Austin

"Mom? Aren't you coming in too?"

Hermione hesitated, looked up at the sign over the door of the pub as though seeking inspiration from it. Finally, she looked back at the young teen staring at her anxiously and sighed. "I'm sorry, honey, I can't. I've got business that just can't wait."

"Mom, you promised!" Jaci looked pleadingly up at her mother. "I thought you said I could do this karaoke thing!"

"You are, Jaci," Hermione said in placating tones, putting a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "I just can't come in with you, not just yet. I really do have something I have to do...but hey, I'll try and be back before you go on, okay?"

Jaci put her hands on her hips. "Mom, it's not fair. We're supposed to do this together."

"Hilargi Jacitana," Hermione said warningly. "Don't you dare talk to me about fair and not fair. I said I'll try to be back before you go on, and that's the best I can do." She leaned over and kissed her daughter quickly. "Now go in there and win one for me. And remember--I don't care what the drinking age is over here, you know what your limits are."

"Mom, I can't even eat bread dough that's been sitting in the sun too long."

"That's my girl." Hermione flashed her a smile and Jaci reluctantly grinned back. "Be good, honey. I'll see you later."

"Bye, Mom." Jaci watched her mother move off down the pavement, then turned and walked into the pub.

~~~

Sam leaned over the bar. "Hey, Harry, can I top you off?"

Harry looked up and shook his head. "Not right now, Sam. Let me finish this one first."

"Spinning 'em out, eh?" Sam grinned. "Can't say I blame you."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at the stage, where the band was arguing about how one of their numbers should go. "Where'd you pick up this lousy bunch?"

"Sod off, mate, they draw a crowd."

"What kind of crowd? Yuppies?"

"Well, excuse me. Not everyone shares your sophisticated taste in music."

"Not sophisticated, Sam, just decent."

The two men often bantered like this. For a few minutes, it helped Harry relax...and forget that he was alone.

Once upon a time, he hadn't been lonely. Once upon a time, he had had two best friends, and a whole family. But everything had come crashing down around his ears when he was seventeen. He had tried to get back together with Ginny, whom he really had loved, and they'd tried their hardest to make it work. Finally, around mid-November, both of them had admitted that it wasn't going to work and split up. He still knew that he had loved her, but she would always be more of a sister than a lover.

New Year's Eve, Hermione had told Harry she loved him; he had reciprocated, but been wary of his feelings--he hadn't wanted to hurt her. Eventually, however, they had grown together...

Harry closed his eyes and hunched over his drink. Hermione and Ron had helped Harry get through a very difficult year. The three of them had begun to feel that together, they could do anything. Harry had actually asked Hermione to marry him, and she had accepted; Ron had been planning to be best man. Towards the end of June, however, everything had fallen apart.

Having spent almost a full year trying to finish off Voldemort, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had finally managed to find and destroy all but one horocrux. At the time, they'd assumed it was an artefact they'd yet to find. Feeling they were entitled to one night of normalcy, they'd gone--together--to a small Muggle restaurant for dinner, planning to go dancing later that evening.

Harry clung to that memory--his last fond memory of his friends. They had deliberately steered all conversation away from the war they fought, turning instead to lighter things. Laughed at old in-jokes. Harry and Hermione had had a good-natured debate over the precise definition of "bravado", solved when Hermione whipped out a pocket dictionary. Harry could still remember the sheepish look on her face when she admitted that Harry was right--"bravado" did carry the connotation of posing. Ron had teased Hermione about the slight amount of weight she'd seemed to have put on, which had made her self-conscious until Harry had told her she still looked beautiful. The memory still made him smile.

What he wished he could forget was what had happened right after that. The wall of the restaurant had suddenly exploded. Voldemort had found them, and he was looking for blood. For some reason none of them could fathom, he roared at the Death Eaters who surrounded the three of them not to kill Harry, even though they had thought all along that Harry was the ultimate target.

In that instant, Harry had understood. He was the last horocrux. Desperately, he had told Hermione and Ron what to do...and though both had protested, they had agreed. He had leaped forward, prepared to sell his own life dearly, and managed to take out several Death Eaters before Voldemort cornered him and raised his wand, then a large gold crucifix. Hermione had screamed something about a transfer, and Harry had realised that Voldemort planned to switch the part of his soul in Harry to something else. Desperate to stop that, he had leaped out of the way...and directly into the path of another Death Eater's spell.

They had never found out what that spell actually was, but whatever it was had eradicated the part of Voldemort's soul in Harry. It had also sent Harry into a near-death coma. As soon as Ron saw Harry go down, he had hit Voldemort with a Sectumsempra. Voldemort had bled to death on the floor of the ruined restaurant. The war was over. They had won.

Harry buried his face in his hands. Once he'd come out of his coma, three days later--surrounded by Ron, Hermione, and Remus, the three people he had loved the most--they had all thought life would go back to normal. However, it hadn't. Whatever spell had hit him had done more than remove Voldemort's soul and knock Harry out--it was slowly driving him insane. He had become prone to periods of reckless insanity when he would suddenly start lashing out angrily at anyone and everyone who came near him, then wake up hours later totally unable to remember what he had done. One night he had hurt Remus, and hurt him badly. The man had survived--and forgiven Harry--but when Harry came back to himself the next morning, he'd found a note from Hermione saying she had left for fear of her life.

Ron had been shocked beyond belief, first that Harry had hurt Remus, second that Hermione had left him. Harry had instantly gone to get help...Ron had been there for him every step of the way, but as soon as Harry had managed to shake off the effects of the spell, Mrs. Weasley found out about the attack and forbade Ron from ever contacting Harry again. Neither young man had thought Mrs. Weasley would manage to do that without Ron living under her roof, but somehow she had. Harry hadn't seen Ron in nearly fifteen years.

Usually, when Harry missed his friends, he walked into this little pub and talked with Sam, who worked the evening shifts. Tonight--the anniversary of the last time they had all been happy, the day Voldemort had been vanquished--he missed them worse than ever.

Just then the bell over the door jangled and a young teenager walked in. She was tall, slender, with a straight posture, her brown ponytail swaying and bouncing behind her. She walked up to the bar, looking a little nervous, the thumb of one hand slipped behind the strap of her blue cloth backpack.

Sam walked over to her. "Can I help you, miss?"

The girl jumped a little and straightened, then smiled. "Yes, hi. Um, um, I'm here for the karaoke contest...see, I signed up and..." She trailed off nervously.

Sam grinned. "Oh, yeah, lemme check you in." He reached under the bar and pulled out a large ledger, then opened it. "What's your name?"

"Um, Jaci. J-A-C-I...oh, wait. Sorry, I forget that's not my first name...it's my middle name, but God do I hate my first name. It's...it's Hilargi. H-I-L-A-R-G-I..."

Sam sighed. "Can I get your last name? That's what I wrote down."

"Um, um, I don't know," the girl confessed.

Sam stared at her in exasperation. "How do you not know your own last name?"

"Well, my mom signed me up," the girl said sheepishly. "She confuses me...sometimes she uses my dad's last name, and sometimes she uses hers...I don't really even know which one's on my birth certificate."

"Let's try your mum's, hmm?" Sam said patiently. "What would she most likely have..." He trailed off suddenly. "Oh, wait, never mind, here you are. Hilargi Jacitana..."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Typical Mom. Yeah, that's me."

"You're eighty-five." Sam handed her a slip of paper. "The contest will start soon...can I get you anything to drink? On the house for all competitors."

"Bloody Mary, extra hot, two stalks of celery, no vodka," the girl answered immediately.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. Her profile seemed eerily familiar, but he couldn't think why. "You've made that order a lot, haven't you?"

The girl was rooting around in her bag for something and didn't look up at him. "I don't drink and I don't like orange juice. That's usually the only non-alcoholic drink I can get."

Sam grinned. "Mum won't let you, eh?"

The girl looked up at him and smiled. "Well, no...plus I'm underage...plus I have a very low tolerance for alcohol. I get hung over with just a shot of wine, I swear."

"Well, I'm out of tomato juice," Sam told her, "but I serve pretty much all mixed drinks without alcohol."

The girl raised her eyebrows. "Really? Do you serve virgin dackeries?"

"Sure."

"I'll take one, please."

"Comin' right up." Sam quickly fixed her drink, then handed it to her. "Here ya go, miss."

"Thank you." The girl smiled at him, then turned away. Harry blinked against the sudden flash of light reflecting off her glasses as she moved toward a table by the window.

~~~

Jaci sat down and pulled her book out of her bag. She was currently reading a trashy romance of absolutely no literary value, one of about thirty she had picked up at a church rummage sale. She hated to admit that she was almost finished with it already, especially as her mother tended to tease her about reading them so fast, but there were only a few pages to go. As she turned the page, she glanced up towards the bar and noticed the man who had been hunched over his drink when she ordered hers. He was glancing in her direction, but quickly looked away when he noticed her spotting him.

She frowned. Pervert.

After a few minutes, she finished her book and put it back in her bag, then rooted around until her fingers closed on a smooth book that felt like a diary. She fished it out and flipped it open, revealing a rather poor drawing of a girl, side to the camera, facing a page of Chinese calligraphy.

"Oops," she muttered to no one in particular. "Wrong one."

She dropped the book back into her bag and pulled out another black notebook. This one, when she opened it, was lined and filled with neat, even handwriting. It had mostly been done in pencil, but here and there she had written in ink when no pencil was available. This was her magnum opus, her chef d'oeurve, her life's work. Her mother insisted it was a dead-end occupation, but Jaci had already planned it out. She wanted to be a writer badly and was working on her book.

She hadn't had a chance to write anything since getting off the plane, but she had a good chunk of it written. Now she pulled a purple MultiPoint pencil out of her bag, stuck an unsharpened Ticonderoga pencil with a good eraser behind her ear, uncapped the purple pencil, and began writing.

She had written a good two pages worth of material when she paused, her pencil hovering just over the blank space at the end of the last sentence she'd written. In her mind's eye, she could see the way such a scene would look in a drawing. She pushed her notebook aside, dug her sketchbook out of her bag, snapped it open, and flipped to a blank page. Picking up the purple pencil again, she began sketching the scene.

She knew she was no artist. She was a writer. Still, like her mother always said, she couldn't have all the talent.

~~~

"Wow, this place is filling up fast," Harry remarked casually as Sam passed him another drink. He didn't touch it for a moment; someone jostled him from behind, and only then did he pick up the drink.

"Yeah, karaoke nights are pretty popular," Sam answered, swiping at a sticky spot on the bar with his rag. "Seems like everyone wants to sit up at the bar, too."

Harry stood, carefully avoiding one of the yuppies waving a margarita and talking animatedly to a companion. "Here, I'll make room."
"Now, Harry, you don't have to--" Sam began, but Harry was roughly shoved aside by a tough-looking cowboy with curly blonde hair and a generous growth of stubble.

"I'll take a beer, barkeep, and make it fast, or you'll have an angry American," the man said crisply.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Hello, Toby."

The man, a rather well-known country singer Harry had met once or twice through work, looked up and grinned. "Oh...hi, Harry, didn't see ya there. Have a seat, kid..."

"Thanks, but no thanks, there's not really room." Harry winked at Sam, who looked a little surprised. "Take good care of this one, Sam, but charge him double."

Toby laughed as Harry set off across the bar to where he could see the young teenager with the virgin dackery. To his mild surprise, there was still about half of it left; she seemed totally absorbed in a small black notebook she was writing in furiously.

As he came up to her, she paused and frowned, her purple writing apparatus hovering over the page. "No, that isn't right," she mumbled. Tucking what Harry could now see was a strange sort of pencil behind her ear, she pulled a bright yellow traditional wood pencil out from behind the other ear and began vigorously erasing something, then replaced the yellow pencil, pulled out the other one, and recommenced scribbling away.

"Excuse me," Harry said politely, "but can I sit here?"

The girl looked up, obviously startled, and nodded. "Sure." She glanced down at her page, then sighed. "Oh, frig."

"Something wrong?" Harry asked, taking the seat opposite her.

The girl looked up again. "Not really. It's just..." She sighed again. "It's Cass. She will be contrary and do and say whatever she wants...at this rate she's never gonna get to class."

Harry frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Um..." The girl blushed. "It's...see, it's this book I'm writing. Cass is the main character, Casiphia Nottingham."

Harry bit back a laugh. "Why the bizarre name?"

"It's in the Bible," the girl said defensively. "It was easier to shorten than, say, Hephzibah--'Hepsie' was the only thing I could find, that or 'Eppie', but that's what they used in Silas Marner and I didn't want to copy. I'd like to see you try to find a nickname for a character called Kerren-Happuch."

Harry actually laughed. "I'm not saying I don't like it, just that it's a bit unusual."

"Yeah, well, I've got the market cornered on unusual names," the girl said with a bit of a sigh. "My name is Hilargi, spelled H-I-L-A-R-G-I...it's Basque, it means 'moon'. Most people call me by my middle name, which is still kind of weird...Jaci--that's J-A-C-I, not J-A-C-E-Y, and it means 'moon' too. I think it's Sanskrit, but don't swear me to that." She grimaced. "Actually, it's short for Jacitana, which doesn't mean anything at all, it was just something my mom got off the back of the truck. I prefer Jaci, though."

Harry smiled. "Nice to meet you, Jaci. I'm Harry."

"See? You get a normal name...you don't have a psychotic mom who thinks her daughter should be doomed to a weird name just because she was."

"My mother died when I was a year old," Harry said quietly.

"Oh." Jaci looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." Harry looked down at the notebook Jaci had closed. "What's your book about, anyway?"

Jaci looked surprised. "You really want to know?"

~~~

Jaci studied the man who had joined her. He seemed nice enough, but she'd never had anyone--not even her mother--take a genuine interest in her book. Truth be told, she was a little wary about sharing it--she was afraid someone would take the idea before she could finish.

Still, the man called Harry smiled again. "Sure. I've never met a real writer before."

He sounded like a little kid. And Jaci really liked his smile. She'd received smiles from guys before--from guys her own age, who gave her dashing half-grins intended to entice her into dating them; from little kids who gave her impish grins so she wouldn't punish them for whatever transgression they had committed; the ones from her friend Bess's older brother Roger, the one who called her Jail-bait, that made her feel really uncomfortable. But no one had ever smiled at her like he did--like she was something important.

The truth hit her suddenly: like her mom did. Smiling suddenly, Jaci answered, "Well, it's actually about this girl, Cass, who's a witch."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "A witch."

Feeling a bit foolish and not knowing why, Jaci prattled on. "Yeah, she's a girl who gets invited to this school of magic--a Christian-based school of magic--in Hawaii."

"Why Hawaii?" Harry asked curiously.

"Well...originally it was in the middle of Nevada, but I just thought it would be so cool to have a train that went over water, even though there was no conceivable way there could be tracks there," Jaci explained.

"Oh, they take the train, do they? Where do they get on?"

"Depends on where they live. And there are actually two trains. The Windsong picks up the earliest stops, like on the East Coast, and when the train gets to LaGuardia in New York it stops and they switch to the Wildfire, which is a double-decker train that takes them the rest of the way." Jaci looked a little sheepish. "I even went so far as to write out a list of where all the stops were...I'm such a geek. I know where the train stops, when it gets there, which train it is, and about how long it waits at the station between stops. And i picked some pretty obscure cities...one of the stops is in Kearny, New Jersey."

"So it's only Americans who go there, is it?"

"Oh, no, of course not. International students get on either in NYC, Dallas, or San Diego. All depends on when they get travel arrangements. They can get on at other times, of course, but they have to pay for their own travel arrangements if they do that. Matter of fact, the first person Cass meets on the train--well, the second, Faye is the first--is from Russia. One of her best friends is Norwegian and the other one is Scottish...then she's got a friend who's from Zimbabwe and another one from Greece..."

"How do all these people understand each other?"

"The castle and the train are enchanted to make whatever someone says translate into the language of whoever's listening. It's really useful."

Harry nodded. "Sounds cool. How do you come up with spells? Latin?"

"Oh, no, too many people do that--it isn't original anymore," Jaci said quickly. "And a lot of people do poetry too. I thought I'd be different."

"So?" Harry prompted her. "How do you do it?"

Jaci lifted her chin proudly. "They speak backwards. It's not as easy as it sounds, which is why they have to go to school."

Harry raised his eyebrows again. "Interesting. Do they use wands?"

"Of course, but they don't go out and buy them--they make them themselves."

"How?"

"By taking a stick of some kind to a 'wandmaker', who enchants it to become a wand then orders it to 'go to its owner'. It works a lot better and you can essentially design your own wand."

"Better than what?"

Jaci winced but struggled on bravely. "Better than buying one. It makes the whole thing a lot more personal, a lot more individualised. I mean, if you go out and buy a wand, yeah, you'd buy the wand that works best for you, but it can't be one hundred percent the best because the wandmaker wouldn't have had you in mind when he made it, unless it was a special order. All he would have had was a person with vaguely your characteristics--height, weight, colouring, personality, and so on. If you make it yourself, like they do in my book, it's personal to you, right down to the vague café-du-lait spot on your thumb."

She was speaking in general terms, thinking of the café-du-lait spot on her own thumb, but she noticed Harry cover his thumb before speaking again. "Sounds really interesting. I'll have to buy this book when it comes out...what's it going to be called? Or do you know yet?"

"The Magnificat," Jaci said proudly. "I thought that up early on."

Suddenly, the music stopped and a voice came over the loudspeakers. "Are you ready to get this party started?"

The entire room began cheering. Harry stood. "I'd better go...good luck, Jaci."

Jaci smiled a little nervously and nodded. "Thanks." She glanced towards the door as the first competitor got up and began a truly God-awful rendition of "Almost Home". Where are you, Mom?

~~~

Hermione took a deep breath as she looked up at the building. It had taken her forever to track down Ginny, convinced she'd find Harry. Ginny had told her that she hadn't seen Harry since his defeat of Voldemort, but given her Ron's address on the hope that he'd know. Now, starting up the stairs to the flat Ron apparently lived in, Hermione prayed with all her heart that her Harry hadn't succumbed completely to whatever mental illness had caused him to nearly become a psychotic murderer.

She knocked on the door to the door matching the number on her scrap of paper and waited. A couple of seconds later, the door opened and Hermione felt momentarily stunned. Ron had really grown into himself. His hair was a bit longer than she remembered, falling in soft waves to brush his collar. His eyes seemed more sapphire than she had remembered, and the freckles had all faded. He was no longer as slight as he had been; now he was simply lean and lithe.

He frowned a little at Hermione. "Can I help you, ma'am?"

Hermione smiled at him. "Don't you remember me, Ron?"

Ron's frown deepened...and then suddenly his eyes widened in surprise. "Hermione?"

Hermione's smile widened and she nodded. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"That's an understatement," Ron muttered. "Come in, come in...have a seat. Want anything to drink?"

"No, I'm fine." Hermione gingerly took a seat on one of the hard-backed kitchen chairs around the small dining table. Ron grabbed what looked like a bottle of beer out of a small refrigerator and sat down opposite her, twisting off the top. Hermione heard the hiss and fizz and realised it was a root beer. "How have you been, Ron?"

"I get by," Ron shrugged. "You look like you're doing all right for yourself...what have you been up to?"

Hermione thought of the librarian job she'd held for years at the Kirn Memorial Library, the notice three weeks before that had informed her she was being made redundant ...and Jaci, her wistful eyes, her easy grin, her innocent questions about her father. "Not much, really. This and that. I worked as a librarian until the budget got cut...they needed to fire an archivist and I'd been hired last, so that's the old home gone. And you?"

Ron gave her a crooked grin. "Far cry from the Auror dreams you used to have, eh, Hermione? Well, I helped out with the twins for a while--their shop's doing really well--but that was never really my thing, so I resigned a couple years later. Believe it or not, I went into a training program a few years ago...I'm a Healer now."

"You? A Healer?" Hermione couldn't believe her ears. She remembered a fifteen-year-old boy putting down a brochure and commenting that he "didn't fancy Healing" because of all the requirements.

Ron grinned. "Told you that you wouldn't believe it. Yeah, I finally got my accreditation five years ago, St. Mungo's took me on full time. Three guesses who my partner is, go on."

"Er...Ginny? Cho? Malfoy?"

"Neville."

"You're kidding!"

"Nope." Ron grinned. "He's pretty good, actually--better than I am. He went into the program pretty much as soon as Voldemort fell--right after his grandmother died--because he wanted to do something to help his parents."

Hermione was startled, as much by Ron's use of Voldemort's name as by Neville's career choice. "When did you start calling him by his name? I mean, when did you stop saying You-Know-Who?"

Ron ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking older and wearier than Hermione had ever seen him. "To quote Harry, I've met him and I'm calling him by name. Besides, a lot of people don't know who anymore."

"But..."

"He's been gone fifteen damn years, Hermione. This time for good. Even back before everyone was sure he'd never come back, back after Harry defeated him the first time...you know, I was ten before I found out that the You-Know-Who my parents were always whispering about was named Voldemort. It's like the Bogeyman, like the General in Watership Down, like Cluny the Scourge in Redwall--he's turned into a tale to frighten children." Ron smiled a little at the surprise on her face. "My, my, you have been away a long time."

Hermione shook her head. "Too long," she murmured. Then she swallowed. "Er...how's Harry doing?"

Ron sighed. "I knew that would come up eventually. Truth be told, Hermione...I haven't seen him in fifteen years."

"Why not?" Hermione demanded, a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.

Ron rested his arms on the tabletop and leaned forward on them. "Mum found out about those bouts of insanity he was having--remember? She told me I wasn't allowed to go near him again...don't ask me how she managed it, but she did."

"How could I forget?" Hermione said softly. "I'm not surprised she wouldn't let you near him, though...he was probably dangerous."
"Not by the time she forbid me to go near him."

"What do you mean?"

Ron met Hermione's eyes calmly. "He got help, Hermione. He hasn't had one of those bouts of insanity since...well..." He shook his had, sat back, and looked at Hermione. "Why the hell did you leave?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I...I was scared..."

"Damn it, Hermione, didn't you think I was scared too?" Ron spoke in the same calm, even voice he'd used since the beginning, and it unruffled her a little.

Hermione sagged slightly. "Oh...I might as well tell you. I was going to tell Harry that night, but I couldn't find the right time before...well, before." Ron raised an eyebrow and she sighed. "You remember I had a doctor's appointment that day? Well...it was because of you that I went."

For the first time, Ron seemed surprised. "Me? Why?"

"Remember that night at the restaurant? You were teasing me about having put on weight."

"Yes, but I was just kidding. Besides, Harry said you looked beautiful anyway...I thought that made you feel better."

"It did, Ron, but let me explain." Hermione twisted a lock of her hair around her finger. "I worried about that a bit, but I decided just to let it go and watch what I ate. About a week before Harry had that psychotic attack, I noticed that not only was I putting on weight, I was having...other problems. I thought it was just stress, but I made the doctor's appointment anyway. He confirmed what I'd only suspected. I wasn't just stressed. I was two months pregnant."

Ron's eyebrows shot up. "You're kidding. You were pregnant? With Harry's kid?"

Hermione nodded. "I never slept with anyone else."

To her mild surprise, Ron looked briefly angry. "And you just left? Even though you were pregnant with his child?"

"It was because I was pregnant with his child," Hermione protested. "When he went after Remus like that...I mean, they were so close. All I could think about was the baby...what would happen if he hurt the baby and didn't know. I panicked--I'm not proud of that, but I did. You remember, I ran out of the room...and then I just threw together what I could, wrote that note and left it on the table when I couldn't find you, and left."

Ron swallowed. "I remember...coming back and not finding you--at first I thought he'd hurt you, but then I saw your note. I didn't read it, I just saw the signature, but I figured you were all right. Then when we realised you were gone...I was all for striking out after you, but I couldn't leave Harry. He was having a really difficult time, and I thought he should have at least one of his friends to help him."

Hermione swallowed as well. "Ron...what happened that night?"

Ron took a deep breath and steepled his fingers. "After you ran out of the room, it was like something snapped. I got the knife away from him, God only knows how, and...well, I managed to lock him in his bedroom. Again, don't ask me how...I can't tell you, even now. All I remember is feeling vaguely guilty because he couldn't help it, but I think my panic about Remus overshadowed that. I took Remus to St. Mungo's, and it must have been while I was there that you left. I don't remember exactly what I told them had happened to him, but I think I fed them some bull about a territorial hippogriff...anyway, they must've bought it, because they didn't ask any more questions. The next morning, I went home to check on Harry. He was..." Ron paused, took a deep breath, and looked steadily at Hermione. "Hermione, I want you to listen carefully, and I want you to understand what I'm about to say, because the entire day is very painful for me to recall and I've never told anyone--not even Remus--what happened on my end. Okay?"

Hermione bit her lip, then nodded. She had to know what happened.

"Okay." Ron took another deep breath, closed his eyes, and clenched his hands together. "Outside the door to his room, the first thing I noticed was that there was a lot of blood on the floor, and a fair bit on the walls. I did my best to get it all cleaned up--blood on the carpet wouldn't exactly be a good thing to have--and at the time I wondered why you hadn't taken care of it, but I decided it was easier to just take care of it myself. When I unlocked Harry's door, he...he wasn't in his bed. I finally found him huddled in the corner, curled up in a little ball, looking panicked. He looked up at me...oh, God, he was so terrified, I'll never forget it...and he asked if I was all right. I told him I was fine, that you were okay, and then I noticed the blood. He...the front of his shirt was all stained, and I realised it was from Remus. There sure is a lot of blood in people...anyway, he asked about Remus and I had to tell him what had happened, what he'd accidentally done. He...he broke down sobbing like a baby. Literally. I had to sit there with him on the floor and try and comfort him...alone..."

Ron still had his eyes closed, but Hermione saw a single tear wend its way down his cheek. He opened his eyes, and she saw the desolation, the despair, the pain he'd carried for fifteen years. "I thought I was going to lose him, Hermione. He was an absolute wreck. Once he'd calmed down somewhat, I took him to St. Mungo's. Remus was sitting up, still weak but conscious. Harry nearly broke down sobbing again when he saw him, but Remus...and this is the part that really made it hard on Harry...Remus forgave him. For everything. When we left, Harry swore that he was going to do something about all this and asked me to help. I promised I would but asked what he wanted to do...he said he didn't know. We ran into Neville and he told us about this program--one he was helping to set up at the time--that would help victims of temporary insanity spells regain their senses. Harry said he'd have to think about it first. I think we both knew he'd do it, but it was an in-patient program and...well, I think he wanted to talk it over with you first. But we got home and called for you, and you didn't answer. Harry nearly panicked, worried that he'd done something to you in between me locking him in his bedroom and coming home the next morning, but I pointed out that wasn't possible and he calmed down a little. Then he found your note..." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "God, Hermione, he nearly lost his mind. Again. He went into one of his insanity attacks, instantly, without warning...I had to Stun him to get him to stop, and you know I didn't want to do that." Hermione nodded; they had had some fearful rows over that exact question. "When he came back around, he looked up at me--he was practically in tears--and asked me to take him back to St. Mungo's. He said...said he'd hurt Remus, he'd hurt you, and he didn't want to hurt me too."

"So...so you took him to the in-patient program," Hermione managed.

"I did," Ron said, without any trace of hubris. "I took him right then, I stayed with him until the Healers gave him a clean bill of health, and I took him home. Then Mum showed up and forbade me to go near him ever again. Neither of us thought it would be possible for her to do that, but..." He shrugged.

Hermione swallowed. "Was it...I mean...was it right when you got him home, or..."

Ron shook his head. "No...I managed to stick around for awhile, to take care of him. I couldn't leave him...he was hurting, Hermione, and I'm not talking physical. Your leaving left deep scars. In fact, I think there was only one thing that really got him through it."

"Wh-what was that?"

Ron reached across the table, picked up Hermione's left hand, and held it up in front of her so both of them could see the thin band. "This," he said softly. "You took the ring. You didn't leave it behind. I swear by all that is holy, Hermione, the only thing--and I mean the only thing--that kept him going for a couple of months was the knowledge that you took it with you...he was sure it meant you'd come back, someday. I don't know if, in fifteen years, he's given up hoping, but I don't think he has. And I think it'll mean the world to him that you did."

Hermione felt tears spring to her eyes. "I've screwed everything up, haven't I," she whispered. "I let Harry down...and I let you down...and I let Jaci down."

"Jaci?" Ron frowned.

"Yes, I cheated her out of a loving father and a wonderful uncle, just because I was too scared to think sensibly."

"I take it Jaci is your daughter."

Hermione laughed. "I'm sorry, I thought I told you. Yeah, Jaci is Harry's and my daughter. Actually, that's half of her middle name...it means 'moon' in Sanskrit. Her full name is Hilargi Jacitana Potter."

"Jacitana? What's that mean?"

"Er...nothing," Hermione said sheepishly. "I got it off the back of a truck."

Ron started laughing. "So where is this unofficial niece of mine? I'm anxious to meet her now."

Hermione checked her watch and gasped. "Sam's Pub...she's in the karaoke contest...the one that started forever ago! Oh, no, I've got to go...I promised I'd be there..."

"Can I come?" Ron asked. "I'd like to meet her...and I'd like to hear her sing."

Hermione smiled. "Sure. Let's go."

~~~

Harry glanced over at Jaci from his perch next to Toby at the bar. Toby had jeered at a total of seventy-eight competitors who couldn't carry a tune if you gave them a bucket to carry it in, plus two more who weren't all that bad. Contestant Eighty-one was currently attempting to caterwaul "We Danced Anyway"...and "caterwaul" wasn't all that inappropriate a term, considering she sounded like someone beating a dead cat.

"Yikes," Toby muttered. "By rights these folks should be taken out and shot."

"Be nice," Harry admonished as the woman sat down to polite applause. "We're British, we don't sound American."

"Yeah, well, then you oughta stick to Brit songs," Toby grumbled.

Eighty-two wasn't all that bad; even Toby couldn't find fault with her, though God knew he was trying. Eighty-three tried to sing "You Can't Take The Honky Tonk Out Of The Girl", and his rendition had Harry wishing for cotton plugs for his ears. Eighty-four got up and sang an amazingly good rendition of "You'll Be In My Heart".

As the man sat down to a round of applause, Harry noticed Jaci become agitated again, glancing towards the door. A voice came over the loudspeaker: "Next up, number eighty-five."

Harry tossed Jaci a thumbs-up as she stood, took a deep breath, and headed across the bar.

~~~

Jaci couldn't believe it. Her mother hadn't made it. Harry was there, which helped, but she didn't really know him. She longed for her mother.

Still...she gave the man her song title, then climbed onto the stage. The announcer held out the microphone. "Want to give a shout-out before you start?"

Jaci hesitated, then nodded. "This song is for my mom." Wherever she is, she added silently.

The bar clapped, and the music started up. Jaci noticed Harry stiffen as the opening chords sounded, but she took a deep breath and began to sing.

"He was born in the Bitterroot Valley in the early morning rain

Wild geese over the water headin' north and home again

Bringin' a warm wind from the south

Bringin' the first taste of the spring

His mother took him to her breast and softly she did sing

Oh Montana, give this child a home

Give him the love of a good family and a woman of his own

Give him a fire in his heart, give him a light in his eyes

Give him the wild wind for a brother and the wild Montana skies."

A few people started clapping along. Jaci felt a little better...then glanced at the door and felt her spirits soar. Her mother stood next to the little table Jaci had vacated, her eyes fixed lovingly on the stage. Next to her stood a tall man with red hair. Feeling more confident, Jaci swept into the next verse.

"His mother died that summer and he never learned to cry

He never knew his father and he never did ask why

He never knew the answers that would make an easy way

But he learned to know the wilderness and to be a man that way

His mother's brother took him in to family and his home

Gave him a hand that he could lean on and a strength to call his own

And he learned to be a farmer and he learned to love the land

And he learned to read the seasons and he learned to make a stand

Oh Montana, give this child a home

Give him the love of a good family and a woman of his own

Give him a fire in his heart, give him a light in his eyes

Give him the wild wind for a brother and the wild Montana skies."

Harry, she noticed, looked a little pained, but when he met Jaci's eyes he managed a grin. She beamed back at him, then began the third verse.

"On the eve of his 21st birthday he set out on his own

He was 30 years and runnin' when he found his way back home

Ridin' a storm across the mountains and an aching in his heart

Said he came to turn the pages and to make a brand new start

Now he never told a story of the time that he was gone

Some say he was a lawyer, some say he was a john

There was somethin' in the city that he said he couldn't breathe

And there was somethin' in the country that he said he couldn't leave

Oh Montana, give this child a home

Give him the love of a good family and a woman of his own

Give him a fire in his heart, give him a light in his eyes

Give him the wild wind for a brother and the wild Montana skies."

Jaci looked back at her mother. There were tears in her eyes; Jaci could tell all the way across the room. The song always made her mother cry, but both of them had loved it. Jaci had never bothered to find out why it hurt so much. She wondered now, but it was too late to ask. Suddenly grinning widely, she swept into the last verse.

"Now some say he was crazy and they're glad that he is gone

But some of us miss him and we'll try to carry on

Giving a voice to the forest, giving a voice to the dawn

Giving a voice to the wilderness and the land that he lived on

Oh Montana, give this child a home

Give him the love of a good family and a woman of his own

Give him a fire in his heart, give him a light in his eyes

Give him the wild wind for a brother and the wild Montana skies

Oh Montana, give this child a home

Give him the love of a good family and a woman of his own

Give him a fire in his heart, give him a light in his eyes

Give him the wild wind for a brother and the wild Montana skies!"

Jaci swept her arms up and threw her head back as she sang the last line, as if to embrace the sky. As the last strains died away, the entire bar leaped to its feet, clapping and cheering. Tickled pink, Jaci skipped lightly off the stage and practically ran to the door, where she threw her arms around her mother.

"Mom, you made it!" she squeaked.

Her mother laughed and hugged her back. "Of course I did, honey. I promised I'd be here, didn't I?"
The red-haired man who had come in with her shook his head. "In fifteen years I've never been able to listen to that song...for some reason I didn't have a problem tonight." He held out his hand. "I'm Ron Weasley, by the way...one of your mother's best friends."

Jaci grinned and shook his hand. "I'm Jaci. Hilargi Jacitana Potter or Granger, actually, depending on who you ask."

"It's Potter," her mother supplied.

"Call me Jaci, though," Jaci finished. "It's nice to meet you, Ron...hey, Mom, Ron, want me to get you something to drink? I still have the money you gave me..."

Her mother nodded. "You know what I usually get...what do you want, Ron?"

Ron shrugged a little uncomfortably. "Er...screwdriver, no vodka. Is that possible?"

"Two stalks of celery or one?" Jaci asked.

"Just one."

"Be right back." Jaci hurried across the bar.

~~~

Harry blinked back a couple of tears. He had never liked that song...it had been the song playing in the restaurant right before Voldemort attacked. Still, he couldn't deny that Jaci had sung it well.

Sam beamed as the ponytailed teen came bouncing up to the counter. "Well done, little lady."

Jaci turned pink. "Thanks. Um, I came over to buy another virgin dackery...I'd also like to get a mint julep and a screwdriver without vodka, if at all possible. For my mom and her friend."

"Coming right up." Sam handed Jaci a glass of orange juice, then started fixing the other two drinks.

Harry managed a smile at Jaci. "Excellent, Jaci."

"Thanks," Jaci repeated. "My mom loves that song...so do I...but it always makes her cry. I don't know why. She was crying when she heard me sing it, actually."

"Oh, she's here?" Harry said, mildly interested.

"Mmm-hmm. She showed up just after I got onstage, she heard the whole thing. She brought a friend too...one of her best friends, she says."

"What about your father?"

Jaci sagged slightly. "Never met him. Mom never talks about him either."

"Oh." Harry watched in silence as Sam handed Jaci the mint julep and the dackery.

Jaci started fishing money out of her pocket, but Sam stopped her. "No way, José. Not for the best damn singer I've heard in years."

Jaci pinked again. "Well...thanks." She struggled with the drinks.

"Here, let me help," Harry offered. Picking up his club soda, he took the orange juice, letting Jaci handle the julep and dackery. "Where are you?"

"Over by the door. Thanks," Jaci said gratefully, leading the way.

Two people were already sitting at the small table. One was a woman built very much like Jaci, although at least twice her age, with hair wrestled back into a bushy ponytail and no glasses. The other was a tall, lean man with longish red hair. Jaci handed the mint julep to the woman. "Here, Mom..." She took the orange juice from Harry and handed it to the man. "Thanks," she said again.

"Don't mention it," Harry said with a half-smile. "Glad to help."

The woman smiled at him. "Friend of yours, Jaci?"

The man suddenly started laughing, setting down his glass before he upset it. Jaci, her mother, and Harry all looked at him. "Is something wrong?" Jaci asked, evidently concerned.

The man waved his hand, indicating the group. "This! This whole scenario! I swear, I never thought I'd be sitting with you two and have you not recognise each other...not you, Jaci."

Jaci looked from Harry to her mother and back. "You guys know each other?"

The man pointed to Jaci's mother's hand. "Ask her where she got that."

Jaci's mother looked down at her hand, then up at Harry in astonishment. "Harry...?"

Harry frowned, then glanced down at her hand and gasped. He recognised that thin band, all right. "Hermione...?" He turned to the man, and clicked into a sort of recognition. "Ron? Oh, my God...what in the world...?"

Ron grinned and waved at Hermione. "She turned up looking for you...I think Ginny sent her to my flat hoping I'd know where you were, which of course I didn't...and we came here to watch Jaci here sing. By the way, you did excellent."

Jaci smiled. "Thanks."

Harry swallowed hard and gripped one of Hermione's hands. "Hermione...I can't believe...why did you...?"

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered. "I just...I got scared. I'm so sorry."

"It's forgiven," Harry told her, kissing her knuckles. He looked over at Jaci and managed a smile. "Your father's a lucky fellow, Jaci."

Ron smiled. "I agree. In more ways than one."

Harry turned to his friend. "Do you know something I don't?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Do you mean to tell me you looked at this girl and couldn't tell who her father is?"

Jaci had removed her glasses and was polishing them on her shirt. Harry said her name and she looked up, meeting his eyes without the protection of the glasses for the first time. The glare from neon lights or the interior lights had prevented him from seeing her eyes before, but now he got a shock. Her eyes were green and almond-shaped...just like his.

"Glory hallelujah," he whispered. "Are you...is she..."

Hermione bit her lip, then nodded. "That's why I left that day...I'd just found out...I was trying to tell you but I could never find the right moment."

Jaci raised an eyebrow, the gesture eerily similar to Harry's. "Did I miss something here?"

Hermione put a hand on Jaci's shoulder. "Jaci...honey...I'd like you to meet your father."