging at a part of his brain; he wanted to scream but his voice seemed to be gone. He could see nothing behind his eyelids but a pale stream of life, of figures moving too quickly to be identified, events passing too quickly to be understood. He tried to remember to draw his wand down to the Pensieve, to store the memory there, and was vaguely aware of Parvati's hand on his arm, guiding him.

"Quidquid latet apparebit. Recordare ilia die. Quidquid latet apparebit. Recor--"

And then, abruptly, he could see the corridor outside Tilda's bedroom again; he was seeing it, he realised, from the floor; he was vaguely aware of his tailbone aching...

With a great effort, he opened his eyes and whispered, "Finite incantatem." He stopped shaking. He wasn't certain how long he'd been in that state; it was as though his heart had stopped, he'd so quickly become accustomed to it. He looked at Parvati, apprehensive. "Did we get it?" he whispered.

"Let's find out," she whispered back. They leaned over the Pensieve; Parvati stirred the whitish contents with the tip of her wand. A sort of circular window opened up on the surface, looking into the upstairs corridor in Tilda's Little Whinging house.

"Yeah," Harry breathed. "That's Tilda's house."

Parvati peered at him, biting her lip a little. "Are you sure you want to go in alone? Or today? Perhaps this is enough for today. I can set this aside for you..."

Harry cleared his throat. "I've waited long enough. I'll go in." He stood up and took a deep breath, prodding the Pensieve contents with his wand while Parvati took a step back from the table. He bent over and felt his nose touch the surface, as it had so long ago when he was snooping into Dumbledore's Pensieve. As he had then, he felt the flipping, tumbling sensation as his body was drawn into the Pensieve; he closed his eyes and when he opened them again he was in Tilda's house, standing behind his sixteen-year-old self, who was approaching the door to the bathroom, plodding along sleepily.

His younger self got farther along the corridor than he remembered; his hand was on the doorknob and he was about to enter the bathroom when the bedroom door was flung open. This time, instead of everything going black, Harry saw the person in the doorway. He felt every cell in his body, it seemed, shaking as he stared. Can't be...Impossible...

"No!" he cried, closing his eyes and leaping upward, tumbling in the air and onto the floor next to the small, round table, barely missing landing on Parvati herself. She crouched on the floor beside him; he remembered Tilda crouching next to him, then standing up too quickly, lying about not knowing what had happened, lying to him, asking him whether it was his scar, telling him that he was just sleepy. I'm not sleepy now, he thought. He didn't want to believe it. Yet he finally understood so much...

Harry looked up at Parvati, who seemed to think she had killed him. "I'm okay. Help me up?" She did and they both sat at the table again, the Pensieve between them. It took all of the self-control that Harry could muster not to fling it across the room. But he didn't want Parvati to think he blamed her; he was the one who couldn't handle the truth. She had warned him that this might be difficult.

"Harry?" she whispered. He gazed at her, unseeing; instead he seemed to be seeing Ginny's face, wondering how on earth he could ever tell her the truth. This will kill her...

"What was it?" Parvati asked, breathless.

"Someone else was there," he said softly, turning away from her as though she really was Ginny. He couldn't face Ginny, Parvati or any woman. Not after what he'd done. Even though he hadn't actually done it. Yet.

"Someone else? So You-Know-Who didn't possess you? Someone else was in the house? Did he put Imperius on you? And make you--erm--" She bit her lip.

"Make me sleep with her? Or worse--make me rape her? I don't think so. I can usually overcome Imperius, for one thing... And for another, I'm as certain as I can be that he was the one who slept with her. He was in the bedroom doorway wearing nothing but boxers. When Tilda was checking on me I think she was only wearing her dressing gown... She kept holding the neck closed..."

Parvati gasped. "So--you don't think you're Teddy's father, then?"

Harry prodded the contents of the Pensieve idly with his wand, gazing into its depths, seeing the familiar figure in the doorway. "No. I'm Teddy's father all right."

She frowned, then leaned over the Pensieve, her jaw dropping when she saw the same figure. "But--but--how?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" Something caught his eye on a shelf behind Parvati's head: a large hour-glass filled with shining silver sand. Immediately, he knew what he should do. "Fortunately, one of my best friends happens to have experience with this..."

"Who? Ron Weasley? Experience with--what exactly?"

But Harry had already Disapparated. Parvati made a sceptical noise and pointed her wand at the teapot, causing it to start steaming immediately. "Experience with cheating on his wife?" she mumbled to herself as she spooned tea leaves into the pot. She had been nervous about doing this but now she felt even worse, as Ginny had become a friend to her over the years. Am I helping Harry to cheat on Ginny? she wondered, her heart beating very fast as she contemplated the Pensieve, willing herself not to peer over the rim and into its depths, since Harry had not invited her to do so.

"What good will talking to Ron do you?" she asked the Pensieve, for lack of anyone else to talk to. The only outcomes she could imagine would be Ron trying to kill Harry for cheating on Ginny or Ron siding with Harry, telling him he'd done nothing wrong, as many men would do. Parvati sighed noisily as she poured the hot tea into her cup.

"Men."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Hermione! You've got to help me!" Harry said urgently as soon as his vision cleared and he could see her sitting at the desk in her small office. Her daughter was sleeping in a cot in the corner and Hermione didn't even seem a little surprised that one of her best friends had just Apparated into her Ministry office. She continued to read a parchment.

"Have a seat, Harry. I'll be with you in a minute. You know, it's rather rude to Apparate into someone's office. You didn't go past security, for one thing. In future the least you can do is arrive in the corridor and knock first." She kept her eyes to the parchment so firmly that Harry wondered how she knew it was him; then he remembered that he'd shouted at her. (Also rude.) He felt nettled and guilty simultaneously; he knew it was selfish of him to assume that she would be available to help at a moment's notice, yet this was important. He didn't want help with schoolwork; his life was falling apart.

"It's probably not a good idea not to look at visitors to your office," he commented in what he hoped was a casual voice; he felt irked at the guilty feeling that had come over him. They weren't in school anymore and she had other concerns, a job, a husband and a child. Yes, I'm a cad. Typical male, taking advantage of the women in my life... Yet he couldn't contain his impatience; after what seemed an eternity she was still staring at the parchment. Harry couldn't take it any longer. "Hermione, I need to know: have they made any more Time-Turners? The Ministry? Erm, the Unspeakables, I mean."

She jerked her head up and narrowed her eyes. "Why on earth are you asking me that? You know they were all destroyed when--"

"--when we wrecked the Department of Mysteries, I know, I know. But that was fifteen years ago! Are you telling me that nothing's been done to repair the damage we did?"

Hermione fixed him with a knowing eye. "What is this about, Harry? You know very well that I'm not an Unspeakable; I have no idea what the employees in the Department of Mysteries get up to. And if you want me to sneak in there and find out, the answer is no. As it is, I'm lucky I was hired at all, considering that I participated in a sort of raid on the Ministry in my fifth year. Of course, no one else wants this job, so..."

"Hermione! We were fighting Death Eaters! We didn't raid the--"

"Yes, well, you don't know how many times I've been accosted on the lifts by these old codgers who've been around here forever. They smirk at me and say, 'Ah, you're that young firebrand who came in here to do battle in the Department of Mysteries and who's always going on about treating elves like wizards,' as though both of those things are the most idiotic ideas they've ever heard. They might as well be patting me on the head for all the respect I get." She slammed down the parchment, frowning.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, meaning it. He sat in one of the chairs facing her desk and let out a great sigh. "I don't know whether it's any comfort, but I respect you. I always have done. And I'm sorry that I'm here asking you for help..."

She looked up at him. "Oh, no, Harry, don't be! I'm sorry; I'm feeling rather out of sorts today, and I just discovered that one of those Ministry officials who are always verbally patting me on the head has been keeping his elf in tablecloths and making her beat herself up every time she makes his tea too strong or starches his underwear..."

Harry snorted. "Maybe the starch was supposed to send a message to him?" he suggested, glad that she was finally cracking a smile.

"Yes," she confirmed, laughing. "I think it was. Stupid old sod! I hope it hurt," she added, an edge to her voice. Frances started moving around in her cot, making wakeful noises, and Hermione went to her, picking her up and holding her closely. Peering over the top of the baby's head, she said, "Harry--why are you asking me about Time-Turners? Surely you should have learned from my experience in third year that they're a bad idea."

She sat with the baby on her lap and Harry stared down at his hands. "It's not that I want to use one right now. It's just that I'm wondering: is it even possible to use a Time-Turner now? Are there any left? Have new ones been created?"

Hermione frowned at him again. "I don't know, but I would guess the answer is that there's no longer such a thing as a Time-Turner."

Harry ran his hand through his hair and paced before her desk. "Then how else can someone travel back through time? You talked about time-traveling wizards not being careful... How did they do it? Did they all use Time-Turners? Is there another way?"

Hermione frowned. "I don't think so, Harry. As far as I know, Time-Turners were the only way, and now they're all gone. Just as well, if you ask me. It's not good to be tempted to mess with time. I learned my lesson..."

Harry glared at her so hard that she had to drop her eyes. "How can you say that when we couldn't have saved Sirius without your Time-Turner? And Buckbeak?"

She bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Harry, but don't you feel like, well... Like we were trying to cheat fate when we did that? Did it really work out in the end? Temporarily, but--"

"Hermione, I need to know how to travel back in time at least fifteen years without a Time-Turner!" he interrupted her; he didn't want to listen to a lecture from her about cheating fate; he wondered sometimes whether he'd spent the last thirty years cheating fate, ever since he'd survived the Killing Curse. It didn't bear thinking about.

She staried at him now in disbelief. "Are you mad? Even with a Time-Turner it isn't practical to go back that far. Do you know how many times you'd need to flip it to go back even one year? Think, Harry: one flip for one hour, twenty-four hours in a day, three-hundred sixty-five days in a year. That's... eight-thousand seven-hundred sixty times!" she calculated quickly, waving her wand over a piece of parchment. "And to do that fifteen times would mean--"

"I get it, I get it," he said quickly.

She grimaced. "Why would you want to do that anyway, Harry? Fifteen years ago you were--"

"Nearly sixteen. Still in fifth year."

She dropped her jaw. "No, Harry. Absolutely not! I will not help you to save Sirius, as much as I cared about him. He's gone and you just have to accept it!" she said with a desperate note in her voice; he could see tears in her eyes.

He swallowed, not wanting to admit the real reason for his inquiry. He nodded and sat, staring at the floor. "You're right, of course, Hermione. He's gone..."

"Oh, Harry," she said helplessly, "it's just hit you again, hasn't it? They say that can happen... Fifteen years..."

Still not meeting her eyes, he stood. "Well, I'm just lucky I have you to talk sense into me, Hermione. And as you said, even with a Time-Turner it would be impossible, anyway."

She forced a laugh. "It'd be barking mad," she confirmed, making him frown for a moment; she didn't sound entirely like herself. That was something Ron usually said.

"Seen Ron lately?" he said suddenly, to see what she said.

She hesitated before saying, "Erm, no. Not for a long while, actually. I rather miss him. He's--avoiding me, I think. What made you ask that?"

He examined her face now, since he had nothing to hide. But she did have something to hide, it seemed; she didn't meet his eyes as she returned the sleepy Frances to her cot, and then she was rearranging the items on her desk in a show of being busy.

"Just--he always says that--'barking mad'--and you never do. I wondered if you'd seen him and he was sort of rubbing off on you."

She was pushing the parchments around on her desk in true desperation now. "No, no, erm, rubbing off. Although maybe I was just--thinking about him. Because you came to see me. And--so I started talking like him. Stupid, really..."

Harry nodded, unconvinced. She was being very weird about Ron. "That makes sense," he lied. "Well, thanks for your help... for talking sense into me. If there are no more Time-Turners then I reckon I'm safe from myself, you know? It was good to see you."

She stood and walked around the desk, hugging him quickly and giving him a peck on the cheek. Her own cheeks had been rather flushed ever since the subject of Ron had come up. "It was good to see you, too. I'm--I'm so sorry about Sirius, you know that? I always have been. I wish we'd known that he wasn't actually at the Ministry..."

Harry patted her arm. "Don't think about it, Hermione. It's a long time ago."

She shook her head. "Not long enough. That's why it's still fresh in your mind."

He grimaced, feeling guilty both for misleading her and for not thinking about Sirius very often. "I reckon," he said vaguely. "I should go. I'll tell Ginny you said hello."

"Yes, and we'll see you on Easter! My mum and dad are off visiting my aunt in Barbados so Molly invited us to dinner, along with Neville's gran. It would be so small and lonely for the three of us to go see just her; she misses Algie and Enid so much."

"Right. See you Sunday," he said, nodding, before Disapparating. He concentrated hard on returning properly to Parvati's shop instead of thinking of the clash of wills that would occur by putting Augusta Longbottom into the same house with Molly. He hoped Fleur and Bill would be coming as well; then Fleur could put them both in their places.

After telling Parvati that it was official, he couldn't travel back through time fifteen years--or even fifteen hours--without a Time-Turner, he actually felt quite light-hearted and decided to leave the memory he'd retrieved with her; he didn't want to see it and remember it, because there was really no point. It was an impossibility now. It wasn't going to happen. He Apparated back to the graveyard surrounding St Clare's Chapel and strode jauntily to the house, whistling. It's okay, he thought. I'm not going to travel back in time and cheat on Ginny with Tilda. There's nothing to worry about.

He thought this just as he reached out to grasp the doorknob and let himself into his house; instead of feeling solid bronze his hand went right through the knob. He stumbled forward in surprise, expecting to knock his head painfully against the door but instead falling through it. He glanced around the messy vestibule, confused. Standing before him, as solid-looking as Harry thought he ought to have been, was the living, breathing figure of Mad-Eye Moody, glaring at him. Harry lifted his hand, staring at it; he could see through to the stone flags on the floor and he stared at Moody again, hoping that this time he'd see through the Auror, as he'd done for fifteen years, but he did not.

Moody's magical eye rotated around; his gaze seemed to penetrate the ceiling. Harry heard one of the twins scream and he felt a panic seize him. "So, Potter," Moody said to him as though a chilling scream hadn't just rung through the house and it was perfectly normal that he should be a solid, living person and Harry a ghost; "did you work it out yet?"

"What?" Harry said, incredulous at how cold-blooded he could be. But I'm the one who's cold-blooded, aren't I? Or no-blooded, rather. Bloody hell... "I--I don't--"

"Blame yourself? Well, I'm not saying there isn't blame to be had. Accepting blame when it's due is a good habit to get into. But right now you need to stop feeling guilty and tell yourself that you'll find a way."

"I'll find a way?" The shrill scream came again.

"Aye. You may not want to, but you will. Say it. Or at least think it."

It took Harry a second to realise what he was supposed to say. "I'll find a way to time-travel," he whispered, the meaning of what Mad-Eye had said suddenly dawning on him.

Immediately, he could see through Mad-Eye, as usual, and his own body was reassuringly solid and opaque once more. However, all was not well in the bedroom above him; the shrill cry went up an octave and Harry sprinted for the stairs.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ron followed Harry to the kitchen. St Clare's was very quiet, especially compared to the Easter Day mayhem of The Burrow, with twelve kids from the ages of seventeen months to fourteen years in attendance. They'd been talking in Ron's old room while Ginny, Luna and the kids were downstairs with Molly and Arthur, but when Harry suggested they come to St Clare's to talk Ron had agreed, suggesting that they could get both some peace and some butterbeer.

"What's up?" Ron wanted to know as he sat at the table.

Harry shook his head, went to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of Butterbeer. "I didn't want someone to hear us talking. Not sure why I went, anyway. Ginny gave me the chance to stay here; loads of other people are there, so Ginny won't miss me..."

"Of course she'll miss you," Ron countered, frowning at Harry's morose tone of voice. Harry's demeanour was decidedly odd, and if he'd been about to conduct an interview with someone Ron would have been prepared to swear that he would be getting a confessional; Harry seemed like a man with nothing to lose. Or everything to lose.

"Don't bet on it... She's not very happy with me just now. Ron... I don't know how to tell you this," Harry choked out. "But--but I think I'm going to cheat on Ginny..."

Ron stared at him in disbelief. "Wh--what? What are you talking about? Do you want me to tell you not to?" His face hardened. "I can beat the urge out of you, if you like. Just say the word. Or hex you out of it, your choice."

Harry sat down at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. "Ginny knows..."

Ron leaned on the table, his hands flat on the wooden surface. "Well, no wonder she's not happy with you! Ginny knows?" he shouted not six inches from Harry's face, although Harry was partly protected from Ron's saliva by his hands covering his head.

Frowning at his best friend and brother-in-law, Harry said quietly, "My hands are all wet, Ron."

Ron started pacing. "Oh, yeah, you're telling me that you're going to cheat on my sister and that she knows, and the big problem here is that I spit when I talk?"

"No... I was just saying..." Harry replied in a dreary voice, as though he'd lost the will to live. His head was in his hands again. Ron stared at the top of his head, frowning.

"For someone who's going to be cheating on your wife you don't sound very happy about it. Couldn't you at least have chosen an attractive mistress?" he drawled, trying to suppress the urge to throttle Harry by falling back on sarcasm.

Harry furrowed his brow in disbelief. "Why should I be happy about it? I don't want to cheat on Ginny. Ever since I found out I've been miserable..."

Ron sat down on the opposite side of the table from Harry and opened his Butterbeer. Harry's was still untouched. "I must be missing something here. What do you mean 'found out'? You're acting like it's something you have no control over."

Harry uncovered his face again and sighed, looking Ron in the eye. "Well, I do, technically, but in a way not doing it would be worse than doing it..."

Ron furrowed his brow. "Brilliant. Could you be a little less clear, Harry? I wasn't confused enough..." It was increasingly difficult for Ron to rein in the sarcasm.

He saw Harry swallow. "It's Tilda. I'm going to cheat on Ginny with Tilda. And if I don't... who knows what will happen?"

Ron was stunned for a moment but then decided that Harry couldn't be serious. He snorted. "Yeah, right. You think Snape is going to let you sleep with his wife? Did someone Confund you? Did you dare the twins to do something? Ours, not yours. Fred and George. Because I know from experience that you do not dare them, ever..."

"Ron! I went to see Parvati. I know what I had forgotten now. On my sixteenth birthday I was in Tilda's bedroom. This me--an adult me. I put the memory charm on my sixteen-year-old self so I'd forget seeing the adult me. It's going to be soon. In the Pensieve I didn't look much older than I am now. What am I going to do?"

Ron sighed; he'd never intended to tell Harry, but this was a dire situation; he was going to cheat on Ginny if he didn't do something. The truth seemed as good a weapon as any. "Harry... I know what you're going through. I never thought I'd cheat on Luna, but--"

"You cheated on Luna?" Harry gasped.

"Ssshh!" Ron moved his eyes around the room nervously, as though someone could overhear. "Yes and no..."

"Yes and no? Ron, you either cheated or you didn't."

"Well... It's a long story..."

Ron knocked on Hermione's office door. When there was no response he tried the knob; with the door open a crack he could see her sitting at her desk, staring at the blotter. She hadn't noticed him knocking or entering. "Hermione?" he said uncertainly, wondering whether someone had died.

"Hm? Oh, Ron..." she finally said, shaking her head as though awaking from a trance. Her eyes focussed at last. "What are you doing here?"

"Interviewing Scrimgeour. I thought I'd see if you want to have lunch. Do you ever leave the office? Can't you get them to give you a window? It's a tomb down here."

She shrugged. "Not hungry..." Dark circles were under her eyes, on sallow skin.

Ron sat on her desk after pushing a pile of parchments to one side; he knew she was very glum because she didn't complain. "What happened? Someone abusing his elf? Or is it an elf you're trying to help who doesn't want any, who likes the old ways?"

She swallowed and shook her head. "It's not work. Well, in a way it is..."

She was going to make this difficult, he could tell. Getting information out of her had always been like pulling teeth. "I've got time. When I get back I'll only be put to work, either writing up a story or taking care of the kids. While I'm here I'm off the hook."

She frowned at him. "Off the hook? But you've got--obligations. You're never really 'off the hook', are you? Do you want to be?"

"I didn't mean... Hermione, this isn't about me. What's going on?"

She sighed and stood, walking round the desk. "The usual. Still not pregnant. And I'm, erm, fertile again, but I feel like, if we tried again, we'd only be disappointed again..."

Ron tried not to laugh, she seemed so distraught. "I can guarantee that if you don't try you won't get pregnant. I don't really want to think about Neville in bed with anyone..." He forced a laugh but tears were rolling down her cheeks now. He didn't know where to turn; he felt there had to be a graceful way to escape if he could only think of it...

"Oh, Ron!" she cried, throwing her arms around him and sobbing. He patted her back awkwardly, reminded uncomfortably of third year. He'd had no idea what to do then with a girl in his arms--especially Hermione--but he felt no more comfortable about this now that she was married to Neville and he to Luna. If anything he was less comfortable; what if someone found them and got the wrong idea?

Ron surreptitiously reached for his wand and put a locking charm on the door before enfolding her in his arms to comfort her. He felt he could be more helpful if he wasn't jumpy and worried about being discovered. Rita Skeeter would love the chance to drag his name through the mud; if it involved dragging Hermione's through it at the same time that would be a fringe benefit. She took every opportunity to bash Hermione and the job she was doing and if she could throw a sex scandal into the mix she'd be ecstatic.

After crying into his chest Hermione lifted her head to gaze at him with shining eyes. "Thank you, Ron," she whispered, her hand on his cheek; it was rough with stubble because he'd rushed out without shaving. An alarm should have gone off in his head when he saw the way she was gazing at him but somehow he'd never assumed that women were interested in him so a Hermione wanting more than friendly comfort didn't cross his mind; others misconstruing what they were doing had crossed his mind, because he knew how others' minds worked (which usually served him well as a reporter), but he'd been shocked the first time Luna had flirted with him on the train to Hogwarts, in his fifth year. He always needed to be told when a woman was chatting him up; inside he still felt like an awkward fourteen-year-old rejected by Fleur Delacour, something he remembered rather painfully every time he saw his brother Bill and his wife.

He wasn't precisely certain how he came to be kissing her; he had a vague idea that she'd pulled his face down to hers after gazing into his eyes for what seemed an eternity but it quickly turned into a mutual activity, arms snaking around each other, her mouth sliding down his throat while her fingers worked at the fastenings on his robes...

It wasn't as though he didn't think about her occasionally, but he always felt very guilty about it; more than once he'd awoken from a vivid dream about her, turned over in bed and started caressing Luna, only to have her ask him what he'd been dreaming about. He'd been grateful for the dark bedroom when he'd lied to her and said that she'd been in his dream, so he'd wanted to make the dream reality. Luna was no fool, however; he had a feeling she didn't believe him. The irony was that he did often dream of his wife, lovely dreams that reminded him how much he loved her and was attracted to her, but they always seemed to come when he was away and couldn't take her in his arms. When he was by her side his mind mutinously conjured up images of Hermione...

In no time they were down to their underwear and Hermione was lying on her robe on the desk, which had unceremoniously been cleared of various files and office supplies. Ron paused before joining her on the desk, his heart pounding quickly, but then he got a glimpse of a wedding photo lying on the floor, and he stopped, appalled at himself. In the photo Hermione and Neville were kissing. They would be kissing forever in that picture, wearing their wedding clothes, anticipating their wedding night. Or so Ron thought; Neville broke the kiss and turned to face him, raising his eyebrows at Ron's lack of clothes. Ron gasped and picked up his robes, pulling them around his waist.

"What's wrong, Ron?"

"What's wrong?" he exploded; it was like a dam had burst. "What's not? We can't do this, Hermione. I can't believe we almost..."

She swung her legs over the side of the desk. "What do you mean? I--I though you wanted to--"

"I did. I very stupidly did. Listen, we're not in school anymore and we're not just going out with Neville and Luna. We're married to them! I don't know what you're trying to accomplish, but--" Then he realised and gasped. "Hermione! You're using me!"

She reddened. "I--I don't know what you're--"

"You do know! Neville hasn't been able to get you pregnant so you want to get a baby from me! I'm sorry, Hermione, I don't appreciate being used as a stallion..."

She snorted. "Fancy yourself a stallion, do you? It's not as though you're not impressive, but really, Ron, you do think a lot of yourself, don't you?"

He felt his face grow warm. "You know what I mean. You're treating me like someone who can just father a child for someone else and then walk away... And what would Neville think if the kid turned up with hair that was even a little reddish?"

She shrugged. "The odds are against it, actually, with my dark hair... Luna's blond, so that wasn't fighting your red hair so much, but even you and Luna don't have four kids with bright red hair--it's a little muted, strawberry blond..."

"This isn't the time for a lecture about hair-colour, Hermione! You're trying to use me!"

She stood and dressed, her face also red. "You didn't object a few minutes ago. I just--I don't know if I'll ever be a mother if--if we don't get some sort of help..."

Ron decided that he should also dress or it would be awkward with her fully clothed again and him standing there with his robe held around his waist. "So the Healers and Muggle doctors have said Neville's the problem? You know now?"

After they were dressed Hermione sat on her desk again so Ron sat next to her, not touching her, feeling very embarrassed by what had almost happened. And by what had actually happened, the two of them ripping off their clothes, kissing with abandon...

"No," she said simply. "According to them there's nothing wrong with Neville."

Ron's head was swimming. "What? Then what good would it do for you to sleep with me? Are you sure? Then why did you expect to get pregnant with me?"

"You don't understand. There's nothing wrong with me." Ron blinked. He felt like he was missing something. Her voice had gone very soft; she stared into space as she spoke. "When I was younger I used to picture our wedding. Yours and mine. I think I was in third year when I started, but it became more detailed in fourth year. I'd picture our children--a boy and a girl. Of course, I mostly pictured killing you in fifth year... But even when I despaired of you I never imagined having children with anyone else..."

She sighed deeply. "You see, I've been pregnant before. The doctors and Healers agree. I spontaneously aborted; they don't know why. I don't have anything in common with other women who spontaneously abort. They've no idea why those pregnancies didn't last." She sighed again, then used her wand to make the fallen files fly up onto the desk, neatly arranging themselves. "It isn't as though I even know how we'd fit a baby into our lives. I've got a million things to do right now. There are three cases of blatant elf abuse coming before the Wizengamot next week that I'm still gathering evidence for, I'm still trying to find positions for several elves who got the sack, Neville's in Farnham, trying to catch a wizard who's cursing antique desks and then selling them to Muggles..."

"Neville's in Farnham? As in--living there? Not at home?"

She nodded. "Yeah. So?"

"Hermione... What if we had--you know. Don't you think Neville would have worked out that he wasn't the father? Hair colour aside? If I didn't know better I'd say you wanted to be caught..."

She stared at him, her mouth open slightly. "I--I don't know what to say, Ron," she whispered. She looked down at her hands, frowning. "Did I want to be caught?"

Ron felt a righteous anger move through him. "And it's not as though you gave any thought to me or to Luna, let alone your husband. Do you want a child, Hermione?" he demanded. "Sounds like you're too busy mothering all of the house elves in Britain! You've just replaced me and Harry with the elves. You used to mother us all of the time, scheduling our every moment. Maybe you're right; you can't fit a baby into your life. You don't want to! I shouldn't be surprised if you were doing something magical to prevent yourself from getting or staying pregnant, whether you know it or not! Perhaps before mucking about in someone else's marriage you ought to work out what you really want, including whether you want to be married to Neville and have his kid. And the next time you want a friend to get you pregnant, do me a favour and call Harry, not me!"

He stormed out of her office and the next time he heard from her she and Neville were calling together, their disembodied heads sitting in the living room fire, to say that they were going to have a baby...

Harry was staring at Ron, incredulous. "Wow," was all he could think to say at first. "That explains a lot..."

Ron stared at him. "Like what?"

"Like why you avoid each other now. When I just bring up your name Hermione won't even look at me. I think she was thinking of you, too, because she was talking like you."

"Yeah, well..." Ron grimaced, then said, "I wasn't too keen on facing Neville, either. I didn't know whether she'd told him. He didn't seem very happy with me when I saw him but I couldn't very well ask whether she'd said anything, so... Avoidance."

Harry nodded. "That's what you meant when you said both yes and no to whether you'd cheated. You were naked with Hermione--"

"Not naked! Underwear!" Ron reminded him.

"--in her office," Harry finished, brushing aside Ron's protest. "By the way, remind me never to go there again, all right? The last thing I need is to picture the two of you..."

Ron snorted. "It's not as though I'm going back soon, either. But no, that's not what I meant. I meant--that time was the 'no.' There was another time..."

"What?" Harry cried, his eyes round.

"Okay, that time could be considered a partial 'yes' and a partial 'no.' And so could the other time, in a way, because even though we really did shag we weren't married yet... although she was seeing Neville and I was seeing Luna..."

Harry cleared his throat. "The last time I checked, if you were seeing other people, even though you weren't married, you cheated. Where was I? When was this?"

Ron sighed. "Do you remember the day we found Hagrid?"

Harry drew his mouth into a line. "Vividly. I'm never likely to forget..."

They found him at the edge of the forest, shot through with arrows that had found their mark again and again. Ron remembered the night of their Astronomy OWL, seeing Hagrid running through the castle gates carrying Fang, the Aurors' curses bouncing off him in a way the arrows had not. They didn't know yet that they were meant to make the mistake of thinking that the centaurs had done it. Harry didn't want to leave him; Ron could tell that he needed a good cry without being seen by his best friend. Ron needed the same thing, so he volunteered to find Dumbledore and tell Hermione.

Ron found Dumbledore talking to Phineas Nigellus's portrait very calmly. After he explained why he'd come Dumbledore leapt to his feet, telling Ron to find McGonagall. He found them together, Hermione in the armchair by the fire while McGonagall sat behind her desk; they were having tea and biscuits. He explained what had happened; McGonagall practically flew from the room. Hermione had stood to attention when he'd told them, then sank into the chair again, her face a mask of shock. He knelt before her, taking her hands, worried that this could send her into catatonia. He wasn't prepared for her eyes to suddenly wake up as she slid onto the floor and threw her arms around him, sobbing into his chest. He felt his own tears start and he clutched at her for dear life.

After they cried for a while he became aware that they had their hands in 'inappropriate' places; they weren't supposed to touch that way anymore. And even though, during most of his life, Ron was convinced that the last thing any girl wanted was to kiss him, at that moment he was convinced that Hermione wanted this very much, so he pressed his lips to hers. He wasn't wrong. Hermione immediately responded, pulling him closer, her hand moving to an even more inappropriate place and Ron later wondered whether they'd have ended up shagging on the floor of McGonagall's office if there hadn't been a knock at the door at just that moment. Ron didn't know how he extricated himself, stood and answered the door. Flitwick was surprised to see them, his bushy eyebrows flying up into his hair. He was looking for McGonagall; Ron explained what had happened and the three of them ran down to Hagrid's hut together. Ron and Hermione did not meet each other's eyes.

The three professors levitated Hagrid together. Before they left, Fang walking morosely by Dumbledore's side, McGonagall said to Harry, Ron and Hermione, with a catch in her voice, "Can you three look after his house? Make sure there isn't still a fire burning, that sort of thing... Loose, erm, creatures..."

They agreed wordlessly. Ron had been able to tell, when he and Hermione and Flitwick had first arrived at the hut, that Harry had been crying, although he'd dried his eyes. Ron could feel his tears fighting to get out again as he took in the familiar and homely one-room hut, which suddenly seemed large and yawning and desolate. Pheasants and joints of mutton hung from the ceiling, dirty dishes sat in the old stone sink, and the large wooden table held an intricately-woven animal trap that Hagrid had been working on. A fire was still burning but they couldn't bring themselves to put it out. Hermione knelt on the hearth, sobs wracking her body as she stared at the flames; Ron went to her, holding her shaking body as she wept. It was so strange to be in the little house without Hagrid's massive presence overwhelming it. Ron couldn't stop his own tears; he ceased caring whether Harry saw. Harry was staring at the dead birds hanging from the ceiling, his jaw clenched. Ron knew whom Harry wanted to cry on; it wasn't him or Hermione.

"Go find Ginny," he said croakily, still holding Hermione tightly. Harry turned away, nodding, and left the hut without another word. Ron checked Hermione's face; she seemed even more distraught than she was in the office.

"Oh, Ron!" she said, her voice shaking. "I'm such a terrible, terrible person..."

He shook his head, tenderly brushing her hair out of her eyes. "Ssshh. Of course you're not. What are you talking about?"

"In Arithmancy...my homework. The numbers, the signs... They all pointed to my losing someone close to me. The numbers didn't point to Harry. I thought that it meant that--that--" She hiccoughed. "When you came into McGonagall's office and said it was Hagrid... I'm so awful! The first thing I thought was, 'Thank goodness it isn't you!'" Her lip shook as she gazed at him; this time she was the one brushing hair out of his eyes. "I know we haven't been at all close since we broke up, but the thought that I was going to lose you...really lose you..."

Ron clutched at her more tightly. "You could never lose me, Hermione. That doesn't make you a terrible person, being relieved. I know you love Hagrid."

"I do!" she said vehemently. "I do love Hagrid!" She continued to gaze into his eyes; their faces were very close and the unspoken statement hung between them, as tangible as the bodies they held so tightly. The next thing Ron knew, they were kissing again...

Later, Ron remembered saying repeatedly, "You could never lose me, never lose me..."

Hermione seemed to be repeating, "I thought it was you, I thought it was you..."

He could tell that she'd done this before. When they'd been together she'd wanted to do this when he didn't and he'd wanted to when she didn't; they always had crossed signals. Now she seemed to have all sorts of knowledge, preferences and specific tasks she wanted carried out. He ended up feeling a bit cross and ordered about. And then he realised what they'd done.

Luna.

And Neville.

They had cheated. Ron felt ill in the pit of his stomach. This was not good; nothing good ever came of sneaking around. They dressed without looking at each other and returned to the castle, not touching as they walked. Ron's tears were far behind him and Hermione was also dry-eyed. The next day they spoke very little to each other and avoided being alone together. She kissed Neville affectionately before they went to bed in their separate dormitories. He joked and laughed with Luna, although she had an expression about her eyes that made him wonder whether she somehow simply knew.

They never spoke of what occurred in the hut and Ron never told Luna that the reason that he was afraid to marry her was that he worried that he would cheat on her again and hurt her unspeakably.

Harry looked uncertainly at Ron. "You--you were grieving. You weren't married--"

Ron shook his head. "So what? You just said--it's still cheating. It was wrong."

Harry sighed. "You were both grief-stricken. She'd thought you were going to die..."

Ron glared. "Don't make excuses for us. You want me to make excuses for you?"

Harry froze; the silence seemed to stretch forever. At last Ron stood, running his hand through his hair. "I know you think I'm an opportunist who'll do anything for a shag..."

"I do not think that, Ron!" Harry gasped.

Ron was sceptical. "I'm not proud of myself. I'm not happy with what I nearly did and what I actually did the day we found Hagrid, but just because those things happened doesn't mean I give you a pass if you cheat on my sister! That's not why I told you."

Harry shook his head. "Of course it's not. But Ron... this is different. I don't want to cheat on Ginny. But, well, have you had any problems recently with--your body?"

"What are you getting at?" Ron looked like he thought Harry should be sharing Lockhart's ward at St Mungo's; Harry wasn't so sure that he shouldn't be there as well.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Draco Malfoy was in hell. Boiling oil, burning lava, being flayed alive or eternally pushing a stone uphill would have been quite welcome compared to--

"Uncle Percy, Uncle Percy, do it again!"

Draco knew he would be incredibly sore in the morning from the many small children hanging off him, riding him and otherwise stepping on his feet, pulling his hair and ears, forcibly ripping his spectacles off his face (he wished Percy had normal vision!) and, the ultimate indignity, urinating on him. (Can't Potter's wife and that Mudblood, Granger, work out how to put a nappy on a baby so that it contains the waste?)

He tried not to groan as he resumed crawling about the lawn of The Burrow carrying Diana and Hal (ages three and five). He'd already given a ride to Cedric (age six), Frances (otherwise known as Leaky Nappy Number One) and Charlotte (Leaky Nappy Number Two). He was now also re-christening Diana (Female Thinks I'm a Loo) and Hal (Male Thinks I'm a Loo) inasmuch as they had decided to christen his clothing--again. Bloody hell. Shouldn't your child be trained not to relieve himself away from the toilet before you let him ride someone around like a sodding camel?

He'd thought they had a foolproof plan; he had 'helped' Molly Weasley prepare for the children to visit on Easter by setting the Easter eggs she'd made around the garden and house, and the children had all enjoyed searching for the eggs while the mothers sat in wicker chairs, chatting, and the fathers--Potter and Weasley--disappeared into the house or Arthur Weasley's garage workshop. (Arthur and Bill were examining enchanted Muggle contraptions Draco was certain were illegal.) Longbottom wasn't present, fortunately, since he was called into service at the last minute as a substitute Azkaban guard.

Potter's son was hanging about with Percy Weasley's and Snape's sons; Potter's twin daughters followed Bill Weasley's veela-like daughter everywhere. The eldest Weasley boy, Percy II, watched his sister, brothers and cousins ride on his uncle; he did not ask for a ride himself (being nine years old). And fortunately, Snape and his Muggle wife were off on holiday (the Isle of Wight) so there were two fewer people to get out of the way.

Now if only they'd all eat enough chocolate to get knocked out at the same time! Children were supposed to gobble up chocolate far faster than this lot had. He hadn't counted on Granger giving out sugar-free chewing gum from her parents, telling them to brush their teeth after eating sweets. The children were like human dairy cows, chewing compulsively, when they should have been eating Draco's drugged Easter eggs!

That sounds like a good product name, he thought ruefully, trying to keep himself amused and distract himself from the pain in his knees and lower back, not to mention the stench of baby urine; Draco's Drugged Easter Eggs. Now with even more knock-out potion, to keep your little brats manageable when they eat sweets...

He resisted the temptation to glare at Granger as she sat with Longbottom's grandmother, Molly Weasley, the French bitch, The Loon and Potter's wife. Through overhearing more than a few conversations he'd learnt about how long the Longbottoms had tried for a child before Frances was born; it gave him even more satisfaction to think of robbing their little brat of her magic. Then he saw something out of the corner of his eye: The Loon offering an egg to Granger, Potter's wife and the French bitch. Molly Weasley was already eating one. He grunted, returning to entertaining the children (and getting them to trust Uncle Percy).

It won't be long now.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Yes, your body," Harry said to Ron. "I said that I told Ginny about this, remember? I had to tell her because when I got back from Parvati's and had decided that I wasn't going to cheat on her, I suddenly became a ghost, Mad Eye was alive again, and the girls all suddenly turned into ghosts too; they started falling through the bed because they didn't have bodies anymore!" Ron stared at him, open-mouthed, as Harry went on. "I had to tell myself that I would find a way to go back in time and then it all fixed itself, although we had to get someone to come from the Ministry to help poor Charlotte..."

"That's what all that was about?" Ron shouted at him.

"So you turned into a ghost too?" Harry asked him anxiously.

"No--not me. But Lew sent me out on loads of leads, stories about other wizards who said they'd turned into ghosts and back again. I thought it was just the usual barmy stuff he asks me to write. What are you saying, Harry?"

He took a breath and tried not to shake. "I think that when I considered not doing it I changed time a little... enough that some people who'd been dead were alive again, like Moody, and some people who were alive were dead. Or not even born, like my girls. Ginny was okay. And you. And most other people I know. But not all of them... Ginny thinks that the girls weren't actually ghosts, exactly, but more like echoes of life-force, or life-potential, something like that..."

Ron stared at Harry, incredulous. "Harry, are you telling me that to preserve this timeline you have to find a way to time-travel so you can cheat on my sister?"

"Oh, no! Time!" Harry cried suddenly, seeing the clock hanging over the cooker behind Ron. "Isn't your mum serving Easter dinner right about now?"

Ron glanced at his watch. "Bloody hell." He frowned as he stood. "And somehow I have to forget about all of this while I eat with my sister and try to seem normal..."

Harry's mouth twisted as they walked to the door of the house; he patted Ron on the back and said, "That's okay, Ron. No one ever expects you to seem normal..."

Ron put his elbow in Harry's side but Harry only laughed; he seemed much more cheerful than he had when he'd started telling Ron about his problems. As they walked away from the house Ron said, "It's a good thing that Tilda and Snape are on holiday; I wouldn't want to be you and face the mother of your son after finding out about all this..."

Harry stared at Ron. "Don't you mean you wouldn't want to be Tilda and face me?"

Ron peered at him. "So does that mean you've confronted her about this?"

Harry turned away. "Well--no. I mean, now I know why she never said anything. She'd have been telling me about the future, after all. That's not supposed to be a good idea..."

Ron shook his head. "Yeah, but you know now. The damage is done."

Harry shrugged. "Still... I'm probably not supposed to know about this."

"We should stop talking about this now, since we're going back. My old room again, you reckon?" Harry nodded and they each raised their wands. Very quickly, the sheet-draped furniture and crates of Ron's old room appeared before them. Ron steeled himself for the inevitable questions about where he'd been (from his mother, not Luna), as he walked down the stairs behind Harry. The house was strangely quiet.

No one was in the large dining room that had been added onto the house, nor in the old kitchen; several pots on the cooker had very bad smells coming from them and Ron ran to salvage the food. Harry went into the living room. "No one here, either," he told Ron. "Maybe we're supposed to be eating later?"

Ron shook his head. "No, the food's burnt. And Mum told me--" He glanced out the kitchen door and gasped, running into the garden. He could hear Harry running after him. Ron sank down next to Luna, who was sitting in a wicker chair next to his mother, her head lolling back, eyes closed; she seemed to be napping, but when Ron tried to rouse her he couldn't. His mother also appeared to be asleep, as well as Hermione, Mrs Longbottom, Ginny and Fleur. Each of them had partially-eaten Easter eggs in their laps.

Harry glanced around frantically after checking to make certain that Ginny, Hermione and Fleur were breathing. "Where's your dad? And Bill and Percy? And the kids?"

Ron cast about for a place that all twelve children could be with his father and brother. "The garage?" Harry was already sprinting toward the ramshackle old barn-like building.

"Your dad and Bill and Percy are here, but the kids aren't!" Harry called from the garage. He ran back to Ron and the two of them searched the garden; Harry look as lost as Ron felt. Then Ron had a brainstorm: "Wait a minute, Harry! You know how you told me about that prank the twins sometimes pull? Making it look like they're gone, when they're just hiding? Think they did something like that?"

Harry seemed to be thinking about this. "I reckon it's possible. They must have done something to knock out the adults, but I can't work out what it is. They're not stunned; I tried using the standard revival spell. They're okay, breathing and all, but..."

Ron turned toward the house, another thought slowly forming. "Wait a minute, Harry. The clock!"

"The clock?"

"The Weasley clock! Dad added new hands for all of the grandchildren! C'mon!"

Harry ran after Ron, asking, "What good will that do? Does it have a setting that says, 'Playing a prank' or 'Being a bloody pain in the--'"

Ron ignored him, dashing into the living room and staring at the clock. He was still just standing and staring at it when Harry arrived next to him, also staring at the hands for his children, Harry's children, Bill's daughter and Percy's son.

Every single hand for the grandchildren was pointing at Mortal Peril.

---