Hero With A Thousand Faces

HARRY POTTER AND THE HERO WITH A THOUSAND FACES

Chapter 2: Remembrance of Things Past

And even before my brain, lingering in consideration of when things had happened and of what they had looked like, had collected sufficient impressions to enable it to identify the room, it, my body, would recall from each room in succession what the bed was like, where the doors were, how daylight came in at the windows, whether there was a passage outside, what I had had in my mind when I went to sleep, and had found there when I awoke.

--Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past

---

Ron didn't think he'd been so terrified since the night he'd gone to rescue his friends and instead found himself surrounded by hooded Death Eaters and spirited away to his flat.

It wasn't just that Allegra was dragging him, shackled, through damp and stony corridors that reeked of medieval tortures and seemed to sweat the blood of prisoners before him. It was just the fact that he was out of his flat for the first time in about forever, something he'd always thought he would welcome no matter the circumstances. The thought that he might have developed a little agoraphobia due to his long confinement had never occurred to him, although it should have...he'd read about such things happening. Everything seemed too large, and there were definitely too many people around, even though it was just him, Allegra, and two other Circle wizards. "Where are you taking me?" he asked, not too hopeful for an answer.

"I'm going to tuck you away in a nice secure corner," Allegra replied.

Ron looked around. "This is Lexa Kor, isn't it?"

She glanced sharply in his direction. "How do you know about that?"

"Oh, it's amazing what you can learn from inside a locked prison."

Allegra seemed to consider questioning him further, then let it drop. "Yeah, well...if I know Harry he might suspect I've brought you here but no one knows how to get here. Of course there's bloody Granger to worry about...she's clever, you never know what she'll come up with."

Ron stopped walking. "You know Hermione, too?"

Allegra smiled at him. "My dear Mr. Weasley, I have a special little corner of my head where I keep my catalogue of ways in which I'd like to kill her. I visit it often." She yanked on Ron's arm, forcing him to keep up. Ron didn't know what to think. He'd heard Allegra mention Harry before but never Hermione. He hadn't suspected that his other best friend had any history at all with his captor. He didn't even know if Harry and Hermione were still as close as they'd been in school, or even if they were friends at all. It was something he'd wondered about frequently. He hoped they'd kept in touch, but who could say how his supposed death had affected them? He could only guess how their time at Hogwarts had ended, what they'd done after graduation, where they'd lived, what jobs they'd taken. People change, they move on, they leave behind youthful friendships.

The thought of his two best friends growing apart filled him with profound sadness and he fervently hoped that it was not so, but he had no way of knowing one way or the other. He'd spent many hours pondering their fates. Was either of them married by now? Perhaps one or both of them had children of their own. Had Hermione been Head Girl, as everyone had predicted? Was Harry playing Quidditch professionally? The way Allegra had spoken of him Ron suspected Harry actually worked in some manner of evil-fighting profession. Perhaps he was an Auror, or an Enforcer. Was Hermione in the same line of work? She must have done something to incur Allegra's wrath. Maybe she helped Harry in his crusades, as she always had...as they both had. It gave Ron hope that they were still close friends if they were working together, as they must be...it stretched the imagination to think they were both fighting evil independently of one another.

He had always known that his family and friends believed him dead. Allegra had made sure he knew all about it, so that he was not even allowed the hope of rescue to sustain him through his imprisonment, which she indicated would be indefinite. What they were keeping him for he had no idea. He had found other ways to keep his own sanity and reconcile himself to his endless solitude, but somewhere in the back of his mind he had wondered how long it would be before he went stark raving mad.

They came to a wide, empty chamber with several corridors opening off in different directions. Allegra took out her wand and muttered a few words. Ahead, a narrow doorway appeared in the wall and swung open. She shoved him towards the blackness beyond. He peered inside, his heart sinking. "That isn't a prison cell," he said. "It's a bloody broom closet."

"And it's all yours," Allegra said, and pushed him inside, removing his shackles as she did so. The concealed cell was less than a meter square, just large enough to stand up in. Ron realized with growing horror that he wouldn't even be able to sit down. The door shut in his face, and he saw that a sizable portion of it was actually mesh, invisible from the outside but through which he could see the chamber outside and Allegra's face.

He shook his head. "I won't last long in here, you know."

"You won't have to. I'm arranging another little subterfuge for your friends. They'll find you, all right, but tragically, they'll be too late to save your life."

Ron sighed. "Cooking up another pseudo-me, are we?"

"This one will be perfect. So don't imagine you're about to taste sweet freedom, Weasley."

"It won't fool them."

"Well, maybe not. But even if doesn't, by the time they realize the truth I'll have you stashed away somewhere else, buttoned up tight."

"Are you ever going to tell me why you go to so much trouble to keep me hidden? What, you wanted a pet wizard of your very own? Not that I'm even remotely a wizard anymore."

"It wasn't my idea. If you ask me you're more bloody trouble than you're worth. But I know when to follow instructions." She sighed, suddenly appearing weary and dispirited. "I'm leaving a garrison of Muggle mercenaries here to look after you."

"If you're so concerned with my welfare you could give me a slightly larger cell," he said bitterly, not wanting to contemplate the sort of shape he'd be in after being in here for even a single day.

"This cell is for emergencies, temporary secure storage."

"Is that all I am? A piece of furniture to be stuck in storage?"

"As you please." Allegra turned and left without another word, which was odd. She usually departed with a well-chosen turn of phrase or two.

Ron sighed, glancing around at his tiny new prison. Quite a comedown after the comfort, even relative luxury, he'd lived in for the last ten years.

Well, Harry, he thought, if you're looking for me I hope to God you're quick about it.

---

"What's with all the pillows?" Napoleon asked.

Sukesh scowled. He'd been doing a lot of that. "When Hermione is in the trance state induced by the spell, she won't be aware of herself or her surroundings. It's best if she sits or lies on something soft so she doesn't inadvertently hurt herself."

Harry looked around at the small examination room that had been converted into a chamber for the Phenomorbius spell. The furniture had been removed and the floor covered in cushions and pillows. Preparations were underway to perform the spell, which Sukesh had been reluctantly convinced into administering. Hermione had spent most of the last day researching all known instances of the spell's use.

"How long will it take?" Lupin asked.

"Once the spell is performed, the trance state will last as long as it takes her to access Ron's memories. It could take hours, even days."

Hermione was hovering at the room's perimeter, her arms crossed over her stomach, looking around at everything. She appeared calm but Harry knew her too well. Just by her posture he could tell that she was nervous about this...not that she'd let it stop her. He watched her silently as the others conferred amongst themselves. He had learned quite a bit about this spell in the last twenty-four hours and none of it made him feel any better about allowing her to submit herself to it. He wanted to forbid it. He wanted to put his foot down. It was so dangerous, so many things could go wrong. He would never have said such a thing, to her or to anyone else, but her safety was more important to him than finding Ron. He couldn't help it. He missed Ron and wanted desperately to help him, but at the same time he loved Hermione with a depth that sometimes frightened him and she had to come first. Even so, he couldn't bring himself to stop her. He couldn't do that to her, not when it meant so much. But there was something he could do instead.

"Sukesh, can more than one person do this spell?" he asked.

"Yes, but it's more dangerous. It's..." He trailed off as the implication of Harry's question struck him.

Hermione raised her eyes and met his. "No," she said quietly.

"I'm coming with you," he said.

"Harry, no. Think about this. It doesn't make sense tactically. You don't send two people on a dangerous mission when one can do the job just as well. We can't risk both of us."

"We're stronger together, you know that."

"You're too important!" she exclaimed. "To the I.D., to all wizards, to our world! Harry, they need you to fight their battles and ease their nightmares. They don't need me."

"But I need you. I'm coming with you."

"The spell is riskier with two casters, I can't let you endanger yourself," she said, an edge of hysteria finding its way into her voice.

"Maybe not," Sukesh said. "Hermione, his inherent Mage-given magical affinity may bolster the spell's power."

"Or it may skew the whole thing out of control," she answered. "No one can predict how the Mage factor will affect standard spells, it's never been studied."

"I've already asked the Society," Harry said. "They feel that in the case of this spell, my abilities will strengthen it. Let me help you with this."

She shook her head, throwing her hands forward in a gesture of negation. Harry recognized the signs; she was digging in her heels and casting rationality to the wind. He suspected that the stress was catching up to her. She'd latched on to this spell as something she could do to help, something concrete to focus on. His suggestion that he join her had knocked her self-possession into a cocked hat and now all she could think about was keeping him away. "No, Harry! If I don't make it out I need to know that you're all right, that you'll still be here to find him and go on!" Harry threw down his clipboard and strode across the room towards her. In her agitation she barely registered his approach. "I'm doing this on my own, dammit, and you're not going to mmppphhhh..."

Hermione's words were cut off as Harry reached her, grabbed her face in his hands and kissed her, hard. She went stiff and dropped her notes, her pencil clattering to the floor. Harry didn't let up, just held her head tightly, pressing his lips insistently against hers. All at once her neck relaxed and her mouth opened under his, a slight sigh escaping her throat. Harry could hear the others shifting uncomfortably. Though they did not hide their affection, he and Hermione were not known for putting on displays in front of others. They held hands with some regularity and a quick kiss wasn't unheard of, but some of the people in this room had barely ever seen them kiss at all, let alone kiss like this, like it would be the last time.

Harry pulled away and opened his eyes to see her staring quizzically up at him. "I'm not letting you do this alone," he whispered, still holding her face.

Her features moved restlessly through conflicting expressions. "All right," she finally said. "We'll go together."

He nodded. "Good." He started to step away but she held him back.

"Just don't think you can win any argument by slipping me some tongue, hotshot."

He smiled wryly. "Well, in any case it makes a nice little diversion."

---

When the spell was ready, Harry and Hermione sat back-to-back in the middle of the prepared chamber. Both were stripped down to minimal clothing to avoid physical restriction; he wore track pants and a t-shirt, she wore leggings and a tank top. Sukesh was sitting cross-legged nearby, assembling an array of books and papers before him. "Now," he said, "after I've done the spell you should fall into the trance immediately. According to statements from previous casters, it's something like floating in a big ocean where mind-to-mind contact is possible. Because there are two of you, your first task will be to locate each other's minds so you can go look for Ron together."

"And how do we look for Ron?" Hermione asked.

Sukesh blinked. "I don't know. I've never done this before. I think you just...wander about until you find him."

Harry sighed. "All right, I'm understanding now why this damned spell can take days."

"Just hang on tight to each other's minds," Sukesh said. "If you get lost you might not make it back."

"We won't forget," Hermione said. She craned her neck around to look at Harry. "Are you ready?"

He held out his hand to the side so she could lace her fingers through his. "Ready."

Sukesh nodded to Napoleon and Lupin, who left the room and joined the others in the adjoining observation chamber where they could watch the proceedings through one-way glass. He picked up his wand. "All right. Relax, and breathe evenly." He gave them a moment to compose themselves, then spoke the words of the spell: "Phenomorbius incantatem, ad massonias et vitalae."

A gentle purple haze emanated from Sukesh's wand and split into two tendrils which surrounded their faces, then suddenly sank into their skin. They both sagged as if unconscious, staying upright only because they were propped against each other. Sukesh held out his hand. Resting on his palm was a large white crystal which now began to glow softly; it rose off his hand and took up a position floating in midair about three feet above their heads. Sukesh stood up and went into the observation chamber.

"What's the crystal for?" Napoleon asked.

"It monitors the trance. As long as it's glowing white, all's well."

"So...now what?"

Sukesh sat down, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now, we wait."

---

....hour two...

---

When Napoleon returned to the observation chamber with an armful of snacks, the group hadn't changed much. Sukesh was sitting in the same chair, arms grimly folded. Lupin had his feet kicked up on the table and was staring at the ceiling. Isobel was nowhere in sight and Henry was stretched out on a sofa against the wall. "Any change?" Napoleon said, tossing about bags of crisps and a few Chocolate Frogs.

Sukesh sighed. "Well, Hermione came out of the corner, which seems like a good thing. Harry stopped cracking his knuckles, which is definitely good because it was starting to really get to me. Then he sat straight up and said 'basin,' which was well creepy, I can tell you."

The first thing the observers had learned about the Phenomorbius spell was that the trance was not a peaceful one. Harry and Hermione did not sit quietly and go about their business. They got up, moved about, sometimes thrashed, moaned, spoke gibberish, and occasionally swore. It was unsettling to say the least. Napoleon suspected that wherever they were, they weren't having a happy time there. Everyone kept one eye on the white crystal, glowing steadily in midair, but so far it hadn't wavered.

Napoleon munched moodily on a Chocolate Frog, automatically plucking the card out of the package. In an odd confluence of events, the wizard on the card was Harry. He flipped the card over, though he knew what it said. "Harry Potter, 1980- " the card read. "Also known at the Boy Who Lived, Potter first gained fame when as a baby the Dark Lord Voldemort was unable to kill him, thus bringing an end to the Dark Times. He is best known as co-champion of the 1994 Triwizard Tournament and for defeating Voldemort in 1998. The youngest Seeker to be named to a Hogwarts house team in a century, Potter three times broke his own record for fastest capture of the Golden Snitch. Mr. Potter enjoys gardening, literature and swing dancing." Napoleon tossed the card into the dustbin; he already had about three Harrys. He moved to the one-way glass and looked into the trance chamber. Hermione was lying flat on her stomach off to one side and Harry was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, slowly rocking back and forth.

"Maybe we ought to get some work done," Napoleon said. "I feel like we're wasting time just sitting here watching. It's not as if we can help them."

"I'm staying," Sukesh said. "They might need me."

"Perhaps the rest of us could sit with you in shifts," Lupin said.

Henry sighed. "Yeah, that's a good idea."

No one moved.

---

...hour five...

---

"So I said, 'Don't let this relationship swirl down the drain because you don't want to blink first.'"

"You did not."

"Did so."

"Damn." The mild curse sounded odd in Sukesh's melodic Indian accent.

"Well, I'd had enough."

"We all had."

"Frankly, I'm amazed it worked."

"I don't think you can take all the credit for getting them back together, Jones."

"Some?"

"Perhaps some."

Napoleon chuckled. "Ironic, isn't it? That I would find myself trying to get those two back together."

Sukesh looked at him with a speculative expression. "You have feelings for her, don't you?"

"I thought everyone knew that."

"Oh, I'm always the last to know anything. Sequestered down here in the medical dungeon."

"Well, yeah, I do."

"Something of a cliche, isn't it? Falling for your boss's betrothed? Pining for the woman you can never have?"

"Oh, of course it is. Still, there's something appealing about unrequited love. The pining can be sort of...therapeutic. No bloke should go through life without a good bout of pining."

Sukesh shrugged. "If you say so."

"Don't tell me you've never pined for a woman you couldn't have...oh wait, there are no women you couldn't have. Even the Queen would probably prostrate herself before you if you so much as glanced in her direction."

Now Sukesh laughed out loud, something he rarely did. "Interesting mental image, but I doubt it. Besides, I don't pine for women."

Napoleon blinked, tipped off by something in his tone. "Sukesh, are you gay?"

The CMO cleared his throat. "I don't advertise it, but yes I am."

"Oh dear. What a loss for the women of the world." He batted his eyelashes. "Can I interest you in a skinny Cockney with creative hair?"

Sukesh shoved him away. "Get off. You don't fancy men."

"No, but it's nice to know it's there. Anyway, for you I might reconsider."

"I'm flattered."

"So do you have an equally gorgeous boyfriend stashed away somewhere?"

"No, I'm currently extremely single." He glanced right, then left, and spoke in a low and conspiratorial tone. "I confess when I first started here I had something of a crush on our resident werewolf."

"Lupin?"

"Do we have another werewolf working here?"

"God, I hope not. Gosh. Lupin, huh? I guess he's good-looking, in a rugged, hairy sort of way."

"I certainly thought so."

"Diz seems to fancy him quite a lot."

"She does, doesn't she? Well, best of luck to her. I never got up the gumption to say more than 'hello' to him."

"What about Harry? Seems as if it's some sort of rite of passage to fall for him around here."

"No, I never did. He's not the sort I fancy, really."

"Lucky for you. She can claim she isn't, but Hermione is the jealous type. She'd cheerfully separate you from your larynx."

Sukesh sighed. "I envy what they have."

Napoleon let his head fall to his folded arms on the table. "Yeah, don't we all."

---

...hour eight...

---

"How are they doing?" Argo asked, coming into the observation chamber for the first time. Sukesh and Lupin were keeping watch.

"So far so good," Sukesh said. "The trance seems to be stable, if not peaceful." She joined him at the one-way window. In the spell chamber, the two unconscious wizards were lying amidst the pillows and cushions. For their eight hours under the Phenomorbius they had been in various states of sitting, lying, even standing, but just minutes ago they had blindly reached out to each other as if their bodies craved the contact. Now Hermione was curled on her side in a fetal position and Harry was holding her against his chest, his arms encircling her whole body. His face was pressed into her back. Every so often one of them would twitch, or moan, or even speak a few nonsense words.

"This spell is...creepy," Lupin said. "If you'll forgive the unscientific characterization."

"I agree," Argo said, shivering a little. "And dangerous. I would never have allowed it if...well, if they weren't so determined and a man's life weren't at stake."

"I don't think it's pleasant, what they're doing right now."

"It doesn't seem to be, does it?"

Sukesh sighed, shaking his head. "I hope he's worth it."

Lupin turned and looked at him. "He is to them. He's worth much, much more than this. They would go through far worse to save him."

Argo watched them for a few moments more, then turned to leave. "Keep me posted, gentlemen."

---

...hour fifteen...

---

"You ought to get some sleep."

"No," Sukesh said, downing his eighth cup of coffee since nightfall, some six hours before. "I'm staying right here." He was rapidly drumming his fingertips on the table, soaked in the vibe of overcaffeination.

Isobel regarded him curiously. "Your devotion to your duty is admirable, Sukesh."

"It's my patients I'm devoted to. My duty is nothing to their well-being."

"Spoken like a true doctor." She went to the window and stood at Sukesh's side. In the spell chamber, Harry was spread-eagled on his back, his form covered in a film of sweat. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his head tossing from side to side as if in the grip of a nightmare. Hermione was sitting cross-legged by his side, holding his hand, her own head lolling on her shoulders and perspiration stippling her brow. "How dangerous is this spell, really? Truth."

"You don't want to know."

"This is madness," she said through clenched teeth. "How much longer can they go on like this? It looks so...draining."

"It is. And they'll go on as long as they have to."

Isobel shook her head. "We should never have agreed to this."

"I said that from the beginning."

"Then why did you go along?"

"Because!" he exclaimed. "I know them! They would have done it anyway, and their chances are better with my help than without it. I guess I just..." He abruptly stopped speaking. Isobel frowned.

"What?"

He nodded into the chamber. "Look." The crystal floating above them was still glowing, but the color had shifted from white to red.

"Is that bad?"

"No, it means they're starting to come out of it." He looked at her. "Go get the others, quickly!" Isobel ran from the room and Sukesh hurried into the spell chamber. The air was stale with sweat and a faint smell of ozone. He crouched near them, checking their pulse rates while keeping an eye on the crystal as its red color deepened.

The door to the chamber opened and Lupin entered, followed a few seconds later by Napoleon and Henry. "What's going on?" Napoleon asked.

Sukesh pointed to Hermione. "Lay her down, quick."

Napoleon eased her back onto the pillows. All eyes stared upwards at the crystal, its red color intensifying and a vague hum beginning to emanate from it. It floated gently down towards the floor. Sukesh held out a hand to catch it. Its glow jacked up to a blinding red light and then with a slight crackle it went abruptly dark.

Harry's eyes snapped open and he sucked in a deep breath. He sat straight up, appearing totally alert, and looked around until he saw Hermione lying nearby. She still seemed to be in the trance. He bent over her, barely acknowledging the others. "I lost her near the end," he said, his voice tight. "She's lost."

All at once Hermione began to seize, her body going rigid and her head snapping from side to side. Sukesh shoved Harry aside. "Get my kit," he said over his shoulder. Henry darted out to fetch it. Harry was trying to push his way back to Hermione's side. "Harry, stay out of my way."

Harry held up a hand and Sukesh felt himself shoved backwards, halfway across the room. "I can get her back," Harry said, bending over her again. He put his hands on her face, forced her eyes open and stared intently into them, his face mere inches from hers. A crackling green light emanated from Harry's eyes as he concentrated on her face, holding her head tightly to keep it steady while her body continued to spasm.

Slowly the seizure passed and her body relaxed. She was gasping and shaking, but awareness was returning to her gaze. Harry eased off a little bit. She blinked and looked up at him, groggy. "Ron?" she whispered, then slumped into unconsciousness before he could make a reply.

Sukesh scrambled back to her side. "Okay, let's get her to the medical wing." Harry picked her up and hurried from the room, the rest of the team following him closely.

---

He sat at her bedside and held her hand, waiting for her to wake up. He wasn't thinking about the distinct possibility that she might never do so, that the spell may have damaged her brain irreparably. She would be fine. He was certain of it, mostly because that was the only way he could bear to think about it.

Sukesh came in periodically and checked on her, grumbling under his breath about insane spells and horrible risks and the general stupidity of everyone including himself. Harry didn't respond to him, just sat quietly until he left the room again. Sukesh was a good man, Harry was just now beginning to appreciate how good, and if Hermione never woke up or suffered brain damage the doctor would never forgive himself for having allowed them to perform this spell in the first place.

Although he wasn't considering the possibility that she might not recover, Harry could still glimpse the magnitude of his own guilt should the inconceivable come to pass. If there was one constant in his life, it was guilt. He bore the weight of a dozen culpabilities on his shoulders, some of them old and comfortable, some of them still new and chafing. Guilt drew him annually to Cedric's grave to leave flowers and apologize to him again for not having been strong enough or good enough to save him. Guilt over Ron's death had driven him half-mad and nearly cost him his own life as well as several other people's in his quest to avenge himself on Voldemort. The largest burden of guilt by far, however, was that his parents had paid with their lives for having been unlucky enough to bear a son who was an aberration, a rare assemblage of genes, and a threat to those whom he might someday fight. So they had been executed, summarily, and that freak aspect of his nature which had caused their deaths had not even allowed him to die with them.

Hermione would scold him if she knew he was, as she would put it, wallowing. It wasn't your fault, she'd say. You always think everything's about you. She'd stand up and walk to the door. If you're going to sulk, don't expect me to sit here and watch you...but her eyes would be sympathetic, and eventually she would come back and put her arms around him and comfort him. You mustn't dwell on the past, my love, she'd say. What's done is done. We've got to think about the future, our future.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it softly, then held it tight to his chest as he ran his other hand up and down her forearm. She looked smaller lying there in the bed. Hermione wasn't particularly tiny, she stood five feet seven inches tall and had an athletic figure, but he wasn't used to seeing her helpless. He usually thought of her as the stronger of them, his accursed Mage powers notwithstanding. If they had trouble, she found a way through it. If there was a problem, she thought of a solution. If he was weak, she was strong enough for both of them. If he stumbled, she was there to catch him. The vague awareness that in truth he provided the same support for her didn't matter right now.

Harry felt a lump rising in his throat and swallowed it down. He'd once told her, long ago, that he didn't know how to be Harry Potter without her. What he should have said was that he didn't know how to be without her.

Hermione stirred, her eyes moving behind the lids. Harry sat up straighter, his grip on her hand tightening. She murmured sleepily to herself as she woke. "...mmm...ron?..."

"Hermione?" Harry whispered, leaning over her.

Her eyes fluttered open and focused on his face. "Harry?"

"I'm right here, sweetheart." He kissed her hand again, twice. "How do you feel?"

"Ohh," she moaned, her other hand going to her forehead. "I've an awful headache."

Sukesh came hurrying in, no doubt alerted by his monitoring charms that she'd woken. He went to the other side of her bed and busied himself checking her vital signs. "Are you all right?" he asked her.

She blinked. "I think so." Her hand suddenly gripped Harry's and she turned to look at him, alarmed. "The spell! Did it..."

"It's over," Harry said. "It's all over."

"What happened to me?"

"We're not sure," Harry said. "Near the end, as we were coming out...I lost hold of you. I woke up, but you had some kind of seizure."

"I remember...green light...I saw your eyes."

"I went back in and got you."

She frowned. "How did you do that?"

"I'm...not entirely sure."

Sukesh spoke up to answer. "It looked as if he used some crude form of telepathy to call your mind back to your body."

She smiled at Harry. "My hero," she said.

He chuckled. "You were the one with the guts to do this spell in the first place. I was just along for the ride."

She sobered. "And...did it work?"

"Good question," Sukesh said, eyeing Harry. So far he'd been loathe to discuss what had actually happened in the trance with Hermione still recovering. The others were, naturally, dying of curiosity.

"We found him," Hermione said, pulling herself to a sitting position. She looked at Harry. "We found him, didn't we?"

Harry nodded. "It wasn't easy. So many minds, and all of them so busy, but we found him." He took her other hand so he was holding both of them. "At least now we know he's alive."

Her face fell. "You don't remember anything, do you?"

He shook his head. "No. I didn't get anything. What about you?"

Her eyes filled with tears. "It was all for nothing, then. I touched his mind, Harry," she said, withdrawing her hands and putting them over her face. "I felt him, but it was so brief. I tried to get to his memories, like the spell said, but...oh, damn it. I thought I had it. I thought I'd done it. But I don't remember anything."

Harry slid forward and held her, smoothing her rumpled hair. He kissed her temple. "It's all right, we'll find him. We'll find him another way."

Hermione's arms rose to encircle his shoulders and he felt her relax against him. "Yes, we'll find him," she repeated.

"All right," Sukesh said, his firm doctor-voice back in place. "You two are ordered to take some time off. A full day of rest, at home. I don't care what you do as long as it has nothing to do with all of this. This spell took a lot out of both of you and I don't want to see you back here. Understood?"

For once, Harry didn't feel like arguing with him. "All right," he said. "Can I take her home?"

"Yes, take her home. Lie around and read a book or something. We'll stay on this, don't you worry about a thing." He smiled and left the room.

Hermione drew back, her tears still unshed. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I failed."

"Don't apologize to me. I was there too, remember?"

"But...it was my idea...I was so sure it would work..."

"It isn't important."

"Isn't important? But Ron...and we..."

"Shush. The first thing I care about is that you're all right. We will find Ron, I promise...but we have to take care of each other first. Okay?"

She nodded, laying a hand on his face. "I love you," she said, leaning forward to kiss him. She cocked her head and looked at him. "Do you realize that's the 764th time I've said that to you?"

Harry's mouth dropped open. "You've been keeping count?"

She shrugged. "Just the way my brain works, I guess."

"Yes, your brain is a weird and wonderful place." He arched an eyebrow. "Have you been keeping count for me, too?"

"Of course."

"And? Am I ahead or behind?"

"Believe it or not, we're tied."

He thought for a moment. "I suppose that's just how it should be. I say it, you say it back, and vice versa." He kissed her forehead. "765." She smiled up at him then, her sweet, warm smile, and it almost drove from his mind the nagging thoughts of whose name she had first spoken upon waking...almost.

---

Harry was reading in the library when all hell broke loose.

They had come straight home from the office after Sukesh had ordered them off duty. Hermione had been quiet and withdrawn. As they'd come into the house she'd shooed him away irritably, having probably had enough of him hovering over her. She'd gone upstairs, saying she wanted a nap. Harry was tempted to follow her but had thought better of it. She was hardly an introvert but Hermione craved retreat from time to time. This wasn't a new facet to her personality but after their relationship had changed Harry felt himself beginning to take it personally when she wanted to be away from others, even him. After a few ill-advised attempts to impose himself on her solitude he had learned that it wasn't that she didn't want to be around him, it was just that she sometimes wanted time in no one's company but her own. Besides, these brief sojourns usually ended with her finding him and curling up on his lap or snuggling against his side.

So he'd gone to the library to find a book to read, the prospect of some peaceful moments of his own sounding better by the second. Perhaps he was picking up some of her habits. He chuckled to himself as he scanned the rows of books. There was little doubt of that, actually. He hadn't begun life as a voracious reader but he was certainly turning into one. He supposed it wasn't possible for a man to spend so much time in the company of one woman and not have her rub off on him.

He'd been working his way through the novels of Jose Saramago of late, and he was due to begin a new one having just finished "All the Names." He picked "Blindness" off the shelf and ensconced himself in one of the bottomless leather armchairs.

It was almost three hours later that he was jerked out of the narrative by the sound of a door slamming. He jumped, looking up to see Hermione standing in front of the library door, which she'd just yanked shut behind her. She looked furious.

"What?" he said, marking his page and putting the book aside.

She held up a piece of paper...it took him a moment to recognize one of the RSVP cards from their wedding invitations. She'd been saying she wanted to go through them but hadn't gotten around to it. It looked as if she'd decided to begin that task today. "Could you explain this, please?" she said, her voice a thin veneer of tight control over the anger that lay beneath. He was becoming more alarmed by the second. Hermione was an even-tempered person, and it took some doing to get her really mad.

"Uh...I'll try if you'll tell me what it is."

She yanked the RSVP card up before her eyes and read it aloud. "'Dear Harry and Hermione, I heard about your engagement a few months ago and was glad that it had finally happened for you. I must say I was surprised but pleased to receive an invitation. I will be very happy to attend. I'll look forward to seeing you and congratulating you. Yours very sincerely, Ronin Savage.'" She glared at him. "That. That's what it is."

Harry was lost without a map. "So?" he said, drawing the word out, hoping to communicate his profound puzzlement.

"Harry James Potter! You invited bloody Ronin to our wedding?"

"Well, yes! We invited her! She was on the guest list!"

Hermione's eyes widened and she goggled at him. "She was not!"

Harry stood up. "Yes, she was! I added her to the list three versions ago! Didn't you notice?"

"No! If I had I would have had a few words to say about it! Didn't it cross your mind that it might have been a good idea to just mention that you were adding her?"

"You didn't mention it when you added your great-aunt Hortense and her eight kids!"

"Aunt Hortense is family!"

"Well, Ronin is an old friend."

"She's your ex-girlfriend!" Hermione's face had gone a rather alarming shade of purple.

"Yes! And?"

Hermione's hands made meaningless gestures in the air as if she were trying to grasp just the right word to convey his extreme stupidity. "You didn't think I might have an opinion about her being invited?"

"For crying out loud, Hermione! Two of my ex-girlfriends are in your bloody wedding party!" he exclaimed. "How was I to know that there was some subtle division of acceptability among women I have dated in the past?"

"Because there just is!"

"So Cho and Ginny are okay but Ronin is not?" They were both shouting now.

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"Because!" Hermione yelled, then fell abruptly silent.

"Because what?" he said, more gently.

Hermione put a hand to her forehead as if she had a headache, then fetched a deep sigh and forged ahead, speaking rapidly. "Because she's the only one I can still see you with," she said. "I can't imagine you having any interest in Cho or Ginny anymore, but I can imagine that you might still be attracted to Ronin." Harry sagged, realizing that the inherent ridiculousness of this notion did not lessen its power. He could also sympathize. He'd had almost exactly the same reaction when she'd briefly considered inviting Abel Kilroy. He was the only one of her ex-boyfriends that still felt like a threat. He took a few steps towards her. Hermione shrugged, seeming embarrassed but still upset. "She was just so exotic and mysterious and sexy..."

He grasped her by the arms. "Hey," he murmured. "I don't have any interest in Ronin, okay?" He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. She fidgeted but finally met his eyes. "I wanted her there for the same reason I want anyone else there. I'll be marrying you, and that's kind of like a miracle," he said, touching her face gently as he spoke, "and I want everyone who's ever been significant in my life to be there to see it happen. I want the whole world to know, I'd shout it from the housetops if I could." Hermione sighed and seemed to relax a little...at least the troublesome lines smoothed from her forehead. "I haven't seen Ronin in a long time. I'm sure she's still exotic and mysterious and sexy, but it wouldn't matter if she were Helen of Troy, she's in the past. We had a nice time of it while we were dating, but it was nothing compared to what we have."

Hermione looked away, still a little doubtful...but looking as if she wanted to be convinced. "Really?" she said, glancing back at him. Harry was dumbfounded that this was actually in any doubt. He was amazed that Hermione could consider Ronin a threat to their relationship, but at the same time it puffed him up a bit. It was reassuring for his own insecurity to know that her feelings for him were strong enough to give rise to jealousy.

"Of course. You were the only person I ever considered spending the rest of my life with. Even while I was dating Ginny or Ronin. I never thought of either of them as a possible mate, but you..." He smiled. "Before I finally woke up to the fact that I loved you I still pictured us growing old together. Having houses next door to each other all our lives, sitting together on our front porches when we're ninety years old, reminiscing about the good old days and complaining about what's wrong with these kids today." Hermione giggled. "You were all I had in my life. You still are. Okay?"

She looked up at him for a moment, then blushed and shuffled her feet. "Okay." She met his eyes briefly, embarrassed. "Geez, you must think I'm such a ninny..."

"Oh, no," he said. "I'll let you in on a little secret about men. We love it when women get jealous over us. It makes us feel all manly...and loved."

"Well, you must be feeling really manly right about now."

"Actually, I'm feeling rather like an idiot. I should have mentioned that I added Ronin's name to the guest list. I suppose when you didn't raise any objections I assumed that you'd seen it and were okay with it. Wishful thinking on my part, no doubt." He looked down at her. "If you want I'll rescind the invitation, if you really don't want her there."

Hermione considered, then shook her head. "No, that's not necessary. She's welcome." She looked up at him, a look of alarm crossing her features. "Oh, Harry...I really let you have it, didn't I? I'm sorry...I don't know what's wrong with me..."

He hugged her tightly. "Don't apologize to me for my mistake...but I'll agree that you really let me have it."

She buried her face in his shoulder, her voice muffled. "I don't know what came over me..."

Her shoulders began to shake and Harry realized with growing alarm that she was crying. "Hey...it's okay, really...it's..."

She pulled back abruptly and shook her head. "Damn, that spell should have worked...something must have gone wrong. Now we've wasted all this time, time Ron might not have..."

Harry frowned, understanding that her distress over the Phenomorbius spell had been the real root of their quarrel but concerned that she was dwelling on it too much. "Honey, why don't you sit down and..."

"No!" she exclaimed, throwing off his hands and beginning to pace. "I can't stop thinking about it! We've failed him for ten years and we're still doing it!" Harry watched her as she walked back and forth, faster and faster. "I can't bear to think of him there all alone...alone in that flat with no one to talk to..." Harry peered at her closely. In her distraction her words were running away ahead of her. "...nothing to do but read and stare at the walls and play chess and write and write and write..." She suddenly seemed to hear her own words and stopped abruptly. Her mouth opened and closed a few times.

"Hermione, what...what do you remember?" Harry said gently.

She tried to speak, tried to pick up the thread where she'd dropped it, her hands grasping the air as if she could pluck the memories out of space. "I...I don't know," she finally managed.

"How did you know he was in a flat? And writing...writing what?"

She turned an anguished face towards him. "I don't know!" she cried. "My God, Harry...what was I saying? Where did that come from?"

"I think maybe the spell wasn't such a failure after all," he said. He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the room. "Come on. Let's go see Sukesh."

---

Sukesh frowned as he peered into Hermione's eyes with a small torch. "And you still can't actually remember anything?"

"No," Hermione said. "But it seems as if I have some recollection of...something."

"Hm. Well, you may have received Ron's memories on a subconscious level. That's been known to happen, as you informed us."

Harry stood nearby, watching as Sukesh examined her. "So she might have an instinctive feeling about Ron's experiences."

"Yes, perhaps."

"How do we access that?"

Hermione perked up. "Can you hypnotize me?"

"No, absolutely not," Sukesh said. "To subject you to another trance state so soon after your experience in the Phenomorbius spell would be extremely dangerous."

Harry came around from behind her and sat down. "Hermione, what's the first thing you remember when you woke up from the trance?"

She smiled a little. "You were holding my hand."

"And who else was there?"

"No one at first, then Sukesh came in."

"What did he tell you?"

"That I should go home, and you too."

"And where has Ron been living all this time?"

"In a flat, a rather large one, it's..." She stopped short, her eyes widening. "Uh...I..." She rubbed at her forehead, her face creasing into a frustrated scowl. "Dammit! I can't remember anything!"

Harry looked at Sukesh. "See? When she thinks about it, she loses it. She can't directly remember anything, but if you come at it through the back door it just sort of...pops out." He looked at Hermione, her face registering hope for the first time. "I misdirected you with some simple questions then hit you with one about Ron you weren't expecting."

"Do it again!"

"Now, hang on. We'll have to plan this. We might be able to use this to get some information but it'll take some preparation. I'll need to write up a whole list of simple questions to throw at you so I don't have to stop and think myself."

"Well? What are you waiting for? Let's get going!" She jumped up, but Harry motioned her back to her seat.

"Easy there, ace. You'll need to be very relaxed, I think. So you don't...think too much."

Hermione made a face. "Stop thinking. That's not so easy for me."

"My point exactly."

Sukesh piped in. "Maybe a mild sedative charm could help. Not enough to affect your thought processes, just enough to take the edge off your anxiety and nervousness." He glanced up at Harry. "Maybe we ought to have Johns do this."

"No, I'll do it," Harry said. "I know her best, and Ron as well. I can ask better questions, she knows my voice."

"I agree," Hermione said. "I'll be the most at ease if Harry conducts the questioning."

Sukesh nodded. "All right, then. Harry, you get to work on your questions. I'll prepare a sedative for Hermione."

---

"So. Here we are again," Napoleon said. Indeed, they were in the same observation room from which they'd kept vigil over the Phenomorbius spell, except that the chamber itself had been changed back to its original incarnation. A comfortable leather recliner, a desk and a chair were placed within a circle of soft illumination. Hermione was sitting in the recliner, and Harry was shuffling some papers at the desk.

"Is the transcription ready?" Sukesh asked as he came into the room.

"All set," said Lupin, indicating a quill hovering over a thick roll of parchment, poised to take down everything that was said inside the examination chamber.

They watched as Harry took off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He stood up and went to Hermione's chair. "Comfortable?" he asked her.

She nodded. "I'm fine." She looked up at him. "This will work."

"I hope so."

She reached up and grasped his arm. "766," she whispered.

"Yeah, me too," he whispered back, smiling, letting his hand trail down her cheek as he straightened up. The observers glanced at each other.

"What's that mean?" Henry asked.

Napoleon shrugged. "No idea."

Harry had returned to the desk. "All right, I'm going to start the questions," he said. "Just relax, let your mind go blank, and answer as quickly as possible. Don't worry about being correct...I know that'll be a stretch, but it's not important. When I hit you with one about Ron, you're going to have to fight your impulse to stop and think about what you've just said. Don't. Keep your mind blank, don't think about your answers. If I see you're starting to engage your mind I'll switch right away to easy and automatic questions, okay?"

She nodded, her eyes shut. Sukesh's sedative charm appeared to have relaxed her somewhat.

"All right. Here we go."

---

...the questions...

---

What's your name?

Hermione Anne Granger.

How old are you?

28.

Where did we first meet?

On the Hogwarts Express.

How?

I was helping Neville look for Trevor.

What was Ron trying to do?

Turn Scabbers yellow with a spell George gave him.

Did it work?

Of course not.

What was the address of our first flat?

18D Denbigh Street, Shepherd's Bush.

What were the names of the five boys in Gryffindor from our year?

You, Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville.

What does Dean do now?

He lives in Germany. He's training to be a Potions Master.

And Neville?

He's an Enforcer. A Detective.

What's Seamus up to?

He works for the Ministry. I forget which division.

What about me?

You're a spy.

Where do I live?

At Bailicroft, with me.

Is Dean married?

No.

Neville?

Yes. His wife's name is Amelia.

Seamus?

No.

And me?

Not quite yet.

What does Ron do now?

He reads.

What does he read?

Anything he can get.

What else does he do?

He plays chess.

With whom?

I...I'm not...

Do you have any pets?

Yes. A dog named Lily.

Where did you get her?

She was a gift from you.

Who is she named after?

Your mother.

Who's the oldest of the Weasley kids?

Bill.

Who's next?

Charlie.

Who's the youngest?

Ginny.

Where does Ron live?

In a flat, a large one.

Where is this flat?

Underground.

Is he alone?

Yes.

Who keeps him there?

Allegra. And...Bob.

Who is Bob?

I don't know.

Is Ron sick?

No.

Hurt?

No.

Angry?

No. I...I'm not sure...

What's your name?

Hermione Anne Granger.

Are you single?

No. I'm engaged.

To whom?

You.

And who am I?

Harry Potter.

How long have we been engaged?

Over a year.

When did I propose to you?

Last August.

Where?

At the Friends and Former Pupils Gala.

Did you say yes?

Of course.

Why?

Because I love you.

And where is Ron?

In his flat.

Alone?

Always.

Is he a prisoner?

Yes.

Has he been badly treated?

No.

He is allowed to read?

Yes.

And write?

Yes.

What else?

Exercise. Play chess.

What else?

Watch films. Listen to music.

How can we find him?

I don't know.

Who knows where he is?

Allegra. And Bob.

Does he have his wand?

No. No magic.

None at all?

No.

[pause]

Does he know we thought he was dead?

Yes.

---

They watched as Harry fell silent, then let his head drop into his hands. Hermione looked around. "Is that all?" she asked.

"That's all I've got. All you know is what he knows, and he doesn't seem to know much."

"What did I say? I sort of remember, but..."

"Let's look at the transcript."

They both rose and hurried into the observation chamber, crowding together over the transcript the enchanted quill had taken down for them. "Hmm," Hermione said. "A flat. And Allegra...I can't say that's really a surprise. Who's this Bob?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

She sighed. "He knows we thought he was dead." She smiled. "I'm glad. At least he hasn't been wondering why we haven't come to rescue him."

Harry's brow was furrowing. "You mentioned chess twice."

"So?"

"That seems odd. Who's he playing chess with? He wouldn't be satisfied with an opponent who didn't know the game."

"Another prisoner?"

"I doubt there are any others. If she wanted to keep him so secret Allegra wouldn't let him near anyone else."

"Perhaps he's playing against himself."

"Chess always brought out Ron's competitive side. He'd need a worthy opponent." Harry paced slowly, thinking. "He's got no magic, no wand. He's got a large, comfortable flat for a prison. He's living as a Muggle, for all intents and purposes. And alone. So how does a Muggle with no one else around play chess?"

He met her eyes and saw the answer rise to her mind at the same moment it surfaced in his. "Online," she said. "He must be playing online."

"Does that...feel right to you?"

"Yes, it feels exactly right."

Harry whirled and hurried from the room, calling for his Bubble. He could hear the others following him. "Peyton!" he barked at the Bubble.

"What?" came an irritable voice in response. Peyton was something of an unusual personage. He worked for the I.D. as a consultant, and he was a Muggle. To Harry's knowledge, he was the only Muggle in the world employed by a wizarding institution. His job was to know everything there was to know about Muggles, or to have the means to find out. Not the most sociable of chaps, but useful. A large percentage of his job involved the Internet, a system that was wholly foreign to wizards but the usefulness of which they couldn't deny. One of the reasons he'd been hired was that in his previous life he'd been a rather notorious hacker.

"I'm bringing you a little job. Drop everything."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Harry, I'm in the middle of a geneaological record search for..."

"It can wait. How much do you know about online chess competition?"

"By the time you get down here I'll know enough."

Indeed, when Harry and the rest of the team arrived at Peyton's dungeon-like habitat he had all three of his computer workstations engaged in the task. "What have you got?" Hermione asked, pushing forward. Muggle computer technology fascinated her, though she had no more of an understanding of it than Harry did.

"Well, there is a very active online chess community," Peyton said. "I already knew that. But here, see there's also a pretty organized series of online tournaments. I've run across a few very famous chess names registered on these sites. Looks like they use the tournaments to play each other even if they'll never get the chance to do so in real life." He looked up at them. "What are you looking for?"

"Someone mysterious, someone no one else knows. Someone who might be a wizard."

"All right, give me a little time. Clear off."

The team moved away to allow Peyton time to work. "What you thinkin', boss?" Napoleon asked.

"If he's playing chess online...well, I don't know much about computers but there's got to be a way to track it."

"Do you think he'd be allowed that kind of contact with the outside world?" Henry said. "Couldn't he use it to call for help? Alert someone to his presence?"

"I'm not sure," Harry said. "I'll reiterate...me and computers be not friends. This is just a hunch. It might lead nowhere. Maybe it's a wild-goose chase. But I trust Hermione's instincts."

"Harry, do you have any instincts about Ron?" Hermione asked him, laying a hand on his arm. "After all you were there with me. Maybe you received some of his memories too."

"I don't know. I don't think so. I haven't had any sense about his memories since the spell," he said.

The door to Peyton's dungeon opened and Diz poked her head in. Everyone fell abruptly silent. "There you are," she said to Harry. "I've been looking all over for you." She came forward, bearing a sheaf of parchments.

"What's up?" he said, grateful for the distraction.

"I've got the field deployments you wanted me to draw up. I need you to sign off on them." She handed him the documents and a quill. He moved to a desk in the corner and quickly began scrawling his name at the bottom of each set of orders, hearing the rest of the team shifting and muttering to each other behind him. Diz was not part of their investigation and she couldn't know what they were up to, so they were forced to act casual, as if they'd all just spontaneously turned up down in Peyton's lair for no apparent reason.

Diz took the signed orders from him and turned to Remus with a smile. "How are you?" she said.

He smiled back. "Fine." He glanced around at the curious faces of his colleagues. "I had a good time last night," he said in a low voice.

Diz's smile widened. "Me, too. See you later?"

"Yes. Later."

She reached out and gave his hand a little surreptitious squeeze and then left the room. Remus turned back to the others, all of whom were staring at him with knowing smirks and arched eyebrows. "Tonight?" Hermione said, curling the word into an interrogative full of insinuation.

Remus drew himself up. "What? We're...sort of...going out, I suppose."

"Thank God, some good news," Harry said.

"Quite," Napoleon added. "We can't have a prime catch like you moldering away in a dusty office."

Remus flushed violet. "It's nothing serious. We've had a few dates, is all."

"What did you do last night when you had such a marvelous time?" Napoleon asked, not one to be put off easily. Harry could see Remus' discomfort but didn't intervene. He was curious himself, besides, it was taking their minds off their increasingly desperate investigation and killing time while Peyton worked his brand of Muggle magic.

"Well...we went to the zoo."

Hermione sighed. "How adorable."

Remus made a face. "Not the word I would choose."

"You like her, then?" Isobel asked.

"I do like her, yes."

"Oh, come on! Quit beating around the bush, are you getting any or aren't you?"

"Napoleon!" Harry exclaimed, suppressing laughter. "That's jolly inappropriate for the workplace!"

Remus put his hands on his hips and glared at Napoleon. "If I were, Jones, you'd be the last person to whom I'd confess it." He cleared his throat and casually examined his fingernails. "Besides, a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

In the hoots and chuckles over this last statement Peyton went unheard on his first attempt to get their attention. "Hey!" he repeated, shouting it this time. Everyone stopped and turned towards him. "I think I've got something." He beckoned them to his workstation. "All right. I've uncovered a few discussions on these message boards regarding just the sort of mysterious person you asked me to look for. I made a quick sweep of the online tournament registrations and there is one frequent player whose user profiles don't include his real name or any personal information whatsoever. The name he uses to sign on is generally believed to be an alias and the other regular players refer to him, ironically, as the Wizard."

"Why?"

"Because he uses highly original gambits and ploys that aren't part of the usual chess player's arsenal, and because no one seems to know who he is. In the tightly connected chess world this is unusual. They might not have taken note of it except for the fact that he almost always wins. He's beaten some of the highest ranked chess players in the world. Just last month he beat Bruce Pandolfini in an online match that lasted five hours. Someone with that level of skill certainly ought to be known to them in the real world."

"Who is he really?"

"I just told you, I don't know. He gave in and started going by the handle 'Wizard' at some point, but his originally username was..." He tapped a few keys and a bewildering succession of windows opened and closed, the screen displays shifting and reloading as he worked. "There. That's his original login."

Seeing the words there on the screen did something to Harry's stomach that he was hard pressed to explain. He reached out blindly towards Hermione only to meet her hand halfway as she reached for him. Their fingers twined and squeezed, hard. "Conference," he said, motioning the rest of the team away from Peyton's workstation. They huddled in the corner and spoke in low voices. "That's him," Harry said, keeping his voice as steady as he could.

The others exchanged confused glances. "How do you know?"

"The name," Hermione said. "His login name. Arthur James Douglas."

"What about it?"

Harry sighed. "Those are our father's names. His, mine, and Hermione's." There didn't seem to be much to say in response. Harry straightened up and turned back towards Peyton.

"So is this your guy or isn't it?" Peyton asked.

"It is."

"Goody. Whoever he is, he's being watched very closely."

Harry frowned. "How do you know that?"

"Well...his server is protected with a really complicated series of firewalls and security lockouts, and there's a piggyback slurp signal, which means that his access to the Internet is extremely limited. He probably can't send anything at all. All his activity is being monitored by remote."

"How can we find him? Can we...I don't know...track this somehow? Send some sort of homing signal?"

"There's got to be a way to trace his access," Henry said. "Or we might be able to come up with a magical means to find him now that we've got a little more to go on."

Peyton cleared his throat. "Would his address help?" Everyone stopped and stared at him. He grinned and held up a sheet of paper as it was spit out of the printer. "I traced his ISP. Your guy's got access via a satellite connection."

"So what's this?" Harry said, looking at the paper Peyton had just handed him.

"GPS coordinates of the server."

Harry blinked down at the printout, stunned. All of a sudden Hermione leaned forward and grabbed Peyton's shoulders, then planted a big smacking kiss on his bearded face. "Aw, t'weren't nothin, ma'am," Peyton drawled, but he looked pleased.

Harry handed the paper to Napoleon, who raced out of the room with it, followed by the rest of the team. "Peyton, remind me to buy you a car for your next birthday," Harry said, hugging Hermione with one arm as they headed for the door.

"Hang on a second," Peyton said. They turned back. He hesitated a moment, then spoke in a more serious tone. "The first online discussion I found about your guy regarded the fact that no one's seen him online for a little while. He's been a regular, showing up at least once a day for years. I checked, and he hasn't logged on in the last five days."

Harry glanced down at Hermione, the excitement leaving her face to be replaced by concern. Harry's stomach twisted up. Oh, no, he thought. Please don't let us be too late.

---

The inside of the small cottage was completely empty save for a small bank of sophisticated computer equipment and a satellite dish. Harry turned in a circle in the deserted living room as if the answer might suddenly appear written on the wall.

Hermione struck the doorframe with her fist. "I can't believe he might have been so close all this time," she said.

Harry nodded. The GPS coordinates Peyton had provided led them to a location that was heartbreakingly nearby, about 100 kilometers north of London. All they'd found was this cottage and the server that had led them here. "You said his flat was underground," Harry said.

"That doesn't mean it's here," she replied. "Peyton said they could link to this server from anywhere in the world through the phone lines."

"There aren't any phone lines," Henry said, coming in from outside. "This house isn't wired. That's why they needed the satellite dish."

"So Ron's computer must be linked directly to this server," Harry said, feeling uncertain amidst a world of technology he didn't understand. He wished he'd asked Peyton to come with them. "I think. Is that right?" he asked Hermione.

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because. I always ask you."

"Well, I don't know. But it sounds good to me. If his flat is underground there might be access here through the basement."

The team conducted a thorough search of the house and cellar and found nothing. No hidden trapdoors, no secret staircases. Finally Harry performed a Decloaking spell that would reveal anything that had been deliberately hidden. They found a tin of old pennies buried in the backyard by some former occupant but nothing that would lead them to an underground flat. They reconvened on the porch, puzzled and frustrated.

Harry was beginning to feel rather fatalistic about the entire venture. He looked up and saw Hermione watching him closely and knew she was reading his face like a book, as she had always been able. "You don't think he's still down there, do you?" she said.

"I know he's not down there."

"How?"

"Because if he were we would have been confronted by now. Even if his flat is underground you can be damned sure this location on the surface is under surveillance. Explains why he hasn't logged on in five days, too. He's been moved."

"But...that implies that..."

"That they found out that we know," he finished. The team looked uncertainly around at each other. "Somehow, they found out and they moved him before we could get too close. Even with all our precautions of secrecy, all our cautious investigating, they found out." He shook his head. "I should have known better."

"How?" Napoleon exclaimed. "How in Merlin's name did they find out?"

"We'll have to worry about that later. We still have to get down to that flat. Who knows what sort of evidence we may find there?"

"Which brings us back to the problem of getting down there at all," Remus said.

"You must have to Apparate in," Hermione said.

"Apparating underground is no mean trick," Isobel grumbled. "Especially when you don't know where you're going. If you can't visualize your target location you'll splinch yourself into half a dozen pieces."

"I could do it," Hermione said. "I have memories of Ron's flat."

"Memories you can't directly access."

She scrunched up her face. "Maybe if I just...think hard enough..."

"No," Harry said. "If you try to think about it you'll lose it. You have to not think about it."

"How am I supposed to do that?" she cried. "I can't think of anything else!" She took a step closer to him. "Can we try the questions again? Something, anything!"

"All right," he said, holding out his hands. "I'll distract you, but you'll have to Apparate quickly while you've got it in your head. So we'd better plan this out. Assuming you make it down there, how are we to follow?" He turned to Napoleon. "Have you got a standard issue field kit in your car boot?"

"Sure," Napoleon said, running to get it.

"Harry, you'll have to Apparate me," Hermione said. "I can't do it myself. The minute I start to do it I'll have to think about where I'm going and I'll lose it. Distract me, then Apparate me. Hopefully the minute I hear you say the word I'll instinctively remember Ron's flat and where I'm going."

"Okay." Napoleon came back bearing a leather valise, which he laid on the ground and laid open. It contained a wide variety of useful charms, talismans, reference books, a spare utility wand, a few anti-curse Enforcer's bands and several small vials of standard potions.

"I assume you want this," he said, pulling out a velvet pouch.

Harry took it and dumped the Apparating locators onto his palm. He fixed one to Hermione's cloak. "There's only three more," he said, looking around at the five other team members. "We'll have to share." He looked up at Hermione. "Please try not to splinch yourself, okay?"

"I'll do my best. Can you ask me questions fast enough without a list?"

"I'll do my best. Just give me a moment to prepare." He stood back a bit and thought for a moment, biting his lower lip. Hermione bounced back and forth on the balls of her feet, nervous.

"Come on," she said. "Let's get this..."

With no warning whatsoever, Harry suddenly lunged at her, swinging his arm in a wide arc. Hermione sucked in a breath and ducked, coming up in time to block the next blow as it came in from the opposite side. Harry gave her no time to recuperate, just started throwing punches at her in quick jabs. He wasn't trying to hit her, it was a standard sparring pattern used often in training and she would know it well. Indeed, her arms flashed through the air as she deflected each punch with quick, deft movements. Harry went faster, watching her face as its lines of concern and anxiety were washed away in a tide of concentration. You couldn't think about much else while sparring, you just had to react, and that was exactly what he wanted her to do when he Apparated her...react.

The others watched as he sped up the tempo even further, pushing her more and more into instinct mode. At this speed there was no time to analyze, no time to ponder and predict. He continued on for a good minute until her face had gone almost totally blank of expression. Her mind had disengaged itself, and hopefully it would allow her to safely follow her instinctive memories of Ron's last ten years and Apparate down to where he was...or had been.

Abruptly, not allowing himself any time for hesitation, Harry shoved her away and whipped out his wand. "Apparatium!" he said, pointing it at her. She stiffened and shut her eyes, then vanished with a swish of light from his wand.

For a moment no one moved, it hardly seemed like anyone was breathing. Harry stood stock still, eyes shut, beseeching any deity who might be listening in to see that she made it all right. Without opening his eyes he called for his Bubble, which he heard arrive with its characteristic pop sound. "Hermione?" he said into it.

"Yeah, I'm here," she replied at once.

Harry let out a large breath and opened his eyes in time to see everyone else relax. "Where are you?"

"I'm in some sort of corridor. It's not like a flat. You better come down here."

The other agents paired off and used the Apparation locators to join her below. Harry looked around the corridor, which appeared to have been hewn out of the bedrock with no small amount of skill. The walls were smooth and curved and flecked with sparkly shards of natural mica. Under their feet was a metal grillwork suspended above the uneven tunnel floor; torches spaced every few meters lit up the long hallway. Harry could see three doors leading off the hall from where he stood, but his attention was immediately drawn to the one at the far end, about twenty meters distant. It was larger than the others, solid and secure-looking.

The team approached cautiously, wands out, keeping an eye on their corners. As Harry approached he could see that the door was secured with a heavy bolt-bar. He extended his wand towards it, but the tip would not get any nearer than a few inches. "It's warded," he said, retreating a step.

Remus walked up. "Renuncio," he said, swiping his wand through the air towards the door. The opening spell bounced harmlessly off. "Hmph," he said. "Strong ward."

Harry had had about enough. "Everyone stand back," he said. He holstered his wand and stood about two meters from the door. He concentrated as Lefty had taught him, mustering as much magic from within himself as he could reach. He had been doing some informal Mage training with the Society since the summer, and already he had seen remarkable progress. He knew that he had only gained access to a small portion of the power that might be eventually available to him, but even that small part he could touch sometimes astonished him.

Now, he hoped it would be enough. He thrust his arms forward and magic coursed from his shoulders down his arms and burst from his hands. The door was blown right off its hinges and collapsed backwards in a smoking heap. He lowered his arms, feeling somewhat drained. Hermione stepped up to his side. "Been amassing the sinister Mage powers again, I see," she commented dryly.

"Good thing, don't you think? We'd've been at that ward for hours."

"Ah yes, the ultimate goal of any Mage. Efficiency." Her sarcasm masked her uneasiness, he knew. This was not the time for yet another iteration of that particular discussion.

"Can we drop it, please?" he said in a low voice. Hermione didn't reply, just peered through the clearing smoke into the flat. She glanced up at him, her annoyance replaced by apprehension. Harry felt it, too. They were about to enter their best friend's prison. He took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway.

The flat wasn't what he'd expected, a utilitarian holding facility with a few amenities. In fact it was large and tastefully decorated, almost luxurious. The entryway in which they stood was furnished with a mirrored coatrack and a polished mahogany hall table. Wilting flowers stood in a vase, a few of their curled petals lying on the shining surface where they'd fallen.

Beyond lay a living room. Matching furniture, a sofa, several comfortable chairs, and an extensive wall of electronic equipment. A combination kitchen and dining area opened off one side of the living room. Brand new appliances gleamed, colorful dishes sat in glass-fronted cabinets.

They wandered through the flat, mute and wondering. There was a library larger than the living room, crammed floor to ceiling with thousands of books. A study, almost filled by a mammoth carved desk covered in writing implements and reference books. An exercise room with a sunlamp. A large bedroom with an equally state-of-the-art bathroom made of glass brick and gleaming tile.

The team met in the living room to compare notes. Harry felt like he was being pulled flat through a knothole. He could feel Ron's presence, it was palpable, he swore he could almost see him. One side of the sofa was more squashed down than the other...there was where he had habitually sat. A few dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, waiting to be washed. Scribblings on a notepad in the study. He had really been here. It wasn't a dream, or a vision, or a silly jaunt into wishful thinking. The physical traces of the man who had of late been held here were more powerful than a hundred Phenomorbius spells or pronouncements from the Oracle. For the first time Harry really knew that his friend was alive.

"Everything he could want is here," Remus said. "It looks like he was kept very comfortable."

"Yes, except for the small matter of never being able to leave," Napoleon said.

"He kept himself in good shape," Hermione said.

"How do you know that?" Sukesh asked.

"The treadmill had a track worn down the center," Harry said.

"And some of the buttons were worn down."

"He used the sunlamp regularly..."

"Because the carpet around the chair was faded from the UV."

"Good thing, too."

"Without it he'd grow ill and weak from vitamin D deficiency."

Harry saw the others glancing from him to Hermione as they completed this exchange and in a rare moment of personal objectivity glimpsed how they must seem to others. No wonder people ask us if we can read each other's minds, he thought. Sometimes I wonder if we can.

Henry, who'd been sent to reconnoiter the rest of the corridor, came running in at that moment. "Harry, I've got something. A guy who lives down the hall. Looks like he might be the jailer."

Harry nodded. "Hold him. I'll question him later." He looked around the flat, still gathering his composure. Hermione moved away from the group, her steps slow and deliberate, looking dazed and horrified. He watched her go, knowing that she was feeling what he felt. The physical presence of Ron in this flat was overpowering. It made him want to curl up in a ball and weep, and at the same time storm out of this dungeon and thrash every Circle agent he met until they told him where to find his friend.

"Well, he's gone, that's for sure," Napoleon said. "Looks like it was pretty sudden. No signs of packing, teabag in a mug on the counter, and it seems like he was interrupted in the middle of writing something."

Harry nodded. "Go and see that jailer. Maybe we'll get some answers from him. I'll be there in a moment." The others left, eager for some progress again, but Harry's attention was fixed on Hermione. She had walked to a nearby shelving unit and picked up a framed photo that sat there; she was now staring at it with an indescribable expression on her face. She looked up and met his eyes then, and he saw that she was struggling against tears. In her eyes were ten years' worth of sorrow and now an equal measure of hope.

He went to her side and looked down at the photo she held out for him to see. His breath caught in his throat and he instinctively drew Hermione closer to his side, his arm going around her either to support her or himself or perhaps both. He stared helplessly down at the photo, unable to take his eyes off it.

It was Ron.

The photo appeared to have been taken with a Muggle camera, in this flat. A red printed date-stamp in one corner told them that the moment it pictured had taken place less than a year previously. Ron was sitting at the desk they'd seen in the library, looking into the camera with one eyebrow cocked and a half-annoyed, half-amused smirk on his face as if he'd been interrupted in the midst of work. His hair was thick and brilliantly red, not so short as it had once been but still not touching his collar. He was clean-shaven and his face bore the lean, squared-off stamp of maturity. He looked quite a lot like Bill, Harry realized, though he had Molly's warm brown eyes.

Neither of them spoke as they looked down at the photograph. Words were inadequate to the moment. Here was tangible proof of his existence, and for the first time in ten years they looked upon his face, a face that they had only seen in their memories. They saw the face of his adulthood, which they had only been able to imagine until now. Hermione raised trembling fingers and touched his image, a shaky sigh escaping her lips. She leaned her head against Harry's as they held the picture together, closer to Ron than they had been since his death and yet achingly far away.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered, then trailed off. He nodded, making no reply. There was really nothing else to say.

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